Hello hello people, as promised i am writing the circe fic, here It is ready and all for You to enjoy, and the next will be the angelico fic as promised, now If anyone has any ideas of who i should write for i am open for sugestions!
Tw : mention of killing, yandere themes, dark content
Read at Your own risk!
Yandere genderbend circe x hermes!reader
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The first time you landed on his island, Circe tried to kill you.
It was instinct—something feral and unthinking, a reaction to the unwelcome presence of another god invading his solitude. His staff had been raised, his lips had begun to form the words of a spell that would twist your form into something small and weak, something lesser.
But you had only laughed.
Not out of arrogance. Not out of defiance. But something light, something effortless.
A laugh like the sound of the wind through the trees, like the sea kissing the shore.
Like you belonged anywhere and everywhere.
And somehow, Circe had found his hand lowering.
Somehow, he had found himself listening when you spoke.
Somehow, you had stayed.
And then you had returned.
Again.
And again.
Bringing messages, trinkets, news of the outside world. Sometimes, you simply came to rest. To stretch your wings beneath the sun, golden and glimmering, an unnatural thing in a place like this, but beautiful all the same.
Circe had watched from a distance at first, wary, suspicious.
But time passed, and he found himself accustomed to you.
To the rustling of your wings.
To the way you smiled at the waves.
To the easy way you moved through his world without fear.
It was unnatural, how quickly you settled into his life.
How quickly he let you.
It took him far too long to realize that he had begun waiting for you.
That when the wind whispered of a visitor, he looked up hoping it would be you.
That he had begun offering things to you.
A goblet of fine wine. A meal prepared with his own hands. Trinkets left in the places you liked to sit.
It was subtle at first. Nothing you would question. Nothing he would have to acknowledge.
And when you took them—when you smiled, accepted, thanked him with that easy warmth that no other god had ever given him—he felt something simmer.
It was not enough.
It would never be enough.
And then, one day, as you stretched in the sun, arms raised above your head, you sighed and spoke.
“I pity poor Penelope.”
Circe did not care about mortal women. Did not care for the stories of the weak things that men left behind. But he knew that name.
The wife of Odysseus.
The mortal that Odysseus had abandoned.
He said nothing, only watched you, only waited.
You looked at him then, smiling, eyes thoughtful.
“She waits for him, you know. It’s been years, but she waits. I try to help Odysseus when I can, speed his journey along. It’s the least I can do.”
Something snapped.
It was a quiet thing, a slow-burning thing, but it was there, sinking into his skin like poison.
You—his Little careless bird—helped him?
Odysseus? That wretched man?
A king, a warrior, a fool?
Circe said nothing, only hummed in response. But later, when you flew off, when your wings spread wide, catching the sun, he followed.
Not in body.
But in magic.
In whispers and scrying spells, in the soft pull of the world that told him where you would be.
And when he saw you laughing with Odysseus, offering guidance, speaking to the man as if he were worthy of your presence—
Circe ached.
With jealousy. With rage. With the unbearable knowledge that you would always be free.
That if you wished to leave him, you would.
That if you wished to never return, he would have no way to stop you.
No way—
Until he saw it.
A single, delicate feather, knocked loose by the wind, drifting from your wings to the earth below.
Circe’s hand shot out, grasping it before it could be lost.
Soft. Perfect. Yours.
It would be enough.
It would be everything.
And so he worked, pouring over ancient texts, whispering incantations into the dead of night, weaving a spell so deep, so tangled with fate that even you—a god of motion, of freedom, of sky and wind and sun-would not escape him.
You would never know.
Never notice the invisible thread that tied you back to him, that pulled you closer when you strayed too far.
Never know how often he watched, how often he waited.
And when you returned, unaware of the magic that now bound you, Circe smiled.
For the first time in an eternity, he felt at ease.
Until you spoke of Odysseus again.
Until you sighed and said, “I hope he makes it home soon.”
And Circe realized—
Odysseus had to die.
Not just Odysseus.
All of them.
Every foolish mortal that stood beside him, that traveled with him, that took your time, your words, your attention.
He would turn them into pigs.
He would end them.
And when he was done—
You would only have him. And who knows, with the free time that You now had maybe he could finally, finally take It a step further, yes...
He could provide everything You wished for in this island, he's sure anyone would love to settle down here...
Even If that settle down means a broken Wing, he will get YOU to come home, his home, Your home.