#using ao3 built-in features it's not that hard | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

redara · 1 year ago

Text

And Your Voice Was All I Heard

Pairings: Union of Light Bi-Han/Áila Havarôr Ratings: Mature Words: 6.990 TW: depiction and mention of abuse, blood, torture Summary: Post-MK1. Áila realizes the Lin Kuei is steering away from their purpose. She needs to escape the compound and return to Liu Kang in the Wu Shi Academy before the Grandmaster finds out what she's doing, for the price for treachery is death.

A/N: also posted on AO3. Áila is the OC of @tazahan and this fic is based on her work:

The bell rings.

Áila follows her peers – the group of Lin Kuei warriors – rushing to the main hall to attend the call for the urgent meeting. She is dreading the worst; it’s difficult to think of anything positive at this moment, not since the Grandmaster returned, alone and injured, and declared his two brothers as traitors. It’s the hot talk of the barracks; Scorpion and Smoke had defied order; they had attacked Sub-Zero and left him by the outer outpost of the Lin Kuei’s territory. Search parties have been assigned since then, and while it was fruitful, Scorpion and Smoke have fled Arctika.

Then, Sub-Zero suddenly announced that the Lin Kuei will not answer to Fire God Liu Kang or the Wu Shi Academy anymore.

Truth be told, Áila is confused with the whole ordeal. A part of her is telling her to trust the Grandmaster, yet deep inside she knows there is more to the story than what has been told. There must be a greater reason why Scorpion and Smoke forsook their oath and left the clan – either there is one reason, or she is still in denial, like any other Lin Kuei.

The main hall is already full of neatly lined warriors; Áila falls into formation, scanning the room. Tension is high, mixing with a variety of emotion – confusion, anger, anxiety, mixing as one. Hushed chatters being exchanged, questioning the reason for their assembly, questioning if it has something to do with the runaway brothers. Until the grand door opens, and the hall falls silent.

Walking into the room is the Grandmaster himself, dressed in his usual blue uniform. The lack of yellow and gray warriors who’d tail behind him is a new sight, one that makes Áila’s heart clench. Instead, there is a trail of ice following his footsteps, crackling, disappearing after a second. The torches of the hall sways as he comes in proximity. He takes his stand and looks down at his warriors; anger flashes in his usually stern gaze in the form of the warm fiery lights of the hall; the hardened feature of his face lets it be known how serious he is tonight, that whatever he is about to say will be of the utmost importance.

“I shall keep this brief,” he opens, his deep voice cuts the silence with such authority, echoing against the stone walls, “for as I am speaking, the two traitors have settled in Japan and built a clan to fight against ours. Carve this name in your mind: The Shirai Ryu; for mercy shall not be given to them or their allies.”

Sub-Zero paces slowly. “For centuries, the Lin Kuei have stood loyally by Earthrealm; our ancestors have kept the peace and protected the masses without recognition. We have stood, leashed to ridiculous rules set by Liu Kang, for no reason but to hold us back. You,” he waves his hand in a general direction, startling a line of warriors, “have trained and learned all your lives. Yet when the time calls, you have witnessed Liu Kang picking unworthy fighters to be tested against your might – a test of which you must fail. You have witnessed your brethren be sent off to fight by the demand of the Fire God; how little the number of those who returned, and our name remains unseen in the grand history of the world.

“Centuries of hard work, dedication, and loyalty… Would you like to know what the other Realms call us?”

His nose scrunches up in disgust as he continues.

“‘Liu Kang’s lapdogs’.”

The deafening silence is replaced by a cacophony of gasps. The tension breaks into a unified anger and hushed protest. Áila tries to remain composed – no, no, it’s not true… Liu Kang trusts the Lin Kuei, in fact, he talks of them highly. There is no way he would let anyone belittle the Lin Kuei.

But the Grandmaster carries on, collecting the newfound disappointment of his Lin Kuei warriors towards the Fire God, “No more shall our name be wiped from history. I vowed to you that we shall be known throughout the Realms. A clan – a nation – of which others will fear and respect –”

What is happening? No, no, this is not –

“Never again shall we be shackled by Liu Kang and his tyranny. We shall stand on our own, not for Liu Kang, not for Earthrealm –”

Áila internally begs the Grandmaster to stop. This is madness… He is declaring war against Liu Kang and Earthrealm – against his own brothers!

He clenches his fist and raises it high, “For the Lin Kuei!”

Áila watches helplessly as fists are raised in the air – the decision has been made, the future of the Lin Kuei has been set – and her heart begs her to scream, only capable of hearing the warriors all around her chanting out their loyal reply to their Grandmaster.

“For the Lin Kuei!”

***

With each passing day, the Lin Kuei begin to undergo plenty of changes. For one, the Engineering Department is more active than usual; the sound of metals and tools screeches out of their workshop, day and night; tons of materials being sent in, raising curiosity of what they are used for.

Áila grows wary. The lack of information from inside and outside of the compound is making her anxious. She wishes she could contact her father and ask if their clan, the Sól Eldur, is aware of what is happening, but communication with the outside world is very limited. Her guts are telling her to run away, run to the Wu Shi, and join them, but… what if Sub-Zero is right, and Liu Kang has been ruling Earthrealm under his tyranny, and Scorpion and Smoke are truly traitors?

Gods… the need to find the truth on her own is itching her mind. It doesn’t help that this afternoon, a fellow warrior dropped a hint that only makes the itch worse.

“Do not quote me on this, but I think our Grandmaster is building an army,” said the curly warrior to the masked warrior who was sitting across from Áila, “because I saw plenty of body armor in the workshop – not your usual armor, mind you, these are full metal, with cables and tubes, a very complicated design.”

The masked warrior frowned, “You mean he’s building an armored suit for us?”

“No, an army. Mechanized army. Well, granted, I only saw them briefly when I had to deliver some paperworks, but I know what I saw.”

“That is a bit of a stretch. It can be anything –”

“And I might have overheard Sektor talking to Cyrax about needing a new mathematical model for the brain. Come on, why would they need one if they’re making armors?”

So now here Áila is, sneaking into the heavily guarded workshop, internally regretting her decisions by the second. There might not be anything of importance here, and she’s risking her life for nothing, but she knows she has to do at least something; at the very least she should see what Sub-Zero and his engineers are making.

It is eerie. The smell of molten metal lingers in the air, mixing with a hint of rust, of singed materials, and dampness. Áila tiptoes through the hallway, passing a few doors, hiding from security cameras, until she finally reaches the inner workspace, and –

By the Elder Gods….

Tall, skeletal, humanoid creatures made of metal are lining up in the workspace; one is laid on the workbench with an open chest, displaying a mess of cables and tubes and gears. What should be their faces are nothing but a jumble of unfinished circuitry. Approaching warily, Áila can see some sharp blades on another workbench, they are equipped with weapons? But before she can observe them in detail, a voice startles her.

“-- more time, Bi-Han, or would you risk injuries to the Lin Kuei?”

Without missing a beat, Áila slithers towards a stack of crates. She hears footsteps – the unmistakable pace of the Grandmaster, followed by a more hurried one – and soon she can see the owners approaching. Sub-Zero appears first; his maskless face is seemingly stuck in a scowl; Sektor is following behind him as if trying to get him to stop.

“I understand you want the Cybers to be ready soon, but this – all of this – is something beyond our calibers, but, Cyrax’s team is still figuring out the math. It is paramount –”

“-- for everyone’s safety. Have you no other reason to say?” Sub-Zero finally stops, and he looks around the workspace, until he settles on the metallic body on the bench. He heaves a long sigh, tensed shoulders slumping with the motion. “With the days we are losing, we are one step behind the Shirai Ryu, and they are already on our doorstep –”

BANG.

Áila tries not to flinch when Sub-Zero punches the metal workbench with his bare fist, creating a dent and sharp icicles that spread; Sektor takes a step backwards, jaws clenching. Sub-Zero continues, “Kuai Liang keeps sending his dogs to sniff around our borders, and you are giving me nothing but scraps! Are you that incompetent, Sektor, that you cannot make one of these move?!”

Sektor stammers, “I – I – I could, I could, but you have to know –”

“What?! Safety again?!”

“-- they’re deadly. Bi-Han, the Cyber Lin Kuei will be capable of destroying a major city in one night. I need to have the additional math for the safety precaution, it is for your own safety as well –”

Sub-Zero interjects again, but Áila has stopped listening; she uses the opportunity to slip by unannounced, tiptoing deeper into the workshop; the voices of those two men are becoming further. Her mind is racing, still trying to wrap itself around this new revelation. So this is what Sub-Zero wants, freeing the Lin Kuei from ‘tyranny’ to subject others to his tyranny?

Her guts win; she has to leave the Lin Kuei.

She stops in front of a closed door of an office with Cyrax’s name etched on the nameplate. The math, she recalls, I need evidence. Liu Kang should know about this… Cautiously, she opens the door; it swings without a sound; and she is met by the sight of an empty office. Three large monitors are on the wall, displaying numbers and documents with intricate writings.

Áila steps inside and closes the door. Immediately, she rushes for the desk, eyes flicking between monitors. The tech is next level, definitely something custom-made by Cyrax, but the interface shows similarity to what Áila knows – and by the Gods, she intends to make it work.

After so many clicks and navigating the menus, she finally finds the email function. Without bothering to change the account, she types the email address of the only person in Wu Shi Academy who is constantly glued to the phone.

Sender: cy.4d4 To: jcage Subject: SOS Johnny, it’s Áila. I don’t have much time, but if you can read this, please get to Liu Kang ASAP. The Lin Kuei is preparing some kind of a robot army dubbed the Cyber Initiative. It’s not functional yet, and I hope it never will be, but they said it would be able to level a city in a day. Details in attachments. I’m leaving tonight. If I don’t make it to the Wu Shi in a week, you know what happened.

Áila drags a few recent files to the email before sending it. She makes sure to remove it from the ‘Sent’ folder as well to remove the trace.

She should take her leave now, yet she stands still, reading the open documents on the monitor, how most of them can’t be sent through the email due to the size of the files. She tears her eyes from the screen for a moment to scan the desk for some kind of a hard drive or a flash drive, something portable to bring a copy of the documents with her. Just her luck, a red flash drive is sitting by a stack of papers.

Each second that she uses to copy the data into the flash drive raises the level of her anxiety. Only when it is completely full and packed that she pulls it out, and tucks it into her uniform, into her breastband, right under the fold of her ample breasts where she knows it would be safe and hidden. The hard part is done, now it’s time to –

The blaring of alarms sends her jumping in place.

The once quiet hallway is now echoing with the incessant ringing and the footsteps of incoming reinforcements, one of them is the familiar heavy pace of the Grandmaster. Áila bolts for a makeshift exit – a window – where she throws herself against the glass and comes out tumbling onto the snowy ground of the Lin Kuei compound. Without looking back, without acknowledging the ache and the burn from the small scrapes, she takes long strides and runs.

“THERE!”

“GET HER!”

Shoutings of orders. Crunching snow under their soles. The biting wind whistling in Áila’s ears. She manages to cross the courtyard, dodging a handful of guards. The gate is just right ahead, still opened, unguarded –

A net suddenly collides with her side and envelopes her – what is – when it suddenly shocks her is what gets her to fall. Áila can’t react much when her muscles contract and spasm involuntarily, she can only lie on the snowy courtyard, body jerking against her will. The pain begins to form, then the dread takes over when she realizes this is the end; the footsteps are coming closer; the exit is still further away; Sub-Zero’s boots come to her view, colliding with her face – Áila yelps as pain blooms on the bridge of her nose.

“Well done, Cyrax.” His praise comes out under a heavy breath.

“ Hah , I knew that would come in handy.” A tall Lin Kuei appears next to Sub-Zero, wearing a mechanized vambrace. He presses a button, and the shocking stops; Áila pants aloud, feeling light-headed when her muscles are finally relaxing. “Ah? I think I’ve seen her before. The Carrot-Hair woman from the Wu Shi Academy, right?”

Sub-Zero moves the net away – Áila jerks away from his touch – and his icy hand grabs her around the neck, bringing her face closer to him. He rips her mask with another hand, baring her broken and bloody nose to view. “ Tch , Áila Hávarôr. I should have known you’re in league with Liu Kang. Planning a little mutiny on your own, hmm?”

“N-no –” Áila grits her teeth to stop them from chattering.

Cyrax scoffs, “Still has the audacity to lie. I know you sent something from my office, did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

The grip around her neck tightens, “Is that so?”

Áila repeats, “No…”

“Liar.” Sub-Zero lifts her off the ground, rendering her clawing at his vambrace for purchase, as she feels her lungs burning from the lack of air. She tries kicking him, only to be replied by a firmer grip that darkens her vision.

“Aren’t you going to kill her?” She hears the muffled voice of Cyrax.

Sub-Zero chuckles darkly, “A swift death is not what this harlot deserves. But by the time I’m finished with her, she will be begging for it.”

***

Crimson blooms through the tear of Áila’s blue uniform. Clutching her stomach, she hisses, hunching over as she hobbles backwards; her thighs are shaking, trying to stay balanced while standing on the icy floor. Her vision is clouded by the blood that’s streaming down her crown, that no matter how many times she wipes it until her vambrace is drenched, she can’t remove it. The sight of Sub-Zero, blue and red, approaching her again at a rapid speed –

Áila lifts an arm to block whatever attack is coming. Her defense is futile, and her torso is met by the sole of his boot, kicking her backwards until she finally falls again.

Sub-Zero coos in a cynical tone, “Is that all you’re capable of? Pathetic. You dare wearing our uniform and displaying such weakness.”

Áila rolls over, pushing herself off the floor. She can hear him approaching again, and before she knows it, pain shoots up her side from where he suddenly kicks her. He grabs her hair, pulling her off the floor – hurts… she cries out, angry tears blurring out her sight, as he forces her to look at him.

“Not killing Kuai Liang and Tomas when I had the chance was a mistake, one that I don’t intend to repeat. Another traitor shall not be unpunished! Look at me!” He growls, voice ringing aloud in her ears. A snarl replaces his scowl. “A weakling like you is only good for two things: a bed warmer or a training dummy. So tell me, which one is it?”

The coldness in Sub-Zero’s eyes makes Áila wonder if he is truly the man she used to respect. It disgusts her to think she once admired his discipline and leadership. Her stomach turns at the thought that the Lin Kuei see this inhuman cryomancer and still choose to serve him. Is this what Scorpion and Smoke saw? Is this why they left him?

Shaking with rage and fear, Áila chooses not to answer him.

Her silence is taken as disobedience, and though it gives her a sense of victory – seeing his control snaps and he growls in frustration – the moment is short-lived. He lets her go with a hard shove, and in return, he grabs the wrist of her right hand, and twists it to her back.

“AHH!” Áila screams, feeling the stretch of her muscle mixing with the burn of the cuts she earned from his ice dagger. She can feel the tension of her bones warning her of their unnatural position. She tries to move to alleviate the pain, but Sub-Zero keeps her in place.

“Filthy harlot, your Grandmaster asked you a question.” His voice joins her cries, and soon, his ice dagger joins the conversation as well; Áila yawps, hoarse and painfully, as the sharp edge is dragged slowly against her skin, following the length of her arm. Her free hand grips her uniform tightly, trying to channel the pain. Her legs are kicking, thighs spasming.

The blade presses deeper, “No – no, please –”

“Oh? Now you have manners?” Sub-Zero drags the blade higher. The cold burns and numbing, but when it melts, the pain doubles. “Tell me what you want.”

Áila hisses, shaking her head, “S-stop… Sto – Ngh !” Sub-Zero presses his thumb into a fresh cut.

“Mind your place, you lying harlot.”

“Grandmast – Grandmaster, please stop!”

A deep, devilish laugh echoes in the room. “Say you're sorry, and I might consider stopping.”

“I’m sor – I’m sorry!” This time it is not the blade that hurts her the most, it’s the tight grip around her wrist, threatening to twist it. Her whole body shakes with disgust as she cries, “Forgi – forgive me! Please! I won’t – please! AAAH!”

A crack, followed by the numbing pain shooting up her now-broken wrist up to her heavily wounded arm, and Áila knows her fate has been sealed. Sub-Zero finally releases her, and though she can’t see him, she can hear his victorious chortle as he watches her lying on the floor, too scared to move. He turns her around with a kick; now she can see him towering over her, with wisp of cold dancing behind him, freezing the air.

“ That is one. I shall break every single bone in your body, a day at a time, until you can do nothing but wriggle like the worm you are. Only then shall I reunite you with your family,” he crouches down. Áila jolts away when his fingertips meet her neck. He clicks his tongue, “Better fix your expression for the joyous occasion, for your father shall receive your head in a pretty box.”

***

Áila leans against the bar of her prison. Her hoarse breathing is loud in the otherwise empty dungeon. She cradles her hand to her chest, how swollen her broken wrist has become in mere hours. Her strength is dwindling down, and it terrifies her, for she knows when she is awake, she would have to face the same treatment again. There will be no winning against Sub-Zero, especially not in her injured state.

His voice… The threat lingers in her mind that she wants to cry aloud, for she knows he will go through with it. She can’t imagine it, her father opening a box and seeing her severed head. Her heart breaks for the potential future; if the Cyber Initiative has been completed, no one will be safe from the Lin Kuei; she fears even the Earthrealm Champions would have no chance to win against an army of destruction.

Something is poking her chest. At first, she thinks it must be one of her ribs, probably a broken one that she wasn’t aware of. But it’s small, and rectangular – the flash drive.

There is a chance.

Despite feeling ready to keel over, she forces herself to stand up; there is no way she would die in the enemy territory, dressed in the uniform that doesn’t bring her pride; her blood is not Lin Kuei, never has been, never will be. The power of the sun runs in her, the blessings of her ancestors, the Sol Eldur clan; it sings in her heart, guiding her to do what is right. Now, she needs to stay strong a little while longer.

Áila raises her hand over the lock of her cell. The cold metal won’t budge yet . She closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath, so deep that her whole body trembles when her chest expands; the cuts on her torso sting from the action. Her father’s guidance comes to mind.

“Breathe in… And out… Good, do you feel that? There is a heat in your belly, and it expands to your chest. Let it spread, my dear, it’s fine, I promise. The next part is going to be tricky, are you ready? …Very good. Do you remember when we went fishing and you caught your first trophy? Lots of reeling, it was exhausting, right? You wanted to give me the rod because your arms felt like they were about to fall off, but I told you to keep going, because I know you got it. And you did!

Remember how happy you were? Yeah, you do? This is going to be like one of those moments. When you need strength, I want you to remember the good times we had. I want you to remember the things you’ve accomplished by being who you are… That’s it. Oh you feel the energy now? That’s it, my dear, let it take over, it’s going to be alright.”

There is a loud pulse accompanying the beat of her heart. It ebbs and flows like the waves her ancestors used to conquer. It’s warm and light like sitting by a campfire after a long windy day. It overwhelms her senses. At first, she can only see the dark, but it gradually becomes brighter, a glow, like the first ray of sun breaking the night. The more she breathes, the brighter her world has become. The pulse is snapping, ready to burst, ready to lash out like the solar storm against the cold, dark space.

And she lets it.

She cares not what she hears or feels – the cracks of metal, the crumbling of stone, the intense heat against her skin – she feels safe. Her heart tells her to open her eyes, and she does, seeing the bars of her cell bending outwards and the stone floor and walls are partially destroyed, still burning red. Her heart tells her to run, and she bolts, not caring for her injuries or the dungeon she is leaving. Her heart tells her to go one way, and she follows, the cold wind fails to caress her skin.

Her heart tells her not to look back, and she does not, until the ground is replaced by snow, until there is no more light, until the shadows of the trees are merging with the dark night, until it’s only her and moonlight, until the adrenaline has stopped pumping throughout her bloodstream that she begins to feel everything.

Áila inhales the cold air of freedom. The snow reaches up to her knees, seeping into her boots, making her bones ache. She persists, one step at a time, not caring if she is going the wrong way as long as she is going further away from the Lin Kuei compound. If what Sub-Zero said is true, then the Shirai Ryu might still be lingering around the borders of Arctika. She just has to find them.

She doesn’t know if her body is cold because of the snow, or because of the loss of blood and adrenaline; if she is still moving or she is kneeling on the ground; if the darkness is because of the night or because she has closed her eyes. She doesn’t know if she’s hearing the howling of the wind or the wolves or the dogs. She doesn’t know if she is still alive or stuck in a dream; if she opens her eyes, will she still find darkness or the face of Sub-Zero? But she does know the feel of the flash drive pressing against her chest, and it gives her a little bit of hope that whether she is alive or dead by the time the Shirai Ryu find her, the truth will still outlive her.

It’s going to be alright… It’s going to be…

***

The smell of agarwood incense permeating in the air rouses Áila awake. At first, it is faint, and she believes she is dreaming. Then she begins to feel the warmth, how stable it is as if she has been tucked under a blanket and the fireplace is roaring. Her eyelids are fluttering, blurry vision seeing a tall, dark red ceiling, with yellow lanterns hanging. She blinks repeatedly, where am I…?

She hears a movement to her left, and she turns to the source. Someone is moving behind a dark red partition; the sound of mortar and pestle, the clinking of glass, the pour of water, makes her realize that they are brewing something. The smell of a familiar tea assaults her senses, she knows that smell, can already taste it in her mouth – that is Madam Bo’s special brew .

Áila sits up gingerly. There is indeed a blanket covering her body – her bandaged body; someone has taken their time to clean her up and cover each and every cut she has. Her broken wrist is wrapped by a thick bandage and placed in a sling that’s hanging from the ceiling. She looks around the room; there is no mistaking it, this is the Wu Shi Academy. The smell is the same as she remembers. The interiors are what she is familiar with, all of the dark red and gold ornaments, wooden instead of stone. It seems her action had not been in vain; perhaps the Shirai Ryu had found her and taken her here – at least that’s what she hopes had happened, because she can’t feel the flash drive poking her chest anymore, and she hopes it didn’t fall out and be left in Arctika.

The person behind the partition has finished brewing the tea. Áila wants to call for them, wondering if it’s Madam Bo herself, but she chooses to wait. She watches eagerly as the person walks out carrying a tray of teacups and a teapot –

But her eagerness dwindles down upon seeing the light blue uniform. Her heart sinks into the pit of her stomach when she sees his face framed by the same shade of dark brown hair and the loose strands. His eyes meet hers, a genuine surprise, and his mouth moves to speak; the same deep, raspy voice comes out, and all that she can hear is the threat.

“I shall break every single bone in your body, a day at a time, until you can do nothing but wriggle like the worm you are.”

Áila shakes uncontrollably, no, this is not real… This is cruel, a mind game, exposing her to a sense of security only to show how wrong she is. She has to get out – she jumps out of the bed, and her legs immediately give away, causing her to fall right onto the wooden floor. Panic poisons her blood as she hears him making a move, placing the tray on the table, and his heavy footsteps come approaching. She pulls herself to move as well, but his boots are already in her peripheral vision, and she tenses, scrambling, clawing away like a defeated animal. The pain in her wrist jogs her memory, reminding her of the unbearable stretch, and her fear grows tenfold at the possibility of it happening again.

“Please no –” she curls on the floor, head bowing down, forehead kissing the wood, “-- Grandmaster, plea – please – I’m sor – sorry. I’m sorry… I’m –” She hiccups, already feeling too hard to breathe. But she persists, not wanting to take any chances of being seen as disobedient again by Sub-Zero. Her cries come out in desperate huffs of breath. “I beg – I beg of you… Grand – Grandmaster… I’m sorr –” she flinches when he takes a step forward, and already she can tell he is going to grab her by the head again, “ Mercy! Mercy! Please! Mercy!”

The door swings open – he’s bringing the guards – and a large hand makes contact with the back of her head, but the familiar voice is what gets her to look up, “Áila!”

Áila’s eyes are widening upon seeing the face of Liu Kang. This… This can’t – why is he here with Sub-Zero? She suspects foul play, but Liu Kang pulls her up from the floor with such gentleness and warmth, and there is remorse in his eyes, and she knows he is truly the Fire God, and she is safe. She clutches his shirt, her cries come out without restraint; tears can’t stop streaming down her face when he helps her get onto the bed again.

More familiar faces come into the room; Raiden, Johnny, Kung Lao, and Kenshi, the Earthrealm Champions. Following behind them are none other but the yellow and gray-clad warriors. “S-Scorpion? Smoke?” Áila rasps.

“Those are not our titles anymore. You can call us by name.” Kuai Liang scans her from top to toe. His expression hardens, sadness is evident in his eyes. “Did… Did my brother do this to you?”

Áila glances towards the light-blue-clad Sub-Zero in the room; he stands in place as if petrified, as if he is not the Sub-Zero they are talking about right now.

Thankfully, Liu Kang intercepts, “I think it is best for me to explain to you what happened. Everyone, please leave the room for now, give her some space.” One by one, the familiar faces are taking their leave, but not before giving Áila a sympathetic gaze. Sub-Zero, however, remains standing in place, until Liu Kang calls him. “Bi-Han, please, give us a moment.”

“Of course.” Sub-Zero replies without hesitation, even bowing down a bit before he begins to walk away. Áila follows his movement, still wary. He stops at the threshold, and with an expression full of remorse, his eyes meet hers, devoid of cold. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

And he closes the door.

***

“Don’t take it to heart, Bi-Han, it’s not your fault.”

Bi-Han glances at Kuai Liang – not his Kuai Liang, but he shares the same features that remind him of his brother, even the scar. This timeline still gives him whiplash where he is least expecting it. “Generally speaking, it is still my fault.”

“Bi-Han – our Bi-Han – did it, not you. It’s a pity, his obsession has driven him mad; I can’t believe he would stoop this low. Wounding me is one thing, it was a warning, but I should have realized it was only a matter of time before he lashed out on someone else.”

“At least Áila survives.” Tomas tries to sound positive.

“Barely. The scouts found her half-frozen in the tundra. If they were too late, the Sol Eldur would be building her funeral pyre.” Kuai Liang sighs heavily.

Bi-Han frowns, “The Sol Eldur, is that her family?”

“Her clan, yes. The last time I spoke to them, they were fortifying their village in case the Lin Kuei would ambush them first; I’m not sure if her father can come here when his presence is still needed there.” Kuai Liang sighs again. “But thanks to her, we now know what Bi-Han is planning. Forgive us; the Lin Kuei in this timeline must have stained the name of your Lin Kuei.”

They don’t exchange another word, as Kuai Liang walks away followed by Tomas, seemingly to lament their brother privately. Bi-Han remains standing, watching the life of the garden of the Wu Shi Academy, with a thousand conflicting thoughts running in his mind. He knows it was not him who wounded Áila to such an extent that she fears the sight of him, but the shame and the guilt still weigh on his heart; it is his name, his title, his face – it is him, but not truly him .

He recalls the night when Johnny barged into the meeting with phone in hand, “Guys! You’re gonna want to see this!” he had said, and he read the email sent by Áila. Kuai Liang took charge of the Shirai Ryu scouts to scour the tundra and the mountains. Even the blind swordsman, Kenshi, insisted on going, believing his ancestors could help as well.

At that time, Bi-Han thought what a remarkable person Áila must be, to be within the walls of the Lin Kuei, and still tried to reach out. Her action earned his respect, that at the moment, he innerly prayed to the Elder Gods to see her safety so he can meet this warrior for once.

But he was not expecting to see her being brought in on a stretcher.

She was blue and red, frozen and bloodied, that everyone believed she had been dead. The extensive injuries she sustained were a clear tell that she had been tortured, or beaten up within an inch of her life. Liu Kang had used his power to thaw her just enough to get her blood to run again, and then the monks took her to be cleaned up and patched.

And though no one is pointing fingers at him, Bi-Han knows this is his counterpart’s doing.

The door to Áila’s room is opened – Bi-Han turns to it – and Liu Kang walks out alone. He offers a small apologetic smile as he approaches Bi-Han. “Are you alright?”

Bi-Han returns the question, “Is she alright?”

“She will be. I have explained the situation, though she might need time to process everything. Please do not think you are in the wrong here. Neither of us anticipated this behavior from Sub-Zero.”

“I should have.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Liu Kang hums. “This Sub-Zero is not you, Bi-Han, you can’t expect to understand what he will do next. Our timelines may share similar people with similar lives, but that is where the similarity ends.”

Bi-Han feels his jaws tensing. There is a pull in his heart, tugging at his heartstring, when he remembers Áila’s reaction to seeing him; her expression of pure anguish is still fresh in his mind. “She begged for mercy… Three times, she did, I…” He huffs a cold puff of air, feeling rage forming in his chest at the image of Áila begging Sub-Zero to stop but he carried on nonetheless. What kind of a monster has he become? Bi-Han shakes his head. “Can I… Can I see her?”

Liu Kang shrugs. “Usually I’d tell you to give her time, but this depends on you. Are you strong enough to face her again?” He doesn’t wait for an answer when he adds, “I hope the two of you can find peace in this time of conflict.”

***

The pot of tea on the table is untouched, despite the smell beckoning Áila for a taste. She wants to, she truly does, but the fact remains that the tea was prepared by Sub-Zero – and though Liu Kang has explained extensively of what happened, of how this ‘Bi-Han’ is not the Sub-Zero who nearly maimed her wrist, she is wary nonetheless. She sits still on the bed, trying to quell her thoughts and senses, telling herself that she is safe now, that she is alright, that Sub-Zero will not go through with his threat of sending her head in a box. Her rapid heartbeat is slowing down. Her welling tears have dried.

Then the door slides open, and Áila sees him again.

Their eyes lock at each other for a moment. Her gaze is of fear, but his is of remorse, a palpable guilt. He stands unmoving by the door, which she is thankful for, because her body has begun shaking on its own.

“Bi-Han.” He breaks the silence, voice purposefully made a bit higher than the usual deep raspy tone. “Please call me ‘Bi-Han’. You do not need to call me by any titles. I am neither of those in your timeline.” He pauses, thin lips tensing and relaxing as if he is tasting the words he would utter. “Would you like some tea?”

Áila glances between him and the teapot. The idea of the Grandmaster serving her tea is wild – no, this is not the Grandmaster, this is Bi-Han . She shakes her head, “Are you really not Sub-Zero?”

“I am Sub-Zero, but ,” he hastily adds when she flinches, “I am not of your timeline. In my timeline, I am also Sub-Zero, and the Grandmaster. But I can assure you, I am not like him .”

She can see how genuine he is, how he seems borderline desperate to distance himself from the Sub-Zero she knows. But her body and mind are acting on their own, as tears begin to well up in her eyes again, and they roll down her cheeks when she blinks. “I’m sorry – I know you’re not him , but you look alike, and I – I don’t know…”

“I could change my attire if it makes you more comfortable.”

“No, you’re – you’re already dressed differently.”

“Oh? Is Sub-Zero not wearing blue in your timeline?”

“Not in the same shade as yours.” Áila forces herself to relax. She cradles her wrist tightly, hugging herself to feel more at ease. “Liu Kang said you crossed the timeline to lend him your aid.”

“Liu Kang spoke too highly of me; I’m merely doing my part to help. Sub-Zero needs to be stopped before he destroys Earthrealm – given the information you brought, he is already planning to do it.” Bi-Han takes one step forward, a tentative action, and he looks at Áila as if asking for her permission. She nods, and he approaches quietly; the footsteps are softer, quieter, calculated for her. “I’m here to thank you, Áila. If it’s not for you, we would still be in the dark of what the Lin Kuei are planning. This gives us time to be better prepared.”

“I’m only doing what I’m supposed to do in the first place.” Áila lowers her gaze to the wooden floor – calm down, calm down, calm down. He’s not Sub-Zero. He’s not going to hurt you. It’s going to be alright – “Perhaps I should have done it earlier before they assembled the Cybers, but I –” she closes her eyes when she can see his boots entering her view, “-- I was in denial. I didn’t know which side I should support. Too weak. Too late. I should have known Sub-Zero was wrong when he drove his brothers away. When he –”

The memory flashes behind her eyelids. How Sub-Zero had dragged her to the dungeon by the neck. How he had goaded her to fight him. How, with every cut he made and the punch he landed, Áila slowly lost her hope to survive. At one point, she lost consciousness, and was woken up by the cold tip of the ice blade pressing against her cheek. The flooding memory is too much, breath turning ragged as if she is back in the dungeon trying to breathe the air that Sub-Zero had knocked out of her lungs.

Áila feels a warm hand pressing against her thigh. She opens her eyes, but the tears have blurred her vision. She can see a blurry light blue crouching beside her; she blinks until she sees Bi-Han in close proximity. Yet for once, from this close, she can truly see he is not the Grandmaster. There is grief in his eyes, and pain, as if he shares her burden. There is regret and guilt, and she swears those brown eyes are a bit glossy as well.

“You are not weak.” Bi-Han’s voice comes out as a calming whisper. His fingertips meet her wet cheek, interrupting the stream. “Your bravery will be remembered across all Realms.” Áila sees his lower lips slightly tremble. “There’s no need for you to fear me, I’m not the Sub-Zero you knew. You are safe, and I will try in all my power to keep you that way, and I will never, ever, hurt you.”

“Truly?” Áila rasps, barely audibly.

Bi-Han responds, "I give you my words.”

She doesn’t know who breaks first – is it him who pulls her close or is it her who falls to his lap? – but their bodies collide and he cradles her, surrounds her in his strong arms. She is holding onto his light blue gi, grounding herself to his promise. He is holding the back of her head, and yet for once, she does not tense, does not flinch.

There is no sound in the room but their shared, quiet cries.

#bi han #bi han x oc #bi han imagine #sub zero x oc #sub zero imagine #sub zero #mk1 #mortal kombat 1 #fanfic #redarader

117 notes · View notes

grasshopperdoingdogpaddle · 5 months ago

Note

Do you have top fanfic recommendations for someone trying to get back into the fandom after years out of it? A lot seems to have changed

I can't speak on what the fandom used to be, but gravity-what and I made a list of fanfic refs a while back that I think is still solid! A truncated version of the lists in that link:

Gravity's list:

Letting off steam: Chase helps Omi overcome the aftermath of Omi town.

A hairs breath: aka, Omi actually calls Chase ‘Dad’ in front of everyone.

Water under the bridge we’ll need to cross later: looking at Chase’s thoughts after Omi rescued him in New World Order.

Feather in your cap: Omi gets Chase a thoughtful present!!

Any of @writerkatsblog fics, the big ones being You’re Okay and the (currently ongoing sequel) Fragile Things. Also, their one shot The Rescue of an Overlord .

Any of @aspureasamelody’s little stories AO3 Here, especially the Clay character studies or Chase & Guan snippets, personal favorite is A triangle of sorts

My list:

Infinite Value - another great oneshot too by writerkatsblog, set in the alternate timeline with Good Chase. It's a soft exploration of the mentor and student bond Chase and Omi still have in this alternate timeline.

The minific one-shots from ask prompts on that blog that are really fun, quick reads! Like this one set back when Chase was still working under Hannibal, this one where the jungle cats are establishing their hierarchy after Omi joins, this one of Dashi's trio drinking together, and this one with Heylin Omi trying to sneak attack Chase. Anything written by Kat is guaranteed to be amazing!

After all These Years and bird’s eye view by aspureasamelody as fun oneshots exploring Omi and Chase

leg godt (starring Jack, Wuya, and Megan) and What's Your Emergency? (starrring Keiko and Kimiko) as two of the many great drabbles focusing on some rarer combinations of characters from aspureasamelody! If you want short stories features oft forgotten side characters like Jesse Bailey, Keiko, Megan, and Vlad, you'll find them here!

Awakening, Rewritten, Bringing Down the Summit, and Gathering the Dragons are all great longer stories from @gravity-what.

Also check out gravity-what's ongoing Xiaolin Showdown season 4, and their Heylin-Xiaolin roleswap AU! Actually I recommend anything and everything written by gravity-what!

Cheap Tricks - a completed, multi-chapter canon-compliant fic set after season 3 where, via some shenanigans, Omi decides to flip things on their head and take on Chase Young as his apprentice. It has some really gut-wrenching twists and turns to it, and so much heart.

Metallic Figment by @izscha - this fic is still in its early stages and it's hard to say where the mystery intends to go yet, but if you have an interest in Xiaolin showdown OCs, and this fic will definitely have some of its own, and the returning canon characters have some fun setup! One of the OCs has already had a very interesting dynamic built up with Hannibal Roy Bean.

Spicer Squad by @heylinloser - an action/adventure filled Spicer-centric gen fic where he teams up with some old friends for another intra-Heylin conflict. It has the feeling of a heist movie, which suits the main cast in it well!

Kite Fights - a short one-shot of Chase and Omi doing some kite-fighting together

Bonding - ongoing multichapter where Chase and Omi get trapped in a Wu together after some shenanigans with Jack, and as the chapters continue, they begin to uncover what seems to be a rather sprawling mystery here connected to Hannibal Roy Bean himself

Reverse - oneshot where everyone meets a roleswapped version of Chase Young and Omi, it's fun to see how the most things change, the most they stay the same with those two!

#xiaolin showdown

20 notes · View notes

thebenevolentmachine · 5 months ago

Text

"Affini" means I get to nerd out over fonts

Ao3 has a really hard to read style by default. Long lines, tiny letters. I use the Reader View extension to fix that. It's like the built-in reader view but with advanced features and customization options.

It also means whenever the word "Affini" appears, I get to see that ffi ligature. Especially in italic.

Gorgeous!

Bonus Th-ligature!

The font is called "Brioso" for that calligraphic feel.

#hdg #human domestication guide

18 notes · View notes

missriggie · 2 months ago

Text

DreadRook Week 2025

Day 1: Fade Conversations

//"You are ever in my thoughts"

@thelighthouse-server

We're kicking things off with a snippet from the next chapter of my fanfiction on Ao3!

Set two years after the events of Veilguard, Syvillia 'Rook' Laidir embarks on an adventure with the Lords of Fortune to return a runaway slave home to Ferelden while evading the wrath of elven cultists, lyrium-addled Carta assassins, and her old Tevinter master.

Registered users can read this story on Ao3 here: [LINK]

In this chapter, Rook and Solas reunite through one of her dreams. Deep into the Fade, she reaches the very edge of the prison that holds him, and both are wary of each other for their own reasons.

EXCERPT (1/2) of CHAPTER 17: A DEBT TO PAY

The Dread Wolf himself stood before her, slumped against the thick glass-like barrier between them, beaten like a soldier fresh from battle. Were it not for his chest shaking out a laboured breath, she would have sworn it was just another painting on the wall, framed by the blue roses blooming about the room.

“Rook?”

Solas flinched at the sight of her; a look of guilt and sorrow morphed into shock from behind his bloodied and bruised face. His armour the scuffed and torn remnants of an ancient time no different to its state when he limped away into a rift after they had defeated Elgar’nan. Upon the realisation that she wasn’t a danger to him, he strained to stand upright, pulling his hands behind his back. It would have worked when he was far enough away to play the part of the wise old god in Rook’s head. This close to him now, the crystalline wall only provided a lens to the truth; how much he pretended.

Rook’s eyes glanced at every detail, the dents in his armour, the abundance of unhealed bruises, the pride in his raised chin.

“You look like shit.”

He frowned, turning away and stretching his neck at some ache, grimacing at the distorted sound of a click among muscle and bone, swallowing hard at the released yet still painful tension.

“With a greeting like that, I can be certain that it is the real you.”

Rook put her hands on her hips, tilting her head, still studying his features, waiting for him to elaborate on why he had to determine whether or not she was real. An impatient stillness built between them as she studied him, refusing to back down against his stoic and battered form. Her eyes traced the trail of blood from his brow down to his cheek. In all the time that had past, and he never once thought to clean himself up, but then again, she knew how time dilates in the Fade. Perhaps he had only been here for a few hours from his perspective, or perhaps something else made it impossible for him to take a moment, gather himself, recover. A flicker of concern made her fingers twitch with how frigid and stiff he was, but she played it off, tapping a rhythm on her hip as she paced back and forth in front of him.

“I’m not really here. This is a dream.”

She detected a twitch of a smirk, or perhaps it was another tell of the kind of pain he was still in. It caught her off guard to see it ease out into a playful, almost relieved smile, the musicality of his chuckle echoing against the glass.

“Yes, I suppose there would be no other way for us to communicate otherwise,” he said, “though, I must commend you on your lucidity.”

She folded her arms. “That a compliment? Or doubt?”

“An observation. I’ve encountered many dreamers in my time, but I suppose I was mistaken in assuming you were not inclined to pursue such a discipline.”

She rolled her eyes. “Got plenty of practice keeping an eye on you, didn’t I?”

“I suppose you did,” he said, “with the help of blood magic.”

Rook cast her eyes aside with that snide comment. She pursed her lips as she continued her turn about the room. He watched her with an equally reserved silence, his smile disappearing under her scrutiny, or did he catch her little tick? She was so certain she managed to hide it.

“Are you planning to taunt me all night?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re still trapped here, and I have free reign about the waking world, just like old times. Sorry if I’m a bit nostalgic.”

Solas’s brows dropped into a frown. “Nostalgic, you say? And how much time has passed to warrant that emotion?”

"So I was right! You are trapped!” she teased.

"I am not 'trapped,' I am here by choice."

"Yeah, and now you're trapped with the consequences. That ever come up in your little Fade-mandated regret therapy sessions?"

“I am here because it is necessary! I must—”

As soon as his anger rose, he recoiled, his shoulders hitched up, suddenly turning his head to listen out for something further beyond the barrier. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice.

“I must serve my sentence here, repay my debt.”

It was Rook’s turn to frown as she moved in closer, that flicker of sympathy slipping into her fingers, wanting to reach out to him comfort him. She shook it away.

“What’s got you so worked up?”

“Answer my question first,” he urged.

Rook leaned back, her concern not going away the more she stared at his dishevelled form. She couldn’t help but noticed how each breath he took was uneasy, the desperation in his violet eyes, “Two years.”

His shoulders dropped at her answer. She was uncertain if it was in relief or disappointment, but it was clear that he was exhausted.

“Okay, now you answer my question. What’s going on in there that’s got you so jittery?”

He glanced back up at her, then turned away.

“That is my concern.”

“It’s my concern too,” she said, “We’re supposed to work together on either side to keep the Veil intact. If this prison is getting in the way of that, battering you down this hard, it’s only a matter of time before we need to look for a new host, and I’m not too keen on taking your place again.”

“We made no such deal.”

“Okay… so we left it a little vague, but we were both in agreement. You do what you can on your end, and I do what I can on mine.”

“And have you?”

She froze a moment, then puffed out her cheeks and combed her fingers through her hair. “Well…uh… you see…”

�� Solas released his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Oi! Don’t give me that!” she snapped, pointing a finger at him, “If you’re going to dance around me with what's you've been up to, then you’re going to have to trust me with what I’m doing…”

"You are hardly giving me the confidence in the significance of your current path."

She frowned, her spirit pivoting defensively.

"There's an artefact," she admitted, "don't know exactly what it is, but it's dangerous. The kid who has it knows how to destroy it, so I promised to take him home."

"That tells me nothing."

"That tells you everything you need to know."

"Does he have a name?

She shook her head. "Won't tell me, and he doesn't need to."

He was frowning so deep there were visible wrinkles in his forehead. "You mean to tell me you are playing escort to a nameless child? And you had the audacity to scold me for wasting my energy?"

"You're one to talk! Here you are playing the martyr in your little cage. The blight is still poisoning the world in some places, Thedas is trying to rebuild, and there a new factions of fuck ups like us are coming forward every day, harping on about creating a better world when all they want is to steal a part of it for themselves, grab all the power and last long enough to use it. They don't care if they have to crush more lives to get there. If I can save just one more life I..."

She trailed off, her runaway cabin boy entering her thoughts. The mural on the next wall emitted an energy in response, centred at the white wolf pup running through the forest. She felt the same freedom watching the kid on her ship earlier that night, arms outstretched, soaking in the full set of stars above the rolling waves; that blissful, beautiful freedom.

Her fists clenched as her heart emboldened to the promise she made to get him home, give him the chance she never had.

“I just need to do it.”

He softened as he assessed her sudden resolve. There was a flash of recognition, some epiphany that came to him. He cleared his throat and straightening his posture once again as he made up his mind.

"Isn't that the way?" he mused, "One more life, one more vow to uphold, and then we are free to move on. It seems we both have a debt to pay."

Rook scoffed. "What is it with you and debts today? Do I get a cut?"

Hope you enjoyed it so far! Stay tuned for the Day 2 prompt, where I'll release the second snippet in this chapter, where they delve into her memories!

#the lighthouse discord server #dreadrook week 2025 #day 1 #fade conversations #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age the veilguard #post veilguard #dragon age rook #dragon age solas #rook x solas #lord of fortune rook #dread wolf #dreadrook #datv #chapter teaser #dragon age fanfic #fanfiction #dragon age

18 notes · View notes

phanfictioncatalogue · 2 months ago

Text

Long Oneshots (5) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four

15 Years of Forever (ao3) - theheartnexttophan

Summary: As of October 19th, 2024, Dan and Phil have known each other for 15 years. They’ve had 15 years of moments together, so here is one moment for each year.

A Christmas Pharol (ao3) - Merrydith

Summary: Dan Howell hates Christmas.

On the night of Christmas Eve (2014), Dan Howell is visited by an old coworker who claims she will show him the meaning of Christmas. They take a journey through his past, get a peek into who he is in the present and then glimpse the future Dan desperately wants. Dan learns to appreciate what the holiday means to him and accepts who he is in his heart.

A Leap in the Dark (ao3) - Mpreg Moli (doctorwhat420)

Summary: Dan’s fingers brushed Lester’s face on the screen. Cold, plastic, hard… Yeah, it was probably just like the real deal.

A Wingspan Unbelievable (ao3) - queerofcups

Summary: Phil isn't bitter. Phil is a kingmaker.

A Youtuber AU.

As He Goes, So I Go (ao3) - cloej88

Summary: It’s November of 2015, and Dan and Phil have just finished their UK leg of The Amazing Tour Is Not on Fire. They’ve sworn off the romantic side of their relationship in order to protect the rest of this life they’ve built. However, with all of the close proximity of touring, their connection feels headier and more charged than ever. As soon as the UK tour ends, they fly to the US for a quick book-signing trip, but they become snowed in by a blizzard in Chicago. In the solitude of their shared hotel room, can they fumble their way back to one another?

Featuring: Pining, lots of fluff, the TATINOF UK afterparty in all its glory, an arcade bar in snowy Chicago, a NYTimes How to Fall in Love quiz, lots of introspective musing about how much these idiots adore one another, and some well-earned smut.

Dan and His Butterflies (ao3) - Raspberrysaxophone

Summary: Very basic: Dan is terribly in love with Phil (the sporty jog). So much so, that Dan joins the school's sports team to be closer to him. As Dan awkwardly stumbles around, Phil starts to take notice of him. A party takes place and who knows what a drunk Dan might do...

Fall to Pieces When I’m With You. (ao3) - Nefertiti1052 (Succubusphan), ShippingFangirl26 (IceQueenJules26)

Summary: Daniel Howell was a talented Musician whose dream came true. Not only did he achieve a certain level of success but he got to be the opening act to his favourite band.

He would finally meet his idol, Phil Lester.

Fallin' All In You (ao3) - phantasticworks (steddieworks)

Summary: Dan is a Fallen Angel. He's been alone in life and death, but maybe this friendly blue eyed Angel is about to shake his world up a little.

i'd do anything to not be alone (ao3) - kae_karo

Summary: I don’t know why I bother waking up. It’s one of those nonessential activities, like eating or drinking or breathing. But I do it, because if I don’t, then nobody would water the plants.

Phil left and Dan doesn't know why. But he has to take care of the plants, because Phil would be so disappointed if he came back and his plants had died.

Inheriting love (ao3) - Fictropes

Summary: Dan lives and works in a small village where everyone knows everyone. A place where everything is typical, until Phil comes along.

just once to be lifted strong (ao3) - The_Blonde

Summary: "Maybe it is random. Maybe the lynx was just the next one waiting in line for its human and that human had happened to be Dan, awkwardly manoeuvring his way around the outskirts of situations while it prowled at his side. Or maybe it represented some inner part of Dan, golden and glowing, hidden somewhere amongst all the shadows, something that he could get to if he actually looked. Dan’s more inclined to go with the first one (though he’d considered the second one numerous times. It just wasn’t possible)."

Or: Dan is a boy with a missing anima. He finds a Phil instead.

knight of wands (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: Some days are just boring.

(And some aren't.)

Little bird, say it again (ao3) - ottertrashpalace

Summary: “I can’t believe that just happened,” Dan panted.

Phil laughed. “Why not?”

“I dunno… I guess—I dunno.” I didn’t think omegas in heat could do that seemed too embarrassing to say out loud.

missing the obvious (ao3) - Fictropes

Summary: Dan just wants this guy to stop ruining his game.

(or a reverse you've got mail)

new horizons (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: “Bry,” Phil says again, crashing to a halt against the table. Someone’s jammed the rickety sliding door to the back garden open and the kitchen is flooded with bright, sweet autumn air that he’s in absolutely no position to appreciate. “My Switch is broken.”

She turns away from the sink to look at him with much less urgency than the situation demands. “Were you playing Animal Crossing in the bath again?”

“No!” he says, much too loud, and there’s a muffled laugh from the other side of the breakfast bar. He notices only a few seconds late that obviously Bryony hadn’t been talking to herself. It’s Dan, oversized black hoodie and shadows under his eyes, clutching a Game of Thrones coffee mug like he hasn’t slept in a week. Which maybe he hasn’t, Phil can never quite get a vibe off him. “That was one time.”

The Art of Hiding Pain (ao3) - Swiftpaw

Summary: Dan had never been good at explaining his thoughts and feelings to others. How could he, when he did not understand them himself?

Or, 5 times Dan pushed everyone away and 1 time Phil would not let him face his struggles alone

the elephant in the room (ao3) - pressuretoparty

Summary: Dan talks to his therapist, buys groceries, finally freaks out about the entire Phil situation, and tries to address the elephant in the room.

"You don't think I screwed it all up, do you?" Dan says, the view from those long train rides he used to take to visit him up north, flying through his mind. "My chances of having anything real with Phil?"

"Oh, Dan," his therapist says. "If we're going to talk about you and Phil in a romantic sense, we're going to need more than five minutes."

the etiquette of a farmer's market (ao3) - Fictropes

Summary: It starts with Phil destroying a supermarket shelf, it ends with the hot guy running the cheese stall.

the metaphors of desire (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: The elbow of Dan’s jacket is smooth leather, stitched on, an unexpected contrast from the woolly fabric around it. His mouth is soft and his body is warm and Phil breaks away with a choked gasp of air.

“Shit,” Dan says, and his big warm hand drops away from Phil’s jaw, and he’s gone.

(in which they're both english professors)

the night is thinking of love (ao3) - ShiwiSins (IetjeSiobhan)

Summary: Dan wants to be indulged so badly he doesn’t even know what he wants Phil to indulge him with; wants to enjoy the process of ordering something nice, because Phil is paying and he said anything, so much he doesn’t want to order anything at all and drag Phil home instead, only that he also really, really wants every single second of this: of ordering, of Phil paying, of being indulged.

Or: Dan and Phil tour and, simultaneously, slowly explore Dan's kink further.

The Nightmare of Chemistry (ao3) - Merrydith

Summary: Dan and Phil have amazing chemistry. They've built their entire lives around their dynamic. But Dan is lonely and decides to start dating to fill the desire in his heart - but everyone he brings home is too intimidated by Dan and Phil's connection. One day, Phil unknowingly gives him an idea that could change the game. Will Dan finally find someone comfortable enough to compete with what Dan and Phil have? Or will Dan have to realize that maybe what he has been looking for was in front of him the entire time?

to let the light in (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: Searching for a fresh start after a decade of dead ends in London, Dan becomes obsessed with a storytelling show on Rossendale Radio and a voice that hasn't been broadcast in years.

you've gotta be starving for it (ao3) - astradyke (violetides)

Summary: Strange isn’t helpful. Dan has lived with himself for thirty-three years, and has been in therapy for several of those. He should know the precise words for something like this. It’s a very clunky feeling, is all he can identify. Like heaves and heaves of asphalt filling up a pavement square. Like a body fresh from the burn of quicksand. He’s spilling into something, and he’s entirely too large to heave himself out of it.

It’s a sudden, useless feeling that should not inhabit his body after a satisfying orgasm. But, historically, Dan has felt a lot of unhelpful things after an orgasm.

(there is a matter unresolved, sleeping in the underbelly of daniel howell's mind. after the terrible influence tour, and a haircut done in australia, that something begins to unravel.

in other words: daniel howell, and the wild beast of gender.)

#phanfictioncatalogue #phan #phanfic #phanfiction #masterlists #oneshots masterlist #oneshots

10 notes · View notes

deityoftherain · 4 months ago

Text

when danger greets you with a smile - Smallishwood during Secret Life Session 6

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63173971

Rating: Teen

Relationship: M/M, Gen

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Status: Completed Oneshot

Word Count: 2,759

Summary:

All the Reds started to drop like flies, one after another, leaving Martyn the last Red alive. And, well, Joel'd be damned if he let another person he cared about die on his watch without doing his best to prevent it.

Full fanfic underneath the cut! Please reblog, leave kudos on the AO3 fic slash notes/likes here on Tumblr, comment either place, and etc if you enjoy the story :D

All around Joel was chaos, something he would normally thrive off of.

Not this time, though.

Not when those he loved were being ripped away from him. The first Red had already perished, and– fuck! No time to think, just move!

The Wither flew around by their heads, tormating them as it flew in the open air.

Holes were blown into the ground with exploding wither skulls.

Players screamed out in a poor attempt to coordinate.

Swords sliced through the air as they failed to damage much of anything.

Arrows swooshed by their heads in an attempt to hit the damn thing.

Players were dodging and weaving and avoiding potholes for their lives.

Joel’s chest tightened with grief. Not everyone was going to make it out of this disaster alive.

He had already lost Lizzie to the void, and he knew that was his own fault. He had been the one to send her after Scott. He should have known better than to risk her life like that, even for his task–

Granted, it was her own foolish idea to use the blummin’ End Dimension. It wasn’t totally his fault. She should have known better.

At least, well… that’s what he told himself in an attempt to self-soothe. Joel wished it was more comforting than it proved to be.

His heart beat furiously in his ears, blood and adrenaline rushing to his limbs so swiftly it made him dizzy. Still, he had to keep moving, keep running! Joel knew better than to stop, for once he stopped, he wasn’t sure he would be able to get back up.

Thunder cracked as lightning struck the ground where a Player once stood, a Player who just lost their final life.

Breath caught in Joel’s throat as he glanced at the communicator built into his wristband, looking for a death message. Which Red had met their demise now?

“Jimmy!” His voice cracked with grief. “Jimmy, no–!”

He had only lasted, what, ten minutes longer than Lizzie? Joel wasn’t sure, but it still felt that new, that fresh…

A broken wail escaped the confines of his throat.

Oh, for goodness sake, Jimmy!

How has he died again? Why did he die again, die so soon?

Jimmy had only just broken the canary curse, and for what? To only last a few minutes longer? To be the first to die in The Overworld?

Had he even broken it? Joel couldn’t help but wonder, biting down hard on his tongue. His death is still symbolic of a canary in a coalmine. Shortly after his death, everything goes to shit–

Everything was already going to shit.

Everything was currently going to shit.

Lightning cracked down from the sky behind him, and Joel spun around mid run to see which Red had left them now.

He didn’t have to wonder for long, for Grian cried out for Mumbo in anguish.

“Mumbo!” Joel echoed a moment after as he blinked tears from his eyes. Not one of his Mounders! First Lizzie, then Jimmy, now Mumbo–

Anger simmered in his gut as he turned to Grian, the man who was once one of his Bad Boys. Joel tugged Grian sharply toward him by his collar, trembling with a tsunami of emotions. “Grian, you’re killing– Grian, is this your doing?”

Grian didn’t fight him back, knowing he probably deserved it. His eyes were wide and a bit wild, though grief also stricken his features.

“This is not the plan!” Grian promised frantically before promptly pulling himself from Joel’s grasp and stumbling backward. He turned as he stumbled, leaving Joel in favor of Joel’s soulbound from Double Life. “Etho, this is not the plan!”

What sort of maniacal plan had those two fuckers come up with this time?

His attention was too scattered to dwell on it any longer.

Joel combed his fingers through his green-streaked brown hair as he assessed the damage to the landscape around him, his other hand gripped tightly on his water bucket. A sword or bow would do nothing for him if he fell into a pothole or got blasted up into the blummin’ sky. He could try to save at least some of his non-regenerating hearts by bucket clutching, not that he was consistent with that.

He winced at the remembrance of his legs breaking on impact, but he forced the memory from his mind. There were more pressing matters at hand.

“Why are all the Reds dying?” Joel muttered to himself, tucking the water bucket back into his inventory and pulling open the list of Players to check their life counts. Who was left–?

His blood ran cold.

Martyn.

Joel frantically looked around, trying to spot his lover amongst the crowd. His efforts brought up nothing, leaving Joel to plead, “Someone tell Martyn to hide!”

I can’t– no! His thoughts spun in his brain, distraught, panic-stricken, and hard to catch. I can’t lose Martyn too! Someone needs to hide Martyn– protect Martyn– I need to find Martyn!

The universe had different plans as Scott chased behind Joel, the blummin’ Wither on his ass.

“Joel!” Scott called for him, sounding out of breath and a little annoyed.

Joel couldn’t blame him, especially as he’s sent most of the session plotting his demise. It was his task to assassinate Scott in any way he could, after all, but Scott was also too blummin’ good at these things that it pissed Joel off sometimes. Fine, most of the time, but like, Scott had already won; he didn’t need to outrank Joel again! Joel felt justified in his one-sided rivalry, thank you very much.

Scott didn’t understand or perhaps he simply didn’t care that Joel really didn’t want to deal with this right now, for he continued, “Are you thinking about helping me at any point?”

“No, Scott!” Joel snapped back honestly, fighting the Wither being the last thing on his mind. He needed to find Martyn. “Just stop following me, lad, please!”

Joel hoped Scott would read his intentions– as near-impossible as him being able to interpret something so complex through body language accurately was– and leave him alone. He was trying to protect Martyn, someone Joel knew Scott cared about too. They had teamed together in Limited Life, even if Martyn had stabbed him in the back to win.

Unfortunately though, he and Scott weren’t on that sort of wave length. “Well, it would be nice to have some help.”

Just go, Scott! Joel was starting to resent Scott even more staying on his heels. Hadn’t he learned by now that they weren’t allies? Friends, maybe, but during these Games, Joel was rooting for his death. Joel was known for being overly competitive, after all, and Scott was too large of a competitor to not loathe even if just a little bit. “I can’t do much to help!”

Scott seemed to finally take the blaring red flags that Joel was not going to aid him, which freed Joel up to search for the Red he was looking for.

He eventually spotted Martyn’s shade of blonde in the distance, sighing in relief as he noticed he was playing it smart and staying by the sidelines. Still though, Joel darted over to him, barely giving his lover any time to process as he took his head and started running.

Martyn stumbled after him, but didn’t let go, picking up his pace so he could run in stride with Joel. “Where are we goin’?”

“Away from here,” Joel answered, eyes darting around as he looked for a good place to lay low. “Anywhere away from The Wither and Warden. I refuse to let another Red die, not today.” Martyn’s mouth opened to say something, but he promptly shut it, before opening it again. He didn’t seem to find the words until their run turned more into a jog as they slowed, approaching the entrance to BigB’s blummin’ cobblestone backroom tunnel maze thingy.

Joel ushered Martyn inside, not giving him a choice but to go first, before following in right after. He shut the door behind them, took Martyn’s hand once more and dragged him down until they couldn’t hear the chaos that reigned above them any longer.

“This is oddly sweet of you,” Martyn commented, albeit suspicious. “You aren’t planning to kill me yourself, are you?”

“Not so loud!” Joel hissed through his clenched teeth, shoving Martyn against the wall and putting his hand over his mouth.

The both stayed silent, listening for any possible signs of the threats looming closer. Several long moments passed before Joel was pulled from his hypervigilance with a wetness coating of his palm. He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he fumbled away from the wall and off of Martyn, wiping his licked hand against his trouser leg. “Gross, Martyn! Did you really lick me–?”

Before Joel could finish scolding him, Martyn twirled him around, using the fact Joel was already off balance to pin him against the wall instead. Joel gawked at him with wide eyes, the hand licking already forgotten as red eyes peered into his yellow ones.

He could feel Martyn’s breath on his face, each exhale heating Joel’s cheeks. His gaze dropped to Martyn’s parted lips, the fearful anxiety from before morphing into anxious anticipation. “Blummin’ hell, I– I know I look good, but don’t just stare there gawking at my majesty. If you’re gonna kiss me, do it already, coward.”

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t,” Martyn teased, leaning closer to brush his lips against Joel’s for only a moment. Instead of committing to it like Joel desperately wanted him to, he diverted the action, peppering kisses up his jawline until he reached his ear. Once there, Martyn nipped the cartilage before breathing out, “Do you think you can stay quiet if I kiss you till you run out of air?”

“I’d like to see you try,” Joel challenged, voice wavering at the thought, not that he’d admit that even if Martyn pointed it out. Not that Martyn needed to, not with that stupidly self-satisfied smirk Joel wanted to kiss off his face. Fuck, he’s hot, and he’s so close, and if he doesn’t kiss me in two seconds, I’ll–

Joel decided to take matters into his own hands, not wanting to let Martyn keep the high ground just to fuck with him. He had already lost so many, and he wanted– nay, he needed assurance that Martyn wasn’t leaving him just yet. He needed proof that Martyn was actually here with him, needing to know that blood was still pumping through Martyn’s veins instead of being used as a fine wine by Them.

His hands wandered Martyn’s body, slipping under his shirt to grab onto the love handles just above his hips. He used his grip to tug Martyn toward him until Martyn’s hips were flush with Joel’s. Martyn lost his cool suave as Joel took control, the deep pink that flushed his cheeks worth every antagonizing moment they’ve spent apart.

Martyn’s pupils were dilated, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of the dimly lit ambience of the caves, or from admiration, or both. He wondered idly if he had a similar expression, though he didn’t dwell on the idea as he discovered he truly didn’t care as their lips collided in a hungry kiss.

Their give and take was anything but serene, bloodthirsty and passionate as they practically consumed one another. It was evident that Martyn needed to be as close to Joel as Joel needed to be with him.

Martyn’s tongue slipped through Joel’s parted lips, entering the cavern of his mouth. He traced the outline of Joel’s canines as his hands canvassed Joel’s body, taking his time to explore every part of his lover with agonisingly caring consideration. Joel moaned softly as he arched his back, skin sensitive to Martyn’s contrasting gentle fingers.

Their chests heaved as their lungs contracted violently as they finally came up for air, seeking the oxygen their suffocating appreciation of one another neglected them. Joel cupped Martyn’s cheek and Martyn raised his hand to join his. He leaned into Joel’s hold, eyelashes fluttering close as Joel brushed his thumb against the very lips he nipped raw, the skin there now a furious red.

He couldn’t help but feel proud of the sign Joel had been there, the passive possessiveness stroking Joel’s inner desires. His temptations and desires and recklessness didn’t usually get to him this intensely as a Yellow, but he had already lost so much… he couldn't lose Martyn too. He couldn’t! He wouldn’t. Not if he had anything to say about it.

At least, not today.

Joel wasn’t sure his heart could handle anything else.

Martyn turned his head to press his bitten raw lips against Joel’s palm– something Joel was sure he mirrored based solely on how they felt– as Martyn’s red irises glinted with hazardous bloodlust. If Joel was smart, he should have taken it as a threat, but he couldn’t. The way Martyn looked at him was utterly addicting. “You know, it isn’t wise to be this close to a Red. Most would say it’s downright dangerous, especially given how long I've been Red this time around.”

“Well,” Joel clicked his tongue, flashing a smirk full of performative confidence in Martyn’s direction, “I’ve always been known to chase danger.”

Which is probably why half of those I care about are all dead right now.

He averted his gaze, his expression saddening uncontrollably. He didn’t want to think about that right now. He wanted to focus on the man before him. He didn’t want to be sad, to feel that distress, though he knew it was foolish to try.

Joel tightened his grip on Martyn, desperate and longing. Martyn softened from their flirtatious banter, gathering Joel in his arms much more tranquil than the ever consuming hunger from before. He pressed a kiss against Joel’s fled ruffled brown hair as Joel melted into Martyn’s chest, yellow eyes going glassy.

They stayed like that for several moments, left in silence besides their breathings and Joel’s pathetic whimpering echoing off the tunnel walls. He sniffed in sharply, glancing at his wristband communicator before shifting just enough to peer up and meet Martyn’s red gaze. “We should go back up. The Wither is almost dead, and people will be wondering where we are.” “Okay,” Martyn agreed, but he didn’t let go of Joel just yet, and Joel found himself grateful for it. He rested his forehead against Martyn’s shoulder and Martyn rubbed circles on his back.

Joel’s heart ached, and he hated himself for it– he wasn’t the one who was Red! He wasn’t the one who needed comfort, needed saving… Joel had come here to protect Martyn, to get him to hide, to make sure he lasted another session.

And well, he supposed he had done just that. He had completed his own personal task, not that the Secret Keeper would give him anything for his efforts.

Joel couldn’t stay like this with Martyn forever, and they both knew it. What they had was stolen time, each moment sacred and fragile, but Joel didn’t mind this bit of thievery. Martyn was worth any possible punishment he would have to endure for their crimes, not that he thought anyone would know.

“I’ll go up first,” Joel broke the silence, voice so quiet yet so loud this deep underground. “I’ll see if I can make anything useful with the end of The Wither’s health. You can come up a bit after me and watch from the outskirts for the end of the fight.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Martyn agreed, matching Joel’s low tone. They stared into each other’s souls for several heartbeats before Joel tore himself away.

“I’ll see you on the other side.” Joel headed toward the exit, refusing to look back at his lover. If he did, he wasn’t sure he could find it in him to leave. He placed his hand on the door, though he hesitated when it came time to open it. Joel turned back toward Martyn only to find him watching as he made his leave. “Stay safe.”

“No promises,” Martyn chirped back with bravo and false pleasantries, punctuating his comment with a two-fingered salute.

Joel snorted at the faux cheer, rolling his eyes as he flipped his lover off. No other words were uttered between them as Joel took the plunge, stepping out on the surface in the middle of a mob fight. Well, this was going to be fun.

13 notes · View notes

copiousloverofcopia · 2 years ago

Note

I could also use some more Papa Terzo getting his face sat on by anyone. nemA. 🙏

Hey there ghestie!!!

I have so many things in the works for you lol but to start here's a little taste....no pun intended.

For your reading pleasure....

Smeared Paint

Featuring Terzo x reader for some face sitting/riding fun 😏

Also available HERE on AO3!

Definitely NSFW below the cut

"Are you sure about this?" you asked him. Your thighs tingling in anticipation. Trying hard to stop your legs from shaking as your wet core hovered just above his painted lips.

"Si, sorella…now sit. I'm growing impatient." Terzo whined. Licking a trail up your thigh. Teasing his hot breath at your folds. You let out a sigh, ready to feel his mouth on you—insides pulsing just at the thought.

After all, he preferred it this way. Face buried into your folds. Ready to give his life in worship of your cunt. And though you had been his altar many times before, you always hesitated, worried you may facilitate his meeting Lucifer before his time.

Before you could say anything else, the choice was made for you. Terzo quickly wrapped his arms around your thighs. Fingers dug deep into the flesh as he pulled you down hard on his face. The tender flesh of your cunt meeting with his mouth.

"Ah!" You cried out. His sinful tongue slithered its way from your taint to your clit. Dipping into your opening a moment before he continued on. Lapping at you like melted gelato on a hot summer day. Both of you moaning as you instinctively rolled yourself over his face. The vibrations from his enthusiasm—heading straight to your clit.

"Hmm... Sorella, la tua figa ha un sapore così buono. Come il frutto divino dell'albero proibito…" Terzo praised as he came up for air. His decadent words–followed by a string of moaning and indiscernible Italian.

"Mmm…yeah…mmm…" you moaned. Your pussy gliding with ease across the broadness of his tongue. Terzo, kissing and nipping and sucking on your folds and you rode his face. You became lost in pleasure, grinding on him with wild abandon. Overwhelmed in your lustful haze.

You tried to raise up, but you were quickly forced back down. Terzo holding you, like a vice grip against his mouth. Your whole cunt dripping with his saliva—messy and wet as he continued. The pressure built up inside you, slowly starting to release.

"Oh Papa, I wanna cum." You mewled; hand grabbed firmly on a tuft of raven black hair before you. Terzo staring up at you as he devoured you. Gently sucking on your lips and sliding his tongue once more over your cunt.

"Then cum." He told you, his voice full of that suave, devilish charm that had made you fall for him in the first place. "Give me communion sorella."

That was enough to send you over, yanking harder on his hair. Terzo hissing, his paints smeared all over his face and the inside of your thighs. Mixing for a perfect shade of gray.

You came. The third Emeritus son drinking you down like the richest of wines. Savoring the notes of pleasure, divined in the way you tasted. Your fluids running over the corners of his smiling mouth. Still refusing to release his hold on you.

You were breathless and spent, finding yourself falling. Collapsing down beside him in the ocean of violet sheets. A smile on your face—speaking to your lover's skill. Maybe you'd be the one to die from the sheer ecstasy he brought you.

You kept your eyes closed. Enjoying listening to the sound of your shared breathing, when you felt Terzo get up. Taking hold of your legs and flipping you onto your stomach. Pulling you up on your knees before you could even speak.

"Ass up sorella. I'm not done with you yet." Terzo teased.

"Oh!" You called out as he guided the swell of your ass higher in the air. Marveling at the sight of it, before adding two fingers carefully into your entrance. Pressing hard and deep into the bundle of nerves. Cloaked within you—a place only he was able to find.

"That's a good girl sorella." Terzo praised you as you rolled your hips back against his fingers. Terzo glided his hand across your ass. His fingers sprayed out over it before giving you a good smack. Your cunt, jolting back even harder onto his hand. Face pressed against the bed, trying your best to quiet your moans. The mid-morning rendezvous, proving to be more noisy than you intended.

"Tell me how bad you want his cock sorella. How much you long for my fingers to be replaced with it. So I can fill you and have you dripping with me." Terzo commanded.

"Uh! Fuck…Yes!" You called out as he made you cum again on his hand.

"Tell me what you want." He ordered you, removing his fingers and stroking himself with your slick. Cock hard and at attention and ready to do as promised.

"I want your cock. Please…"

"Please, what?" He taunted. Allowing the plump, leaking head of his cock to tap against your core.

"Fuck! Papa! Please!" You cried, desperate for it now. Terzo, giving a sinister smile as he obliged you. Slamming himself through your folds and taking hold of the lush curves of your thighs. Pounding inside you with full fervor.

"See…all you need is to ask nicely…"

"Mmm…Papa, yes. Ah…ah…." You moaned, feeling him spreading you out. Pressing all around inside, your body tugging against him with every thrust. You began to compress around him. Clamping down on his cock as you began to cum. Practically screaming now in your pleasure. Both sure the whole of the Abbey could hear you. Not that either of you cared.

"That's it…ah…yes…sorella…" Terzo groaned. Quickly losing his stride as your pussy fluttered around him. "Your. Cunt. Is. Mine." He growled as you felt him kick inside you. His burning seed, flooding deep inside. Your Papa, continuing his movements until he was sure you were stuffed full.

He hung limp over you. Kissing the small of your back as he pulled his softened cock from inside you. Continuing his row of kisses as he met with your ass. Coming to lay beside you and shielding you from the cool air with the cover of his sheets.

"That was incredible…" you began before you realized what day it was, "...uh…Papa. Isn't it your day for confession?" You asked.

"Oh shit, yes!" Terzo panicked. Springing up from the bed in a fury. Rummaging around the room for his discarded vestments. Quickly redressing before giving your forehead a kiss. "I'll be back for you later." He smiled attempting to head out the door.

"Wait! Wait! You can't go out like that!" You told him. He turned to face you, eyebrow perked and that puzzled look on his face.

"And why not?"

"Your paints!" You told him, half laughing, motioning to your lap that looked like a grayscale painting.

Terzo smirked, "Hmph…let them see."

Notes:

Hmm...Sister, your pussy tastes so good. Like divine fruit from the forbidden tree. -Hmm... Sorella, la tua figa ha un sapore così buono. Come il frutto divino dell'albero proibito.

#you asked i answered #Smeared paint #terzo #papa iii #papa emeritus iii #terzo x reader #terzo x afab reader #terzo x sibling of sin #terzo x sister of sin #ren writes #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfics #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction

161 notes · View notes

sundrop-writes · 2 years ago

Text

Miss Nectarine

Donna Troy x Fem!Thick!Reader

Miss Nectarine, jawbreaker sweet.

Summary:

Ever since the old Titans have come 'home', Donna has been swimming in stress and grief over the friend they had lost the last time they lived at the Tower. She unintentionally found the perfect way to combat that grief when she accidentally walked in on you in a very revealing situation.

Donna Troy x Fem!Thick!Reader. Friends to Lovers. Smut. Set during Season 2, Episode 7.

Word Count: 2,600

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is such a random fic lmao; this is primarily smut; this fic does feature spoilers for the canon if you haven’t seen the show before and you want to watch it spoiler-free; mentions of Titans!Bruce Wayne’s intense paranoia; mentions of background (past) Dawn/Dick; mentions of canon violence (no in-depth descriptions); mentions of Donna/Garth (but I never outright state in this fic that Donna and Garth were romantic in the past or if they were just friends - I like them better platonically tbh); mentions of Donna’s grief for Garth as a best friend; this uses the ‘caught masturbating’ trope - Donna accidentally walks in on the reader masturbating and all the lustful feelings she has ever felt for the reader come flooding toward the surface; there is no hard dom/sub, but Donna is more dominant and the reader is more submissive to Donna’s orders and whims; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; she reader is described as fat/plus sized (through a very loving gaze - Donna is very turned on by her body); accidental voyeurism (Donna watches the reader masturbate for a while); clitoral stimulation (the reader masturbating); the reader calls Donna ‘D’ (because that’s a thing in all my fics now); very clear consent is established before Donna touches the reader; mentions of Donna manhandling the reader slightly (using her superpowered strength, but nothing that would be incredibly unrealistic); oral sex/pussy eating (Donna giving, reader receiving); I believe that’s about it.

A/N: This is named after the recent song Miss Nectarine by Ashnikko, which is about someone struggling with their attraction to women and I fucking love the song so much - the second I heard it, it captured my heart. I highly recommend listening to it. Also, I feel like this fic is not my best work. Idk. I wrote it with a really awesome inspiration in mind (Donna lusting after a thick girl) but I couldn’t really get the writing flow down, and I feel like some parts of it are clunky. But I know that sometimes we should stand behind work that’s not our best, and people still might enjoy reading this. So, here you go!

...

Titans Tower was a place that had a lot of usual features. Things that no other home would ever need.

The large serenity garden in the center of the house that never seemed to bring anyone serenity. (It was likely just there because the Tower had been built for people who were city-dwelling chronic night owls, the type of people who never saw plants in their natural habitats, and needed a simulated one in the middle of their million dollar condo.) The large, state of the art training facility. The medical bay, stocked with all kinds of equipment and medication - including a freezer filled with spare blood, in all of the original Titans blood types. Which is something that would be insanely creepy to any outsiders.

And among the more peculiar security measures: none of the internal doors in the house had locks on them. All the bathroom doors, all the bedroom doors, the doors to the training room - none of them locked.

To a certain extent, Donna understood why.

The place had been designed by the most paranoid man on the planet - at least, that’s what Diana often called Bruce, and Donna had to believe it wasn’t an exaggeration, because Diana didn’t really believe in hyperbole. There were cameras in every single room, endless security protocols to breach the Tower from the outside - most of which Donna likely didn’t even know about. The place had been designed around its own unique, state of the art surveillance system.

So, there being no locks on any of the bathroom doors or bedroom doors was just another… quirk. Something implemented for security purposes without ever considering how inconvenient it would be for a person to actually live with.

It was something implemented with the idea that locks put barriers between the members of a team, and those barriers can create secrets. Secrets cause friction. A team should be one solid unit. That, and it can be dangerous, taking away precious life saving seconds if someone is locked in their bedroom while sick or injured and a door needs to be smashed up in order to get to them.

At least, that’s what Bruce had in mind when designing the place.

Back when all the original Titans had moved into the Tower, knocking became the most easily upheld rule in the household. No matter how much they argued over who did the dishes or complained about certain people making noises at ‘impolite’ hours - above all, it was a sacred practice not to barge past a closed door without asking first.

And as Hank taught them, whenever someone wanted privacy in their room, as a kind of ‘do not disturb’ sign: a sock was to be wrapped around the doorknob as a universal signal that the person inside did not want to be bothered. It was a good old fashioned standby that he had learned while living in a frat house that had shitty, broken bedroom doors with locks that often failed. It came in very handy whenever someone wanted their privacy to masturbate uninterrupted, to unwind and sob without question after a particularly hard mission, or - when Dick and Dawn coupled up - to fuck like rabbits without anyone else barging in on them.

Somehow, being back in the Tower, it was easy to forget that sacred law of knocking. Something about taking a five year hiatus from living in the strangely designed condo and wallowing in the tense emotions that being here brought back to her - Donna was more focused on the stress of Deathstroke and Doctor Light, everything around her old home that reminded her of the dear childhood friend she had lost the last time she was here. Her mind was a mess, and sadly - it was easy to forget about something as simple as knocking.

Over the past few days, her mind had been occupied by far too many things.

Doctor Light’s ‘escape’, and then his strange, untimely death. Deathstroke suddenly showing up again, and the moral conflict of harboring another one of his kids in the Tower. Which was made even worse when she considered that he would be an emanate danger to her - and to everyone else.

All of this stress was topped off, brought to a boiling point when Donna had walked into her room after doing some yoga and meditation with Dawn (trying to calm the rockiness of their minds) and she found a bottle of orange soda on one of the bookshelves. Not just any orange soda - the orange soda.

Her memories of Garth were painful enough - she didn’t need to be reminded of him like this. She wasn’t sure if someone was doing this to fuck with her, or if someone had put it there to try and comfort her. As an attempt at reminding her of the good parts of her past. If that’s what they meant, it wasn’t working.

As soon as she found it, Donna rushed down the hall to your room to confide in you. She simply needed to share this strange occurrence with someone who wasn’t going to jump down her throat with conspiracy theories or brush off her concerns. She needed a shoulder to lean on, maybe cry on. Maybe she needed to reminisce about Garth when she had banned speaking his name since she had re-entered the Tower.

She thought nothing of it when the doorknob to your bedroom turned under her palm with absolutely no resistance.

She found herself standing in your doorway, holding the bottle of warm soda in one hand, staring down at it like it was a bomb about to go off. With her other hand still poised on the lockless doorknob, her mind filled with stale grief over her lost friend - when she heard it.

A soft moan.

Donna’s head shot up toward the noise, mostly an instinct of her training. The sight she was greeted with instantly shifted all of the energy in her body from confused, saddened, and hurt to pure, blinding lust.

You were laying in the middle of the bed, your head propped against several pillows, making you look like a fantasy, purposefully displayed and laid out for her - and you were touching yourself. Your oversized, comfortable shirt was shoved up to sit underneath your chin, revealing your gorgeous tits, bared so perfectly for the eye to consume.

Your lounge shorts with your panties tangled inside them were tossed off to sit around your ankles, clearly in a haste to partake in the act of ‘self care’. (Something different than the calming yoga Donna had been doing to take her mind off things, but just as effective.) This left your wet, wanting pussy out in the open, completely visible for Donna to see, and she even swore that she could smell you - a pungent tang in the air that drove a carnal hunger deep inside her.

The thing was, as much as Donna had acknowledged in the back of her mind that you were attractive, and funny, and cute, and that your strength when facing enemies put an undeniable heat in her gut - she had never truly looked at you with this much lust boiling inside of her. Not until now. Because she had never truly seen you until this moment.

Well, up until this moment - she had seen you as a friend, as a companion, as a fantastic warrior, someone she always wanted by her side. But this was the first time she had seen you as a potential lover. As someone she so badly wanted to fuck.

With you laid bare to her like this, so desperately humping your own fingers and intimately visible, she couldn’t help but to stare.

Two of your fingers worked furiously over your swollen clit while you held a lip between your teeth, clearly trying to hold any noises tight inside of your throat. This was something that made Donna even more desperate to hear your sounds, to hear what kind of moans or whimpers you would make for her.

Your breasts bobbed in the air as your chest heaved - two beautiful mounds with peaked nipples, zagging lines of stretched skin where reality had quaked to prepare for your gorgeous muchness. This caused her eyes to trace down your quivering stomach; her gaze following the smooth rolls of your body that perfectly guided her eye down to the beautifully fat mound of your cunt. Your pussy was dusted with hair that was absolutely dripping with your need - so utterly soaked that you were beginning to form a small stain on the comforter below you.

Perhaps best of all - the wideness of your thighs perfectly framed your clenching hole, clearly so needy and yet untouched as you rubbed sloppy, increasingly loud circles on your clit. It was a space where Donna wanted to slot herself and be smothered by the perfect dimpled thickness of your thighs, wanted to feel the endless warmth there, encasing her in everything that was you and barring out the stresses of the world.

She stood there, frozen in place for too long, simply admiring you.

She still had her hand on the doorknob, standing in the doorway, and with your eyes screwed so tight with pleasure and concentration, she knew that you hadn’t seen her yet.

Part of her wondered if she should approach you. If she should be so bold as to assume that you would want her in your bed.

But when she glanced down again, she saw the orange soda bottle. And something in the back of her mind was reminded of that haunted past. Something that said she was never meant to be happy. Something that told her living in the moment only fucked things up. Everything she had done back then, it was karma, that-

“Donna.”

You said her name like it was the sweetest song.

A soft, delicate moan coming from your lips - not an accusation, not a griped yell for her to get out.

When she looked back at you, your eyes were even tighter with pleasure, your back arched slightly off the bed, displaying your breasts in an even more perfect way. Your fingers worked more furiously on your clit, clearly trying to make yourself cum with even more intent. Your other hand came down to hook under your knee, lifting your leg up in a way that spread your thighs even more. This made Donna breathless at the visible wave of slick that leaked out of you and the way your fingers dug into the fat of your thigh.

It almost made her jealous of the act. She should be the one grabbing your thigh. It made her entirely tempted to charge over there and simply take over.

“Fuck, D.” You sighed breathlessly.

It was clear in her mind: you hadn’t caught her. You were thinking about her as you were getting close.

Donna’s own pussy throbbed between her thighs, and as she clutched around the glass bottle so hard she swore she heard it crack. In that moment, she could almost hear Garth’s voice in her mind. He was chanting, telling her to ‘go for it’. Telling her that the concept of ‘karma’ was bullshit and she had to make her own fate. He would have told her that she was stupid to pass up an opportunity with ‘such a hot babe’. If he was a ghost, supposedly haunting the Tower, he would probably be her wingman in this.

Maybe it was his ghost, with a hand on her back, guiding her toward you. Whatever it was - in that moment, Donna felt the impulsive Atlantean side of her take over.

Or maybe it was the fact that she needed to turn away from all the grief - for the first time since entering the Tower, Donna needed to make herself forget about all the ghosts that haunted the halls. She needed to hold onto something real, something good that was right in front of her - she needed the real, tangible now.

She stepped fully inside your bedroom, shoved the door closed behind her. It was only with that quiet slam that you actually came out of your personal, lustful bubble. There wasn’t enough time for shock to take over as Donna abandoned the mysterious orange soda bottle on your dresser and strided toward the bed with intention and purpose in every single movement. You snapped your legs closed around your own hand, suddenly feeling shy under her ravenous gaze.

“Yes or no?” She asked you firmly.

She placed a knee on the end of the bed, looking at you with heat blooming across her cheeks. Her own chest shifted with puffs of hot breath as the lust rapidly increased her heart rate.

Of course, she would never do anything without your explicit consent.

Even though shock was still barreling through your system, unsure if this was a fantasy or not, perhaps a strange illusion blurring into reality - you managed to squeak out a reply. There was only one possible answer you could think of when she was looking at you like that.

“Yes.”

Donna nodded firmly and then moved onto the bed. Before you could blink, she had hooked both her hands under your knees and, using her enhanced Amazonian strength, she pulled you down the bed toward her. This caused you to let out a sharp squeak - a sound of delighted surprise at the fact that she could move you around so easily. Nobody else that you had been with ever could.

She placed both her hands on your inner thighs and spread your legs open like you were a book that held all the answers to life’s most demanding questions. She was glad that her hair had already been up in a low bun, because it was out of her way as she held your legs open with impressive force and dove in.

Years of unrealized lust for you came rushing out of her, concentrated on the tip of her tongue. Feelings that she had been holding back through intense, well-trained self discipline began to pour out the minute that her tongue met your mound. It was a demonstration of her sheer power painted in front of you as she flicked her tongue over your needy clit, fucking you hard and fast. She couldn’t help but to moan loudly at your taste. Sweet like a nectarine.

“Fuck!”

You moaned out, unable to take your eyes off the sight of such a gorgeous, goddess-like woman between your thighs. Your mind almost unbelieving that it was real - barely able to comprehend how perfect she looked with her pretty pink lips pressed against your cunt and her tongue working in hard, fast circles as she fucked you in such an utterly demanding way.

“Oh my god, Donna!”

Your muscles quaked with the effort, but you were unable to move even an inch to shut your legs around the intense, overwhelming stimulation that she provided. Heat shot through your body from that one point - from that beautiful place where her lips were sealed onto your cunt.

Donna felt the spasming of your legs, felt the heat pouring off you in waves, and she reached over with one hand and worked two fingers inside of you. This was entirely easy with how slick you were, open and ready for her. You moaned sharply and your face was twisted into a gorgeous pinch of pleasure when she glanced up at you through her lashes.

There was just one more thing that she wanted.

She popped off your clit with a filthy wet noise, causing you to whimper.

“Cum for me,” She demanded sharply.

You couldn’t help but to follow the order.

When you fell apart underneath her touch, you couldn’t contain your screams. Everyone in the Tower heard you.

...

If you enjoyed this fic, check out my DC Titans Masterlist for more of my other fics!! And please consider reblogging and commenting on this fic to tell me what you liked about it.

#sundrop writes #donna troy #donna troy x reader #donna troy x fem!reader #donna troy fanfiction #dc titans #dc fanfiction #titans x reader #titans fanfiction

120 notes · View notes

likesvader · 10 months ago

Text

Your Punches Could Use Work

Hello, this is my first ever work. Like Period. But I am a Leon fan all day everyday and wanted to give it a shot. He is just so... well, you know.

Any and all feedback will be appreciated, just please keep it nice. And you can find it on AO3 as well. https://archiveofourown.org/works/58439467

With that being said, MDNI, adult content!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You didn’t hate being drenched in sweat, in fact, you were proud to see the light blue cloth turn shades darker. It was proof of your hard work and dedication for this job. You worked hard to be here, you worked hard everyday, proving yourself to your coworkers. You proved yourself in every aspect. Paperwork, planning and logistics, weight lifting, group physical training sessions and even sparring. Your dedication was shown in physical ways too, your arms lean and muscular, legs with thigh muscles that flexed as you walk, and you could plank for over five minutes straight.

Your team had become closer as you worked together, morale building stronger by the day. The only gap was between you all and your team leader, Special Agent Kennedy. He had a mysterious aura about him, quiet and straight forward. He had shared very little about himself, only confirming his achievements when asked. The man who single handedly saved the President’s daughter, surviving the outbreak of that wretched virus, and who knows what else.

When you were assigned to this unit, he had just become a leader. He was phenomenal. His posture was straight and arrogant, arms crossed and legs just under shoulder width apart. Dirty blonde hair that sat swept to the side and full lips that never smiled. And his eyes, oh those piercing blue eyes. They analyzed everyone, every action. He was observant. And although you never noticed, he observed you often. He watched as your sweat would run down the side of your face, down the center of your chest where it would soak into your snug athletic tank top.

You observed him too, finding the slightly older man to be the epitome of ruggedly attractive. There was something about the shape of his nose and jaw, so sharp they could cut. Yet his features were a bit soft. He had these broad shoulders that transitioned into biceps that stretched the fabric of literally any shirt he wore. You had thought the fabric would rip one day when you saw him in the facility gym. He had been doing an isolated bicep curl with an easy bar, a vein popping from his skin. It had taken an extreme effort to look away and focus on your own workout. He had thick, muscular thighs and a very built chest.

You even noticed some of his habits, not that you ever wanted to mention that you caught onto these. When he became irritated, he would sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose, furrowing his brows. When he was bored, he would tilt his head back, exposing his neck and showing off his adams apple. Your favorite was when he was comfortable in a room, he would cross his arms, flexing his biceps and would push his legs apart. Man spreading had always bothered you, but when Leon S. Kennedy did it, he looked mouth watering.

You would never tell him the thoughts he put in your head, or the way he distracted you and sent warm need pooling in between your legs. You could be into your team leader, but he was oh so attractive that you just couldn’t help it.

“Good job today!” One of the team members lightly punched your shoulder with their fist. “Sometimes I forget how agile you are.” They laughed.

“It took a lot to be so light on my feet. Thank you for taking notice.” You smiled at them so that the edge of your eyes creased.

“We’re going out for some drinks tonight, want to join?” They asked, pointing with their thumb in the direction of a few other team members.

You tilted your head back and forth, hair swinging from side to side as you did. “That sounds like a fun time, but I was thinking of staying a bit longer today. I had a stressful day today and wanted to work out some of my frustration.”

“Alright, don’t work too hard. We do have that field assignment coming up soon, we can’t risk you getting hurt.”

You smiled, thanking them once more. As they turned to walk away, you put your earbuds into your ears, playing your favorite music to workout in. You had fingerless boxing gloves on and you punched the leather bag suspended in front of you in rhythm to the music playing. Your arms had buried and grew heavy as you pushed yourself, straining to maintain the same force through each punch. You focused on shifting your weight so you could use as much force as possible. Your breathing had become ragged with your chest heaving as you delivered another punch.

But a hand came from your peripheral view, grabbing your right hand before it made contact with the bag. You froze, your breaths filling the air as your eyes followed the hand, to a huge bicep, to the face of your leader. Your face was warm from the exercise and you were rather glad. If it hadn't been, you would have been red for a whole different reason.

His hand dropped after a few seconds and you hurried to remove the earbuds from your ears, dropping one to the floor in the process. “Agent Kennedy, I didn’t know you were here.”

Leon bent down, picking up the earbud. He had been dressed in his typical workout attire. He always wore black tactical pants with a snug blue shirt. He once said it reminded him of his prime days or something. He must have just gotten there because he smelled of his cologne and hadn’t appeared to be sweaty. Your eyes scanned him for a second, tingles coagulating in a very delicate part of your body.

“I come here in the evenings sometimes, when it’s quiet and I can focus.” His voice was smooth. He pushed his hand towards you, so he could drop the earbud back into your hand.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I’ll head out. I’m a bit tired.” You quickly began gathering your things to make a speedy escape. The longer you stayed around him, the more the ache pooling between your legs would grow.

“Before you go, I wanted to go over your form. I know you're tired, but there were a few adjustments you could make.” His brows dropped, he was serious. You could just nod.

“Sure! Yes, that would be great.” You stood for a second before you asked. “How do you want to do that?”

“Get into a fighting stand and throw a punch from your dominant arm, then hold it.” You nodded, settling into your stance.

You listened to his instruction, throwing a punch and twisting your leg as you did. When you paused, Leon looked you over, his hand rubbing over his jaw. “Your elbow is hyperextended, you know better.” You jumped as his hand settled on your elbow, adjusting it. “Your waist is twisted just a bit too much and you are barely leaning off your center of balance.” His hand traced up your arm before settling on your hips, joined by his other hand as he stood behind you. You could feel his body heat against your back and his breath tickled your ear. You felt a bit of pressure and moved as he adjusted your body. “And while you need to generate force through your leg, I can see you’re flexing your leg just a bit too much.” His right hand moved down further, making you clench your legs as moisture built between your thighs. Your breaths quickened as his thumb rubbed against your muscle.

“T-thanks.” Your words were shaky and you couldn’t help close your eyes for a moment, focusing on the sensation of his hands. “I appreciate your help, but I don’t want to bother you.” You dropped your arm to your side and attempted to walk away, but the warm hands on your body tightened down, holding you in your spot.

“Do you think I didn’t notice?” His voice cut through the air.

“Excuse me?” You squeaked out.

“Do you think I didn’t notice the way your eyes found me whenever you were in the same room? Or the way your cheeks flushed whenever I spoke directly to you? I’d bet you thought I wouldn’t pick up on how you push your thighs together, hm?” His voice became husky as he leaned in, brushing his lips against the side of your neck. His right hand moved closer to your clothed cunt, finger resting inches above it on your spandex shorts. His left hand slid up between your breasts until it gripped lightly around your neck. “I’d even go as far as to guess…” He slipped fingers down into your shorts, his skin on yours, feathering touches over your clit. “You spent time rubbing circles over this needy pussy, wishing my hands were doing it instead.” He moved his fingers over your clit, applying just enough pressure to leave you wanting more. “Am I right?”

You nodded. A muffled ‘Mhm’ as the only sound you could manage as you tried not to moan.

“Your words. Use them.” He demanded firmly.

“Yes.” You exhaled sharply. Your legs almost gave out as his middle dipped down, running through your wetness and pushing into your cunt, sinking knuckle deep. A breathy moan escaped your lips.

“Don’t worry, I can’t tell you how many nights I came imagining my cock stuffed into your pussy. Bet you imagine it as you fingered yourself.” You felt as he pulled his finger out before thrusting it back. He did it again and again as he spoke. “You want it?”

“Please. Yes.” His grip on your neck tightened as your legs weakened.

His lips pressed against your neck as he smirked. “Good answer.” His lips kissed and sucked various places and he added another finger, sinking into you and curling. His thumb pressed against your clit as he thrusted his two thick fingers in a steady rhythm. Your fingers didn’t feel anything like his. His stretched you and offered you more pleasure than what you were capable of.

“Leon!” You gasped as another was added. You felt a small sting as he stretched you, but it dissipated soon after. “I can’t stand.”

Without a word, his fingers ceased all contact with your body before finding your shoulders, pushing you towards the gym mats a few feet away. You followed his lead as he lowered himself to the mat, pulling you down with him. “Last chance to say you don’t want this.” His piercing blue eyes looking into yours.

“I want this.” He smiled at your words. A strong hand pulled you into him, his lips on yours. The kiss escalated into a lustful hunger.

You were under him, his knees on either side of yours. You had gained a bit of confidence, hands trailing down his chest and onto his hips. You found his very impressive erection strained behind his zipper, palming it. You could feel his body flex under your touch.

“Think you’re ready for that already?” He asked, his tone almost sarcastic. He pulled back and sat up so that he could run his hands down your sides, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts.

“I want it.” Your breathy words tore an internal thread, making Leon rumble. His fingers pulled both your shorts and panties down, exposing your very wet and aching pussy. The clothing was tossed to the side, leaving you exposed to him.

Leon kneeled so he could unzip his pants, his gaze never leaving your face. You watched his hands work at his tactical pants. A wave of pleasure spread through you as he pulled down his boxers, freeing his cock. You moan just looking at the thick length.

“Come here” Leon says, grabbing your ankles and sliding you under him, making you yelp.

He stuffed two fingers into you, thrusting and scissoring, preparing you for him. You jumped as he leaned down so he could let a stream of spit land onto your aching core. You were wet enough for sure, but the action was so degradingly hot for some reason. You tilted your head back as he leaned in. The tip of his cock smeared the spit around before pushing into you, stretching you open. You whined at the feeling of him slowly pushing into you, deeper and deeper until your pussy practically sucked him in, making him sink in until your hips met.

You absentmindedly pushed your hips into his, asking for him to move. When he did, your senses heightened. He started slowly, but thrusted faster and faster as he settled into your body. The head of his cock began to meet that spot that intensified your pleasure. You went to wrap your legs around him, to have closer, but he lifted your legs, setting them against his shoulders so he could push deeper. As you called his name his thrust became more forceful. The familiar feeling of a building orgasm creeping into your lower belly. “Harder Leon.” You breathed.

“Dirty little thing needs to be stuffed, huh?” He teased you. “You’re so tight. Think you’ll be able to hold all my cum?” Those words never sounded so hot.

“Yes! Want your cum.” You babbled, slowly becoming lost in his pleasure.

“Good.” Leon pulled out so he could put you on your stomach. He lifted your hips to the height he wanted and thrusted roughly, entering you again. You never thought this angle would make you feel so full. He was everywhere.

His hands gripped the meat of your waist and used his hands to move you as you thrusted. Leon grunted as he pistoned into you, pleasure building between you both. You were soaring on cloud night when his hand found your clit, circling it over and over. The pressure continued to build with each thrust. Leon’s balls would slap against your clit as he entered you. You collapsed down, pressing your chest to the mat, forcing his thrusts deeper. Your walls began to tighten around him as you chanted his name through ragged breaths.

“I-” You couldn’t finish your words. Your pussy clenched around him as your orgasm ripped through your body. Your eyes closed as delicious pleasure consumed you, jaw dropped with no sound to be made.

“Fuck. That’s it. Take it.” Leon thrusted a few more times, then he was sending warm spurts of cum deep into your pussy. You could feel the warmth spread as he left himself inside, essentially preventing any fluids from leaking out. It wasn’t fool proof because you soon felt cum drip down your thighs. The mat would need to be clean, maybe burned before its next use.

“Looks like I’ll be helping you with your punches more often.” Leon joked as he gently pulled himself out, then gave your ass a few pats. “Though, I may recognize my bedroom.” He chuckled.

“We can go now?” You asked, rolling onto your back, eyes finding his.

“I’m not really a one and done kind of guy, so that sounds pretty fucking great.” Leon’s lips formed a smirk. “Except I’ll actually taste you next time.”

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #dirty talk #boss/employee relationship #18+ mdni #leon x reader #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy fanfic #smut #soft dom leon #semi public sex

18 notes · View notes

shewhowas39 · 11 months ago

Text

get to know June (my durge)

so i've been working on Juniper & Starlight for a couple months now and idk just thought it'd be fun to do a little write up on June, my dark urge.

***

Name: Juniper Acadia (tho she currently only remembers her first name)

Pronouns: she/her

Age: about 26

Race: i mean, technically Bhaalspawn, but she appears to be a half-elf.

Class: Wizard, School of Divination subclass (tho she does multiclass later, but that's a spoiler)

Alignment: neutral good

Highest Stat: intelligence (closely followed by wisdom)

Lowest Stat: strength (she's more dexterous)

Love Interest: Astarion

Best Friend: Shadowheart (and Scratch)

Height: 5'11" (181cm)

Body Type: June is built like a runner, so slim but not skinny, and with long legs that are more toned than the rest of her body.

Skin: very pale. about as pale as Astarion but with pink undertones.

Hair: Dark, ashy blond and VERY curly, falling to about her mid-back. her hair is thick and there's a lot of it, so it's probablyt he feature most people notice about her first.

Eyes: her eyes are large and round, but what stands out about them is that they are set quite far apart on her face and are an unusually dark, vivid blue.

Face Claim: a young Michelle Pfeiffer, but with rounder, darker blue eyes, somewhat paler skin, and MUCH curlier hair.

Other Notable Appearance Details: her black eyeliner/mascara is almost always running from where she's been crying. she also has Ilmater's holy symbol tattooed on the back of her neck, though she currently has no memory of when, why, or how she got this.

Favorite Color: deep, vibrant purple (like amethyst) as well as sort of a magenta-y pink.

Greatest Passion: history! she loves all knowledge. she's a smart cookie who is very curious about everything, but her passion is history.

Biggest Fear: her own inner darkness/bloodlust. she's terrified of the things she is capable of.

Some Random Facts:

the way her urges and her divination magic manifests causes June to feel like she sometimes experiences time out of order. the present often feels like a dream, making it hard to tell her hallucinations and prophetic visions from reality. it's not fun.

prior to the amnesia, June worked as a sort of tour guide in Baldur's Gate, showing the city's visitors the most notable historical sites. her favorite was the cemetery. (this is also how she found victims.)

her accent would be the same as a norhern Louisiana accent in the real world. it stands out among most people on the Sword Coast, but it's from a small, rural town where she was raised by her adoptive family.

her adoptive family were also half-elves, both of wood elven descent. she had two siblings, both also named after types of trees: Willow and Ash.

June has two core beliefs that drive her: first, never lie to a friend. even if it's dangerous, even if it hurts, once someone is her friend, she feels she owes them the truth. second, everyone deserves a chance at redemption....except for her. (and also probably Cazador.)

she cries a lot. to the point where it's kind of a joke. sometimes it's out of fear, sometimes out of empathy, and sometimes just becaus she's so freaking overhwelmed by the constnat shifts in time and place and her inability to graps onto reality. thus the running mascara at all times.

so that's June. she's currently being a sweet, bloodthirsty, nerdy hot mess in my longfic as well as in a few smutty oneshots you can find on my Ao3.

this isn't a tag, exactly, but if anyone else wants to hop on and use this format, i highly encourage it! i love reading about other people's durges and tavs.

#bg3 #durge oc #bg3 oc #baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge bg3 #juniper & starlight

20 notes · View notes

deepwoundsandfadedscars · 5 months ago

Text

So Make the Best of this Test (And Don't Ask Why)

Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard Words: 3,669 Warning/tropes: violence, possession, worry for a loved one, seizure, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

Warning for late game spoilers! This is written as a missing scene

This Rook is a Grey Warden and uses they/them pronouns, the fic is POV of Lucanis who is Rook's love interest ❤ Screenshots of Rook can be found here!

Description: Rook is sucked into the Fade prison and Lucanis (and Spite) fears he'll never see them again

Read on Ao3

~~~

“The dagger! Rook, you must break its contact with Ghilan’nain!” Lucanis heard Emmrich yell as he struggled to his feet again, tossed by the explosive burst of power from the dagger. His vision tilted slightly as he stood up, he had to close his eyes briefly to find his balance.

When he could see straight finally, his eyes found Rook, bracing themself against the flurry of magic that buffeted them like the winds of a hurricane. They pressed forward towards the body of the fallen god, stretching as far as their limbs could reach in order to grasp the hilt of the lyrium blade, wrenching it from the body and collapsing to the floor as the magic dissipated and everything calmed.

Lucanis stepped towards Rook, eager to be near them, when a blinding flash of white and green stopped him in his tracks, the harsh light stabbing at his eyes and he had to raise his arm to block it out.

“Lucanis!” Rook roared, their voice tense with distress. But they weren’t looking at him, instead they were looking in the complete opposite direction. They stared at the ground at the top of the short rise of stairs, running up them in two long steps before stopping dead in their tracks, staring in horror at… nothing. There was nothing there, and the remaining team members could only look at each other in worry and bewilderment.

“Rook, what’s going on?” Lucanis asked, edging towards them, but there was no response. “It is like they cannot hear me,” he turned back towards the group. “Emmrich, Bellara, any ideas what is happening?”

Emmrich was already waving his arms around, pulling upon the magic around the group as he tried to sense any disturbances. “The veil feels very thin here, but there is something else, I just can’t–”

“Lucanis, look out!” Harding yelled in alarm.

Lucanis turned just in time to see the fade rip open directly in front of Rook, the ground below feeling like it was torn out from under him as the force of the rend in the veil tearing open sent him hurtling backwards. His wings reflexively snapped open, gaining control of his trajectory and turning his tumble into a semi-graceful backflip, landing on one knee with the other leg ready to launch himself forward again.

In the time it took to catch himself, the scene in front of him had changed. Rook was gone, and in their place there now stood a tall Elvish man, his head devoid of hair or adornment of Vallaslin, his body wrapped in elegant but sturdy armour. In his hands he held the lyrium dagger, brushing his fingers across the blue and gold blade with the slightest of smiles tugging at the edge of his lips. HIM! Spite hissed inside Lucanis’ head. He took them from us!!

“Solas?” Harding gasped.

Solas tucked the blade into the belt around his waist and finally looked up at the small group around him, briefly casting his eyes over them as though they were barely worth his attention.

This is Fen’Harel, Lucanis thought to himself, but he knew there should not have been any doubt. The murals in the Lighthouse, though they did not have the finer details to express facial features, captured his poise very well. There had been something about the murals that made him feel something he couldn’t explain, but seeing the fallen god here, in the flesh, the feeling manifested into anger, or simply the need to punch him in his smug face.

He took them, he TOOK them, HE TOOK THEM! Spites rage built in his chest, mixing with his own, tightening around his lungs until he could barely breathe and Spite’s shrieks were the only thing he could hear as the edges of his vision began to turn pink and black. It felt like he was drowning, fighting to keep his head above water, and in the clamor to save himself, Spite was pushing him even deeper under, until everything went black and he knew no more.

~~~

When he came to, the scene had changed again. The elf was gone and Lucanis found himself seated at the base of the pillar next to where Solas had stood, his back pressed against it. His throat ached as he tried to swallow, a bitter metallic taste coated his tongue and his ears rang with a high pitched squeal.

And above him stood an angry Taash, the head of their axe planted against the stone he found himself leaning against, the shimmering jade of the blade pressed against his throat. He looked down as much as he could without moving his head, quirking an eyebrow upwards. Under Taash’s elbow he could see Harding sitting on his legs, one of his own blades held in her fist as she eyed him up warily.

“I take it Spite did not play nice.”

“Not exactly,” Taash growled.

Harding pushed herself to her feet and gently placed her hand on Taash’s. “Taash, let him up.”

“What if Spite’s just fucking with us?” Taash said, looking like they had zero intention to remove the blade.

“Look at his eyes, they aren’t glowing like Spite’s do.”

Taash grunted, though it didn’t seem like they fully believed Harding, but they would do as she wished for now.

“What happened?” He asked as he pushed himself to his feet, taking a moment to spit a gob of red onto the floor. The edge of his tongue stung where he could feel a small laceration, suspiciously in the same shape of his teeth. Why do you bite so much? He internally asked in annoyance. He could feel Spite in the back of his mind, fuming like a child after a tantrum where they didn’t get their way. He could feel Taash staring him down, watching his every move.

“Solas escaped his prison and put Rook there in his place,” Emmrich said as he paced around the now quiet battlefield.

“Spite went after Solas, but he grabbed you by the throat and nearly strangled you to death,” Harding explained further. “Spite just about passed out before Solas let you go and then he just left but we couldn't go after him, not without finding Rook. Spite tried to follow him, but Taash and I pinned him down until you could take control again.”

Lucanis nodded at her graciously, recognizing now the familiar ache in his throat. It certainly wasn't the first time someone had strangled him, though it had been a while. Pushing aside Spite’s outburst for now so he could focus on the matter at hand, he asked, “Can we get them out?”

“Emmrich is looking, the veil is generally very thin in this area, but trying to find a way through without the dagger is going to be tricky.” Bellara said, nervously shifting from one foot to the other.

“But it is doable?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Emmrich said. He frowned and then suddenly pivoted on his heel, taking three long strides away from the group. “This way! It’s thinner here!”

“You better be right,” Taash said, easily closing the distance and taking position next to Emmrich.

With a final wave of his hands, a tear in the veil opened in front of them, a gentle shimmer of silver floating in the air. Something on the other side moved and Lucanis couldn’t help himself. “Rook!” He yelled, desperately hoping that they could follow his voice.

“There! A light!” Emmrich plunged his hands into the tear between planes, blindly flailing towards the glint of light somewhere on the other side, fishing around for something to grab on to. He jolted forward and whooped in triumph as Taash plunged their hands in next to his.

“We’ve got something, get ready!”

The two of them braced themselves, leaning back to pull with all their might against whatever they had that was still hidden by the veil. Lucanis stood behind them, right at their shoulders, his hands itching to help but having no way to get in anywhere useful. “Come on, Rook,” He muttered under his breath.

The pull was immense, but between the two of them, their hands and the burden they held were freed from the veil. Lucanis gasped in relief as Rook appeared, the momentum of Emmrich and Taash’s heaving propelling Rook straight into Lucanis’ arms, the force of which had him slamming onto his back with Rook laying on top of him.

He quickly pulled himself into a sitting position, rolling Rook onto their back so he had their head cradled against his chest. Their eyes were closed, their brow relaxed in a way that he hadn’t seen in weeks. “Wake up, my love. We’re not done yet.”

They remained motionless in his arms. He could sense everyone standing around them, so silent it felt like they were holding their breath, waiting for Rook to respond. Even Spite was paying attention now, lingering at the back of his mind.

“Mi amor, please,” he couldn’t speak louder than a whisper, “come back to me.”

The desperation in his chest grew, the need to see their eyes open becoming his only focus. He placed a hand on their face, his thumb gently rubbing their chin, fingers tapping along their cheek. “Rook!” The sudden volume of his voice startled even himself, but the groan from Rook that he got in response was like music to his ears.

Rooks' brow furrowed and their head tilted slightly towards Lucanis before their eyes opened just enough for him to see those gorgeous amber eyes again. The sight of them looking up at him, a soft smile on their lips, was enough to make his heart soar and he choked on a sob that wanted to be a laugh.

The joy was short lived though, as Rook's eyes opened just a bit more before their amber eyes rolled back and turned white, their body suddenly going rigid and then spasming in his arms. He loosened his grip, scared they would hurt themself if he held on too tight, but also scared of what injuries might happen if he dropped them to the floor.

“What’s happening?” He managed to choke out. Spite was shrieking in his head again, making it hard to concentrate on anything. Emmrich appeared beside them, quickly latching onto Rook's torso and dragging them out of Lucanis’s arms, only to deposit them on the stone floor. He rolled them onto their side, quickly positioning them as well as he could before cushioning his hands under their head, keeping them from scraping their face or bashing their skull against the stone without inhibiting their jerky movements.

Lucanis instinctively reached to place a hand on Rooks shoulder, only to be stopped by a harsh “Don’t!” from Emmrich. The mages head nodded ever so slightly and Lucanis could see he was counting under his breath, trying to keep track of how much time had passed as he watched Rook carefully.

A long torturous minute later, Rook fell still, sagging against Emmrich. He quickly ran through a physical check, pressing his fingers to their neck and then leaning down to listen to their breathing.

“Emmrich, what was that?” Lucanis pleaded, carefully reaching for Rooks limp hand. When Emmrich didn’t stop him, he latched onto them, squeezing their hand tightly.

“That was a seizure, thankfully a fairly short one, but we need to get them back to the Lighthouse, and hope they don’t have another on the way,” he waved to Taash and suddenly Rook was being dragged out of Lucanis’ grasp, he couldn’t even hear his own protests as they were drowned out by the angry insults being hurled by Spite within his own head.

“Spite, that is quite enough!’’ Emmrich scolded the demon. “We all care about Rook, we are trying to help them!”

“Shut up!” Lucanis hissed out loud, though everyone could tell it was directed inwards. Spite begrudgingly retreated, fuming in the back of his mind again. In blessed mental silence, Lucanis climbed to his feet again, hustling to keep up with Taash’s long strides as they carried Rook in their arms, Harding sprinting ahead to guide what remained of the team back to the shoreline.

~~~

The lack of response from Rook throughout the entire journey back to home base was unnerving. In the weeks since they had met, Lucanis had never seen Rook sit still for anything, even sitting down for a chat, they were constantly moving, shifting in their seat the entire time. They would always be the first to tell him he needed sleep, even if it meant Spite might take over, but when did they even heed their own advice?

Back at the Lighthouse, Rook was settled into bed in the medical room. Asides from the lack of response, which was concerning in and of itself, there hadn’t been any further changes to their condition. No further seizures, but no change in consciousness either. Lucanis couldn’t help but hover nearby as Emmrich checked them over again, his arms crossed tight across his chest and anxiously tugging at his beard.

Without a word, Bellara dragged one of the heavy chairs from the corner over next to the bed before grabbing Lucanis by the shoulders and pushing him into it. “If you are staying with them, you might as well have a seat.”

“Oh. Thank you, Bel,” he said. He could feel the thrum of adrenaline coursing through him, not to mention the itch of Spite in the back of his mind, so he couldn’t imagine actually being able to relax any time soon.

“Are you okay?”

He thought about it for a moment, taking stock of himself physically, mentally, emotionally. “I am… tired. It has been a very long day.”

“It has,” Bellara bobbed her head in agreement.

“And it’s not over yet,” Emmrich sighed. He stood to his full towering height, straightening his robes. “Rook needs to sleep, these past few weeks have been rough on them. And I cannot even imagine what they went through in Solas’ fade prison.”

“How long were they in there? I was… not aware of how much time passed.”

“To us, it was a matter of minutes, twenty at most, but in a realm like that, it could have felt much longer to them.” Emmrich said. “Like a dream, or a nightmare, where you can spend what feels like hours, but when you wake up, you find you’ve only been asleep for a few minutes.”

Lucanis nodded absently. He was all too familiar with the feeling. Before being taken captive, he rarely dreamed, or at least rarely remembered having dreamed when he woke up, but in the Ossuary there were more nightmares than dreams, and he often couldn’t tell where one ended and reality began.

“If anything changes, let me know.” Emmrich said, placing his hand gently on Lucanis’ shoulder. “We will be below in the library.”

Lucanis didn’t say anything as the two mages left the room, and the room fell silent aside from Rook's soft breaths.

His energy quickly flagged as soon as they were alone. It felt like all the adrenaline drained from his body and with it, the last dregs of any energy he may have had left. He slumped back in the chair with a sigh, dropping his chin to his chest and gently rolling his head side to side to stretch his neck. His throat twinged a bit from Solas strangling Spite, and his back and ribs ached from being thrown against the pillar during the fight.

He took Rook's hand in his, resting their joined hands against his knee and settled in for what could be another long night. He desperately wanted to stay awake, he wanted to be awake to see those beautiful amber eyes open again, but exhaustion started to drag him away. Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a bit, he wouldn't miss them waking up. Listening to their soft and even breaths was calming and he found himself subconsciously following their breathing pattern, slowing down as he melted into the chair.

Spite, please. Stay here, he begged in his mind as he drifted off to sleep.

~~~

To his relief, he was still in the medical room when he came to awareness with his eyes already open. Instead of the chair though, he found himself kneeling on the hard floor next to the bed, both of his hands tightly clenched around Rook's hand and wrist. His shoulders and what felt like every muscle in his arms were tense, his neck tight again.

He had to take a moment and consciously relax, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before letting go of the tension as he exhaled. Will you stop winding us up like that, how is my body supposed to actually rest if you’re doing stuff like that while I’m asleep, he admonished Spite.

Before Spite could even answer he heard a quiet exhale of a laugh and his eyes snapped open. Rook watched him with a small bemused smile on their face. They had rolled onto their side, head smooshed into the pillow and their eyes half lidded as they watched him, clearly exhausted.

“Mierda, Rook,” Lucanis sighed in relief. His hands wrapped around theirs, he dropped his head to press his forehead against their wrist. They twisted their hand to run their fingers through the shorter hair on the side of his head, and he leaned into their touch. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” they said with a grimace. “Haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“You remember what happened?”

“No, I never do, but Spite and I talked for a moment before you woke up, he described it. I think I scared him just as much as I scared you.”

“So it would appear. That was part of a… pre-existing condition, not because of being dragged into a fade prison?” Lucanis tilted his head up to study their face, gently rubbing circles on their wrist with his thumb.

Rook closed their eyes, their chest heaving with a heavy sigh. “It doesn’t happen nearly as often as it did when I was a kid, but lack of sleep, lack of routine in general, stress. All make it more likely to happen. The whole fade prison thing was probably just enough to send me over the edge.”

“And you’re the one lecturing me for not sleeping enough.”

“Two things can be true,” Rook smiled in the way that made their eyes crinkle shut that Lucanis loved so much.

“Well, maybe we should sleep together then.”

Rooks eyebrows shot up and their face lit up in delight just as Lucanis realized his word choice.

“Th-that was not what I meant,” he backtracked. He could feel his face turn red, his cheeks burning. “I meant, if we both sleep at the same time, I suppose we could keep each other accountable. Of sleeping more.”

Rook smirked, their eyes twinkling as they watched him try to recover. “Suuure, yeah, that’s exactly what you meant.” They shifted off of their shoulder, leaning back against the pillow with their free hand tucked behind their head. “Are you sure sleeping is the only thing you want to do?”

Lucanis pulled his hands away from Rook with a huff, shifting back onto his heels as he prepared to stand. “You’re impossible.”

A flash of distress crossed Rooks face and they quickly latched onto his wrist, stopping him from getting too far away. “I’m sorry, I was just kidding,” they said. “It is a good idea.”

Rook tugged on Lucanis’ wrist, pulling him towards themself so he sat on the edge of the bed.

“We’re going to have to move some furniture around though, it looks cozy but I really don’t want to sleep in the pantry, and all I have in my room is a couch, which don’t get me wrong, it’s super comfy, but not very wide so the only ‘sleeping position’,” they twitched their fingers in air quotes, “is more or less stacked on top of each other.”

Lucanis felt the corner of his lips quirk upwards. “If those are the options, so be it.”

Rook grinned, their eyes once again crinkling shut with that smile that made Lucanis’ heart flutter and he had to look away as his cheeks flushed again. They squeezed his hand in theirs and they sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

“Where is everyone else?” Rooks voice was quiet, tired and somber. Lucanis turned to see them gazing across the room at the empty bed closest to the door.

“Downstairs, in the library.”

“Doing?”

Lucanis shrugged. “I have not left here since we arrived.” He paused for a moment. “Spite says he heard someone say ‘decoy’, but didn’t hear the context.”

Rook dragged a palm over their face, resting it over their eyes. Their brow pulled together slightly as they winced.

“How do you feel?”

“Head hurts.”

“I can get you some elfroot, make some tea just the way you like it?”

Rook smiled softly at him, their brow still pinched. “Imagine, Lucanis Dellamorte making a cup of tea instead of coffee?”

“For you, anything.”

Rook squeezed his hand, their eyes closing. “I need to sleep, so all I ask is that you stay with me. And that you get some sleep too.” They squinted one eye open and looked up at him. “And Spite, let him get some proper sleep, please.”

Rook says sleep, we sleep, Spite said. Lucanis smirked. Of course Spite would listen to Rook.

“He agrees to your demands. But I require something better than this chair.” He stood, untangling his fingers from Rooks despite their quiet protests, shoving the chair away with his foot before dragging the other sleeping couch closer to Rooks. He lay down on it, settling on his stomach with his face turned towards Rook, extending his hand to take their hand in his again. “Good?”

Rook smiled, their eyes drooping closed again. “Perfect.”

#here's a thing I wrote #dragon age the veilguard #whump fic

7 notes · View notes