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the-wild-wolves-around-you · 3 years ago

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hear those bells ring deep in the soul (a katsuki bakugo/reader fic)

Summary: Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. He'd worked hard to achieve his position, his fame. And now it was all going down the damn drain, along with his hearing.

~*~*

Bakugo is suffering from hearing loss as a side effect of his quirk, and he struggles with how to face this new challenge. Enter Reader with a healing quirk.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo/Reader; Katsuki Bakugo/You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood & violence.

A/N: No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

Ao3 Link: Here

*****A/N Part 2: This post has now been updated to include the links to Ch 2

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here

Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. Actually, he’d argue he was tied for first place with the current Symbol of Peace, Shitty Deku. Their victory statistics were basically the fucking same, the only difference was the freckled idiot was made of smiles and sunshine and stupid fucking sugar or something. The whole world ate out of his scarred, fucked up hand, and Darling Deku ate up all the media’s attention in return.

In contrast, Bakugo wasn’t a “people person,” as Deku loved to put it, but�� he also wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old brat who got muzzled on live national television. Pro Hero Dynamight was known for his crass, blunt language, his vicious streak of justice when it came to villains, but people also looked up to him. Extras cheered for him in the streets as he exploded past mid-battle. Children ran up to him on patrol and asked him to sign their books, their photos, their Dynamight merch. On one memorable occasion, that he may or may not have saved on his computer, a national news channel ran a live clip from a disaster site, a villain attack turned rescue mission after a building collapsed. The soundbite was only thirty seconds, a close up of a pale, dusty woman with a shallow cut on her brow. The splash of crimson and her bloodshot blue eyes were the only spots of color on her, everything else washed out in white plaster and cement dust, tear tracks carving grooves down her cheeks.

But the smile on her face could have lit up goddamn Tokyo.

“Dynamight saved us,” the woman had said to the news reporter, her voice full of awe and tears. “I-I got stuck under some debris, but I heard the moment Dynamight arrived, and I just knew we were safe. The battle was over a minute later, and then he just… pulled me out of the wreckage. He pulled us all out. He’s… the greatest hero I’ve ever seen.”

That was a nice stroke to his ego. And the dazed woman had been right. He had pulled everyone out of that building, and not a single person died that day, which only confirmed what he already knew:

Katsuki Bakugo was the best of the best. Deku might have been the better show pony, but Dynamight was an undefeated hero, fierce, fearless, ferocious.

Except right now… he was fucking scared out of his mind.

This couldn’t be happening.

“What?” he snarled at the extra in the white coat standing before him.

The man flinched and visibly recoiled, shuffling back a step and partially ducking behind his tablet device. When he spoke again, he’d raised his voice an entire fucking octave.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” the doctor stammered, but then he seemed to regain his composure and lowered his voice a little. “I… I wish I had better news for you, Dynamight, but…”

He trailed off and swallowed, the jut of his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the thin skin of his throat.

“But what?” Bakugo spat, something like magma roiling in his veins, pops of heat crackling against his palms like splatters of hot oil from a stove.

“B-But this… can’t come as a complete shock to you,” the doctor said as he glanced back at his tablet. “Other physicians before myself must have warned you of the risks.”

The risks. Bakugo bared his teeth in a silent snarl. What did this fucking extra, with his soft hands and softer body, know about risks? The heat in his palms grew until he could see their red-hot glow out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, who and how much do I gotta pay to fix it?” Bakugo demanded as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“That depends,” the doctor hedged and adjusted the square black glasses perched on his stupid face. “There are a variety of aid types—”

“I don’t want fuckin’ support gear or aids,” Bakugo sneered. “I want mine fixed.”

Now, the doctor’s face grew pitying. “I’m afraid that’s just not possible, given a number of factors, most importantly your current occupation.”

“My current occupation?” the hero seethed, teeth bared again like a wounded dog, a cornered wolf, snapping at the world. “Are you fucking KIDDING—”

A hint of fear sparked in the doctor’s eyes, but he suddenly raised a hand, palm out in the universal symbol for stop. “Dynamight, sir, I know this is distressing, but there are other sick patients in these walls, so please refrain from using your quirk.”

“I’m not usin’ shit,” Bakugo snapped, but then the doctor’s eyes flicked downward, and Bakugo followed them to his hands, wreathed in sparks and flares of flames, lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.

The breath stuttered in Bakugo’s lungs.

He hadn’t even felt himself call upon his quirk.

Even worse… he hadn’t heard it when he did.

He dropped his hands quickly, shoving them back in his pockets. Bile rose in his throat, but he washed it down with blood as he bit through his tongue.

“There has to be… something,” he gritted out, curling his hands into fists in their confines. “A healer—”

“Healers are rarer than you think,” the doctor sighed and shook his head. “And what’s more, they’re usually specific and limited. Their abilities are tied to blood types or restricted to relatives or even limbs. One nurse here can only heal femur bones.”

“Bullshit they’re rare, I’ve met at least two goddamn healers just this month,” Bakugo spat. “These paramedics—”

“And how strong where they?” the doctor cut him off again, raising an eyebrow. “You said paramedics, so I’m going to assume their talents mostly lie in the superficial and basic: triage, stopping the bleeding, knitting skin back together, etc.”

“What’s your fucking point?” He was this close to punching the asshole right in the glasses.

“My point is the inner workings of your ear are much more delicate than a broken rib or lacerated arm,” the doctor said in a really condescending tone that Bakugo did not appreciate. “But let’s say you do find a healer specific enough and skilled enough to restore the hearing you have already lost without damaging anything else in the process. What then? I don’t imagine Japan’s Number Two Hero retiring less than ten years after his debut and hanging up his quirk.”

Bakugo scowled, heart kick-starting in his chest, his gut tying itself in a knot.

No. No, that wasn’t possible. Katsuki Bakugo was a hero, the best of the best. It was all he’d ever wanted, and he would be damned if it was taken from him.

The doctor must have seen as much on the blond’s face because he sighed and adjusted his glasses again. “Exactly. Which means you’re just going to keep destroying your ears again and again, and even if say Recovery Girl was still alive, the repetitive healing sessions would destroy your own body’s healing factor, and after a while, you would still lose you’re hearing.”

“Tch.” Bakugo looked away and gritted his teeth so hard they ached.

The doctor sighed. “You’re already at moderate hearing loss, Dynamight, so while we do still have some options, they are limited. Honestly… I’m surprised you didn’t come in sooner.”

He should have. He fucking should have. He’d been noticing little things for years, but he just brushed it off, yelled at Deku to speak the fuck up and stop mumbling, told himself his phone must be a piece of shit and that’s why he didn’t hear a call or message. The low persistent ringing he’d been experiencing since UA was harder to write off, but after a while, it was also easier to ignore.

Then, on his last mission, Bakugo was shoving some weak ass villain at a couple of cops. The battle had lasted less than five minutes, and he was still itching for a fight, his quirk burning just beneath the surface of his skin, like embers waiting to explode back into flame. In the next moment, a hand had suddenly clamped down on his shoulder from behind, and he’d reacted out of reflex, flipping his attacker over his shoulder and nearly blasting them in the gut for good measure.

“Whoa! Fuck, dude, it’s me!” Kirishima had yelped, his skin rippling and hardening in an instant. Wide, red eyes gaped up at him, and Japan’s Number Three Hero even looked a little worried. “Didn’t you hear me? I called your name like five times.”

Bakugo had dropped Red Riot like he was on fire. No. No, Dynamight hadn’t heard his patrol partner. In fact, all he could hear in the moment was the muted wailing of sirens, the low murmur of shouting extras, and the blood roaring in his head.

Now, two days later he was standing in front of a doctor who was telling him there was nothing more they could do.

But that was fucking unacceptable. He couldn’t lose his hearing. What kind of shitty hero would he be if he couldn’t hear where the villains were in battle or where stupid extras in need of saving were in rescue situations?

He wouldn’t be a hero at all, just a fucking liability.

Bakugo tried to imagine having to retire, to hang up his hero costume, to leave Shitty Hair in charge of their joint agency. What would he do? He’d wanted, and planned, to be a hero since he was five years old. He had no other skills, not really. It wasn’t like he could work a damn desk job. Well, UA might throw him a bone, offer him a pity faculty position.

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

“What… are my options?” he asked haltingly as he snapped his eyes up and locked gazes with the doctor. “You said I still had some.”

The man in the white coat blinked in surprise, but then he straightened up and tapped at his tablet. “Currently, you have a few options, but you’d receive the best outcome if we did them all together. First, we can get you fitted for some hearing aids for you to wear while you are off duty. They would significantly increase your hearing capacity in your normal day-to-day life.”

Bakugo felt his face pull into a scowl. “Off duty? I need them while I’m on duty!”

“If you wear them while using your quirk, you’ll ruin the rest of your hearing in one blow,” the doctor said with a straight face. “Hearing aids amplify sounds. Amplifying your explosions is the last thing we want.”

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?” the hero snapped, heat flaring through his body with a supernova.

“Since I assume you’re going to continue your hero work, I would recommend contacting a support gear company.” The doctor made a note on his tablet. “We’ll email you the contact information for several companies the hospital has connections with, and once you chose one, we can send them your file. There are numerous noise-cancelling devices out there, but given your situation, you will probably need to collaborate with them for something custom. The goal is to having something to protect your ears-- a helmet, headphones, anything really—while you are using your quirk. Between such a device and the hearing aids, I hope we can preserve what’s left of your hearing and maybe give you a little bit back. But I will warn you… you’re hearing will never be as it was. You should know that now.”

You’re hearing will never be as it was.

The words cycloned through Bakugo’s head, round and round and round, destroying every other thought in their path. He felt detached from himself, the doctor’s voice fizzling out into a muffled drone. His vision seemed to narrow and darken, like he was viewing the world at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. One minute, he was standing there in that examine room, and then he blinked and was on the street, people rushing past him like a river unbothered by the boulder in its current.

He glanced down at his hand, at the paperwork for his follow up appointment and his fitting for the hearing aids. Heat squirmed under his skin, in his veins, like something living, something that wanted to get out.

Bakugo bared his teeth, crumpled the paper in his fist, and let the heat rush through his body, down through his arm, and into his hand. He didn’t hear the crackle, but he saw the flares of light, trapped between his palm and the paperwork like fireflies.

Then he opened his hand, and he watched the wind catch the ash and carry if off down the street, out of sight.

He needed a fucking drink.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Several hours later, Bakugo stumbled out of his usual dive bar, the taste of whisky still burning a hole through the back of his throat. The night was colder than he anticipated, colder than it should be for the beginning of autumn, and he grumbled and cursed as he hunched against the wind. He squinted at his phone, debating on whether to call a car, but in the end it was too much trouble. He was less than a half an hour’s walk from his apartment, and it was late, so he wouldn’t have to worry about extras coming up to him for photos or goddamn autographs.

Besides, the whisky hadn’t helped to quench the heat writhing through his veins, in fact the alcohol only made it worse. Bakugo felt restless, all pins and needles and ants, so maybe the brisk walk would burn off some of that energy.

Decided, Bakugo turned in the direction of home and began the long, stumbling journey through the midnight streets.

Time passed as sluggishly as his feet, which he made sure to stare down at so he didn’t trip over them. Like he anticipated, he passed no one on the sidewalks, and few cars rumbled past him. It wasn’t surprising, this neighborhood was mostly shops that closed by sundown and a few residences. The dive bar he’d left was a holdover from past decades when this side of town was rougher, but Bakugo suspected the old man who owned the joint would live on for at least another decade, if only to spite the development companies that kept trying to buy him out. The ornery bastard was half the reason Bakugo loved that bar, the other half being their decent whisky and usually empty stools.

“Shit,” he mumbled as he suddenly slipped, tittering on the edge of the curb.

He shook his head and managed to regain his balance, but when he took another step, he wobbled again.

“Come on, you drunk idiot,” he hissed at himself as he stumbled once more.

Except… he’d been standing still that time.

“Hah?” Bakugo squinted down at his feet.

The pebbles around his shoes rattled and jumped. He didn’t think he was that drunk, but he slapped his cheek with a bit of heat to his palm. The snap of warmth and pain woke him up a little, but when he glanced back down at the ground, everything was still moving.

“What the fu—”

Then the road undulated under his feet like a living thing, and the shockwave hit him a moment later.

Bakugo barked a curse as he was bucked several feet into the air, twin explosions blooming from his palms so he could right himself and land on his feet. He snapped his head up as he skidded to a stop, and the breath stilled in his lungs.

Up ahead, a man stood in the middle of the intersection, staring down the road to Bakugo’s left. Black rubble and goo floated around him like asteroids trapped in a planet’s orbit, and even from a distance, Bakugo could see the crazed smile on the man’s pale, black-streaked face.

A moment later, several heroes lunged out from around the corner and barreled straight for the villain, only to be blasted backwards as the villain flung out his hands and commanded the black debris and goo to slam into the idiots.

The villain threw back his head and seemed to laugh maniacally. Bakugo couldn’t hear it, but that didn’t matter. Lava was starting to boil in his veins, burning off the last of the whisky, and Dynamight felt an equally crazed smile stretch across his mouth.

This idiot had chosen the wrong road to fuck up tonight.

Heat condensed in his palms like collapsing stars, and then he was exploding forward, the taste of ozone and nitroglycerin on his tongue.

Within moments, Bakugo was able to determine the villain’s quirk revolved around asphalt. The bastard was able to pull large chunks of it out of the road and then liquify parts of them until they were scalding and sticky.

The other heroes—whoever they were, Bakugo didn’t even care to check—struggled to evade the villain’s attacks, but evasion wasn’t Dynamight’s style. He came at the bastard head on, exploding every rock and tar puddle in his way.

Of course, asphalt was flammable, so flames were flaring up all around the street now, but Bakugo wasn’t stupid enough to get burned. If the other heroes were, that was on them.

Dynamight was here to get the job done.

“Come here, ya sonvabitch,” Bakugo snarled as he blasted apart a chunk of asphalt aimed for his head.

The villain shrieked out something high-pitched that Bakugo didn’t catch, and then the fucker was swinging out his arm, a blob of black tar following the arc.

Bakugo let out a controlled burst toward his feet and backflipped through the air, crunching down on the roof of a parked car. He could see some of the other heroes waving at him from the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying over the wailing of the car alarm below him.

The villain’s sneer was a white slash on his black, goo-streaked face, and Bakugo bared his teeth back in an expression halfway between a feral grin and a beast’s snarl. He could feel the heat crackling along his palms as he contemplated his next move, but then the villain shouted something, and all the asphalt floating in the air rocketed back towards him like the fucker was a magnet.

As Bakugo watched, the debris and goo coalesced into a singular shape, liquifying and hardening in turns until a giant black arm the size of a semi was hovering over the road. The fingers wiggled in a jaunty little wave as the villain shouted something again that was lost to the car’s still wailing alarm, and then the giant hand curled into a fist and dropped down on Bakugo like the hammer of some god.

He exploded out of the way and up into the air right before the fist smashed into the car he’d been standing on, and the siren cut out with a muffled crunch.

Bakugo had barely landed before the arm was shooting out again, but this time it wasn’t aimed for him.

A stupid fucking extra had stumbled out of one of the buildings and stood gaping like a goddamn moron on the sidewalk. Several of the on-scene heroes rushed forward, but the hand swatted them aside like annoying flies. The idiot civilian was still just standing there, though, and Bakugo found himself airborne before he could even process the thought.

“Run!” he roared as he reached the extra and shoved him out of the way, but an instant later, he felt stony fingers wrap around his torso and squeeze.

Bakugo wheezed out a curse as the giant hand lifted him into the sky, the pressure around his ribs increasing with every second. The asphalt was hot in some places, too, scalding the skin of his left arm where it was pinned against his hip. He wrenched his right arm around and tried to aim at the wrist of the asphalt appendage, but the angle was off, and the few chunks he was able to blast were quickly replaced by more rubble and boiling tar.

“Fuck!” Bakugo screamed as the fist clenched down around him. His ribs strained, his lungs unable to expand, pain licking at him like the flames flickering in his peripherals.

Distantly, he heard the villain’s laughter below him, and as the arm swayed to the side, Bakugo realized he was right above the bastard. His vision swam, his ribs screaming, his arm burning, but Bakugo gritted his teeth as he aimed his right palm down. He concentrated every ounce of his quirk into his hand until it glowed white-hot, and the asphalt around him began to liquefy again.

The villain’s eyes widened as he realized what the hero was doing, and the fucker wildly swung out his arm in a last-ditch effort. The giant asphalt limb responded in kind, but Bakugo unleashed his quirk right before the arm flung him through the air.

A massive explosion rocked the street an instant later, and the subsequent shockwave slammed into his back and propelled him through a window.

He felt the impact and pain as he struck the glass, and then…

Nothing.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ouch, fuck!” you cursed as your pricked yourself for the millionth time.

A red drop of blood beaded up on the pad of your index finger, and you scowled before you sucked the smarting appendage into your mouth. It was more of a reflex than anything, since by the time you pulled your finger out, the pinprick of a wound was already healed. Healing such a small injury would usually barely even register to you, but the clock above your desk was inching closer and closer to midnight, and you’d been up since 6am. You also skipped dinner so you could finish altering the dress you were currently working on, which didn’t help your energy levels, but you were just a few stitches away from completing your task, so you hunched back over and powered through the next five minutes.

When you were finally done, you sat back in your chair with a sigh and threw down your needle and thread. The sewing table before you swam and doubled as your vision struggled to focus on something, and you rubbed at your tired, burning eyes. You always tried to work reasonable hours, have a healthy work-life balance, but somehow you always found yourself slaving away into the dark hours of the night. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your fault. You’d lived here less than a year, so you didn’t know many people beyond your few neighbors and the old ladies who frequented your alterations shop.

You were also trying very hard to keep your grandparents’ business afloat.

Your grandfather had been a tailor, your grandmother a seamstress. They’d opened a shop together over fifty years ago, and if your parents hadn’t moved to America before you were born, you were sure you father would have taken over the family business. In the end, though, after your grandparents passed, you were the one to take up the needle and pull up your roots. You’d always loved making your own clothes, and you’d always felt… disconnected in America. Nothing had ever felt… right, no matter how many jobs you hopped around to. The US had been the only home you’d ever known, but when you and your parents spoke Japanese together, it had made something ache deep in the center of you, something you couldn’t name or place.

So, when your father said he was taking a trip to the homeland to sell his parents’ shop, you’d gone with him and somehow convinced him to sign everything over to you. Which was more than just a little insane. Your prior work history had been in food service and clothing retail, and your degree was in linguistics for fuck’s sake. You had no idea how to run a business, let alone in another country. Thankfully, you spoke Japanese fluently, so that had been one less hurtle to overcome, but everything else had been a dramatic learning curve. Getting to know the new city, figuring out the currency, hell even navigating the vastly different social norms of Japanese culture was daunting, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t have numerous fumbles along the way.

It, everything, had definitely taken some getting used to.

Now, a year later, things were just starting to really look up. You had used most of the money your grandparents left you to renovate the shop, get new equipment, and fix the upstairs apartment you lived in. About two dozen loyal customers helped to pay your bills and keep you afloat, and one-to-two new customers walked into your shop each month just on word of mouth. You weren’t rich by any means, but you weren’t struggling like you did in America. You felt… happy here, if a little tired. Fulfilled.

That might also have had something to do with your little… side business.

You bit your lip as your eyes shot to your window guiltily, like someone was watching you. You weren’t doing anything wrong—right now, anyways—but for the last six months, it’s been hard to shake off your paranoia.

And your guilt. Which was ridiculous. You weren’t hurting anyone. In fact, you were doing the exact opposite.

But it was still against the law. Here in Japan, at least.

That was another thing that took some getting used to. The Japanese government had strict laws on quirk usage, unlike in America where everything was about individualistic rights. In Japan, only heroes were given almost free reign, but even they had some restrictions on when and how they could use their powers.

For the rest of the Japanese populace, using quirks in day-to-day life, without official permission, was frowned upon at best and illegal at worst.

Because of your specific quirk, you leaned more toward the illegal side of things.

Healing quirks were rare. That’s what you’d been told all your life. Your mother’s quirk was the ability to lower fevers by somehow using her own body to regulate the temperature. Nothing super special or powerful, but she’d gone on to become a pediatric nurse, so she had used her quirk to its fullest and made a long, happy career for herself.

When you were young and your quirk manifested, you thought you would follow in your mother’s footsteps.

But as a teenager, you’d come to some hard realizations about yourself.

One, you weren’t strong enough to be a hero. You’d tried to get into a hero course in the States, several in fact. One course rejected you solely on your application, and then you failed two entrance exams. It had been a devastating blow to your youthful dreams and self-esteem, but your mother encouraged you, said being a hero wasn’t the only way to use your quirk for good.

So, you turned your focus to medicine… and quickly discovered that wasn’t right for you, either. Your mother hated when you said this but… you just weren’t smart enough. You had tried, really did, but everything was such a struggle, like Sisyphus slogging uphill through the mud. It just didn’t click for you like it did for your mom. You also hated to admit it, but you were a little squeamish. You were fine with small stuff, cuts and bruises, broken fingers, but once you had to dissect a large pig in an anatomy class, and the smell and weight of the pig’s slippery organs in your hands made your lunch rise up into the back of your throat. You somehow managed to make it through the class, but directly after you ran to the bathroom and emptied your own guts into the toilet.

With your dreams of being a hero and doctor dashed, you’d been a little aimless in college, taking random courses to fill your time and see if anything spoke to you. Then, during an 8am linguistics lecture you signed up for on a whim, something ignited inside you. Languages spoke to you like science and medicine never did. So, you’d changed your major to linguistics, minored in Japanese to feel closer to your parents, and took ever other language credit you could get your hands on. In between classes, you’d taken up sewing again while you listened to your audio assignments. It was just something to keep your hands busy at first, a skill your father taught you as a child until you abandoned it, but then your roommates complimented your work and started asking you to hem their jeans or take in their skirts. They offered to pay you, but you always declined, saying it was no trouble, you liked the work, and you liked being able to help.

At some point, you realized that was all you had ever wanted to do. Help people. And if you couldn’t save them as a hero, you would find some other way to make yourself useful.

So, you studied languages in the hopes of being able to help others communicate. You altered your friends’ clothes and made them small things like a monogrammed scarf or mittens. And, occasionally, you healed your roommates’ hangovers or food poisoning, stopped the bleeding when they cut their fingers making dinner, pushing through their pain to make them whole again. It wasn’t a lot, nothing really, but it was something, and it made you feel purposeful.

When you moved to Japan, you mourned the loss of being able to use your quirk on others, but you shoved the thought aside and focused on your work and the shop and figuring out how to settle down in your first home on your own.

Then, six months after you took over the shop, Mrs. Kojima, a little old lady in her seventies, had brought in her grandchildren’s uniforms to be patched and altered. She’d known your grandparents for many years, so she was always kind and had a story to share with you about your father in his youth or the gorgeous dresses your grandmother used to make. You always looked forward to Mrs. Kojima’s visits, and she always had a way of making you feel younger than you were, but not in a bad way. She just made you feel… nostalgic and safe, like you were listening to your late grandma talk over the phone.

This was probably why, when Mrs. Kojima slipped and fell in front of your counter, you reacted without thinking. The old lady barely had time to hit the floor and cry out before you were hovering over her, a green aura illuminating your hands. Her pain hit you a moment later, like a heated slap to the face, a bone-deep ache in your leg, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through the discomfort. Then you moved your fingers over to the hip Mrs. Kojima was clutching, and a moment later you felt the drain as your energy siphoned into the elderly woman’s body. Thankfully, it had only been a fracture, not a full break, so you barely even felt the difference in your strength, but as Mrs. Kojima gaped up at you, realization struck you like a freight train.

You had used your quirk, without a license, without permission, hell without the consent of Mrs. Kojima. Healing quirks were illegal for a reason, so many things could go wrong, and you weren’t properly trained. Your breathing hitched as panic seized your heart, squeezing like a vise, and your entire world had just begun to crash down around your ears when Mrs. Kojima sat up and threw her arms around you.

“Thank you,” she’d sniffled into your hair in Japanese. “Thank you so much.”

After the initial shock wore off, you had helped Mrs. Kojima into a chair, and she’d continued to thank you over and over again, saying how money was tight and she would have hated to be a burden to her children with hospital bills and a long recovery. She talked about how a lot of her elderly friends were in similar positions, dealing with perpetual aches and pains but having no way to pay for treatment or seek relief.

The sadness in her face had twisted something in your chest, an ache you were all too familiar with. It was the one you felt after you failed the hero course entrance exams. The ache you felt when you realized you could never be a doctor. The ache of being helpless in the face of suffering.

Your mouth had opened without your permission, and you told Mrs. Kojima that you would help her, and her friends, whenever they needed it. The elderly Japanese woman tried to wave you off, saying she didn’t want to get you in any trouble, but you had just smiled and said, “I’m fine with making a little good trouble.”

You didn’t know where your courage had come from, but you let it carry you past your fears and doubts.

So, for the last six months, Mrs. Kojima had brought all of her friends, and sometimes their children and grandchildren, to you when they were in need of healing. They always brought dresses or pants or blouses for you to fix as a cover, and you did do alterations work for them, but you also eased flaring arthritis, cataracts, fevers, and scrapped knees in the backroom. You refused to take payment for these secret services, it just felt wrong, but the little old ladies somehow always snuck large “tips” into your register when you weren’t looking.

Mrs. Kojima and every one of her friends and family members swore to their ancestors to keep your secret, and you trusted them, but you still couldn’t help proverbially looking over your shoulder, holding your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for the police to barge in and take you away.

It hadn’t happened yet, but the worry of it kept you up most nights, which was maybe another reason why you threw yourself into your work until you were so tired you just passed out.

You sighed again as you stretched and felt your back pop, releasing some of the tension in your spine. Glancing at the clock, you saw it was just past midnight, and you winced. You had to be up at five tomorrow—today, now—because Mr. Akane wanted to come in early before you opened the shop. His bad knee was giving him trouble again, an old injury he’d obtained as a boy. You were unable to fully reconstruct the joint—that took more strength and stamina than you currently possessed—but you were able to soothe his pain for weeks at a time, which he was immensely grateful for. He always brought you fresh fish when he came by, “gifts” he’d emphasized when you reminded him you didn’t take payment, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t appreciate the gesture. You weren’t exactly hurting for money, but you also didn’t normally splurge on fish caught just that morning, and you told yourself you deserved the small treat. Besides, the protein helped boost your energy and stamina levels, which meant you could heal more people, so really Mr. Akane was merely investing in his future treatments.

Your stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and you dragged yourself out of your chair before picking your way across your messy apartment to the kitchen. The apartment wasn’t very large, one large space for kitchen, dining, and living room, with one small bedroom and one bathroom down a hallway to the right when you walked in the front door. But it had been your grandparent’s home for many years before they bought a larger house after having your father, and it sat right above the shop, so you never had to worry about running late for work.

Bolts of fabric, some client pieces, and a few of your own personal sewing projects were strewn over every available surface of the main room, but you had the cleared path through the chaos memorized, so you were tossing leftovers in the microwave barely thirty seconds later. The warmed-up curry and rice—another “gift” from Mrs. Kojima—tasted as good as it had the last several days, and you hummed as the spiced meat slid down your throat and settled in your belly. After the first bite, your hunger seemed to hit you in full force, and you scarfed down every last bite in a matter of minutes. When you were done, the minor headache that had been pulsing behind your eyes abated, and you yawned as you rinsed off the dishes.

You set the damp plate on the edge of the counter as you reached for a towel, but then a sudden tremor, followed by a loud boom, seemed to shake the building, and the plate tittered on the counter’s edge for a moment before it crashed to the floor.

“Fuck!” you gasped as you jumped back and away from the ceramic shards, but another tremor-boom combo had you stumbling, and you scrambled to grab the back of the couch so you didn’t fall on your ass.

Your wide eyes took in the broken plate scattered at your feet before they jumped to the window on the opposite side of the room. The night sky was dark beyond, cut only by the dim street light just beyond the window’s view. You held your breath as your heart hammered in your ears, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, sweat slicking your palms.

What the fuck was that? Your first thought was earthquake—you hadn’t experienced one yet, but you knew they were common in Japan—but then you remembered the booms.

Maybe… maybe an electrical box blew? But no, the lights were still working. A car crash?

Then another boom vibrated you down to your very bones, and you fell to one knee as the breath hitched in your lungs.

That sounded… closer.

With your heart in your throat, you half scrambled, half crawled the last few feet to your window, and you peeked your head over the sill just as a flash off white-hot light lit up the night sky.

“Shit!” You squinted your eyes against the glare as you leaned back from the window, but then you saw a shadow streak through the air before it crashed into a car just at the edge of your peripherals.

You had the distant thought that Mr. Takeyoshi’s vehicle was very obviously totaled before you realized the thing that had crashed into the car was a person.

Your jaw gaped open as a hero pulled himself from the wreckage and shook his head groggily. The shadows—only broken by more flares of light as more explosions and fire seemed to erupt along the street—made it difficult to tell how injured the hero was. You didn’t recognize their yellow and teal costume, but you saw patches of blood along the hero’s bulky frame, and bile burned at the back of your teeth.

Holy shit. This wasn’t an accident. It was a villain attack.

Just as you had the thought, another explosion rattled your windows, making your ears ring, and you snapped your head to the side to see a man standing in the middle of the road about half a block down.

The man—villain, you realized quickly—swung his arms around like a conductor of an orchestra, but his instruments seemed to be the black rocks and liquid swirling around him. The debris glistened like an oil slick in the light of the flames, and as you watched, the villain shouted something and slashed his arm through the air.

Then a figure suddenly exploded onto the scene, lunging out from the shadows in a flare of white-hot light. It moved too fast for you to track, but the villain swung his arm again, and rocks and viscous black goo shot toward the figure still in mid-air.

A futile scream of warning caught in your throat, but then the figure seemed to explode and backflip through the air, landing on his feet but crushing the roof of a car beneath his boots. The wailing of the car’s alarm split the air, and you clenched your teeth until they ached.

The flames illuminated this new man’s face, a snarl of white teeth against the flames and smoke, but only the barest hint of recognition flared through you before everything exploded into chaos again. Another shout from the villain had all the rocks and black slime streaking back towards him, and you watched in horror as a stony black arm fifty feet long formed above the ruined street.

You knew you should be running, trying to find cover, calling the police, but you were glued there, on your knees before the window, you fingers digging grooves into the sill.

The next fifteen seconds seemed to simultaneously happen in slow motion and at hyper speed.

The giant rocky hand wiggled its fingers before it curled into a fist and slammed down on the wailing car and the man atop it.

The man—hero, you distantly thought, although your chaotic thoughts still couldn’t place him—launched up into the air with another explosion that rattled your windows, the car alarm cutting off as the vehicle was crushed an instant later.

The blond skidded into a landing half a dozen yards away, but then you suddenly saw Mr. Takeyoshi standing on the street, a ghostly apparition framed by smoke and flames.

You blinked, and the giant hand shot toward Mr. Takeyoshi, batting away several more heroes who tried to intervene.

Then the explosive hero was just there, pushing Mr. Takeyoshi out of the way, right before the hand wrapped around him.

You could hear the hero’s anguished scream through your window as he was crushed in the fist’s grip, and the sound hit you right in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of you, bruising your insides, the pain settling into the familiar ache of being helpless in the face of suffering.

You watched uselessly as the hero was lifted up into the sky, struggling, setting off explosions left and right. Then the massive arm seemed to pause in the middle of the road, right above the villain, and your eyes locked onto the hero, his pale hair and skin stark against the black, rocky hand that held him trapped.

In the next instant, a white light, like a star going supernova, bloomed to life around the hero, illuminating the white slash of his snarling teeth before it became too bright for you to take. You slammed your eyes shut against the burning light, and the hair on the back of your neck stood on end, like the moment before lightning struck, as you dropped to the floor below your window.

Then the world exploded, the building shaking to its foundations, right before the window burst into a million shards of glass.

#bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo katsuki/reader #bakugo/reader #bakugo katsuki/you #bakugo katsuki x you #my hero academia #mha spoilers #boku no hero academia #bnha #anime #fanfic #my writings #katsuki bakugo

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

Text

Brown Eyes [Din Djarin x Reader]

!! SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 15, SEASON 2. !!

*Hi. The episode has been out for three hours. The devil works hard but I work harder. I hope you enjoy! xx*

Summary: Din has always wanted to confess his love to you— but with his devotion to the Creed and with the risk of losing you, he wonders if the revelation would really be worth it. Would you even consider being with him if he refused to remove his helmet? When Grogu is taken away from Din and in the fiendish hands of Moff Gideon, Din realises there isn't anything he won't do to get his son back.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: descriptions of anxiety, *SPOILERS FOR Season 2 Episode 15: The Believer of The Mandalorian*

Word count: 2.6k

Permanent taglist - let me know if you want to be added: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos

Masterlist

gif credit: @siennablake

"Din," you froze up, backing away from the Imperial who was sitting at a table drinking caf. "I- I can't do it."

Din's head snapped to face you, masked by the Imperial Shocktrooper helmet he was doting. "Why not?" His voice was firm, but the tone of his question dripped with concern. You bawled your fingers into a fist as you squeezed your eyes tight shut, beginning to anxiously pace around in circles.

"That's Valen Hess," you muttered, trying your hardest to regulate your nervous breathing. "He- I used to serve under him. I- can't… go in there. Din, he'll recognise me." the thoughts in your head were jumbled. Din placed two hands steady on your shoulders.

"I'll go, hand me the dataspike." Din told you calmly. You felt like putty under his touch. Usually, his firm grip would calm you down and ease any of your troubles away— but not this time. You felt completely nauseated.

Grogu was at stake. When you met the Mandalorian, it took him some time to find the confidence in introducing you to the child. You were Ex-Imperial after all. But he warmed up to you, seeing the way you cared so deeply for the children on Sorgan. When he introduced you to the little green bean, who did not yet have a name, you were enamoured. That's when Din knew he was in love with you. Ever since that day, he'd only fallen in love with you more and more. His feelings became stronger with every waking second he spent with you.

Of course, he never acted on his feelings. He wished he had, he wished he could say something. He knew that if something happened to you and you didn't know how he truly felt, he'd regret it for the rest of his life. There had been countless times where you and him brushed paths on the Razor Crest. Plenty of times to say something, plenty of times to mutter the three words that had consumed his mind, body and soul. ‘I love you’. The words were like a broken record in the back of his mind. He looked at you through his visor, seeing your distress and his heart aching and he wanted— no, he had to do something.

His son had been kidnapped and suddenly, Din was an unstoppable force. Nothing could hold him back— not his friends, not the Creed, nothing. The regret ate him up like flies on a corpse. If there was one thing he learned from Grogu's disappearance, is that you never know what is coming around the corner. Din began to treat everyday with you like it was your last because there was no way of telling what the future was holding. And that only stirred him on, the desire of telling you how much you meant to him.

"You can't go," you removed your finger from your lips where you had been anxiously biting your nails. "The security system is biometric facial recognition. There must be another way." you tried to rack your brain for a solution, but Din's mind was already made up.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes in search for an answer. You steadied your breathing. "Din," you whispered. "What if we distract them? You go in there and speak to him so he's looking the other way and I'll use that moment to sneak past and access the terminal."

No answer. "Din?" you asked, cautiously opening your eyes. He was already gone. Your mouth began to open and close like a goldfish as you watched his approach the terminal. He paused, midway between two tables, shakily saluting Valen Hess. Din turned back to the terminal, held his head up high and carried on over to it.

Upon examining it, Din found it was no different to any other information point— whether it had been New Republic or Independent, Din was lucky enough to already know how to navigate the system. He clicked a few buttons on the keypad, bringing up the facial recognition scanner. He stood still, letting it roam down his face. He didn't have much faith, but it was worth a shot.

Din cursed under his breath as the scanner light lit up red, beeping ecstatically.

"Error. Error. Facial scanning incomplete. Ten seconds until system shutdown." An automated voice informed. Din felt a few gazes burn into his back, no doubt Valen Hess noticing the commotion. "Ten, nine, eight-"

You watched as the timer went down, your hand fingers curling around the blaster in your holster. You didn't know what Din was going to, but you knew if anything— he was a man with a plan.

And that was when he removed his helmet.

It hit you like a ton of bricks, it took the air from your lungs leaving you gasping in silence. You felt like a criminal, looking at him with your own eyes. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't tear the gaze from the back of his head.

Brown hair. Dark brown hair, slightly messy from the helmet. Although you were some distance away, you noticed the little waves and the way it curled at the nape of his neck. The cut of the Imperial armour revealed just a sliver of his skin. It was golden tan— surprising to you.

"Facial scanning complete." The dataspike ejected from the terminal, a small light lit up in green, validating that the information had been processed and Din was now the owner of Moff Gideon’s co-ordinates. Just as he was about to put his helmet back on, a voice interrupted him.

Your heart sank when you saw that Valen Hess had approached Din.

"Trooper, where are you stationed?"

"Transportation."

"What?"

"My designation is transport— co-pilot."

"No son, what's your TK number?"

Din felt his throat dry up as he looked the man in the eyes. Valen Hess stared at Din right back, looking into the eyes that nobody had gazed into since Din had been sworn to the Creed. Din swallowed the lump in his throat, only for it to return immediately.

"He's with me." you announced, walking over to Din and Hess. A wash of relief shuttled through Din's body upon hearing your voice, but that was completely blown away when he realised you had seen him. It was true, you had seen his face— but there was no time to act up. Din had sacrificed everything for Grogu and you weren't going to let this go wrong. "This is my trooper, sir."

"Who is he and what's his TK number?" Valen Hess repeated, clicking his tongue between his teeth.

"This is my commanding officer TK-0402, and I'm TK-0322. I'm afraid he doesn't speak much. Ever since his vessel lost pressure on Tanaab." You explained with confidence, sighing apologetically and placing a hand on your hip.

Din found the courage to look at you, making brief yet bewildered glances between you and Valen Hess. He had a thousand questions but he knew he could trust you, and so, he smiled wearily, nodding his head in agreement to your little story.

"What's his name?" Hess inquired.

You took a deep breath, and turned to face Din. He looked at you too, his face softening as your eyes met for the very first time. You felt your heart rate slow down as you took in his appearance. You were nervous, and tensions were high, but as you looked into the Mandalorian's sparkling eyes, you felt a familiar sense of belonging. You felt complete.

"Brown eyes." you whispered, feeling the tears pool up as you tried to choke back a sob. Din smiled at you, just a small smile, but enough to make the corners of his eyes crinkle. It gave you the reassurance to know that this was all worth it.

"Well, brown eyes," Valen Hess adjusted his belt. "You troopers were both on the transport that brought in the valium, correct? The only surviving shocktroopers, might I add." he grinned, raising an eyebrow.

"Y-yeah, that was us." You answered hesitantly.

"Please, come join me for drinks. We must celebrate." Hess said, approaching the table he was originally sat at and ushering you over with an exaggerated gesture.

You and Din exchanged a look before walking over to the table and sinking down into the chair. Hess poured out two cups of caf and slid them over. Din stayed silent for most of the conversation, briefly making utterances of affirmation and nodding his head to suggest that he was indeed listening.

Although, he wasn't listening really. His mind was racing and he couldn't concentrate on anything. Although it wasn't necessarily true, he felt like every head in the room was looking at him. Staring at him. Judging him breaking his oath. Was he a failure? Was he a disgrace to the Creed? Dishonourable? A monster?

"I could blather on 'to health' or 'to success', but… tell me TK-0322, where do you come from?"

"Alderaan." you said without hesitation. Din looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, wondering why exactly you had given Hess the details of your real planet.

"Ah, I see…" Hess frowned. "Well, to Alderaan!" he grinned, raising his glass in the air.

"No." you deadpanned and Hess shot you a confused look.

"No?"

"No." you repeated. "Alderaan was a peaceful planet destroyed by the Empire."

"And those on the Death Star, those who aided in the destruction of Alderaan became heroes of the Empire. I was there." he said with pride.

Din watched your face harden as your cheeks burned up with rage. "Heroes?" you croaked out. "For attacking and murdering innocents? Hundreds of thousands of people died on Alderaan. I lost my family."

"Losing the ones we love is simply part of life," Hess revealed with a sigh— and Din felt his heart shatter at his words. He stiffened up, his gaze fixating on the concrete wall as his surroundings began to faze out.

"At what cost?" you whispered. "You know, every day I think about it. I wished there was something I could do to stop it. But no, I was here, fighting for the Empire. While the Empire was out killing my people." You gritted out as tears pricked your eyes. You felt Dins hand manouver under the table and take place on your thigh, as his gloved fingers rubbed comforting circles into the thin material that covered your skin. His hand was large, fitting around your leg perfectly. He held you down, stopping your anxious shaking and you immediately calmed down. Din wasn't going to stop you, but he did want you to not let your feelings intrude on what was really happening right now. Valen Hess, however, looked mortified. You picked up the glass and forced a smile. Din copied your movement and you clinked your glass with his. "To family." you toast, and Din smiles. He smiles so wide a dimple appears in his cheek.

"To family." he confirms, thinking about his son and how close he was to getting him back.

You put the glass of caf back down on the table and quickdrew your blaster, shooting Valen Hess in the chest.

Din knew better than to question you. He took out his own pistol and helped you take down the remaining troopers and Imps in the room before you both raced out of the base.

Of course, you knew that there'd be commotion. You heard the TIE fighter engines as soon as you stepped foot outside. Din grabbed your hand, pulling you along as you both sprinted into the depths of the forest. Once deep enough, you looked up. It was dark, strings of light beaming through the gaps in the trees. But it was enough to illuminate Din. You had envisioned what Din looked like beneath his beskar helmet every single day, and now, you had your answer.

Din took one look at you. He pulled off his leather gloves, dropping them to the ground and placed his hand on your cheek. Subconsciously, you leaned into the warmth of his palm as his fingers tucked the strands of hair behind your ear. You closed your eyes, humming in delight as his bodily warmth transferred to you.

"Din, when we return to the ship you can put your helmet back on. I never saw you." you promised, your voice barely above a whisper and your eyes remaining closed.

"Cyare," Din mumbled, his heart yearning. The pad of his thumb traced your face, following the height of your cheek bones and the arch of your eyebrows and down your nose. "Open your eyes." he requested. Cautiously, you obeyed, your eyes fluttering open as you drunk in his appearance once more.

Brown stubble with a patch of grey graced the lower portion of his face. You reached out, this time your own hand cupping his cheek. Din didn't let go of you, and he let you touch him. Your finger nervously brushed over the coarse hairs and you let out a small giggle as you remembered him telling you from the Fresher room on the Razor Crest that he was going to shave. He had, and now you could see for yourself that it had started growing back.

"Do… do you like what you see?" Din asked nervously, his gaze only temporarily lifting from yours.

You nodded your head. "I do," you admitted. "You're… so handsome."

Din felt his cheeks heat up as you watched the small blush creep upon his face. You were enthralled, seeing him like this. Seeing his humanity— his emotions and expressions. You knew you loved Din, with or without the helmet— but this confirmed everything.

"May I?" Din asked, leaning into you slowly and closing his eyes. The curve of his nose bumped against yours as and the softness of his lips touched you so delicately.

You mumbled a small 'yes' and as your lips parted, Din kissed you. Soft, sweet, but passionate and with heart. You tangled your hands in his hair, tugging at it and encouraging Din to kiss you deeper and further. He done so, willingly, a groan of pleasure escaping his mouth and vibrating through your body.

He pulled away eventually, breathless and his eyes dark and glazed. "I-I…" he was speechless, looking at you with the utmost adoration. "I love you." He sighed in defeat, knowing now was a better time than any to admit his true feelings. He had to do it one day, and it just so happened to be in the depths of a forest as you hid from Imperials.

"I love you too." you exhaled shakily, thrusting forward into his arms and letting him hold you tight to his chest. He pressed a kiss into your hair.

"I love you so much." Din sobbed, his grip around you tightening like he was afraid that if he let go, you'd vanish just like Grogu did. "Please, never leave me. Please."

"I'm not going anywhere Din," you promised. "Now c’mon, let's go get Grogu."

PART TWO

#the mandalorian season 2 spoilers #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian season 2

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mrskittythulhu · 3 years ago

Text

Blue Flames of a One Night Stand

(18+) Dabi + (y/n fem)

part 2 part3 part4

www.wattpad.com

It was never meant to be like this. The one-night stand should have ended hours ago but some how the sun rose with you tucked in his arms. He just wanted a night to unwind with a few drinks and a quick release but somehow you came home with him and spent the night.

The light flowed in from the window between the holes of the old curtains. Your body curled up under his blanket trapping one of his arms underneath you like a pillow. Dabi took his free arm from over you to rub the sleep out of his eyes. After blinking a few times to adjust to the early afternoon light his gaze traveled over your sleeping form. Dabi smiled at himself seeing your ruined mascara streamed down your cheeks. Memories of your screams flicked in his mind.

“Fuck.” He whispered to himself. Dabi fell back onto the bed tossing is arm over his face with a low grumble. Out of the corner of his eye he sees you still peacefully sleeping. Slowly he dragged his palm over his face in frustration.

Slowly he pulled his arm out from under you trying not to wake you. As you rolled away the blanket fell away from your chest revealing your perked nipples. Deep bite marks over your chest and neck reminded him of his actions last night in his drunken haze. Dabi’s cock twitched at the sight of you exposed. He softly watched you sleep on his bed for a moment before snapping himself out of his trance. Slowly he pulled the blanket back up over you before sliding out of bed.

Enjoying the feeling of the cold floor beneath his feet he took a step only to feel silky fabric bush across his toes. Looking down to the floor was the dress he burned off your body. A sinister smiled graced his lips at the memory of how the dress hugged your curves until his blue flames helped him rip the fabric from your body. He let out a groan as he picked up the burned fabric. When he stood back up, he began to feel painfully aware of his arousal. Letting out a huff of air from his nose Dabi made his way to the bathroom.

With a twist of the lock, he felt secure with in the small space. Quickly discarding your mini dress into the tiny trash bin. He was not sure what you would wear when you got up, but he tried to convince himself that it was not his problem. You should never have let him burn your clothes in the first place if you did not have anything else to wear home. His sadistic side absolutely loved the way his blue flames danced across your skin and how you moaned when he would use his quirk.

Leaning over the sink his eyes slowly trailed up to meet his reflection in the mirror. Your bright lipstick smeared over his own lips with matching kiss marks down his neck and chest. A ring of faint lipstick remained at the base of his shaft. Giving himself a slow stroke of his length with only the memory of how you took him deeply in your mouth in the dirty bathroom of the club last night. As his eyes made it back up to the mirror, he noticed that in the same lipstick color on his body was your name and number on the glass. Dabi checked darkly to himself knowing he had completely forgotten your name if he even bothered to ask at all in his drunken haze.

Dabi stopped his hand to reach for the shower faucet. Quickly stepping inside the shower to enjoy the cold water running over his burned shin. Dabi placed his left had on to the tile wall as his right began to stroke along his hardened length. The metal of his piercing rolled along his palming action. He began to breath deeply into the cold water that flowed over his face. Quiet curses and deep grunts escaped his lips at the memory of your body bousing on his old mattress. With a few final strokes his chest hummed as he found his release. Dabi’s mind began to clear as he watched the water swirl down the drain. With a deep breath he finally grabbed the soap and washed away the possessive love marks and dried bodily fluids you left on his body.

With a feeling of slight mental clarity Dabi walked over to his secondhand dresser. Aloud squeak from opening the drawer caused you to stir. Realizing you are finally waking up he quickly pulls out a pair of black jeans and old white shirt. Once clothed he reached to the top of the dresser for his cigarettes placing one in his mouth to light with his quirk.

Slowly he walks over to the bed. Seeing your bare bottom peeking out from the sheets with is handprint lightly branded into your skin began to fill his head with pleasant thoughts. ‘She left her number maybe she wants to meet again. Of course, she does, sluts like her love getting dicked down.’ The thought of you staying slowly turned into thoughts of his villainous life. ‘Wonder how that dusty Tomura would feel about her? He would want to share her as if that dusty virgin would know what to do with a piece of ass like that.’

The bed squeaked as he sat on the edge next to you. Leaning an arm over your body to hover over you he let out a puff of smoke away from your sleeping form. “Going to wake up at some point doll face?” Your face scrunched up as you let out a groggy groan soon to peak up at him with one eye.

“Coffee?” your voice comes out strained and scratchy.

“Ya, I got some,” there was a sarcastic chuckle in his voice, “anything else you want princess?” With a satisfied moan a smile crosses your face. You stretch your arms above your head and wiggle your body beneath him. You reach your hand over to clasp the hand Dabi held the cigarette with and pulled his cigarette into your mouth while he held it for a drag.

“Shower if you don’t mind.” You lock eyes with the bright blue that stole your attention all night. You were not sure what he was thinking but you enjoyed how intensely he was staring down at you.

“Water only runs cold princess.”

“Well after last night I could use a little cooling off.” Dabi frimly grabbed your ass cheek with a satified hum in his throat. You could feel a low heat from his palm made from his quirk. After a moment he release you. Standing up from the bed he put out his cigarette in the ash tray on the windowsill next to the bed. He started to walk to the door and your eyes followed his movement.

“If your going to eye fuck me this early in the morning, we could just go another round.” Dabi glanced up and down your barley covered body with a grip on his belt buckle as if he were waiting for you to invite him back over.

“Shower first need to get your kids out of my hair.” As Dabi tried to hold back his laughter you managed to roll out of his bed. His blue eyes drank in every curve of your naked body in the light of the day. The bruises, hickeys, scratches, bites and burns only made you look more attractive to him. “See something you like?” You say with a sarcastic tone as you bend over slowly giving him a full view of your ass while you pick up you purse.

“Just admiring my handy work babe.” You slowly strut across the room lust filled blue eyes follow your every step. You arch up on your toes to place a chase kiss on his lips. Tossing your bag over your shoulder you walk into his bathroom.

You walk into the kitchen hair wet and up in a messy bun. Glasses on your face because you needed to rest your eyes after wearing contacts late into the night. Thin short pink running short and a tight white tank top with matching thin flimsy sandals. With each step closer to Dabi the smell of coffee makes you let out a satisfied hum.

“So, your name is Dabi?” You had noticed he taken your lipstick and wrote on the bathroom mirror as you had to what you assumed to be his name. Dabi slowly turned around with a mug to his lips grunting confirmation to your question. He handed you a mug of black coffee and took the moment you were distracted by your beverage to take in your appearance.

He was surprised that you had a change of clothes in your small bag, but his face showed no emotion. Part of him was hoping you would walk out in only a towel or the hoodie he left on the bed for you. Dabi thought you looked so normal and innocent in your day clothes making him wonder why you were here with him. You made the aggressive advances on him the night before and now he was starting to question your motives. The bitter taste to his coffee was nothing to the bitter feeling of being used. He sucked down another gulp of coffee trying to harden his already shielded heart. Dabi placed his mug down, crossed his arms over his chest then lean back on the counter.

“(Y/n) right?” His tone was dark and sarcastic when he spit out your name. You felt an unpleasant chill run down your spine. Trying to place the mug down without showing how intimidated you were by his sudden change in attitude was difficult. You smiled tightly and hummed out a yes to show he had your full attention.

Dabi enjoyed the fear in your eyes it gave him a deep satisfaction. He pushed himself away from the kitchen counter in two quick steps he was toe to toe with you. His height difference was clear as he looked down at you. His grip was tight on the tip of your chin when he pulled your gaze up to meet his. He leaned in close with an intimidating look in his blue eye.

“What is a sweet little thing like you doing playing round in a hole in the wall bar with a thug like me?”

You felt frozen in place as you tried to steady your breathing. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears. It was obvious you planned to sleep with someone you even packed extra clothes. You could not blame him for the question, but it was the deep threatening tone that he asked in that made you want to choose your next words carefully.

“So, what is it, were you board and needing someone to spice up your perfect life? Or do you get off on using people?” You try to respond but only a few low squeaks escape. Your throat feels try and legs weak as you try to look away from his sharp glare.

When Dabi goes to release your chin, he pushes you head to the side nearly knocking you off balance. With a huff he is back to leaning nest to the counter arms folded over his chest. He will not even look at you and the sour expression on his face fills you with guilt.

“Just go.” With those harsh words you felt tears filling your eyes.

You storm off to his bedroom to grab the last of your things. While in there you take the time to mentally collect yourself. This was not how things were meant to be. You needed to tell him the truth even if he did not believe you or care what you say. A rising determination was fueling you to go back out and tell him why you hooked up with him last night. Straightening up your stance to toss your bag over your shoulder as you turn around you find Dabi filling up the door frame and blocking your way out. Your body slightly jerks back in response to not expecting him to be behind you.

“Umm Dabi,” you stuttered shyly as you spoke up, “Look its not like either of us were planning to have more than a one night.” He squinted his eyes at you but said nothing. Inside he was slightly offended after how softly he thought of you this morning but over all he did agree with you. “Yes I did pursue you .. rather hard last night but I can explain.” You began to twiddle your finders nervously along the hem of your shirt. Dabi still stay silent, but the quirked eyebrow seemed to you as an indication to continue. “Well, you kind of look like a villain.” You were not wrong, but Dabi still felt like he had a right to be offended plus he was starting to enjoy watching you squirm.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better being called a villain because why? My scars?” Dabi stood tall in the doorway radiating off an intimidating presence.

“Ok I know that came out wrong, but I needed someone to ruin my reputation.” Well, that was an unexpected answer. Dabi felt taken back as he tried to understand what kind of a woman would willing let a man ruin her reputation. Dabi took slow strides towards you closing the distance and still blocking you from the door. You backed away in a slow shuffle as he approached until the back of your knees met the bed nearly knocking you off balance. Dabi leaned his head down slightly and placed a firm grip on your chin tilting your face up at him.

“I -I just wanted my ex-boyfriend to leave me alone.”

“And how did I fit into that little plan of yours.”

“We broke up 6 months ago, but he won’t let me move on keep saying I’m good for his reputation because he’s some mid rank hero.” That peaked Dabi’s interest. He loosed his grip on your chin and took a slight step back wordlessly signaled for you to continue explaining with a flick of his hand.

“We broke up 6 months ago, but it was more like I dumped him because he is an abusive jerk.” You took a deep breath to try and suppress tears of the memories of your past relationship. “It got to the point I wasn’t allowed to have friends because I needed to always be available to him even though he was cheating all the time. When I called him out on the cheating, he just claimed they were very affectionate fans.” Your tone got bitter the more you spoke. “So even after I broke up with him and moved, he would still fallow me or have another hero friend follow me. He broke into my home and would constantly call me even when I was at work. He continued to tell people we were together and because other people never saw the abuse I was labeled as an ungrateful girlfriend.” You could no longer hold in the tears your voice was starting to crack from crying.

“Shhh Shhh- princess don’t waste anymore of your tears on a guy like that.” He tried hard to make his words sound sincere. Dabi knew all too well how corrupt heroes were and so he quickly thought of a way to help make you look more ‘ruined’. At least he would get another taste of you before ridding himself of unnecessary drama. He really did not need more heroes following him around but if his idea worked, even a little, there might not be one following you. It was a win, win, to him.

“You need to save all those tears for the punishment I’m about to give you.”

“Punishment?”

“That right, punishment. You have been a very naughty girl using people like that for your own needs.”

“But I- “

“No buts.” He guides you slowly to lay back on the bed with your feed dangling off at the knees over the edge. “You need to show me how sorry you are for what you have done and take your punishment. Got that?”

“Yes…sir.”

“Good girl.”

Dabi lightly nudged you to sit on the bed by putting his hand atop your shoulders. The bed made a loud creaking sound as your weight caused it to sink. His fingers slowly traced down your body until he finally placed his hands on either one of your thighs. As he leaned in, he pushed your legs apart. His nose ran up the length of your clothed slit the sensation caused you to let out a breathy moan.

“Wet already and I’ve barely touched you. I told you doll face this is a punishment.” Without wasting a moment Dabi smacked his hand hard on to the top of your feminine parts. You let out a loud sharp scream from the sharp pain. He quickly found your clit and started rubbing slow circles adding pleasure to the dulling pain you felt. His free hand crawled up towards the elastic band of your shorts hooking his fingers under the elastic. With a few shimmies of your shorts your bottom half was soon bare.

“Ooo!” Dabi leaned in and kissed the red handprint he left on your sensitive flesh. For a split second he felt guilty about how hard he hit you but the thoughts of what he was still planning to do was causing a sinister smile to form through his stapled face. “I’m starting to think you enjoy pain.”

“No, it’s not like that I..”, Unable to finish your sentence as a wave of pleasure was building up in you. Dabi no longer cared what you had to say he was more focused on the moans he could pull from you.

Your chest was slight blocking your view of fully seeing Dabi’s face, but you could feel his fingers slowly pumping into you. His lips and tongue swirled and sucked on your hood and clit. The combination was quickly pushing you towards an orgasm. After how long the two of you were intimate the night before your body was already sensitive.

You started to moan out what you though were words saying how you were about to cum but suddenly everything stopped. You sat up slightly in shock to see Dabi licking his finger of your juices with a sinister smirk. It was very quickly obvious he was not going to finish.

“I told you this was a punishment. Now get your things and get out.” With those cold words he stood up with your shorts in his hand. He lazily tossed them at you so dumbfounded by what just happened you nearly loss balance catching them. Dabi walked away from you as you put your clothes back on. He pulled out a cigarette and leaned near the partly opened window. Everything about him was cold again and it twisted you up inside far more than before.

Despite the aching in your shorts and the twisting pain in your chest you managed to gather your bag without crying again. You looked over at Dabi hoping to see some kind of emotion from him, but he turned his gaze away from you. With quick strides you made your way across his tiny apartment and out the front door. To make yourself feel a little better you slammed it shut behind you causing the cheep walls to shake.

Your angry pride filled power walk slowed after you made it a few blocked away. Slowly you shuffled to the nearby bus stop and leaned on the street sign. As you waited for the bus you allowed yourself to quietly let out tears. A mix of regret filled you as you replayed the last 24 hours in your mind. “Dabi..”

#Dabi #dabi x reader #dabi smut #mha smut #villain #league of villians x reader #lemon #todoroki smut #bnha smut #dabi is touya #touya todoroki #touya smut #my hero academia #blue flames

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sandibullock · 4 years ago

Note

I was wondering if you could do a tutorial on this gifset that you did i really like ittt

Thank you for sending this in, anon! I’m glad you liked it and wondered how it was made :) Fun fact: the day before you sent this, I had just started working on my next set in that “Select Filmography” series. I hope you like that one too when it’s ready!

I think I should start by saying I’m pretty new to giffing myself and there might be more efficient ways of getting to the same result. However, the point here is to show you the process I went through to make this gifset and hopefully help you understand how to make a similar one.

To follow this tutorial, you will need some version of Photoshop and some giffing knowledge. I know there are multiple ways of making gifs so I’m just letting you know I’m using the timeline and the “Convert for Smart Filters” option (I don’t really know how else to call it).

Now let’s get started!

STEP 1 - CHOOSE THE SCENES

It might sound obvious but, in my opinion, this is the most crucial step. It’s also the one that takes the longest (along with step 7, aka the coloring).

At this stage, you need to have a general idea on how you want your set to look like so you can choose the scenes accordingly. In my case, I knew I needed two types of shots for each movie: one close-up for the main gif and one mid shot for the shape. I also needed to take two other criteria into consideration: the movement (because of the shape) and the lighting (because darker scenes are such a pain to color). Last but not least, I didn’t want the characters to be talking (but that’s just a personal preference).

With all of that in mind, you can start saving a few screenshots of scenes that meet your criteria (or at least some of them). In the end, there won’t be that many to choose from so be prepared to make compromises.

STEP 2 - MAKE A DRAFT

Now that you’ve preselected a few scenes, you can make a first draft. This will help you turn your general idea into something more concrete.

Basically, this is your opportunity to organize your thoughts. What size do you want your gifs to be? What shape are you going to use? On which side do you want the close-ups to be? Do you want all of them to be on the same side or do you want to alternate from one gif to the other? Do the scenes you chose work together (gif-wise but also set-wise)? Are you happy with the way it looks, overall?

By answering all of the questions you might have now, you’ll save yourself a lot of time, trust me. Of course, you can totally skip this step if you already know exactly which scenes you’re going to use and how you’re going to present them together.

To give you an idea, this is what my draft looked like for Atomic Blonde.

STEP 3 - PREPARE YOUR GIFS

Once you have a clearer view on how you want your set to look like, you can finally start giffing like you usually would (i.e. importing, cropping, resizing, etc.).

It should then look something like this.

The important thing to mention here is that you want both of your gifs to be the same number of frames (32, in my case).

Ideally, you should also aim for the ~same~ coloring (especially for the skin tone, since both gifs will be so close to each other). This bit is particularly difficult when you chose scenes which have opposite lighting (see my two uncolored gifs below). Remember how I insisted on steps 1 and 2? It was to help you avoid this. So my advice would be not to choose these types of contrasted scenes, unless you can’t do otherwise and you’re ready to suffer!

STEP 4 - MAKE YOUR SHAPE

To make your shape, you can click right on the Shape Tool (U) and select the last one, Custom Shape Tool. From the Shape menu appearing on top, you will be able to choose the shape you want from the drop down list and start drawing on your gif.

To be more precise with the dimensions, you can manually adapt the length and height from the Shape menu itself. I decided to go with the same ones as my gif.

Once your shape is positioned like you want it to be, you can drag and drop the shape layer under your gif. Next, you will have to click right on the gif layer/smart filter and select Create Clipping Mask. The result is as below. Note that if the size of your shape was smaller than your gif, you would still be able to reposition your gif with the Move Tool (V).

You can now export your shape gif, reopen it in Photoshop and convert it again to the video timeline and to a smart filter. This is where I’m not sure it’s the most efficient way of doing things but it’s the only way I found to keep the coloring of each gif separate. I also find it easier to work with a smart filter.

STEP 5 - COMBINE YOUR GIFS

To add your shape gif to your main gif, you can simply click right on the shape gif you just reopened and select Duplicate Layer. You can then choose the project which contains your main gif to duplicate it in there. Now go to your main gif and reposition your shape gif where you want it to be (how many times did I say gif here?). Finally, you can draw a new shape, using the same dimensions as in step 4, reposition it and choose any color you want from the Shape menu.

Since you will be repeating this process with your following gifs, I suggest you add a few guides so you know exactly where you should place everything to make all of your final gifs look the same.

(In case you’re wondering, the “Base” folder contains my adjustment layers/basic coloring for the main gif.)

STEP 6 - ADD THE TITLE

This step is pretty simple: go on the web and type “[name of the movie] title”. Download the png you like most, open it in Photoshop and resize it to a length of about 150-200 pixels. Next, duplicate the layer to your main gif and reposition it. In case you need to resize it again, select the title layer and go to Edit > Free Transform (Ctrl+T).

This is optional but in case you want to change the way it looks, know you can always duplicate the title layer and play with the blending options (see below). The good thing with a png is that you can also add some effects by clicking on the “fx” button.

STEP 7 - ADD COLORING (OPTIONAL)

To be honest, I had not planned on coloring my gifs. But I had already spent so much time on them and I was still unhappy with the way they looked. I mean, see how grey-ish they are? Not great...

So the only thing left for me to do was to add some colors. Now, since coloring is worth a tutorial on its own and it already exists, I suggest you read through becca’s mega coloring tutorial (and especially steps 3 & 5). Seriously, shoutout to her for making this incredibly useful tutorial. She is so talented and I love everything she makes!

My Atomic Blonde gif barely even needed coloring so I’ll show you what I did for my Tully and The Old Guard gifs.

For the first one, once I had found which colors to use with which blending option and opacity level, I only had to remove the colors from the left side of the gif because there was barely any movement in that scene (phew!). For the second one, on the other hand, I decided to color frame by frame because there was way more movement, in comparison. This is quite a tedious process, which is why you want to limit yourself to a certain amount of frames.

I’ll conclude by saying there are so many things you can do with coloring and what works with one scene might not work with another. So experiment with it: try different colors, play with the blending options and opacity levels, add some gradients and/or gradient maps, etc. Just know it will take some time to get to a somewhat satisfying result!

And that’s it... I hope this tutorial made sense and was somehow helpful. Of course, don’t hesitate if you have any questions! Also, if you do end up making a similar edit, pleeease send me the link or tag me in the replies or something ‘cause I would definitely love to see it!!

#asks #anonymous #tutorials #resources #completeresources #allresources #itsphotoshop #putting all of this process into words took so long i really hope it makes sense #also i can't help but wonder if it was my before/after post which prompted this ask...#gifs #gifs: tutorials

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silversatoru · 4 years ago

Note

hey shawty could you do number 15 with dabi? ANGST please <33 with a female reader

thank you i love you

silvers 1.2k event info

(1.5k? i’m doing these way too slow :’) but there’s more spots open if you still wanna join!!)

touya + “it’s 2:00am, where the hell are you?”

dabi/todoroki touya x f!reader

synopsis: touya loves to take advantage of your soft spot for him

t/w: nsfw 18+, manipulation, toxic relationship dynamic, degradation, mild humiliation, spit, creampie, mention of alcohol consumption

a/n: hello my fav shawty bae, my one and only, my soulmate, hope u like this <3 it got a little more self-indulgent than i would like to admit

a soft intermittent buzzing sounded from under your pillow, your body jerking awake and rolling over to grab your phone. the screen shined bright against your tired eyes, a string of unknown numbers glaring across the screen. you weren’t sure why an unknown number was calling in the middle of the night, but ready to give the asshole telemarketer a piece of your mind you slammed your finger on the green answer button.

“hello?” your words roped venom through the phone, still angry about your disturbed sleep.

“hey sweetheart~ i need a favor”.

you felt your heart practically leap into your throat, your mouth going dry and your stomach twisting into vicious knots. the voice was very distinctly touya’s, and an incredibly drunk touya at that. the same touya that used you like a disposal product more times than you could count — the touya that continued to endlessly shatter your heart.

“touya? are you drunk?” your voice had become several octaves softer, an all too eager pitch ringing in your words.

“whaaat? no,” he played the lie off terribly, audibly stumbling over his own legs and cursing almost immediately afterword, “okay, maybe”.

he was definitely drunk, you were 100% certain of it — the ocean-eyed scumbag wouldn’t have even thought about you unless he was absolutely plastered.

“it’s 2:00am, where the hell are you?” you made feeble attempts to sound angry, but your voice was laced with more concern than you cared to admit.

“uhh... fuck, hold on,” a series of thumps and crackles sounded after that, and you could hear touya’s slurred speech as he asked someone where he was.

“second street,” he repeated the information he’d been given, “you know, the one with all the frats”.

“sounds like your standards are lower than ever,” you let the insult side between your lips, and it felt good to put him down for once.

“they were never very high to begin with,” he let an unamused chuckle fall with his words, “it’s not that far from campus, can you come? pretty please?”

you wanted to tell him no more than anything in the world — to spit in his face and give him a taste of his own medicine, just to see how he liked it, but you couldn’t. why you continued to care for such a damaged, garbage man was beyond your knowledge, but you were helpless against the ache in your chest.

“yeah i’ll be there in fifteen minutes, and go inside, it’s cold out,” the words spilled from your mouth before you could even question your own horrible judgement.

“that’s my girl,” touya’s cocky, slurred tone rolled the words out so perfectly, your heart catching in your chest at the endearing way he referred to you.

dial tone rung out through your ears after that, and you drug yourself out of bed to throw on a jacket and shoes. with extreme disappointment in yourself you grabbed an extra coat from the closet — just incase touya was cold.

and he definitely was, because for some reason he was sitting outside in the frigid air when you finally pulled up next to the decaying frat house. you exited your car with the spare jacket in your hand and concern painted on your face — coming to his rescue just like he knew you would.

“touya! it’s freezing and that’s what you’re wearing!?” you shoved the jacket into his arms, a dumb smile sliding across his face as you scolded him like some kind of mother — it really was pitiful how much you still cared.

“must have misplaced my sweatshirt,” he chuckled, nonchalantly throwing his arms through the holes of the coat.

you rolled your eyes at his irresponsibility, slipping one arm underneath both of his and helping his wobbly form stand from the bench he’d been slumped on. the two of you hobbled to the car in silence, helping him into the passengers seat and then walking yourself back around to the drivers. you turned on the car and switched on your seat warmers, not wanting him to get any colder than he already was.

“so what shitty apartments are you crashing in now?” you let your words carry more edge than they usually did, but you were actually curious where he was living now — he always seemed to hop from one shit hole to another.

“they’re kinda far from here, and i can’t remember how to get there right now,” he shook his head, and you were almost certain he was lying right through his teeth, “can’t i just come back to yours?”

you fought with yourself for a few seconds, but ultimately gave in to him with way too much ease. maybe this time he’ll stay, maybe this time he actually wanted to spend some time with you, maybe just this once he’s not using you.

“okay, but you’re sleeping on the couch,” you shot him a firm glance, attempting to set some boundaries to protect your delicate heart.

sleeping on the couch my ass — your body was pinned beneath his the second you two walked through the door.

alcohol-stained lips worked roughly against yours, and you were helpless to push him away. as much as you hated him, you would settle for any crumb of affection that he was willing to give you.

“god, you’re so easy,” he hummed into your ear as he nibbled on your neck, undoubtedly leaving you with dark markings down the soft skin, “so stern about me sleeping on the couch, and now you’re practically melting. what happened?”

you didn’t even bother to indulge him with a reply, your stomach already boiling with shame and regret as you weaved your fingers into his dark hair. but it’s not like he expected an answer from you either, this is how things always played out between the two of you. you’d try to be stern, hold your ground, grasp onto a shred of self-respect; but the second he laid a finger on you you turned to putty.

“that’s what i thought,” he chuckled to himself, pulling his nose out of the crook of your neck and tugging on the waistband of your pajama shorts, “take these off, sweetheart. be good like you always are”.

it was mortifying how quickly you scrambled to get undressed for him, so shamefully desperate for any attention he was willing to give. and you peeling off your clothing was all the consent touya needed to get to work. he may be an asshole, a complete scumbag, a toxic, manipulative piece of shit, but he was not a rapist — he does have some morals, although barely.

he shoved his fingers down into the folds of your cunt, eyes glistening at the slick that immediately soaked his fingertips, “such a good girl for me”.

you squirmed at his harsh movements, and the praise brainwashed you further than you already were — intoxicating your heart and convincing you that you were more than just his sorry little fuck hole.

touya wasn’t much for foreplay, after all this was about him, not you. he dropped his dirty sweats to the floor, freeing his long, curved cock and wincing as it shot up towards his abdomen.

he never makes any effort to ensure your comfort, thinking about his pleasure and satisfaction only — forcing open your legs and sheathing himself inside your pussy before you could comprehend that it was happening. strangled gasps and yelps of pain flew from your lips, your legs wrapping around him.

“you need to have some more respect for yourself, princess,” he grunted as he mercilessly fucked himself into you right from the start, “i’m starting think you like being my irrelevant little fucktoy”.

you let out a few pitiful whimpers, eyes watering from the burning pain that ripped through you as you stretched and adjusted to his size. it wasn’t that you liked being used like this, it was that you were all too hopeful that he’d eventually love you the way you love him. embarrassing.

“you’d do anything for me wouldn’t you?” he stared down at you, eyes hazy as he slowed down and leaned over you, spitting into your gaping mouth, “swallow it”.

he was trying to prove a point, and your soft lips clamping shut as you swallowed down his wad of saliva proved it perfectly — you would do anything for him.

“you love coming to my rescue, love feeling like you matter to me, love being a hole that i fuck,” he wrapped his fingers around the sides of your neck, squeezing tightly as he kept up his ruthless pace, “i wanna hear you say it, tell me you love me”.

a garbled i love you flew from your lips, followed by a plethora of pleas and begs that only made you look even more pitiful. just want you to stay with me, touya! want you to be safe! wanna help you feel good!

your confession and collection of pleas only fed his god complex — you were so obedient, so easy to break through with little to no effort. and it was sad, so sad that dabi almost pitied you.

he fucked you hard until you couldn’t even think straight, eyes rolling back into your fucked-out face as he pumped you full of cum and and his groans filled the room. then he walked into the bathroom to clean himself up, leaving your messy, abused cunt to leak his fluids all over your bed.

once he finally came back out he tossed you a damp towel, which you lazily used to clean yourself up. he grabbed his pants off the floor and began to get dressed as you stared at him with big eyes, eyes that begged if he was going to stay with you tonight.

and he decided that fine, he’d indulge you just this once, just to keep you complaint. he climbed under your sheets and let you curl up against his chest — so pathetic. he’d let you fall asleep like that, but the second your breaths slowed and small snores escaped your mouth, he slipped out from the blankets and took his leave.

oh how heartbroken you’d be when you woke up without him tomorrow morning, tears staining your gullible cheeks and hiccups racking through your throat. he could practically picture the pitiful scene. you’d sulk around for a couple weeks, chest aching that you weren’t good enough, and then as soon as you’d start to get over him he’d call you again.

undoubtedly, you’d come to his rescue and he’d fuck you senseless all over again. it was a vicious cycle, and he planned on playing this game for as long as you were dumb enough to believe you mattered to him.

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bucky-hues · 3 years ago

Text

stucky fic recs

here are some stucky fic recs! as always, be sure to read the warnings for each fic <3

one shots

finding home | @thedamageofherdays

cap steve x modern bucky

After he is caught in a terrible rainstorm while hiking, Bucky is glad to find shelter at the cottage Steve shares with his daughter and his dog. Bucky ends up finding so much more than just a safe place to spend the night.

x | @dreadlockholiday

steve x bucky

Request: Bucky looking through a glossy magazine and saying something like "God, can you imagine being paid for just looking cute?" And without thought Steve replies, "you'd be a millionaire" and Bucky just blushes furiously while Steve's all like 😳 *oh no, I just said that out loud*

x | @dreadlockholiday (18+)

steve x bucky

Bucky finds his BFF Steve's sketchbook... and it's full of nothing but sketches of Bucky... naked.

sweethearts | @musette22

steve x bucky

Steve confesses his feelings to Bucky using sweethearts

my moon, my man | @musette22 (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

AU meet-cute. Strangers on a Train, but with less murder and more sexual tension.

make it till you fake it | AggressiveWhenStartled (AO3)

steve x bucky

“Ned,” Peter said, like a drowning man sighting land. “Ned. Captain America and the Winter Soldier are fake dating right now and it is the most painfully awkward and obvious thing I have ever seen, all of us want to die, Ned.”

things my heart used to know | Nightwing11 (AO3)

steve x bucky

In a world where soulmates can communicate telepathically with their partners, Steve Rogers has always had Bucky Barnes with him, a calming voice in a sea of turmoil. And, when Bucky falls off the train during World War II, Steve experiences deafening silence for the first time.

Now, after crashing a plane in the Arctic to save the world and being frozen for 70 years, Steve’s still trying to figure out how to live without Bucky there. His new friends are trying to help him adjust, to move on. And he thought he was doing better, he really did.

So, why is he suddenly hearing Bucky’s voice again?

catfish | @buckmebxrnes (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve Rogers is a famous movie star, known for his role as Captain America. Bucky Barnes is a bored law student who drinks too much wine. Bucky gets on match.com to boost his confidence. What he doesn't expect is a guy using Steve Rogers' pictures on a dating profile. Bucky decides to mess with the guy. After all, what idiot uses Steve Rogers' pictures on a dating site?

Not like it's really him, right? Bucky may need more wine.

let's go have fun | @sebastanbucky

steve x bucky

“Nat wanted me to-” Nat clears her throat and he rolls his eyes. “I wanted to tell you something.” He looks at Steve with a look he hopes says ‘play along’. “Okay. What did you want to tell me?” Bucky has to take a deep breath to keep from laughing again, it helps with his performance as Nat nods encouragingly at him. “I’m gay.” He says, making his voice sound shaky and weak.

the way you came around | sokaless (AO3)

steve x bucky

After a while, Bucky says, “You know, this song sounds like it was written for you.” “That's funny,” Steve remarks. “I chose it because it reminded me of you.” Steve gives Bucky an iPod full of his favourite songs from the 21st century to help him deal with his nightmares. Bucky has a new mission- to find out who Steve is in love with, because there are a few too many unrequited love songs on that iPod.

stuck on you | wearing_tearing (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

“Bucky? You don’t look so hot.”

Bucky makes a tiny little sound in the back of his throat, only to start coughing. Of course he doesn’t look hot. He’s sick and he’s dying and Steve obviously isn’t attracted to him.

you have the place next to my place | justanotherStonyfan (AO3)

cap steve x modern bucky

prompt: “We live in adjacent apartments and our bedrooms are on opposite sides of a very thin wall and one night I heard you crying and talked to you through the wall” AU

Captain America helps the Vet next door.

you’ve got (30) new matches | williamkaplans (AO3)

steve x bucky

When everyone finds out Steve's bi thanks to Bucky's recovering memories, Natasha kicks up her match-making into high gear. Steve has zero luck, but Natasha won't give up, especially when Sam (jokingly) suggests online dating. It isn't long before Steve finds someone, a someone who seems eerily familiar.

perfectly right wrong number | melonbutterfly (AO3)

cap steve x modern bucky

It all starts because Steve is too dumb to handle his smartphone.

A wrong number AU in which Bucky Barnes doesn't enter Steve's life (meaning: Bucky wasn't born until the eighties, but Steve is still Captain America) until Steve accidentally dials the wrong number. Wherein there is a lot of texting, some advice via Natasha and Darcy, a bit of pining, and a first date in an amusement park. Oh, and on top of being a disabled veteran, Bucky is a professional catwalker. Literally.

put your number in my phone | MacksDramaticShenanigans (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve tucks his phone back into his pocket and turns back to the computer. He only has to click a few times before he finds the link to the questionnaire and opens it, inputting the participant number before hitting next. The beginnings of the consent form fills the page, and all Steve has left to do now is wait for the participant— one James Barnes, according to the website— to show up.

Thankfully, Steve doesn’t end up having to wait very long. James Barnes shows up ten minutes early and knocks on the door before cracking it open and peeking in.

“Oh, hi,” he says, when he spots Steve sitting at the desk. He pushes the door open all the way and steps into the room just as Steve spins in the chair to face him.

“Um, I’m, uh, a bit early, but I’m here for the decision making study,” James continues, clear blue eyes flickering around the room before landing on Steve again. The skin between his eyebrows crinkles up a little, and god, Steve probably shouldn’t find his uncertainty as cute as he does. “Am I in the right place?”

wouldn’t it be nice | MacksDramaticShenanigans (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

"You are never going to believe what just happened," Bucky bemoans, shaking his head. He's at Steve's side in a moment and doesn't bother to give any warning before he dramatically falls into Steve's lap. Steve just barely manages to save his book from getting squashed.

"What is it?" Steve asks, matching Bucky's dramatic tone. "What am I not going to believe?"

"I just got off the phone with Natasha," he starts. "She cancelled on me!" Bucky throws his arms up, nearly smacking Steve in the face in the process.

Steve carefully places his hand on Bucky's forearm and lowers it away from his face.

"You're kidding," he says, a frown curving onto his lips at the news.

"I wish I was," he sighs. Bucky presses his lips together into a disappointed line and deflates against the back of the couch, slinking down Steve's thighs a little. "Who goes to Coney Island alone? How pathetic is that?"

Steve snorts, earning a glare from Bucky, and pats Bucky's thigh. "Aw, don't be such a sourpuss, Buck," he says. "Who said anything about going alone?"

all jokes aside | darksknight (AO3)

steve x bucky

"Before we know it Banner’s gonna be makin’ insinuations.” (Everyone "jokes" about Steve and Bucky being in a relationship until, eventually, they admit that they are.)

barnes & rogers and the goddamn truth

steve x bucky (teacher au)

There are three well-known facts at Shield High:

1. The history teacher Mr. Barnes is a stone-cold terror, and it’s not even because he only has one arm. 2. The other history teacher, Mr. Rogers, is a mysterious enigma, and it’s something to do with the body of a Greek God and contradicting stories of his past. (They’re all rumours, anyway.) 3. Mr Barnes and Mr Rogers hate each other.

Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.

in the shadows | DragonWannabe (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky

Five times they thought they were almost caught, one time someone found out, and one time they didn't have to hide.

OR:

Bucky and Steve grew up in a time when people like them went to jail.

single and looking | Jaiden_S (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky

"Bucky held his place with his index finger and turned the magazine over to check the date on the cover. It was brand new, just out this month. An unexpected cord of anxiety tightened in Bucky’s chest. Single and looking? Frantically, he flipped back to the article. What exactly was Steve looking for? According to the article, Steve’s dream girl should be intelligent, altruistic, well-versed in current events and have a wicked sense of humor. Oh, and he had a thing for high heels and red lipstick. Bucky’s stomach churned as he re-read the article. Was that really what Steve wanted? Make-up and stilettos?"

A slightly sappy tale of two utterly besotted super-soldiers who excel at miscommunication.

these american dreams (ain’t no white picket fences left for me) | kariye (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky

In which Bucky has a house, a dog, an herb garden, and a serious case of insomnia. Welcome to Havensport, Indiana (population 8,294), where Tom’s Neighborhood Grocer stays open all night, little old ladies call the car shop to get their refrigerators repaired, and the heat of summer days and the length of summer nights can make you think that this perfect world will last forever.

i’ve been careless with a delicate man | paraxdisepink (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky

Steve lets SHIELD think he and Bucky were boyfriends so they’ll let him see the Winter Soldier in medical.

knock on wood | 74days (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve Rogers lives a quiet, steady life, until his next door neighbour moves in and starts having incredibly energetic sex every night. All Steve wants is for him to move his bed away from the wall so the damn headboard doesn't knock a hole through his wall.

progressively bigger keys | spinawren (AO3)

steve x bucky

“A very little key will open a very heavy door.” ― Charles Dickens, Hunted Down

Steve and Bucky, it appears, have less need for a key and more use for a battering ram in trying to come out of the closet.

(The one where Steve tries to do one thing (one thing!) without causing a national ruckus, but the press are determined to see Bucky as Steve's best friend. And nothing more.)

stucky discover gay rights | Alicia_Borealis (AO3)

steve x bucky

“Then, why-” Steve stopped himself and looked at Bucky, who had tears rolling freely down his cheeks. “We’re- we’re not sick?”

“Wait, what?” Tony asked.

“Being a homosexual, it isn’t… wrong?”

The story of how Steve Roger's loved and lost Bucky, then how he got him back and then how he realised he was allowed to love him after all.

thursday nights with bucky barnes | Ellessey (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve has a comfortable, well-worn routine for his Thursday nights, until the old man who runs the laundromat breaks his hip.

Then Steve has Bucky instead.

to seek a nood-er world | jehans (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky

Send noodz

Steve has been staring at his phone for the last six minutes, eyes narrowed so much they’re almost closed at this point, trying to figure out what the hell Bucky means. Noodz? What the fuck are noodz?

Listen, Steve is at least marginally aware of modern pop culture. He’s heard of nudes — not that nudes are exactly a modern invention; artists have been creating them for millennia — and he does know that people tend to misspell words to be cute or funny. They did that when he was young, too. Because time is a flat circle, apparently.

But, wait—does that mean…?

No. Not possible. Bucky isn’t asking Steve to send him…nudes.

Right?

tied ‘round your throat | sleepypercy (AO3) (18+)

police officer steve x serial killer bucky

Steve's a small-town police officer trying to track a serial killer who's been in Steve's bed the whole time.

much tattoo about nothing | Deisderium (AO3) (18+)

cap steve x modern bucky

Steve Rogers gets a lot of email requests, but never one like this: James Barnes wants to use his healing factor to practice tattoos.

Turns out tattoos give Steve boners.

the perfect man | Ellessey (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Setting up a dating profile is decidedly not in Bucky's skill-set, but against all odds he manages to connect with someone who makes the one-night stand he thought he wanted feel like not nearly enough.

kiss me and take off your clothes | steveandbucky (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve Rogers is dared to send a dick pic to a blog which critiques dick pics (run by none other than Bucky Barnes). Hilarity ensues.

i can’t dare to dream about you anymore | steveandbucky (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve considers himself to be a pretty open-minded guy, which is why he can't quite understand why he feels so uncomfortable whenever he sees his gay roommate kissing guys. He's not homophobic, but how else can he explain the way his stomach twists at the sight?

It takes him a while to catch on.

exam room b | steveandbucky (AO3)

modern steve x nurse bucky

“Wait, what do you mean he asked for me?”

“He asked if the cute male nurse with the ponytail was working today. I assume he meant you.”

kickstart my heart | Kalee60 (AO3) (18+)

doctor steve x modern bucky

Bucky’s Wednesday wasn’t off to a great start. Not only did he wake up in a hospital with his annoyed best friend staring down at him, his treating Doctor just happened to be way too familiar, and the reason for that was slightly mortifying.

With misunderstandings in the air, a snarky nurse who is a pain in his butt and the ugliest neck brace known to man attached to his body. There was no way his Wednesday was ever going to improve. Could it?

you make me feel.. | kalika_999 (AO3) (18+)

cap steve x modern bucky

All Steve wanted was to take a breather, decompress after a mission and go out for a jog in the rain. He wasn't expecting to hide out in a bookstore filled with new and used books or that the employee that worked there thought he was an absolute loser and didn't even realize he was insulting Captain America.

nothing in the world that could stop it | rainbow_nerds (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Bucky just wanted to send his best friend a picture of his cat being an idiot while he was taking a bath. Was it really his fault for forgetting the full length mirror right opposite the tub?

rescue me and hold me in your arms | 74days (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Bucky is on the worst date of his life, and what he really needs of for this waitress to get the message he's sending her with his mind to rescue him. She doesn't, but she does send someone to extract him from a night of torture...

odd ways | peterbparker (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

“And it would have been an amazing night with my son if he wasn’t distracted by the hot guy on the other side of the room,” Sarah sighed, shaking her head. “He’s been looking over at you for the past fifteen minutes.”

Bucky choked on the mouthful of beer he had just taken.

“What?” he croaked. Things were starting to make a little more sense now.

“Right?” Sarah said, waving her hand towards her son. “He completely ignored my garden stories because he’s been making eyes at you so I decided to come over and introduce myself.”

series

rare is this love (keep it covered) | @musette22 (18+)

cap steve x modern bucky

It’s 2014. Captain America has been out of the ice for three years and is trudging along, saving the world and trying to get used to living in the future. Steve thinks he knows how the rest of his life is going to pan out – a life of duty, which he chose when he signed up to be Erskine’s science experiment. But then, he meets Bucky Barnes: the out-of-this-world-gorgeous mechanic and war vet, who turns Steve’s life upside down and makes him question everything he thought he knew. Slowly, Steve comes to realize there is more to life than duty and punching Nazis. Just one problem though: how on earth does a 96-year-old virgin who only just realized he may not be entirely straight make the transition from crush to relationship? Cue healthy amounts of self-doubt, awkward flirting, pretty blushing, existential crises, emotional growth, and maybe, possibly, a sexual awakening.

coming up easy | @musette22 (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

“Listen, I was just thinking,” Steve says, his face open, eyebrows raised in a tentatively hopeful expression. “Why don’t you come stay at my place for a while? I’ve got an office that I barely use, and a change of scenery might do you good, right? Help you beat that writer’s block?” With a crooked smile, he adds, “I promise I’m not a serial killer.”

While Bucky would normally crack a joke about how that’s exactly what a serial killer would say, right now, all he can do is blink at Steve in surprise, heart tripping over itself in his chest. Steve wants him to come and stay at his place. In Massachusetts. Just the two of them.

"Oh," Bucky croaks. "I- Wow."

“I mean, no pressure,” Steve says hastily. “Totally fine if you don’t wanna. I just thought I’d offer, in case it might help, y’know?”

“Yeah.” Bucky ignores the little voice in his head that sounds an awful lot Nat and Becca, telling him he’s setting himself up for heartbreak. “I mean, if you’re sure, that would be amazing.”

4 minute window | @cesperanza

steve x bucky

"Look, if they catch me," Bucky muttered, "they're either going to kill me or they're going to put me in a box with a little window and—Steve, I can't."

swapped | writeonclara (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

if u wanted my number u couldve just asked

u didnt have to steal my whole phone ;)

Steve stared down at his phone, confused. He didn't recognize the number – except, oh wait, he really did. That was his number. On his phone.

He flipped the phone over, then slid one hand down his face. Not his phone.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

[stupid fucking] brooklyn hipster bros | relenaflanel (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Bucky's mother gives him an ultimatum. Bucky doesn't respond well.

All Barneses are stubborn assholes, Steve observes, as though he doesn't see the irony of calling someone else stubborn. Or an asshole.

And Bucky can't even deny he is a total asshole for lying to his mother about dating Steve just so he doesn't have to bring someone else to her wedding, but damn if he's not going to give the lie everything he has.

brought to brightness | eyres (AO3)

cap steve x modern bucky

Army veteran Bucky Barnes has fallen in love with Steve, a guy he met online a few months after he returned from Afghanistan. Only problem is, he doesn't know Steve's last name or even what he looks like.

When his sister helps him send his story into MTV's Catfish, he's hoping they can help him meet Steve or, at least, let him move on with his life if Steve isn't real. Little does he know, Steve and Captain America have more in common than just a first name.

slide to answer | relenaflanel (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

"What do I do?” Steve appealed into the phone. “I’m freaking out.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. It lasted so long that Steve pulled the receiver away from his ear and frowned at it. Pay phones were old. Maybe this one wasn’t working despite the obvious dial tone when he picked up.

“Ok,” a stranger’s voice said over the phone. “First acknowledge the fact that you dialed the wrong number, but be quick about it because my cab is a few blocks away from my own plans and I’m about to drop some truth bombs on you.”

how to woo the winter soldier | writeonclara (AO3)

steve x bucky

“I think I’m ready to date again,” Steve said.

“What,” Natasha said.

“What?” Clint said, lowering his binoculars. He blinked at the dumbstruck look on the Captain’s face, then followed his gaze to where he was staring dopily at—at the Winter fucking Soldier.

“Steve, no,” Clint groaned.

Or: Steve courts the Winter Soldier.

all these things that i’ve done | @not-withoutyou

steve x bucky

Steve was the patron saint of waiting too long. Bucky was atoning for his sins. Maybe they’d both been forsaken, abandoned by the light. Maybe they’d find a way back to each other again.

Post civil war, if things had gone differently.

find a way (to make it back home) | belwrites (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky (college au)

Fresh off a year abroad, Head Resident Assistant Steve Rogers finds his senior year of college to be full of changes, and he's not just talking about the growth spurt. He's more concerned with the fact that his best friend...isn't talking to him? Is dating his ex? May or may not be missing an arm?

In which Steve has no fucking clue what's going on, but he's trying, Bucky learns how to communicate with his best friend again, and everyone quietly panics about the future.

is it pretending if i already want you? | OhCaptainMyCaptain (AO3) (18+)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Based on prompt: Pretend Boyfriends AU where one of their families is always wondering why they're never in a relationship, so the other offers to pretend to be their boyfriend for some family event

the roommate | layersofart, Niitza (AO3)

cap steve x modern bucky

In which Steven G. Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, gets a roommate. Who rapidly turns into his "roommate"—in the euphemistic sense of the word.

It takes SHIELD and the rest of the Avengers an absurd amount of time to notice.

dear mr. postman | odetteandodile (AO3)

steve x bucky (modern au)

Steve and Bucky revive an old friendship, get married (but totally just as friends, for reasons), and navigate a few of the many trials of the heart that come with falling in love with your best friend.

fate will play us out | steveandbucky (AO3) (18+)

cap steve x modern bucky

Bucky has landed himself a job with Stark Industries. He doesn't know yet that the job is actually being the PR manager for the Avengers.

Bucky has also started dating Steve Rogers. He also doesn't know yet that Steve is Captain America.

Bucky's life is about to get a whole lot more exciting.

the avengers hate club | notebooksandlaptops (AO3)

pop star steve x modern bucky

Bucky falls hopelessly for Steve and starts an Avengers hate club with the lead singer of the Avengers.

songbird | chicklette (AO3) (18+)

modern steve x musician bucky

At 43, James Barnes is a washed up old man. He’s got a dozen Grammys in the hall closet, an agent that can’t get him a deal, a decade-old case of writer’s block, a moody teen-aged daughter, and the gorgeous actress Natasha Romanova for an ex-wife. Well, one of them anyway. He’s a man who’s given up on finding joy in his life, and if it wasn’t for his kid, he’d have probably found a way to quit the world a long time ago.

Enter Steven Grant Rogers, struggling twenty-something, orphan, and someone who has no idea who Barnes is, other than some musician his mom liked a lot. The two men meet by accident, doing nothing more than passing the time in a quiet bar. But when a pap gets a shot of the two men embracing, Bucky takes it as a chance to finally come out as bisexual, and his agent makes him a proposition: Ten new songs and one very sweet boyfriend will get him a new record deal that will maybe, just maybe put him back on top.

Now all he has to do is write the songs, convince the kid, and not fall in love. Should be easy, right?

the right partner | LeeHan (AO3) (18+)

cap steve x ws bucky

Steve meets a beautiful man with a bright laugh on a sunny day in Italy. Captain America meets the elusive Winter Soldier moments later.

Date Bucky Barnes. Defeat the Winter Soldier. Bring down Hydra. How hard could it be?

#stucky fic #stucky fic recs #steve x bucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky #bucky barnes #steve rogers

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dingyuxi · 4 years ago

Text

COMPREHENSIVE GIFFING TUTORIAL (vapoursynth + ps cc 2018) + some tips and tricks on color correction, blending and subtitles

You guys asked for it, so here we are! This is by no means the gold standard to giffing. Rather, this is simply my process and my own preferences. Take it as you will. Additionally since I use a mac some of my controls/panels may look different than what you would see for windows users.

DOWNLOADING YOUR SOURCE

This step is extremely important to the quality of your gifset. If you want high-quality gifs I would recommend giffing sources in 1080p whenever possible (especially if you’re going for larger dimensions). You may get away with 720p for smaller gifs. For kdramas, your go-to source would be dr*maday or torrents. (you can search my faq tag if you’d like to know specifics on finding and downloading torrents).

IMPORTING + PROCESSING YOUR FILES WITH VAPOURSYNTH (VS)

Please note that this tutorial does not cover basic installation and set-up of vs. If you would like to know how to download and set-up vapoursynth (it works for both mac and pc) along with some of it’s basics you can find more information at: https://hackmd.io/@nibreon/vapoursynth-book/%2F%40nibreon%2Fvapoursynth-book

Once you’ve identified what portion of your video you’d like to gif, simply drag your video file into VS. Specify the start time and duration of the clip you’d like to import. Typically you’ll be aiming for ~3-8 second clip depending on how big your gifs will be. I am very lazy when it comes to importing. The less of it I have to do, the better. Therefore, I often import clips that are 10-15 seconds long, sometimes even up to 20 seconds. I wouldn’t recommend going over 15 seconds most of the time though, because this will usually bring you over the 500 frames photoshop allows you to import at once. (when I do go over, I will sometimes import the processed VS file into PS in segments). You can also choose to import the VS output as segments if you want all your gifs on separate canvases. (I'll go into more detail on this later)

Once you’ve imported the clip into VS your screen should roughly look like this once the resizer pops up:

In the top left is where you will be applying your cropping, sharpening and denoising filters. Cropping: Keep in mind the Tumblr dimensions: 540px for full-width gifs and 268px for half size gifs, 177/178/177px for 3 gifs across. The height is completely up to your own preference. Usually I work in 540x300px. Once you edit those parameters you can drag/resize your video file to fit your new canvas. Sharpening + Denoising: You can choose to skip this if you would rather sharpen in ps. I personally do all my cropping, denoising and sharpening in vs. I use finesharp and KNML for sharpening and denoising respectively. Once you select those two filters from their drop down menus, be sure the select the checkbox as well. You should now notice 2 additional lines of code in the top right box. The line that reads: video = core.knlm.KNLMeansCL(video, 0, 6, 4, 1.2, channels="YUV") is where you will adjust your denoising parameters. You will only be adjusting those 4 numbers. I usually use: 0, 1, 0, 1.2. Now find the line that reads: video = hnw.FineSharp(video, sstr=0.22). These are your sharpening parameters. once again we’re only adjusting the number at the end. I typically use somewhere between 0.33-0.55. Depending on the quality of your source and preferences these parameters may change.

Here is a breakdown of the KNML parameters (source: @/nibreon HackMD):

Once you have finalized your parameters, copy all the code in that top right box and paste it into your vapoursynth editor. Note: you can ‘inactivate’ certain lines of code by adding the # symbol at the start the line. That line of code will then be greyed-out. This is what your code should now look like (the highlighted section is the part I just copy and pasted):

If you would like to preview your filters and see if you need to make any adjustments, simply navigate to the top bar and select script > preview. If you like what you see, great! If not, you can adjust the parameters directly in the editor until you see a result you’re happy with. Once you’re happy you can move onto the final step in vs: processing.

Processing: Once again, navigate to the top bar and select script > encode video. Another window should pop up. Make sure you set ‘header’ to ‘Y4M’ then click ‘start’. Patiently wait for that to finish processing. The longer your clip is and the more filters you add, the longer it will take.

IMPORTING YOUR CLIP INTO PHOTOSHOP (PS)

Now you’re done with the vapoursynth section! Not too hard, right? I use the timeline method when I gif. To import your video file into ps navigate to file > import > video frames to layers. Here you can use the sliders to further specify what range you would like to import. Make sure the ‘make frame animation’ box is checked. To optimize smoothness of your gif, avoid checking the ‘limit to every _ frames’ box. Hit ‘OK’ and wait for the frames to import. Depending on the size of your clip, ps may notify you that you are importing a large file and it may take a long time to process, simply say ‘ok’ to this. UNLESS you get a message saying it will limit to 500 frames. This means your clips contained more than 500 frames and you should select a smaller section to avoid cutting out any critical parts. (Note: you can always go back and repeat this process to select a smaller range of frames from the same video clip until you’ve imported all the frames you need).

Timing: You can adjust the timing of your gifs before converting to timeline. Select all the frames (Navigate to the icon with the 4 bars at the bottom right of you screen. Select “select all frames”). Click the drop down next to the timing of any of the frames. Select ‘other’ and input a your preferred timing. I personally use ‘0.04′ but I've seen people use anywhere from 0.4-0.8ms. Also as a note: when you convert your gif to timeline it has a tendency to mess up your timing so even if you input 0.04 or 0.05 it won’t actually be that timing later. If you want the true frame rate you can set your timing right before saving. You can also adjust timing at the end. (see export/saving gif section for more info)

Now the next part can be tedious and for that reason I’ve created numerous actions to speed up this process. But for the sake of this tutorial I will walk you through the steps. At the bottom of your screen is your timeline. As you can see, it defaults to frames, but we want to convert this into a smart object so that all your coloring/edits are made to all of the layers. To do this: 1) Navigate to the icon with the 4 bars at the bottom right of you screen. Select “select all frames” 2) Now select all your layers in your layer panel. On mac you can use cmd + option + A as a shortcut. 3) Back to the icon with the 4 bars, select “convert to video timeline” 4) Right click on all layers (which should still all be selected) and find “convert to smart object”

(Aside: Actions) actions are SUPER helpful to streamlining your giffing process. you can find actions people have made available on resource blogs like itsphotoshop OR you can choose to make your own custom actions. To do this, all you need to do is locate your action panel. Then from the controls at the bottom of the panel select the one that looks like a sheet of paper to “create a new action” Once you’ve named it and hit ‘ok’ the record icon should now be red. PS will now basically ‘record’ whatever you do. To stop recording hit the square icon. Now whenever you want ps to execute the same set of steps you just did, you can locate the action you just made and ‘play’ it by selecting the triangle icon. I highly recommend making an action for the steps I just outlined above to convert your gif into a smart object timeline. It will make your process much faster and more painless.

COLORING

Now the fun part! I focus on emphasizing the colors already present in the video source or getting rid of some less-than desirable overtones when I color. It gives the gif a natural look, but makes everything pop a little more. We will be working with selective color, curves, levels, and brightness/contrast mostly. This is the original gif I will be using to demonstrate coloring:

Curves: I always start with curves. The first curve layer I use to set a desirable black point. To do this, locate the top dropper icon from the curves panel and select the darkest point of your image. This will set that section to “true black” Feel free to play around with this until you find a desirable outcome. Now add another curves layer. This one we will be using to adjust the brightness/contrast. First, I always start off with ‘auto’ and see where that takes me. If you like the outcome, great! If you don’t play around with the different curve points until you get an outcome you like.

Selective Color: This adjustment layer will be your best friend. For me, I will typically work with reds, yellows, and black. If the source has a lot of blue/cyan I will use those too. Basically look at your source and determine which base colors you’d like to emphasize/alter. For blacks I usually up the black by +1-5 depending on the source. For reds, it also depends on the source. But I will typically either decrease cyan (to make red stand out more) or increase cyan (to make the red not look so overexposed). You want to be careful here. Overexposing the red can make your skin tones look like red tomatoes! And for my content base, where most of the actors are of asian descent, we should be emphasizing the yellows and NOT the reds (see aside on color correction + skin tones for more info). After altering the reds to my liking, I do the same process for the yellows. To bring back natural skin tones and color, you will likely want to darken the yellows, expose them a bit more and maybe even up the yellow slider. A common rule of thumb: if you want to make any of the colors less exposed, increase the cyan. If you want to increase exposure on any of the colors, decrease the cyan. If you want a color to appear more strongly or prominently, increase the black. The magentas and yellows I use more to adjust hues. You can add multiple selective color layers to further emphasize your changes.

Levels: Now we will work on the lighting some more. This creates more contrast and depth to your gif, often making them look ‘crisper’ To emphasize the bright parts, move the right-hand slider to the left. The emphasize the dark parts, move the left-hand slider to the right. You may also choose to move the middle slider to adjust more neutral lighting. Do so until you find a setting to your liking.

Miscellaneous: Depending on your gif you may need to play with other adjustment layers. Some other ones I often use are the brightness/contrast and exposure to adjust lighting and add more dimension to the gif. For additional color correction I use color balance and to a lesser extent hue/saturation and vibrance.

(Aside: Color correction + skin tones): We are anti-whitewashing and anti-redwashing when it comes to asian media. Like I mentioned earlier, natural asian skin tones have yellow undertones, not red/pink. Therefore when you’re bringing in color you should be mindful of this delicate balance. Adding more red does NOT equal un-whiteashing. Be VERY careful how you balance the yellows with selective color/hues/color balance.

^^ Here is an example of what I mean by overexposing the reds. Poor seungho is looking as sunburnt as a cherry tomato. Note: if your original source is already overexposed with red, fix it! You can do this by applying the same basic principles I explained earlier. Try upping the cyan on the reds in selective color, or shifting the color balance to favor cyan over red with the color balance adjustment layer. You may also choose to favor the yellow over blue.

^^ Now this is straight-up whitewashing. This is what happens when you are not careful with your correction of yellow. I’m not saying you can’t touch the yellow slider or get rid of some yellow form the overall image (because sometimes it is very much needed), but you should be very mindful how your corrections can affect skin tones. If you decide to decrease saturation of yellows, or decrease yellow in the selective color section of the reds, do so with caution. If your reds are looking too pink, add some yellow in the red selective color, up the yellow and black of the yellow selective color.

^^ If you hit that happy medium, you can emphasize the natural skin tones without overexposure. Here the underlying tones are very much still in the yellow range.

(Aside: Blending): I will very briefly talk about how to blend two gifs together. First make sure you’ve imported both your gifs into ps and converted them into the timeline format. On one of the gifs, right click the gif layer in the layer panel > duplicate layer > select the canvas of the gif you’d like to blend the gif with. On the canvas you just copied your second gif to, you can now drag the two layers around the on the canvas to get your desired positioning. On the top gif apply a layer mask. This can be found in your layers panel at the bottom, and is indicated by the white rectangle with the circle. Next, make sure you select the mask in the layer panel (it will show up as a white rectangle on the layer you applied the mask). Grab your paintbrush tool and make sure your color is set to black. Now you can effectively ‘erase’ the part of the top gif you don’t want to show anymore. I recommend setting your brush hardness to 0% to get a smoother transition. You can also play with the opacity settings. If you want to add back in a part you erased, just switch to a white paintbrush and you will be able to undo what you had just ‘erased’ with the black. When you merge the gifs, they will play the same number of frames. This means your blended gif length is limited by the gif with the fewer number of frames. You can move around your timeline layer and shorten the included portion by dragging either end of the timeline layer in until you get both gifs to play the parts you want.

CAPTIONS/SUBTITLES

I often get asked about my subtitle font/styling settings. Personally I find the best fonts for subtitles are calibri and arial. I use calibri with the following settings: 12-14px, bold italic plus faux bold, 1px black stroke (optional: drop shadow set to ‘multiply’ at around 85% opacity), and tracking (VA) set to 75. If you would like your subtitles to fade-in or fade-out you can apply the ‘fade effect’. Locate the b/w square icon in your timeline panel. Select fade and drag it onto your text layer in your timeline. You can then right click on the wedge shape to adjust your fade duration. I usually use 0.35s. If you drag and drop the effect towards the beginning of your text you can get the fade-in effect. To get the fade-out, simply drag and drop your fade towards the end of your text layer.

SAVING/EXPORTING YOUR GIF

We’ve reached the final stretch! If you need to adjust your frame rate timing: you will need to revert your timeline to frames. To do this: 1) Navigate to the icon of 4 bars at the right of your timeline panel. Select convert frames > flatten frames into clips. 2) Navigate to the icon of 4 bars at the right of your timeline panel. Select convert frames > convert to frame animation > when promoted hit ’ok’. If at this point you see more than one frame in your timeline panel, delete the frames until only one is left. In the example below I would delete the first frame by hitting the trash icon from the timeline panel.

If there is only one frame, leave it as is. 3) Navigate to the icon of 4 bars at the right of your timeline panel. Select ‘make frames from layers’ You will most likely need to delete the first frame in your timeline panel (it won’t have your coloring). Sometimes ps adds in some ‘blank’ frames as well, delete those too. Now you can adjust your timing.

Once your timing is set: When you’re saving your gif, just keep in mind it must be under 10mb. Navigate to file > export > save for web. When it comes to your save settings I typically use either selective diffusion or adaptive diffusion. I also also occasionally use adaptive pattern (I find this is best for dark scenes without a lot of contrast). Set colors to 256, quality to bicubic and looping options to forever. If you want to preview your gif, hit the preview button in the bottom left. Otherwise, go ahead a hit ‘save’ and you’re DONE!

ADDITIONAL RESOURCES

Feel free to check out my ‘ps things’ tag for more photoshop stuff/mini tutorials. Additionally @/nibreon and the hackmd site I linked previously are your best resources for vs questions. If you would like to see my giffing process in motion feel free to check out this video. It’s sped up but you can slow down the playback. Additionally be sure to check out resource blogs like itsphotoshop for more helpful tutorials and resources.

If you reached the end of this beast, kudos to you! I hope this helps and never be afraid to reach out with any questions.

#gif tutorial #itsphotoshop #resources #kdramaedit #ps things #m:tut

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stylistiquements · 4 years ago

Text

The Sorcerer pt. 2

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated. {Playlist}

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝟮 : 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙪𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚

Being a friend is never an easy task, especially when the other person is no normal human being. When the realization reaches you it's accompanied by its own conclusions.

☾ Words : 4830.

☾ Warnings : angst, the tiniest bit of swearing (for once)

Masterlist | Previous | Next

The agitation of your eyes has fallen flat by now; Corpse had plenty of time to think -be obsessed- about it as days and night coagulated into nothing but an ultimate and meaningless node. Sleepless were the nights when he thought about you, considered what he could do to get back to you. The lack of sleep combined with the desperation and Corpse is pretty sure he wandered to every possibility he could think of before concluding that this new element wasn’t much progress. Less than 1% of global population have heterochromia, Corpse did the math. Somehow, it still isn’t enough to know where to look for.

He is just helpless. The wish is strong, unshakable and there’s always a point in those circumstances where the yearning turns into a new obsession.

When Corpse covers his face with a black mask, it’s an act of impulse disguised in a need to spare his own sanity. It doesn’t matter if it only makes sense to him, it’s too late to detach the thought of his brain. So, in one motion, the dark cloak waves in the air until it's secured on his shoulders. He slides the hood on his forehead. There’s really no need for Corpse to make it so ceremonial if not the responsibility he bears to carry on his body a tradition that has been lasting for centuries.

The light coming out of the sky is subdued to the right extent. The rain is delicately trickling on Corpse, turning the part of his fluffy hair that isn’t protected by the hood into damped and defined locks of curls that let droplets run on the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t mind, that’s the weather he deems to be the loveliest. It allows him to gather and sort his thoughts out. It’s his bond with the rain; as if it fueled him with enough electricity to keep going.

Corpse makes his way through the meadow. It’s not as bright as in his dreams, dipped into a light morning mist, but the place smells like fresh and humid grass. It’s intoxicating and comforting like an old memory trying to reemerge. His shoes are getting coated in mud, making every step a little tedious but he only realizes it when he comes face to face with his home and his feet are almost stuck to the ground.

By “home”, I mean what’s left of it. In that Corpse is barely able to guess the structure of it.

Fuck. How long has it been since those ruins stopped looking like his home? There’s really nothing left if not a few brick walls covered by nature that struggle to rise from the ground. Corpse wanders around, trying to remember where each room once stood in the remains. He can’t get much except for the two parts he sees when he sleeps; the kitchen made out of wooden walls and the living room he only saw once. There’s still so much left uncovered and the mystery will now keep on forever. His humble house probably witnessed a few wars in its lifetime. Corpse feels bitter just thinking about it; a home built by love and destroyed by hate.

Corpse should’ve known, he should’ve known better that what he saw in his sleep was nothing but the oniric personification of his expectations. Nothing more, maybe less. He was a fool for letting his delusions feel like reality. But there’s the intention to deny the facts when his hand brushes the air and let appear the chimera of what, to him, should’ve still been standing in front of him; the picture of his true home. A pale copy deprived of any warmth, yet still visual enough to bring some sense of easing.

Corpse’s phone vibrates in his pocket and by the time his hand reaches the device, the house is back to its miserable state.

“What do you think you’re doing right now?” Sykkuno asks and Corpse huffs, bitter smirk carved on his lips.

Sykkuno knows. In fact, he figured out that Corpse would be here when he told him about his previous dream. Sykkuno knew that Corpse would feel the need to lock himself inside the memories he couldn't even remember. It hurts, but maybe the pain would be fruitful and he would finally recollect what’s missing, one last attempt to make you seem realer. This is just how his brain works and Sykkuno is a little too aware of that.

Corpse isn’t sure of what he’s doing either anymore. He thought that it would help somehow, he could’ve almost convinced himself completely, but here he is standing in the middle of an overgrown mess he once called home. There’s nothing left in here. He understands it now by the expectation versus reality that stands in front of him.

“The answers you’re looking for aren’t here, stop torturing yourself,” Sykkuno says with a tone that is so sweet and compassionate it fills Corpse’s mouth with a melancholic taste.

But he’s wrong on one point; Corpse isn’t looking for answers, he’s looking for what questions to ask. There’s so many of them and he’s simply not sure what is important and what isn’t anymore.

“I know,” Corpse mutters.

“Go back to your place Corpse,” he murmurs softly. “This isn’t home anymore.”

So what is? Corpse spent a lifetime running away and another one trying to remember what home feels like. Maybe, if you really think about it, it’s no longer about you. Maybe Corpse just doesn’t know how to be anymore. If only it could have been written somewhere; what he’s supposed to do, how he’s supposed to feel … but there’s no guideline for that type of situation. There’s no guideline and there should be.

There’s a minute of pure robotic silence and heavy breathing. The rain is streaming down Corpse’s cloak, the cold getting closer and closer to his core.

“Alright,” he whispers numbly.

Maybe seeing this place one last time is similar enough to what closure is. Or at least that’s what Corpse hopes when he takes one last deep breath before leaving without ever looking back. What’s the point anyway?

“We’re all waiting for you, you know, so just go back to your place," Sykkuno says.

There’s really no reason for why you decided to narrate horror stories on youtube, nor to make of your appearance one of those many mysteries people love to speculate about. You wish there were something more, something meaningful, but it just stops at the fact that you’ve always felt drawn to horror and mysteries. A peculiar passion of some sort. Maybe, it shouldn’t have come as that much of a surprise when you became the secret bearer you are now. Could this be your official title? You wish it could. “Y/n the secret bearer” sounds pretty badass.

It was 5:55 when your eyes opened today, just like every day. The first merciless rays of the sun in a beautiful golden and pink hued sky rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. The morning air was raspy, landing on your skin to spread shivers on your bare arms. You could have buried your face in the pillow all you wanted, with a mind wandering wherever it felt like it, there was absolutely no way you’d fall back asleep.

Corpse Husband.

Now, your filled tub spreads steam on the tiles of the bathroom. Your hands scoop the water and pour the liquid on your shoulders to warm you up. It’s a little too warm, making your heart palpitate, but it’s embracing, light and easing your body until you’re completely comfortable. The smell of coffee hits your dozing nostrils with its strong scent. You enjoy the light music that waves through your ears and clear the morning fog out of your mind. The cup meets your lips and the liquid runs on your tongue. Spicy.

Your phone, flashing white light between your palms, is displaying none of the interesting information you’re looking for. Dream hasn’t shown any sign of life in a couple of days now. In fact, he hasn’t since he entrusted you with yet another secret he kept safe inside his pocket. Who knows how many others could be hidden in there. Probably too much for you to trust humankind ever again.

Corpse Husband.

You set the device aside and, on instinct, you close your eyes before immersing your head under water, letting it swallow you whole. You attempt to regulate the flow of thoughts that congests in your head. There’s this trick Dream taught you some time ago, a trick you could use to talk to him when he was gone and you needed him. He said it should remain for emergency purposes but maybe, if the number 5 case wasn’t enough for this audience to be necessary, checking on your missing friend would be. It should be.

The vibrations from reality get filtered, blurry, and you can feel your hair floating around your head. It’s light and heavy, your heart starts beating with more vigor. Your mind recognizes the place but your body can never get used to it; it’s the void, the nothingness, the dark. A mental place that belongs to you.

There’s nothing graphic about it and when you master it with enough precision, there’s no feeling attached to it either. That's why, for someone who is so used to experiencing material life, it took time to adjust. It’s more of a concept than it is a thing.

Dream’s name echoes a few time. Usually that’s when he appears, him and his white smiley mask. Yet, this time, you’re forced to open your eyes again and catch your breath before running out of oxygen.

Where could Dream be? That’s the inquiry that ping pongs inside your brain every once in a while when he disappears as he does, leaving additional questions to live rent-free in a place that is getting more and more cramped.

You bring your knees to your chest. Being friends with someone who isn’t even human, how are you supposed to do that? You sigh; there’s no guideline and there should be. How are you supposed to handle the idea that there’s always a profuse chance that Dream might never come back? A chance, or an important possibility.

The concept of Dream’s existence seems so easy to dismantle, so fragile for someone who’s supposed to live forever. The idea leaves you powerless, a little helpless.

He never dares to explain what happens when he ventures on foreign lands -to which the purpose remains a secret- and never considered answering any of the questions that used to burn your tongue so ardently.

At first, he had that serious tone in his voice, the bad kind of serious when he’d repeat “that’s not something a human should know”. Now he just laughs it off, probably thinking that joking would make the rejection easier. It’s not unusual that you even forget to ask or find yourself afraid Dream might start filling the gaps with answers. If you truly let it, the thought would penetrate inside your body and run through your veins to get you high on fear and worries.

Corpse Husband.

Maybe that’s why being friends with Corpse, knowing who he really is, doesn’t seem like that much of a good idea anymore. Could you really dread another loss? No, obviously, you can't.

At the request of a nervous Sykkuno, the amigops were reunited to play a round of self-indulgent uno before an upcoming livestream. It was like a secret reunion but, honestly, it's more of an excuse to clear some time off of their schedule and spend time together, just the 4 of them.

Corpse really doesn’t get why he accepted to play in the first place, believing that he would neither be a good partner nor of a good company in terms of conversation. But he felt like his friends needed him and how could he ever say no? He was rather wrong when he underestimated the assets of normal human interactions. But it’s good; it means he’s still able to think, it means he survived.

“Did Dream text you back?” Sykkuno wonders, high tone that lets Corpse know he hesitated before asking. When Corpse chooses to remain silent and play a card instead, Sykkuno senses the answer is nothing positive.

“Is this something we should be aware of?” Toast questions while drawing 2 cards.

“Not sure,” Corpse mutters, eyebrows frowning and eyes squinting on Sykkuno’s deck, trying to elaborate a strategy. Him and his teammate are so close to winning Corpse knows for sure they won’t. “Let’s say someone knows something they shouldn’t and it’s bothering me.”

“Can we stop playing riddle for a second?” Rae asks. “This is a little too cryptic for me.”

“Someone knows that Corpse is a sorcerer because Dream snitched,” Sykkuno informs as he readjusts his position on his seat and clears his throat.

Corpse lets a satisfied hum escape his lips, Sykkuno followed the plan accordingly when he played the card he wanted him to. Corpse has visibly no intention to focus on that conversation.

The truth is Corpse felt safe for a moment, knowing that you were aware of whom he truly is but, after processing the information you let him on, he concluded that he didn’t like that idea one bit. The fact that a human has more or less the concept of his existence between their fingers leaves him with a nasty taste of anticipation.

You could absolutely fuck things up for him and, knowing you, Corpse is aware he doesn’t have much time left before you start taunting him with his own nature. Trust is a long journey, especially for someone who has been betrayed for longer than a lifetime.

Maybe he should talk about it, express his fears and let you know how damaging, devastating it could be to his life. He wishes he could, he really does but there’s this sense of sorcerer pride that barely hangs above his head like a sword of Damocles and it feels like exposing his untamed emotions would be the final cut before that sword slices his ego to dust.

“Why would Dream snitch in the first place?” Rae’s voice gets more robust; considering Corpse as one of her protegees has never been an easy task and it shows. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Corpse mumbles. “I thought I knew but I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Maybe you should invite them to play with us sometimes. It’s better to keep an eye on them, right?” Toast intervenes.

“Uno!” Rae cheers without a warning, Sykkuno and Corpse exhale in unison. They both knew it would end up this way but it doesn’t revoke the slight frustration of only having 2 cards left in Corpse’s virtual hand.

“You’re talking about them as if they were an enemy but I think they’re rather a friend,” Sykkuno notes as he throws a +4 on the pile.

Funny what an odd timing can do. Corpse’s phone lights up near the candle. It’s showing a curious notification he could’ve never been able to anticipate, especially coming from you; [I’m still thinking about you] and Corpse’s heart hurts just a little while his breath gets caught up in his throat. His eyes flicker for a moment before he realizes what you really mean by that. He clears his throat.

“Acquaintance,” Corpse corrects. He knows his teammate is silently rolling his eyes and shaking his head in disapprobation. He should’ve probably kept his mouth shut, he realizes it now. Here we go again.

“Everyone is acquaintance to you, Corpse” Rae grumbles, getting ahead of Sykkuno’s thoughts with a tone that lets transpire the lightest glimpse of irritation.

“Not true,” he fights back. “You guys are my friends.”

Sykkuno makes this aww noise, heart getting a little softened by the confession he only half believes in.

[What are you gonna do about that?] He types.

“Nice catch, buddy,” Toast smirks. Corpse doesn’t know if he is referring to him slightly changing the subject or to him throwing a +2 on another +2 but there’s a beginning of a smile on his lips when he realizes he succeeded with setting a diversion for both of the issues he found himself dipped in.

[I don’t know, thought you were supposed to take care of it,] you reply.

[Don’t you like thinking about me all day long?] He adds with a sly smile.

[I’m not answering that question.]

[Yeah I wouldn’t like it either.]

He debates for a second. An idea bloomed in his mind a few days ago but he isn’t sure if he should let it out just yet. Why not? Corpse doesn’t know himself. Maybe that’s what he is trying to find out but he eventually has to give up. He has to because you won’t.

[There’s this spell you can use. It’s very easy and human friendly, you should try it.]

[You could’ve started with that a week ago,] you answer.

Corpse doesn’t respond, just huffs. He’s waiting, eyes fixed on the bright screen until his vision turns blurry, witnessing the three dots indicating that you’re typing appear and fade away a few times. Say it. He’s waiting and-

“Well, I wanna meet someone whom I’m gonna hear a lot about,” Rae says while drawing the 4 cards without even noticing.

“No one said you’re gonna hear more than that, ‘Raerae’,” Corpse scoffs, chuckling to mask the slight annoyance this conversation provides. “There’s nothing more to say.”

His eyes are back on the phone now. The dots disappeared for good this time. Somehow, Corpse is still waiting, feet wiggling under his chair as his fingers wrap with more confidence on the device in the palm of his hand. Just say it.

“You’re such a bad liar,” Sykkuno sighs.

“You know what? You should invite them to play uno on the next stream. I’ll leave my spot just to watch that.” Toast deviously adds to which Rae silently agrees.

No you wouldn’t. There’s a curious silence when Corpse chooses to let the words fade in his mouth and the conversation dries down. Toast’s pixelated hand gets filled with more and more cards which forces him to sigh heavily in frustration.

“This conversation is getting annoying,” Corpse mumbles under his breath.

[Fine, just tell me what to do,] you finally type and, somehow, it feels like you were knocked out of your own game.

When Dream finally finds his way back home, he lets his body sink into a chair in front of the fireplace, eyes closed and exhausted limbs that can barely move. The moon is taking its reign in a sky that looks like mixed feelings; half still awake, half already asleep.

The silence rings into his empty mind as he exhales. Being home after traveling for so long always brings a special sense of solace, a sense of belonging. He raises a finger and fire starts consuming the logs of wood in the fireplace. The heat, slowly easing the tension in his muscles.

Silence, it’s probably what causes the faint creak of his wooden floor to be so distinct. Dream’s first instinct is panic, they found him, his alerted eyes scan the empty room. There’s nothing but himself, the faint reflection of his shadows and the stone that the walls are made of. He likes the stone, it carries so much energy with it, but right now it sends awful shivers down his spine. Dream debates whether he should get up to investigate or not but fear already forbids it.

He finally meets an habitual energy and his breath cools down his burning lungs.

“What are you doing here, George?” He exhales deeply.

George reveals himself with an unabashed look on his face which, in itself, surprises Dream more than the fact that he’s standing here, in his home, unannounced. Dream pictured a clear sense of guilt on the way George would’ve appeared, eyes that would try to run away. However, George leans tall against the door frame, arm crossed against his chest. He looks almost as worn out as Dream is but there’s something on his face that unveils another type of fatigue. He doesn’t like that one bit. Not for himself, even less for George.

“I’m tired of you leaving for days, weeks, without informing me,” George says and it’s as cold as the expression that freezes the emotions out of his eyes.

Dream tries not to open his mouth before being sure of what the appropriate answer is. The silence is heavy and unsolicited, charged with the things that can’t be put into words. He tries his hardest to keep the confidence he always wears as a protection but it’s so hard when George comes into the equation, especially when the situation is accompanied by regrets.

“So that’s why you came all the way to Florida?” Dream scoffs. Right now, sarcasm is the only thing he can afford. He thought George would be the one trying to run away from the confrontation, but he’s the only one trying to cut down the conversation. He wishes he didn’t have to take that path, it’s nothing George deserves.

“Don’t make it sound like it’s not enough of a reason.” George sighs.

Dream avoids the eye contact by locking his gaze on the flames that are dancing in front of him. The stone is cold, too cold for the fire to provide enough warmth to counter it. The truth is far hidden in a complexity that can never be untangled.

“So where were you this time?” George continues, getting closer to his friend until he seats next to him. It feels like he shouldn’t, Dream wishes he didn’t.

“In Italy.” He tries not to wince by pinching his lips together when he realizes lying would have been a far better tactic to spare his companion.

George's hand reaches his head. It’s almost a desperate attempt to find a reasoning. Dream watches from the corner of his eyes the tortured mind that tries to make everything make sense in a puzzle that’s missing a few pieces.

“In Italy.” George repeats, raising a brow that makes his eyes more rounded. The fire intensifies in the chimney. It lurches dangerously. George’s tone gets more ardent. It’s still calm, as you would expect from George, but it’s loaded with resentments. “So you preferred traveling to my continent instead of asking me?”

George is waiting for an answer, eyes that won’t quiver away from the sorcerer. I just want to protect you are the words stuck on Dream’s tongue. Instead of letting them die in the air, he watches the flames that keep getting stronger and stronger. He wonders if the whole place is about to catch on fire. It would almost be fine, the words are more violent than the flames; too brutally accurate, too much of a revelation.

“I actually can't believe you right now,” George adds while shaking his head. There’s really nothing Dream can do about it. He lets the silence carry the message.

When George speaks again, his voice is back to its normal calmness.

“You’re making me one very useless familiar Clay, are you aware of that?”

He knows how to use Dream’s name as a weapon and it chimes in his brain so loudly it’s close to unbearable. But Dreams is oh too fucking aware of it. His cheeks are flushing with a glimpse of shame. Nothing bad must ever happen to George. That's why George role as a familiar is so complex. How is he even supposed to express that? Words are too far from reality, never precise enough. There’s no guideline for how to act when you want to protect someone so badly. There should be.

“I know,” he simply mutters because there’s nothing more to say. “I’m sorry.”

The fire is back to a more steady state. It crackles, pops lightly and George opens his hands to suck the warmth in his palm before rubbing them together. He doesn’t look that angry under the dull light. His dark hair are sweetly ruffled and his eyes are as soft as they’ve always been.

“Y/n has been looking for you too,” George says. “They’re worried too.”

“I know. It’s for them that I’ve been gone,” Dream explains.

“Yeah?” George hums and Dream follows the song. It seems like it was enough of an explanation for George to put his attention back on him.

“I’ve been looking for this book I talked to you about and it happened to be in Italy.” Dream says, pointing at the book that is laying on the kitchen table.

“Why would it be in Italy,” George asks as his brows furrow and he leans his head on the side.

“I don’t really know but it’s so old it probably visited a lot of places before,” Dream exhales.

“What were the chances for you to actually find it?” George questions.

“Very few, I guess I’ve been very lucky,” Dream answers while detailing the book from afar.

George gets up, his steps aren't as sure as they were a couple of minutes ago, creaking on his way. His fingers wrap carefully around the book and he describes it. It looks practically untouched considering how old it is. Its previous owners must have kept it with great care. The emerald colored cover isn’t displaying any title and when George finally opens it, the golden pages are adorned with rounds and organic letters; it was handwritten.

“You’re never lucky, Dream. It’s never luck with you,” George says as he lightly shakes his head.

“Well, believe me on that one; it was pure luck.”

It’s not something you would have expected to do in your life, yet you take this spell in an almost solemn way. The room is dark, only illuminated by candles you placed in corners of the room. The obscurity is almost reassuring that you’re doing this with enough respect for the sorcerer.

You drew a circle of sea salt and lit up some incent. The smell is strong, not far from heady. You placed two candles inside the circle; a black one in which you carved Corpse’s name and a white one in which you carved your own. Now, all you had to do was tie the two candles together with a string that would represent your bond and light the two candles until the tie would come undone, until this connection would come undone. Consumed by the fire.

That’s what Corpse said. It feels a little bitter for some reason but since nothing seems to be making any sort of sense, maybe it’s time to just let it go.

So, as the string curls around you and Corpse, you set your intention; I wish for my mind to know peace again. I wish for my mind to be spared of Corpse’s name. I wish for our sense deprived bind to stop being. You light up the two candle and patiently wait for the string to burn away.

The flames are captivating your attention. They are strong, almost unnaturally tall but mesmerizing as they melt down the wax and shrink the candle in size.

"Goodbye, Mr Sorcerer," you whisper.

The moment lasts so long you have no idea how long just passed. Yet your gaze misses none of the spectacle. A glimpse of confusion crosses your face when the two flames are close enough to set the string on fire but can’t seem to actually do it. You brush it off until the flames are about to go out and the string is still spared. It won’t burn down. The curiosity gets validated when the remaining wax no longer provides any source of light. It’s done, or at least it should have been. So why is the bond still intact?

☾ A/N : So last chapter I said the next ones wouldn't be angsty but??? guess I kinda lied?? This wasn't the chapter I planned on writing at all (realized that 3k deep into what I was writing lol) but I thought we needed a bit of magic before moving on. Also I feel like I should mention that the spell is a real one and that you shouldn't do it until you understand the consequences of it. 💘DNF💘 now that we got this out of the way,, don't you feel like familiar Gogy and familiar Sykkuno are giving off the same energy?? idk I'm just too invested now but I'm excited to know what you thought of it anyway! Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* : dm me or ask me to get tagged :

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quickspinner · 3 years ago

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Oops - Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

Summary: A little too much alcohol, a drunken hookup, it happens all the time, right? Marinette didn't mean to drink so much, and she didn't mean to wake up in a stranger's bed, but she did, and now this morning isn't going at all the way she expected. When Luka asks to see her again, she can't think of a good reason to say no...and the one night she never meant to have turns out to be the beginning of something she never could have anticipated.

Alya thinks its hysterical--only Marinette could take home a one night stand and end up with a date. But when the one night stand turns into a series of hookups, Alya's starting to get concerned. Clearly it's up to her to rein Marinette in before the girl gets seriously hurt.

Rating: M - this is a little spicier than my usual fare but not really explicit? There’s a lot of off screen sex and reference to sexy things and adult activities, some drinking (obviously), cursing/foul language.

Credit to my tumblr followers for this one, because one day I went "hey, you guys want to see some bits from the folder of fics I'm never going to finish?" and one of the bits I posted was the beginning of this story, and people liked it more than I was expecting, and then it was "well, you know, I did think about doing blahblah" and "I'd sure love to see that!" and the next thing you know I've added five thousand words with no sign of stopping. In Marinette’s words: Oops. So, with much love to my followers and readers across platforms, here's the fic I never intended to finish, and I hope you enjoy it!

I'm splitting it into two chapters but they'll both be uploaded within a few minutes, so if you finish the first part and the second one isn't posted yet, just wait a little and try back. Also, much love to @livrever for talking me down off the ledge and beta reading this one.

Marinette woke up with a mouth that felt like cotton and a pounding headache. She groaned, and pressed her face into the pillow. It...smelled funny. Not bad, just...not like home.

Oh. Because she hadn’t gone home last night. At least, not to her home.

“Are you shitting me right now?”

Marinette jumped, and sat up, clutching the sheets to her still-naked body. Her head reeled and she whimpered as she pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. The door to the bedroom was cracked and she could see a sliver of light beyond it that blinked in and out. It seemed her...friend, was pacing in the other room, and from the sound of it, he wasn’t very happy.

“—crosses a line, Jean. What? No, that’s not the point, Jean, you got me hammered without my consent! How can you not see the problem here? No, you know what, my head is killing me and I’m sick of yelling at you, obviously this can’t be fixed. As of right now, we are no longer friends. Don’t call me, don’t talk to me, if you see me coming just walk the other way. I’m done with you.”

There was a thump and a sigh and an emphatic “Fuck.”

Marinette just sat there, holding the sheet over her chest, and blinked, trying to figure out what she should do and think through the fog in her brain. She didn’t exactly have a whole lot of experience in these situations. Was she supposed to just…

Before she could form any ideas, he came in with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers. He had a pair of tattered but well-fitting jeans on with patterned boxers peeking out from the waistband, but no shirt, and there was a lot of muscle and bare skin on display and oh God he had sex hair, and it was her hands that had done it. Marinette swallowed and twisted her fingers tighter in the sheets, suddenly feeling a bit lightheaded.

“Hi,” he said gently. “I’m Luka, in case you don’t remember. Sorry if I woke you. How are you feeling? I mean, hung over, obviously, but on a scale of just let me die to I might conceivably want to live to tomorrow …” He gave her a smile that perhaps wasn’t entirely confident, and Marinette couldn’t help a small smile back.

“I think I’m not quite up to dancing to the metal band playing in my head, but pretty far from oh God where’s the bathroom, so I’ll take it, all things considered.” She took the glass of water he offered and he opened the aspirin bottle and shook a couple out into her palm. That was sweet, she thought. At least he wasn’t just tossing her clothes at her and kicking her out. How could she have let herself end up in a position like this?

Luka sat on the edge of the bed and watched her take the pills. “Man, you’re really gorgeous. I thought at least some of it would be the booze, but—“ He looked away, clearing his throat. “Lucky me.”

Marinette’s face burned. “Thanks,” she said softly, not sure what else to say. At least he was nice, she thought. At least she hadn’t slept with a jerk. And he’d certainly been...considerate. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t enjoyed herself, just...

“How much do you remember about last night?” he asked. His voice was rough, but he kept it soft. “I’m sorry for asking but I was way more drunk last night than I ever let myself get and I don’t think I blacked out but some things are...spotty.”

“Most of it, I think,” Marinette flashed him an embarrassed smile. “The good parts for sure. The details and...transitions, I guess, are a little hazy. I don’t remember how we got here from the club, for example.”

“But you remember being here, with me.” His eyes fell to her neck and shoulders and he winced. “Man I really marked you up, I’m sorry. I hope that’s not going to get you in trouble.” His eyes widened slightly. “Please tell me you aren’t married.”

“No,” she yelped. “No, I’m not married. Totally single.” She put her face in her hand. “Absolutely, devastatingly, recently single.”

Luka let out a sigh of relief and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Bad breakup?”

She sighed. “Very. Bad breakup, bad best friend applying bad breakup logic that lands me my very first one night stand. Yay me.”

“Um, I’m honored?” Luka grinned sheepishly. “Although, I mean...it doesn’t have to be. Just the one night, I mean. Not that—” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Even as drunk as I was, I know I had a lot of fun last night.” He rubbed his hand through his hair. “And even before I got too drunk to function I wanted to get your number.” He rolled his eyes. “Apparently one of my so-called friends decided I needed a little extra liquid courage.”

“I wish I had an excuse,” Marinette muttered, shoulders curling inward. “I just...didn’t want to be sad anymore.” She frowned as what he’d said and the conversation she’d overheard connected in her brain. “Are you...okay?”

“I’m pissed off,” Luka huffed, and then smiled again. “But I’m fine. I didn’t do— much I wouldn’t have done anyway. Just, not necessarily in that order, or that soon. As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m...not sure,” Marinette sighed, adjusting her grip on the sheet she held to her chest. “I don’t know how I feel. I definitely did some things I wouldn’t have done sober. You, specifically,” she joked weakly. “Not that you aren’t—not that I didn’t—“

“I get it,” he chuckled.

“But...I’m on birth control, and…” she turned and craned her neck to look at the spilled box and empty wrappers on the nightstand. “We used protection, and…” she looked at Luka, worrying her lip.

“I’m clean,” he supplied.

“Me too,” she whispered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “And you’re hot and you seem nice and it’s not like it didn’t feel good, and I definitely wasn’t sad for a while, so…” She shrugged. “I’m a little embarrassed but...I think I’m okay too.”

“Well, no need to be embarrassed with me,” Luka grinned. “I’m definitely not judging.”

They sat smiling at each other for a moment, and then Luka seemed to remember something, because he winced. “Umm...about your dress,” he coughed. “I am so, so sorry but it seems drunk me was kinda impatient and your dress is in pieces on my living room floor.”

Marinette just blinked at him for a moment...and then she started to laugh. Luka grinned, and then started to chuckle along with her. She laughed harder and grabbed her head. “Ow, ow, oh my God.” Without thinking she leaned forward to drop her head on Luka’s shoulder.

He stiffened up for a second, but then relaxed, and one of his hands slipped into her hair. His fingers began to rub in small circles.

“Mmm, that’s good,” she sighed, and felt Luka’s chuckle.

“Well that sounds familiar,” he said, his voice going a little deeper. Marinette shivered. She felt him swallow, and his face dipped slightly towards her. “I like your perfume,” he said, and had to clear his throat again. Marinette’s face warmed.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. His fingers continued to rub her aching head, and the pain actually seemed to be receding a bit, though whether from the massage or the painkillers he’d given her, she wasn’t sure.

She should sit up. He was a stranger, after all, and just because they’d—she wasn’t exactly experienced at this kind of thing but this wasn’t really fitting in with what she imagined a morning after to be like. She probably looked weird, leaning on him like...like they were a couple or something, and—

Luka’s hands shifted and began to comb gently, slowly through her hair, and Marinette let out a small moan. She felt his breath hitch and bit her lip, embarrassed. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“What for?” he asked, but there was a rough edge to his voice that—she was being silly though, he’d performed last night, and then they’d done all that drinking, and...and those other things, and it was no wonder if his voice was—

That voice was doing things to her, though, and reminding her of—things, and this time it was her breath that caught as the fingers that had been moving through her hair kept going down this time, sliding along her spine, raising goosebumps and reminding her that she was still very much naked.

“Do you, um,” Luka began, in the exact same deep tones that had made her leave the club with him last night. “Do you have anywhere you need to be right now?”

His fingers stilled, resting at the small of her back, and Marinette couldn’t see his face since hers was still buried in his shoulder. It was hard to think when he was so warm, and her nose was brushing his collarbone, and she’d hardly have to move to press her lips against his smooth skin.

She barely knew him. But...well...that hadn’t stopped her last night, so...

Marinette took a deep breath, and lifted her head, sitting back slightly to look at him. His breathing was steady as he looked back at her, almost too steady, but his eyes were dark.

“No,” she managed, barely above a whisper.

Luka’s hands moved up her back to trail up and down her arms. “Then, do you want to stay for a while longer?” They were swaying towards each other. “Maybe…” They were kissing before he could finish the thought. Marinette put her arms around his neck automatically, but as his arms went around her, pulling her closer, she dropped her hands back down again to rub over his broad, firm shoulders.

“Again?” he managed to get out between the fevered kisses, and Marinette made an affirmative noise, but he didn’t move until she broke away long enough to gasp, “Yes.”

He was pulling away the sheet between them even as he wrapped one arm around her and dragged her more fully onto the bed, settling her below him with surprising gentleness. Okay, that was hot, Marinette decided, burying her fingers in his already-messy hair as he began retracing the path he’d marked along her neck last night. Last night had been a really, really stupid decision, but this? As he pulled back to look at her, eyes clear and sharp instead of the hazy, unfocused gaze he’d had the night before, and brushed her hair tenderly back from her face before kissing her again, softly, and then deeply, Marinette began to feel that this morning was by far the best decision she’d made in a long time.

***

He should get up, Luka thought hazily, listening to his shower running. He should at least put his boxers back on or something. Change the sheets. Make some coffee. Something.

Instead he lay there, limp and relaxed, listening to the shower, and trying to hold on to this feeling of languid contentment.

God, he felt so good. Marinette was an amazing partner, sweet and so responsive, practically melting under his touch, firm and toned but soft in all the right places, and her little gasps and hums drove him crazy. She was bolder than he expected, an amazing kisser even drunk off her ass last night, and her mouth was so pretty and soft, and this morning...his body hummed with echoes of pleasure as he thought about it.

He rolled over, hugging his pillow, and grinned. He could still smell her perfume. That scent was engraved in his mind; it was one of the things that was clearest to him from the jumbled mix of memories of the night before. Luka remembered dancing with Marinette, dropping his head to hear something she was saying, and inhaling that scent, vivid despite the riot of smells that permeated the dance floor. He remembered being surrounded by it in the blur that was the cab ride home. He remembered gasping it in on the living room floor...did they fall? He thought he remembered one of them tripping over the doorstep. Even just now, with all his senses full of her, he had found traces of it on her skin, at her jaw and right behind her ear.

Luka shivered, buried his face in the pillow, and breathed deep.

He’d played a killer set last night, he’d gone home with a beautiful woman who was great in bed, had somehow managed not to humiliate himself despite his spiked drinks, and he had nowhere to be today. This morning would be perfect if he wasn’t dead certain that Marinette was going to leave and he would never see her again.

He really wanted to see her again.

Which was why he hadn’t wanted things to happen this way, damn it. He sighed, this time burying his face in the pillow to muffle his groan. He was supposed to flirt with her, get her number, ask her out, think with his brain and not his—hormones.

He was still going to kill his so-called friend. There was no justifying what Jean had done. If Victor had been working it never would have happened, but he’d called out for the night and apparently whoever had replaced him had been more than happy to make sure Luka’s drinks were stronger than advertised.

Bastards, both of them.

Even if it hadn’t turned out too badly.

Rock Giant blared out from his nightstand, and Luka flopped on his back and grabbed for his phone, forcing his eyes open as he answered it. “Hello?” he grumbled.

Silence. Luka frowned, and opened his mouth, but the person on the other end finally said, “I’m looking for Marinette.”

What? Luka frowned, and then pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it. It was pink.

Right. Because he’d found Marinette’s dead phone on the floor this morning when he got up, and he’d picked it up and set it in his charger, while he took his own to the living room to call and yell at Jean. Then he’d hurled his phone into the couch and left it there.

Shit.

“Ah,” he said, reaching up with his other hand to run his fingers through his hair. “She’s, um, in the shower. I can tell her to call you when she gets out.”

“Tell her to call Alya. If I don’t hear from her in fifteen minutes, I’m calling the police,” the girl on the other end of the line said coldly, and then hung up.

“Oops,” Luka muttered, setting Marinette’s phone back on the nightstand with a sigh. He hoped she wouldn’t be too mad at him. He probably should have come up with a more ambiguous excuse, something she could use for a cover if she didn’t want to admit to this Alya person that she’d gone home with a guy, but he wasn’t exactly thinking on his feet this morning.

He should get up. He sat up with a groan and swung his legs over to sit on the edge of the bed, scrubbing his hands over his face.

He registered that the shower was no longer running at about the same time that the door opened. Luka looked up and his jaw dropped as Marinette shuffled shyly into the room.

Shit, he’d seen her naked less than an hour ago, why was he still blushing? She was wearing two of his shirts, a t-shirt with one of his button-ups over it, open at the front and with the sleeves rolled up, cinched at her waist with her scarf from the night before. He couldn’t look away from that scarf for a moment, a pink, gauzy thing the sight of which brought Luka another vivid memory of pressing his face against her neck to inhale her perfume as he untied it. His eyes flicked up to the lovely pattern of bruises along her neck.

“Thanks for letting me raid your closet,” Marinette said, tugging slightly at the hem of his shirt. She had what looked like a pair of his black bike shorts on underneath. They were too big for her but damn did her legs look good anyway.

“No problem,” he coughed, and cleared his throat, reaching for the glass of water that was still sitting on his nightstand. Ugh, when did he become such a horn dog, drooling like this over a woman who had already more than satisfied him. Why did Jean have to decide to be a jerk last night, of all nights. Luka didn’t want things to end like this.

“Well, I should...If you maybe have a bag I can put my dress in? Then I can just go and get out of your hair.” Marinette couldn’t seem to be still, feet shuffling, hands fluttering, not looking at him.

I have to fix this, was the only thing he could think as he stared at her. I’ll regret it forever if she just walks out.

“Actually,” Luka said quickly, trying desperately not to sound too desperate, “I was going to ask if I could buy you breakfast.”

That stilled her. She froze, staring at him, and he forced himself to go on. “No pressure,” he shrugged, “But the café on the corner has a great all-day brunch menu. And I’d like to make it up to you, about the dress.” He grinned sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. Marinette’s eyes followed the motion and he thought he saw pink tint her cheeks. Well, at least it wasn’t just him. “Breakfast probably doesn’t begin to cover it, but it’s a start. If you don’t mind waiting for me to shower.”

Marinette was shuffling again. “O-okay,” she said. “I’ll, um...I’ll wait for you in the other room?”

Luka chuckled. “Sure.” He waited a moment, but when she just stood there, he tossed aside the sheet covering his lap and stood. “I’ll be quick,” he told her with a grin that he was extremely sure she didn’t see. She squeaked as he passed her and he had to smother his laughter, even as he closed the bathroom door behind him. She was too cute, and her ogling made him feel less like a creep for his own.

Then he cursed and opened the door again, leaning just his upper half out. “Oh, I need to tell you, you need to call, um, Alya? I’m really sorry, but we have the same ringtone and I answered without thinking. Can you call her back before she sends the cops after me? I can’t deal with Officer Roger this early in the morning.”

Marinette paused, and then let out a strangled laugh, dropping her head into her hand. “Yeah,” she sighed, but she was smiling when she looked up at him. “Sure, I can do that.”

Luka smiled back. “I'll only be a few minutes.”

He did want to be quick, but he also wanted to be clean and attractive, so he throttled back his impatience as best he could to make sure that he both smelled and looked good. The bedroom was still empty when he came in, but the door wasn’t shut all the way and he could hear Marinette on the phone. He felt a little guilty for eavesdropping, but it wasn’t as if he could help it.

“—about that but it’s not like I ditched you on purpose. Well obviously I was wasted, Alya, so I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. No, I’m really fine. I’m kind of embarrassed and I feel really stupid, but...it turned out okay. Hmm? No, he’s really sweet and considerate. He’s, um, buying me breakfast, so…what? No, Alya, I’m not stupid, I know that. He’s just being nice and—okay that is none of your business! ” There was a giggle that followed that, and then her voice dropped too quiet for him to hear, and another giggle, one that made him smile from the sheer joy evident in it. “I guess I got lucky in more ways than one.” She sighed. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about me. I really am fine. Not even sick, much. I mean I had a headache for a while, but...” She giggled again. “Luka took care of it. Mm-hmm, so good, Alya, oh my God.” Luka grinned to himself as he dug in his closet to find the stack of leftover merch he had crammed into the back corner. “Nuh uh, also none of your business. Anyway, I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere, and I’ll text you when I’m on my way back, okay?”

Stop being a smug bastard , Luka told himself, but it wasn’t working very well. Given the state she had reduced him to, it was gratifying to know she’d enjoyed herself too. Well, he had known that, he’d made sure of it, but it still felt good to hear it from her. Maybe his odds were better than he thought. He found what he was looking for and tried to turn his smirk into something less incriminating before he opened his door and emerged into the living room. From the way Marinette’s face turned red, he failed. “I really gotta go,” she mumbled into the phone, eyes on him. “Bye, Alya.”

“I hope this will do,” Luka said, offering her the cheap mesh tote with his band logo on it. “You can keep it, we use them to bag up merch when people by t-shirts and stuff for the band...I hope it’s…”

“It’s fine,” Marinette smiled, taking the bag. The pieces of her dress were already neatly folded on the couch, and she turned away from him to put them in the bag.

“I’m really sorry about that,” Luka told her, frowning a little. “I’m...not usually like that.”

“It’s okay,” Marinette sighed. “It was kind of flimsy, with just those straps to hold the pieces together. I’m not usually like this…” she gestured with one of the folded pieces, “either. I’m not, you know, sexy like that. I made it because I thought...well, I thought he would like it, and maybe I could wear it for a special occasion at home, but I never meant to wear it out , and then when everything happened, I thought I’d never wear it at all, but then Alya insisted that I had to wear it at least once and…” She shrugged, and slipped the handles of the tote over her arm, smiling up at him. “I’m just as happy to have an excuse not to wear it again.”

“Well, you looked amazing in it,” Luka told her, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But I have to disagree with you about not usually being sexy. My clothes have never looked so hot.”

She tried to hide how much she enjoyed the compliment, but couldn’t quite manage it, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She’d had a breakup, he remembered, and probably wasn’t feeling too good about herself when she walked into that bar last night, dressed to the nines, and started knocking back drinks.

Then her blue eyes flicked up to give him a look through her lashes. “I find that hard to believe,” she murmured, and then blushed.

Oh he was gone. Luka found himself reaching for her, but stopped his hand before it touched her cheek. “Can I kiss you, Marinette?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Now, you’re asking?”

“Yes, I’m asking,” Luka replied, amused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Marinette’s eyes darted to his mouth, and then back towards the bedroom. “I don’t, um...think I can…”

Luka chuckled. “Thanks for your opinion of my stamina, but frankly, me either. I’d be more than willing if I could, but, right here right now? I just really want to kiss you.”

“Why?” Marinette blurted, and then covered her mouth. Luka blinked, but before he could come up with any kind of answer, Marinette straightened and squared her shoulders. “Look,” she said briskly. “I’m sorry, I just...I’ve never done this before, and I don’t know what...I don’t know what the rules are? The...etiquette, or whatever...I mean I kind of thought once we were done with…” Her eyes shifted towards his bedroom again. “I thought it was just, over? And I would go home? So I’m...I guess I’m confused. About why you’re still...um...breakfast and kissing and all that, it just…why would you still want that, after you—I mean we—aren’t we, you know…” She floundered.

“Okay, hold on,” Luka raised his hands placatingly. “Relax, Marinette. That was kind of a lot to take in.” Luka chuckled, and looked away for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “I’m not gonna say I’ve never done this before, but...listen, I don’t have a playbook. This isn’t...a business transaction, or whatever. I just do what feels good. Dancing with you felt good. Kissing you felt good. Everything we did after felt good. This morning felt really good.” Marinette blushed, a smile tugging at her lips. “I just feel good with you. I don’t see any reason to put a time limit on that, just because we’re, um. Worn out.” They both giggled self-consciously, and Luka reached for Marinette’s hand, cradling it in his. “If you want to go, or you need to be somewhere, or if you’re just tired of kissing me—”

“I don’t,” Marinette said quickly, taking a half step forward. “I’m...not.” Luka smiled.

“Then just do what feels g—”

She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, dropping the bag on the floor. Luka’s hands found her hips automatically, steadying them both from her hasty move, and the kiss softened as they both relaxed into it.

“You’re right,” Marinette breathed, sending a shiver up his spine. “It does feel good.”

Luka kissed her again softly, savoring the soft plumpness of her lower lip between his, and rested his forehead against hers. “I could kiss you all day,” he rumbled, and cleared his throat. “But fainting from hunger probably wouldn’t feel so good, so. We should probably go.”

“Okay,” Marinette said, and then bit the lip he’d just been enjoying. “But maybe we could...keep doing what feels good? For a while? Until I have to go?”

“Hell yeah,” Luka grinned, and grinned wider when she rose up and kissed him again. He picked up her bag and offered it to her, and walked her to the front door and opened it for her, his other hand still entwined with hers.

They made it to the landing when Marinette hesitated at the top of the stairs. Looking over her head, Luka saw one of his nosier neighbors staring up at them, judgment in every line of her body. Marinette was frozen under the stare, red slowly creeping up her face. He could sense the sudden panic in her, and put a hand on her hip.

Luka leaned down by her ear. “You were the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen last night,” he murmured, smiling when Marinette shivered and turned her head slightly to listen to him, jolted out of whatever spiral she’d been in. “You completely blew my mind this morning. You’re a goddess. Own it and walk out of here like one.”

Marinette felt as if Luka’s words sank into her skin, warming her in such a way that she almost forgot what they were talking about. She was busy reliving the way he had arched against her, the praises he had whispered into her skin, the way he had clung to her, moaning as he came apart. She did that to him.

Luka watched as Marinette bit her lip, fighting the smile that was suddenly trying to break out. He brushed his lips against her temple and she looked up at him, still blushing but with a sparkle in her eye that did things to his heart. She reached back and caught his hand, tangling her fingers with his, and marched down the stairs, offering a cheerful smile to the old lady at the bottom. “Good morning,” she said, and Luka grinned shamelessly as they walked out of the door.

When they made it out of the building Luka suddenly pulled back on her hand, and Marinette gasped as he whirled her up against the wall and leaned down. Marinette rose up on her toes to meet him, cupping his face in her hands and they kissed fiercely. Luka braced his hands on the wall and leaned into her.

“Perfect,” he breathed, though even he wasn’t sure whether he meant her performance just now, or her in general.

Marinette’s hands slid from his face to his shoulders as she blushed and looked down, but then she looked back up at him, beaming, and Luka couldn’t help smiling back at her as he cupped her cheek and kissed her lightly one more time. “Breakfast,” he sighed, and pushed off the wall. He held out his hand, and Marinette put hers in it, and they were both grinning as they meandered down the sidewalk.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, and Marinette sighed blissfully.

“I feel...really good,” she answered. “Thank you.” She paused, and scrunched her nose. “Is that weird to say?”

“No,” Luka laughed, and brought their hands to his lips to press a kiss against her fingers. “Thank you too. I had a really good time. I’m glad you did too. I’m glad that...well, with the way things started. It could have all gone really badly, or not at all, and...I’m really glad I could show you a good time.”

Marinette blushed. “It was good. Really, um. Really good.” She sighed. “I promise I know more words than this.”

Luka chuckled. “It’s okay. Here, it’s this one.” He opened the café door, but he didn’t let go of Marinette’s hand, following right behind her into the café. They were directed to a booth, and he tugged at her, urging her to sit next to him instead of across.

Marinette only hesitated a moment. Do what feels good . Luka’s arm felt good against her shoulders as he laid it along the back of the booth, and he leaned down and kissed her without any trace of self-consciousness. Marinette’s fingers curled in his shirt. Kissing him felt really good. She should be embarrassed; she should be pushing him away. Hadn’t she heard over and over how important image is, and here she is making out with her one night stand, wearing his clothes, in a public diner booth.

Do what feels good .

It definitely felt good.

“God that feels good,” Luka sighed as they parted, and Marinette giggled. He kissed the top of her head, and then picked up the menu as a slightly wary waitress approached. Marinette glanced up at him in surprise at the rather domestic gesture, but then quickly away again. Stupid. They’d already had that conversation. It was just an impulse, not something to read into. Marinette looked up at the waitress instead, feeling her cheeks heat.

The waitress didn’t look phased at all. If anything, she looked bored. “Coffee?” she offered in a disinterested tone.

“Um, no, thank you,” Marinette managed to smile. “I’d like some lemon tea with honey, please.”

The waitress nodded, and glanced at Luka. “Usual, Lu?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Luka said, flashing a quick grin before looking at the menu again.

“Come here often?” Marinette teased, and Luka chuckled, then coughed lightly.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s close and I’m lazy, so…” He shrugged.

The waitress returned and set down a little pot of hot water, a cup with a tea bag in it, and a container of honey.

Marinette pulled away from Luka slightly to prepare the tea, but his arm remained behind her on the back of the booth.

“Here,” Marinette said, sliding the tea over to him when it was ready. “This’ll help your throat.”.

Luka blinked, and then smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and Marinette found herself blushing under his suddenly soft gaze.

“No, thank you,” she said, and he laughed as she reached over and stole his coffee cup. She sipped it carefully. It wasn’t quite as sweet as she liked it, but it was good enough. She glanced up at Luka over the rim, and he was still giving her that soft look.

“I should figure out a ride,” Marinette murmured, looking away, and she picked up her phone.

“I can get you a cab if you want,” Luka offered, but Marinette shook her head.

“My roommate’s boyfriend works nights around here, and he should be getting off soon. I’ll see if he can pick me up first.” She smiled at Luka. “If not, we can revisit the offer. Thank you.”

He leaned down and kissed her again, and she kept him close for another, and her next text to Nino wasn’t entirely coherent.

They had to disentangle from each other when their food came, but Marinette remained very aware of Luka’s arm brushing her own, and the soft smiles he gave anytime she glanced at him. She glanced away, tucking back a lock of hair to cover up the fact that she was grinning like a fool. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? she wondered. Was this just like, afterglow or something? Would it fade away once she left?

Luka touched her shoulder and Marinette jumped. He blinked. “Sorry. I was just asking if you got your ride worked out, but I guess you were a bit zoned out.”

“Sorry,” Marinette said quickly, and stuffed her phone back in her purse. “Yeah, Nino’s going to pick me up here in a little bit.” Luka nodded.

He put his arm back around her when they were finished eating, and he ordered another lemon tea instead of the coffee she expected. “You were right,” he smiled. “It did help.”

Marinette mixed it up for him again when it came, and then settled in and leaned against Luka’s side as he sipped it. He smelled nice, and he was warm, and she loved how easy he made everything feel.

Luka watched Marinette’s eyelids begin to droop. He nuzzled her hair and kissed her temple, but she just smiled, her eyes still closed. She was adorable, and Luka sighed before jostling her slightly.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he warned, and Marinette blinked her eyes back open. “I don’t particularly mind, but we can’t stay in this booth all day.”

“Can’t we?” Marinette sighed. “I’m so comfortable. You’ve been...really great Luka. I’m kind of sorry it has to end.”

Luka took a breath, and took the plunge. “Well, about that. I was hoping maybe we could see each other again.”

Marinette blinked uncomprehendingly, and then blushed as she sat up and looked at him. “Y-you mean, like a...a b-b—”

“I mean like a date,” Luka corrected, mouth twitching. She was really too cute. “The kind with talking and dinner and movies or whatever. I’d really like to spend more time with you, Marinette. Talking, and not just...well. I’d be lying if I said I wanted to stop doing everything else, but...I want to get to know you.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “R-really?”

Luka tilted his head slightly. “Why are you surprised?”

“I just don’t—I mean I didn’t think I’d be…” Marinette ducked her head, drawing circles in the ring of condensation forming around the base of her water glass. “You don’t even know me.”

“True.” Luka raised his eyebrows, and shifted his gaze away so he wasn’t looking quite so fully at her. “That’s why I’m asking you out. I don’t know you, but I want to. If you want to call it quits now and go home and never see me again, I’ll accept that, but...it’s definitely not the way I want this to go.”

“I…” Marinette looked down, twining a finger nervously in her hair. “I don’t know, Luka. You’re really sweet and—I really did have a great time with you. It’s just…I don’t want you to get hurt because I’m on the rebound, I…I don’t know if I’m ready for another, um...relationship, right now. I mean...”

Not what he wanted to hear, but...“Okay. That’s fair,” Luka nodded, the fingers of his free hand beginning to tap the table lightly.. “What if we just keep things casual for now? We can go out sometimes, and have some fun together...do what feels good…” he squeezed her hip, and watched her try to keep back the smile that wanted to break out, “get to know each other, and if you want to see other people or whatever, I’m cool with that for now. I’d just really like the chance to spend more time with you. If it doesn’t go anywhere then…” He shrugged, “at least I tried. You’ve put me on notice now, so it’s my choice to take the risk. I think you’re worth it.” His heart was beating so fast, and the tap of his fingers picked up tempo as he watched Marinette consider.

“Why?” Marinette whispered at last, with a sigh that hurt his heart. Her last relationship must really have done a number on her.

Luka cupped her cheek in his hand, coaxing her to look up at him. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just...have a feeling about you. I’ve learned to trust my instincts about people. I can’t explain it logically, I just...know. You’re someone I want to know. I felt it from the moment I saw you, before I’d even had a single drink.”

Marinette pursed her lips, looking up at him. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to live up to that,” she said after a long moment.

Luka let his thumb stroke lightly against her lower lip. “You don’t have to live up to anything. Just be you, and let what happens happen.” He bent and kissed her, slipping a hand behind her neck to get a better angle as he plundered her mouth in a way that was definitely not appropriate for a public place. Luka was pretty far beyond caring at the moment though. That this gorgeous, sweet, vibrant woman, could question that someone might be drawn to her, attracted to her for more than a passing moment...it just wasn’t right.

Marinette relaxed into him with a quiet moan. Her hand slipped under his jacket and pressed into his chest, feeling him up shamelessly, and his own fingers tightened on her hip.

“So,” he breathed, when he finally let her slip reluctantly away. “What do you say?”

Marinette looked up at him, and bit her reddened lip, and then quietly asked, “Are you free this weekend?”

Luka grinned. “Actually, not so much, I’m usually playing gigs on weekends...how about Thursday? That way I don’t have to hurry away.”

Marinette hummed, and pulled out her phone. He watched the fingertip she pressed against her lips as she considered her schedule, and admired her bright eyes when she smiled up at him. “Okay, Thursday works.”

“It’s a date,” Luka smiled so softly that Marinette’s heart fluttered. How did he do that, kiss her like that and then do something so—so sweet .

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, she thought as he got out his own phone to swap numbers with her. What if she fell for him?

But...he sounded like he wanted her to fall for him. Maybe? But what if he fell for her, and she was just using him for sex? Because he’d made her feel so, so good...important and beautiful and wanted and…

It might not even be like that again, she told herself. Maybe I just imagined it because I was lonely and depressed and feeling unwanted...maybe I would be thinking about anyone who gave me some attention that way. Maybe we’ll just...fizzle out and it won’t even be an issue..

Luka curled his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up. “You okay?” he asked softly.

“I…” her voice was shaking, and she took a breath and forced a smile. “Yeah. Just. I’m tired.”

He didn’t believe her. “You’re okay,” he told her, kissing her cheek gently, and then the corner of her mouth. “Whatever’s going on, it’s going to be okay.”

Marinette’s phone beeped, and she picked it up with relief. “He’s almost here.”

She slid out of the booth, and Luka followed. He left some bills on the table and took her hand as they walked out.

“That’s my ride,” Marinette gestured as Nino pulled up at the curb. She turned to face Luka, stepping close. He set his hands on her hips and squeezed as she leaned up to kiss his cheek, but she paused, and then turned and caught his mouth instead. Luka moved easily to meet her in one of those slow, deep kisses that made it seem like he had no other place in the world to be. She stroked his cheeks with her fingertips and kissed him again, and then again as she slid her fingers back up into his hair. “Goodbye, Luka,” she whispered, and he shook his head.

“See you later,” he corrected softly.

As he let go of her she felt something slide along her hip and looked down to see the pink scarf that had been tied around her waist slipping away. She looked up at Luka’s grinning face as he winked at her and draped the gauzy scarf around his neck. He raised the fabric to his face and inhaled. “See you Thursday,” he told her, eyes twinkling, and turned to walk away.

Marinette’s knees felt shaky as she stepped down the curb and opened the car door.

Nino was hunched down in the front seat, both hands pulling his cap over his face. “Geeze, Nette,” he muttered as she fell into the seat and tucked her feet inside. “I really didn’t need to see that.”

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly, but as she flipped down the visor to check herself in the vanity mirror, she saw pink cheeks and sparkling eyes and a broad smile, and knew that she wasn’t convincing. She pressed her fingers to her lips and, for Nino’s sake, fought down the urge to squeal.

Her glow dimmed a bit as she followed Nino up the stairs to the apartment she shared with Alya. She loved her friend, but...she wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. She tugged the collar of Luka’s shirt a little higher on her neck, and tried to remember what Luka had told her. She had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Well well well,” Alya drawled as Marinette slipped into the apartment after Nino. “Your very first walk of shame.” She smirked. “Marinette, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“What I had in me was a lot of vodka,” Marinette huffed, and came over to the table, accepting the glass of ice water Alya pushed across to her.

Alya waited until Marinette had the drink at her lips to add, “And a hot guy, apparently.”

Marinette choked, just as Alya had intended. “Alya!”

“Don’t tell me he wasn’t, girl,” Alya snickered. “You, my friend, look very well fucked.”

Marinette blushed hard. She was, at that, but Alya didn’t have to put it so...crassly.

Nino groaned. “You know what, just...knock and let me know when you’re done. I don’t want to think about it.” He went down the hall into Alya’s bedroom and shut the door.

“So you said goodbye to Mr. Right For Tonight?” Alya asked, tapping her fingers against her own glass. “You have all your stuff, right?” She frowned. “Are those his clothes? What happened to your dress?”

“I have it with me,” Marinette defended, picking up the bag she’d dropped. “He just...thought I’d be more comfortable in something else.” Not for a million euros would she have told Alya the whole truth about the dress. “And yes, I said goodbye. For now, anyway,” Marinette muttered, and caught Alya’s gaze when she looked up. Something in that look made her squirm. “Actually we have a date later this week,” she admitted.

“A date?” Alya raised her eyebrows. “Marinette, maybe I need to clue you in on a few things about this whole one night stand business. As in, one single night. After which you…” She made a fluttering motion with her hand. “You’re not supposed to get a date.”

Marinette shrugged, and reached over to pluck a croissant from Alya’s plate, just to have something to do with her hands. “Oops.”

Alya’s frown deepened.

“What? It’s no big deal,” Marinette defended, though she wasn’t even sure why she felt the need. “We just...thought we’d like to see each other again.”

Alya looked troubled for a moment, and then grinned. “It was that good, huh?”

“Well—” Marinette squirmed in her seat again. “It was fine, okay? He just...seemed nice.”

“Uh huh.”

“It was your idea anyway!” Marinette pointed out defensively.

“My idea was for you to go out and get buzzed and enjoy being drooled over,” Alya grinned. “You decided to get hammered and then get laid all on your own. I hope you’re satisfied .”

Marinette couldn’t cover the silly smile that wanted to come up at that, but when Alya snickered, Marinette shook herself back to reality and sighed. “It was probably my imagination making things better than they were. I was feeling pretty down last night and I did have a lot to drink. And it has, you know. Been a while.”

“Maybe started seeing through beer goggles?” Alya teased. “Not that I blame you, I thought he was pretty cute when you were dancing, but I’d had a few myself by then too. Not your usual type, but it’s good to branch out.”

Marinette blushed. She didn’t want to tell Alya that while her memories of the evening were hazy, she remembered Luka in the morning very clearly, not only the lines of his body but the broadness of his back beneath her arms as she clung to him, the ripple of the muscles tensing and releasing against her as he moved, the dark intensity of his eyes and the way they fluttered closed when she did something he liked.

She picked up her water glass and took a long gulp. No, she hadn’t needed the liquor to be attracted to him. Not at all.

Still. She wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, even now. “Watch,” Marinette sighed, setting the glass down. “The date’ll be a bust and that’ll be the end of it. We probably won’t have anything to say to each other and we’ll exchange awkward texts for a few days and then we’ll never speak again.”

“Hmm,” Alya raised her eyebrows. “We’ll see. It’s fine if you want to have fun, Marinette, you sure as hell could use some. Just be careful, always use protection, and don’t let him take any nudes.”

Marinette blushed deeply, and bit into her croissant. “Thanks so much for your concern,” she muttered around the mouthful.

***

Marinette knew she was in trouble as soon as she locked eyes with Luka and her stomach started doing somersaults. The slow smile he gave her was so distracting that she barely heard his greeting, or the compliment that followed. She didn’t remember putting her hand in his, it was just there, his fingers rubbing lightly over her knuckles. They hadn’t even made it to the restaurant when Luka tugged her into a shadowed corner and kissed her in that slow, purposeful way he had. His voice surprised her a little, smoother than it had been, without the roughness of hard usage, but, she found, just as seductive. Any resistance Marinette might have had crumbled the second he turned them out of the light and breathed may I ? against her lips.

When they did finally make it to their table, Luka was just as easygoing as he’d been on their first...night, and he meant it when he said he wanted to get to know her. He asked her questions, and seemed interested in what she said, even when she babbled, watching her with a quietly amused smile. He was interesting, too, telling her about his travels for the past year with his band. They had a surprising number of tastes in common. His eyes were fixed on her whenever she spoke, and he was touching her whenever he got the chance, taking her hand or playing with her fingers, brushing her hair back or letting his hand rest on her shoulder. Despite the kisses they shared whenever one of them couldn’t help themselves, his touch didn’t feel like seduction, just tenderness. Marinette felt like the center of his world, and after so long living on the sidelines of someone else’s life, she reveled in it.

They were laughing as he walked her home.

“You did not,” Marinette gasped, one hand over her mouth and the other curled around Luka’s arm.

“We totally did. What can I say, it was a full moon and my best friend is crazy.” Luka shrugged, and grinned while Marinette laughed.

“Wait, so are you a werewolf?” Marinette asked teasingly, as they approached the awning of her building.

“No,” Luka chuckled. “Unless you’re into that. If so, I can see what arrangements I can make for the next full moon.”

“You’d get bitten by a werewolf for me?” Marinette giggled. “How sweet.”

“I’d rather be bitten by you,” Luka teased back, and his hand found her hip, and her arms came up around his neck, and then they were kissing. Heat welled up in her, making her push up against him. Luka made a sound low in his throat and his hands slid to her lower back, pressing her closer. Oh, she wanted him, and by the feel of him he wanted her too, and…

Well. There really wasn’t any point in denying their mutual desire, was there. Marinette pulled away to press her lips along his jaw, and he made that sound again as he tilted his head for her.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” Marinette asked, toying with his collar. “My roommate’s out of town tonight, so we won’t be, um...bothering anybody.”

“I’d love to,” Luka told her, voice deepening. “I’d hate for you to be lonely, all by yourself.”

“Oh, I can entertain myself,” Marinette said daringly, looking up at him through her lashes. “I have an excellent imagination. There’s definitely advantages to having the real you here, though.”

“Play your cards right and I’m sure we can manage the best of both worlds.” Luka bent and kissed the join of her neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to make her shudder. “You can start with telling me how you imagine we get upstairs. Are we making out in the elevator or am I chasing you up the stairs?”

“Elevator,” Marinette sighed, head tilting as he retraced his favorite route up her neck. “I don’t want to wear your legs out just yet.” She paused to consider. “Maybe you could chase me that far, though.”

Luka pressed another long, slow kiss to her mouth. “Then you’d better run,” he told her, grinning playfully. “I won’t be responsible for what happens when I catch you.” They both giggled, and then Marinette broke away, running for the building doors. Luka darted after her, staying just at her heels, sweeping her up in his arms just in time to carry her through the elevator doors. Marinette spared a brief moment to wonder what she was doing, being so bold, and in sight of the entire lobby, too, but Luka grinned at her, and she forgot to care. Marinette leaned over him to press the button for her floor, and then forgot everything but his mouth under hers.

Later, when they said a lingering goodbye at her door, and he asked her if she’d like to go out again, she didn’t even hesitate before agreeing. She’d figure out a way to explain it to Alya later.

Fiction Master Post

#quickspins #oops #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #i'll never not know you #pro lukamari #nsfwish fic #alya salt #depending on your sensitivity #one night stand to lovers

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ronnieiswriting · 3 years ago

Text

BY DORNE PART 3

F!reader x Oberyn Martell No descriptive terms for reader, no use of y/n, EXPLICIT, ongoing

Part 1 Part 2

Important: set WELL before the events in Game of Thrones/ Book one of ASOIAF- King Aerys Targaryen is on the throne, Elia Martell is alive, Ellaria Sand is not in the picture (yet?) and Oberyn doesn’t have any daughters yet. As for the universe this is set in, Each major house (Starks, Tyrells, Arryns, Martells etc) are the families that run each region of Westeros but with a 70s backdrop instead of a high fantasy one.

The reader is Oberyn’s favourite arm piece- one he brings to lots of events. He’s known as the hungriest of all the Martells and he likes to prove that to anyone who might question that, therefore, its no secret that Oberyn has had a number of partners and sometimes multiple at once, men and women. Insatiable appetite aside, Oberyn hasn’t enjoyed spoiling any girl as much as he does you, and he’s set on keeping you around for as long as you can keep up with him.

TAGS!!: female masturbation (descriptions, references, partner watches), subtle power play, 70s circle beds, crotchless romper, lots of praise, implied oral f receiving, other sex acts implied/ referenced, feelings, a little bit of angst at the end. ENJOY (if I missed any tags pls let me know!!)

“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?”

If you had expected any other words to be the first from your lover’s mouth the second he found you- after almost two months apart- you would've been disappointed. The first thing he had done, however, was pull you to him eagerly and greet your starved lips with a searing kiss. When you had separated only for the necessity of air, Oberyn had started remapping your body with his hands as if he had forgotten it in his absence.

You hummed against him, arms circling around his neck where his dark curls brushed against your skin. It had gotten longer since he had been away- you wondered if he planned to get it cut soon. “I missed you.” you told him, drawing in a breath of his cologne.

Oberyn groaned. “Honey, did you touch yourself?” His hands climbed up further, thumbs brushing against the sides of your breasts.

You nodded. “Of course I did. I missed every bit of you with every part of me.”

His brow creased in response. The world forgotten, Oberyn led you in the direction of his room. “How many times.”

You weren’t oblivious to the power you had over the man currently attacking your neck with desperate lips, and you couldn’t deny its effect on you- his effect on you- a welcome kind of intoxication. You gave him an answer, “I lost count.”

He nodded against you, lips dragging and stubble catching across your skin when he looked away to fumble with door handles. After he cursed them for sticking, he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You’ll forget all about your fingers when I’m done with you.”

When he finally got the double doors open it was you that pulled him inside, slamming one shut again by shoving his back against it and the other with a kick.

He looked at you differently then- still like an animal of course- for you had never known the hunger running deep in his pitch black eyes to ebb its flow. But this look came when you would reach out and touch the power you had. And nothing needed to be said, no words to acknowledge the truth- the way Oberyn looked at you let you know exactly how he felt about you seizing power.

The hardening length of him pressing against the inside of your thigh also got the message across without spoken language.

You leaned into the sensation and ran a hand up his chest, along the thick chain of his heirloom necklace. Dropping your voice only slightly, you said “Why don’t I show you?”

Oberyn was leaning forward so far on the vanity stool that you were almost sure he’d fall off it and get a mouthful of the brightly coloured shag rug that covered one side of the room. He watched intently as you draped yourself over his circle bed, pulling back the sheer curtain on your way in a manner you hoped was seductive.

Since you knew Oberyn was coming back that day, you’d made a point to wear one of his favourite pieces- a slinky, lace romper with only a few skimpy panels of silk. Though, what he liked about it most (other than the way it barely brushed the tops of your thighs- and the fact that it was sinfully crotchless) was the colour; not the typical warm orange or bright yellow that the Martell’s so famously covered everything in. You were like a beacon in the room as soon as you took off the earth-toned dress you were wearing, capturing the man before you as he drank in the sight of the romper- rich, royal purple.

He had muttered something that sounded remarkably like an old Dornish verse at the garment, swallowed, and restrained himself to the seat where he adjusted himself shamelessly.

Once you had gotten situated against the pile of velvet cushions set up against the arched bedhead, you stretched for effect, reaching high so he’d get a good view of the way your pert nipples peaked against the fabric. Seeking the rush from his response, you looked at him through your lashes and let out the faintest of moans.

His full lips tugged up at that, edging impossibly closer to the foot of the bed. You found yourself wondering how he would look kneeling for you… another time, you thought.

When he smiled fully, you were unable to resist mirroring it. “Go on, baby.” he said, voice strained with admiration. “Show me how you missed me.”

You obliged him, edging a hand down between your legs that you parted wide for your man to see. When you reached your uncovered sex, your eyes locked onto Oberyn’s as you spread yourself open with your fingers and felt the wetness that had began to gather there. It started slowly, your digits easing the anticipation into a low pressure that made your entire body relax further into the plushness of the bed.

He praised the sight, “That’s it, honey.” and you agreed with a lazy hum.

For a few minutes, you were content with the languid pace at which you teased yourself, running fingers up and down your slit and coating your lips with your arousal. Sufficient pressure built, you tilted your hips towards him and pulled one fingertip over your clit. The pleasure was instantaneous but you resisted throwing your head back in favour of maintaining eye contact with the man at the end of the bed. You noticed that he had scooted the chair forward and contorted himself to be eye-level with your cunt, elbows on his knees, one thumb tracing his bottom lip as he drank you in. He began to compliment you again, “Sweet honey, you look so-” but you cut him off when you moaned his name- circling the bud again to the sound of his voice catching. Before you could hold back the flutter of your eyes at the sensation, you saw the devilish smirk that took to Oberyn’s lips. He repeated the sentiment slower this time and complete, matching each word to the tempo of your fingers, “Sweet, sweet honey. You look so fucking gorgeous.”

It was then that you were suddenly, painfully aware that the man who was so good at pleasing you was so close to you and yet wasn’t touching you- not his hands nor his lips or his cock. His tender words were nowhere near your ear and they weren’t kissed into your skin- it was as if he had become the presence you imagined when he was away. And while the both of you were so clearly enjoying the dynamic, it was an intense thing to act out what you had done to imitate his affections in front of him. There was a rush to it- something exciting about showing him how you could superficially replace him- and the powerful feeling you got out of it easily outweighed the frustration of not having him between your legs right then.

Oberyn seemed to enjoy it as much as you did. You coaxed yourself closer to release with one digit slipping just inside every few swipes. You could hear him through it, his voice harmonising with each breathy moan from you and it sounded like he was repeating phrases- thanking the gods for what he was witnessing, cursing himself for not coming back sooner, praising you, encouraging you- and you could tell he was dying to touch himself.

Though you had intended to watch him the whole time, your eyes kept rolling with the effort to chase a climax. Looking at him again, you could’ve pounced on him- he had shifted upright and was working idly at the buttons on his shirt, never taking his eyes off you. He noticed the way your attention drew to the tent in his pants because you showed your appreciation by wetting your lips and arching your back, fingers never stopping.

You moaned his name again and he chuckled. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m not going to touch myself. To think I’d come in my hand when your pussy is right in front of me- now that would be an insult.”

You replied without thinking, “You don’t have to come- you--” you paused to squirm, finding a better angle, “You could just stroke yourself a bit?” You were offering him the chance to even the dominance, maybe even take all of it. You’d let him.

It was a vain effort and a suggestion he refused entirely. “If I’m going to make you forget about your fingers- I need to see what they can do, right? I need to know what I’m up against.” He returned to his previous position, chain swinging heavily into his bare chest, hands locked together on his knees and gaze set on your dripping centre. “Don’t let up, sweetness, okay.”

His words encouraged you to go faster still and you moaned louder. When you started to thrust two fingers inside yourself everything felt enhanced. Your feet slid against the sheet as you struggled to ground yourself through the rapidly increasing intensity and your gasping breath turned into a string of words, “Gods, Oberyn- I missed you so much.” and “Did this every night- in every room.” A feat you exaggerated a little- Oberyn’s mansion was a relatively small building next to the Martell manor but it couldn’t be called humble. Your whole body started to burn when you told him how you missed his cock.

He didn’t hesitate to rouse you further, telling you how much he missed you- namely, “Your sweet cunt…” You lost sight of him when your head finally fell completely back into the mass of pillows but his voice rang equally insistent and lustful. “You’re my best girl, honey.” he said as you continued to tightly swirl your clit. “My sweet lover- that’s it, baby- so good for me.”

Tantalizingly close now, you reached under the romper to flick your nipples, squeezing because you desperately craved the same level of stimulation he’d so often saturate you with. Chasing that feeling further, you tried to hit your clit with the thumb of the same hand you fucked yourself on but you couldn’t.

For a second you almost gave up and asked him to help you come- add a finger- anything. But he got you there before you could even get out a word or a pleading moan. Oberyn’s praises came again and he practically begged you to come for him. “Come for me so I can make you come again and again. Let me prove that I missed you... Come so I can fuck you so good you forget the entire world--”

Your climax came out with a choked sob and in a white hot flash that drained all the feelings in your body. All of you went limp but your chest heaved in the air. The bliss was incredible and well-earned but there was so much more to be had.

With the little energy you could muster, you beckoned to him with the same fingers you pulled from yourself. They were still glossy with your slick but barely had the chance to cool in the air as Oberyn’s lips quickly latched around your fingers. His tongue swirled to devour your spend and hungry hands roamed over your tired thighs that trembled in the aftershock.

Kissing your knuckles once he had licked you clean, he moved the same hand to the crown of his head and encouraged you to grab hold. He gave your other hand the same treatment before he moved his lips over your thighs, massaging the tension from them with the pads of his fingers. “My turn.” he mumbled into your skin.

By the time Oberyn had proved himself better than your fingers, the sky was beginning to turn purple with dawn. When he had found you that day it had been just after 10pm.

Somehow, though, whether due to miraculous pacing or because neither of you had so recently exerted yourselves, you and Oberyn were still wide awake. He emerged from between your thighs again- this time without a heavy pant or a shiny chin- with a washcloth in his hand. Coming up to sit back fully on his knees, he unashamedly looked you over.

The purple romper had been folded down around your waist and you were sure one of the straps were broken from the force it had been yanked down with. He smirked proudly at the number of hickies he had left all over your skin as many of them would be seen regardless of what you wore. “You look good.” he said.

Oberyn was quite a sight himself. When he removed himself from the bed to return the cloth to his ensuite, you admired the way his skin gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat. His hair stuck out in every direction and before he disappeared behind the doorway, he rolled his shoulders and neck with a happy groan. You called out to him, “You make me look good.” Then, put off by the feeling of the lace against you, you kicked off the romper fully and stretched back out on the bed.

He replied, “I don’t agree with a single word of that, baby.”

When he came back into the room, you couldn’t help but admire the almost comical way in which he had shrugged on his favorite robe but not bothered with affording himself any more modesty in it than he had completely naked. You took the opportunity to ogle him openly, proud of the marks you had left on him and he wasted little time in crossing the room again to rejoin you on the bed. When he had gotten comfortable situated between your legs, this time on his back, with his head resting on your stomach and arms slung over your thighs, Oberyn looked up at you fondly. “I do think I proved myself though.”

“To who?”

That smug smile returned, “Well, to you.” Then he looked to think on it for a moment, pondering as his fingers drew half-thought images across the skin of your thigh. “Proved that I’m still good enough for you.”

You didn’t even bother to hold back from rolling your eyes. “You know that’s ridiculous, Oberyn.”

Oberyn nodded, warm eyes drooping before closing softly. “Mmhmm” he hummed.

It settled like that for a while. You stroked his hair, drawing more relaxed hums from him while a question started bubbling up in your mind.

You pushed it aside for a different one, “Why don’t we do something tomorrow?”

“Can’t, I’m afraid.” He sighed, “Doran wants me to come in first thing to review some clause in the trade documents with Lys- something about a weird shipment- it's all very complicated really. I’m sure he’ll find a way to keep me there longer too and spring more papers on me or something.” When he finished the silence started to sting. “I’m sorry, honey. You know I’d love to-”

You refused to let him get to the “but” in that sentence, “It’s okay--really! I mean we just did a lot… Maybe later in the week?”

Oberyn kissed your hand. He was visibly relieved of the tension diffusing between you.“You got it, honey.”

Oberyn left about an hour later, giving you a tender kiss on the forehead and the promise of “soon”. The warm spot beside you and the marks on you were the only tangible signs that Oberyn had even been there at all and you lamented the fact that they too would be quick to flee as the rest of him had.

You hated to pout but it was easy when your lover had barely spent a day with you before being snatched away again by something more important. Important, demanding or serious -any similar word- was more so because you were relatively less. You- unlike business or politics or events- could wait on his bed all day and night for his return.

Ultimatums weren’t known to be answered romantically every time. And you swore to yourself that you’d never force him to choose. Nevertheless, the seed of doubt had been planted and the casualness of your relationship with Oberyn nurtured it against your better judgement.

You stewed over these thoughts long into the morning, staring up at the canopy butt-naked.

He had told you something before he left for King’s Landing two months ago that you remembered suddenly. “... you are the reason I am going to rush back to Dorne.”, the unspoken idea there being that he would value your company above the general comfort of familiarity. You had almost told him then how you felt about him, but a nagging feeling had told you to hold it in and now you had to suffer under the weight of more doubts and insecurities.

Maybe if you had, he would have been able to clear up half of the doubts you were festering over- maybe he would have said he loved you too. It was a selfish thought but irresistible all the same and you were too quickly lulled into indulging in it.

#oberyn martell #prince oberyn #prince of dorne #oberyn au #oberyn nymeros martell #oberyn x reader #oberyn x you #oberyn fanfic #pedro pascal #game of thrones au #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf #modern!oberyn #ronnie's actual writing #ronnie's aus

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thecreaturecodex · 4 years ago

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Dragon, Yellow

[Commissioned by @mr-w-rambles. Folks, this is the longest single creature entry I’ve ever written. See ya, hordlings! It’s also my first true dragon. Which, taking the Pathfinder Bestiary format, means a table and three whole stat blocks. Tumblr handles tables poorly, so I’ve put those below the cut as image files--they’re a bit jarringly large, but they’re still legible.

There have been two different versions of the yellow dragon, one from the 1990 Draconomicon, which lives in deserts, and this one, from Dragon Magazine, which is semi-aquatic. The article it comes from uses color theory to predict the breath weapons of the “missing dragons”, so it gets a bit weird. The yellow dragon itself evolved through its three iterations. The 1e version is a pretty standard dragon, the 2e version is wingless and flies magically, and the 3e version (from Dragon Compendium Vol. 1) is incredibly dexterous for a dragon. I went with the 3e concept, but toned it down (as all dragons have been toned down in the shift from 3.x to Pathfinder). This is also a dragon that might play a little weirdly. Its AC is even better than the inflated AC for dragons, but its damage dealing capabilities are pretty pathetic. It also inflicts more status conditions than usual for a dragon. The CR on this is somewhat of a stab in the dark, comparing it to core Pathfinder dragons. Let me know if you think it needs further adjustment.]

Dragon, Yellow This dragon’s long, serpentine body is covered in yellow scales, flecked with green and white. It has no wings, but moves through the air with surprising grace. Its eyes are sea green and somewhat beady, and multiple ridges run along its skull and body, giving it a streamlined appearance.

Yellow dragons live at the convergence of air, earth and water. They are found on sandy beaches, coral reefs, salt marshes and mangrove forests. The scales of a yellow dragon remain small throughout the creature’s entire life, giving them a supple skin and a glittering appearance. They can breathe a cone of pressurized brine, which deals as much damage above as below water. They are carnivores, with a taste for desiccated and heavily salted meat. They are physically weak by the standards of dragons, but are remarkably nimble, and can maneuver in three dimensions in multiple kinds of terrain. Yellow dragons prefer to make hit and run attacks, stopping to make full attacks only when opponents are blinded and agonized by salt crystals.

Yellow dragons are cruel and temperamental creatures. They often make raids inland to attack settlements of intelligent creatures, and savor the meat of humanoids for special occasions. They may ally with sahaugin or other evil aquatic creatures, but yellow dragons feel clearly that they are the dominant party in the relationship. Yellow dragons fear bronze dragons above all others, as the bronze dragons are larger and better spellcasters besides. Almost all yellow dragons take spells that protect them from electricity once they are capable enough spellcasters. Yellow and black dragons sometimes have overlapping territories, but the two species keep a wary distance from each other.

Yellow Dragon LE dragon (air, water) Base Statistics CR 3; Size Tiny; Hit Dice 3d12 Speed 60 ft., burrow 30 ft., swim 60 ft. Natural Armor +3; Breath Weapon cone of salt, 2d4 bludgeoning and acid Str 7, Dex 16, Con 13, Int 8, Wis 11, Cha 8 Ecology Environment warm and temperate coastal and aquatic Organization solitary Treasure triple standard Special Abilities Agonizing Breath (Su) A creature that takes damage from an adult or older yellow dragon’s breath weapon must succeed a Fortitude save (same DC as the breath weapon) or be sickened for a number of rounds equal to the dragon’s age category. This is a pain effect. Blinding Breath (Su) A creature that takes damage from a young or older yellow dragon’s breath weapon must succeed a Fortitude save (same DC as the breath weapon) or be blinded for a number of rounds equal to ½ the dragon’s age category. Brine Storm (Su) An ancient or older yellow dragon can use its breath weapon to create a cloud of acid as a standard action that deals damage to any creature inside it. The cloud moves with the dragon and has a radius of 20 feet. When it's created, anyone inside this area takes an amount of acid damage equal to half the dragon's breath weapon, with a Reflex save for half damage. The number of damage dice rolled is halved each round until the result would be less than 1d4. Any creature that starts its turn inside the cloud takes damage, but can make a Reflex save for half. A strong wind, such as that created by a gust of wind, disperses the cloud in 1 round. Flight (Su) A yellow dragon’s flight is a supernatural ability. It always has good maneuverability with its flight speed, no matter its size. Graceful Attacks (Ex) An old or older yellow dragon may add its Dexterity modifier to its damage with natural weapons instead of its Strength modifier. It does not add 1.5 times its Dexterity modifier to damage bonuses to its bite or tail slap attacks. Nimble (Ex) A yellow dragon uses the following table for its Strength, Dexterity and natural armor bonuses. All of its other ability scores and qualities use the normal dragon table. In addition, it uses its Dexterity modifier to modify Swim checks.

Spell-like Abilities A yellow dragon gains the following spell-like abilities, usable at will upon reaching the listed age category. Very young—obscuring mist; Young adult—control water; Mature adult—control winds; Very old—control weather; Great wyrm—horrid wilting. Terrible Claws (Ex) A yellow dragon of young or older age does not have wing slap attacks, but its claws deal damage as if it were one size larger. Water Breathing (Ex) A yellow dragon can breathe underwater indefinitely and can freely use its breath weapon, spells and other abilities while submerged.

Young Yellow Dragon CR 7 XP 3,200 LE Medium dragon (air, water) Init +5; Senses blindsense 60 ft., darkvision 120 ft., dragon senses, Perception +10 Defense AC 22, touch 16, flat-footed 16 (+5 Dex, +1 dodge, +6 natural) hp 66 (7d12+21) Fort +8, Ref +10, Will +6 Immune acid, paralysis, sleep Offense Speed 60 feet, burrow 30 ft., swim 60 ft., fly 150 ft. (good) Melee bite +12 (1d8), 2 claws +12 (1d8) Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft. (10 ft. with bite) Special Attacks blinding breath (Fort DC 16, 1 round), breath weapon (60 ft. cone, 1d4 rounds, Ref DC 16, 6d4 acid and bludgeoning) Spell-like Abilities CL 7th, concentration +7 At will—obscuring mist Statistics Str 11, Dex 20, Con 17, Int 10, Wis 13, Cha 10 Base Atk +7; CMB +7; CMD 23 (27 vs. trip) Feats Combat Reflexes, Dodge, Mobility, Weapon Finesse Skills Appraise +9, Bluff +9, Fly +18, Perception +10, Sense Motive +10, Stealth +14, Survival +10, Swim +13; Racial Modifiers uses Dex to Swim Languages Draconic SQ flight. nimble, terrible claws, water breathing

Adult Yellow Dragon CR 11 XP 12,800 LE Large dragon (air, water) Init +8; Senses blindsense 60 ft., darkvision 120 ft., dragon senses, Perception +14 Aura frightful presence (180 ft., Will DC 18) Defense AC 30, touch 18, flat-footed 21 (-1 size, +8 Dex, +1 dodge, +12 natural) hp 138 (12d10+60) Fort +13, Ref +16, Will +11 DR 5/magic; Immune acid, paralysis, sleep; SR 21 Offense Speed 60 feet, burrow 30 ft., swim 60 ft., fly 200 ft. (good) Melee bite +19 (2d6+1), 2 claws +19 (2d6+1), tail slap +14 (1d8+1) Space 10 ft.; Reach 10 ft. (15 ft. with bite) Special Attacks agonizing breath (Fort DC 21, 6 rounds), blinding breath (Fort DC 21, 3 rounds), breath weapon (80 ft. cone, 1d4 rounds, Ref DC 21, 12d4 acid and bludgeoning) Spell-like Abilities CL 12th, concentration +14 At will—control water, obscuring mist Spells CL 3rd, concentration +5 1st (6/day)—alarm, protection from good (DC 13), ray of enfeeblement (DC 13) 0th—arcane mark, detect magic, detect poison, mage hand, message Statistics Str 13, Dex 26, Con 21, Int 14, Wis 17, Cha 14 Base Atk +12; CMB +14; CMD 33 (37 vs. trip) Feats Blind-fight, Combat Reflexes, Dodge, Flyby Attack, Mobility, Weapon Finesse Skills Appraise +13, Bluff +13, Fly +21, Intimidate +13, Knowledge (arcana, nature) +13, Perception +14, Sense Motive +14, Spellcraft +13, Stealth +17, Survival +14, Swim +21; Racial Modifiers uses Dex to Swim Languages Aquan, Common, Draconic SQ flight. nimble, terrible claws, water breathing

Ancient Yellow Dragon CR 16 XP 76,800 LE Huge dragon (air, water) Init +11; Senses blindsense 60 ft., darkvision 120 ft., dragon senses, Perception +25 Aura frightful presence (300 ft., Will DC 24) Defense AC 40, touch 20, flat-footed 28 (-2 size, +11 Dex, +1 dodge, +20 natural) hp 283 (21d12+147) Fort +17, Ref +23, Will +17 DR 15/magic; Immune acid, paralysis, sleep; SR 26 Offense Speed 60 feet, burrow 30 ft., swim 60 ft., fly 250 ft. (good) Melee bite +30 (2d8+11), 2 claws +30 (2d8+11/19-20), tail slap +25 (2d6+11) Space 15 ft.; Reach 15 ft. (20 ft. with bite) Special Abilities agonizing breath (Fort DC 27, 10 rounds), blinding breath (Fort DC 27, 5 rounds), breath weapon (100 ft. cone, 1d4 rounds, 20d4 acid and bludgeoning, Ref DC 27), brine storm (10d4 acid, Ref DC 27), crush (2d8+6, Ref DC 27), graceful attacks Spell-like Abilities CL 21st, concentration +25 (+29 casting defensively) At will—control water, control weather, control winds, obscuring mist Spells CL 11th, concentration +15 (+19 casting defensively) 5th (5/day)—cone of cold (DC 19), polymorph 4th (7/day)—dimensional anchor, enervation, fire shield, resilient sphere (DC 18) 3rd (7/day)—dispel magic, haste, heroism, protection from energy 2nd (7/day)—bear’s endurance, invisibility, mirror image, scorching ray, see invisibility 1st (7/day)—alarm, comprehend languages, mage armor, protection from good (DC 15), ray of enfeeblement (DC 15) 0th—arcane mark, detect magic, detect poison, light, mage hand, message, prestidigitation, ray of frost, read magic Statistics Str 19, Dex 32, Con 25, Int 18, Wis 21, Cha 18 Base Atk +21; CMB +33; CMD 48 (52 vs. trip) Feats Agile Manuevers, Blind-fight, Combat Casting, Combat Reflexes, Dodge, Flyby Attack, Improved Critical (claw), Iron Will, Mobility, Stand Still, Weapon Finesse Skills Appraise +25, Bluff +25, Fly +31, Intimidate +25, Knowledge (arcana, nature) +25, Perception +25, Sense Motive +25, Spellcraft +25, Stealth +23, Survival +26, Swim +31; Racial Modifiers uses Dex to Swim Languages Aquan, Auran, Common, Draconic, Giant SQ flight. nimble, terrible claws, water breathing

#yellow dragon #dragon #commissions #D&D #pathfinder 1e

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littlemisspascal · 4 years ago

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The Last Mandalorian

Chapter One: The Warrior in Carbonite Part 2

Fandom: The Mandalorian / Pedro Pascal

Eventual Pairing: Din x Togruta!Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,400

Rating: G

Summary: A series that is a mixture of Mandalorian, Star Wars, ATLA, and my own imagination. The Imps have seized control of the majority of the galaxy, including your homeworld Shili. You and your sister Ahsoka have developed a daily routine despite the stormtroopers keeping your village imprisoned. One morning you make a startling discovery that will change the course of your lives forever.

Warnings: plot plot plot, mild descriptions of violence, worldbuilding, dialogue heavy, sloooooooooooooow burn – seriously, we’re just getting started so it’s gonna be a bit before feelings are involved, reader is 17 and Din is 19 so I’m going to warn this as underage even though nothing sexual or even vaguely romantic happens in this chapter.

Author Note: The plan right now is for there to be 3 parts of Chapter 1. Tumblr isn’t doing a good job notifying my taglist, so I apologize if I bother anyone reblogging this a few times trying to get it to work. Thank you everyone out there for each like, comment, ask and reblog! The support means the world to me 🥰

Part 1 Part 3

Cross-posted on AO3

The village is a small community with less than a hundred citizens living there total, yet it is visible from miles away due to the bright paints used to decorate the houses. Murals depicting the village’s history and its residents adorn every house with details added by each new generation so that no one is ever forgotten. Back when visitors would pass through, they would always compliment the village’s beauty, but there is nothing beautiful at all about the electric fence the Imps erected shortly after seizing control, emitting shocks harsh enough to kill.

Originally the stormtroopers said it was to protect the village from threats, but nobody believed the lie. The only threat to the community was the Empire. They don’t bother making up excuses anymore, now they like to remind everyone the whole village is their prisoner, usually by a show of violence so unbelievably malicious it stuns everyone into compliance.

There are some horrors time will never erase from your mind.

Juni trees grow beside the fence outside the perimeter, the only species of tree amongst the shrubbery and turu-grass, and they are tall enough for their thick orange branches to extend over the uppermost wire. In the mornings, Ahsoka climbs out your bedroom window, slides down the sloped roof of the house and leaps onto a nearby branch. You follow after her, trusting that she won’t let you fall when you stretch out your hand for her to catch you and lift you up using a bit of Force to give you a boost. The two of you sneak back inside the village using the same tree, only instead of leaping at the house, you drop the short fall onto the ground beneath. Five years and the stormtroopers haven’t caught onto your trick yet.

Except now the tree isn’t an option. Not when you both are half-carrying, half-dragging two-hundred pounds of flesh and metal.

Hiding behind a clump of coyal bushes, you and Ahsoka scout the entrance booth where a pair of stormtroopers dressed in their characteristic white armor stand guard, holding blaster rifles. There are others on patrol, walking along the fence and checking its integrity, gradually stepping further and further out of view, but they will be back eventually. Your window of opportunity is limited.

You adjust the warrior’s arm over your shoulders, quietly groaning when your muscles protest the heaviness. “What are we going to do? Stormies might share one brain cell, but they’re definitely going to notice this heap of metal we’re carrying. And as soon as they find out we don’t have passes, they’re going to start shooting.”

Passes are only given to a handful of the community’s traders each week. It is a three day ride on a repulsorlift speeder to the capital where they have a short span of time to sell their goods and then return home within the week with essential supplies. To ensure no one tries to run away, the Imps set up strict rules. If the traders are late, even if only by a few minutes or due to reasons outside their control, the rest of the villagers pay the price. Usually the punishment is a public beating, but sometimes the stormtroopers get creative and tie their chosen victims to a pole overnight by their head-tails.

Nobody, not even the younglings, sleep those nights.

“We’ll be fine,” Ahsoka answers, firm and confident, gaze fixed upon the gate. “Just follow my lead. I’ve got an idea.”

She doesn’t spare you a second to protest, stepping out into the open and forcing you to follow or else drop the warrior’s body.

The stormtroopers spot the three of you immediately, relaxed postures stiffening with alarm, and you have to remind yourself over and over to breathe, to not let them see any hint of the anxiety buzzing beneath your skin.

“Hold it right there!” One of the stormtroopers orders when the distance between you and them has shortened to a mere three feet. You freeze at once, heart pounding as fast as a thimiar’s seconds away from being eaten. A quick glance at Ahsoka reveals no fear in her expression. She stares at them indifferently, as if she is about to talk about the weather.

“Explain yourselves.” It is not a request.

You squirm, nearly knocking your head against the warrior’s bowed head, on the verge of losing your composure, when you notice Ahsoka lifting her arm.

“You will let us pass,” she says, adopting a suggestive tone while waving her hand in front of their visors.

They respond in unison, seemingly entranced. “We will let you pass.”

You bite your lip as you and Ahsoka pass between the stormtroopers and through the gate, not wanting to break the spell by letting loose the barrage of questions forming on your tongue. What your sister had done was as amazing as it was frightening. She had manipulated them with such confident ease you are certain this isn’t the first time she has performed the trick on someone.

“When did Aunt Shaak teach you that?”

“She didn’t,” Ahsoka replies lowly, casting a quick glance around. “I taught myself.”

Your skin prickles as you also become aware of the increasing number of eyes staring at you. With the sun fully awake and bringing morning light with it, several villagers are carrying on with their daily routines outside of their homes. Most of them seem a mixture of confused and concerned about the stranger, but you spy the Elders looking displeased by the new addition amongst their ranks.

You are not looking forward to being inevitably summoned and interrogated by them.

“How?” you ask, copying her hushed cadence. Then, a pulse of panic blooms in your chest. “Have you ever—?”

“No, I haven’t messed with your mind before. Never even considered it,” Ahsoka interrupts, sensing your worries. “I don’t practice often, but when I do it’s just harmless little suggestions. Like convincing Huno to give the younglings an extra sugar biscuit when he has some to spare or persuading Jaelee to go to bed early when I know she’s been overworking herself. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t really sure the trick would work on those bucket heads since I’ve never tried it on two minds at once before. Lucky us, right?”

You nearly trip over your own feet. “What?”

Is she being serious right now? They would be dead right now if her gamble hadn’t paid off.

Ahsoka pretends not to hear you, nodding her head towards the blue-painted house up ahead. “C’mon, Maar probably already knows we’re coming.”

Maar Vashee has been the village’s healer for a little over fifty years. The purple-skinned Togruta helped deliver you and Ahsoka, and was considered by your mother when she was still living to be a dear friend. Her connection to the Force is especially sensitive due to her intricate relationship with the flora of the planet, using various herbs and plants to create remedies, and as such she developed a type of sixth sense where she instinctively knows when her skills are needed.

Entering her home that doubles as her clinic, you find Maar had indeed anticipated your arrival and set up a cot to place the warrior upon. Once he is laid down, you roll your aching shoulders, biting back a wince as the movement irritates the headache lingering at the back of your head.

The warrior hadn’t made one noise the entirety of the trip bringing him here. Even now as he rests on the cot, his breaths are so quiet you would fear he wasn’t breathing at all if not for his chest moving. You touch his hand impulsively, laying yours over his gloved one. There is no response, not a twitch or spasm.

A sharp gasp of surprise has you whirling around, eyes landing upon Maar standing in the doorway between the clinic and her living quarters. She clutches a glass jar of spotted red herbs labeled nysillin against her chest, staring at the warrior like she is looking at a ghost.

“Maar,” Ahsoka calls out softly, coming to stand by your side. A long moment of silence passes before the older Togruta manages to drag her gaze away to focus on you and Ahsoka, green eyes a bit too wide-eyed and haunted. Your sister’s gentle tone remains when she inquires, “What’s wrong? Do you...do you know him?”

Maar chokes out a brittle noise sounding like a cross between a dry laugh and a derisive scoff. “Personally? No.” She moves closer to the cot, the white circular markings around her eyes softening with what you confusingly identify as sympathy. “I’ve heard stories of his kind though. Years ago, many considered the Mandalorians the only ones capable of defeating the Imperials.”

“Holy frak,” you gasp before you can stop yourself.

As a youngling, your mother used to tell you stories about the fiercest fighters in the galaxy known as Mandalorians. They lived on Mandalore and had a special connection with their weapons, a bond nobody else could understand or mimic, trained to handle guns and knives as soon as they could walk. They defended the galaxy from unlawful rulers and the threat of enslavement, unafraid to spill blood when they knew peace would follow. Your mother told you they never lost a battle. Defeat was a word unknown to them.

At least until—

“Mandalorians were wiped out during the Decimation of Alderaan,” Ahsoka interrupts your thoughts, voice pitched high with disbelief. “And the few who lived were hunted down shortly after. The Imps made sure there weren’t any left to challenge them.”

As if triggered, you recall a detail from your brain glitch, a thought that had crossed your mind when you were flying through the storm. You had been looking for Aldera, the capital of Alderaan.

It’s just a coincidence, you think. But a voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like your Aunt Shaak counters, there are no coincidences.

And as much as you loathe admitting it, that voice is right. Having the image of a mudhorn slip into your brain shortly before you find a warrior—no, a karking Mandalorian of all people—with the same creature on his armor? It is too precise to be a coincidence. Your paths were meant to cross each other.

If only you had the slightest clue as to why.

Maar sets the jar down on a nearby table, then picks up the Mandalorian’s wrist to check his pulse. “That is what we all thought,” she agrees after a minute of counting has passed, dropping his hand. “His armor is characteristic of their kind. Nothing in the galaxy is as strong or valuable as their beskar. Let’s pray to Ai our beliefs about the Mandalorians’ extinction are mistaken,” she nods towards the unconscious warrior, “especially for his sake.”

Realization creates a sickening pit in your stomach.

Regardless of the status of his kind, when he wakes up his whole world is going to be flipped upside down.

Three hours later, not much has changed except the room is brighter, afternoon sunlight pouring in through the window, and smells sweet due to the bowl of herbs Maar left simmering on the table near the Mandalorian’s head, explaining the aroma will cure him of his hibernation sickness as he breathes it in.

“He’ll wake up when the marg sabls open tomorrow,” Maar told you with a gesture towards the potted red-and-pink flowers in the windowsill. They grow all over Shili, popular because they open their petals in a sunburst shape every morning.

Ahsoka comes and goes, blessedly not criticizing your decision to sit at the warrior’s bedside when you have a list of chores to complete—doubled now that you lost your bet with Ahsoka earlier. She intercepts curious younglings hoping to sneak a glimpse of the Mandalorian whose presence has become known throughout the village. Nothing stays a secret long in the community. Gossip spreads as quickly as colds and takes twice as long to get over.

If the stormtroopers catch on, the consequences will be disastrous. For once, Ahsoka shares your fears, admitting she isn’t capable of tricking a whole platoon.

“The Elders aren’t happy,” Ahsoka says in-between sips of bone broth. “They think it’s too dangerous having him here.”

You swallow your mouthful, shaking your head. “I think it’s the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

Averting your gaze towards your lap, you scratch at an imaginary stain on your leggings. “Just a feeling I have.”

Ahsoka leans forward in her seat, pointing an accusing finger at you, causing your head to jerk back up. “The Force connected with you again, didn’t it? I knew you were acting weird before we found him.” She frowns, hurt flickering in her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I never wanted to be special, Ahsoka,” you reply honestly. “I never wished or prayed to have visions, to have these random details pop into my head, to feel others’ emotions so strongly it’s like I’m trapped inside their bodies. There is nothing cool or entertaining about it. It’s…” Your voice cracks embarrassingly, forcing you to take a pause. You inhale a shaky breath. “It’s terrifying.”

“I had no idea you were struggling so much,” your sister murmurs, voice soft with contrition.

“How could you when I didn’t even want myself to acknowledge that I was?” you counter, feeling as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders as the truth sinks in. “I tried to ignore it all as best as I could. If not for meeting our friend over here,” you tilt your head in the Mandalorian’s direction, “I’d probably still be in denial. But I can’t ignore the Force this time. Not when the message is this important.”

“What is it?”

“We were meant to find him. To bring him back with us. I think—I believe he’s important. Remember what Maar said? About how people used to believe Mandalorians would beat the Empire?”

Ahsoka’s brow furrows incredulously. “You really think one warrior can defeat Emperor Gideon’s army? The rebels have been trying for years and the Emperor is always one step ahead.”

You can’t help deflating a bit, shoulders slumping. “Well when you put it like that…”

“Have you considered an alternative reason why he’s important?” she asks. When you don’t answer right away, she takes it as a cue to continue, “Maybe you’re right and he is going to change the galaxy for the better. But he could also be a warning. The Imps wiped out his kind, what if they plan to do the same to us?”

Your lips part to respond, only to close again wordlessly. You thought by accepting your brain glitches as messages from the Force they would become clearer, easier to understand. A lantern guiding you through this maze of darkness epitomizing your life.

But you have never felt more lost.

Falling asleep is a mistake.

You didn’t know this when you rejected Maar’s suggestion to head home and sleep in your comfortable bed instead of curling up on her spare cot that squeaks whenever you move. The prideful side of you believed it was best if you were the first face the Mandalorian saw when he woke up because he would remember you and the promise you swore. He would trust you to explain everything to him.

Within a second of waking up, you realize how naive you were to think you had even a shred of influence over him.

The sound of something shattering has you nearly tumbling off the side of the cot, jerking awake with a sudden burst of fear. You blink rapidly to clear the haziness of sleep from your vision, struggling to make sense of what you are seeing.

Pieces of Maar’s ceramic bowl litter the floor along with bits of charcoal and ash. Ahsoka and the Mandalorian stand on opposite sides of the room, staring each other down, poised to fight. The Mandalorian has a vibroblade clenched in his hand, while your sister crouches low, fists raised. You know Ahsoka can hold her own in a fight, even without the advantage of a weapon, but fear winds its way down your spine, cold and slimy, when you can’t help but notice how small she looks compared to him. Not only because he is a few inches taller, but because he also exudes an undeniable aura of intimidation: his unwavering silence, the skilled manner he wields his knife, even the sharp gleam of his beskar pieces reflecting the pale morning light has your chest tightening with dread.

The clinic’s lights flick on right as Maar announces her presence by cocking a blaster pistol. It is the Mandalorian’s own weapon, removed from his holster when Maar examined him earlier. “Alright,” she says to the room at large as she fully enters, dressed in her sleeping robe. “Let’s all settle down. Blood isn’t an easy stain to clean and I’d prefer it if none was spilt.”

You see the moment the Mandalorian decides to comply, shoulders loosening beneath the pauldrons and stance shifting from defensive to neutral, as he processes he doesn’t need to fight his way out of here. The vibroblade is sheathed within his right boot in one fluid motion and it is startling, truly, how quick he transforms from a dangerous threat to a potentially dangerous threat.

Ahsoka is reluctant to yield, staring him up and down for a drawn out moment that does little to soothe your frayed nerves. Only when Maar pointedly clears her throat does your sister finally obey, straightening to full height with a hand propped on her hip, the picture perfect image of nonchalance. In another life she would have made a fantastic actress in a holovid drama.

“That’s better.” Maar nods, satisfied. “Now why don’t we—”

The Mandalorian moves so quickly that you jerk in anticipation of attack, eyes widening to the size of moons as you watch the pistol fly out of Maar’s hand and straight into his outstretched one. Your lungs seize up, a single thought flashing through your mind. This is it, the moment we all die.

Except instead of shooting, he re-engages the safety mechanism and promptly holsters the gun at his side where it belonged. Without saying anything.

Ahsoka’s slack-jawed expression would have been comical if it hadn’t matched your own stunned face. Even Maar, who has witnessed over fifty years worth of shocking spectacles, looks awed by the unexpected display.

You recover first, somehow managing to piece together the right words to ask a coherent question. “Are you a Jedi?”

It is only because you are staring directly at him that you notice the virtually imperceptible tilting of his head. “I’m a Mandalorian,” he answers bluntly, oblivious to how your heart skips a beat. “Weapons are part of my religion. It’s important to earn their trust.” He addresses Maar then, adding, “Especially if they’re stolen from us.”

His baritone voice has changed from when he spoke on the ship. Without the exhaustion wrapped around his vocal chords you are able to hear his normal timbre. Due to the modulator in his helmet, it has a husky quality, an intriguing mix of smoke and honey. But that is not what has your montrals prickling and your spine straightening.

“I disarm all my patients,” Maar replies, back to being her cool, calm, and collected self. “I would have given it back—”

“How old are you?”

You don’t realize you have spoken until two pairs of eyes and an expressionless visor look at you.

The Mandalorian’s fingers curl and uncurl at his sides once, twice. “Nineteen,” he answers after a few seconds of lapsing silence.

“Oh Ai,” Maar murmurs, vocalizing your own thoughts.

All this time you have been thinking of the Mandalorian as a man beneath the amor. A hardened and seasoned fighter who has seen a lifetime of bloodshed and violence. But the reality is he is only two years older than you. Standing right on that thin, blurry line between being seen as a teenager and being considered an adult.

“Who are you?” the Mandalorian asks, glancing first at you then your sister and back to Maar. Frustration and wariness blend together, sharpening his voice. “Why am I here? What happened?”

Ahsoka meets your eye with a question in her gaze, one you don’t have the answer for: where do we even begin?

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