#why are his hands so fucking huge in comparison to hers?

[specsthesecond]

Imagine being a nymph

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖡼.𖧧𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖧧.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖡼𖧧𖥧𖡼.𖥧𖧧.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

You exist somewhere in between being older than most living things but young in comparison to the ancient forest you reside in. You laze all day on lush moss and wander through thick meadows in the evening.

You spend most of your time with your fellow nymphs and the Satyrs, who also inhabit the forest. You join the satyrs in their festive orgies, their never ending debauchery and stamina is always entertaining. The satyrs are very close with the nymphs, both being able to keep up with the others insatiable apatites. They often invite you to praise their god in the only way they know how; sex, parties, wine and more sex. No matter what season, weather or time of day the forest is always filled with the pleasured sounds of your shared revelry.

You have your fun luring Human adventurers away from their parties, giving them little glances of your body behind thick trees. Humans also like it when you pretend to not notice them when they "accidentally stumble" across you sitting in your meadow. Either way when you have them to yourself it's always a fun arrangement. They always seem enraptured by you, all you have to do is bat your eyelashes and they come to you like they're locked in a trance. Always so hesitant at first like their dirty mortal hands shouldn't touch something as divine as your skin, you dispel those thoughts very quickly.

Sometimes the nomadic Centaurs travel through the forest, the nymphs and satyrs are always more than happy to welcome them into their home. The centaurs are proud creatures so you have to flirt a little harder than you do with humans or satyrs but traveling for months with no relief is so burdensome and why deny the cute nymph offering exactly the relief you need? When the huge man-beast eventually grumbles some admission of interest you waste no time bending over, hands on the lush forest floor, presenting your ass for the centaur to completely ruin on his massive horse cock.

The occasional traveling Orc camp will pop up now and then, that's always exciting. Orcs are very simple creatures and require little to no coaxing. You can usually just skip into the orc camp and plop yourself down on the nearest burly green hunk. They may be confused at first but a sultry look and a well placed hand will have them grinning from ear to ear, already half chubbed. It's a good idea to try and find the chief or clan leader as they might announce to the whole camp that they've found a useful fuck toy for the night. You might spend the day getting pounded by orc after orc until the late hours of the night. The only trace you'll leave behind for them when they wake is a trail of flowers and a few puddles of cum.

Goblins are similar to orcs but even more insatiable. Walking into a goblin camp in all your beautiful naked nymph glory will get you jumped and fucked within seconds. The small creatures don't care much at all for civility or decorum, they see a pretty thing like you walk into their camp and they're already scrambling and fighting each other for a hole. Not that they have any problems with sharing, during these particular nights there's always multiple goblin cocks being stuffed into all your holes, fitting in as many as they possibly can. They fuck till they drop, literally thrusting into your cum soaked holes till they pass out on the grassy floor.

Elves however, are another story. Elves never lose their composure, always so regal. When they travel through the forest they let the nymphs trail along with them, if only because this is your home they're walking through. You've only fucked elves very few times. The first being a noblewoman who weaved flowers in your soft hair while stealing glances at your naked body. You pleasured her in her tent one night, lapping at her pretty pussy as she gave you quiet but generous praises while gently stroking your hair. There was also the respected guard captain who you caught pleasuring himself by the river, he seemed very grateful for your assistance, fucking you ragged like he hadn't touched another person in centuries.

If you're lucky you may stumble upon the Minotaur that lives in the forest. You and the other nymphs like to play this game where you tease and taunt the Minotaur until he chases one of you down and fucks you into the dirt. It's not clear if getting caught means you win or lose but the other nymphs will sit around you, pet the minatour and coo at you as you get ferociously fucked by the beast until it fills your belly with it's seed. You're almost unconscious when the minatour is done but that won't stop the other nymphs from licking up the monsters cum from your abused hole while trying to coax the Minotaur into another round.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖡼.𖧧𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖧧.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖡼𖧧𖥧𖡼.𖥧𖧧.

[giuseppe-yuki]

Since franco is quite unhinged and not PR trained, I feel like his girlfriend would be equally as unhinged and unpredictable like an orange cat constantly doing stupid things like climbing on stupid things and doing funny stuff around the paddock and becoming a fan favourite duo of unpredictable and hilarious behaviour - especially in the fan zone

FRANCO’S POOR PR MANAGER!!!!!

picture credits from pinterest :)

franco colapinto x orange cat shapeshifter!reader

“franco,” the disheveled looking woman snaps, a look of pure annoyance on her face. “tell your fucking cat to get down from those spare tires right now!

rolling his eyes, franco stops his laughter from looking at you prancing on tires and beckons you over.

leaping off the tower of rubber tires, you scamper over to his side, butting your head playfully against his leg. you couldn’t understand why you couldn’t have a little fun in the paddock though. it was media day, and those were soooo boring. his pr manager was a total killjoy. and besides, the fans loved you, so wouldn’t that be good for your boyfriend’s public image?

as if proving your point, the fans gathered around the fanzone squeal as you pad next to franco and his disgruntled pr manager.

while he stops momentarily to sign a few pieces of merch, you claw your way up his shoulder. the man getting his merch signed laughs, pointing his camera at your purring figure perched on franco.

“yeah, sorry, she does that sometimes,” you boyfriend remarks, recapping the pen and handing it back to the fan.

you grin at him, flashing your sharp cat canines at the camera. suddenly, an epic thought crosses your mind. what if you did a backflip off of franco’s shoulder and landed on the ground perfectly? that would be kind of cool.

gathering your wits, you leap off of your boyfriend and do two flips in the air before landing gently on your four paws. the fans in the fanzone erupt into cheers.

“ha!” your boyfriend laughs, pointing at you proudly leaping in circles on the ground. “simone biles who? make way for next big olympic gymnast!”

seeing the commotion, franco’s pr manager speeds over. “franco!” she hisses, dragging him away from the crowd. “you can not be saying that! we don’t want a bad public image from you slandering simone biles!”

“slandering???” franco says, in shock. “i was not slandering. i was merely making a comparison between her and my extraordinarily talented cat!”

you meow loudly, as if backing him up.

franco’s pr manager just pinches her nose and groans.

it’s not even ten minutes before you accidentally get yourself into trouble again.

a young fan sits on the sidewalk, talking animatedly to his mother, leaving his lunch open and inviting. hey, if he didn't want it, you’d gladly take it. you were pretty much starving after spending a good part of the day doing media duties with franco.

charging towards the open container, you take a huge bite of the contents, which turns out to be lasagna.

the boy turns around, eyes wide at seeing not only the orange cat eating his food, but also at franco colapinto jogging towards him.

“i-i-is this your cat?” he stutters out, blinking quickly at the sight in front of him, disbelieving.

“er, yes,” franco responds. scooting by the kid, he bends down and grabs you by the scruff of your neck, trying his best to separate you from the container of lasagna that you were trying your best to shove into your mouth at an ungodly speed.

the boy, seeing your actions, laughs. “she’s just like garfield!”

your boyfriend only successfully removes you from the container after you’ve devoured the entire piece of lasagna. “sorry buddy,” he says to the kid sheepishly, with your tomato-sauce covered body dangling from one hand. “i’ll give you a piece of merch to make up for the lasagna.”

still manhandling you with one hand, he uncaps a sharpie with his teeth and scribbles his signature on his own williams-branded jacket. he shrugs it off with a bit of difficulty before dumping it in the kid’s arms. the small fan ecstatically beams at franco, and thanks him profusely.

when your boyfriend squeezes by the crowd of people that were gathered to see the scene play out, he finds his pr manager standing with her arms crossed with a rather disappointed look on her face.

“did you even think before doing whatever that was?” she questions franco, simultaneously glaring at you.

when you give her a hiss of annoyance at reprimanding your boyfriend, she just about snaps.

“yeah, you’re done,” she say irritatedly. “franco, take yourself and your cat back into your driver’s room. you're grounded. both of you are prohibited from coming out for the next hour.”

you giggle inside. that’s a win for you, honestly. an hour with just yourself and franco? sounds like a great time to get into a little more mischief!

[lxzy-bxby]

Tell Me How Good It Feels to Be Needed (MDNI 18+)

Caleb × Fem!Reader

WC: 1,816 CW&Tags: Smut with no plot ♡ Cowgirl ♡ Unprotected p-in-v ♡ Creampie ♡ Pussy pronouns ♡ No proofread ♡ No use of Y/N ♡ Pussy spanking ♡ Rough&gentle ♡ Petnames (pip-squeak, pips, good girl, baby, honey) AN: Divider by @.saradika-graphics :)

~ ♡ ~

You could swear Caleb’s cock was going to rip you apart.

As your fingernails digged into his sweaty shoulder blades, you desperately tried to sink yourself down, to take another torturous inch. But every inch of his dick felt like two—the head alone was torture, wide and swollen.

“Come on, honey,” Caleb cooed, arms wrapped around your back—hugging you. “Quit playing coy. We both know you can take it. Didn’t I stretch her good, huh?”

You whine pathetically, thighs straining from holding yourself up. Your pussy lips wrapped snugly around his bulbous cockhead. Just like they did perfectly five minutes ago, around three of his calloused lengthy fingers.

“Uh-huh. That’s right. She’s ready to fuckin’ swallow me whole, baby. Why won’t you let her?” He whispers straight into your ear, his hot breath caressing your lobe. “Don’t make me do it myself, pip-squeak.” His hands then slide down to your waist, squeezing it in a warning; the pet name coming like a mockery from his lips given the circumstances, his voice low, sending myriads of shivers down your arched spine.

“It won’t fit, Caleb.” You mewl, face nestling in the crook of his neck. That’s a fat lie, of course—it always did, yet every time you were scared like it was the first.

“I’ll make it fit.” 

His tongue glides over your earlobe as his palms press into your midriff.

In one swift movement, Caleb sinks you down—until he’s balls-deep in you.

You cry out, more out of surprise than anything else. Definitely not pain—you were so wet that he slipped into you, your cunt drenched with your slick and lube he generously poured before finger-fucking you earlier. Your spongy walls clench around him, as surprised as you are.

“That’s it. Wasn’t so scary, was it?” He murmurs, his face contorted with pleasure as your pussy keeps quievering. His eyes then flicker to you—and his tough guy act immediately breaks, “I didn’t hurt you… Right?” Now he’s the one to mewl, cupping your face, stroking your cheek tenderly.

You shake your head no vehemently.  

And Caleb gets drunk on it.

He now cups your waist instead of your face, making you feel tiny in comparison to his huge palms.

One of his palms slides lower—to deliver a smack to your ass.

“Then bounce on it like a good girl you are. Now.” 

An order, and you know for a fact Caleb will not tolerate disobedience.

Comes with the job.

So you obey, hoisting yourself up with herculean effort, your knees shaking and thighs still trembling. His cock slips out of you—head so red it looks disturbing, slit dribbling with precum. 

He is fucking dripping for you.

You whimper as you lower yourself back down, accepting just the half of him. 

A second later you whimper once again when he slaps your ass even harder, making taut skin jiggle, only to rub it soothingly right away.

“That’s not bouncin’. Do you need me to teach you how to? Are you ready to walk funny tomorrow then?” His voice is so low, so authoritative—you feel yourself clenching just from the sound of it. Caleb groans, squeezing your ass cheek to keep himself grounded. “Fucking tight… always so fucking tight.”

He thrusts into you unexpectedly, making you yelp and hold on to his shoulders.

“I have to make you bounce, I have to make you come… You’re so shiftless, pips.” He chuckles lowly, pressing his nose to your neck.

You’re too cockdrunk to think, yet that still hurts your pride.

Just like he intended.

You start to move with more enthusiasm, still unable to take him in balls-deep, but now fitting in more than a half. The bedhead slams obscenely, just as your tits sway with every move and as his heavy balls slap against your rear.

And Caleb keeps moaning.

Not growling, not groaning.

But letting out those sounds between a whimper and a cry, so loud it overpowers your own moans.

You feel his cock twitch inside of you, continuing to swell, continuing to stretch your poor cunt even further.

His nails dig into your waist as his head practically rests on your shoulder.

“Just… like… that.” He pants into your ear. “Squeeze me, yeah, like this… Please… Don’t you…. don’t you stop.”

Caleb pleads you.

The switch is so unexpected you have no idea how to react, but you keep on riding him, moving up and down on his cock, your cunt eager to fulfill his wish.

And Caleb keeps on whimpering, snuggled deep in you so good you could feel every ridge and vein as his shaft kept throbbing desperately, drooling with pre.

While your clit kept aching numbly, swollen and neglected.

“Caleb, please…” It was your turn to whine then. “I… please, need you… Please, Caleb…”

Which probably triggered something within him, again.

He snapped out of his cuntdrunk daze, lifting his head, his steel eyes meeting yours.

And his lips stretched out into a devilish smirk.

“Oh? So now you need me.” Caleb husks, clutching your waist with an iron grip. “Is that right, pip-squeak? Do you need me?”

You nod eagerly, at this point already ready to sniffle.

There is no bound to your relief when his palm dives in between your hot bodies.

And there is no bound to your surprise when this palm slaps against your wailing clit, making you cry out.

“That bad, huh? Look at you. Suddenly so… needy.” He spits out, firmly circling your nub with his thumb before spanking it again.

Tears prickle out of corners of your eyes, making you drop your chin onto his broad shoulder.

“Too—” His palm lands on your clit with rough smack, “fucking—” another one, “bad.” Caleb finishes with two more.

You’re so sensitive his calloused skin feels both pleasurable and painful for you. Another cry makes him soften, if only just for a moment.

“You’re gonna tell me how bad you need me, and you’re gonna tell it loud.” Caleb murmurs, pressing a sudden soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You let out another whimper, “I… n-need you so bad, Caleb… Please…” You then bury your face in his neck.

New smack is delivered to your ass. “Eyes on me.”

You obey, meeting his stern gaze through the bleary haze of your own eyes.

“I… need you.” You try again.

Instead of smack, it’s a chain of thrusts this time—deep, toe curling and rough. “Louder.”

Even if you didn’t mean to be loud, his pounding made you. “Caleb!.. I need you… s-so much!...”

He finally grins in satisfaction. “Good girl.”

Caleb’s thumb is back on your clit, swirling around it, rubbing in tight circles, smearing your slick around. You whine, barely remembering to keep on riding him, your cunt clenching and unclenching around his girthy cock.

Caleb gladly reminds you, however, by making a thrusts of his own.

You try to match his wild pace, too distracted by the way his thumb fumbles with your clit just right, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

The feeling is mutual, you suppose when you feel his cock twitching some more inside of you.

Low groan spilling from Caleb’s lips only proves it.

“Ladies first.” He declares before rubbing you even faster and even tighter.

You mewl, feeling heat in the low of your belly starting to burn unbearably hot.

“Who’s making you cum like this?” Caleb demands, stopping when you’re not answering right away.

“You…” You whimper.,

“Say my name.” He groans, pinching your clit.

“Caleb!” You cry out, and with another twirl, you’re done.

As you go limp, he softly tucks you into his neck but doesn’t still even for a minute, fucking you through your orgasm and not letting you pass out on him.

“Not yet, honey. Not done here.” He explains gently, rubbing his slick-coated tumb on your cheek.

You don’t even try to move as he starts to fuck into your body, his pelvic slamming against yours as he tenderly kisses the top of your head.

You keep mewling quietly, holding tight onto him.

“I’m gonna cum in you and you’ll take it.” Caleb declares casually in the softest voice as his cock starts prodding at the opening of your cervix with every thrust.

Your moans become louder as he stretches you even hearder.

“Gonna shoot a load right… here,” He nudges what feels like the neck of your uterus with his cockhead, turning your moans into wails, “Shhh. That’s alright, baby. I’m here, I’m here. You’ll take it, right? Yeah, you’ll take it good.” He peppers your head with kisses as he pounds into you even faster.

Then bottoms out once last time.

“Ready or not, here I come.” He whispers to your ear and moans loudly as his twitching cockhead erupts ropes after ropes of thick cum deep in your cunt. You whimper as Caleb spills some more into you, wondering how many more he got in him.

Caleb pulls out with a grunt, gently slapping his cockhead on your opening, some more droplets of seed escaping him, painting your slit pristine white. He watches as his cum mixes with your glistening slick and slowly trickles down while the load planted deep in you still didn’t dribble out.

“She’s so hungry, huh? Took me so deep. Gonna make her take it even deeper. Never can be too sure.”

His cock sinks down into your well used cunt and starts slowly but effectively fucking his release—that didn’t even left you yet—back into you.

“Every single drop is yours.” He breathes into your ear, hugging you tighter to him. “Gotta stay right where it belongs.”

All you can do is snivel.

He plugs you for what feels like infinity, clearly not wanting to pull out. But you’re too overstimulated, too sleepy and too loved by him.

The beast in him finally quiets down when he finally slips out of you, then immediately moving you to lay in bed. Caleb spoons you from the side, encircling your waist.

Some of his pearly spend finally starts to leak out of your stretched-out hole with a gurgling sound, down your thighs and onto the sheets, making his cock twitch again.

“Nah, can’t have that.” He scoops the excess release onto his finger and smears it against your opening, then softly pulls your panties up. Your cunt keeps oozing, immediately staining the fabric, but that only makes him smile.

“Aren’t you all mine now?” He murmurs against the slope of your neck, nuzzling it with his nose. “Or, I’d say, full of me.”

You let out a snort, but feel too tired to object further.

When Caleb presses a kiss onto your temple, any wish to object dies down.

At the end of the day, you both had what you needed—that is each other.

~ ♡ ~

[alesbianperson]

loser!ellie williams x loser!reader

summary: You're down bad for intelligent people (Ellie yapping about smart things)

warnings: both reader and Ellie are huge simps for each other tbh, like one swearword, my writing probs

authors note: here I am again after half a fucking year woah idk i got this idea randomly in the middle of class cause I'm such a sucker for people who say smart things also idk if the facts that are stated in this oneshot are 100% true I've done research but I have legit no clue how the universe works so heres that lmao

also here daily click for everyone

--☆--

"I hope everyone did their homework. We'll need it for the following group project."

"Shit!" You heard your best friend hiss at todays greeting of Mrs Thomson, your english teacher. She then leaned over her desk towards you. "Did you, by any chance, do the homework?"

"Yeah, I did. Just hope we get sorted into the same group." You chuckled, looking back at your teacher as she kept talking. "Everyone will find a card with a certain symbol on it on their desk," she further explained the group project. You looked at the card on the right side of your table, wondering how you didn't notice it sooner. "Everyone with the same symbol then gets together and works with the sheets I'll hand out."

Right as she finished her introduction, you took the card on your desk and turned it around. A big, self drawn, blue star was on the other side. Quickly, you turned to your left, where your best friend sat and held up your card. She suddenly smiled and proudly held up her own card, a blue star drawn on it as well, and quickly made her way over to you. "The luck is on my side!" She squealed, stretching the last i. You just laughed off her dramatic character.

A tap on your shoulder made you turn around, locking eyes with beautiful green ones. You smiled at the girl in front of you, and she returned it, which brought out her cute dimples. A few strands of her auburn hair, which she had tucked back in a lower bun, framed her face perfectly and contrasted those beautifully drawn freckles on and all around her nose.

Ellie Williams.

The girl you've shared the same class with since elementary school. A talented guitar player with straight a's in all science subjects. You never really had anything to do with her, though. Except maybe some small school projects or homework comparison. Therefore, you two also weren't friends.

She held up her arm, exposing various little doodles and drawn symbols on her hand and arm by her fallen down sleeve. From little stars and planets over to abstract patterns, everything scribbled with a black pen. Too focused on that: you didn't even wonder why she held up her arm until your best friend slid a third chair to your desk. Only then did you see the card in her hand with the same star drawn on it as on yours.

The very same moment, Mrs. Thompson came around, handing out the worksheet that was needed. You took it from her, smiling as a 'thank you' and read the first few instructions. "Why are we always doing such unnecessary tasks? We don't even have to be in groups for that." You rolled your eyes annoyed as you told your best friend, handing her the sheet. She skipped over it as well, then handed it over to Ellie. "Fuckin' stupid." She added.

"It won't take that long, though." Ellie started participating in the conversation, "if we hurry, we'll have a longer break." You both nodded, agreeing with her statement. But as you looked over the tasks again, a sigh left your lungs, and with as little motivation as possible, you pulled out your block for notes. A pen already in her hand, your friend copied your move, but making no effort to do any of it.

You just turned towards her, trying to hold the conversation unnoticed by Mrs. Thompson. "Oh my God, yesterday my dad was searching for some key he had lost, but instead found a few old photos from him and his friends when they went stargazing as teenagers!" You loved space, and the photos that were shown to you yesterday by your dad were breathtaking. The original plan was to take them to school, but you unfortunately left them at home, lying on your desk. Of course, you had to promise your friend to at least send a photo of the pictures this evening so she could see them as well.

With a new topic to talk about, the task was long forgotten. Ellie instead decided to blend out your conversation and began working on the few questions regarding the previous homework. They were easy, to say the least, probably again some excuse for Mrs Thompson to see who did something at home and who did nothing, just to grade the homework higher than she could. Ellie didn't really mind, though, because even though English has never really been her strength in school, Mrs Thompson made it really easy to get acceptable grades with just a bit of diligence.

"Ellie?" Your voice made her eyes look up from her work, looking at you expectingly. "We need a third opinion," you continued, as you gave your best friend a triumphant look. "You do know a lot about planets, right?" Ellies nod answered your question, so you went ahead. "If you could rank the planets in our solar system, which categories would you compare to decide on the coolest planet?" Ellie smiled slightly at the question you just threw in the room. With the summary of Shakespeares 'Romeo and Juliet', which they had as homework, still half in mind, she needed a few seconds before actually thinking about a possible answer she could give.

Always when admiring those planets, the first thing that came to her mind were the different characteristics that made each planet so individual. All the different sizes, colours, and features, and none of them would be able to exist without the Sun.

As you noticed, she wasn't gonna answer right away, you just began elaborating on your idea that your best friend declined to Ellie. "If I'd have to rank the coolest planets, I'd definitely rank the ones high that have cool features such as many moons or something. What should not be a main category," you jokingly glared at your best friend as you emphasised the negation,"is the colour of a planet." She just rolled her eyes at your comment.

"Actually," Ellie cut in, "I think the colours are just as interesting as the rest. It resembles the structure and material of the planet, which gives it such cool features in the first place." Her answer impressed you. How could her words make so much sense? A slight warmth in your belly caught your attention, which you just swallowed further down. "But I get your point." She added afterwards.

The confident smirk you sent towards your best friend because of Ellies approval brought up the corners of her mouth slightly.

"It still is soo much cooler to say 'did you know, jupiter was supposed to be a star' instead of, I don't know, 'neptun is blue woah'" You explained your argument again. This time, Ellies eyebrows wrinkled slightly before she voiced her objection.

"Actually, jupiter isn't a failed star. It falsely has the name because it was born from the same cloud of molecular gas that gave birth to the Sun. But without the Sun, Jupiter wouldn't even be able to exist. It was never even close to growing massive enough to become a star as well. It would need about 16 times the mass it already has to even be rightfully considered a failed star.."

As Ellie realized what she said, blush slightly reddened her cheeks. "Sorry, that was not the point you were making.." she added and then quickly looked down at her finished task and pretended to read it over again. You didn't know why, but something about her answer made your stomach flutter, so you just stared at her starstruck, not having any intention of stopping soon. If your eyes could turn into blinking hearts, they would've done so already.

You knew that girl was a nerd and knew a lot. Especially about astronomy (she may or may not have held a presentation about the milkyway, because she thought your teacher didn't do that topic enough justice) but what you didn't know is how such an answer could have such an effect on you. You looked down at your poorly written notes to distract yourself from your current thoughts.

God, you were fucked.

[ladysomething]

🌀

🌀Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet. It can be hypothetical or something you really plan on releasing...

oh god. ok .... maybe body swap fic, because it's a snappy summary that immediately is like "well. I know exactly what this is going to be about then."

Charles goes to a witch and asks to become World Champion.

She grants his wish, just . . . not in the way he'd imagined.

And, because I doubt I'll ever write this one either (it would be lonnnggg), here is the prologue and the part of the first chapter that I wrote. I've posted a tiny bit on here before, so it may be familiar to those who've been here for a while.

Prologue

“I want you to make me a World Champion.” 

Althea leans back in her chair, fingernails scraping against the wooden tabletop. It’s cluttered with books and parchment and colourful bottles filled with unknown liquids. 

The rest of the small room is just as cluttered, which is pretty much exactly what Charles expected from a witch. It’s making him feel uncomfortable and slightly claustrophobic, but it’s all going to be worth it if she can do what he wants. 

“World Champion,” she repeats softly, a smile curling up one side of her mouth. “This I can do for you, Mister Leclerc.” 

Charles sits up slightly straighter, fingers shaking with anticipation. 

“You can?” He asks hopefully. 

“It’s a big wish,” she concedes, but she’s already leaning forward to sort through some of the vials on the table. “A big wish means a big price. I think you are familiar with this already, yes?” 

Charles’ stomach twists uncomfortably, sorrow echoing in his chest. “I have already paid a big price,” he murmurs. “And yet I still do not have my wish. This is why I’m here.” 

“I know,” she says softly. “My price is small, in comparison.” 

“Give me a number,” Charles says desperately. “I have more money than I need, and I want a Championship more.” 

Althea purses her lips and stands, white dress swirling around her feet as she sweeps to the other side of the room. 

“It’s not money that I want, Charles,” Althea says, bracing one hand against a crowded shelf and rising on her tip toes. She pushes aside a stack of books then reaches to the back of the shelf, closing her hand around a tiny vial. “If money is of no value to you, then it is of value to me.” 

For the first time since he started his hunt for somebody to help him, he feels a shiver of fear slide down his back. 

This isn’t his first time coming to a witch. 

He’d done it once before, when he was younger and thought witches were nothing but stories in Harry Potter, but he’d been made a believer then. 

This is the fifth witch he’s come to with this specific problem. The other four had all been fake, obvious to varying degrees, and with only one had he gotten to the point of discussing payment. 

He’d already had a bad feeling about her abilities, but when she’d demanded an obscenely huge amount of money, he’d clearly been able to see the writing on the wall. He’d left before either of them wasted any more of their time. 

But Althea . . . As soon as he’d walked in here, he’d known that she was real. It had been the feeling that had washed over him, when he’d stepped across the threshold. 

All he’d felt since then was anticipation. 

Now, he wonders what the fuck he’s thinking. He knows better than to mess with powers like these. Lorenzo and Maman always said that when you ask for something you want desperately, the price is always bigger than you are willing to pay. 

He’d thought, while looking for somebody to help him, that there was no cost he would not willingly hand over. 

But a secret . . . He has a few that he would rather not share. 

Althea takes her seat again, spreading ingredients out in front of her. 

“Make your decision, Mister Leclerc,” Althea says, not even looking up at him as she continues to sort her things. “Do you want to be Champion?” 

Charles’ breath hitches in his chest. 

“Yes,” he says decisively. He knows he can pick a secret that will satisfy Althea without it being life-destroyed. “Do I tell you the secret now?” 

She shakes her head, smiling slightly, then pulls a mortar and pestle towards her. It’s made of marble, and catches on the wood of the table as she drags it across. 

Charles goes to help her, reaching his hands out, but she slaps them away. He retracts them dutifully, resting them in his lap and watching silently as she starts to carefully measure out her various ingredients and put them into the mortar one by one. 

“What are you doing?” Charles ask nervously, when he can no longer stand the silence. 

“Shh.” 

Charles goes silent again, twisting his rings around his fingers in a useless attempt to work out his anxiety. 

What seems like forever later, Althea pushes the mortar over to him, then places a spoon in his hand. 

“Eat.” 

Charles stares down at the mortar, which has a disgusting green and gooey concoction inside. 

“Uh . . .” 

“Just one spoonful.” 

Face twisted with disgust, Charles carefully dips the spoon into the thick soup. He’s likely had worse, when Andrea put him on a liquid-only diet for a week a few years ago—but, then again, at least he actually knew what was in those and that they wouldn’t kill him. 

“What is your secret?” Althea asks softly, brown eyes staring at him with an intensity that makes Charles feel a little sick. 

He has a few, he thinks, that are worthy of payment to a witch. He knows it has to be something heavy enough that he doesn’t want people knowing; he just can’t make it so bad that if people did know, it would ruin his life and career. 

There are, admittedly, not many that fit into the slim margin. 

“I don’t think I can win the Championship on my own.” 

Althea smiles gently. “Charles, this is why you are here. That is not a secret.” 

Charles swallows heavily. That might be true for her, but he’s never said it out loud before. He considers it a secret, and a well-kept one at that. 

But, if it’s not good enough . . . 

“After my father died . . .” Charles has to stop to clear the lump that’s suddenly appeared in his throat. “I didn’t—I couldn’t go to the funeral. Not after . . . So I missed it. I skipped my father’s funeral.” 

Althea softens. 

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” she says. “But this is not enough either, Mister Leclerc. I need something bigger.” 

Charles scoffs, rolling his eyes skyward. 

He’s never told anybody that, either, because it’s the most ashamed he’s ever been of himself. Grief had taken hold of him and had him thinking it would be better to not be surrounded by people who didn’t love his dad as much as he did—and then he’d skipped one the most important things he’d ever experience in his life. 

“There is nothing bigger.” 

Nothing bigger that wouldn’t kill him in the process, anyway. 

Althea reaches across the table and places her hand over his wrist. Her hand is cold and clammy, and it sends a shiver up his arm and down his spine. 

“You must think of something.” 

He sifts through his memories, trying to come up with something that could be worse than what he’s already said. Something he might be comfortable sharing. 

But all that comes up are things he would never say; how he’d once told Arthur that their parents didn’t love him and then felt terrible when his little brother had burst into tears; that he’d cried after having sex with a girl for the first and only time because he’d so desperately wished he could just like it and be normal; that he’d told Jules that he was in love with him and Jules had awkwardly patted his head and said it was probably just a crush and that he’d get over it, and, worse, that Jules had been right and he’d moved his attentions to a boy his own age by the end of the week; the terrible, awful, things he feels for—

Althea inhales sharply, eyes sliding closes. 

“Yes,” she breathes. “That.” 

Charles rips his hand away from hers, breathing deeply. “You—can you—” 

She raises a brow at him, pressing her red-painted lips together. 

“Get out of my head,” he commands hotly, standing up so fast his chair falls back, slamming against the ground. 

“Sit back down,” she says sternly, the harshest he’s seen her yet. He can feel her anger ripple around the room, and it sets him even further on edge. 

He’s not sure he should be here. 

“You have already paid,” Althea says. “The process has started. Sit. Back. Down.” 

God. He definitely shouldn’t be here. 

“I think I’m going to go,” Charles says anxiously, stepping towards the door. “Keep the secrets, I’ll just—” 

The door slams shut on a gust of wind, the chair flipping through the air to right itself. Its legs scrape loudly against the stone floor as it slides to the side, easily accessible for Charles to sit back into. 

Heart in his throat, Charles gingerly sits back down. The chair slides back under the table without him moving it; he has to grip the sides of it to stop himself from being throw off it with how fast it moves. 

The spoon he’d dropped hovers in the air in front of his face, the curve of it full of the green potion. 

Christ. Charles has never seen anything like this in his life. 

“Eat,” Althea commands softly. “And you will be the World Champion.” 

I’m going to die, Charles thinks as opens his mouth and leans forward. 

He’ll have nobody to blame but himself. 

Chapter 1

Max

Max feels weird when he wakes up. 

There’s something not quite right about the way his sheets feel against his body; they’re too soft, too light and airy. The bed, too, is rather soft—nothing at all like he prefers. 

Whatever. He must have hooked up with some guy last night and he feel asleep at his house. 

It’s a little strange that he doesn’t remember it—particularly because he doesn’t feel like he has a hangover—but once he wakes up a bit more he’s sure it’ll come back to him. God, he can’t believe whoever he fucked last night wasn’t even memorable enough for him to remember it the literal next morning, which is particularly annoying because he has a big meeting with Christian this morning—

Oh, fuck. 

He scrambles out of bed, but misses his step. He slips awkwardly, barely managing to catch himself on the mattress. Fucking rich cunts with their stupidly high beds—Christ, who the fuck did he pick up last night? He usually steers clear of this type. 

The only saving grace is that this guy doesn’t seem to be around right now. Must have dipped out when he realised Max had stayed over. It’s good in some ways, because one of the worst mornings of his life was after he hooked up with a guy who had only in the morning realised who he was. 

Max had woken up to the bloke sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at him with wide eyes and clutching an F1 shirt. Not even a Red Bull one—a fucking Ferrari one, Charles Leclerc’s stupid number 16 staring up at him as he’d numbly signed item after item. 

So—any situation that’s not a repeat of that is pretty decent, in Max’s opinion. 

But, on the other hand, there’s nothing he always wants more than to leave after casual sex, and when they leave first, Max is forced to linger in order to get them to sign the dreaded NDA. 

At this point, he knows he should get the anonymous man of the night to sign the NDA before they hook up. In fact, his PR team have paid off enough people that they would also prefer he do that. But it always ruins the mood, so generally Max does it after. 

Which leaves him here—in some strange man’s apartment, now waiting for him to return so that he can shove the page in the guy’s face and then hopefully get the fuck out of here before his meeting starts. 

Actually, what is the time? 

The nightstand is empty of both a clock and a phone, which is really fucking helpful. Max has no idea where his phone is, but its absence will be why he didn’t wake up to the alarm he set. God, he hopes he hasn’t missed the meeting already. 

Rather unusually, he feels ridiculously hungry. He rubs absentmindedly at his stomach as he wanders out of the bedroom. It’s actually a nice place, contrary to what his first thought was. Well designed, but also homely. Certainly not just populated by an interior designer, like Max’s home.

Max ignores all the family photos hanging along the wall of the corridor—he doesn’t need to see that shit.  

The corridor deposits him into a wide, open-plan living area, the kitchen tucked away in one corner. One whole wall is a big glass, concertina door, opening onto a balcony and overlooking the Mediterranean. Despite its clear opulence, it’s still cozy and warm, obviously loved. 

None of that is what catches Max’s attention though. What really makes him freeze, eyes widening in panic, is the fucking—shrine to Charles motherfucking Leclerc on one wall. 

Max goes over to it, slowly and in a bit of a daze. 

Jesus Christ. 

He’s hooked up with some deranged Charles Leclerc fan! 

Fuck his life. Why does this shit always happen to him? 

It’s quite the shrine, too, replica helmets and trophies and everything. There are some framed photos that Max sweeps past, barely letting his eyes linger on any of the items on the shelves. 

Fuck, where’s his phone? He needs to get the fuck out of this crazy person’s place. Gemma can just send this bloke the NDA directly to his address, Max absolutely does not need to be caught by this guy when he returns—

Wait.  

Slowly, Max reaches out, poking the mouth of the helmet to make it spin around. 

No. No fucking way. 

Sebastian Vettel’s handwriting stares back at him, words made familiar because of social media. 

You are the most talented driver I came across in 15 years of F1 . . . 

Panicked, Max backtracks desperately searching across the trophies and helmets for a sign that what he’s terrified is true is not actually true. He stops dead at one on the bottom shelf, Charles�� name inscribed on the bottom. 

He remembers this fucking trophy. He’d fumed for weeks about that fact that Charles got it instead of him. They’d only been, what, eight years old? Karting in Belgium somewhere, and Max had laid awake at night for three days after, thinking of the things he’d done wrong, all the ways he could have been better, the amount of times he’d practically given that win to Charles. 

Max had vowed it would be the last time that Leclerc beat him, and even though he hasn’t kept to that as much as he wishes he could have, generally their ratio of wins is enough to keep Max satisfied. 

Still. This trophy, the first one he’d ever lost to another Karter, is etched in his memory. 

With shaking fingers, Max reaches out to touch it, Leclerc’s named engraved in the silver. It’s real. It has to be real. There’s no way even the craziest of fans have such an exact replica of this obscure trophy. 

Jesus Christ. 

He’s hooked up with Charles Leclerc! 

What the fuck did he drink last night? How shit-faced was he? He must have been off his face to look at fucking Charles, the shitty little asshole he’s hated since the moment he met him, and thought, Huh. Yeah, this is a great idea. 

Or—maybe Charles came onto him. 

Weird, but Max can definitely see himself agreeing just to sate the curiosity. Just to find out what he’s like, whether there’s something that the man isn’t good at. And he’s too pretty to be any good at sex, right? So Max might be amenable, if Charles caught him at the right time, just to find out. 

Okay. Okay, well, whatever the case was, Max doesn’t need to hang around. There’s probably no need for an NDA at all, because Charles can’t say anything without risking outing himself in the process. 

So Max can get the fuck out of here before he comes back. 

He just needs to find his fucking phone. 

[hiyashortking]

Dare the Devil

Summary: Charlie's hotel residents are becoming more successful at being wholesome and have to get creative about how they spend their time. Tonight, a game of Truth or Dare leads you to watching Lucifer make out with a LOT of people. Are you going to get a turn?

Disclaimers and credit: read this post before reading any of my content, please.

After the huge influx of new residents, around 20 or so, the hotel’s lobby and bar became a nightclub every night. The new residents invited their friends to spend time in the hotel, and almost overnight the hotel became the place to be. The original residents worried about this at first, but there appeared to be little to no drama or depravity, so Charlie allowed it. Everyone seemed to use these nights to unwind and dance. Charlie had Husk do a drink cap per person, and everyone was ordered to follow a drug-free policy for the princess. Most of the new residents wouldn’t have a comfortable place to go if they broke one of Charlie’s rules, so things were running smoothly for now.

After the original crew got used to some of the new people, and got used to how much noisier and more fun the lobby had become, there began a notable wholesomeness in the hotel. At least wholesome in comparison to how they used to behave. It’d been a very tame few weeks, and the initial residents were starting to become restless. They’d even looked forward to some of Charlie’s de-sinning exercises during the days, though not many of them would admit to having enjoyed those. Their abilities to stay away from debauchery at night meant engaging in juvenile ways of spending time. Truth or Dare. Spin the Bottle. Seven Minutes in Heaven. Seven Minutes in Hell. Never Have I Ever. If they played it when they were alive on earth, they were playing it again now. And not a single one of them was going to confess that they were actually having fun.

“So which of our little games are we playing tonight?” Angel Dust asked, settling into the sofa they typically sat at. He gave a meaningful look over to Husk, who was far away and busy at the bar.

Charlie put all of the games into a generator on her phone and pressed a button for the app to decide. “Truth or Dare, again!” she happily exclaimed.

Vaggie picked the first Dare. Charlie had her ask for someone’s consent to touch their butt. The group rolled their eyes, as Charlie’s dares were often either childish or silly.

Cherri Bomb picked the first Truth. Niffty asked her if she loved or only liked killing. Cherri Bomb seemed very uncomfortable, said she loved it of course, and then left the game to go dance.

Other residents joined in and left the game throughout the night, until they reached a moment when it was just Husk on his 15-minute break, Angel Dust, Lucifer, and you, squeezed together on the sofa. Angel Dust took the opportunity to mount his fella and dared him to spend his entire break with his tongue down his throat, a turn of phrase you hoped was an exaggeration.

“I pick both,” Lucifer told you. “I want a Truth and a Dare.”

“Okay, Truth: as the King of Hell, how often do you get approached for sex by strangers?”

“How often, like, how many times it happened today?”

You could not help but facepalm. You figured he was heavily sought after, but you were trying to ask how many times in a week or even a month, not how many times in a day!

He used his fingers to count, but when he finished with the pinky of the second hand, he started counting on both hands again. “Twelve ladies, fourteen gentleman, and seven nonbinary folks today, during my walk over here today.” He knew each of their genders, because he took the time to introduce himself, exchange pronouns, and spend a few minutes charming them. This was why he arrived to the hotel three hours later than he planned to. He also fucked two of them in an alley nearby, but he didn’t tell you that part.

Fuck, what must it have been like to be the most desired being in all of hell?

“Now the Dare,” he reminded you.

“Oh, um. Well. I dare you to spend the rest of the night kissing twelve ladies, fourteen gentleman, and seven nonbinary folks.”

“Whoa, I did not see that coming.”

“If you want to, of course. It’s just a game!” You tried to play it off like this was a random idea that just struck you out of boredom, but the reality was that you wondered a few things about him lately. You wondered why you’d only ever seen him reject advances. You weren’t privy to his recent alleyway sex, after all. And in the spirit of playing these immature games, you wondered what kissing him might be like.

He motioned as though he were to stand up but before doing so turned to you once more. “Your pronouns are they/them, correct?”

“Yes, Luci.”

“When I’m finished with everyone else, I’ll come back for you to be my seventh in that category, with your consent of course?”

Lucifer Morningstar wanted to make out with you? This would be exciting if it wasn’t so fucking ridiculous.

Standing up, he looked around the hotel lobby, seeming pensive.

“Everything okay?” you asked him.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he said, almost as if to himself, but then turned and grinned sweetly at you. He fucked almost every day, but kissing wasn’t always included. “I might need a little moral support.”

“Oh, sure, how can I help, Your Majesty?”

He took hold of your hand. “How do I start?”

“Well, what are you looking for in a fun make out sesh?”

He seemed to take your question very seriously, if you could take the man’s cartoonish expressions and poses seriously at all. Holding his chin with his free hand and pursing his lips as if that helped him make deductions, he actually waggled his finger in the air in a Eureka! gesture when finishing his thought.

“I don’t know!” he told you, flashing his arousing sharp teeth.

A laugh escaped and surprised you. “My liege, you seemed like you were actually trying to figure this out.”

“Maybe instead of saving you for last, I could start with you and you can remind me of the different options.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Majesty, I’d think you were trying to get out of your Dare!”

He made a pearl-clutching motion and feigned an outraged gasp. “Why, Y/N, I cannot believe you would accuse the King of Hell of such a thing!”

You couldn’t help smiling whenever you were around him. “It seems to me like maybe Our King is worried he has lost his swagger.”

“I- don’t know what that means, but I am sure I have an abundance of swagger! If that is a good thing to have an abundance of!”

With a boldness you would question for days after this, you leaned closer to his ear and whispered: “prove it”.

Narrowing his eyes at you, the sweet expression gone from his face, he brought your hand to his mouth without breaking his gaze from you. He kissed the back of your hand. “I will see you after 32 kisses. Make sure you watch each one of them. And please be ready for the finale.”

When he walked away from you, you needed to steady yourself against the sofa as you struggled to breathe.

You spent the rest of the night engaging on and off with only the Truth parts of the game, as residents joined and left and returned throughout the night.

You were asked if you’d watched any of Angel Dust’s porn before you met him. Yup. You thought his acting was especially good in the one with the fraternity brothers.

You were asked who you would kiss, marry, or kill regarding the V’s. Marry was easy, definitely Vox. But you could go either way between kissing or killing the other two. Valentino seemed like he would be the better kisser, but your loyalty to Angel Dust made killing him the only decent option.

While participating in these games, you were making eye-love with Lucifer as he played with other people all night. He positioned himself and his, uh, partners in ways where he made sure he had your attention. He made certain you could see the way he moved his hands on their bodies, the way his fingers ran through or even tugged on their hair. He showed you his various skills, from slow kisses using his lips only, to drooling ones with both his and the other person’s tongues outside of their mouths. When he separated from one of these folks, you could see the magnificent outline of his thick hard cock in his trousers, and you crossed your legs reflexively as if to hide how much watching him was turning you on.

You lost count of his partners somewhere around number eight, which meant the countdown to when he would come meet you was going to become excruciating.

You watched as one person shivered as he sucked on their neck.

You could swear another one had an orgasm grinding against him, though both of them were fully dressed and wearing pants.

There was one person who spoke with him a lot, who got him to lift his gaze away from you for longer than the others had. He kissed them very sweetly when they parted, and you tried not to imagine what conversation they’d had.

There was one he pinned against the wall, the person’s legs around Lucifer’s waist, their hands clawing at his back. Lucifer’s ass looked amazing and you couldn’t believe the ease in which he held up people bigger than him.

After that one, he sat down at the bar and seemed to ask Husk for a drink, fixing his hair and sighing in your direction. He was trying to mouth something to you. You thought you could see “may I please stop now?” on his lips.

You made the symbol for Loser with your fingers, and pressed it to your forehead, sticking out your tongue at him.

He laughed, and downed whatever Husk handed to him.

He seemed a bit tired as he sighed, and you regretted giving him such a high number. He disappeared into the crowd which gave you a moment to realize you were beginning to grow tired, too. Sleepy. Before your mind could finish the thought, your body was up and looking for him. He was already charming somebody else, but excused himself as soon as he saw you waiting.

“I’m tapping out, I’m so tired. Congratulations, you win, My King.”

Did he actually look sad?

He took your hand into his again, and leaned closer to you to block out the music as he spoke into your ear. “Thank you for tonight. I had a wonderful time and I owe it all to you. I hope I was able to meet at least some of your expectations.” He slid an arm around your waist and pulled you into a gentle hug.

In your sleepy stupor, you responded, “It was one of the sexiest displays I’ve ever seen.”

“Please let me show you more of my abilities sometime.”

With a bit of a quiver, you put a hand on his chest to begin pushing and pulling away. As if your body had other plans, you leaned back in and placed your puffy lips on his cheek and breathed him in as you kissed it.

“That was my favorite kiss of the night, I hope you realize,” he said as you started backing away. He touched the spot you’d kissed gently as if to emphasize his point, cupping his hand over it in a protective manner.

“You’re full of shit, but hit me up tomorrow. I have notes for you,” you teased.

Surprise twinkled in the motion of his brows and widening of his eyes, and then you saw challenge in his smirk. “I look forward to my performance review.”

“Goodnight, Daredevil.”

“It’ll be an even better night tomorrow.”

[lullabyes22-blog]

Dropping in just to tell you how much I LOVE your Sevika x Silco portrayal. I never considered Sevilco a ship before reading your fics but you make them work so well, and I really like that you gave Sevika so much more backstory and character development. As a desi girl, I also appreciate your Sevika giving us desi rep and making it so relatable and believable. The kavya, the payasam, the bidi, I can feel her being desi on my skin, lol.

And for Silco, you make him such a hot bastard, it's unbelievable.

As someone who's a huge Grishaverse fan, they're giving Kaz x Inej vibes. I think you mentioned reading Six of Crows so I believe you're familiar with the duo, but I can really see similarities between Kaz and Silco. They're both badass villains, they're both dark and twisted and have done questionable things, they both have an intense obsession with destroying a rich and corrupt society and replacing it with something better. Also Inej and Sevika are both poc women who can kick ass and they both have a complicated relationship with the men they love. I love Kaz and Inej to death but if they were a little darker and older, they could totally be Silco and Sevika.

I'm sorry, I'm rambling, but I wanted to share. Keep up the amazing writing! I hope you write a lot more Sevilco fics. You've become one of my favorite Arcane authors, and I look forward to your updates.

Thank you so much<333

I'm so glad you're enjoying Sevika and Silco content. They've been a weird 'sleeper hit' with certain pockets of the fandom (and horrified a few others) and I'm really happy the ship's being considered as a viable option.

I really did want to try and give Sevika a bit more depth re: her family, motivations and flaws, simply because there's so much (justifiable) thirst for her character as a hot mama, and plenty of 'yas queen'ing everytime she does something terrible - but not a lot of consideration for the human, complex, flawed person behind the muscle, and why she'd choose to throw in her lot with Silco and stake everything on Zaun.

I'm also so pleased the representation feels authentic - I'm basing Zaun on RL Manchester in some ways, and Queens NYC in others - both of which are very diverse, with a huge South Asian presence. If FnF was taking place IRL, Silco would've been a no-good-bounding English boy of working-class immigrant parents (probs half-French, half-German) growing up with his best friend Vander (also of German descent with a little Greek thrown in) and Sevika and Nandi would've hailed from the nearby South Indian community, all set in the 1980s. The boy would've known his way around a good plate of biryani, though I doubt Nandi would've let him within 100m of her kitchen, let alone into her bed.

Sevika, on the other hand, would've hung out with him aaaaaall the time, just so she could bum his cigarettes and booze, and snog questionable girls behind the local pub.

(He would've paid her a tenner so he could watch her and her mate snog at his twenty-fifth birthday party. She'd have agreed, and maybe tried to goad him into joining in…)

Roflmao I do remember reading SoC, but it was very long ago, and I was a bit old for the 'young adult' genre by then. I did enjoy Kaz x Inej, although the dynamics would be somewhat different, and in many ways, far less toxic: none of this 'let the monster out' nonsense as Inej wants Kaz to be a better person, not a more ruthless one.

But really, all things aside, this is all I can think of whenever I see the comparison made:

Also we fuck. A lot.

Thank you so much, and I'm very happy you're enjoying the story<333

[usafphantom2]

I can remember like it was yesterday the first time I climbed on top of a Tomcat to preflight my first flight in the jet (VF-124, Miramar, 1990). I had just passed my final FAM (familiarization) simulator where the instructor is another pilot who signs off on me being able to fly the jet and THEN has to put his money where his mouth is and ride in the back seat. Bear in mind there was never a "T" (trainer) model of the Tomcat. Two seats, one stick, so the GIB (Guy in Back) has no way to control the airplane.

Some instructors were VERY reluctant to do these "trunk rides", one guy to the point that during your final check simulator he'd give you an unrecoverable emergency on takeoff (split flap one way, stuck spoilers on the other side) and you'd simulated "augur in " just past the runway, he'd give you a "pink sheet" (a downing flight/bad grades). Naturally, I got that guy.

So "Jethro" did the above to me and I was pretty upset since my performance had been really good up until that point. And this was a big deal; two "pinks" and you were gone. So I go back to the squadron to tell the Ops O ("Flex") to give him my pink sheet, ready to get savaged. I walk into Ops and get his attention, handing him the pink sheet (it was the pink page of a carbon copy stack, so actually pink). He looks at it, sees it's signed by "Jethro", crumples it up and throws it in the shit can saying ("Ffffff.........Jethro."). I was rescheduled for the next day with "Stainless", passed the check simulator and was on the schedule the next day for my first flight.

Nervous as hell but ready, the big idea for this flight is to man the jet up, get it started, get through all the post start checks (a legendarily daunting task....takes an hour your first time), get the beast airborne, do some maneuvers, come back for some touch and goes, and in general just don't fuck it up. Good plan.

So Stainless and I climb on top of the jet (for my first time) and says "This is why it's called the flying tennis court." The view was spectacular! This thing was HUGE compared to my last jet (T-A4J Skyhawk; length 40 feet, wingspan 27 feet and a wing area of 260 square feet). The Tomcat is 62 feet long, a max spread wingspan of 64 feet, and a wing area of 565 feet (in addition to the massive fuselage). A veritable MONSTER in comparison.

We'd learn a little later in the RAG how formidable that little A-4 could be in the hands of those (f**king) bogey drivers! And little did I know at the time, but I'd eventually be a RAG instructor myself, doing the very same "trunk rides". They were actually kind of fun, really. You got a chance to play with all that RIO shit, and the young pilots generally knew what they were doing by that point. And anyway, if it all went to shit I could always pull the "give-it-back-to-the-taxpayer handle".

I really valued my opportunity to show a young pilot his

or her first view of "the flying tennis court."

@rse_vb via X

#TomcatTuesday

[blinday]

Fuck it. Um. I'll post it on AO3 tomorrow.

If I don't remember to add something else.

You Ruined Yourself

Chapter 1.

Polite Stranger Smile #2

Ford didn’t know what he'd expected. He hadn’t spoken with his brother in a long time, hadn’t even seen him aside from his infomercials. Ford didn’t like that his face was plastered in those ridiculous things, but it did bring him comfort to see his brother's smile.

Stan's smile was something only he had, one of the few traits they didn’t share. Ford's smiles had always been a bit tight, a bit nervous, because he was never quite relaxed in his own skin; it's hard to be so when you have such a huge sense of alienation. Stan's smiles were bright enough to light up a room. It could be a wide toothy grin with a playful tint to it, or a small subtle smirk of someone you know is proud of you. Ford had loved Stan's smiles, and used to have a mental list of their differences and meanings.

The one Stan was using at that moment was the Polite Stranger Smile #2, mostly used during festivities when they met relatives they were supposed to know but didn’t quite recall who they were. It was a funny smile all things considered, specially because it was usually followed by his favorite, the I Don't Know What I'm Saying, which Stan always directed at Ford as they greeted the unremembered relatives. But right now Stan wasn’t looking at someone else with the Polite Stranger Smile. It was at Ford.

Ford, who had a crossbow pointed at his twin and could not afford to get lost in memories, even though those thoughts pulled at his heart in a way that made it hard to breathe. He had to focus, focus.

"Were you followed?" He inquired, looking over his brother's shoulder but never leaving the crossbow unaimed. Stan narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, his smile straining. It was now more akin to a grimace.

"No. And I know because that's totally a concern normal people who aren't doing anything wrong have." He said, and Ford couldn’t tell if Stan was being sarcastic or not. He couldn't do it without much concentration in good days, so trying now would be futile at best. He decided to not press the matter further, and tried to pull Stan in to check his eyes.

Only, Stan stayed firmly planted in his place, looking at him with that same grimmace, slightly furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. He was suspicious. Scared? It was hard to read him, now. Ford would not think about this now.

"I'm sorry bro, I am sure you don't have any terrible or vengeful intentions, but I'm not getting in while you have that crossbow in hands." He said breathily, like he was trying to say something serious with a humorous delivery. Ford frowned and slowly put down the crossbow.

Stan followed Ford's pull, and Ford checked his eyes. Stan stared at him, not even pretending he wasn’t weirded out by the situation at this point. Stan sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Good to see you don't think I'm a junkie." He said with what Ford knew to be sarcasm, so he had to stop for a second. Upon further thought, yeah, he could see why Stan would think he'd thought that.

"No, no, I just had to... You could've been..." Ford looked away, trailling off. "It's complicated."

Stan seemed fine. He could handle this task, right? But what if he couldn’t understand? What if it was too much? But if he didn't explain, what if Bill got to him? He had to explain everything. Yes, yes. He could do this. Stan could do this.

"Uh, you gonna explain what's going on, here? You're acting like Mom after her tenth cup of coffee." Stan said, interrupting Ford's musings. Ford looked at him and took a deep breath.

"Listen, there isn't much time. I've made huge mistakes and I don't know who I can trust anymore." From the corner of his eye he saw his research skeleton (for anatomycal comparisons with gnomes) flash a bright yellow eye at him, and quickly turned it away. They weren't safe. What if Stan didn’t understand? What if they really were just strangers sharing a face after all these years? Ford started pacing, muttering to himself.

"Hey, uh, easy there." Stan had both his hands extended like he was trying to calm down a wild animal. Which, fair enough, Ford could concede he might look a little... rough. "Let's talk this through, okay?"

"I have something to show you. Something you won't believe." Ford said, rubbing his hands. Everything felt scratchy, like his consciousness was just barely there. Stan smiled, and this time it was his reassuring one. Ford liked this one. Their childhood was filled with this smile, reflecting how their own mom smiled at them.

"Look, I've been around the world, okay? Whatever it is, I'll understand." Stan said. Ford hoped he was right, but knew he couldn’t be.

Ford led his brother towards his secret lab, and only as they stood in the elevator, did he stop to notice Stanley himself. Ford was hungy and exhausted and on the lookout for a demon who threatened to gouge his eyes from its sockets. He couldn't afford to pay attention to these details at every waking moment, but it didn’t mean he didn’t care. He just had a lot in his mind.

Stan had a tidy jacked that looked well worn, but cared for. His hair was wrapped in a ponytail, and he had a bit of beard on his chin. He looked nice. Didn’t have huge bags under his eyes like Ford, and didn’t look too thin. He wasn’t as big as when they were teenagers, but strongly built. Ford was glad. He'd always had a tiny voice at the back of his head worrying if Stanley would be able to make it alone in the big world, specially when they were teens. But by the looks of it he'd been fine.

It almost made him mad. Stanley was here, a fully functional adult with his 5 normal fingers and no demons to haunt him, after costing Ford everything. No, no, not now. He couldn't let himself go that way. He had to finish this. He turned on the lights as they walked into the lab, revealing his beloathed portal.

Stan gaped. Ford expected something like 'there is nothing about this that I understand', maybe a joke about it being a doomsday portal, or just a questioning look. He hadn’t expected Stan to look at him like he fully understood what he'd done, the magnitude of the situation, how much danger they and the whole wolrd could be in, like he got it.

"Ford," Stan said in a raspy, breathy voice lacking any of his usual humour. "What the fuck did you do?"

[katiebuggg]

you really got a hold on me

teddy boy John x reader fic!!

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chapter 4

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special thanks (again) to @yesitisbea for writing a HUGE chunk of the dialogue for this chapter. She is insanely talented and if you like this, you should 100% check her work out on her fic account!(@treeeeesurfer)

Thank you again and enjoy!

(tags: @sharksausages, @yesitisbea)

---

Doing this sober would be close to impossible, so a blanket of liquid courage is what she mixes herself in a small whiskey glass. 

She gets ready in a flurry of clothes and makeup before marching her way through the icy streets. Around this corner then the next, like she always does. Her cheeks and ears remain warm from the alcohol working its way through her. 

5 minutes pass then 10 do as well. She sighs loudly with each glance down at her watch. Nancy was right, what fucking tools. Just as she’s about to turn away in defeat from the lightpost she is standing at, a voice chirps up behind her. A voice she's embarrassed to know well now. 

“Leavin’ so soon?” John’s hands are casually in the pockets of his slacks, strolling up to where Y/N stood. He leans on the lamppost. He’s not dressed for the cold weather. Y/N’s eyes drag up and down the length of his body. His simple, thin slacks fall just above his shoes which are black boots. He dons his worn leather jacket, its zipped and button up to his neck. 

“You’ll catch a cold like that.” She says plainly. 

“‘Ats why you drink.” He chuckles and sticks out his arm for her to hold, hand still tucked warmly in his pocket. Y/N rolls her eyes and grabs hold of his forearm. In their closeness, his scent floods her head. That same smell of cheap, musky cologne and cigarettes. She could get drunk off just that. 

After they walk down this street then the next, they arrive at a smaller, but nice pub. It looks rather new and clean in comparison to the one John performed in. The lights inside are dim and warmly colored. He pushed and held the door open for her, making it seem like a grand gesture. 

“Chivalry isn't dead, then.” She jokes which earns her a laugh from John as he steps inside behind her. The pub is lively with soft chatter and a buzz of indistinct music playing from an older jukebox at the other end of the room. The bar was long and made from a large piece of striped hickory wood. Along the bar, stood about a dozen high top chairs– one of which John pulled out for Y/N before sitting down himself. Y/N admired the blue-ish, green tiled walls and large mirrored glass shelves that stored the various colorful bottles of liquor and mixers.

“So, this is the place, then?” She asks as she sits down, sliding off her thick coat and resting it on the back of the chair. 

“You almost sound underwhelmed?” John says through a small laugh. He leans both his elbows on the bar, crossing his arms and holding them close to his chest. His eyes never leave her. 

“No! No, not at all.” She says in return, leaning back into the chair and layering one of her legs over another, rolling her ankle in a circle. “Jus’ looks awfully American, don’t it?” she mumbles under her breath in a teasing tone, seeking a reaction of sorts out of John. 

He lets his head drop with tainted laughter, “That’s the appeal of it, Y/N. How about some drinks, then?” Y/N gives a single hard nod. 

“Yes, puh-lease.” 

He takes his eyes off her only to glance down the bar for the bartender who was wiping the water off of a few tall glasses. John jerks his head towards him and lifts up a hand, flagging the bartender down. He throws the towel over his shoulder and strolls over to them.  “Get me a babycham, then, John.” She says to him, leaning over slightly to make sure he hears her. His eyes instinctively swipe down to her lips then right back up to her eyes. A smug smile creeps onto his face, “What if we did shots? Just a cheeky few?” 

“Oh I dunn-” 

Before she could get even a word of protest out, John was already placing an order for a round of shots, her babycham and an old fashioned for himself. Tomorrow morning should be interesting for both of them. His body shifts as he reaches into the pocket of his tattered leather jacket, pulling out a square wallet. He slips the bartender a £5 note and tells him to start a tab for “Lennon”. Y/N makes a quick note of his last name, watching him as he talks with the man. She begins to think back to the first time they had met in the cafe and about how loud and rowdy he seemed. This kind of place would be the last thing Y/N would think he’d willingly go to. He interested her so. This ‘John Lennon’ seemed to have so many layers to peel back. 

Their drinks were slid to them from across the sleek bar. Y/N takes a quick swig of her drink, before speaking.  “Lennon,” She tests the waters, using his last name. In response, his eyes switch from the rim of his glass to her swiftly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d call you a bad influence.” 

 “So formal..” he says and rolls the large ice cubes around in his crystal glass, making a satisfying clanking sound. He watches her as she sips from her drink, his eyes hung on her lips, then down her neck as the liquid traveled. He took a quick swig of his own drink. 

“S’pose you don’t know any better, then, cause you’re here with me, love.”

She rolls her eyes and places her drink down, reaching for the small, thin shot glass filled with an amber colored liquor. “Oh, come off it.” 

She taps the bottom of the shot glass on the wood bar before throwing the alcohol back, tipping her head back along with the motion. She swallows down the bitter liquid and cringes as it stings the back of her throat. “Bloody hell that is strong, jesus..” 

She feels his eyes burn into her with every motion she takes. He’s unmoving, blinking slowly. Her palms begin to become slick with sweat and she places the shot glass down, flipping it over on its rim. A warm rush of blood floods her cheeks, the silence was thick with tension between the two of them. The silence, that in reality only lasted a few seconds long, dragged on for what felt like hours. 

Even though the amber alcohol was working its way through Y/N, she could still faintly hear Nancy’s echo of warning. She would kill Y/N if she were to find out where she was tonight, would have her head on a spike by morning. Strangely enough however, Y/N settled further into her seat at the idea. Maybe it was the alcohol or the cheap cologne John wore or, hell, even the drifting smell of tobacco from inside the bar that made the rush of doing something she knew she wasn’t supposed to feel utterly thrilling. 

“You get ‘long well with the bartender. Seem to be familiar with the people here, then?”  

John smiles and shrugs, grabbing his own shot glass and lifting it up to his nose to smell it. His face makes no readable reaction to the strong alcohol. “You could say that.. I only want to be familiar with  you right now, though, Y/N.” His voice is slightly hoarse, lowering it for only her to hear. 

She huffs a laugh, trying to push down the flurry of butterflies attacking her stomach. She shoots him a look of flirtatious warning. That tone he uses is dangerous and she knows it. She takes a bigger swig at her drink. This stuff could not work any slower?  

“You drunk already?” is all she says in return. 

“Drunk? I’ve barely even taken a sip. ‘Thought I was being decent.” He says with a snicker. He cocks his head at her half empty drink and tipped over shot glass. “Seems you're the thirsty one, eh?” 

She fully ignores his comment, gulping down another swig. He follows in suit, seemingly mocking her movements. She shakes her head and scoffs playfully. 

 “Decent? What's your baseline for descent? Elvis? I would love to hear- enlighten me, please do.” She gives him a once over and shakes her head, turning the bar stool around to face him fully with her glass in hand. 

He holds up a finger and raises his eyebrows, all proper-like. “The queen too, she's up there in decency I'd say.” His smirk never leaves his face. It almost angers Y/N. He must know the effect his stupid stunts have on her. His simple way with words that seem so put together and oddly attractive but also painfully annoying and childish. It only draws her in closer, reeling her in like a fish on a line. 

“Oh right, right, yeah.. a real patriot, you are? Like hell..” She mumbles the last part into the cold rim of her glass, rolling it along her bottom lip. He scoffs, still grinning. John lifts up his hands and looks down at himself briefly before looking back up to her with playful eyes,  “Well, look at me. Of course I am. Rule Britannia and that.” 

“Who ever told you that is lying to your perfectly British face, Lennon.” 

“Think my face is perfect, then?” 

“Give me a break and take a shot, would you? Bringin’ a bird to a bar and only gettin’ her sloshed ‘snt a great look.” 

“Sloshed after one shot, are you? Lightweight.” He eyes her but obeys in silent agreement, tipping his head back and pouring the shot into his mouth. His adam's apple bobs as he swallows and he shakes his head, similar to how he does on stage when dragging out a loud, shouty note. 

“Me, a lightweight?!” She says a little louder than she meant to. “Coming from the bloody fake Brit!” A snorty-chuckle escapes her chest. He laughs along with her, a bit quieter than her though. He tips the shot glass over on its rim next to hers. 

The visit at the bar lingers on for an hour or two longer. They swallow down a few more rounds of shots and sip off of bitter drinks. Y/N lets the tight knot in her chets untangle with every tip she took and every laugh she shared with John. As much as she didnt want to admit it, she didn’t mind being around John. He was nice enough, she thought. Tall, as well as just plain handsome. She liked how willing he was to take her out at the last minute, and liked how he remembered the sound of her voice even though their exchanges before this had been quick. It was late by the time they had wrapped up the last of their drinks. As they slipped out of the bar, their laughter echoing through the desolate streets, he insisted on walking her back to her flat. 

“So you can bloody stalk me?” She snorts out another laugh, grabbing hold on John’s forearm again to avoid tripping over herself. Y/N wasn't the type to get pissed out of her mind but she enjoyed the light buzz of alcohol now and again, a comfortable drunk. John wasn't all that sober himself either, an occasional hiccup or slurred word slipping out from between his smiling lips. 

“Oh, yes, so I can watch ‘ya change through yer bedroom window.” He jokes, getting a laugh out of himself. His accent slips out more the drunker he gets. Y/N took note of it, finding it endearing. She eurpets in tipsy laughter, “As if!” 

In the midst of their laughter, a hurried figure came into view from just up the pavement they were strolling on. His pace seemed hurried and tense, as did the rest of his body. He wore a similar style to John, his hair a high ruffled mess of loose curls. He wore dull leather pants and a thicker coat layered atop a black thermal turtleneck. His heavy boots rang out angry footsteps as he approached closer. John squinted at the figure, his laughter and grin dying off. “Oh bloody hell-” John groans quietly once the man walks under a lamppost and John fully gets a glimpse of his raging face. 

“What? Who is-” 

“Had a feeling I’d know where to find ya!” the man throws his arms up in disbelief, yelling at the pair as he approaches closer. John scoffs loudly. John stops himself and Y/N in their tracks, pulling her behind him slightly once he and the man were face-to-face. Y/N finally got a good look at who it was. She studied his broad nose and sleek jaw, scanning him once over. Her eyes landed on a tall pair of beaten drumsticks peeking out from his back pocket. It’s their bloody drummer. 

“John Winston bloody Lennon, slagged off another damn rehearsal for your stupid band for-” His fruy filled eyes peeled away from John for a second and down to Y/N who stood behind him. When their eyes meet he laughs in disbelief. “Oh give me a fucking break, Lennon, seriously? D’ya even know her name this time-?”

“Oh fuck off with that Pete. She ain’t just some girl I picked up-” John takes a warning step towards Pete and away from Y/N. The comment rings in her head and she half blinks at her drunken realization. Of course. No wonder he had known the perfect spot to take her and had been so familiar with the bartender. She felt her chest begin to pound. She wasn't the first, let alone last, girl that had been with John like this. In fact it was so regular that it seemed it was a trend for John to ditch his own bandmates. She takes a stumbled step back away from the, now loudly arguing, pair. 

The distant buzz of the two men yelling suddenly becomes crystal clear when Pete throws a heavy fist at John’s face, more specially his nose. A quick shower of thick blood sprays onto the pavement below them with a sick sounding splat. John curses and almost stumbles to the ground at the impact, spitting out blood from his mouth. The warm red liquid streams down the lower half of John’s face, soaking into the collar of his jacket. 

“Have you lost yer fucking mind, Pete?!” John yells, his voice croaking as he tries to wipe away the blood with his sleeve, shoving the drummer with a strong hand. 

“Nah- but you've lost yourself a bloody drummer, Lennon” Pete mumbles and throws John’s hand off of him. 

“Ah fuck you Pete! You couldn't keep in time if your life bloody depended on it, ya prick! Youre a shite drummer!” Y/n grabs a hold of John’s arm, tugging him back with a suddenly sober sigh of annoyance. “Lay off, John.” She mumbles to him, quiet but stern. John grumbled and rubbed his nose again, sucking in a quick breath through his teeth and winces at the painfully contact. Pete says nothing, biting his tongue Y/N figured. He spits on John's shoe before storming off, shoving John’s shoulder with his own as he passes him and shoots Y/N a look of unfiltered rage. 

Y/N steps in front of John, pulling away at the hand rubbing on his face so she could get a better look at the gash on his nose. Pete must've worn a ring on the hand he slugged John with. The wound was harsh. Y/N lips are drawn into a tight line and her brows are furrowed, knitted tightly together, as she examines his nose. It's a mess. His nostrils flare from anger as thick beads of blood roll out of them, it looks as if it could be broken. She tips his head up, placing her hand on his chin. Her silence is unforgiving. 

“You’re angry..” He mumbles. Blood tinted his lips a slick red, a little of it getting into his mouth and showing on his white teeth. 

She scoffs and pulls her hand away, tugging his head down forcingly as she does so. “Well, it’s not ideal to watch my date get his face smashed in by his mate, is it?” She sighs and rubs her temples, closing her eyes to think for a second. She can’t just leave him out here, dripping with blood and not properly dressed for the cold. 

John looks down at his shoes, staring at the wet ball of spit Pete left. He shakes his head and wipes his nose across his arm as more blood flows out. “I hadn't planned for it to turn out like that, Y/N, I'm sorry, I am-” he mumbles and Y/N holds up her hand to stop his rambling, eyes still closed. 

“I’m thinking, Lennon, ‘old on.” She spits out. A few seconds of cold silence creeps between the two. Y/N hasn't forgotten about the comment Pete made. She’s just another one of John’s cheap dates, a pub crawler he picked up to entertain himself. She weighs her options then lets out a defeated sigh. 

“I can’t leave you out here like this.” She grabs his forearm once again and starts to walk, pulling him along with her. “I’ll clean you up at mine-” she pauses and gulps down a sore lump in the back of her throat. She should've listened to Nancy. “Then I don’t want ‘ta see you again, you hear me, Lennon?” The words sound foreign and wrong to her. They sound bitter and venomous. A voice on her shoulder tells her that this is the right thing to do. John Lennon is bad news and has proved that to be so. However she still doesn't fully believe what she’s telling herself to be the truth. This situation has become too complicated for her to leave just like that. Without a mumble of protest, John’s head hangs low, letting a bead of blood drip down onto the cold pavement, and does not resist Y/N tugging him along. 

Soon enough, Y/N is pushing the ironically red door open and letting John fumble inside, locking it behind them. She shoves her shoes and jacket off, throwing them on the floor rather than on the coat rack. John follows in suit but holds his jacket over his arm. He follows her angry footsteps to what he could only assume is the bathroom. 

“Sit there.” She practically orders and points at the rim of the bathtub. She swings the medicine cabinet door open and tugs out a small first aid kit. With his tail still between his legs, John drags himself into the small bathroom. For a moment as he passes Y/N, his hips brush up against her back. 

“Pardon..” he mumbles in their closeness. He speaks practically against her ear, the metallic tang of blood and sharp smell of alcohol hoovers under her nose. A chill runs up her spine as the moment passes. He rests on the rim of the tub with a huff, rubbing the now slightly dried blood off his bottom lip. Y/N turns to him, tipping a bottle of antiseptic onto a fluffy cotton ball. She strides over to him before kneeling on the ground between his legs, which earns a small drunken chuckle from John, flirtatious intent hidden behind the laugh. Y/N shoots him a look and he quits, getting the warning. 

“This’ll sting..” Y/N warns as she holds his chin with one hand and the soaked cotton ball with another, gently dabbing the gash on his nose. He winces and lets out a small whine, gripping onto the sides of the tub. 

“Has he disfigured me?”

“Horribly.” Y/N cracks a small grin and places the cotton ball down, reaching for a towel. “Wet this for me please.” 

John nods and takes the towel from her, their fingers touching for a small moment. He turns on the spicket and lets warm water soak the towel before ringing it out and handing it to her. She takes it and grabs hold of his cheek this time. She gently starts to wipe the blood off his cupid's bow and the  smears across his face. His eyes blink down at her, heavy with admiration. Against her will, her cheeks heat up again as she darts between his eyes and the task at hand. 

“What?” She mumbles, rubbing away a spot of dried blood from his jaw. 

“You look different up close, y’know that?” He says back to her, his voice that same, low, sultry tone like at the bar. 

“How so, Lennon?” She pulls away from his face to open up a small band-aid. 

“It’s not a blur..” 

“You wear glasses?” Y/N almost sounds surprised as looks back up at him, trying to imagine him with glasses. From what her brain did conjure up, she didn't hate the look. 

He lets out a small breathy chuckle, nodding. “Yeah, I never really wear ‘em. I can see the things that really matter up close jus’ fine.. Things like, you.”

“You should wear them.. Doubt they’d look bad.” She smiles, ignoring his sly, sneaky compliment. However, the heat from her cheeks is now evident with a pink color. She places the band-aid onto the bridge of his nose, pressing down on the sticky sides. “You're all set, Lennon.” Y/n pats his knee but doesn't rise from where she's kneeling, she simply looks up at John. His face is soft and so are his eyes, the brown in them melted as if they were chocolate. Her hand doesn't move from his knee, in fact, she gently rubs it with her thumb. He blinks and glaces away for a moment, down at the tiles of the bathroom floor. 

“You coulda jus’ left me, Y/N, I would've lived, y’know-” John starts. 

“And leave you in those thin slacks with blood shootin' from out yer head? Would’ve weighed on my conscience, it would.” 

“Like my slacks, do ya?” He pokes a quick jab, earning a small laugh out of Y/N who shakes her head, looking away. 

“It was generous, nonetheless.” John adds and moves one of his hands from the tub to gently cup her cheek. The warmth of her skin heats John’s bitterly cold fingers, pulling a small shiver out of Y/N. In her nervousness, Y/N chuckles. Like a moth to a flame, John feels himself lean closer to her. His poor vision was finally able to make out all the intricate features on her face. The way her lashes blinked and fluttered over her eyes, the color of her lips and texture of her skin. His eyes hung heavy with want as he pulled her closer. 

“‘Ats a big word comin’ from you, John..” She mumbles hardly above a whisper, glancing between his melted eyes and parted lips. 

“Ha. Ha.” He smiles and tips his head down to close their gap, pressing his lips against hers gently. Y/N presses up to hold herself on her knees rather than kneel as she leans deeply into the kiss. Her hands find their way to the sides of his neck, gently stroking his jawline with her thumbs. This earns a deep groan out of him. His calloused fingers scratched at the softness of Y/N skin, giving her goosebumps all down her arms. The kiss deepens and John opens his mouth drunkenly into the kiss, breathing hotly onto her lips in small pants. Y/N’s head shifts and they accidentally bump noses. John winces and pulls away out of instinct, a thin string of spit connecting them. 

“Sorry!” she chirps and covers her mouth before a laugh can escape.  “You laughin’ at me?” He asks quietly, a small smirk stretching across his face. She shakes her head before bursting out laughing, unable to contain it any longer. The absurdity of the whole situation makes her realize that even though she said she never wanted to see him again, she wouldn't be able to keep herself away from John Lennon.

[newtonsheffield]

Could we maybe… possibly get a snippet of Kate using the card for the first time and everyone calling her Mrs Bridgerton when she in fact is very much not Mrs Bridgerton… yet anyway

The thing is, growing up the Sharma’s were fairly wealthy. Mary’s a huge musician and even that pales in comparison to the way the Bridgertons are living their life.

But I think the first time Kate uses the card she feels kind of nervous, awkward about spending someone else’s money, and she probably only does it because she’s out to lunch with Daphne, Edwina and Sophie and she batted away everyone’s hands when they went to pay and in the hustle of it all she gave them the wrong card. It’s probably only when the server returns the card, the balance already paid that she realises she’s used the wrong card.

“Shit.” Kate sighed, putting the card back with her others.

“Everything alright?” Daphne’s brow furrowed, “I’m happy to split the-”

“It’s fine I just… gave them Anthony’s card. Well, my card, that’s part of Anthony’s… account.” Kate shrugged, “It’s fine, I’ll pay him back.”

“Anthony gave you a credit card?”

Sophie rolled her eyes at Edwina, “Are we surprised? He goes big, you know what he’s got her for her birthday.” She glanced at Daphne, “No offence, obviously.”

Kate’s heart stuttered, remembering the way he’d minimised what looked suspiciously like the Aston Martin website the other day when she’d walked into the living room and his tone on the phone had changed, “What’s he got me for my birthday?”

Daphne ignored Kate shrugging, “No offence taken.” She turned to Kate, “Anthony won’t even notice the charge and you basically live together. It’s not that surprising. Plus, he loves collecting the rewards points for some reason. I think it feels like a game for him from what I can tell.”

Kate shrugged, “It just… feels weird. I’ll pay him back.”

“Good luck with that.” Daphne shrugged, collecting her bag, “Now, we need to brainstorm what the hell I’m going to get Simon for his birthday. I can’t get him another watch because I can’t fucking stand the clicking from all of his stupid… automatic watch winders. Thirty is too many. No one needs to be that aware of the time.”

Kate felt guilty when she got back to Anthony’s as well, Edwina behind her, hiding the bag behind her a little awkwardly. She’d meant to use the card that time, with every intention of paying him back for the frivolous pair of boots in the bag behind her. She found Anthony already home, his slippers on as he geared up to watch the Formula One practice, Newton on the sofa beside him, belly up.

He smiled at her when she bent to kiss the top of his head, “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, Daphne found Simon’s birthday present so a successful trip.”

He peered round her at the bag, “What did you get?”

Kate swallowed, “Okay, so I bought boots but I’ll pay you back and I’m not even sure I’ll keep them.”

Anthony blinked, “You don’t like them?”

“I love them.”

“Why would you take them back then?”

“Because they were a little expensive and… I don’t really need them? And I also bought lunch but that was an accident and like I said I’ll pay you back.”

Anthony shrugged, “Don’t worry about it.” He kissed her gently, “I’m glad you had fun. I was thinking about ordering takeaway do you want something?”

“Um… yeah?”

Anthony stood from the sofa, kissing her again, “I’ll get the menu.”

Kate stared after him as he disappeared into the kitchen, bewildered, “Don’t you even care how much money I spent?”

“Not really.”

Kate kept gaping after him and Edwina muttered, “You have a sugar daddy.”

Kate rolled her eyes, “He’s not my sugar daddy.”

“You spent… a lot of money today and he didn’t notice! He didn’t even care! And I know what he’s ordered for your birthday.”

Kate groaned, “Is it bad?”

“It’s… a wild gift for a birthday together.”

“Worse than Benedict taking Sophie to Switzerland?”

“Oh way worse.”

“Fuck.”

[besamehyuka]

Test My Strength

Warning: Mild Violence: Smacking

This has smut meaning it has sex in it. If you don't like it, then don't read! Simple!

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just bend you over and take what's mine y/n?" Changbin growled, his large and veiny hands gripping your ass as his threats were clear but falling on deaf ears.

You didn't know why he was acting so dramatic, you did nothing wrong, in-fact all you had done was be nice every member, not just Felix. But for right now though, all you had done was played video games with Felix, there was absolutely no reason for your muscled boyfriend to be punishing you at this moment.

You rolled your eyes and continued fiddling with the bright pink controller in your hands, Felix's eyes popping out of his head as he swallowed, not wanting to be in the center of any relationship dilemma, he began to get up, walking towards to the door just as Changbin stopped him.

"Where do you think you're going?" Bin asked, drawing out a loud and clear growl from the back of his throat, long and guttural.

"Um, well i was going to go to my room, it sounded like you two needed some time alone..." Felix responded honestly, biting his lip trying to calm the situation down by leaving.

"No, I'll go with you Fel-"

Just as you were about to get up and head out with Felix, Changbin grabs you by your thighs and slams you on your back, causing a gust of wind to leave your lungs, making your eyes widen huge in comparison to what they were before.

Changbin was strong you knew that, but he had never used his strength on you like this, it made you wonder, what did you do that made him so upset, and how could you do it again?

"You like when you ignore your daddy and give all your precious attention to a man that doesn't even want you, huh?" He asks, cupping your face in his hands before leaving a harsh smack across your pretty cheek and he smirks, loving the way he senses how turned on you are by this.

Your panties are dripping and you're just dying to just get them off, god, the way Changbin's looking at you made you want to act up more. But right now, you had no idea what you did.

His eyes are accumulated in anger, his happiness is worn away and his giddiness is completely gone with pure bred anger, he's a completely different person. A demon even.

He notices how much you enjoy being manhandled so he decides to take it up a notch, lifting you up in his strong arms, tugging your bottoms off in one quick motion, he growls and slaps you again in pure frustration.

"So, was MY baby planning on fucking him, hmm? Was MY baby planning on using my best friend for her pleasure?" He asks, but deep down he knows you would never use another man, he's just deprived of your attention, and now he just wants to get to the main course.

He lifts you up above his head and pins you to the wall harshly, not wasting anytime before devouring your sweet clit, slurping and making loud wet sucking sounds. Filling the room with his talented tongue skills and your moans, making sure you knew who you belonged to.

And god, did you know without a doubt.

"Fuck Binnie!" You cried out, trying to reach for his hair, for his shoulders, for his back, for anything, but you couldn't, all you could grab onto was the wall behind you, scratching at the paint, your nails acting as paint thinner.

Changbin didn't care, all he needed to do was remind you of who you belonged to, and damn it was he doing a good job. His tongue working like magic on your folds as you screamed, surely waking everyone up in the dorms, but you could care less.

What was going on in-between your thighs was your main priority, and with a final show of just how strong he was, Changbin began to rock you back and forth against his tongue, hitting spots you never knew were possible.

With a gasp and a scream you came, and as soon as you came to you realized, Felix had never even left the room, instead he was standing in the corner watching the scene onfold.

"Now.... I hope you know who you belong to, and as for you Felix, did you enjoy the show. Because that's all you will be seeing." Bin said with a possessive tone, glaring at the younger boy, taking his que, Felix darted out of the room.

"Binnie! i wasn't-"

"Now now princess, you don't think it's over do you? The floor and bed are completely dry, i think we can change that, don't you?"

[vomitspit2]

concept with dullahan! dire crowley OR dullahan! floyd leech, you can imagine either ⁽(◍˃̵͈̑ᴗ˂̵͈̑)⁽

now playing harley poe’s vengeance the demon / close the door / outcrowd

part i. vengeance the demon.

it always starts with you running. it has never once changed; you, desperate and panting, throw yourself across the earth on two lunging legs.

sometimes, you trip. sometimes, you crash into things. but you always keep running and running away from the sound of clomping hooves in pursuit. they echo in the mine ruins that you always find yourself in, sounding like an army of horses instead of the single one giving chase.

one time, you finally manage to reach the end of the mine shaft as you can see these polka dot patterns of light just ahead. you break out into a sprint.

the air is less humid when you burst out of the mines like a bullet passing through a body. you make a wild run for the houses lit by lanterns. pumpkins are on each porch. you end up stumbling into one, acquiring a new shoe, as you throw yourself against the door.

“please! he’ll kill me! he’ll kill me he’ll kill me!”

the only response you get is the window by the door opening just slightly. you almost miss the motion, so focused on pounding your fist against the wood. but through your eyes and the blood and the mud, you manage to spy it. two fingers opening up a crack in the blinds and one single eye peeking at you.

“please … please …” you sniffle, blood and snot a thick mélange running down your lips.

the eye stares at you. it looks like an immovable stone, something that has already made its decision. the light of the glowing pumpkin and lanterns pale in comparison to how bright the eye is.

“i can’t help you, yous folk is marked.”

ii. close the door

the girls and boys at your university hate you. your parents don’t hate you but they don’t like you either. you’re not even sure you like yourself.

the only person (and he’s not even a person) who loves you is your black cat, grim.

grim purrs at you which you take as validation as sweet as boyfriend saying he loves you or as validation as heartwarming as a best friend saying she’s grateful that two of you have become friends because no one gets her like you do. in him, you find validation that you have been missing since you were seven and that boy died at your birthday party.

it wasn’t your fault. your hands were only on the reins because the handler asked you, the birthday girl, if you wanted to hold and guide the horse. you must’ve fucked it up somehow because the horse reeled up, a black stallion of huge proportions looking like something carved into a monolith, before the stallion kicked back his legs and struck a boy in the head.

blood paints over the grass as the first adult came outside with the cake, the beginning of happy birthday on his tongue.

which is why some girls corner you in the bathroom, one wearing a party city horse mask and getting in your face. another kicks the stall, mimicking clop-clop noises with her mouth.

because the town hates you. everyone has always hated you.

it causes you little stress besides tears. what causes you the biggest stress is returning to your dorm, finding your window open yet not finding grim.

you search the streets like mad, shaking tuna treats in your hands.

eventually, you come across paw prints that have found their way into a water storm drain tunnel, those ones cities and towns install to minimize flooding risk. the paw prints are wet and small but you know deep down grim’s in there somewhere.

after some hesitation, you walk in.

it’s dark and humid. and you mean dark as in the only way to tell where walls are is to move your hands outward to check where they lie, you can barely make out shapes in this nebulous black. and you mean humid as your hair is starting to stick to the back of your neck and the place where your inner thighs touch are sweating with a passion.

but you have to find the only person who loves you.

you keep going till your foot catches on something. you don’t trip but you feel around with the sole of your foot, coming to conclusion you are stepping on none other than mine-tracks.

you have to go back. you have to go back! you think with a blinding panic.

but then you hear a meow, soft and faint. gradually, you calm down and call out for grim. please, grim come, you have been traveling too far down this rabbit-hole, both of you need to go home safe and sound.

but he doesn’t come, continuously meowing. a little farther, you can risk going that much for grim.

so you keep going, one of each shoe placed on the sides of the tracks, shaking your bag of tuna treats.

eventually, you come across light. not sparse light like polka dots but bright light that almost blinds you.

they’re celebrating something in a town just a two minute walk away. they are celebrating halloween.

the door on your old life is permanently shut.

iii. outcrowd

grim, you see him. just a bit down the way, he’s weaving through the crowd of people lined up on each side of a giant parade.

you pass by a man breathing fire, another on an elephant, one who is clipping roses from his skin and handing them out to children, another who is — your sight suddenly blurs when two forces hit you with surprising force.

“mama!!” they cry in unison. and two twins with your face but golden eyes gaze up at with love you have never been shown to before by human features.

“i told you two, not to run off during the parade; must i keep you on a leash,” a man with hair split black and white breaks through the crowd.

“oh well now i see why they ran so swiftly,” this mysterious man says as he addresses you. “welcome back, (name); i was worried you weren’t going to make it this year.”

“mama was gonna come this year! dad promised!” the twin on your right says, taking the easy opportunity to slip his hand into yours.

“dad never breaks his promise, uncle crewel! never!” the one on the left clings to your entire arm like a snake.

“i see,” the man tuts, giving you a mischievous wink. “come on then; he also promised to attain this parade,” mumbled under his breath, “if only he stays in the mood to attend this one and not chase his beloved wife around.”

the twins, with a surprising amount of strength, drag you along.

so, against your will, you watch this halloween parade pass by. finally apart of the crowd, loved and cared about by people. not part of that outcrowd that has kept you isolated.

it comes and goes until finally the star of the show arrives, a man cloaked in black, a pumpkin as a head, riding the black stallion from your childhood.

you try to pull away. the twins hold on tight. you watch in betrayal as grim walks up to the horse, only to be scooped lovingly in the arms of the rider, purring away.

that man is going to kill me, you think as he draws closer on that ebony stead of nightmares.

then, finally, he stops his horse in front of you and offers his hand up to you like a man offering up his entire heart, body, and soul. the twin on the right slots your numb hand into the rider’s easily. you are lifted onto the horse, sandwiched between the neck and a warm body, resisting the urge to cry like a baby.

“my wife,” the man behind you breathes amorous on your neck, removing the pumpkin from his face.

a single gold/two gold eyes greet you with such love you almost cry. “how lovely of you to finally join us.”

when he kisses you, you do cry.

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

Meaningless Suffering ≠ Consequences: An SPOP Rant Analysis

so one huge argument i've seen from SPOP fans, when it comes to Catra's redemption is that “she got tortured and mind controlled by Horde Prime. she almost died at his hands. therefore, she faced the consequences of her actions.”

now.. could this be considered a consequence of her actions? the important question here is: why did Catra get punished by Prime? for going against his rules and freeing Glimmer. she got punished for doing one good thing. this was the consequence of her doing something right. if anything, she would be more discouraged to do good in the future, because the first time she does something good, she almost gets murdered for it.

but i digress. i've seen this trope be used with quite a few characters in media. the other example of this i want to talk about is Marcy from Amphibia. (spoilers for Amphibia below)

in the s2 finale, Marcy is revealed to have stranded her friends Anne and Sasha on Amphibia on purpose, because she didn't want to be alone. while this wasn't as bad as any of the shit that Catra pulled, it was still a fucked up thing to do. Marcy deliberately took Anne and Sasha away from their home and their parents, for her own selfish reasons.

like Catra, Marcy also has abandonment issues. her parents had informed her that they had to move and Marcy was terrified at the idea of having to leave Anne and Sasha behind. but that was still not an excuse for what she did.

not long after her secret was exposed, Marcy gets stabbed by King Andrias while trying to escape Amphibia. she doesn't die, of course, it's still a kid's show.

but to make things worse, she gets possessed by the Core later on, which is shown to be an extremely painful and traumatizing process (which they barely touch upon later). and then they show in a flashback that Anne and Sasha used to ignore Marcy and make her feel lonely, when this was not touched upon earlier in the series. in fact, Anne was shown to be very caring and attentive to Marcy up until this episode.

at this point, it's clear that the writers are trying to make the viewers feel sorry for Marcy. if they keep adding reasons why she's so miserable and traumatized, maybe the viewers would forget what she did to Anne and Sasha. right?

there is a small scene in s3 where Sasha questions why she should forgive Marcy, but it is quickly fixed by Anne telling Sasha that she should forgive Marcy. there's also a moment of realization for Marcy but even that is done in such a cliché and lighthearted manner, where the severity of her actions aren't addressed. and that's it. Marcy is rescued, she apologizes, and is immediately forgiven.

but then again, like SPOP, the last season of Amphibia was trashfire. i refuse to believe that people genuinely liked that season, it was so badly written and ruined everything that was set up prior to it.

anyway, let's come back to SPOP. it's clear that the writers of SPOP were also trying to do the same thing. put poor catgirl through the wringer, have her almost die and come back to life and voila! she is absolved of all her crimes.

for those of you who are still not convinced, let me try to make a real world comparison. let's just say i'm someone who bullies or abuses people. one day while getting home from school/work, i get hit by a car. i get grievously injured and go through a lot of pain. heck, maybe it even leaves some kind of permanent disability or injury.

is that a punishment for my actions? you can call it karma, but let's be real, karma doesn't exist. it's just a coincidence. and you bet i'm not going to wake up in the hospital thinking “this must be my punishment for abusing people”. if i really am an abuser who has no remorse for my actions, a random accident isn't going to change my mind.

and that's what happened with Catra too. she didn't consider Horde Prime's torture as a consequence of her actions. if anything, she used that as an excuse to mistreat Adora and the others even more. it's clear that she pitied herself for what happened. and everyone else pitied her, including the audience.

imagine if the good redemption arcs were written this way. imagine if, instead of working through his issues and facing actual consequences of his actions, Zuko was just tortured and traumatized even more by Ozai, and the Gaang just forgave him because they felt bad for him. yeah, people wouldn't be praising his arc anymore. or they would, who knows. i know i wouldn't be praising his arc.

because this is not the way to redeem a villain. the only way to redeem a villain is to have them face consequences of their actions and work for forgiveness. to show them consistently trying to make up for what they did and trying to be a better person, not because they want to be forgiven or accepted by the heroes, but because it's the right thing to do.

[sisterruthisconcerned]

A little fic of my oc Ruth and Frater based off the last chapter video! (This is my first fic in like ages so sorry if it’s not great )

“Fucking V!” Ruth lets out a sigh at that. It’s been everyday since Copia learned the truth of his successor. V this Fucking V that. Hey Ruth make sure to ban v necks! Even the plushias a form of intimidation.

Ruth continues her work, well tries to with all of the huffing and growling behind her. “This is the guy? Hmmph. What a joke” Ruth knows she shouldn’t poke the already stirred bear but she’s had enough of this V talk.

“My dear you do realize we have more important…affairs right now right? Maybe turn off your dinosaur and give me a hand.” Frater scoffs at the comment but continues on with his complaining. “I can barely even hear what he’s saying!”

Ruth takes a moment to play her cards. Telling him to knock it off has gotten her nowhere so far. Then a small smirk crosses her face, she knows what will get him to divert his attention back to her. Unfortunately it will come at the cost of getting no work done. With a subtle glide to his side she prods.

“You know, you might be right, my Papa.” The previous title hits its mark. Frater gives her a small glance, and a subtle change in posture. “There’s no need to be jealous, you’ve made an absolute empire my Papa.” Ruth’s hand guides his face towards hers. “As far as I’m concerned his papacy will pale in comparison to yours.”

An ace in the hole. With that Frater was on her faster than a rat up a drain pipe. They both were making quick work of riding up her dress when a knock interrupted them.

“Frater!” An accented voice comes through the door. “Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Ruth sighs as she tries to look like they weren’t just about to go at it. As much as she wanted work to get done, she also was desperately craving him. It’s been hell getting any time alone with him, let alone sex.

Ruth watches as Copias aunt and an unknown woman walk in. Frater attempts to make his way to them by nearly eating floor. “Hello! I am Fffrater.” He extends his hand to hers in greeting and somewhat embarrassment. “Judith”

Ruth watches the exchange from afar but something nasty is building inside and she’s not sure why. She hates the way this Judith looks at him. The way her earrings are obnoxiously huge and wrong. Interesting choice for the job. The longer their conversation goes the more Ruth begins to seethe. “Do you paint?” What kind of dumb question is that, and of course she does.

As the two leave, both of them let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding. A nasty little question pops into Ruth’s head but she doesn’t want a fight. Especially when they were so close to finally getting relief earlier. “She was…lovely.” The sentence felt like sandpaper on her tongue. Copia gives her a glance, eyes wondering around her figure.

“Heh yes she was. But those are dying words on your tongue my love. Who’s jealous now?” Ruth wants to strangle the life out of him for that comment but she’s too pent up to really care. They both make their way to each other quickly and make haste in getting what they really want.

[dootznbootz]

Hey you might’ve said something on this before, what are your thoughts on Odysseus staying on circes Island for a whole year?

Behold! What I consider to be my greatest achievement!

(It's in my bio but I'll make it bigger. I need this to be seen lol)

If you mean for fic stuff, that's something different lol

The Odyssey only explicitly says that Circe and Odysseus have sex only ONCE. That's what I'm going with. There's a reason why she only wants him once and it's not because of him. To not spoil, she basically sees mortals as really gross but extremely fascinated and endeared to them.

She's huge into studying the behaviors of animals and humans. Honestly that whole "gain trust" was just a ploy as she heard from Hermes about his weird great grandson "who only craves one drink" (AKA Water Wife) and she wants to "Study" him. He's also a fucking pretty boy lol

There's more to it but I gotta keep some secrets.

She takes on the form of Penelope when she realizes her "subject of study" isn't applying himself to her "experiment". (not gonna write out how she takes on the form because it's long but know she does)

Once Odysseus wakes up, he realizes that wasn't "his Penelope" at all and is basically shellshocked until his men get turned back and he just breaks down.

After that he absolutely avoids her. at least avoids being one on one with her. He's terrified of her. He doesn't want that to happen again.

She's intrigued by his behavior not only because of how he treated "Penelope" but also "why are you scared of me? What did I do?"

Idk Snippet:

"My lady, are you not going to help him?" "He didn't ask me so I shall not do anything. If he wants something he needs to ask." Circe looked down on the water, into the light rippling upon it. Helios' child privilege She watched as he ran off into a nook of the room where the men all slept, frantically pulling off his tunic. He felt around his shoulder where she had just touched him, patting at it as though he was looking for a wound. (she did not grab too hard, did she?) He breathed hard, both hands reaching up to clutch the opposite shoulder as he bent forward and shook some more. Circe tilted her head. "I've never seen a man act like this before… I mean he knows I will not harm him. Why does he avoid me?"

Yes, he still dances and feasts with his men but he has nightmares about "wrong Penelope" and also is just walking on eggshells all the time.

When his men finally ask him to leave, he also definitely does but...He wants to go on his own to see her. He doesn't want to have another "exchange" in order to leave. He'll walk to Circe's door, freeze, only to turn around and be like "I'll wait until she's in a good mood."

Eventually Polites and Eurylochus find out he hasn't even TRIED to ask her and get frustrated and while they're understanding, they're also fed up.

For Circe, it's like a comparison of idk, watching a little hamster in a hamster cage and the hamster is terrified of you. Anytime you open the door and reach your hand in (aka try to talk to him), he freezes and lets you pet him a little but scared out of his little mind. You wanna see if he wants to come to the door but nope, he just runs away from you. As soon as she closes the cage after petting him, little dude goes to hide and cry in his little plastic dome lol. Circe's also observing him the entire time and studying him in a way.

She's also very much doing a "fine. I won't do anything unless you ASK. Where's the bravery you are so well-known for, Sacker of Troy?"

I wanna play with the idea of his guilt and shame in how it wasn't like Calypso where he literally couldn't move and became her doll essentially. He still consented to Circe but wasn't enthusiastic until she was "Penelope". And he should've known it was all wrong. but magic and herbs muddles the mind.

He has more trauma from Calypso clearly but so much shame from Circe. He also constantly wants to make sure Penelope is the REAL Penelope when he comes home. asking her specific questions and stuff.

Another half-assed Snippet of wip:

“And because of how you treated he-me,” Penelope corrected, stroking his cheek. “Because of how you treated me, she turned our men back to humans?” He nodded blankly, his beard rubbing against her legs with the motion.  His face twisted up as a sob wrenched out. “It was never for her!” Penelope kept her hand still against his cheek. She blinked back her own tears. “Odysseus, you didn’t know. She took-” “I still gave!” “To me!” Penelope cried.  Odysseus blinked and lifted his head to look at her. “You thought you were with me. You gave to me.” Penelope took a deep and shaky breath, and held his gaze. “Odysseus, the Sorceress had to appear as me to even get you to do as she wished. Not only that but addled your mind with whatever that... dust was, yes?”  She traced along the beautiful silver hairs that rested on his temples, watching as his thoughts raced just underneath. She guided his gaze back to herself. “She used your adoration for me against you. Are you ashamed of how you feel for me?”

I want to make it clear that while what Circe did is bad, it's not what happened to Calypso. It's very fucking clear that he does not love Circe or "just wanted to get laid until his men spoke up." but she's morally gray in her own way.