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marvelstoriesepic · 2 months ago

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Whumpcember (day 27)

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Prompt: Hypothermia

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: vivid descriptions of hypothermia; desperate!Bucky; Hydra; slight mentions of Bucky’s past

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

Pang. Pang. Pang.

It’s almost rhythmic, the way Bucky’s metal fist hits the strong, reinforced door of the room you’re trapped in.

You stand off to the side, pressing a finger to your earpiece, trying once more to summon aid.

Only static answers you, sharp and grating, hissing in your ear. You grit your teeth.

Bucky lets out a frustrated grunt and slams his fist harder.

You step forward, intending to tell him to stop, to conserve his strength, to redirect his anger into a better plan since the door doesn’t seem to budge at all.

But then you notice it, the faintest shift in the room.

Your skin tingles at the back of your neck and underneath your tactical suit.

The air is sharper. It’s colder.

You glance up at the small vents near the ceiling and find their slotted mouths releasing thin, ghostly fog that drifts downward.

Your stomach plummets to the ground.

“Bucky,” you say, voice quieter than you intended, eyes still on the vents.

Bucky doesn’t turn, but his hits have stopped. His metal fist rests against the door. You make out his head tilting slightly, acknowledging you.

“Bucky,” you repeat, more insistent, more warningly. “Look!”

He does turn now, his eyes on you before moving up to where you are looking. His gaze narrows as the fog becomes more visible, coiling in haphazard spirals before dissipating.

He doesn’t say anything, but the way his jaw tightens, the way his body turns to solid stone says he understands.

He then takes a step toward the control panel, his metal arm flexing instinctively. “We need to figure out how to shut this down. Fast.”

But you don’t know how fast you can make it.

The room already feels smaller, the walls seeming to close in, their cold presence pressing against you. You rub your arms, trying to ward off the frost spreading in the air.

But your cheeks start to sting and your skin tightens.

You are trapped in the sterile and metallic control room of a Hydra facility.

And if that wasn’t bad enough already, it’s not just a control hub. It’s also a containment chamber, and how it looks like, designed to neutralize intruders by pumping in freezing air when someone attempts to tamper with the control systems.

And since that’s the only reason you are in here, you fell for it.

Surveillance suggested the base holds remnants of sensitive data Hydra has been safeguarding, with a high likelihood that it could detail sleeper agents or hidden cells.

Bucky and you were paired and tasked with accessing the main control room, disabling the security grid, and providing an opening for the rest of the team to neutralize the facility.

And well, that didn’t go as planned.

Hydra has always been cruelly inventive and the freezing protocol seems as effective as inhumane to you.

Bucky immediately started to react the second a low beep emitted from the console, followed by an ominous hiss as the lights overhead flickered and shifted to an emergency red glow.

And he would have made it out before the heavy door slammed shut behind you since he’d been guarding the entrance.

But only without you.

And that didn’t seem to be an option for him.

You tried again and again to call out to the team.

Though it was futile from the start.

The base’s interior is heavily shielded, preventing outside communication.

Your teammates had a backup plan to breach the outer defenses if you two went radio silent, so they wouldn’t immediately realize something was wrong until it was too late.

The frost freezes up the walls, tiny ice particles wandering along the surfaces.

The air you draw into your lungs feels sharp, like shards of ice scraping the back of your throat.

Your muscles contract, huddling inward in a futile attempt to shield themselves.

Stiff and numb fingers try to tap against the slowly freezing metal of the console, but your movements are turning clumsy.

Bucky walks over to you. He seems to hold up better than you, but you see that this situation gnaws at him. His frown is in place, his shoulders are rigid and you don’t want to know the places his mind is traveling.

After all, this is not his first encounter with Hydras frost for him.

He looks over the consoles in front of you, glancing over the wires and frozen circuits.

“I don’t think p-punching it will help.” You try to say it lightly, bringing in some humor in your situation but your voice is shaking as much as your body.

Bucky gives you a sidelong glance. “You’d be surprised how often that works,” he deadpans.

You try to laugh but it falls flat.

The icy mist tumbles through the air so innocently, making it colder and colder, and then pounces on you so piercingly intense, it makes your breaths falter.

Warmth feels so far away. Seconds are stretching.

Bucky doesn’t glance back at the console.

He is watching you with furrowed brows.

His flesh hand brushes over your arm, trying to gauge your condition.

“Hey,” he says, almost sharply, but so full of concern. “You with me?”

You nod, but it’s sluggish. Unconvincing. Your teeth chatter as you try to speak. “I’m- I’m fine.”

Bucky grits his teeth, his jaw working roughly. “Don’t lie to me.” His voice sounds thick.

He pulls you close then. His arms wrap around you with a firmness that feels protective, desperate even.

You don’t resist, wouldn’t even have the strength to, and lean into him. Your body is shaking against him, your muscles seizing violently. It drains you rapidly. You do your best to try and let the warmth of his body temperature battle against the cold settling into your skin and sinking deep and even deeper into your bones.

It crawls into your ears, turning them numb and unresponsive. Sounds seem muted, as if the chill has even frozen the air’s ability to carry them.

The temperature drops and drops so rapidly.

You feel Bucky’s head right beside yours. His breath fanning over your cheek. “Stay upright, sweetheart. Alright? Don’t sit down. Try and move your legs.”

With that order, he brushes a trembling hand against your cheek for a split second before reluctantly letting go of you and storming toward the door again with clenched fists.

Another pang sounds out as Bucky slams his fist against the steel door again, each strike reverberating through the room. His hits are more frantic than before and there is no rhythm at all.

“Come on!” he shouts, his voice cracking.

The door doesn’t budge and he lets out a guttural roar, his fist slamming against the unyielding surface one last time before turning back to you.

You really tried.

You tried to follow his orders and stay upright, perhaps move through the room and keep yourself in motion.

But your knees were so weak and you let them crumble.

With an anguished sound that might have been your name, Bucky rushes back to you, dropping to his knees.

Your head dips forward before jerking back up, fighting to stay conscious.

“No! Y/n! You’re not doing this. Stay with me.”

You try to smile but it’s weak. “I’m just- just tired,” you murmur, voice slurring.

“No,” he snaps, shaking you just enough to make you focus on him. His eyes are wide, frantic. “You don’t get to sleep, you hear me? You sleep, you die!”

He’s pressing you against him, holding you so tightly.

The cold claims your flesh and veins. Your blood feels slowed.

His flesh hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your freezing skin in a way that’s almost tender, though his voice is anything but soft.

“You don’t get to do this to me,” he growls, his lips close to your ear. “You don’t.”

There has been pain. In your toes, your fingers, your ears.

But you feel it fade. And you know you should panic, because this is a terrible sign. But your mind becomes singular in its focus, so obsessed with the absence of heat, the ache of it so intense and pervasive, there is no room for much else.

Exhaustion tries to close your eyes. It weighs you down, trying to make you stop moving at all.

But you fight. You fight against your own body.

Bucky’s flesh hand trembles against you, though whether from the cold or the panic, you’re not sure.

His eyes are jumping across the room, from the control panel, to the vents, to the door, and back to you.

Bucky’s breath comes fast, visible puffs of white in the freezing air. You hear him faintly mutter to himself. Or rather curse.

All you manage is to let out a sigh. The exhale lets a tiny ghost rise before your face. But it fades too quickly. Your breathing began to slow already.

Bucky presses his forehead against yours, rocking you slightly in his lap, tightly cradled against his chest to keep you moving and give you more of his warmth. His stubble brushes against your icy skin.

You meet his eyes, but your gaze is weak.

His gaze is wild. Darting between focus and frenzy. His brows are knit together so tightly, forming deep creases that dig into his forehead like scars of desperation.

“Stick with me, alright? We’ll get outta here,” he breathes. But he barely even managed that. And it sounds more like a plea than a promise.

You nod faintly against him. Your eyes fall shut for a moment.

“No, no, no,” he croaks out, rocking you more forcefully. “Eyes on me, doll! Come on.”

Your eyelids feel frozen together but you manage to break through. Though it takes so much energy.

But looking back at Bucky’s expression might even be harder.

His lips are trembling at the corners. His eyes are glassy and so intense, shimmering with a desperation so vivid, it seems to cry out silently.

“Hold tight, sweetheart.” He swallows. “There’s gotta be somethin’ we can do. Something to stop this.”

His words are fierce, determined, but his gaze says something else entirely as he sweeps his frantic eyes across the room once again.

You’re trying your best to help, scanning the space through the haze clouding your vision, coming from the freezing mist.

You notice something. It’s barely noticeable against the frost-covered wall but the sight of it roots you in place, not from the cold this time.

Since Bucky’s arms are still pressing you to him, he feels you stiffen against his chest. But to be real, he would have noticed if you were across the room. His sharp instincts are always in tune with you, even more so in this freezing hell.

“What is it?” he demands, his voice rough with concern. His flesh fingers brush your face, coaxing your attention back to him. “You got something in mind?”

You don’t meet his eyes. Instead, you shake your head faintly. A weak denial, that falters the second you try to hold onto it.

“Doll,” he warns, his tone low, his desperation edging in. Your silence is unnerving him. “Talk to me. What is it?”

You let out a shallow breath. It’s fragile, just like you, trembling and on the verge of breaking.

Bucky’s grip on you tightens.

“C’mon, sweetheart. I really need you to talk to me.” His voice is strained. “If you’ve got an idea, tell me. Whatever it is, we’ll make it work.”

The frost crackles in the background.

You let out a sigh and nod faintly, reluctantly, toward the corner of the room. Toward the frozen console that glints from the crystals of the ice.

“If we c-can short-circuit that p-panel,” your voice is barely above a whisper, “it might s-stop the c-cold.”

Bucky’s eyes dart to the console the second you mention it, then back to your face, searching it as though he could pull the rest of the plan from your expression alone to spare you the energy to talk.

But your expression falters and his brow is furrowed so tightly it’s hard to look at.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “So what’s the problem?”

You shake your head, your body sagging further into his. He shifts to hold you better but his gaze is fixed on your face. “But-” you struggle, the word escaping you as a faint breath, lips trembling from more than just the cold, “it might fry your arm.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Bucky-”

“No,” he cuts you off, shaking his head firmly, muscles straining in his face. His flesh hand wraps around your shoulders like it could anchor you to him. “I’m bein’ dead serious. I don’t care what happens to me. I don’t care what happens to my arm.”

Those are the words you expected to hear. And you hate them.

His voice is hard, but his gaze softens when he sees your expression. There is something determined there, but also something tender, something so soft, something unshakable that makes you want to bury deep into his chest and never leave it again.

“I’ll be fine, doll. Promise. But I have to do this.” His voice is soft. Gentle. And he lets his lips brush against your cheek.

You try to protest. Try to shake your head. A faint whimper leaves your lips.

“Don’t care what happens to me. Only care about you, doll. And I’ll get you the fuck outta here.”

His hand again cups the side of your face and holds your gaze with so much intensity, blue eyes piercing you more than the cold, it leaves you breathless.

Then, he moves into action, setting you against the wall so carefully, brushing your hair back from your face with a tenderness none of the others had ever seen him with.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, his voice pleading. So earnest.

You do your best to give him a nod and watch as he strides toward the console.

His broad shoulders block your view for a moment, but you can see the resolution in every movement, the way his metal arm flexes as he tears away the frozen panel with one single tug.

Sparks erupt as he rips at the wires, and the sharp scent of burning metal fills the air.

All you can do is watch with your heart frozen in fear.

The console flickers violently, the room trembling slightly as the system begins to overload.

Bucky grits his teeth. His arm is sparking wildly by forcing the wires together, his entire body braced against the surging energy.

“Come on,” he mutters through clenched teeth, his voice barely audible over the crackling noise. “Come on, shut it down!”

And then, with a resounding hiss, the freezing air stops.

Bucky stumbles back. His metal arm twitches erratically.

“Bucky,” you whisper, fearing for his condition.

He only turns and crosses the room to you in a few strides, pulling you back into his arms.

Your face is pressed against his neck, his lips are by your ear.

“Told you I’ll be fine, doll,” he whispers, his voice a low rasp, thick with relief that feels like it’s been dragged from the depths of his chest. But it’s unsteady. It’s strained. There is a tremor in it that betrays him.

Because you are still so cold.

So cold in fact, it feels no longer like an invader. It becomes everything. It consumes you. It swallows your awareness. Leaving only the faintest sense of resistance. It’s so thin and fragile, you can barely remember why you’re still holding on.

His breath brushes against your temple, warm compared to the chill that has settled into your body. But it’s not enough. Not even close.

Your skin is ice beneath his touch and the tremors that whacked your body before are gone now. It’s quiet. Too quiet.

You can’t tell where your body ends and the cold begins. It’s inside you, crawling through your veins like liquid frost, winding tighter and tighter with every slow beat of your heart.

Your skin doesn’t feel like skin anymore - it feels like glass.

“Hey,” he exclaims a little louder, his flesh hand soothing over your hair in a gesture so gentle it could shatter you into a thousand frozen pieces. “You’re okay. You’re with me. We did it, doll. You did it. The others will know something went wrong. They’ll come looking for us. You just have to hold on a little longer, yeah?”

His breaths are tangled in his words, rushing in too fast or skipping beats entirely. It makes his speech uneven.

But you can’t respond.

You want to reach for him, to speak, to swim in the warmth of his voice. But it’s impossible.

You know he’s holding you. You know he has his arms wrapped around you. You know you are pressed against his chest. The erratic pounding of his heart is by your ear. The weight of your body is resting against him. But it all feels so distant, like trying to recall details of a dream that is already fading from your memory.

Each gasp you try for feels farther apart, each exhale weaker than the last, dissipating into the air like it had never existed at all.

And you know Bucky feels it. Feels the way your body is slipping into a stillness that seems to terrify him enormously.

His breath catches.

“Don’t do this,” he grounds out, voice sharp and urgent. “No. Don’t you dare do this, Y/n!”

His metal arm curls tighter around you, and the steel, usually so cold itself, feels like a furnace compared to the icy skin underneath your suit.

He shifts you in his arms, his movements sluggish and frantic. Your head lolls against his shoulder and his flesh hand is at the back of your neck, fingers threading in your hair.

You feel so heavy. So impossibly heavy. You don’t even know where your hands are. Where your toes are.

“Don’t leave me,” he pleads, his voice cracking.

But your eyelids only flutter. They’re so heavy.

Bucky’s voice is there, somewhere in the muddle of your mind, but the words don’t land right. They sound muffled, like he might speak to you from underwater. Or as though you have fallen too far away to reach him anymore.

Lips press roughly against your temple. His hands try to rub warmth into you.

“No,” he growls, the anger in his tone masking the helplessness that causes him to shake his head and shake your body with it, due to the force, as if sheer denial could change the reality in front of him. “You don’t get to check out on me. Stay with me, Y/n. Fight for me. Come on. I know you can do it. Please! I know you can fight this.”

He gasps between phrases, trying to pull oxygen into lungs that refuse to expand fully, each sound on the verge of dissolving into sobs at any moment.

He buries his face in your hair, squeezing you against him.

“Sweetheart, please,” he cries, his words a single prayer to whoever will listen, so vulnerable and laid bare in a way Bucky Barnes rarely allows himself to be.

It elicits that faint, resilient ember beneath the frost you are succumbing to and you do your best to nurture it. It burns. Just a little. So small. But it’s there. And it burns because of him - because of Bucky.

The hectic rise and fall of his chest against you, the cracks of desperation in his hold on you, the tremble in his voice when he repeats the words stay with me and please, Y/n over and over, as raw and real as the ice in your veins - they make you promise to keep trying to hold on.

And you will. For him.

#whumpcember2024 #whumpcember24 #whumpcember day27 #bucky marvel #marvel mcu #marvel bucky barnes #bucky barnes whump #whump bucky #bucky whump #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes angst #avenger!bucky

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shaisuki · 5 months ago

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📌 day seven: gangbang + seijoh four

the king was always generous. your dear father was and as the princess of the kingdom, your birthdays are always celebrated. you were his favorite child and was always pampered with all the things you could want and the best protection the kingdom can have. your childhood friends that you always used to frolicked in the meadows. making mud pies and throwing dirt to each other's faces was your body guards. anointed by your father as knights. sworn oaths they are, declaring loyalty to the crown and foremost your security.

it intimidated you that your friends are now the ones who protect you. they can be overbearing at times and it was annoying. they act like you aren't allowed to step outside when you really spent it with them after the lessons that you would study.

your birthday was coming and all you wished is to go outside. your body guards would surely allow that, right?

well, not without precautions and you want to be angry at them. it wasn't necessary. the kingdom was peaceful along with the neighboring kingdoms. no one would harm you except for this four knights slash body guards of you that is surely hurting your feelings but you can convince them right?

the meadow was lush with greenery. untouched by the others except you and your knights. this was the place where you all hangout when you were all a children and since then it has been the place where they would take you. they finally agreed to your whims after exchanging spits with them. they can't really say no to their princess when she's offering and it would be an insult to your father, the king.

that's why your skirt are bunched up to your waist. their armors are scattered in a pile in the tree along with their shields and swords. left in their shirts and pants hanging dangerously to their hips.

“what's the matter, princess?” the second youngest knight, hanamaki snickers at you. he was behind you. supporting your weight while you attempt to slide your cunt to issei's fat cock. “we've already stretched your pussy, surely you can take issei's cock and it would be easier for you to take us.” he chastises you like a child similar when one can't do what they were boasting about and you were one.

it was heat of the moment. they were really annoying and it drove you to snap and then this happened. you didn't expect that matsukawa would be this huge. huge was an understatement. it was unreal for such man to possess such size for a cock and you were more than thrilled to take it but it was almost impossible for it to fit inside you. he would tear you in half with that size.

a cocky grin is etched to his handsome face. issei is handsome as the the other three. they were handsome and would surely be mistaken for royalty but the birth they were born too was considered to be a misfortune but to them it didn't really matter when they have their chubby princess to take care of them. kind you are as you were stubborn. “are you sure you can do it, your highness?” oikawa's tone of voice was mocking you. imitating your voice and repeating the words you said earlier. “makki, help our little princess. it would be trouble if he can't take issei.” he orders to the man behind you. his lips curled up in a smile. hanamaki obliged to his order.

“take it easy, princess.” a moan softly escapes your mouth as he spreads your folds. exposing that cute clit of yours. he holds your plush waist. controlling your body to brush your slit to matsukawa's bulbous tip of his cock. the contact making you shiver. oikawa grasps your jaws. forcing you to look at him. his brown eyes swirling with mischief. “i'm going to kiss you, okay?” you nodded and his lips are in yours. you opened your mouth, giving him access to swirl his tongue inside you and you returned the gesture in the same fervor.

while you and oikawa kissed. the other two made their move to distract you further. after making sure you were wet enough. you slowly sank to issei's cock. it was just the tip but you were squeezing him tight. earning the owner of this huge cock a grunt. “just a little more.” you hear hanamaki whisper to you. kissing your back in featherlight kisses and slowly and painfully, half of matsukawa's cock are inside you. it took a few minutes for you to adjust his length inside of you before taking more.

matsukawa was getting impatient from how slow it was. he grabs your wide hips in a firm grip and with a sharp thrust, his cock was fully inside you. the sudden movements earned a muffle gasp from you. he was so fucking big inside you and your walls were squishing his girth and you can feel him throbbing inside you. “good girl. i'm so proud of you, princess.” iwaizumi praises you. patting your round cheeks in a affectionate manner before dipping for a kiss.

hanamaki on the other hands was grateful, you were finally settled on issei's cock and it was his turn. he already prepped your ass hole and putting his cock to your other hole is the next thing he's going to do. slowly he was easing his length to you and he hears you whine in iwaizumi but continued to do so and then he was also now inside you.

iwaizumi broke the kiss. his cock are fully erect as he places it your lips. “open wide, princess.” you take his cock into your mouth. kissing the tip of his cock and slowly sucking his cock. licking his shaft in slow kitten licks. you alternate the ways you take his cock.

you hold issei's hand. intertwining your stubby fingers in his thick digits while your other hand holds oikawa's cock. pumping his cock with your hand. squeezing them occasionally that he would let out a moan. “that's right, princess. you're doing so good for us.” oikawa bit his lip to stifle his moan.

never you did felt so full before and you relished on it. being a princess was tasking and the opportunity came for you to get fucked by your knights, it was all worth for the trouble.

what a scandal! it was forbidden for a royal to have a relationship with a commoner, let alone the knights that was protecting you. not one but four of them. imagine that the five of you will be caught at such lewd position. it was going to be the cause of a war cause you can't keep your urges and the knights that holding control over their princess but a knight could never say no to their princess.

good thing the meadows where they currently are fucking you is a place only known to a few, that few includes you and your knights. it will cause a rift between you and your kingdom if this was going to be found out but it wouldn't be easy. you were all alone with them and that's all that matters. your holes are being stuffed with their fat cocks. using you as their own relied and this was the best reward they can ever have.

iwaizumi holds your head while he keeps rutting his cock to your mouth. he can't stop moving his hips. your mouth's warm and wet and your tongue feels good too when he leaves you in charge to his cock. oikawa was turning into a needy son of a bitch from how he whines. your hand is as good to your mouth.

the other two who was drowning in bliss to your pussy and ass isn't doing good. you're just so fucking tight and it was being a challenge to fuck you but that wouldn't deter them. the slap of their heavy balls are like thunder from how loud it sounds.

hanamaki's grip on you is tight. holding your round belly for his dear life while he fucks you from behind. using it as a leverage to steady himself while he bites your shoulder to hide his moans and issei's mesmerized from where he is. laying on his back while you ride him with a cock in your ass. the sight of your breasts bouncing and your belly keeps him going and he looks at the happenings above him. iwaizumi's riled up from fucking your mouth, his balls slapping to your chin and oikawa's pathetic as ever. getting off to your beautiful hands and it just made his cock twitch. watching his knight brothers use you, their royal highness being fucked by her knights.

a princess should never level herself with her subjects, your governess told you that many times. a princess should only be ever with a prince, that's why they told you but you never liked the others. you much prefer your knights. they weren't afraid to show you what they're like and they're all honest with you. that's why you liked them using you like this.

their cocks rubbing all over you. rubbing their musky scent and when they cummed. it filled you with joy. the thick and warm cum of them is covering all over you and you love how you felt in your insides. issei was still cumming all over you and hanamaki's slowly thrusting inside your ass. oikawa and iwaizumi is forcing you to drink their cums which you gladly accepted. it just makes your cunt throb again. craving their cocks.

your knights weren't satisfied and that was good thing, you weren't either. it would be a long day for all of you, you hoped that this will continue after this. it was your happy ending after all.

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authorhjk1 · 9 months ago

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hii! this is my first time sending something like this, but I want to secure Karina for color blue. I mean, look at her in that dress. it literally screams EASY ACCESS. besides, her official color is blue. gotta give it to her fosho

Blue

(Karina X Male Reader)

Your girlfriend's moans echo through the room as you drive yourself deeper into her. She is leaning against one of the arcade games, her back pressing against the screen.

"I can't take it anymore!"

Karina whines as you keep groping her tits over her dress.

"Please, baby! Let me cum!"

She closes her eyes, determined to not cum without permission. But it becomes harder and harder for her.

"No. Admit it first!"

That's the whole reason, why you're railing her into the machine behind her.

"A-Admit what?"

Karina tries to play innocent. She knows she is wrong, but she would never admit it. Not in a million years.

"I'm gonna use you, until I brake you."

You growl at her, annoyed by her antics.

"As if."

A yelp escapes her mouth shortly after her reply.

"Oh trust me. I can go until tomorrow morning."

To make your point, you reach for the straps of her dress. Pulling them off her shoulders, you start to undress Karina, while you keep fucking her hard and fast. Her legs are wrapped around yours, the heels of her white shoes dig into your lower back.

Her dress has already been bunched up around her waist, when you started to fuck her. And now, you pull the upper part of her dress down. You expose her tits, earning another moan from her.

"I-I can't hold it in anymore."

Karina sighs, begging you to give her a break.

You eventually give in. You thrusts slow down as Karina tries to catch her breath. Your hard pounding will make it difficult for her to walk comfortably tomorrow.

Just when Karina lets her guard down, you lean forward capturing one of her nipples with your mouth.

"Oh my god."

A deep groan escapes her mouth as she feels your tongue flick against the light brown nub. You have your way with your girlfriend's chest, occasionally switching sides. Soon, her nipples are covered in your spit. She is barely able to hold on as you keep moving inside of her. You go very slow, but you are still dragging your cock along her walls.

Karina starts to repeat your name again and again as you begin to work towards your former pace. Your face is still buried in her tits, you thrust forward, rocking her against the machine.

"I-I'm gonna cum!"

"No!"

You speak into her chest and for a moment, it seems like she didn't hear you, but then you feel her taking deep breaths, trying to push through her pleasure. Due to your tortures licks and thrusts, a small puddle has formed on the ground, right underneath Karina. Her juices drip off your cock, whenever you pull out halfway. And her head rolls back, whenever you bury yourself to the hilt inside her snatch.

"Fuck, Karina."

You are starting to approach your own orgasm. Your girlfriend's tight pussy doesn't give you much of a choice. It has an unbreakable grip on you. You can feel how even more blood rushes towards your cock, making it even harder as your body starts to prepare itself.

Karina must feel it too. Her moans and whines grow louder yet again. She knows that, if you cum inside of her, she won't be able to hold back her own climax. And that's exactly what you are going for.

"You make such a pretty cum dump."

You tease her, wanting to humiliate her, after what she has done. Karina tries to grasp onto the last straw of self-control and honor she has left. You feel her tighten around you as you throb inside of her. Your hands roam her naked skin, your lips peppering her upper body with kisses.

"Oh god, Karina."

You growl into her ear, sending goosebumps down her spine.

"Alright! Alright! I admit it!"

Her eyes are shut tight as she is too embarrassed to look at you.

"I-I'm the one who ate your ice cream."

"Knew it."

You whisper into her ear as you slowly leave her pussy. Only your tip touches her lower lips. The both of you stare into each other's eyes. Your next thrust is the final one.

#ask #kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #aespa #aespa smut #aespa girls #aespa karina #karina smut #karina #yu jimin

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sakur4ii · 29 days ago

Text

Code Name: Rabbit

Chapter 2: The Rescue

←previus next→

English is not my first language!!

Warning: kidnapping, death, mention of corpse, mention of prostitution.

January 18, 22:00 PM

You're furious right now, and your heavy footsteps give it away. As soon as you finished watching the footage from all the cameras at that specific moment, you got up from the couch, changed into black, comfortable clothes, and put on your mask.

You're armed—one gun on each side of your belt and knives tucked under your pants in case of an emergency. You enter the building practically fuming, but even with your heavy steps, you're silent due to your lack of footwear—a signature trait of Rabbit that Lyara always found amusing.

You climb the stairs, noting the deafening silence, the cold beneath your feet as you ascend each step. You try to control yourself, reminding yourself not to kill anyone the moment you reach your destination. As you arrive at the base of the stairs leading to the third floor, you glance at the camera Lyara installed—when it recognizes someone, the live feed is displayed on a screen on the third floor. Good. They know you're here, and you want them to.

You start climbing the stairs, your brow furrowed—it's been that way since you left your apartment. You reach the door, which only opens when you place your hand on a touchscreen, identifying you as one of the few people with access to this floor. The door slides open, and pastel colors flood your vision—a bunch of sofas, a mini kitchen, a giant TV, and the bathroom door, all visible from the entrance. Everything except what lies behind the curtain against the back wall.

Seated on the couches in the center are the girls Lyara asked to gather, Omar, and the one person you’d shoot on sight if you could.

Judging by their worried expressions and the fact that no one greeted you, they’ve already noticed your bad mood. So you decide to keep this short and walk toward the center.

"Dan, come to my office, please." You manage to keep your tone calm.

You don’t see it, but Dan swallows hard.

You move to the curtain and push it aside, revealing a door. You open it and step into your office without looking back, walking toward your desk and pulling out one of the guest chairs.

Dan—the guard or bodyguard responsible for securing the stairs leading to "The Forbidden Garden"—enters your office, shutting the door behind him. Smart choice. You offer him a seat, and with poorly concealed anxiety, he decides to take it.

Without him noticing, you draw one of the guns from your belt, step behind him, and press the barrel against the back of his head. His face twists in absolute horror.

"I think you know why we're in this situation right now, so start talking, or I’ll blow your brains out." Your voice remains eerily calm, though inside, you’re itching to pull the trigger.

Dan starts stammering.

"They blackmailed me! I swear!"

"Who?" You press the gun harder against his head, urging him to keep talking.

"A man—from the Garden! He was wearing one of those white escort masks..."

You shove the gun against his head again, and he stammers once more.

"He asked for information about you and her. I told him the little I knew, then he gave me his phone number and told me to call him the moment she was alone in the building. Please, don’t kill me."

The man looks like he's about to burst into tears, sweating like a pig. There's something he’s not telling you, and that only deepens your frown.

"What did he blackmail you with?" You push the gun harder against his skull, and his reaction confirms you hit the right question.

Before speaking, he swallows loudly.

"I already told you everything. Please, don’t kill me."

You lean in close to his ear, tilting your head so he can't see you, but he can catch a terrifying glimpse of your mask.

"With. What. Did. He. Blackmail. You?"

"He offered me a million dollars."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he squeezes his eyes shut, expecting you to shoot him.

"Please, please, please..."

You almost pity him. Almost.

Your jaw tightens. This idiot can’t be serious. You knew something was off about him when Lyara hired him, but his record was spotless—too perfect for someone wanting to work in one of the darkest corners of Gotham. Lyara convinced you it was just paranoia. And now, this man has betrayed you both for money. Fantastic.

"Give me the phone number and get out. You have one week to find another job. You're fired."

Dan pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, sets it on your desk, and bolts out of your office as fast as he can.

You start pacing the room, replaying the traitor’s words in your head.

Then, you slam your fist into the nearest wall, ignoring the dull pain in your knuckles and the fresh hole in the concrete.

---

January 18, 23:45 PM

The night is dark; you can hear the crickets and the cars. Hidden in the bushes, you watch the kidnapper’s house, ignoring the cold and staying as concealed as possible. A drone hovers near one of the house’s windows, and even from a distance, you recognize it as one of Oracle’s drones. Fuck. You need to find a way inside without Barbara detecting you, and you must be careful—there’s a chance one of the Bats is already inside.

The house is registered under Marcel Gravois. Unfortunately, the man is dead, so you dug deeper, discovering that Elliot Gravois, Marcel’s grandson, inherited this house and several other properties. You have to thank Lyara for teaching you her hacking tricks, and also thank Elliot for being an idiot—it was as easy as tracking his number and pulling his IP. It didn’t give you an exact address, but this is the only house under a Gravois in the area.

Elliot Gravois seems to be involved in illegal activities beyond kidnapping; otherwise, Oracle wouldn’t be here. But you’ll investigate that later—right now, your priority is finding Lyara.

Silently, you step out of the bushes, feeling the cold grass beneath your feet. Near the house, you hear sounds of a fight coming from the top floor. You move in the opposite direction from where you saw the drone.

There are several windows. You approach the nearest one and pull up with all your strength—nothing, it’s stuck. You move to the next, but it has wooden planks nailed across it, so you don’t even try. The third is also locked. Frustrated, you approach the wooden door—also locked.

You sigh in resignation. Kicking the door down feels like a bad idea, so that leaves you with one option—the window near the drone. You walk toward it, and of course, it’s open. The drone turns toward you. You wave and make a shushing gesture, hoping it gives you the benefit of the doubt—or that you don’t end up in a cell within seconds.

"Alright, here we go," you think. You jump onto the window frame and, as quietly as possible, slip inside the house. The first thing you notice is the intense fight happening upstairs—walls shaking, furniture crashing, like they’re having a good time.

You reach for your belt and draw one of your pistols. Keeping controlled steps and maintaining a Low Ready stance, you begin clearing the perimeter.

The living room is surprisingly neat. No photos, no television. You check the kitchen—it looks used, but not much. Moving into the hallway, you notice a smaller drone following you. You turn—it’s another of Barbara’s drones. You ignore it. She was going to keep an eye on you anyway.

The hallway is empty—no paintings, no pictures, just closed doors. You scan each one. A bedroom with a bathroom—empty. A guest room—empty. A bathroom—empty. At the end of the hall, a different door. You press your ear against it—silence.

You glance at the drone, then press yourself against the wall, keeping your gun close to your shoulder with the barrel pointed upward. Your free hand grips the doorknob, turning it slowly and silently. As you open the door, you peek inside—a staircase leading down. A basement.

Your free hand returns to your gun, still aiming at the ceiling. Moving sideways, you descend carefully, step by step. The dust and dirt beneath your feet make you wince, and the creaking wood makes you tense. The drone behind you is getting on your nerves.

It’s pitch dark. If it weren’t for your rabbit mask, the dust would have you sneezing. Halfway down, the fight upstairs is no longer audible. If something happens to you down here and it’s not worth it, you’ll blame Barbara for the rest of your life.

A faint light catches your eye as the staircase takes a sharp turn. More steps lead further down. You crouch slightly, spotting the light illuminating a chair at the end of the basement. But it’s not empty—you see sock-covered feet.

Another step down—you see knees. Another—you see a lap. Step by step, until you finally see the unconscious figure.

As soon as you recognize the hair color, you holster your weapon and rush forward, heart pounding with anxiety and fear. You reach her and check her pulse.

Thump, thump, thump. Steady. You exhale in relief.

You bring a finger under her nose��she’s breathing evenly. Just unconscious, with some bruises.

Kneeling, you begin untying the rope binding her feet to the chair. That’s when you notice her dislocated knee. That bastard.

You start planning how to get Lyara to the hospital without revealing your identity. You pull the knife from beneath your pant leg and cut the ropes. But just as you finish freeing her, you notice the drone rotating between you and a whiteboard you hadn’t seen before.

Annoyed, you step away from Lyara and approach the board, noticing the photos pinned to it and the desk cluttered with papers beneath.

As soon as you see the images, your stomach churns.

Each picture shows a different woman. Some are naked, others clothed. Some are badly injured, while others show no physical wounds but wear expressions of despair, horror, fear—even rage. None of them were okay.

One of the photos is of Bea. Taken in this same basement.

You scan the papers on the desk, fury building inside you. Careful not to leave fingerprints, you sift through them. They’re reports—each woman listed like cargo. Names, ages, details. Some pages even have sticky notes—probably from Elliot Gravois.

Then you reach Bea’s file, and your heart sinks.

Name: Beatriz Sullivan

Age: 26

Sex: Female

Accepted or Rejected: Rejected

Reason: Not a requested woman. Clients do not want transgender women.

Post-it: January 18, The Burrow

Hands trembling, you pull out your phone and take pictures of everything—papers, images. You’re going to get to the bottom of this. You’re going to find out why Elliot Gravois made this personal.

Stowing your phone, you return to Lyara. Carefully, as if she were made of glass, you lift her bridal style and prepare to leave.

The drone follows, but this time, it moves ahead—leading the way. Good.

You ascend quickly, squeezing through the doorway without jostling the blue-eyed girl. The fight upstairs still rages. Practically sprinting through the hall, you hear a loud crash above—then silence. The fight is over. Shit.

Reaching the window, the smaller drone peels away, leaving you with the larger one, still stationed outside. You sit on the windowsill, swinging one leg out, then the other, making sure Lyara’s head doesn’t hit the frame.

You start moving quickly—but freeze. A shadow stretches from a nearby building.

You look up—and there it is.

Gotham’s most feared and admired silhouette.

You feel his eyes piercing into your soul. But you don’t have time for this.

You start walking again.

You don’t care if he follows. You’re heading straight to the hospital. You already have a plan.

---

You leave Lyara with the doctors and run out of the hospital—you need to get to your apartment as soon as possible, and luckily, it’s close. You sprint through the streets of Gotham, staying within the shadows. Your bare feet press against the cold pavement, adrenaline surging through your body, but all you can think about is Lyara.

Once you reach your apartment, you pull off your mask and rush to your bedroom. You change into something comfortable but not the clothes you usually wear as Rabbit. You get rid of your weapons, keeping only the knife hidden in your boot. Then, you head to the bathroom, wash your feet, and put on your shoes. Taking a moment, you run your fingers through your hair, throw on your signature cap, and leave your apartment. As you descend the building’s staircase, your phone rings—it’s a call.

You don’t stop walking. You keep moving down the stairs, exiting the building as you answer the phone.

—"Hello, good evening. Am I speaking with [Name] [Last Name]?" A woman’s voice comes from the other end of the line.

—"Yes. Who is this?" You respond, masking your breathlessness, pretending you weren’t waiting for this call or running through the streets.

—"I’m calling to inform you that Lyara Valtieri has been admitted to Mercy Hospital. Your number is listed as her only emergency contact. Could you come in to fill out some paperwork and discuss her condition?"

—"Of course. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes."

The woman hangs up after telling you they’ll be expecting you. You shove your phone into your pocket and start running even faster, this time with the wind at your back.

The night is surprisingly calm for Gotham, and you reach the hospital without any distractions or obstacles.

Inside, the stark white lighting is blinding compared to the dark streets. You approach the reception desk. The receptionist immediately recognizes your voice and hands you some forms to fill out. After completing them, she gives you directions to Lyara’s room. You thank her and head toward the elevator.

As you press the button for the third floor, you think about what the receptionist told you. Lyara is stable—some bruises, but the only serious injury is her dislocated knee. A couple of months in a cast, followed by rehab, and she’ll be good as new. Now, all that’s left is to wait for the drugs in her system to wear off. After some final tests, she’ll be discharged.

You step out of the elevator, making a few turns—right, then left—until you find room 407. Your hand grips the doorknob. You take a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds, and exhale slowly. Carefully, you crack the door open and peek inside.

Lyara lies unconscious on the hospital bed. The receptionist mentioned that she had woken up briefly, given her name, begged for you, and then passed out again.

You step inside and close the door behind you. Dragging the stool from the corner of the room, you place it beside her bed and sit down, gently taking her hand in yours.

Guilt settles in your chest. If you looked in the mirror right now, you'd probably have the expression of a kicked puppy. You truly feel awful. Both of you knew what you were getting into when you turned The Burrow into a place where information is sold—a meeting spot for the rich and the criminals, a refuge for women desperate for money.

You still remember how recruitment worked at the beginning—wandering through Gotham’s red-light districts, handing out business cards with the club’s address and a wad of cash to women who needed an escape. How difficult it was to earn the respect of the criminals in the area. And thank god it was Lyara who handled the rich clientele, because you can’t stand them.

At some point, exhaustion takes over. you don't even notice when you fall asleep.

---

As soon as Barbara saw a person wearing a black bunny mask with bulging red eyes, she should have alerted Tim, who was inside the house fighting with Elliot Gravois, informing him of an unwanted company and a possible threat. However, it was the gesture for silence that made her hesitate, because who sees a drone and asks for silence? So she decided to stay quiet and follow this mysterious person, there was no need to distract Red Robin for now.

What Barbara didn’t expect was to find a poor girl kidnapped in Gravois' basement, nor did she expect the mysterious person to come just to save her. She imagined her surprise when she saw the amount of information in that basement. She watched as you took pictures but decided to let it go, preferring to focus on helping you protect the girl, guiding you through the house.

—Who is that?— A rough voice asked over the communicator.

—Not a threat, let them go, the girl in their arms needs a hospital.— Oracle responded without room for debate, earning a grunt from Batman.

—Try to find the girl, maybe she can give us useful information.

—Of course.

Red Robin captured Elliot Gravois and decided to be the one to interrogate him. He didn’t touch the evidence, it wasn’t necessary; Barbara had scanned it with the drone, and the physical evidence could be handed over to Commissioner Gordon. While Red Robin interrogated Elliot, Batman called Nightwing. As soon as Oracle found the kidnapped girl’s name and the hospital she was admitted to, she sent the information to both of them so they could investigate together.

Barbara continued to delve deeper into the girl’s life. Her name was Lyara Valtieri, there was scarce information on her besides living in an apartment in the Upper East Side and owning a nightclub in The Narrows, nothing particularly important. There was barely any information about her parents, but it seemed she came from a wealthy family. This only made it more puzzling that she had been kidnapped, as up until now, the kidnapped women were prostitutes or homeless women without families—women who wouldn’t be missed. This made her furrow her brow in confusion.

She reviewed the information again—wealthy family, apartment in an affluent area, nightclub in The Narrows... Where was this nightclub located? Her hands quickly typed, finding the address and the name of the nightclub. "The Burrow" sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it... oh wait, of course! It was the nightclub her father mentioned at lunch, where they found a murdered woman... She typed again. Beatriz Sullivan, 26 years old.

A hunch led her to search through the reports she had scanned with the drone. She went through a lot of names of different ages and found what she was looking for. One of the women kidnapped by Elliot Gravois was that girl, Beatriz. Why did he leave the body at that nightclub? Why did he kidnap the owner? How could the two women be connected?

The night was going to be long.

Mercy Hospital; January 19, 4:57 AM

Your consciousness slowly awakens. You begin to hear muffled voices that become clearer as you start to stir. You feel a tight grip on your hand, which is strange because the grip seems like a pattern. You don’t open your eyes, even though your back hurts and you want to stretch, a voice in the back of your mind tells you to pretend to sleep. The voices are now clearer in your head, a man is speaking to Lyara.

—Did you know the man who kidnapped you?— The voice is serious but kind, with a tone of understanding, as if not trying to pressure her. You’ve heard that voice somewhere before.

—No, I’m sure I’ve never seen him before.— Lyara responds, she’s lying, but that’s something only you can tell. And even if the man notices, it could go unnoticed, as if she wasn’t sure she hadn’t seen him, as if she had forgotten, but the man doesn’t press.

A second voice surprises you, and this is when you’re grateful to have your face hidden between your arms because your eyes widen in surprise. Now you understand that the grips were Morse code "don’t move" was what Lyara wanted to tell you.

—Do you know the person who saved you? The girl with the bunny mask?— The voice is rough and intimidating, dry but direct, it’s impossible not to recognize it, because it’s Batman’s voice, and now you know who the other man was—Nightwing is in the room too.

You close your eyes again and try to focus on your other senses, especially touch and hearing.

Lyara tightens her grip on your hand, she’s good at acting but is too tired, afraid of slipping up if she hasn’t already. Two years ago, you both created an entire story for situations like this. You repeated the lie so many times that you almost started to believe it yourselves. But should she really? She could just say she didn’t know what they were talking about, she was unconscious anyway. Now she would appreciate having woken you up when she woke up.

—I’m not sure what are you talking about, Mr. Batman.— She opts to say.

Now, Batman is no fool, he’s been observing, scrutinizing her gestures and micro-expressions, but from his position at the door of the room, he can’t see the person who is sleeping next to her very well. He can’t see the grip on their hands because she made sure to hide them away from the bed, hoping Nightwing noticed that.

This interrogation isn’t helping them, they’re not getting any useful information, Batman grumbles. Nightwing looks at him over his shoulder and catches the message “let’s go,” so as soon as the younger one says goodbye, they both leave the room.

Once they leave, Lyara starts breathing normally again; she didn’t even know she had been holding her breath. You lift your head and stretch your back. The pain you had been ignoring starts to become unbearable, and the crack of your bones from stretching doesn’t surprise you. You let out a yawn.

—Oh my god, my heart almost fell out of my chest.— Lyara says, putting a hand on her chest and letting out a long sigh.

—How long have you been here?— You raise an inquisitive eyebrow that doesn’t last long, then rub your eyes to clear away the sleep.

—About five minutes before you woke up, when I noticed your breathing change, I almost freaked out.— She laughs and takes your hand when you place it back on the bed.

You can’t help but look at her with a mixture of concern and admiration. Even with the bruises on her face, even with a cast on her leg, she still finds a way to laugh.

—We’re going to have to talk about a lot of things, Lya.— You tighten your grip, and she gives you a sheepish smile.

—I know.— She whispers.

🩷🩷🩷

Tag list!!

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#x female reader #x reader #x fem reader #dick grayson x reader #batboys x reader #batfam x batsis #batfam x reader #cassandra cain x reader #damian wayne x reader #duke thomas x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #stephanie brown x reader

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sisyphus-hye · 3 months ago

Text

Love is Nothing

A/N- Cruel femdom Wony

Wonyoung had always been the more dominant one in the relationship, but she had never thought to take it this far. Wonyoung knew deep down she was always out of her boyfriend, Thomas' league. He was a rich, shy, kind-hearted, and nerdy guy. In contrast, Wonyoung was the life of the party, confident, and a queen that could control his life with just the point of a finger. She knew she could do anything and he would still be by her side.

One evening, after a particularly nasty argument, she decided to push the boundaries. She knew he was feeling insecure, and she figured that a little degradation might knock him down a peg. So, she began to belittle him, saying things that she knew would sting, watching the color drain from his face as each word sank in. "You know something Thomas? You're so weak," she sneered, her eyes gleaming with a sadistic satisfaction. "I could have any man I want, and yet here you are, groveling at my feet."

Wonyoung starts to mock her boyfriend's crying, which only makes Thomas shrink further into himself. She saunters closer, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor, a cruel smirk playing on her lips as she reaches down to grab his chin, forcing him to look up at her. "You're pathetic," she whispers, her voice dripping with disdain. "But you know what? I think it's time I change things around here."

With a sudden jolt of strength, she yanks him to his feet and pushes him against the nearest wall. The impact echoes through the room, and Thomas' eyes go wide with shock and fear. He tries to protest, but she's already got her hand over his mouth, her grip so tight that he can feel the imprint of her fingers against his skin. "You know the IVE members all make fun of you, right? They laugh at how nerdy you are, how you let me walk all over you," she says, her voice a mix of sweetness and spite. "They know I'm with you, not out of love, but only because all that money you have."

Thomas' eyes fill with tears, his heart racing as she releases his mouth. He gasps for air, but before he can respond, she's speaking again. "But you know what they don't know? That you're not just a pushover. You're my little toy, and I can play with you however I like." She runs her other hand down his chest, the tips of her nails barely grazing his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "How about you get on your fucking knees for me?"

Thomas' knees buckle under the weight of her words and the force of her push. He hits the floor hard, his glasses clattering beneath him. The cold floor feels like ice under his knees, a stark contrast to the heat rising in his cheeks. He looks up at her, eyes pleading, but she only laughs. "That's more like it," she says, her voice a mix of mockery and lust.

Wonyoung looks down on Thomas like the bitch that he is, "I've been meaning to tell you something," she says with a smirk, "You remember that world tour we had? Well on the stop in Atlanta I had a stop at a Hawks basketball game. That's where I met these two nice black gentlemen who came with me back to my hotel room, and you know what they did to me?" She laughs, watching the horror spread across Thomas' face as he tries to piece together the story. "They treated me like a whore. They completely dominated me, used me, and filled me with their seed. And guess what? I liked it."

Thomas' eyes widened, and his mouth went dry. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You…you cheated on me?" he stammers.

Wonyoung laughs, a high-pitched sound that sends chills down his spine. "Oh, Thomas. It wasn't just once. And they weren't just anyone. They were our hired security guards for the rest of the toor, and they knew exactly how to handle a bitch like me." She leans down, her breath hot on his face, her words a cruel taunt. "Every single day and night they had access to my skinny, hot body. While you were texting me and calling me like a lost child telling me you missed me and how you couldn't wait for me to be safe on tour, I was in the hotel room, backstage, or even in some bathroom getting tossed around."

But Wonyoung isn't done. She presses her heels harder against his cock and balls, watching with amusement as he tries to stifle a whimper. Thomas' body feels like it's been hit by a wave of nausea, and he's not sure if it's from the pain in his groin or the betrayal in his heart. "You're so pathetic," she says, her voice dripping with disdain. "You can't even satisfy me with this tiny thing." The emotional and physical pain making him feel even more emasculated. "You know what they had that you don't?" she asks, her voice a low purr. "They had the confidence and the size to satisfy me. Anything they wanted, I gave it to them. They wanted my pussy, they had it. They wanted my ass, they had that too. And when they were done with me, they didn't bother to clean me up. They left me a sticky mess until I got my energy back to clean myself up. Hell, they fucked me so good one night I had to get Gaeul to lick me clean."

Thomas' mind reels as he tries to process her words. He's always felt inadequate compared to the men Wonyoung talked about from her past, but to hear her speak so openly about her infidelity and her preferences for other men is like a knife twisting in his gut. "But…but I thought we had something special," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

"That's you're problem there. You're not a thinker Thomas. You're a doer. And right now, I want you to do something for me," Wonyoung says, her voice dripping with malice. She reaches down and grabs his tie, pulling him closer so that their faces are mere inches apart. "Tonight, I'm going to an industry party tonight with Yujin and our company is counting on her and I to entertain these disgust, old, rich men so that they'll invest in IVE's next comeback. I'm bringing Yujin back with me and when we get home, I want you to clean us up. You're going to lick us both clean of their filth. You got it, my little bitch boy?" She says with a sadistic smile.

#IVE #jang wonyoung #Wonyoung #wonyoung smut #wonyoung x reader #IVE smut #kpop smut #male reader

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arcadia-smith · 16 days ago

Text

Handle me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You both take upon roles, Bucky- The Winter Soldier, you- His Handler. Now you feel like the world's crumbling down under your feet. You don't want to lose him, but you're about to.

Word count: 2k

Note: As for timeline, not really cannon with the MCU. But yes, Endgame happened, Sam is now Captain America

The room was cold. Clinical. Metal walls, a reinforced steel door, and the ever-present hum of machinery that made your skin crawl. The HYDRA scientists were watching. So were the guards.

An old HYDRA remnant had been resurfacing, trying to rebuild the Winter Soldier program, and what better way for them to do so than trying to resurrect one of their best ex-assassins.

It gave you an opportunity to take them down from the inside, going undercover- you as his ruthless new handler, Bucky as The Winter Soldier.

You stood in the center of the room, chin high, hands clasped behind your back like you've done this a thousand times. Like you belonged there.

Bucky, on his knees before you, head bowed, muscles coiled tight beneath the tactical gear he’s been forced into. He looked the part. Cold. Controlled. Empty.

But he wasn't. He was acting. He had to be.

To gain trust, to secure access and prove your control over The Soldat, you had to do something you swore you never would. Watching Bucky clenching his jaw every time you had to call him Soldat in front of the enemy was heartbreaking enough. But then you had to give the order—to tell the Winter Soldier to kill. And you had to do it without hesitation, just as he had to follow through without a question.

The lead scientist, an older man with a sharp smile, stepped forward. "He hesitated on the last command," he said in a voice thick with condescension. "A good soldier should never hesitate. Perhaps he needs a reminder of who he belongs to."

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression still. "He’s mine,"

The scientist gestured. One of the guards moved forward, striking Bucky hard across the face with the butt of his rifle. He barely flinched, but a muscle in his jaw ticked. Blood at his temple.

"Say it," the scientist ordered. "Make him believe it."

You turned to Bucky, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. This was just a mission. This was not real. But when he looked up at you, something in your chest caved.

Because for the first time since this started, he wasn't just acting.

There was no recognition in his gaze, no flicker of the man you knew. His blue eyes were blank, waiting, expectant. Like you really were his handler.

Your throat tightened, but you kept your voice steady. "You belong to me, Soldat."

The words tasted like poison.

He gave a short mechanical nod once and lowered his head again. Submission. Like he had done this a hundred times before. Like it’s second nature.

The scientist hummed in approval. "Much better."

You stepped forward, fingers barely brushing Bucky’s jaw as you tilted his face up again. His skin was warm under your touch, but his eyes stayed empty.

"Good boy," you whispered, because you had to.

Your hand was still on his jaw, fingers trembling just enough that only Bucky would notice. But he didn't react, didn't pull away, didn't give you anything to hold onto. Just blank obedience, the perfect soldier carved out of the man you once knew.

A knot tightened in your throat. This is a mission. A role. He was playing the part. He had to be.

And then Bucky shifted ever so slightly, leaning into your touch. The breath you were holding escaped your lips before you pulled back, before anybody could notice.

The air was thick with tension, the kind that always settled in when Bucky had to become the Winter Soldier again.

This mission felt endless, stretching on for months with no finish line in sight.

You watched as Bucky grabbed a beer bottle and stepped onto the back porch, his broad shoulders tense under the dim light.

At least the safe house was nice—a wraparound porch, a quiet garden. Sometimes, you caught yourself wondering if it could be a home, a real one. But you shoved those thoughts away the moment they crept in.

You had no right to feel the way you did—no right to be angry at Bucky for shutting you out.

His hands were the ones that wrapped around that man's throat and twisted it. You had just stood there, cold and composed, playing the part of the handler—the pretty little princess giving orders to the Winter Soldier.

Bucky—the man you'd spent the last five years building a life with—would do anything you asked. Even kill. In another context, that might have sounded romantic. If only it was hypothetical. But this was real.

You could have pushed back, could have said something—argued that you didn’t need to prove your control over him, that a less lethal command would have sufficed. But the words hadn’t come. Your mind had blanked, and the order had left your lips faster than you’d have liked.

The man wasn't an innocent, nor saint, but it didn’t make any of it easier. Not for you. Not for Bucky.

It wasn’t until you were out of the HYDRA facility that you noticed the way his hands trembled, the silence that stretched thick between you on the drive back. He hadn’t said a word.

Now, with your eyes closed, the scene replayed in perfect clarity—the way Bucky moved, his hands tightening around the target’s throat the second you gave the order. The way the life drained from the man’s eyes. The way Bucky—no, the Soldat—stood still, composed, empty. A machine, not the man you loved.

The sharp ring of the phone on the table cut through the memory, yanking you back to the present.

"We're in, Sam." You answered before he even had the chance to ask.

"That's good. Finally. I was starting to think you and Barnes were on vacation, not working," Sam chuckled. His usual humor. Right now, you could strangle him for it.

Any other time, you would have fired back with something sharp and witty, but not tonight. Instead, you just nodded, as if he could somehow see you through the phone.

The silence must have tipped him off. "Everything alright?" His tone had shifted now, more serious.

"Yeah... yeah. It’s just—" You exhaled, voice barely above a mumble. "You know how it is for him."

You weren’t sure if you should tell Sam everything now, let Bucky do it himself later, or just leave it for the mission report.

"It's not like he's that brainless killing machine anymore." Sam quiped.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Yeah. That’s the problem. He wasn’t the Winter Soldier. He was Bucky. And tonight, he’d been forced to kill someone anyway.

"Yeah. Yeah," you muttered, trying to mask the knot tightening in your chest. "Still brings back a lot of memories... and shit."

Your eyes flicked toward the back door—toward the spot where Bucky had disappeared minutes ago.

"We’ll keep you updated when we have something, Sam," you added quickly, cutting the conversation short before it could go any deeper.

Sam muttered something in agreement, tossing in another one of his not-so-funny jokes before hanging up.

With a quiet thud, the phone hit the counter. You rubbed your face with both hands, trying to push away the weight pressing down on you.

With a sigh, you pushed away from the counter and made your way to the back door. The night air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, cool against your skin. Bucky was exactly where you expected him to be—sitting on the steps of the porch, elbows on his knees, beer bottle dangling loosely from his fingers.

You hesitated in the doorway. He hadn’t noticed you yet, or maybe he had and just didn’t care. His gaze was locked on something in the distance, but whatever it was, you knew he wasn’t really seeing it.

“Bucky.”

He didn’t turn, just lifted the bottle to his lips and took a slow sip.

You stepped closer. “You gonna sit out here all night?”

He exhaled through his nose, something close to a humorless laugh.

You sat down beside him, not touching, but close enough that he could feel your presence.

"Look… babe." You exhaled quietly, the weight of your own words pressing down on you. "I should've told them to go fuck themselves. I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have ordered you to do it." You ran your fingers through your hair, aching to touch him but something kept you back.

Bucky let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but there was no warmth in it. He took another sip from the bottle and gave you one of those hollow smiles—the kind that never reached his eyes.

"Let’s not talk about it, yeah?" His voice was even, controlled. Too controlled. "We both did what we had to for the mission."

It was meant to sound reassuring, but something was missing. Something you couldn’t quite name.

"Buck-"

"You can go inside." He interrupted you. "I'll be there soon. Don't worry." and he stil wouldn't look at you.

You stayed seated for a brief minute before nodding and walking back inside.

That night, he never came to bed. You weren’t even sure if he’d come inside at all—until the morning, when you found the blankets and pillows on the living room floor.

The coffee maker hummed as you leaned against the kitchen counter, fingers tapping against the surface.

A soft creak of floorboards behind you made you turn.

"Morning," you said, testing the waters.

He gave a slight nod. No smile. No teasing remark. Just walked past you, reaching for the coffee pot.

You watched as he poured himself a cup, his movements precise but mechanical, like he was going through the motions just to do something.

"You didn’t come to bed," you said softly.

"Didn’t think I deserved to."

"Bucky…"

He shook his head. It was dismissive. Distant. Like you were just another agent. Just another person in the long list of people he’s lost.

You swallowed hard. "We should talk."

His laugh was humorless. A sharp exhale through his nose. "Talk?" He finally turned his head, but not enough to meet your gaze. "About what?"

You moved closer, "About what happened back there."

He raised his head, his eyes met yours. But wasn't the look you remembered, the one that used to tether you together in the chaos. There was no warmth, no trust—just something fractured, something raw.

"You mean about how you stood over me while I was on my knees?" His voice was quiet, but it cut deeper than a scream. "Or how you ordered me around like I was your fucking weapon?"

You flinched. "You know I didn’t—"

"Didn’t what?" He pushed himsepf to move forward and suddenly he was too close, towering over you, blue eyes burning. "Didn’t mean it? Didn’t want to?" His jaw clenched. "Didn’t enjoy it?"

Your breath catched. "Bucky—"

He shook his head, stepping back like he couldn't stand being near you. "I heard your voice, day and night. It was the only thing keeping me grounded." His throat bobbed. "But then you started giving orders, and I—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I obeyed."

"You were pretending. We both were."

"Were we?" His voice was almost a whisper. "Because it sure as hell didn’t feel like it by the end."

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

What could you say? That you didn’t mean it? That you didn’t want to? It wouldn’t matter. Not when the damage had already been done.

Bucky exhaled, a slow, bitter thing. "I used to look at you and see my way out." His gaze dropped, fingers flexing at his sides. "Now all I see is the person who made me go back in."

The words landed like a killing blow.

He turned away before you could say anything else.

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fairuzfan · 1 year ago

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How history directly plays a part in the colonization of Palestine

"The modern claim that Joseph's Tomb is directly related to the biblical Joseph appears to have emerged as a result of claims by William Cooke Taylor in the 1830s. Cooke was an Irish journalist traveling in the area motivated by interest in biblical history but with no expertise in the field. Although in his writings he claims the site was believed be the tomb of the patriarch and that all the religions agreed as much, no other geographers who ventured into the area in the decades that followed reported anything of the sort. And it is unclear from his writings what local Palestinians, the people who were actually living in and around the shrine and worshipping there, believed about the shrine. British geographers subsequently took up Taylor's claim, however, and over the years it was forgotten that it had been more or less made up based on conjecture.

But the claims of biblical archaeologists had a strong role in how the Zionist movement would come to understand and conceive of the landscape.6 As European Jews migrated to Palestine in the first half of the twentieth century, they drew upon biblical archeology's claims. They adopted archeologists' claims that Palestinian holy sites were directly linked to ancient biblical figures. In many cases, they focused on occupying those sites in order to legitimize the colonial endeavor by giving it a sense of deeper history. In many cases, this would mean evicting the Palestinians who actually frequented these holy sites.

When Israel occupied the West Bank in 1967, religious Zionists began flocking to Joseph's Tomb. The tomb, which was previously open to pilgrims of all faiths, began to fall under exclusively Jewish control. As growing numbers of armed Jewish settlers were escorted to the tomb under military escort, the area became increasingly viewed with apprehension by Palestinians living around the site. In 1975, the Israeli military banned Palestinians – that is, the Samaritans, Muslims, and Christians living around the site – from visiting, a ban that has remained in place until this day. When I visited in summer 2015, the tomb was shut closed, but a sympathetic guard allowed me and a friend to look around, under his close watch.

Unsurprisingly, the ban has ignited intense anger over the years. This is true particularly given that frequent visits by Jewish settlers to the shrine are accompanied by hundreds of Israeli soldiers, who enter the area and run atop the rooftops of local Palestinians to “secure” the tomb. As a result, Joseph's Tomb has increasingly become associated with the Israeli military and settlement movement in the eyes of Palestinians. Its presence has become an excuse for frequent military incursions that provoke clashes and lead to arrests and many injuries in the neighborhood.7

Some fear that Israelis will attempt to take over the shrine to build an Israeli settlement around it. This fear is not unfounded, given the fact that Israeli settlers have done exactly that all across the West Bank in places they believe are connected in some way to Jewish biblical history. The notoriously violent Jewish settlements in Hebron, for example, were built there due to the location of the Tomb of the Patriarchs in that southern West Bank town. Following the initial years of settlement, settlers even managed to convince Israeli authorities to physically divide the shrine – which is holy to local Palestinians – and turn the whole area into a heavily-militarized complex. Other shrines have become excuses for the Israeli military to build army bases inside Palestinian towns, like Rachel's Tomb in Bethlehem – which is surrounded by twenty-foot high concrete walls on three sides to block Palestinian access. The village of Nabi Samwel near Jerusalem, meanwhile, was demolished in its entirety to provide Jewish settlers access to the tomb at its heart."

—Excerpt from Why Do Palestinians Burn Jewish Holy Sites? The Fraught History of Joseph's Tomb by Alex Shams

#palestine #history

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hauntedestheart · 6 days ago

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Security Footage - Artifacts (Pt. 3)

A continuation of Trevor & Andy's encounter with the magic ring. CW: This story contains mild violence, some of which is sexual in nature. For those who might be sensitive to this, I've put a specific descriptor in the replies to the post.

"This is nice, right?" Andy asked, snuggling a bit closer to Trevor and nuzzling his nose into his boyfriend's feathery hair as he spooned him from behind. "Just you and me, sharing a bed…"

Trevor hummed in agreement and allowed himself to be snuggled like a human teddy bear, burrowing in a bit closer to the massive furnace of heat that was his red blooded boyfriend. When the curves of Andy's sculpted muscles pressed through the thin fabric of Trevor's sleep shirt, a firm and strong presence behind him, it was hard to feel anything other than safe and content. (And a little horny.)

The young man was staying over at his boyfriend's while he looked for a new place and Andy, being the kind host that he was, had offered up his own bed to his guest. The fact that he was also sleeping in it was a bonus.

Especially since Andy was the type of guy who slept in just his boxers, and looked damn good doing it.

Truthfully, Trevor was nervous about it. While sleeping together and staying the night was nothing new for them, cohabitating was, and the last thing Trevor wanted to do was kill the relationship by getting too close too quickly. Years of disappointment had trained him to always be on his guard, and to never get too used to a good thing. But he'd quickly realized he was alone in this concern after he'd suggested he sleep on the couch and Andy had literally picked him up and carried him into the bedroom- if anything, Andy couldn't have him close enough.

"If only there was some way we could do this every night…" the big lug purred into Trevor's ear, nuzzling his nose into Trevor's feathery hair while he was there. "I'm just saying, do you really need to find a new place?"

"I told you, it's way too soon for us to be moving in together!" Trevor protested, stubbornly trying to keep a bit of his spine even as Andy's relentless affection eroded his resistance. Speaking of his spine, he felt something thick and heavy twitch against his lower back, and it wasn't a hot water bottle. Trevor chuckled as Andy grinned sheepishly and adjusted his hips. "Besides, I don't know if my ass could handle having access to you 24/7."

"I think you'd manage," Andy took his hand and tilted Trevor's chin to face him, and Trevor's heart started pounding. Andy looked down at his little guy like he was the most precious thing in the world and he couldn't believe his luck, and then he couldn't resist closing the distance between their lips.

The two exchanged a lazy kiss that lingered until Trevor surged forwards and slipped his hand around the back of Andy's head, shoving them together and intensifying the embrace. He shoved at his much larger boyfriend with one of his knees, forcing Andy onto his back and flipping on top to mount him and straddle his waist. Andy drew back and stared up at Trevor, his huge chest heaving as he panted, and Trevor smiled down foxlike. Tightening his thighs around his boyfriend's body like a vice, Trevor dove back in and crashed their lips together once more.

Andy could easily bench press his twink of a boyfriend but he allowed himself to be pinned to the bed- truth was, he liked it when Trevor took control. The young man's god-tier competence and hidden ferocity were massive turn-ons for Andy, so he was very content to sit back and follow his lead.

Plus when Trevor was on top he would grab onto Andy's shelflike pecs for balance, and he was a big fan of that too.

The two were a few minutes into a hot and heavy make-out session when a discordant sound in the distance caught Trevor's sensitive ears. Instantly alert, he pulled his tongue out of his boyfriend's mouth and drew back, pressing his finger up to Andy's lips when the other man let out a needy little whine. The look in Trevor's eyes caused the smile to drop from Andy's face and the two were silent for a moment, listening. Another faint clattering sounds echoed into the room, followed by muffled footsteps. Andy didn't have a roommate.

"I think someone's in the house," Trevor whispered. Andy's arms tightened around him protectively and Trevor shrank closer to him, clinging to his big muscles like a damsel in distress. When he realized what he'd done he (with some embarrassment) wiggled out of Andy's grasp and landed on the bed beside him, keeping his eyes on the bedroom door. "Should we call the police?"

"To the black guy's house?" Andy grimaced and shook his head. "No way. I'll take care of this."

Now in full on "man mode," Andy drew himself out of bed and then pulled out an aluminum baseball bat that had been hidden in the small space between his mattress and the side of his bedframe- Trevor thought this was strange because Andy had played basketball, not baseball, until he realized that the bat wasn't there for regulation use.

"Andy, I don't think this is safe," Trevor protested, but Andy ignored him, swinging the bat through the air a few times to test its heft.

"I'll be fine. Besides," Andy glanced sidelong at Trevor then flexed one of his impressive biceps, throwing in a wink for good measure. "I've got security. Remember?"

Trevor fought down a smile and rolled his eyes. "I'm coming with you."

Andy frowned, all of his protective instincts protesting, but he knew from experience that there was no way he was going to win this kind of argument with Trevor- besides which, it would ease his mind to keep Trevor in his sight so he knew his precious boyfriend was safe.

"Just stay behind me," he commanded, then he eased the bedroom door open.

The two padded their way down the dark hallway of the three room apartment with Andy leading the charge, exactly as requested. Trevor did have to admit that his hulking boyfriend, shirtless and wielding a baseball bat, was a rather intimidating sight- perhaps the burglar would take one look and get scared off. They encountered no one in the hallway and the kitchen was clear, which meant there was only one place left to check.

The living room was a mess when they got there, drawers flung open and cabinet doors hanging akimbo as a man the couple had never seen before rifled through them. He was the image of a stereotypical robber, a skinny black man with sunken cheeks, greasy hair, and a haunted look in his eyes as he pawed through a bookshelf on a hunt for valuables he was shoving into a duffle bag that hung loosely at his side.

When he heard Andy and Trevor enter the room he froze, still holding some random item he'd been inspecting. They stared at him for a moment, then he snapped into action, clutching whatever it was he had to his chest and scrambling away from them towards the wall.

"God-fucking damnit!" the man cried out, following it up with a few even more blue expletives. He glanced around with wild eyes, discarded DVDs and books crunching on the floor beneath his feet, and Trevor winced.

"Hey, buddy, we don't want any trouble," Andy said, keeping his voice calm like he was talking to a wounded animal. He brandished the bat in front of himself and slowly crept forwards towards the robber, who watched him with wild eyes. "We don't even have to get the police involved, all you gotta do is leave everything here and no one has to get hurt."

Trevor finally made out what it was that the man had in his hands, and he couldn't help himself. "Is that my laptop?"

This turned out to be the wrong thing to say because it sent the man into a panic, and he made a break for it. He tried to bolt around them but Andy intercepted him, swinging the bat at the man's legs and managing to clip one of his feet; the intruder crashed to the floor, and by some miracle the laptop landed safely in the stuffed recycling bin. The robber spat curses but continued to scramble away on his hands and knees so Andy dove towards him, landing on his back, and the two began to wrestle as the muscular young man tried to force the him to submit.

Trevor took a step back, unsure of what to do as the two grappled, and something clanged against his foot. He glanced down and noticed the lockbox he'd been keeping the magic ring in, now mangled, open, and empty.

Which meant the ring was…

"Wait! Andy, don't-" Trevor rushed forwards, desperately trying to shove himself between his boyfriend and the robber, but then he took a stray elbow that sent him stumbling back towards the wall. He hit his head, and the last thing he heard were cries of confusion and distant sirens before everything went dark.

---

Trevor woke up in bed with a ringing in his ears, and a bad feeling in chest. Confusion reigned for a moment before it all came flooding back to him- the robber, the ring, Andy! Where were they? And how had he wound up in the bedroom? It was still nighttime so it was dark in the bedroom, but light spilled in from the attached bathroom- the only sign of life in the otherwise still apartment. Cautiously, Trevor slipped out of bed and padded over towards the halfway open door.

In the bathroom, Andy was standing in front of the mirror, butt naked, and he seemed fascinated by what he saw in his reflection. Sheer, unadulterated glee radiated from his eyes as they followed his hands on their path over his muscles, scrubbing up and down his own shredded torso as he acted out his own private porn shoot. He twisted for a moment, tensing his muscles to observe the sculpture of his back, before turning back and winking at his reflection with a cocky grin.

His imposing cock towered in front of him, completely hard, and he grabbed it by the base to swing its length from side to side like a dog shaking a new toy.

"God damn…" he muttered to himself, sounding pleased as punch. He released his shaft and sent his hands down further, cupping one of of his heavy balls in each palm, and then he hefted them up and down experimentally, tilting his head down so he could get a better view as he toyed with his sack.

The door frame creaked as Trevor pushed it open further, and the self-absorbed hunk whipped his head around to face him. For a moment, he seemed startled, but then his expression melted into a crude parody of Andy's usual smile.

"Hey baby, glad you're awake!" the imposter said, casually, as if he wasn't naked with a massive erection, and his lips gave an exaggerated pout. "I was worried about you- come here, lemme give you a kiss."

'Andy' stepped forwards with outstretched arms, but Trevor stepped back at the same time, shrinking away warily into the unlit bedroom. There was an unmistakable glint of gold light coming from Andy's right hand- the impostor caught him looking, and a shadow came into his eyes.

"So you know?" Dropping the act, the thief shrugged his outstretched arms and then sneered at Trevor. With a snort, he turned his attention back to the mirror and leaned in closer to the glass, tilting his stolen face side to side to examine it from every handsome angle. A finger traced over his strong jawline. "Shoulda figured. Too bad, you're cute and I was hoping to get my new dick wet."

"Who are you?" Trevor clenched his fists at his sides and tried to inject some authority into his voice, hoping that the poor lighting would disguise the way his knees shook. He didn't like being caught on the back foot like this. "What are you doing here? Where's the real Andy?"

"What do you mean? I am the real Andy! I live here!" The thief laughed and winked at Trevor, like they were in on a secret, and the young man's stomach turned. Turning back to the mirror, the thief continued his preening, devouring his new reflection with hungry eyes. "If you're asking about that burglar that broke in, one of the neighbors called the cops and they took him. Poor loser- would hate to be that guy, huh?"

Shit, was all Trevor could think, filled with dread at the notion of Andy in police custody. Best case scenario, his poor boyfriend was locked in a jail cell, which would be torture for a free spirit like him. Worst case scenario… Trevor didn't want to think about the worst case scenario. He didn't have time to think about the worst case scenario because he was the only one who could stop it and that meant he had to act fast.

"Okay," Trevor took a deep breath, returning his attention to the thief. Luckily the man wasn't paying him much mind (his focus occupied by Andy's pecs, which he was jiggling up and down with his hands), so Trevor took advantage of the distraction to risk creeping a bit closer. "Okay. Well, obviously you hold all the cards here, so I'm just going to be direct. What do you want?"

"What do I want?" The body thief turned his head to look at Trevor and a shit eating grin cracked his face, then he laughed. Throwing his arms wide, he gestured down at his impressive new form. "This morning I was a broke loser squatting on his homie's couch and breaking windows for petty cash, and now I'm a young stud with his whole life ahead of him. What the hell could I possibly want right now? And on top of all this, a magic ring!" The thief looked down at the ring, twisting it around on Andy's finger with a funny look in his eyes. "With this thing, I could be anyone… a lot of opportunities just opened up for me."

A chill ran down Trevor's spine at the thought of this man having access to that kind of power- he needed to get that ring back ASAP. But how? For a moment he considered just bum rushing the man and trying to take it, but he just as quickly discarded the idea- even if he had the element of surprise, the guy had Andy's body. Andy's hulking, muscular body that could smash Trevor to a pulp.

(Either he had to start working out, or Andy had to stop, because this happened way too often)

"But I think I'll hang around as this guy for a while," the thief continued after a tense beat, and he looked down at his stolen flesh with a dreamy smile. He lifted one of his huge arms and flexed, giving the muscle a few satisfying smacks, before sticking his hands behind his head and angling side to side to show himself off like a bodybuilder. His cock was still throbbing dark brown between his legs, an all-too-visible reminder of exactly how much the thief liked his ill-gotten goods. "The fucking body on this kid man! There's all kinda shit that I could get up to with a rig like this, I'm not leaving without taking it out for a spin."

Taking a chance, Trevor tried appealing to the man's sense of humanity. "But what about my Andy? You don't know him but he's a good person, and he doesn't deserve to be locked up. Maybe you don't have to give back the ring but-"

The thief cut Trevor off mid-sentence by slamming his arms down on the bathroom counter, and it took everything Trevor had not to flinch. He schooled his expression to be carefully neutral, meeting the body snatcher's eyes as he twisted Andy's face into an ugly scowl.

"In case you haven't noticed, I don't give a shit! He can take my body and rot in jail for all I care!" Not satisfied just by yelling, twisted on his heels and stomped towards Trevor. The young man backed away in panic, scrambling out of the brightly lit bathroom and into the dim bedroom, but he wasn't quick enough to escape being grabbed by the shoulders. Andy's strong fingers dug into his skin, and out of the corner of his eye, Trevor could see the glimmer of the ring. Tantalizingly close, but out of reach. "In fact, you should probably make yourself scarce. I'm starting a new era and I don't need my ex hanging around cramping my style, you know what I'm saying?

Then the thief gave Trevor a shove and sent him stumbling to the wooden floor, where Trevor curled up into a ball and cowered. The dark silhouette of the angry robber loomed over him, but after a moment's consideration, the man just scoffed and stomped away. Trevor held this position for a minute and from the outside, he looked pathetic. Defeated. But beneath the surface his mind was spinning, trying to figure out what options he had left.

Whatever he was going to do, he had to do it now. He was sure if he could just get the ring into his possession he'd be able to fix everything, but the question of how to get it was a tricky one. This snatcher couldn't be reasoned with, brute force was clearly a no-go, there was no one he could reach out to for help, he didn't have time to go research… what tricks did he have left?

Out of the corner of his eye, he peeked at the thief, and he found that the man was still admiring his stolen body in the mirror. Currently he was enchanted by Andy's ass, craning his neck to stare back at it while he squeezed the plump globes with one hand, the other tugging lazily up and down the tower of his cock, Like most snatchers after landing Andy's primo body, the guy was feeling incredibly narcissistic- not that Trevor couldn't blame him, he himself spent plenty of blissful time enjoying his boyfriend's body. No one else knew Andy's body quite like he did.

And that was where he found his angle. It would suck, but, well… Andy was counting on him, so he didn't have any other choice.

"Okay, I get it now," Trevor pulled himself to his feet and lifted his hands. "I'm not going to convince you to switch back with Andy. But before I go, can I just- can I ask for one thing?"

The body thief shot Trevor a withering sidelong stare and rolled his eyes. "What?"

"Can I suck your dick?"

Whatever the robber had been expecting Trevor to say, it wasn't that, and he actually froze in place (mouth hanging open, one big hand halfway down his shaft) and let Trevor approach him. He snapped out of it after a second and lifted his hands in an uncertain gesture, as if he wasn't really sure what he was going to do with them, and Trevor smiled- he hadn't been punched in the face yet, which meant he was right, and the thief didn't really consider the little twink a threat. Good.

Still, Trevor was very careful to not look at the hand with the ring. Instead, he let his eyes take in every other part of Andy's body, allowing a hint of lust to leach into his eyes- which was hardly difficult to conjure up given what he was in front of him. He licked his lips.

"It's selfish but- come on, you can see it, he's a stud! That body… his giant arms… those pecs…" Trevor reached out slowly and let one of his hands drift towards one of Andy's pecs, and when the robber didn't protest, he let his fingers brush against it and tease the soft muscle. Instinctively, Andy's chest jumped, and both Trevor and the robber made appreciative noises. "And that dick… it's so big. I think it's ruined me for other men."

He was laying it on a bit thick (almost as thick as… well…) but it seemed to be working, because the snatcher was starting to pant. His face still looked apprehensive, but Andy's body told another story- Trevor had noticed the trademark smell of semen was absent from the bathroom, which meant that the robber hadn't yet gone all the way with his new equipment. A lot of guys wanted their first time with their new dick to be "special," so Trevor guessed the guy must be dying to get off.

"If this is the last time I get to see it, I can't let go without just one more taste. Please?" Trevor's finger ghosted across Andy's abs, moving slowly downwards towards his member. Rising up on his toes, he leaned in close to whisper into the thief's ear. "I know just how he likes it."

Without warning, Trevor found himself seized by the shoulders and shoved roughly backwards. He managed to keep his footing, just barely, but he was still mid-stumble when the thief crossed the room and grabbed him again. Trevor froze, his heart pounding in his chest, and he stared up at the man with wide, nervous eyes- it always sickened him to see such darkness on Andy's face. Then the thief placed a hand on Trevor's head and thrust him down onto his knees.

"Suck away, slut," he said, tucking both hands behind his head and shoving his cock into the twink's face.

Pain shot through Trevor as his kneecaps banged into the floor, but he swallowed it down and prepared to… well, to swallow it down. Andy's dick hung in front of him, its thick mushroom head staring at him like an old friend, and Trevor set to work.

His boyfriend always complimented him on the dexterity of his tongue ("that silver tongue" Andy called it) so he liked to start off with that, kissing the tip of the cock before letting his tongue slip out and explore, tracing circles around the flared rim of the head before drifting under to do its best to wrap around the tip, teasing his partner with a taste of what was coming up. When he reached the base of his tongue and his lips were flush against Andy's tip, he pulled his tongue back in and let his mouth fall down at the same time, engulfing the head of the cock in one fluid motion.

A deep moan rumbled out above Trevor's head, and the thick flesh in his mouth pulsed with excitement. Trevor was the methodical type so he liked to take things slow, taking his time as he sucked on the head like a lollipop before gently pressing his neck forwards and drifting his lips further down the length. Andy was big, so Trevor relaxed throat and hollowed his cheeks to make room for as much as he could- but he was also a tease, so he made sure to pull back and forth to keep his partner guessing.

He got about two thirds of the way down the length of Andy's shaft when he felt it skin pressing against the roof of his mouth and he winced- he didn't usually deep throat, but in order for the plan to work, he was going to have to. His gag reflex was long since deceased, but he stomped on its grave and eased himself down until his nose was buried in Andy's curly black pubes.

Usually, Andy would sit there for a moment and allow him to adjust, but the person piloting Andy's body was not so generous. With a scream of "holy fucking shit balls," the man began pounding away, his powerful hips thrusting as he slammed into Trevor's mouth again and again, chasing the pleasure hidden in the boy's golden throat. Tears came to Trevor's eyes as he felt the hard cock battering the space where his tonsils used to be, but he thought about how scared Andy must be and gritted his teeth (metaphorically, of course) through the pain.

The grunts and groans from his partner intensified and Trevor felt a pulsing at the base of Andy's dick, a surefire sign that orgasm was imminent. Then, he pulled back and made to remove his mouth, leaving the horny monster in front of him high and dry.

Just as Trevor planned, the impostor got greedy. Desperate to return to the warm embrace of Trevor's throat, he reached down and stuck his right hand on the back of the twink's head and shoved him back towards the base of his cock. Threading his hands through Trevor's hair, the large man yanked him up and down, using his mouth as his own personal sex toy with little regard for whether or not his partner got hurt.

This meant he also didn't notice when Trevor, despite violently gagging on many inches of dick, managed to reach up and slip the ring off of the robber's finger and onto his own.

Andy's deep voice bellowed out as Trevor felt hot seed flooding his throat, and then in the blink of an eye, the roles were reversed- Trevor was in Andy's body, and robber was in Trevor's.

The thief choked, caught completely off guard by the sudden appearance of a giant dick in his mouth, began to sputter and cough as he choked on the massive load of sperm he'd been unprepared for. Trevor (catching the tail end of Andy's orgasm) wasted no time, yanking his own head back and shoving his real body to the floor immediately. The surge of strength Trevor got from being in Andy's ripped body was intoxicating, and he rolled his shoulders back to let his borrowed muscles stretch. Andy's body was so much sturdier than his own, even warmer, and it was almost like Andy was still there to keep him safe even when he was far away.

The thief, now down dozens of pounds of muscle, stared up at the hulking form looming over him with wide, watery eyes, and it sunk in for him how badly he'd fucked up. Scrambling to his feet, he opened his mouth to scream but could barely make a sound from his battered throat- not that he would have been able to get more than a peep out before Trevor socked him in the stomach and knocked the wind out of him. He let out a groan of pain and doubled over, keeping his silence as Trevor made use of Andy's muscles to effortlessly toss the skinny body over his shoulder and carry him to the bed.

Trevor threw the body snatcher down a bit rougher than was necessary- but hey, it was his body. He could do what he wanted with it. Thanks to their new size difference, it was simple for him to wrestle the thief down and bind his hands and feet together with the zip ties Trevor kept in Andy's bedside drawer for this purpose, followed by a strip of duct tape over his mouth and a blindfold around his eyes. This guy was going nowhere trussed up like that.

The thief whimpered from behind the gag on his mouth and craned his head around, searching aimlessly for something he couldn't see through the blindfold, and Trevor felt disgusted. The sight of his own body, bound and gagged with twiglike arms and chicken legs struggling fruitlessly, was utterly pathetic. Was this how the world saw him? Small, weak, powerless? He looked like an absolute loser.

Trevor glanced down at himself- at Andy's body -and he clenched his fists, feeling the power surge inside of his borrowed arms as the muscles flexed. It thrilled him, that strength, and it was something that he always envied from other men. He didn't want to be the small guy that got pushed around. The one who had to be scared. The one who everybody looked down on. He should be somebody with presence, that everyone respected. Why shouldn't he? After all, he had a magic ring. And with the ring, he could be anybody that he wanted. True Andy's body was nice, but he could-

Andy.

The thought of his boyfriend hit Trevor like a bucket of cold water and he shook off whatever strange fantasies had overtaken him. Andy needed him. Andy needed him, Trevor, to get him out of this mess. Why the hell would Trevor want anything more if he was already loved just as he was?

And after Trevor switched bodies with a police chief and freed Andy from prison, put himself and Andy back in their original bodies, and sent the robber on his way with his tail between his legs (because even after all that, Andy still refused to call the cops), Trevor decided it was time to do something about the ring.

Part Four

#male body swap #Series: Security

80 notes · View notes

renx01 · 11 months ago

Text

Too Sweet

Prompt: Inspired by the Hozier song Pairing: Harry Hart x (Kingsman!)Reader Fandom: Kingsman Tags/Warnings: age gap, mutual pining, angst Word count: 6495

Masterlist

You’d joined Kingsman only five years ago, and over time you’ve become a well-respected agent, code-named Tristan. Merlin, who is your uncle, was the one who had proposed you as a candidate and helped you prepare for the role while you were still in your early twenties. The other candidates had been good, but you were nearly flawless, only taking calculated risks and never letting your emotions rule your decision making. Control over your emotions was something you always excelled in, and it tremendously helped you make strides as an agent during the initial few months and first year. This caused you to rise in rank quite quickly, making you go on more solo missions or accompanying Galahad or Percival whenever they needed assistance. Today, you’re helping your uncle instead, hacking into some cameras and security networks so he’ll be able to tell Lancelot and Galahad where to go next and what they should be looking out for. It’s something you do from time to time, mostly upon Merlin’s request when he finds the mission too complicated to oversee on his own.

‘The main control room should be south from where they are now.’ You pull up the map on the big screen which hangs in front of you and Merlin, pointing out where Galahad and Lancelot should be going next. As he’s relaying the information to the other men, you hack into the mainframe the criminal organisation and start going through the different files. ‘Any updates about the nuclear files?’ Galahad’s voice comes through the speakers and Merlin looks at you. ‘Working on it. Just focus on getting to that room.’ The screen in front of you shows Lancelot’s feed. He’s following Galahad through the many hallways and twists and turns they take, taking down guards whenever they come across them. Their moves are deliberate, quick and efficient. You turn back to your screen and after a few minutes you’re finally able to access the file Galahad had asked for. ‘I’m sending you the file now, Galahad.’ ‘Thanks Tristan.’ He replies. They have finally reached the door to the control room. Lancelot holds his watch against it and it opens. Silently, the two men enter the room. ‘Lancelot, I need you to connect us to the controls.’ Merlin states and the other man follows the order. Your screens fill with the necessary information and you start working on fully disarming and disabling the system. ‘Galahad, please flip the green switch on your right.’ You request. Before he can really do so, a loud bang interrupts him, followed by the sound of shots. ‘Lancelot, you take those men while Galahad follows Tristan’s orders.’ Merlin’s Scottish accent seems thicker momentarily. You’ve noticed it only really happened when he was in more stressful situations; one time when you almost got kidnapped, it was so thick you could barely understand him despite having a mostly Scottish family. Calmly, you instruct Galahad what buttons to press and switches to flip. After a few minutes of him following your lead as you type away at your computer, you’re done. ‘Galahad. Lancelot. The system has fully been disabled and disarmed. Get back to the jet.’ They start running through the building and Merlin glances at you, giving you a small smile before going back to helping them follow the quickest route out of the building.

‘You did well, Tristan.’ Merlin ruffles your hair and you smile at him. ‘Thanks. You didn’t do too badly yourself, old man.’ He laughs and lightly punches your arm. ‘I’m not that old, your mother is 10 years older than I am.’ You snort and teasingly say, ‘And you Merlin, are 12 years older than I am.’ After that comment, a comfortable silence settles between you. There were a few more tasks you had to complete before tomorrow, so you decided you would spend the evening and night at the mansion. About an hour after the mission finished, Merlin leaves, leaving you alone in front of the large screen filled with documents. Quietly, you continue working for a few more hours before you call it a night. You’d finished your side of the report, only needing Galahad and Lancelot for the final few details. You’ll probably ask them about those during the debrief tomorrow afternoon.

Once you’ve locked your computer and turned off all the lights, you silently walk to the kitchen, where you start making a pot of tea. The room is dark, as you only turned on the light above the stove. A sound from behind you catches your attention. Looking back, you see that your two colleagues have just returned from their mission. ‘Evening gentlemen.’ You greet them. ‘Tristan, good evening.’ Galahad walks up and stands next to you, just as the water starts boiling. ‘Would you like a cup?’ Your hands continue moving, putting in the tea egg to let the leaves steep. He hums in response as he grabs two more cups. ‘Chamomile?’ Galahad quietly asks and you nod. A comfortable silence settles between the two of you while Lancelot leaves the room momentarily to put some of their things away. Once the tea has sufficiently gained colour and flavour, you pour some into the three cups. Grabbing your own, you sit down next to the chair you’d draped your suit jacket over. Harry sits down across from you and puts down Lancelot’s cup next to him. You both quietly drink your tea, your eyes scanning that day’s paper. When you look up, you notice his eyes are trained on you, making you a bit nervous. Before you can say anything, though, Lancelot walks back in and starts talking about their flight back to England and the newest Royal scandal of the week. The other man’s attention shifts to his colleague who is talking excitedly. Your eyes scan Galahad’s features. He is handsome, smart, quick-witted, and a gentleman. A combination which has led you to, over time, develop a bit of a crush on your colleague.

‘Tristan, what do you think?’

You turn your head to face the other man. ‘I think the situation escalated unnecessarily, had the royal family handled it properly, this would’ve never become public.’ He smiles and Galahad interjects. ‘I agree with Tristan, this situation could have easily been avoided.’ The two men continue talking and you sip your tea. ‘Gentlemen, I’m heading off to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the debrief.’ You stand up and put your cup into the dishwasher. It was already 11 o’clock. ‘Tristan,’ Galahad stands up, ‘if you’ll allow me, I’ll walk you back to your room.’ Smiling, you nod. ‘Of course Galahad; thank you.’ He leaves the room with you and as you walk, he leans sideways in your direction and whispers. ‘Thanks Tristan. I was a bit tired of Lancelot talking. He’s been going without pause from the moment we got on the jet.’ It didn’t surprise you in the least. ‘Of course Galahad. Lancelot tends to talk quite a lot; I suspect his favourite sound may be his own voice.’ He snorts. ‘I suspect you might be correct.’ The hallways are silent except for your quiet footsteps and conversation. The distance between the two of you seems to become smaller as you continue walking and talking; until you stop in front of your door. ‘Galahad, thank you for accompanying me.’ You turn to face him and smile. ‘Of course Tristan, it was my pleasure.’ His voice was quiet. The silence between you is tense and Harry seems to slowly be leaning closer as he holds your eye contact. Moments, which feel like hours pass, but he doesn’t make a move. Your noses almost touch when he seems to snap out of a sort of trance and clears his throat, pulling back quickly. ‘Ah Tristan, I should get going. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you tomorrow.’ As he walks away, you stand frozen in your doorway.

The following morning you watch the sunrise outside, a hot cup of coffee in your hand. It seems no one else is up yet. You’ve left your suit jacket in your room and have your sleeves rolled up, the crisp air touching your form. Behind you, you hear your dog walking and sniffing around. ‘Ares.’ The Doberman walks to your side. ‘Want to go for a walk?’ He barks and you pet him behind his ears. ‘Let’s go.’ You smile and he runs into the field in front of you, with you following calmly. Upon your return, you’re greeted by Merlin, who looks to have woken up not too long ago. ‘Morning Tristan.’ Ares excitedly runs up to the Scot. ‘Morning to you too Ares.’ He puts down his coffee and pets the dog with both his hands. ‘You’ve got an awful lot of energy today, haven’t you?’ ‘He really does, he’s been running around for over an hour already.’ You laugh. ‘I’ll bring Albion to play with him later today.’ He takes a sip of his coffee. ‘I’ll be back momentarily, can you watch Ares for a second?’ He nods. ‘Thanks.’ you say and smile at him. You walk into the kitchen through the open doors. Putting down your cup, you start brewing another cup of coffee. The kitchen is still quiet, but you know that more of the agents that have stayed the night will probably start walking in soon, though it probably won’t be many. Lancelot and Galahad you knew for sure, others you weren’t too certain about. ‘Morning Lancelot.’ You say as you hear the man walk in. ‘Agent Tristan.’ He greets. ‘Want some coffee?’ ‘Yes please.’ The smell of another fresh coffee fills the air. You smile as you hand him a cup. ‘You feeling alright?’ ‘I will once I finish this.’He groans before the two of you clink your cups. ‘See you at the briefing in an hour.’

You spent that hour with Merlin and Ares, mostly in silence. The Doberman is as happy as can be, with the Scot and you taking turns throwing a ball into the field and having the dog return it. It was nice spending time with your uncle like this. Usually you have to be quite serious around him, as you mostly speak to him here, at Kingsman. Now, you can, even if it’s just for a moment, relax and have the relationship you used to have when you were younger and neither of you were a part of the secret service. ‘Uncle Hamish, we should probably get ready for the briefing.’ You say as Ares runs into the distance. He has his eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun. ‘Just five more minutes; Galahad will be late anyway, he seemed a bit off yesterday evening when I saw him.’ That last comment piques your interest, but you decide not to pry. The meeting room was still empty when you walked into it with your uncle. A few minutes pass before, you are joined by Lancelot, who is, once again, talking excitedly. While you don’t necessarily have the energy for him, you stay professional and listen with intent. He is still talking your ears off when Galahad finally arrives, about five minutes late. Despite Merlin having made a comment, it is still quite unusual for him to be late.

‘Glad you could join us, Agent Galahad.’ Merlin calls out from the far end of the room as the other man enters. ‘Terribly sorry for my tardiness.’ Harry excuses himself. ‘Morning Galahad.’ Lancelot greets him, instead you just wave at the agent. Everyone sits in their usual spots, with Galahad across from you and Merlin to your left, though he almost immediately stands up, walking in front of the screen which shows the most vital information related to the mission. Most of the information isn’t new to you, as you’d helped your uncle prepare. Whenever Galahad or Lancelot give additional information, which you hadn’t been able to gain before the meeting, you write it down into the report. Your attention is fully focussed on what everyone is saying, that is until you notice that Galahad’s eyes seem to linger on you a bit longer than usual whenever you make a comment. Eventually, his eyes meet yours. He quickly looks away and focuses on Merlin, who is saying something about the risks which may occur in the future. Yesterday’s mission has likely only slowed down the organisation, meaning that you’d still have to find its core and try to eliminate it. Still, all the new information which has been gained is quite useful. Your gaze reverts back to your laptop screen as you continue typing away.

‘Agent Tristan, could you please explain to these gentlemen what you did to fully disarm and disable the system?’ Merlin’s sudden attention to you surprises you, but you stand up confidently and walk to his side. Galahad’s eyes seem to burn into the back of your head as you do so. ‘So how we did it is -’ Everything goes smoothly as you explain the process thoroughly to the other agents. Hopefully, you’ll be able to join them in the field next time, rather than having to sit and watch from the sidelines to assist them from a distance. You aren’t sure that’ll actually happen however, as it really depends on what kind of mission it’ll be and what is needed of you. After a few minutes, you’re able to sit back down. Neither Lancelot, nor Galahad had any questions, which you assume is probably a good sign. There are only a few more things you need to discuss, with most of them only requiring only a little of your input from time to time, so you silently drink some tea as Lancelot and Merlin talk. Galahad is remarkably silent, only asking a few questions or making comments when he deems it necessary. Usually, he’s more talkative and tends to lead the conversation, but today he seems to have chosen to leave that to Lancelot. As your uncle is saying something about the implications of such an organisation having access to nuclear weapons, you feel another foot hit yours. At first, you ignore it; but when it happens again, you look around. It couldn’t be Merlin or Lancelot, leaving Galahad as the only suspect. You quickly look at his face but he acts as if he’s innocent. When you feel a third tap, you let your eyes meet his. The lines around his eyes crinkle mischievously, while the rest of his face doesn’t seem to change. You tap him back, your oxfords hitting the side of his silently. This time, his eyes do not divert to Merlin or Lancelot, and it almost feels as if you’re the only person in this room with him. The feeling is short lived however, with his gaze shifting away when his name is mentioned by one of the other men. Still, his foot remains in place, connecting the two of you. Despite the intimate gesture, his feelings for you remain unclear.

The meeting comes to an end, you and Galahad act as if nothing happened when you stand up. Everyone leaves the room and as he passes you, he slips a small folded note into your hand. You do not get a chance to read it though, as Merlin immediately starts up a conversation with you as you walk the wing of the mansion where the individual kingsman offices are located. ‘Tristan, could you send me the report after lunch?’ You nod. ‘As long as we’re going on a walk with Ares and Albion after, you know he’s missed you lately, and this morning wasn’t enough to make up for that.’ He laughs. ‘Of course.’ Together, you walk into Merlin’s office, where you quickly discuss the last few details before you leave for your own. There, you work on the report for a bit longer, adding the finishing touches before sending it to Merlin. Ares lays in the corner of your office, playing with one of his toys quietly. The folded piece of paper sits next to your keyboard, still not read. Once you’ve finally finished the report, you grab and slowly unfold it. Galahad’s handwriting is neat, but not delicate.

Tristan,

Meet me in the library at 21:00 tonight.

Yours faithfully,

‘I suppose I’ll go read in the library tonight, Ares.’ You whisper before you put the note into your drawer and motion your dog to follow you to the kitchens to have lunch. He walks at your side when you enter, and calmly waits as you brew tea and make lunch. Once it’s ready, you decide to eat it outside, as the weather is quite nice today and Ares will be able to run around before you go for the walk with Merlin. Half an hour passes before you’re joined by your uncle, who has his dog, Albion, with him. She’s a border collie who is usually quite serious and focused, but gets very excited when she gets to play with Ares. The two of them are best friends, so you and Merlin try to have them meet up and go on a long walk at least once a week. This doesn’t always happen though, as duty calls whenever it does, resulting in having to cancel quite frequently, which happened the past few weeks. Today isn't such a day though, and once you both finish your lunch, the four of you start walking your usual round around the grounds. You and Merlin chat away about anything and everything while Ares and Albion run around together and fetch a tennis ball from time to time. It’s calm and you’re enjoying yourself. It’s always quite nice to spend your time like this. All nice things must come to an end though, and after forty-five minutes of walking, you have to return to work. ‘See you later Tristan.’ Merlin says before walking to his office, taking Albion with him. ‘Later.’ You wave before walking in the opposite direction. Galahad hadn’t been there when you returned from your walk, so you assume he’s at the shop to get a few things in order. It’s probably for the better, as you aren’t sure what you would do if you were to cross him in the hallway right now. He’s constantly giving you mixed signals. Yesterday, he seemed to lean in to kiss you before pulling away suddenly. Today, he almost continuously avoided your gaze, yet wanted to stay connected in some way that wasn’t visible to others, and he wrote you a note telling you to meet him later.

‘Fuck.’

You whisper to yourself. You’re falling for him, hard. You have been for a long time. You always told yourself it was merely a crush, but you’re unable to deny it any longer. This revelation isn’t your biggest problem though. Your biggest problem is whether he would even be interested, as he’s constantly giving those mixed signals. Tonight you’d decide whether you’ll ever act upon your feelings or not. You’d never particularly cared for the kingsman code which prohibits any relationships, though it hasn’t been necessary for you to break it either, as you hadn’t been interested in any relationships in the first place. Kingsman always comes first in your life. This means that you’ve never actually taken the time to think of finding a partner or date around. What you are worried about, is that Galahad is someone that always follows the rules and doesn’t even think about bending, let alone breaking, them. This may be an explanation for him being so hot and cold with you. Still, it’s confusing and worries you. ‘Good afternoon agent Tristan, is everything alright?’ Arthur greeting you pulls you out of your thoughts and you realise you’re standing in front of the door which leads into your office, your hand on the doorknob. You have probably been standing there for a couple of minutes now. Quickly you turn the knob and start walking in. ‘Ah yes Arthur, I was just lost in thought. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some paperwork to attend to.’ You smile at him before swiftly closing the door once Ares has entered the room as well.

The evening couldn’t come soon enough. Thinking of whatever Galahad could possibly tell you continued racing through your mind the entire afternoon, meaning that you were quite distracted for the most part. Merlin visited you shortly before dinner to discuss the report and what he altered before sending it off to Arthur. While he clearly noticed that you were distracted, he decided against saying anything about it and left. Shortly thereafter, you decided it’d be a good idea to go for another walk with Ares, as it’s a good way of distancing yourself from the setting in which you usually see Galahad. This time, though, the walk lasts for several hours, with the sun starting to set once you start heading back to HQ. When you arrive back at HQ, it’s nearly nine, so you decide to bring the Doberman to your office before heading to the library. Galahad, or Harry which you rarely ever refer to him as, is already there, waiting for you. He turns to face you and smiles when you enter before greeting you. ‘I’m glad you could make it agent Tristan.’ You nod nervously but try to sound casual. ‘Of course, any time, Galahad.’ His eyes look over your form and you do the same. The tension between the two of you is palpable but you try to ignore it as best as you can. For a moment, nothing happens. The both of you stay still, frozen in place. Suddenly Galahad moves again and walks up to you. In a moment of passion, he grabs your face and kisses you deeply. It’s so intense it feels as if he’s bruising your lips. When you don’t move, he starts pulling back. Quickly, you pull him to you once more and kiss back, one of your hands in his hair and the other pulling his tie. The two of you fight for dominance and he pushes you against one of the bookshelves, his left hand now resting on your hip. Eventually, he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed. For minutes, the two of you stand like this, silently enjoying each other's presence and closeness. ‘Tristan.’ He whispers. ‘Yes Galahad?’ The man sighs and slowly leaves your embrace. ‘Shit.’ You hear him mutter under his breath. ‘Shit shit shit.’ He backs away, as if he’s only just realised what happened. ‘Galahad, what’s going on?’ ‘I cannot do this Tristan.’ His voice sounds almost desperate. ‘Galahad, what do you mean you cannot do this?’ He doesn’t reply and walks away, leaving you alone in the library.

You didn’t see Galahad the rest of that week and you threw yourself into work, only leaving your office to go out with Ares. If you hadn’t had him, you probably wouldn’t have left your office in the first place. That Friday morning, Merlin comes in unannounced and finds you sleeping with your head on your desk. He wakes you and you slowly sit up straight. Your suit jacket is discarded somewhere in a corner and you look a bit of a mess with your hair all dishevelled. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling alright Tristan? You really shouldn’t be overworking yourself.’ Your uncle asks you, he sounds quite worried. ‘I’m fine Merlin, I promise.’ He sighs. ‘You do not look or act as if you’re fine. What’s going on?’ You just shake your head. ‘It’s nothing really, I’ve just had to catch up on some work. Please don’t fret it.’ ‘We both know that’s a lie, Tristan. You’re always ahead of everyone when it comes to paperwork.’ He stops for a moment. ‘Look, both you and Galahad have been acting off all week and we can’t have that. I don’t know if there’s anything going on between the two of you, but I want you to fix it, especially if it’s affecting you like this.’ His voice is stern. ‘You should go talk to Galahad then, I’m not the guilty one here.’ You stand up for the first time in what feels like years, your knees and back hurting with every move. ‘I don’t have the energy for all this, go talk to him if you want to know more.’ Silently, you usher him out of your office and shut the door behind him. While you love your uncle, you really couldn’t deal with this right now.

The scotch in the corner of your office had been a little too appealing. That combined with the very limited amount of food you’d had over the past few days, made it very easy for you to become drunk. You sit in your chair feeling very sorry for yourself, as you do in such situations. ‘You know Ares, I’ll go talk to that asshole. He kisses me like that and then he avoids me all week. I suppose that’s not very gentlemanly of him.’ Standing up, you feel dizzy and you have to grab a hold of your desk to keep standing. The world seems to be turning and Ares looks to have multiple heads. ‘Fuck.’ You hadn’t realised how badly the scotch had affected you. Still, that didn’t stop you, and you stumble through your office door. The hallway is empty when you enter it, as is usual at this time of night in HQ. Galahad’s office is only a few doors down and you try to walk there as normally as you can. Taking a deep breath, you knock multiple times. When there’s no immediate answer, you knock again, but more loudly. ‘Galahad, I know you’re in there.’ Your voice is loud enough for him to hear on the other side of the door, but not loud enough to wake any of the other kingsmen. Though they probably wouldn’t wake up unless you screamed loudly enough for it to reach the other side of the estate. Moments pass, but the door is eventually opened by the agent. ‘Tristan.’ He greets you solemnly. ‘I need to talk to you, you pretentious asshole.’ The words fall out of your mouth and there is no stopping them. ‘You are no gentleman. You invite someone to talk to them alone after MONTHS, LITERAL MONTHS, of looking at each other longingly and flirting, then kiss them in the way you did and JUST WALK AWAY LIKE THAT?????’ He finally looks up at you and realises the state that you’re in. ‘WHAT IN THE HELLS IS WRONG WITH YOU INCOMPETENT PRICK????’ You jab your finger into his chest. ‘Tristan, you are in no state to discuss this, please go to bed.’ He grabs your hand. ‘YES I AM, I AM A GROWN ADULT THAT CAN MAKE THEIR OWN DECISIONS. YOU ARE NOT MY MOTHER.’ ‘Yes you are, but you’re currently incapable of making any good decisions. So, please quiet down before you wake up Mr. Pickle.’ Before you’re able to respond, he grabs you and surprisingly easily throws you over his shoulder. ‘Now, I’ll be escorting you to bed, as you don’t seem to be capable of doing that yourself.’ He completely ignores your protests, which continue for about five minutes before you realise there’s nothing you can do about this situation. He only puts you down when you’re in front of your bedroom door, as he needs you to open it. ‘I’m going to put you down, but please stay quiet. I don’t want you to wake everyone up.’ You nod and mutter to yourself as he puts you down. ‘Still an asshole though.’ He laughs to himself. When you finally have both your feet on the ground again, you’re stable momentarily before you start falling over again. Galahad notices and steadies you by grabbing your shoulders. ‘Careful now, sweetness.’ His lips touch the shell of your ear and you slowly feel yourself going red. You ignore it though, steadying yourself with his help before walking to your door and unlocking it. When you try to open it you almost fall into your own room and so Harry catches you, before the world around you slowly goes dark.

The following morning you wake up in your own bed, not remembering how you got there in the first place. Ares sits next to your bed, looking up at you as you wake. ‘Morning, my boy.’ Your voice sounds more like a groan than anything else. He nudges your arm and softly barks when you eventually sit up. The light hurts your eyes as you look around, so you close your eyes and lay back down. Once you finally open them again, you notice that there’s a glass of water and a pack of paracetamol next to your bed. ‘Who put that there?’ You look at Ares and pet him before taking one of the pills followed by a gulp of water. The headache you have is slowly driving you insane, so hopefully this’ll help. Still, it remains unclear who actually put it there after probably finding you in quite the state. Usually, you could easily hold your liquor, but apparently your body had other plans yesterday. You do realise that you’re still in your clothes from the day before. So, you decide to get out of them and put on something more comfortable before calling Merlin. ‘Morning Merlin.’ Your voice is quite hoarse. ‘Ah Tristan, I was wondering when you’d call.’ He sounds quite amused for some unknown reason. ‘What do you mean?’ The Scot laughs. ‘Well, I got a notification earlier this morning that you’d be out of the office today because you’re ill. Thing is, agent Galahad is the one who notified me, which is a bit odd to be honest.’ You groan. ‘Well he’s right about me not feeling well.’ Slowly, you lay back in your bed. Merlin didn’t talk to you for much longer after that and he remained quite vague about what Galahad had told him about the night before. Despite you desperately wanting to know what had happened the night before, you decided that would be a problem for tomorrow before heading back to sleep.

That night, a knock wakes you from your slumber. You almost jump out of your bed at the sound, scaring Ares a bit. ‘One moment please.’ You shout at the person behind the door before calming your dog. ‘I should take you out for a walk in a few, shouldn’t I? I’m so sorry Ares.’ After whispering that, you stand up and walk to your door. Opening it slowly, you reveal Merlin’s form. ‘Good evening Tristan.’ He smiles. ‘Thought I’d bring you some dinner.’ The tray he’s holding has a plate with a baked potato, some carrots and broccoli, and some beef, accompanied by a large glass of water and a cup of your favourite tea. He walks in once you’ve further opened your door, putting the tray on the small table that stands in the corner of your room. ‘Do sit down.’ His voice is soft. You do so silently, Ares laying down next to you. ‘Thank you.’ Your voice is soft and you start eating your first meal of the day. Merlin sits down across from you. ‘I do hope this was a one time thing, Tristan.’ He sighs and takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand. ‘It won’t happen again, sir.’ Your voice can barely be heard from across the table. ‘Look, you’ve been doing flawlessly so far, so getting drunk and insulting go Galahad isn’t something that’ll affect you or your career in any way. It can, however, have an effect on how well you’re able to work with him in the foreseeable future.’ Your eyes don’t meet his. ‘Now that I’ve scolded you for getting drunk and acting in the way you did, I would like to know why. Harry hasn’t wanted to tell me anything and I’m against just checking your glasses if I can ask you.’ Your plate is only half finished but you’re already full and you put down your cutlery. ‘I’m not sure you want to know.’ Leaning back, you make yourself more comfortable in your chair. ‘Galahad has really said nothing?’ He shakes his head. ‘Well then, I suppose I’ll tell you what’s going on; under the condition that this will strictly stay between the two of us. Not even Galahad can know.’ ‘Why are you being so secretive about this?’ He enquires. ‘You’ll understand once you hear the full story. Now do you promise?’ You hold out your hand with your pinky ready for him to intertwine with. And he does. ‘I promise.’ A smile creeps onto your face. This is something you’d always done with him when it comes to promises, starting when you were just a little kid. ‘So, as you may have noticed the past few weeks, there’s been some tension between me and Galahad, or Harry.’ You start. ‘But this has been an underlying issue for years now -‘

That night Merlin listened as you talked about how the situation between you and Galahad had unfolded over the past few years and more in detail about the past week or two. Understandably, it was quite a bit for him to take in, and at first he wasn’t certain how to feel or respond. If you hadn’t been who you are to him, he would’ve been fine with it. But with the familial ties you have, and the fact that he and Galahad are best friends, made him hesitate. Yet, he promises to keep quiet and have you and the other man resolve it by yourselves. He would, however, urge his friend to do so if the issue isn’t resolved within a week, meaning that you’ll have to hurry up when it comes to talking things out. He did make clear that he isn’t against you having a relationship with the older man, his tone may have even been slightly supportive, which was somewhat unexpected.

The next time you finally see Harry it’s Sunday. Exactly three days since you’d last seen him and had had the drunken encounter. There you stood, in front of his apartment, your heart pounding in your throat. He’d been at the shop the past few days while you were at the mansion. Merlin was quite convinced that Galahad was, in fact, avoiding you, so he’d suggested you go visit him that evening. Well, suggested was quite a loose term in this case. It was more that Merlin just dropped you off here and told you to ‘Go ahead and talk it out’. Obviously, this was his way of forcing you to do so, as he is quite sick of having the two of you avoiding each other.

Finally, you ring the doorbell and you stand there waiting nervously for Galahad to answer. He does after a few minutes and the confusion is quite evident on his face. When he doesn’t say anything, you start talking. ‘Sorry to bother you Galahad, but Merlin’s dropped me off so we can talk things out.’ You smile sheepishly and he sighs before letting you in. You have never been inside his home before, so you look around curiously as he leads you into his kitchen. He was wearing his usual attire, save for the glasses. Apparently, he had been cooking dinner when you rang his doorbell. As you look around the room, not moving, he clears his throat. ‘Would you like to join me for dinner Tristan?’ The question is logical, yet you aren’t certain whether he actually wants you to join or if he’s asking it out of obligation. You’re hoping it’s the former rather than the latter. ‘If you don’t mind. Otherwise we can talk and then I’ll leave, I don’t wish to intrude Galahad.’ He motions you to sit down. ‘I would love for you to join me, I’m almost finished cooking dinner anyway, so do feel free to have a seat.’ When you do so, he turns around to face the stove once again before finishing dinner. It is a simple yet delicious meal, and you appreciate the gesture of him inviting you to join him. It is mostly spent in silence, save for a few comments appreciating his skill, or talking about the goings on at the shop and HQ.

After dinner, Harry offers you a cup of tea before pouring one for himself and sitting down across from you. It is silent for a few minutes before he finally speaks again. ‘I would like to apologise.’ His voice is soft. ‘I should’ve handled this situation differently and not have run away in the way I did.’ As he says this, his eyes divert. ‘It is just that I was, and still am, quite uncertain of how to go about this. I do not wish to hurt you, but in my attempt to do so I did the opposite of what I had intended. I thought you were too pure, too kind. You’re too sweet, too sweet for a bitter man like me. Yet here I am, madly in love with you and confessing my feelings.’ When he finishes talking he looks you in the eye once more. There’s emotion in them, seemingly a mix of sadness and regret. ‘Galahad, I don’t know what to say.’ You pause. ‘I understand why you may have hesitated to approach me in the way you did, however, I am quite confused as to why you ran away so suddenly. You are the one that made the initial move and I never approached you because you were likely to have reservations about breaking kingsman code, yet you gave me hope by inviting me to the library to talk. And for a moment, when you kissed me, I thought we could be together, even if it was just for a moment.’ Slowly, you stand up from your chair. Putting down your cup of tea in the process. ‘Then you went ahead and ripped my heart out by walking away like that. As if I mean nothing to you, as if you weren’t the one that made the first move.’ You raise your voice a bit, but try to stay calm. Following your example, he stands up as well and starts walking towards you. ‘I truly am sorry but it is up to you whether or not you forgive me.’ He looks down into your eyes. ‘What will happen if I forgive you, Harry?’ The two of you are almost touching each other, only a few centimetres between your faces. ‘I shall take you on a date and be your partner. That is, if you’ll have me.’ Rather than answering him with words, you pull his tie and kiss him passionately.

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thought--bubble · 1 year ago

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All of your senses

Ettore X (Riding Ettore Reader)

Word Count: 2,082

All of your senses Masterlist

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Banners & Dividers by @arcielee

Based on THIS request

Warnings:: Ettore, Dubcon, smut (PinV unprotected). Male whimpering because I wanted it, and I can! Hehehe

Therapy! Ettore scoffs at the thought. As if therapy could ever help him. As far as he understood himself, he didn't need therapy.

Therapy is something to help a person sort through their emotions. Ettore simply doesn't have any. He does not feel things in his head or his heart. The only feelings he recognizes are physical.

You can't hurt his feelings, but you can break his nose. You can't send his heart a flutter, but you can get him off.

In order to be cleared for that damn space mission in which he would be made part of a co-ed population of inmates, he had to go through therapy and nothing was going to stop him from getting on that ship and once again having access to women.

So, with full fledged irritation and annoyance, he drudged his way down to the prison shrink. A guard flanked him on either side.

He thinks it's a bit dramatic. Yes, he can be violent, but it's actually pretty rare. Only when it serves a purpose and beating down the person who could clear him would be counterproductive to his plans.

When you open the door and beckon him inside, he becomes painfully aware of why the guards are necessary. You're his preferred victim type. A young voluptuous woman, long silky hair, skin-tight pencil skirt, and button-up top. The only thing that can make him lose control.

Ettore walks into the room, the chains connecting his hands to his feet scraping across the floor.

"Hello, Ettore." Your voice makes a shiver run down his spine. He doesn't answer you. Instead, he steps closer and sniffs before one of the guards grabs him and pulls him back, shoving him into a cold metal chair before proceeding to strap his arms and legs down.

Once Ettore is securely fastened to the chair one of the guards turns to you with concern.

" We really should stay. This inmate can not be trusted...... around women"

You chuckle at this. " therapy doesn't work well with an audience. I trust that you have fully secured him?"

"Yes, but-" you stop him with wave of your hand.

"I have full faith that he will stay right where you put him. You can wait outside the room."

The guard mumbles under his breath as he motions for the other guard to follow him out into the hallway. He gives Ettore a final stern look before closing the door, leaving the two of you alone.

You sit down in a plush chair directly across from Ettore with his file in your hand. You had been reading everything the prison had on him for the last week in preparation for this evaluation, and you had a pretty good idea of how he ticked.

"So Ettore. How are you feeling today?" You knew this approach most likely wouldn't work with Ettore. Making him comfortable didn't matter. He wouldn't open up to you just because of some pleasantries. He doesn't know how to open up, and if he did. He still wouldn't.

Ettore stares back at you blankly, his eyes endlessly scrolling the length of your form, yet never looking into your eyes.

It's carnal, the ache he feels inside at the sight of your soft skin. His fingers twitching around the arm of the chair. He wants to touch you. He needs to touch you.

"Why don't we start with your childhood. Your file says your mother died when you were young and you were left with your father, who may have had a bit of a drinking problem." If your words were affecting Ettore, you would never know by looking at him.

His eyes continued to ravish you from your neck to your knees. His heart pounding in his ears. What he needs is right there in front of him, yet just out of reach. He once again fights subtly against his restraints. The inability to move suffocating and controlling his every thought.

"Losing your mother so young, coupled with the nature of your crimes. It's my belief that you are in need of a gentle touch." Ettore finally lifts his eyes to meet yours, and you smile back at him.

Touch? His favorite word. Not care, support, or love, as all the other therapists have deamed. No. You used the word touch, the simple phrase having the desired effect.

You stand from your chair and step toward him slowly, his eyes darting down to your legs watching each step.

"Something ....... soft. " You walk up to the side of Ettore's chair and gently graze his cheek with your finger. You can see his arms and wrists fighting against his restraints, and you chuckle.

Ettore's eyes darken at the sound. How lucky you are that he is strapped down to this chair. If he were not, chuckles would not be the sound to come from that pretty little throat.

"Oh, no need to worry." You lean down and bring your mouth right up next to his ear and whisper, "I'll be gentle."

"I won't be." He growls in response, his patience waning. This challenge to his dominance is not something he likes or is willing to accept.

From this angle, you couldn't see his face only the back of his neck where the hairs stood on end, his breathing controlled and heavy.

"You will." You coo in his ear.

You place your hands on the back of the chair, one over each of his shoulders, and bring your mouth close to the nape of his neck. Just gently breathing, letting him feel the ghost of a touch across his skin.

"I'll teach you"

You enjoy watching his response. The tightening of his shoulders the flex in his bicep as he pulls and pulls against his restraints with no hope of getting loose.

"You need some tenderness. That's all. " You walk back around to the front of his chair, Ettore looks up at you, rage clearly written across his face.

A caged animal. Face to face with his prey and unable to act upon his most primal desires.

You hike your pencil skirt up to your mid thighs, and Ettore's eyes instantly drop. The look of anger quickly replaced with hunger, his arms again pulling against his restraints.

"Tsk tsk." You gently rub at his wrists. "Stop that silly boy, you're going to hurt yourself."

His eyes flit about your body wildly, and you smile before placing yourself in his lap, your legs straddling either side of his hips.

Automatically, Ettore thrusts his hips up toward you. "No," you gently scold and hold him down by the hips. "Gentle"

Ettore closes his eyes and breathes deep. A predatory grumble rattling in his chest.

"Now, sweet boy." You bring your cheek up to his, the stubble on his face a little coarse against your skin and the tightness in his jaw apparent.

"Relax," You roll your hips against him slowly, his thin prison pants giving away his excitement.

Ettore again desperately pulls against his restraints. You can't have the power here. He can't let you have the power here.

"Stop," you say, voice firm. You bring your hand up to his chin and gently message it with your thumb. You gently tug on his bottom lip before leaning in and placing a soft kiss against his lips. He doesn't reciprocate. The feeling so foreign, so strange.

"Doesn't that feel nice, sweet boy?"You move your hands so that you are cradling his strong jaw. Holding his face so he has no choice but to look at you.

"Just what the doctor ordered, hmm?" You bring your lips down to him again. Slowly pushing your tongue into his mouth. Not aggressive, not passionate.

You move your tongue in his mouth, and you feel him start to kiss back, aggressively at first, but you keep your pace steady and soft.

You bring your hands to the back of his head, tugging briefly on the hair there. You control his movement this way. Too aggressive, you tug him back.

You roll your hips against him again, falling into a steady rhythm.

With his head pulled back and his neck craned completely powerless as you grind yourself against him, he whimpers.

"What was that sweet boy?" You grind yourself harder against his erection and he whimpers louder.

"Tell me" you demand as you again increase the speed and pressure of your movements.

"Please." He finally croaks out, followed by another whimper. "God please"

"Oh, poor thing." You keep his head pulled back and lick a stripe up his neck. "Am I teasing you?"

Ettore groans, and you slightly lift yourself from his lap.

"I don't want to drive you mad." You release his hair, and he looks at you, panic in his eyes.

"No, wait," Ettore tries to reach for you but is trapped by those damn restraints.

"Oh. Don't worry, sweet boy. " You grab his cheeks and squeeze them briefly. "We aren't done"

You reach beneath you and shimmy his pants down just enough to free his cock. His mouth opens slightly at the feeling his eyes glazing over.

"Slow and gentle." You nuzzle your nose to him as he holds his breath.

He looks so desperate. So pathetic. It's so satisfying.

You press the head of his cock to your entrance and sink down just enough so the tip breeches your walls and nothing else.

Ettore instinctually bucks his hips once before you again grab him and hold him in place.

"Tsk tsk," you scold him as you hold him down and slide up and down over just the tip of his throbbing cock.

His body starts shaking so harshly that it's nearly convulsing. It takes your full strength to hold him in place, his hips desperate to move.

"Fuck fuck fuck" He whimpers loudly. "I need it. More. Fuck more!"

"More?" You sink down just a smidge further and watch as Ettore's head lulled, and his eyes started to roll back.

"Ahh!" He clenches his jaw and moves his hips subtly, getting himself just a tiny bit further.

You slide down further, now halfway down his shaft.

"Kiss me nice and gentle like I taught ya" He lifts his head and looks at you with confusion.

"Not moving another inch till ya do," Ettore quickly brings his face to yours. He tentatively kisses you with slow unsure movements.

As the kiss continues, you slide slowly down the rest of his shaft until your ass rests on his thighs and he moans into your mouth.

You smirk, you have an apex predator beneath you, whimpering, moaning, and begging for relief.

"See? So gentle you are. " You softly blow into his ear as you roll your hips slowly.

Ettore gasps at the sensation, his entire body vibrating. He's been in this prison for two years already, with no one but his hand to keep him company.

The pressure builds up in the base of his spine quickly, but he fights the urge to buck his hips, knowing you would stop if he did.

"You wanna cum sweet boy?" He nods a pained expression on his face.

You lean back in and kiss him again, this time with more urgency as you bring your fingers to your clit. The perfect mixture of his soft kisses, your nimble fingers, and his thick cock scraping against your walls bring you over the edge quickly.

As your cunt pulses around him you grip his hair again exposing his neck to you.

"Cum sweet boy. Right now, " He has no choice but to comply he bucks his hips twice and then spills himself inside of you, his mouth wide open and eyes closed.

You kiss him once more, but he is spent, mouth just hanging open lazily. You hop off of him and fix his pants as he smiles up at you, a smug look of satisfaction on his face.

You fix yourself and, without another word, to him open your office door telling the guards to take him back to his cell.

On his way out the door, he keeps his eyes on you, tripping over his shackles and being caught by a guard.

You pay him no mind and quickly close the door behind him and sit down at your desk.

You fill out the sheet you were given approving him for the mission, and of course, suggest a few more therapy sessions before he goes.

Part 2

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#ewan mitchell verse #ettore x reader #ettore high life #ettore smut #ettore #ettore imagine #ewan nation #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewanverse #ewan mitchell #jess fics #my red flag bf

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tarot-by-e11e · 9 months ago

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PAC: What do you need to learn to love about yourself?

Never forget to only take what resonates and leave what doesn't. This is a general PAC reading, so if the first pile you chose doesn't resonate with you, then maybe you're meant to read another pile.

(this is for entertainment purposes only)

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Pile 1: Ace of Swords, 4 of Coins, 9 of Cups

You may feel like an outcast, Pile 1. You don’t think like other people. You might have also been scrutinized for being able to “work smart”, being told, “Why do we have to do it a new way when the old way still works?”. My dear Pile 1, you must learn to love your inner visionary. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to improve the current system of things. You sought to evolve and you hope by sharing your ideas, others can grow and move forward with you. You’re also able to see through the mess and create clarity for yourself. Embrace the parts of you that can naturally find ways of life more efficiently and cost-effectively.

Another great thing about you that deserves a whole lot of love is your practical approach towards financial literacy. Others might have called you stingy but they didn’t know you might have grown up in a place of lack. So you had promised yourself to work smart so that you won’t have to worry about how you’re going to afford to put food on the table, a roof over your head, and clothes on your back.

There’s nothing to be ashamed about knowing how to make money work for you. You have this natural ability to be wise and practical about your resources. Be proud that you know how to also be secure internally as well. Establishing healthy boundaries is a skill we all need yet not everyone learns. People call you guarded, I say you know that not everyone deserves to have access to you.

Finally, never shame yourself for being able to achieve your goals and dreams in life, pile 1. You should allow yourself to enjoy the fruits of your labor unapologetically. This is a rather hard pill to swallow for those with survivor’s guilt. Being able to become the person you’ve always wanted to be means those people you loved who didn’t evolve with you might get left behind. This makes it difficult for you to allow yourself to savor your success when you have loved ones who haven’t achieved their dreams yet.

As much as you want to be happy for them, you can’t make them achieve their success for them. They chose their way of life as you did yours. If your success bothers them, it’s not your responsibility to coddle and make yourself small for their comfort. So, if you feel you deserve to go on a solo vacation for your hard work, then go for it. If you want to move into your own apartment, go right ahead.

You have every right to use your money to whoever you see fit. You’ve worked hard to earn that, so treat yourself right with the fruits of your labor. Don’t apologize for that promotion. Never apologize for your happiness. You just need to remember one thing: you can’t control how others react to your success.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Pile 2: Moon, 9 of Swords, 4 of Swords

First of all pile 2, one thing you should learn to love about yourself is your intuition and your ability to easily see through the BS. Yup, I said it loud and clear. You see through the BS in people. They can’t lie to you, even to save their lives. Your intuition is a gift that helps you in any way that can help lead you into your highest good. Though it seems that pile 2 feels bad that you see through the superficial two-faced niceties among your peers. You might have experienced moments where you muttered under your breath, “I hope I’m wrong” only to be proven right yet again. Don’t you think it’s high time you should stop lying to yourself and embrace this amazing gift?

Another thing you should learn to love about yourself is knowing your limits and being able to give yourself the space to honor and validate your fears and anxiety. Don’t beat yourself up for being aware of what you can or cannot do because knowing your limitations means you can utilize whatever skills you have at hand that are to your advantage.

Also, not everyone is resilient enough to be able to hold space for their fears, anxiety, and insecurities without letting the aforementioned swallow them whole. You know yourself well enough that you need to be able to safely allow your feelings to be seen and validated for your and everyone’s good. You know what it’s like to be at the bottom, so you know that with your acquired knowledge backed by personal experience, you can help someone else ease through their own fears and anxiety.

Finally Pile 2, you need to stop feeling guilty about prioritizing your self-care and rest. You know what your body requires to be able to do your tasks every day. There’s nothing wrong with being able to listen to what your body needs intuitively. When you know you’re about to rest, you know yourself well enough that you need to pause, reassess, and re-strategize your approach moving forward.

You should also be proud of knowing how to protect your peace. Some people who call you selfish for putting yourself, down don’t like the fact that they can’t manipulate and abuse you to their advantage. The issue is with them, never with you. Knowing how to protect and defend yourself is something you should be proud of. You know your worth and you also know what you won’t tolerate. So, you shouldn’t fault and cave into to toxic societal norm of conforming to unrealistic and unethical double standards. Embrace your self-worth. Never feel bad about putting yourself first.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Pile 3: 5 of Swords, 10 of Coins, Justice

Hi Pile 3, what you need to learn to love about yourself is your conflict resolution skills. This pile feels like my eloquent speakers pile. Could also be my bookworm pile. With an extensive vocabulary and unfortunately growing up in a hostile environment, for the sake of your survival, you grew up having no choice but to be good at conflict resolution. I know it’s an odd thing to love about yourself but another great thing that you should learn to love about yourself is you know when to stand firm and fight, if necessary.

Like, if diplomacy is useless, you’re ready to take the offensive approach. But this has always been your last resort. Knowing what it’s like to grow up in a chaotic environment if you had a choice, you would avoid recreating that childhood chaos in your current adult life. You’d exhaust all diplomatic approaches before you’re forced to take the offensive stance. That’s one of the many things about you that deserves to be loved and appreciated.

What you need to learn to love about yourself is your legacy/roots/ancestry, pile 3. This could also be my POC / mixed race / immigrant pile. It sort of makes sense why you’re a bit iffy about your lineage, especially if you’re mixed race because you might have been bullied when you were younger. So, it’s a bit tricky to love a part of you that your immediate environment teased/bullied/ostracized you for.

You must have dealt with a whole plethora of traumatic stories because you don’t look like most people around you. There’s nothing wrong with being different. There’s nothing wrong with being an immigrant. There’s nothing wrong about being of mixed race. You are beautiful/handsome/lovable just the way you are. The issues is never with you so never shame yourself for your lineage. You deserve love, respect, and happiness for simply existing.

Finally, don’t feel bad about being honest and holding others accountable. There’s nothing to be ashamed of when you are upholding your integrity. You should learn to love the parts of yourself that cannot stand injustice. You have this natural instinct to defend the powerless and speak for the silenced. Not everyone is brave enough to fight for their beliefs and the rights of others. Your need for truth is quite remarkable. So never feel bad about not being a good liar. It just means you don’t see the point of lying to someone.

In this age where manipulation and mental games are being praised as “owning your power”, people, like you pile 3, are rarer than black opals in a Pacific ocean full of diamonds. So never let anyone bully you into conforming to this mental gymnastics just to be accepted/in a relationship. People who are meant to be in your life don’t have to be lied to in order for them to want to be with you. You can only keep someone that wants to be kept.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Pile 4: 10 of Cups, Page of Wands, King of Cups

From what I can pick up for you pile 4 is that you should be proud that you came from a loving home. I know, it kind of sounds like too much of a flex. To have been able to grow up in a loving environment while your peers grew up in chaotic and traumatic environments tends to leave a heavy guilt in your heart. A part of you feels bad that you can’t relate to having a crappy childhood because your parents actually did the work and healed together so that you can have a happy childhood.

So… whenever your friends or peers open up about how they feel unloved and unappreciated at home then they ask you about your childhood, you must have lied to avoid putting salt in their wounds. I understand the need for camaraderie but you shouldn’t feel bad about having come from a loving family. If your friends are okay with this suggestion, why not invite them over? Ask your family if they can be more understanding and considerate towards your friends. To be an example that not all adults are bad.

Another interpretation of this card is to be proud of your happiness. Don’t feel bad that you actually have a loving partner while your friends are still single. Don’t be ashamed of being seen with your significant other. It’s not like you’re intentionally making your single friends jealous whenever you answer their questions about your love life.

You should be unapologetically proud of your happiness, especially when you know you did nothing wrong. Why apologize for your happiness when everyone wants to be happy, in some shape or form? Also, consider this as a word of caution, if someone around you isn’t happy for your happiness, best to cut ties with them. It’s not wise to be around someone who doesn’t know how to be happy for the happiness of others. This doesn’t just involve relationships, this can also be applied to promotions, achievements, and awards.

Something about yourself that deserves more love pile 3 is your cheerful disposition and adventurous spirit. It’s not shameful to be able to see the silver lining. It’s not bad to be able to see the good in people. With how our world is in constant chaos and peril, we need people like you who haven’t lost hope for a better and brighter future.

So never feel bad about being perceived as naïve when you’re simply not projecting your bad experiences to the new people you meet in your life. What’s so bad about still being able to be excited about the glimmers in life? There’s nothing to feel bad about being able to cater and nurture your inner child. So never let the world shame you for never giving up hope.

Finally Pile 4, you should learn to love your natural inclination for diplomacy. Knowing when to listen to your heart or when to lead with your head is such a life-changing and valuable ability that majority of us are constantly learning to master day by day. You might have been told that you’re so mature and wiser than your age, which might have been internalized as this insatiable need to always be reliable and dependable. At times, it might feel like such a burden at times; to always be the person everyone relies on.

So… since you are aware of the weight of the responsibility of being the reliable person for everyone, you should use your ability of discernment to decide a schedule on when will you entertain request for counsel for those who need you. You know what your needs are, and you also know that you need to be able to live a balanced life to be of service to others. So, learn to be okay with putting yourself first so that you can help others better in a later date.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Please do let me know how you resonate with your pile in the comment section below.

Thank you so much for looking through my PAC.

Tagging my personal account: @e11e27 as a reminder.

#divination #tarot #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #pick a card #tarot cards #tarotblr #pick a picture #pick a pile #pick a photo #pac tarot #pac reading

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mvrkieboo · 6 months ago

Text

Old Bloodhounds

P18 | not tonight please 🩷

You walked to where Jaehyun was standing and when he finally saw you, walking toward him, he started to gather his bags. He looked a little startled when he saw your face. After you got to him, you tried to take his baggage but he quickly snatched it away before you could even touch it. As if he couldn't bear watching you touch his belongings.

Back then, he really was touchy when you would take his stuff without asking him first. But this time, he made it as if your hands were too dirty to be touching his belongings.

“I can carry it.” He spoke through gritted teeth, and you can't help but think he looked ridiculous with one duffel bag on one shoulder and two more on the other while pulling on his baggage.

He hated you so much, he was willing to carry all of that by himself? If you weren't so hurt, you would've laughed at his stubborn ass. A security guard—whom you were very familiar with—walked up to you and Jaehyun, wearing a pleasant smile.

“Good evening, Ms. y/n. Does your friend need some help?” You wiped away any downcast expression you were wearing and put on a pleasant smile that matched his.

“Good evening, Sungwoo. Can you take two of his duffel bags?” He nodded, the smile still painted across his face.

You felt your smile and whole body freezing when Jaehyun gladly gave two duffel bags to Sungwoo. You coached yourself and controlled your feelings as you swiped your card at the elevator buttons.

The ride up was awkward, to say the least. It was leaning more to tense. Jaehyun was obviously tired from his day and you were still feeling the effects of downing 6 bottles of hard liquor and crying your eyes out from yesterday—the headache was still there. Sungwoo, knowing the lines he shouldn't cross, placed the the duffel bags at the entrance and said his farewells to you before taking off.

You closed the door with a click and turned around to see Jaehyun was already back with his bullshit, carrying all four bags by himself. You gritted your teeth and walked past him.

“Follow me.” You spoke to him, leading him to where his room was.

You opened the door for him and turned on the lights. Jaehyun's room was just opposite of yours, and his room had a wall of sightseeing windows facing the city like your room does too. Jaehyun entered the room quickly and thoughtlessly threw his duffel bags on the queen bed. You walked into the room and clicked on the button of his closet wall to open it.

“This condo rarely has power outages, so don't worry about not being able to open your closet if the power goes out. There's a plug right next to your nightstand to charge your phone, and I don't really mind if you wanna plug in an extension. The bathroom is on your left once you get out of this room, and there's a wall of shelves in there, so place your toiletries nicely. Also, there's a door right next to the fridge in the kitchen area that'll lead to the laundry room, equipped with a washing machine and a dryer. There's an installed ironing board right next to your closet, you can figure that out.” You spoke robotically, beating down your overwhelming emotions after you took in the sight of your estranged older brother under your roof.

“And—and here's your access card, make sure you have it with you at all times. There'll be some nights where I take late night shifts for my job, so I won't be here to open the door for you if you forget your access card and come home at ass o'clock in the dead of the night. Do you have any questions?” Crossing your arms, you made it seem like you were totally unaffected with this sudden sibling reunion.

“How’s the security here?” Jaehyun asked quietly, then rubbing his eyes at the exhaustion taking over his body.

“24-hour security with shift rotations.”

He nodded and quietly muttered his thanks as he started to unpack. You nodded back, after he was already not looking at you anymore. You went to exit his room, but once you got to his doorway, you paused for a second and looked back at him. His back was to you, bent over the bed as he unzipped his duffel bags one by one.

Yuno looked so far away from you.

Once you wholly exited his room, you quietly closed the door. When he was certain you were out of his room and he was out of your sight, Jaehyun stopped what he was doing and stood straight up again, running his hand through his hair before it went to rubbing his face, a sigh exiting his mouth.

When he saw you at the lobby, he had noted that you looked really sick, and how swollen your eyes were.

prev | masterlist | next

A/N : THAT'S RIGHT, SURPRISE DOUBLE UPDATE Y'ALL 😜

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

• taglist • [OPEN]

@spiderm444rk @morkiee @xiuriii @solvrse @herebyaccident0 @injunnie-lemon @dearmonamour @v-6893 @sehunniepot @bee-the-loser @nessaassen02 @luluvhs @sunghoonsgfreal @docilismo @neocrashed @soobinbunnie5 @cigarettesafterjae @dudekiss3r @kittydollzz @urlocalbeaner5 @polarisjisung @conwunder @wonupuppy @jae-n0 @413ktz @kimsaerom @meowtella @aerivrs @swanyvess

#nct fanfic #nct smau #nct scenarios #nct mark #mark lee #mark lee x reader

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txttletale · 2 years ago

Note

Hi! Do you think you could link me to some resources about the problems/ evils of the EU? Would love to find some but it's hard to know what's reliable when I have no base knowledge in this area + you seem very well informed :)

sure. let's start with what the EU does to its own member states--in 2009, the EU bailed the greek government out of severe debt on the condition that they establish brutal austerity measures, cutting public spending and welfare. these measures served to immiserate and destroy the lives of thousands of greek people:

Greek mortality has worsened significantly since the beginning of the century. In 2000, the death rate per 100,000 people was 944.5. By 2016, it had risen to 1174.9, with most of the increase taking place from 2010 onwards.

[forbes]

Since the implementation of the austerity programme, Greece has reduced its ratio of health-care expenditure to GDP to one of the lowest within the EU, with 50% less public hospital funding in 2015 than in 2009. This reduction has left hospitals with a deficit in basic supplies, while consumers are challenged by transient drug shortages.

[the lancet]

The homeless population is thought to have grown by 25 per cent since 2009, now numbering 20,000 people.

[oxfam]

the most brutal treatment, however, the EU of course reserves for migrants from the global south. the EU sets strict migration quotas and uses its member states as weapons against desperate people fleeing across the mediterranean. boats are prevented from landing, migrants that do make it to land are repelled with brutal violence, and refugees are deported back to countries where their lives are in lethal danger. these policies have led to many, many deaths--and the refugees and migrants who do survive are treating fucking inhumanely.

After a perilous journey across the desert, Abdulaziz was locked up in Triq al-Sikka, a grim prison in Tripoli, Libya. Why? Because the EU pays Libyan militias millions of euros to detain anyone deemed a possible migrant to Europe [...] A leaked EU internal memorandum in 2020 acknowledged that capturing migrants was now “a profitable business model” [...] in Triq al-Sikka and other detention centres, “acts of murder, enslavement, torture, rape and other inhumane acts are committed against migrants”, observed a damning UN report.

[the guardian]

Volunteers have logged more than 27,000 deaths by drowning since 1993, often hundreds at a time when large ships capsize. These account for nearly 80% of all the entries.

[the guardian]

Refugees and asylum seekers were punched, slapped, beaten with truncheons, weapons, sticks or branches, by police or border guards who often removed their ID tags or badges, the committee said in its annual report. People on the move were subject to pushbacks, expulsion from European states, either by land or sea, without having asylum claims heard. Victims were also subject to “inhuman and degrading treatment”, such as having bullets fired close to their bodies while they lay on the ground, being pushed into rivers, sometimes with hands tied, or being forced to walk barefoot or even naked across a border.

[the guardian]

In September, Greece opened a refugee camp on the island of Samos that has been described as prison-like. The €38m (£32m) facility for 3,000 asylum seekers has military-grade fencing and CCTV to track people’s movements. Access is controlled by fingerprint, turnstiles and X-rays. A private security company and 50 uniformed officers monitor the camp. It is the first of five that Greece has planned; two more opened in November.

[the guardian]

i could go on. i could cite dozens more similarly brutal news stories about horrific mistreatment, or any of the dozens of people who have killed themselves in the custody of border police under horrific conditions. the EU is a murderous institution that does not care about the lives of refugees and migrants or about the lives of the citizens of any member state that is not pursuing a vicious enough neoliberal political program

#ask #sa mention

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lawsofchaos1 · 4 months ago

Text

Malec Promptlet: Undercover!Circle Soulmate AU

Alec is the eldest son and the acknowledged heir of two prominent, highly-ranked Circle members that are openly known to have recanted Valentine’s ideology in name only. When Robert and Maryse begin leaving the Institute in Alec’s care when he’s fourteen it becomes clear that Alec isn’t relying on his bloodline alone and is going to be an immensely powerful member of the Clave in his own right.

The Circle would be utterly foolish not to recruit the Shadowhunter who is absolutely certain to become the next Head of the New York Institute. Especially when it becomes evident that the Shadowhunters of the New York Institute would lay down their lives happily for their beloved young leader. Whichever way Alec turns in this war, so too will New York.

By the time Alec is 22, he has gained complete control and his full investiture as Head. He is brutally competent, ruthless in the protection and training of his people, and, beyond all else, utterly without prejudice in his application of the Law.

The Circle, misreading Alec's motivation entirely, sees what they believe to be their way in. In truth, Alec despises applying the Law as it is written, hating how unequal it treats the Downworld. His rise up the ranks in the Clave's legal qualification system far surpasses the requirements of his position and sets the stage for him to have authority to assist in changing the laws themselves. The Circle believes it to be with the goal of further subjugating the Downworld, just as Maryse and Robert would have taught their eldest son and heir.

And so Alec, deep in the midst of researching the legal permissions that would be necessary to lawfully establish a Downworld Council, instead receives a recruitment offer from Valentine. Valentine, whom the entire Shadow World believes dead.

The resulting meeting with Caleb Sunshade, the Head of Alec's Intelligence Department, results in a streak of oaths that leave Alec with his brows raised, impressed despite himself at Caleb's creativity.

Caleb, and all Caleb's people, absolutely despise Alec's plan. But, two days and far too few hours of sleep later, they agree his plan has the best shot of achieving their aims. The damage Alec could do to the Circle with full access and proof of their activities is beyond anything the Clave has managed in the past decade.

So Alec goes undercover in the Circle to bring them down, maintaining a hard-won balance between gaining their trust without being forced into the very acts he's sworn himself to stop. (Caleb and his people certainly earn their overtime the months Alec's plan is in action.)

However, one cold December day, Valentine summons Alec to his ship to assist in interrogating his latest batch of prisoners. Alec makes short conversation with the 'welcoming crew', never so grateful as to be known across the Shadow World for his lack of care for social niceties. No one expects him to be friendly, focused as he is on a task, and he escapes the Circle members on the deck quickly to walk the familiar path to the brig.

He eyes the guards on the doors as he passes, scowling at their care in searching even him before being granted entry. This is the only prison he's yet to find a means for subtly ensuring the occupant's escape and it galls him. But, this is where Valentine makes his home and the security unfortunately matches the importance.

Only one cell is occupied and Alec moves to it swiftly. His stele is drawn to let himself in, the prisoners always secured to the wall in double surety, but he pauses the moment his eyes meet the warlock's gaze within.

The warlock is fiercely angry, cat-eyes luminous in loathing, and Alec is helpless but to shudder in a breath at the sudden agony emblazoning itself across his chest. Magnus, the warlock is Magnus Bane, Alec knows the mark of his city's High Warlock, is ethereal in his rage even as he hunches his shoulders inward to ward off the same pain he shares with Alec. With his soulmate.

The world goes quiet in Alec's ears, his pulse rushing as he feels their souls merge, feels their sigils branding over each other's hearts, linking them together in an indelible, unbreakable bond. Alec has prayed to Raziel since he was a child that one day he would feel such joy, meet his fated, has grown to believe with every year older that perhaps he wasn't meant for love, only for rule, and here, finally he has found his dearest and... and Alec is standing in front of him, unbound, in Valentine's prison.

"Shadowhunter," Magnus snarls, horror and despair in his eyes.

Alec swallows shattered glass, a slowly growing grief welling in his chest. He doesn't whisper the endearments he'd so carefully planned as a child, the years he'd believed his Fated to be merely around the next corner. He doesn't move to release Magnus' chains and draw him into his arms.

Alec is ice-carved and brittle as he forces down the bond he wants beyond everything else in this life and spits out, "Warlock."

To acknowledge that anything has occurred in the sight of Valentine's guards is death, and the sudden, cruel smirk in Magnus' eyes means he knows the brutal edge of that blackmail will cut both their throats if he lets it.

The grief in Alec's chest solidifies, piercing through any hope that Alec had thought to hold close to his heart those few, precious seconds before reality set in. There is nothing he can say, nothing he can do that will allow him to shelter in his soulmate's love.

His own mother had told Alec he didn't deserve the Angel's gift, and he'd been foolish to believe otherwise, if not perhaps for the same reasons as Maryse. His people have done too much harm, have spread too much hate and Alec, trying as is to do good, is nowhere near enough to offset that balance.

His soulmate will hate him. Even if Alec can tell him one day that there is a reason beside spycraft that he refuses to wear the Circle's rune, he is too dirtied by what he's done for peace to ever be accepted.

So when Magnus leans close to him in the midst of the upcoming interrogation, keeping just soft enough his whisper doesn't carry beyond Alec's hearing, Alec flinches at every vicious word when Magnus hisses, "A monster for a monster."

[INSERT HAPPY ENDING HERE with mutual forgiveness and the schmoopy, happy Immortal Husbands we all love.]

[After copious Alec-angst of him believing he's utterly undeserving of a soulmate, especially one so beautiful and kind and strong and perfect as Magnus, and also Magnus-angst of him dealing with believing that his soul's match is a Circle member after eight hundred years of waiting. Cat and Ragnor have tried so hard to convince Magnus that he isn't a monster after what his childhood and parentage proved him capable of, but he dares them to argue against it now. Also, we all know I am a SUCKER for Significant Kneeling and the reveal of Alec not, in fact, being a Circle member seems like a GREAT time for a little Significant Kneeling if you catch my visual drift there.]

#lawsofchaos rambles #malec #shadowhunters #promptlet #alec lightwood deserves nice things #magnus bane deserves nice things #fanfiction prompt #angst with a happy ending

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iamespecter · 9 months ago

Note

I know you probably gave up on the Glamrock Chica AU as Gregory's guardian, but I personally think you should continue. Many people prefer to do it with Roxy or Monty, and there are very few with Chica as the guardian. I think this AU of yours has the potential to be very good.

sigh.... I still love Glamrock Chica...

but I feel like the whole universe is against me at this point for being a Chica fan and I just know that either 1.) no one's gonna pay attention to a Chica-based AU, or 2.) just shit on it because it doesn't match the popular headcanons.

So unfortunately, My Guardian Chica AU is cancelled.

If you would like to know the rough concept of it that I've written down because you're curious, then click "keep reading" to read below the cut.

The Guardian Chica AU is actually a simple morality test.

Beginning:

It starts off with the normal SB route: Freddy is the child's starting guardian, and he is helping the child escape. Chica is under Vanny's control, and is actively fighting against this, but is too powerless to break free from the virus' hold.

... Until Fazer Blast. Freddy and the kid find themselves on the catwalks, where a glitching Chica with an axe has them cornered. Freddy, not knowing how to end this peacefully, decides to bring Chica down with him while removing the chip that's causing her to be controlled in the first place.

Chica then wakes up, and Freddy is HEAVILY damaged because he (mostly) cushioned her fall. Chica, still not fully herself, hallucinates Freddy as Vanny; and she begins tearing him apart out of frustration and fear, ripping his head off because she wanted to see who was underneath the Vanny mask.

THIS is where the story begins. You take control of Chica (instead of a kid protagonist), where Chica must ensure the child's survival, and get them out in time for 6 AM. But there is a catch.

The more you use brute force, the more Chica's morality goes south. And you'll always have two choices, either which you:

Kill the Day and Nightcare Attendants to gain access to the Daycare, or use their environmental weaknesses (the light, and the darkness) to refrain them from catching the kid.

Eliminate the PARTY PASS BOTS to get into a venue much easier, or find PARTY PASSES, while avoiding the kid's hunters.

Destroy SECURITY BOTs to lessen chances of the kid getting spotted, or use the BOTs' blind spots strategically to prevent them from alerting anyone.

Refrain from attacking Roxanne Wolf and let her take one of the chicken's eyes, or defend yourself and damage Roxanne Wolf enough to send her running back.

You will then encounter Montgomery Gator, who is now guarding Gator Golf with an iron fist. Monty will taunt Chica for the remainder of the boss fight:

either telling her how WEAK and COWARDLY she is because she isn't fighting back (Peaceful route);

being confused about her methods because it feels like she's constantly changing her mind (neutral route);

or praising her for finally, FINALLY using her features for something "worthwhile" (morally numb route).

But regardless of what path Chica has chosen, Monty will end up revealing a morbid truth as yet another taunt: that he killed Bonnie, because he wanted his spot in the band. And that he'd kill Bonnie over and over again, if it meant he would remain popular. That now Freddy has been reduced to nothing but a head, HE'LL be the number ONE.

And regardless of what path Chica has chosen, Monty will ALWAYS end up dead.

and depending on how much you've been using brute force, Freddy's head will either:

Be BEYOND mortified by Chica's decision to kill Monty without mercy, but believes she can still refrain from doing this in the future (peaceful route)

is taken aback by Chica's decision to kill Monty without mercy, and is starting to doubt Chica's capacity of ensuring the kid's safety (neutral route)

Gets angry at Chica's decision to kill Monty without mercy, and refrains from speaking to her. (morally numb route)

Roxanne Wolf is then up next, and depending on how you reacted to earlier choices, you can either:

Convince Roxanne that she doesn't have to do this, that she doesn't have to keep living under Vanny's shadow out of fear and don't strike her (peaceful, only possible if you let Roxanne take Chica's eyes)

Fight and defeat Roxanne but spare her, making her go rogue and not choosing any side between Vanny or Chica (neutral)

Kill Roxanne emotionally and physically, taking her eyes as revenge (morally numb, only possible if you defend yourself)

ENDINGS/POSSIBLE ROUTES

The "MORALLY NUMB" ending (bad):

You chose the easier path and ignored Freddy’s plea, let Chica kill Security Bots to keep the kid safer in the plex, kill Roxy as well out of pure anger for taking out her eye, and take her upgrades for yourself.

Freddy begins to be distrustful of Chica, and soon even resent her and her actions at the end.

This leads to Vanny getting killed, but not without consequence.

Freddy will ask Chica to leave him behind instead of following her any longer. He can’t bear to see the monster that has become of his friend, and Chica will comply with his request, leaving Chica numb.

Chica’s objective becomes less and less of keeping the kid safe, and more of the desire to get revenge after what happened to her and Bonnie.

Semi-open ending.

"You were no better than them. Better to leave me here to rot, than to accompany you on your bloodlust." - Freddy

The "GUITAR HERO" ending (neutral):

You chose to listen to Freddy’s plea, Chica retains her moral codes, and keep the kid safe the harder way.

Vanny is turned in to the authorities to be helped with her mind control situation, and her plans are thwarted until a new "Vanny" shows up.

Chica DOES NOT manage to get Roxy in your side, and Roxy will act rogue, picking no sides this time.

The Pizzaplex does not burn down. Instead, Monty, Chica and Freddy are replaced by Mr. Hippo, Happy Frog, and Nedd Bear.

Chica, Freddy and the kid runs away from the plex to live on their own, but still end up dying via energy depletion.

"You promised to stay with me... why did you lie instead?" - the kid

The "SUPER POPSTAR" ending (good):

You chose to listen to Freddy’s plea, Chica retains her moral codes, and keep the kid safe the harder way.

Uncover the shady past of Fazbear Entertainment, uploading their dirty secrets onto the internet, shutting them off for good. (this guarantees this ending)

Vanny is turned in to the authorities to be helped with her mind control situation, and her plans are thwarted for good this time, no Vanny comes replacing the old one.

Chica progressively gets more and more damaged as time goes on.

Chica manages to get Roxy on your side.

The Pizzaplex burns down.

Chica deactivates amidst the flames, with Freddy by her side at the very, very end.

The route ends with Roxy and the kid finding Chica’s body after the fire, and she takes her head along with Freddy’s.

The most ambiguous ending out of the three.

"Don't blame yourself kid. It's not what they would've wanted you to think. Not what she would want you to think. (...) We'll find a way. That's a promise." - Roxy

....Yeah, the Guardian Chica AU has no happily-ever-after ending. Sorry.

#fnaf #fnaf au #Guardian Chica AU #(it's cancelled though)#fnaf security breach #fnaf sb #fnaf sb au #glamrock chica #glamrock freddy #roxanne wolf #montgomery gator #thanks for the ask!

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