#(after i finish another module) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sxytwker · 1 month ago

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Boyfriend Luigi

Summary: Luigi comes to your dorm after a long and tiring day, and you just want to take care of him. It leads to him turning needy and wanting your love! Because who wouldn’t say no to his perfect smile and pretty eyes?

POV: 3rd person. She/Her pronouns.

Part 1

Smut • MDNI

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

*I literally hated the Surfbreak fic I made, I might post it like way later, but I quickly made this one. I really really like this fic I made, and it’s also the first time I’ve written smut. I know I said I wouldn’t, but I gave it a try. Please give feedback! Thank youuuu enjoy! 💗*

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜

The door flung open, hard enough to rattle the mini whiteboard she always kept pristine. Luigi Mangione stepped in with his hoodie pulled halfway over his curls, laptop bag slung low, and a scowl riding high on his face.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t look at her.

Just kicked off his sneakers in two annoyed jerks and let them land wherever they landed. Then he sank onto the edge of her bed, hunched over, elbows on knees, and pulled his hoodie down lower, like the room offended him.

She blinked, sitting at her desk with her laptop open, a perfectly color-coded set of notes pulled up on Notion, and a mug of peppermint tea steaming quietly beside her. Her necklace—thin gold with a tiny star charm—glinted as she tilted her head.

“…Lu?”

Nothing. Just a dramatic sigh. He ran a hand through his curls—messier than usual—and muttered something under his breath. Something that definitely included the word “bullshit.”

She stood slowly, crossing the room in her soft socks. She could practically smell the static stress clinging to him—code that wouldn’t compile, a prof who made some dumb offhand comment, a meeting that went sideways. Luigi’s bad moods were rare, but when they hit, they hit full force. Especially when he didn’t win.

“Hey,” she said gently, standing in front of him, “what happened?”

Another sigh. Another eye roll. “Nothing. Just—stupid CS group project. Nobody knows what they’re doing, and I’m the one stuck fixing everyone’s broken code again. And Professor McGregor? He’s on my ass about this AI module I already finished. Like—” He waved his hands. “I’m not a magician, I can’t make JavaScript do calculus.”

“JavaScript shouldn’t be doing calculus.”

“Exactly!”

She bit back a smile. There it was. The drama, the hands, the cocky frustration that made him magnetic. She leaned forward and gently took off his hoodie, coaxing it over his head. His curls popped back up, tousled and warm from the fabric.

Luigi looked up at her finally—eyes tired, lashes long, the corner of his mouth twitching but not quite making it to a smile.

“You’re still mad,” she said softly.

“Not at you,” he muttered.

She stepped closer, standing between his knees now. “I know.”

He sighed again—but this time, less sharp. She reached up and threaded her fingers through his curls, slow and gentle, nails scratching lightly at his scalp the way he liked. He visibly melted. His eyes fluttered closed. His hands gripped the backs of her thighs without thinking, pulling her closer until she was practically between his legs.

“God,” he breathed. “You always smell so damn good.”

“Clean and sweet,” she teased, lips brushing against his temple.

“You’re a menace,” he mumbled, voice already softer.

She smiled and bent down, pressing the softest kiss to his cheekbone, then another to the side of his neck. His arms slid around her waist. She kept playing with his hair, combing through it with slow fingers like she had all the time in the world.

“I hate everyone except you,” he whispered against her shoulder.

“That’s because I’m the only one who knows how to calm you down.”

“You’re smug.”

“Only when I’m right.”

He finally laughed, low and grudging. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“You’re lucky I’m patient.”

He leaned back just enough to look up at her, brown eyes searching hers. “You’re too good for me.”

She kissed his forehead this time. “I know.”

•

The room was dark except for the amber light of her desk lamp, turned low, casting soft shadows across the floor. Her laptop had been closed. Notebooks stacked. The air smelled faintly of lavender laundry detergent and her body cream—the one he always buried his face into when he hugged her from behind.

Luigi was sprawled on her bed now, hoodie loose over his boxers, one leg bent, the other draped across the mattress like he owned the place. Which, honestly, he kind of did. At least emotionally. He’d been sulking for hours, rotating between petty complaints and clingy affection.

She came out of the bathroom with her glasses off, barefaced, in a soft cotton cami and matching shorts the color of fresh cream. Gold glinted at her ears and collarbone. She smelled like every good memory he had.

“Finally,” he muttered, reaching for her like he hadn’t seen her in days instead of ten minutes.

“You are so dramatic.”

“And you’re so hot it’s illegal,” he said, pulling her down onto him without waiting.

She let out a surprised laugh, landing with a soft thud against his chest, her thigh sliding between his. His hands were already on her hips, hoodie sleeves pulled halfway up his forearms.

“I’m still mad,” he mumbled against her skin. “Just so you know.”

“Oh, I know. You’ve been stomping around my room and having an attitude.”

“Shut up,” he breathed, and then he was kissing her neck.

Warm. Wet. Open-mouthed kisses that left slick trails across her collarbone and just under her jaw. Not rushed—needy. Like he had to have her or he’d combust.

Her breath hitched.

“Lu…”

He didn’t stop. His curls brushed her cheek as he kissed lower, then back up, then behind her ear—his hoodie slipping off one shoulder as he shifted above her. She could feel how worked up he was just from the press of his body. The warmth. The low hum of want that buzzed in his chest and spilled out with every exhale.

“You’re so soft,” he said into her skin. “So warm. Makes me forget everything.”

Her fingers found his curls again, pulling them gently, slow but firm. His hips twitched against hers.

“God,” he breathed. “Keep doing that.”

“You’re the one that started this,” she said, but her voice was already a little shaky, lips parted, lashes fluttering. “You gonna be good now?”

“No,” he said immediately, voice rough. “I want all of you. Right now.”

“You’re such a brat.”

“You love it,” he smirked, then kissed her again—deeper, this time, tongue sliding lazily along her neck.

Her soft whines slipped out before she could stop them. Not loud. Just enough for him to smirk against her skin, teeth grazing the spot just below her ear. His hoodie hung open now, his hands sliding under the hem of her top, palms warm against her back.

“I had such a shitty day,” he whispered, voice breaking just a little. “Need you. Just… need you.”

That cracked something in her chest.

She held his face, kissed him slow and sure, fingers still buried in his hair like she’d never let go. And maybe she wouldn’t.

His lips crashed into hers like he was starving.

But she didn’t just melt into it—she took control. One hand still tangled in his hair, the other gripping his hoodie near the collar, pulling him closer. When his tongue brushed hers, tentative, needing, she caught his bottom lip between her teeth and bit—soft, slow, just enough pressure to make him gasp.

“Shit,” he breathed, pulling back half an inch, eyes wide, pupils blown. “You’re trying to kill me.”

She didn’t answer. Just kissed him again, tongue sliding past his lips with intention this time—sucking, slow and deep, until he moaned into her mouth like he couldn’t help it. His fingers dug into her waist, clutching at the soft curve of her hips through her shorts.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered, dazed. “Where did that come from?”

“You looked like you could use a little attitude adjustment,” she whispered against his lips.

He laughed—breathy, desperate—and kissed her again, messier now, hands roaming up her sides, under the cami. She was straddling him fully now, her thighs bracketing his, soft cotton sliding against his boxers. He was already hard beneath her, pressed right where she could feel him the most.

She moved.

Just once—hips rolling forward, slow and deliberate.

He groaned. Loud.

“Babe…”

She rolled again. Back, forward. Keeping her pace slow, grinding into him with that maddening rhythm only she could pull off—just enough friction to make him curse, not enough to let him get there.

“You’re evil,” he said, voice tight.

“You like it.”

“Of course I like it,” he choked, head dropping back into the pillows, curls splayed. “You’re sitting on my dick and making me beg—how am I not supposed to like that?”

Her lips brushed his neck again, and her teeth grazed lightly over his pulse point before she kissed it, tongue flicking over the sensitive skin.

He whimpered.

Actually whimpered.

“Oh my god,” he said, hands clinging to her thighs now like she was the only thing tethering him to earth. “You’re driving me insane.”

She sat up slightly, looking down at him with that wicked glint in her eye, gold jewelry catching the lamplight.

“Good,” she said. “Then it’s working.”

Luigi’s hoodie was halfway off his shoulders, clinging to him like he didn’t even have the motor control to take it off. She leaned down and pulled it the rest of the way off him, nails dragging lightly down his arms as she tossed it aside.

He was flushed, breath ragged, curls stuck to his forehead. Her thighs still pinned him in place, and his boxers—soaked through with want—left nothing to the imagination.

“You’re not playing fair,” he panted.

“That’s rich,” she murmured, reaching down to tug at the waistband of his boxers, “coming from the guy who mouth-fucked my neck ten minutes ago.”

“Guilty,” he whispered, then surged up to kiss her collarbone—messy, open, tongue-heavy. He sucked hard, just below the strap of her cami, his hands now fully under her top. His fingers slipped up her sides, grazing just under her breasts but not touching yet. Not until she said so.

She gasped, and he took that as encouragement.

He bit—light, but with enough pressure to leave heat in its wake—and then soothed it with his tongue. Another kiss. Another suck. The sound obscene in the quiet room.

“That’s one,” he muttered against her skin, smirking.

“Lu,” she warned, knowing what he was doing.

“Just one more,” he murmured, trailing kisses up to her neck, the spot that always made her breath stutter. He sucked there—slow and deep—and she let out the softest whimper, fingers tightening in his hair, tugging.

He groaned. Loud. Like she’d touched him somewhere filthy.

She ground down against him again, harder this time, dragging the damp fabric of his boxers along her heat. His hips bucked up into hers helplessly, need taking over.

“Fuck, I can feel you,” he said, voice raw. “You’re so wet.”

She bit her lip, eyes locked on his, hands sliding down his chest, slow and deliberate. “Take them off, then.”

His eyes widened.

“You—?”

“Take. Them. Off.”

He fumbled for a second—like his brain short-circuited—then yanked down his boxers, cock springing free, flushed and already leaking. He was thick and twitching under her, the tip red and glistening. She ran her fingers along the length, feather-light, watching him fall apart beneath her.

He moaned so loudly she had to cover his mouth with her hand, laughing softly.

“Shhh,” she whispered. “You want my RA to hear you begging?”

He nodded into her palm like a man possessed, eyes rolling back, hips jerking up into nothing.

She slid her shorts off slowly, keeping eye contact the whole time.

Luigi looked like he was watching the gates of heaven open just for him.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, hands scrambling for her hips, “please let me—please, babe, I need you.”

“Yeah?” she asked, settling over him again, the head of his cock brushing against her entrance, making them both gasp. “Need me that bad?”

He nodded, desperate. “I’m gonna lose it. You don’t get it. I’ve been hard for hours, you—”

She sank down onto him, slow and smooth, cutting him off mid-whimper.

He choked on her name, grabbing her hips like he might fall apart if he didn’t hold on.

She rocked forward—slow, deep—and he swore, the most beautiful sound slipping from his throat as he filled her completely.

He filled her completely—deep, warm, throbbing—and for a second, they both just stayed there, breathing into the heat between their bodies. Her hands braced on his chest, his trembling on her waist like he didn’t trust himself not to flip her and lose his mind.

She leaned forward, kissing his temple, her voice honey-smooth and firm.

“You deserve this,” she whispered. “After the day you’ve had. Let me take care of you.”

Luigi whimpered again, almost overwhelmed. “Don’t say shit like that—please, I’ll come in five seconds.”

“Then don’t,” she said, rolling her hips slowly. “Be good for me.”

She moved with intention—slow, but deep. Every thrust deliberate, angled just right so he hit the spot inside her that made her eyes flutter and her breath catch. His jaw clenched beneath her, and she saw how hard he was trying to hold back, to stay still, to let her keep control.

“God, babe, please,” he breathed, face flushed and glistening. “You feel unreal—so tight, so warm—I can’t—”

“Shhh,” she cooed, dragging her nails gently down his chest. “I want you to feel everything. I want you to lose it.”

She started riding him harder now—still slow, but with more power behind it, hips snapping just a little sharper, the slick sound of their bodies filling the room. His head rolled back, and a guttural moan ripped out of him, low and broken.

Her fingers found his curls again, tugging hard enough to make his hips stutter up into her. He gasped.

“That’s it,” she said, voice husky. “Just like that.”

But then—

He snapped.

His hands clamped down on her thighs, and suddenly he was sitting up, mouth crashing into hers, tongue desperate, kisses messy and hungry.

“No,” he growled into her mouth, “I need more—I need you faster, harder, let me—please, let me—”

Before she could answer, he had her on her back, hoodie pooled beneath her shoulders, her legs wrapped around his waist as he buried himself back inside her in one deep, punishing thrust.

“Lu!”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he groaned, hips pounding now, rhythm rougher, needier. “I swear, I just—I need you.”

Her nails raked down his back, lips parting in a cry she tried to muffle with her hand, but he caught her wrist and pinned it above her head, grinning like a man unhinged.

“Let them hear,” he whispered, teeth at her throat. “Let them hear who makes you sound like that.”

She choked on a moan as he angled deeper, stroking that perfect spot inside her over and over until she was arching off the mattress, gold chains tangling against her throat, her whole body lit up and trembling.

“You gonna come for me?” he breathed. “Let go for me, babe. I want to feel you.”

She barely managed to nod, her whole body tightening beneath him, her thighs clamping down.

And when she did—when she came around him, gasping his name like a prayer—he followed instantly, burying himself deep as his whole body shuddered, moaning so loud it echoed off the walls.

For a long, still moment, the only sounds were their heavy breathing, the distant hum of the hallway fan, and the quiet thud of his heartbeat against her chest.

She was still catching her breath, cheeks flushed, limbs soft and heavy, when Luigi leaned in and kissed her neck again—slow, sweet.

But the way his hands gripped her thighs said something else entirely.

“Lu,” she murmured, voice raw, “I thought you—”

“I’m not done,” he said, low and serious. “Not even close.”

Before she could answer, he flipped her onto her stomach, strong hands guiding her up onto her knees. Her cheek hit the pillow, hips up, back arched—exposed. Vulnerable. The way he wanted her.

“Lu…” she breathed, a warning and a whimper in one.

“You’ve been too sweet to me,” he muttered, eyes raking over her body like he was about to wreck her. “Let me have this.”

He grabbed her hips, pulled her back until her ass pressed flush against him. She could feel him—already hard again, still hot and heavy—pressed between her thighs.

He slid in with one slow, brutal thrust.

She gasped, gripping the sheets.

“Too much?” he asked, mock-sweet, hand sliding up her spine.

“You’re—Lu, slow down—”

But he didn’t.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pushed her head down, cheek to the mattress, ass high.

“I said let me have this,” he growled.

Then he started moving—deep, relentless thrusts that sent her forward with each one. The slap of skin, the wet, obscene sounds between them, and her moans—half-choked into the pillow—filled the room like a storm had broken loose.

“You feel so good,” he rasped, voice fraying. “Taking me so deep, fuck—fuck, babe—”

She couldn’t answer. Could barely think. Her fingers clawed at the blankets, mouth open, eyes rolling back as he pounded into her harder, faster.

“Lu, please—please, you’re too—”

“Take it,” he snapped, hand smacking her ass once, hard. “You’re mine.”

She cried out, walls fluttering around him, body trembling from the overstimulation. Her hair clung to her back, sweat-damp and wild.

“I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, voice wild, rough, “and I’m not pulling out. You want that?”

She whimpered, legs shaking. “Yes—yes, Lu, please—”

“Fucking say it.”

“I want you to cum in me,” she gasped, words breaking as her body gave out beneath him. “I want it—need it—please, Luigi—”

That was it.

He slammed into her one last time, burying himself deep and holding her tight against him as he spilled inside her, moaning into her shoulder, hands gripping her like he never wanted to let go.

They stayed like that—connected, breathless, ruined.

And when he finally softened and pulled out, watching his release spill from between her thighs, he dropped beside her, chest still heaving.

“Jesus,” he whispered, dragging her against him, hand in her hair, kissing her temple. “I needed that more than food.”

She laughed—hoarse and dazed.

“Next time,” she murmured, “just tell me you’re mad.”

He grinned, exhausted and smug. “What, and miss out on this?”

•

The room had gone still. The only light came from the faint glow of her desk lamp and the hallway seeping through the bottom of the door. Luigi lay flat on his back, breath steadying, one arm tossed over his eyes like he’d been knocked out. His chest rose and fell in deep, slow waves.

She stirred beside him, legs still a little wobbly, skin flushed and glistening. She reached for the tissues on her nightstand, then paused—watching him for a second. The way his curls stuck to his forehead. The way his jaw relaxed when he wasn’t smirking or teasing. He looked peaceful. Wrecked, but peaceful.

She sat up, leaned over him, and started cleaning him up—slow, careful strokes. He twitched the first time, hips flinching slightly.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice rough from overuse. “Let me do that.”

“Shhh,” she said softly, wiping him down with gentle focus. “I got you.”

He looked up at her through half-lidded eyes, mouth parting at the way she touched him—not sexual now, just soothing. Reverent, even. Like she wanted him to feel cared for, not just spent.

Every few swipes, she’d kiss him. A kiss to his chest. His stomach. His hip bone.

Then, when she was done, she paused, letting her lips hover just above the head of his cock—soft now, but still sensitive, still slick from everything they’d shared. She kissed it. Barely there. Soft and warm and lingering.

Luigi moaned. Quiet, broken. Like even that final touch unraveled something inside him.

She smiled, then gently pulled his boxers back on, tugging them up his thighs and tucking him away like she was tucking in a secret.

“You’re trying to kill me again,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

“Just wanted to say goodnight.”

He laughed, sleepy and low. “That was a good night.”

She climbed back into bed with him, slipping under the covers, pulling him close. He immediately rolled toward her, throwing a leg over her hip, hand resting on her waist.

“You’re so good to me,” he whispered against her neck.

“You needed it.”

“I always need you.”

She kissed his forehead, then his cheek, then let her fingers drift up and down his spine until his breathing slowed again. And when he finally fell asleep, curled around her like gravity didn’t matter, she stayed awake just a few minutes longer.

Because no matter how cocky, needy, or bratty he got—this was her favorite version of him.

The quiet one who held her like she was home.

The Next Morning — 8:09 a.m.

The first thing she felt was warmth.

The second was weight—Luigi, practically draped over her like a human blanket, hoodie bunched up around his ribs, breath brushing against her collarbone. One of his legs tangled between hers. One arm around her waist. His curls soft and unruly, pressed against her cheek.

She blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the morning light peeking through the window blinds. The air was still, peaceful. Her chest rose and fell under his, steady.

Without thinking, her fingers slid into his hair.

Instantly, he sighed.

Not even fully awake, and already melting.

A soft, muffled whine escaped his lips as her nails grazed his scalp. He didn’t move, didn’t lift his head—just nuzzled in closer like a cat in a sunbeam.

“Mmm,” he grumbled into her skin. “Don’t stop.”

“You’re such a baby,” she murmured, but her tone was affectionate. Her hand moved slower, curling a little deeper into his hair.

“I’m your baby,” he muttered, voice raspy and wrecked.

She smiled, letting her thumb graze the edge of his ear.

Then she felt it.

The hard press of him against her thigh. Not subtle. Not ignorable.

Her smile sharpened.

“Well, good morning,” she said, teasing. “You planning to do anything with that, or…?”

Luigi groaned, face immediately burying itself deeper into her neck.

“Don’t,” he whined, voice cracking. “It’s morning. I’m vulnerable.”

She laughed softly, kissing the top of his head. “You’re always vulnerable when I touch your hair.”

“You’re weaponizing it.”

“Maybe.”

Then, without warning, her hand slid down—slow, deliberate—over his back, down his side, until her fingers slipped under the waistband of his boxers.

He gasped, twitching against her.

“Babe—”

She grinned against his temple, her hand curling lightly around him. Not stroking yet. Just holding. Warm and gentle.

“You’re already so hard,” she whispered, voice dipping. “You always wake up like this?”

“I—fuck, not always,” he stuttered, hips jerking slightly. “Only when you’re in my bed. Or… I guess when I’m in yours.”

“Mmm.” She gave him the lightest squeeze. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not—okay, I am. Jesus.”

She kissed his cheek, slow and warm, and started stroking—barely moving her hand, just enough to make him gasp again.

“You’re so sensitive,” she whispered. “Is this because of last night?”

“You broke me last night.”

“You liked it.”

“Obviously.”

He was already leaking, already whimpering softly into her skin, hands gripping her hip like he didn’t know where else to hold on.

“You wanna be good for me this morning?” she asked, teasing and sweet, her breath at his ear.

He nodded fast, breath catching.

“Then let me take care of you.”

“C’mon,” she whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Lay back for me.”

Luigi didn’t argue. Just blinked at her with sleepy, blown-out eyes and let her roll him onto his back, curls splayed over her pillow, hoodie riding up over his stomach. He looked so soft like this—raw from last night, chest still rising fast, eyes fluttering when her hand stayed between his legs.

“God, you’re already so worked up,” she whispered, her palm gliding over the thick length of him. He was hot, twitching in her hand, tip glistening with precum that smeared across her fingers as she stroked him slowly.

He choked out a breath. “Fuck, babe, please—”

“Shhh,” she cooed, kissing his jaw. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

She sat up on her knees beside him, eyes fixed on his flushed face as she wrapped her fingers around him fully now, pumping slow, deliberate strokes from base to tip. Her thumb swirled over the head, collecting the leaking mess and spreading it down with each pass.

Luigi’s head tipped back, his jaw slack, hands fisting the sheets like he didn’t know what else to do with himself.

“God, you feel so good,” he moaned, hips lifting into her hand. “I’m gonna—babe, I—”

“Not yet,” she said sweetly, giving a firmer stroke. “Just let me take care of you. You don’t need to do anything.”

He whined—actually whined—as her pace stayed slow but relentless, her wrist twisting just enough to make him twitch, over and over. His stomach tensed, thighs shaking.

She kissed his chest. His neck. His stomach.

“You’re so sensitive,” she whispered, loving the way he shivered. “Still full from last night, huh?”

He nodded quickly, unable to speak.

Her other hand cradled his hip, grounding him as he bucked up into her fist, moaning now—soft, desperate sounds tumbling out like he didn’t know how to hold them in.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” she murmured, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Y-yeah,” he gasped. “Yeah, I’m so close—please—don’t stop—”

She didn’t. She kept stroking him, a little faster now, the slick sounds getting louder as he spilled more over her fingers. His abs clenched, head thrown back, and he came with a broken cry—hot, thick ropes spilling across his stomach and her hand in messy, twitching pulses.

She didn’t stop touching him right away. Just slowed her strokes, coaxing every last drop from him as he trembled beneath her.

“Jesus,” he whispered, completely wrecked.

She kissed the inside of his thigh. “You’re so good for me.”

When he opened his eyes again, she was smiling down at him, wiping her hand on a tissue and already reaching for a clean one to gently clean his stomach. Like he was something delicate. Like she loved this part—caring for him when he could barely move.

“I don’t deserve you,” he mumbled, still dazed.

She kissed his cheek. “No, but you’ve got me anyway.”

He thought he was done.

Thought the handjob had drained every last bit of frustration and tension from his body. But then she kissed him again—slow, warm, one hand cupping his cheek and the other still resting on his thigh.

“You did so good for me,” she whispered, her lips brushing his. “But I wanna give you one more thing.”

Luigi blinked, dazed and flushed, lips parted. “One more?”

She smiled.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Wanna see you fall apart for me again.”

She guided him to the edge of the bed, his legs spreading automatically as he sat. He looked down at her, brows already pulling together in anticipation, because he knew what she was about to do. She kissed his inner thigh, then the other, her hands sliding up the sides of his hips, fingers curling into the waistband of his boxers.

“Lay back,” she said softly, and he obeyed like it was instinct.

When she pulled his boxers down again, he was already starting to get hard—his cock flushed, still twitching, even after everything. His breath caught when she wrapped her hand around him again.

“I literally just came,” he muttered, voice wrecked.

She kissed the head of his cock. “And you’re already ready again. That’s so cute.”

“God,” he groaned, tossing his head back. “You’re evil.”

“You love me.”

He didn’t have time to respond.

Because she sank to her knees.

Right there in front of him, hair messy from sleep, gold jewelry catching the light, eyes warm and locked on his. She looked too angelic to be doing something so filthy—and that contrast made it even worse.

She started slow.

Tongue teasing around the head, soft sucks, the kind of gentle buildup that had him twitching in her hand again. But she didn’t stop there.

This time, she took him deeper.

All the way.

Luigi’s entire body tensed. His hands flew to the sheets, gripping them like he might fall off the planet.

“Holy fuck—” he choked, hips jerking.

She swallowed him down until her nose was pressed to his stomach, then pulled back just enough to drag her tongue along the underside—slow, firm, perfect.

His legs spread wider, his brows pulling tight, tongue sliding out to lick the corner of his mouth like he couldn’t even think straight.

“Babe—” he gasped. “I—I can’t— you’ve never—fuck—fuck.”

She moaned around him, and the vibrations made him whimper.

His hand reached out, trembling, threading through her hair. Not guiding—just holding. Like he needed something to keep him grounded.

“You’re gonna make me cum so fast,” he groaned. “That’s not fair—fuck, it’s not fair—”

But she was smiling.

She pulled off just long enough to say, “I want it. Wanna taste you.”

Then she went back down—deeper, hungrier—lips flushed, cheeks hollowing as she sucked him hard and slow, hand stroking what she couldn’t fit until he was panting, twitching, leaking all over her tongue.

Luigi looked completely wrecked.

Eyebrows drawn, cheeks flushed red, abs flexing with every pass of her mouth. He looked down at her like he couldn’t believe this was real, like his brain had short-circuited halfway through processing what she was doing.

“Baby—” he warned, voice breaking. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna—I’m cumming—”

She didn’t pull back.

She took it.

Every last drop, swallowing him as he came hard, his moans cracking in his throat as his hips jerked helplessly. His hand clenched in her hair, body shaking, completely undone.

When he finally opened his eyes again, she was looking up at him—smug and sweet, licking her lips.

He stared.

“You just… swallowed all of it.”

She shrugged, wiping her mouth. “You taste good.”

He blinked again, then let his head fall back with a groan. “You are literally going to kill me.”

She climbed back into bed beside him, kissing his cheek, then nuzzling into his neck.

“You can nap,” she whispered. “I’ll protect you.”

He wrapped an arm around her without a word, still dazed, still hard-breathing, totally spent.

And smiling.

9:12 a.m. — Her Dorm Room

Luigi was sitting half-dressed on the edge of her bed, hoodie halfway over his head, eyes glassy like he’d just come back from war. Because, in a way, he had.

“Are you ever gonna recover?” she asked, amused, as she tossed him a clean pair of socks.

He caught them clumsily. “You swallowed and then looked at me like it was nothing. I need time.”

“You’ve had time,” she said, pulling on her sweatshirt and smoothing her hair into a clip. “Now put your pants on. I’m making eggs.”

“I’m gonna marry you,” he muttered, tugging his sweatpants up. “I’m still weak. You’re feeding me. It’s over. I’m locked in.”

She leaned down to kiss his forehead. “You’ve been locked in. I just like spoiling you.”

He gave a broken sigh and collapsed back on the bed.

“You’re a menace.”

“And you love it.”

•

She worked fast, already cracking eggs and dropping toast into her tiny dorm toaster. Luigi hovered nearby like a six-foot golden retriever, arms wrapped around her waist from behind, hoodie sleeves bunched at the elbows. He kept his face buried in her shoulder, occasionally pressing lazy kisses to her neck.

“Do you need something?” she asked without looking up.

“You,” he mumbled. “Always.”

She shook her head, trying not to laugh. “Eat your breakfast and behave.”

He tightened his arms around her. “I can’t. You blew me. Literally. I’m emotionally compromised.”

“Luigi.”

“You were on your knees, babe. I saw God.”

Walk to the Café

They finally made it out the door after she forced him to brush his teeth, fix his hair, and pack his laptop. Now they were walking across Locust Walk, the early campus buzz already kicking in—students heading to class, coffee cups everywhere, bikes whirring past.

Luigi had one hand on the strap of his backpack. The other was locked around her waist.

She wore her usual soft, clean-scented perfume. Gold hoops, layered necklaces, everything about her perfectly put together. He looked like someone who’d barely survived something spiritual—and couldn’t stop smiling about it.

“You’re being clingy,” she said, glancing up at him.

“You rearranged my soul, you don’t get to be surprised I want to hold you.”

“People are staring.”

“They’re just jealous.”

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, pulled her close, and kissed her full on the mouth. Not rushed. Not casual. Just firm and affectionate—his way of telling the world she was his, and he was so fine with that.

She blinked up at him, lips flushed. “That was… a lot.”

“I’m still blushing.”

“You should be.”

He grinned and nudged her forward. “C’mon. You’ve got me addicted to that café croissant. And I need something to help me recover from the best morning of my life.”

She rolled her eyes and laced their fingers together. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with you.”

The café was buzzing with the late-morning crowd—students in hoodies and slippers, laptops open, espresso machines hissing nonstop. The smell of fresh coffee and buttery pastries wrapped around them as they stepped inside, hand in hand.

She was scanning the pastry case when someone called out from the corner.

“Hey! There she is!”

She turned, instinctively smiling—two girls from her environmental chem class waving her over. One had a UPenn tote slung over her shoulder, the other was halfway through a matcha.

“Didn’t think you were making it out of your dorm today,” one of them said, smirking as they walked up.

“We saw your notes on the group doc,” the other chimed in. “So organized, as always. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Thanks,” she said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “I was just—”

That’s when one of them paused, eyes zeroing in just below her jaw.

“Oh my god, is that a—”

Her friend leaned in. “Yep. That’s a hickey.”

The grin that bloomed on their faces was instant. They turned their gaze—like radar—toward Luigi, who was standing right behind her, hands casually resting on her hips, expression completely unbothered.

“Hi,” one said, lips twitching. “You must be Luigi.”

“Guilty,” he said smoothly, not even trying to hide the smug little grin tugging at his lips.

She let out a scandalized laugh and covered her neck with one hand. “You guys are so annoying—”

“Oh, we’re annoying?” one of them shot back, grinning. “You’re the one walking around like you just got ruined.”

Luigi let out a low chuckle behind her, pressing his mouth to her temple like he might say something—but she cut him off by grabbing his hand and dragging him toward the counter.

“Okay, that’s enough,” she muttered, cheeks flaming as she half-hid her face in his chest. “They’re not gonna let me live.”

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, hands resting just above her stomach.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” he whispered in her ear. “Also… that was 100% on purpose. That spot under your ear? Mine now.”

“Luigi.”

“Say it.”

“No.”

He grinned into her hair. “Fine. I’ll earn another one later.”

She elbowed him lightly, stepping up to the counter to order. Still half-curled into him, still red-faced. But she didn’t pull away.

If anything, she held him tighter.

3:17 p.m. — Van Pelt Library, Third Floor Study Room

The study group was deep in work mode—laptops open, highlighters out, phones face-down, cold brew sweating on the table. A mix of bio majors, engineering kids, and one poli sci friend pretending to belong. Pages rustled, keyboards clicked, and the occasional ugh punctuated the low hum of productivity.

Luigi sat directly across from her.

He wore his glasses now—thin-framed, slightly crooked from being shoved in his backpack—and his curls were pulled back with a lazy claw clip she’d given him. He was focused, lips pursed, typing with sharp precision as his code scrolled fast.

She was beside him, eyes flicking between her textbook and her laptop, pen tapping absently.

For a while, they behaved.

Then it started.

It was subtle at first—his knee brushing hers under the table, then staying there. Her ankle slid between his legs a few minutes later. His foot nudged hers in response, and she didn’t look up, didn’t smile—just let it happen.

Ten minutes later, her phone buzzed beside her.

from Luigi:

you’re not slick with that foot.

but don’t stop.

She smirked, typed without looking at him.

to Luigi:

you’re already hard again, aren’t you?

She saw his throat move as he swallowed, then shifted in his seat. He didn’t reply. Just looked down at his screen, but she could see the flush creeping up his neck.

Five minutes passed. Then—

from Luigi:

stop.

i’m trying to not get caught.

you’re evil.

i want you so bad it’s actually painful.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, then wrote one last message.

to Luigi:

keep your hands to yourself, or I’ll take you to the bathroom and make it worse.

He blinked. Set his phone down. Adjusted his glasses. Looked at her like she’d just whispered filth in his ear in front of everyone.

That’s when one of the girls from the group looked up.

“Okay,” she said, pointing between them, “what is going on right now?”

They both froze.

“What?” she said innocently, scribbling a note in the margin of her reading.

“You two keep texting each other and blushing. Luigi hasn’t looked up in twenty minutes, and you keep kicking him under the table.”

Luigi sat back slowly, blinking behind his glasses.

“Studying,” he said too quickly. “Just—concentrating.”

The poli sci friend raised an eyebrow. “You’re vibrating, bro.”

“I—I code fast,” he said, adjusting his glasses again. “It’s a thing.”

One of the guys snorted. “Y’all are so not slick.”

She leaned into Luigi’s side, her hand brushing his thigh under the table as she looked up at the group.

“We’re just productive,” she said sweetly. “Right, Lu?”

He turned scarlet. “Mmhmm.”

She reached under the table again. He choked on air.

“Studying,” she reminded him with a grin, voice low.

“I hate you,” he muttered, eyes squeezed shut, shifting in his seat again.

She kissed his cheek. “Liar.”

•

The study group had scattered—half to the vending machines, a couple to refill water bottles, and one kid muttering something about protein bars and disappearing entirely. The break window opened like a gift.

She grabbed Luigi’s hand and tugged.

“C’mon.”

He blinked, flustered. “Wait—where are we—?”

“Five minutes.”

That was all it took.

They slipped down the narrow stairwell, past the half-lit corridors of second-floor stacks, weaving between dusty shelves and untouched archives. She pulled him into a back corner with no cameras, no windows, and just enough shadow.

The second they stopped moving, she pushed him back against the shelf and kissed him—hard.

His hands flew to her waist like instinct, but he was already breathless, already undone just from the look in her eyes.

“God, I’ve been going crazy,” he murmured between kisses. “You can’t just text me shit like that and expect me to focus.”

“You weren’t supposed to focus,” she said, kissing down his jaw. “I wanted you desperate.”

“You succeeded.”

She kissed him again—deeper this time. Tongue brushing his, slow and hot.

Then she sucked it into her mouth, moaning low in her throat.

Luigi whimpered.

Actually whimpered.

His hips twitched forward against her, and she felt it—long, hard, straining through his gym shorts.

She pulled back just enough to glance down, eyes going right to the prominent outline pressing against the thin fabric. Clear as day.

“Lu,” she whispered, tilting her head, smirking. “You’re already this hard?”

“You—fuck, babe—”

He rocked into her slightly, hands gripping her hips now, eyes fluttering. His head hit the shelf behind him with a dull thunk.

She reached down, palmed him through his shorts, just once.

He gasped.

“Someone’s sensitive,” she teased. “Still sore from this morning?”

He groaned, biting his lip hard. “Yes. And you’re making it worse.”

She leaned in, kissed just below his ear, voice like velvet.

“Good.”

Then her teeth grazed his neck—lightly—and her hand gave him one more slow, teasing stroke over his waistband.

He was panting now, trying to keep his voice down, hips shifting like he couldn’t help it. “You’re gonna kill me in a library.”

She pressed her body into his, lips brushing his again.

“Then die quiet.”

Luigi was flushed, breathing hard, his glasses sliding slightly down his nose as her hand left him aching and half-hard beneath his shorts. Her lips were swollen, pupils wide, and for a second—just a second—he thought maybe she’d give in.

He leaned in, hands sliding to her hips, thumbs slipping just beneath the hem of her shirt.

“What if,” he whispered, lips brushing hers, “I just pulled these down—” one thumb slid under the waistband of her shorts “—and ate you out right here?”

Her breath caught.

Her hand flew up to his chest, firm. “Lu.”

“No one would hear. You’d stay quiet for me, right?” he said, voice low and smug, mouth at her jaw now. “Just five minutes. I’d make you cum so hard you’d forget what class you’re in.”

Her thighs clenched. Hard.

But she shoved him back—lightly, but serious.

“Absolutely not. We’re not getting kicked out of the damn library because your dick can’t wait,” she hissed, adjusting her clothes, eyes still wild. “I’m not that crazy.”

He grinned, all mischief and flushed lips. “I think you’re a little crazy.”

“Luigi.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, hands raised in surrender, though his eyes were still locked on her like she was the only thing that existed. “I’ll behave.”

She gave him one last look—stern, heated, flushed—and turned on her heel, leading him back out of the stacks.

They walked fast, not speaking.

He trailed behind her, smiling to himself.

•

4:21 p.m. — Back in the Study Room

They slipped back into the room like nothing happened—her brushing a hand through her hair, him adjusting his hoodie. A few people glanced up. One girl clocked the way Luigi was definitely red in the face.

She sat down first. He took the seat beside her.

For a few seconds, it was quiet.

Then he leaned over, mouth close to her ear.

Voice like sin.

“Can’t wait to get you back in my mouth tonight.”

Her pen slipped right out of her hand.

She turned to glare at him, but he was already looking at his screen, completely composed, like he hadn’t just whispered something that set her whole body on fire.

She stared ahead, trying to focus.

Her ears were bright red.

And across the table, someone muttered under their breath, “Y’all are insufferable.”

Luigi smiled without looking up.

“Productive,” he said smoothly. “We��re just productive.”

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜

It hit the limit so I’ll post a part 2 in a few days. I already have it done, but I won’t keep yall waiting too long. Thanks for reading 💖

#luigi mangione #free luigi #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione fic #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione x yn #luigi mangione smut

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riwoops · 2 months ago

Text

ㅤ✶ㅤ págos latte and bagels .ᐟ p.sh

𝓢tarring —﹙박성훈﹚stressed bf ! park 𝒮unghoon x sweet loving partner ! 𝑔𝓃 ! reader 𝒾𝓃... sunghoon regretting his major and confessing it to you ! wc. 1.2k 𒀭 college!au est. fluff physical touch sliiiiight angst reader & hoon study classical philology cuz i luv greco-latin culture sm so yeah 💔 doesn't really influence in the story, i just felt like squeezing it somewhere lmao

( SUMARIO ✦ ) sunghoon seriously doesn't know what got into him when he decided to get a bachelor's degree in classical philology. college is stressful — all the new subjects, the teachers, the constant coursework and research that he has to do in order to finish his degree's final project… he's literally about to dropout and needs to tell someone now.

७. ꕤ 𝓡eblog & 𝓵ike for a smooooch !

another day, another class your boyfriend is late to.

"sorry!" he says loudly, slamming the door close behind him as he makes his way next to your seat. he was clearly embarrassed for disrupting the lecture although it's become a habit at this point.

it is 9:40. the class finishes at 10:05.

the teacher doesn't even flinch when he steps inside the room, nor when he apologizes for being late again as he got used to the boy doing it in all of his classes — instead, the professor continues as if nothing had happened, as if a very red and flushed sunghoon didn't just sit down beside you.

you give him a quick glance before fixing your eyes completely on him once you notice his state.

"baby, what happened?" you whisper confused and worried. sunghoon was grasping for air while he was taking his stuff out, trying miserably to focus on what’s left of the lecture.

"the bus arrived ten minutes late..." he replied back, a bit of disappointment and annoyance present in his voice. your once worried expression turns into a playful one, leaving any serious thought you had aside.

“i seriously cannot stand this anymore” and as soon as sunghoon whispers to you through gritted teeth, you notice how his fists clench on top of his notebook as he runs a hand through his hair. this makes you frown, bringing back your worried thoughts as you were unsure of what he meant by that.

“hoonie, baby, is everything alright?” your voice comes sweet like honey, making your boyfriend relax for a split second before he tenses again.

this is weird.

he’s usually not this stressed — you can see in his movements that something’s going on.

“i’m thinking about dropping out” he finally declares after some seconds of silence, gaining a surprised gasp from you.

oh damn.

you really did not expect that.

“i’m just– this is so stressful” he breathes out, closing his eyes momentarily before turning his head to you “i'm literally being exploited here. i barely have any free time and, honestly, i don’t even like dead languages!” he concludes, his voice picking up some speed as he vented to you.

a skeptical hand is placed on his tigh, making his eyes glance at you tiredly.

“i’m sorry” he finally mumbles, his voice genuine at the words.

“it’s okay” you give him a soft smile, caressing his leg reassuringly as you try to brush it off. you're still in class and you have many hours left to talk deeply about what he had just brought up to you, to talk about him dropping out.

it continues sounding so unreal to you.

you were actually enjoying the degree you both were specializing in — classical philology. you've always liked latin and greek and felt pretty much attracted to the ancient culture, to its history and how many modern words evolved from these two languages.

but ever since you started college and met sunghoon, you could tell he didn't enjoy it as much as you did. he was always complaining about how difficult everything was, how the modules kept eating him alive and how he wasn't actually liking it as he thought he was going to do.

college was killing him, and you knew it, but you never expected him to get to the point of leaving the major just a few months before graduating.

once your short yet very much necessary rest began, you both decided to go to a coffee shop near the campus.

the smell of freshly baked pastries and bread, especially bagels, filled your nostrils as you both made your way inside the cozy building.

"so..." you cleared your throat softly, not wanting to bother him about what you're about to ask "when did you think about... that?" the question finished being formulated with the word feeling quite foreign in your tongue — it really did shock you.

sunghoon sighs heavily, his hand coming near his neck and scratching it lightly as you found a table for two. before he could even say anything, he interrupted himself.

"we should order something first" he suggests, getting up from his seat and walking towards the counter. you already knew what he was going to order, the usual — for you it was a bagel filled with cream cheese and salmon with peach tea on the side, for him it was an iced latte with a bacon and egg sandwich.

he came back with the orders in two trays, giving yours first before sitting down.

"i'm thinking about leaving the major" sunghoon repeats once he is sat, finally explaining to you the reason behind it "because i've never actually enjoyed what we're studying. honestly, i'm not even sure when and why i decided to study this" he exhales and continues ranting, frustrated by the decision he took and how much he regretted it.

it really was killing him.

"and i don't know... i'm aware of how much you do like this and i really appreciate you've always tried helping me but, seriously, this is not for me" his rambling comes to an end, his eyes fixing on yours as he waits for your turn to speak now. he's scared, staring at you, feeling concerned about your opinion.

all you have to do is show him a mild smirk and repeat the same reassuring words you told him when he had entered the first class of the day for sunghoon to finally relax.

"it's okay, honey. i don't hate you for making such a strong decision, it's your life and i'm here to support you. i don't want you staying here just because of me" the words come out of your mouth so lovingly, making him loosen up even more as you go on. "and if i'm sincere, i'm happy you even got to that conclusion because that means you know who you are and what you like" you grab one of his hands, caressing its back with your thumb as you kept your gazes locked.

sunghoon nods deliberately, glad you didn't discourage him about it and instead supported his decision. he smiles back at you.

"thank you" he whispers, bringing your hand closer to his lips and planting a gentle peck.

in a comfortable silence you sense sunghoon still feeling doubtful, frightened about what he's about to do on his own. it doesn't really matter though, as long as he's got you by his side everything's fine.

maybe he won't be in your class anymore, maybe you won't have him as close as you do right now and maybe your paths won't be fully aligned, and that's probably the least important thing right now. sometimes love is about still holding hands through the detours.

and right now, you're still holding hands.

that's more than enough.

requests are open!

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dindjarindiaries · 10 months ago

Note

‘why is it, that whenever we see each other, you’re always covered in blood?’

for our boy din 🥹

Risk

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompt: "Why is it that whenever we see each other, you're always covered in blood?"

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

You woke to the sound of a fist pounding against your front door in endless succession. You sat up straight in bed, your eyes widened as you instinctively reached for the blaster on your bedside table. After taking a few breaths to steady yourself and gather your bearings, you dared to tiptoe out of your bed and make a slow approach towards the door.

The knocking continued. You lifted your blaster and pushed ahead, only pausing once you were close enough to reach the tiny, sliding peephole that would give you a glimpse of who was outside.

Expecting the worst, a quiet gasp passed through your lips as soon as you caught the shine of silver armor.

You lowered your blaster and opened the door. It slid aside to reveal Din's full form, his weight shifting between his feet as his visor gave you an obvious once-over.

"Are you okay?" Din's modulated voice was breathless.

You huffed and raised your brow. "I'm fine." Giving him a similar once-over, your heart rate picked up at the sight of crimson smeared upon various parts of his armor, most notably his cuirass. You kept your tone light as you spoke again. "Why is it that whenever we see each other, you're always covered in blood?"

Din exhaled, taking a step closer to lift his gloved hand to the side of your neck. "I'd rather it be on me than on you."

He glanced over his shoulder, the leather by your neck groaning as he gently tightened his grasp. Din lowered his hand to your shoulder and lifted the other to your arm, guiding you back inside your home. He paused, however, to let his visor meet your gaze.

"Can I come in?"

You chuckled and pulled him inside with you. "You don't need permission to come inside, Din."

Din didn't respond to that. Instead, he focused on making sure your door was secured closed behind him. Your chest tightened.

"What's going on, Din?"

The strain in your voice caused Din to face you again. He tilted his helmet in a slow, soft motion. "I'm sorry for scaring you." Din gestured with his helmet to your bedroom door. "You didn't answer your comm."

You raised a single eyebrow. "I was asleep." You gave the pauldron with his mudhorn signet a playful punch. "Some of us don't pick fights in the middle of the night."

Din huffed. "Right."

You gave him a more obvious once-over. "Is this your blood, or someone else's?"

Din's hands tightened into fists. "Which would you prefer?"

"Take a guess."

Din closed whatever distance was left between the two of you, cradling your face in his gloved hands as he nodded. "I'm fine." His helmet gently fell against your forehead. "And thankfully, you are, too."

Your brow wrinkled together, your voice no more than a whisper as you searched the empty void of his visor. "What happened, Din?"

Din sighed, his armored shoulders falling forward as he did so. "I don't think I've been careful enough."

You blinked at him. "What do you mean?"

Din lifted his helmet from your head and gave it an aimless shake. "In the search for my covert. Doing these jobs and giving them too much insight about what I'm looking for."

He paused. You lifted your hand to his beskar cheek, running your thumb along the curved ridge in the handcrafted metal.

"I just finished a job, and they wanted more from me that we hadn't agreed upon. I was about to leave when they..." Din took another soft breath, "mentioned your name."

Your eyes widened. After a few heartbeats, you recovered enough to speak. "How?"

Din shook his head again. "I don't know. I've never, ever told anyone about you. About us." His visor fell. "Like I said before, I must've slipped up somehow, become too careless in looking for information. But I'll stop." He looked at you again. "Because it's not worth risking you."

You clicked your tongue. "Din..."

He continued before you could finish. "I killed them all, everyone who heard your name." Din's voice wavered. "Hopefully, that means you're safe. But I didn't know for sure until I got here."

"Din." You held his helmet between both your hands, lifting your brow again to convey your severity. After a brief pause, you went on. "You shouldn't stop searching for your people just because of this."

Din shifted his weight between his feet. "But..."

"No." You remained firm. "I knew what I was risking the day we started this." You gestured with your gaze to your blaster, which you had set on a nearby table when you reentered. "And I can protect myself, too. Even if they had shown up, you know I could've put up a fight."

Din exhaled, but he ultimately nodded. "I know."

You smiled. "Good."

You lowered a hand to the lip of his helmet, your fingertips running along the exposed skin and scruff beneath until they caught on the seam of the cowl at his neck.

"Thank you for doing what you did to keep me safe." You tugged the material down enough to set a soft kiss upon the warmth of his skin. Din inhaled, a sweet breath you could hear from within his helmet. "Now, let's get your armor cleaned and get you in bed. We can figure out the rest in the morning."

Din nodded, his hand catching your elbow when you set a hand upon his cuirass.

"And next time?" You chuckled. "Please try to show up without all that blood on you."

Din also chuckled, nodding once again before he escorted you to the safety and security of a bedroom you considered to be just as much his as it was your own.

#so anyways i started screaming bc i love him!#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #prompts #dindjarindiaries

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asaarii · 2 months ago

Text

just some various works that will prob never get finished chars included (in order) aka you can see all of my phases

mark grayson (invincible) [1.3k]

heartseel kayn and phel w streamer (league) [1.8k]

sett (league) [1.7k]

zagreus (acc might finish lowk) (hades) [856]

genji shimada (overwatch) [1.5k]

iso (valorant) [1.1k]

yasuo (league) [1.5k]

Mark Grayson [1.3K]

If there was one benefit to the cowl, it would be being able to hide the look of confusion on your face when a familiar sonic boom thunders through the sky before crashing into buildings with little regard to the people within. The ground tremors from the sudden force, splintering at the apex of the collision into loose and jagged debris.

Your breath hitches when the first building falls, your legs moving faster than your mind as you leap from your post atop a building. Just barely, you manage to save a family from death’s waiting maw, screaming at the top of your lungs for everyone in the area to keep moving. Though your voice is altered significantly by the modulator, the evident urgency in your tone sends many running; clawing and crying for a chance at survival—one you’re not sure many will have.

You do your best to help, grappling between buildings to save who you could, and pushing down waves of regret whenever you were a few seconds too late.

It had been a normal patrol at the start, and you’d even considered turning in early due to the lack of activity. You rarely took patrols during the day as your powers were dampened significantly by the presence of the sun, but a few days ago Rex had requested you take his place while he helped Rae move into her new apartment.

(“Please,” he whines, gripping your shoulders, batting his lashes in a way that has you reeling back, shoving his face away with your hand. “I’ll get your favorite takeout whenever you want! Just do me this one solid, I swear.”

You turn to Mark, your boyfriend caught up in a conversation with Eve, unable to catch your pleading gaze. As if sensing your unease, he looks at you, eyes alight with curiosity as they flicker between you and Rex before he shrugs unhelpfully with a small smile.

Your eyes narrow as your tongue pushes against the inside of your cheek while you weigh your options. Against your better judgment, you spare one last glance to his pathetic, pleading face before ultimately giving in. “Fine,” you groan out reluctantly, pushing him fully off you only for him to crush you in a hug to which you return stiffly.

He deserved his moment of happiness, you suppose. You all do after everything that’s happened.

Rex pulls away from you, playfully slapping Mark on his shoulder before running off to tell Rae the good news. “Dude, you’re girlfriend is the best!”

“I know,” Mark says proudly as he comes up behind you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, his lips pressing a feather-light kiss on the crown of your head. “C’mon, mom made your favorite.”

“Mark…” Your quiet murmur is picked up easily by his enhanced senses, your voice tinged with the slightest hint of hesitation.

He raises a hand before you can protest, pinching your cheek lightly. “Surely the Moon Knight can take just one night off, right?”

You really could never say no to this man, could you?

You flick his nose playfully, your scowl bearing no real heat as Khonshu’s voice echoes in your brain, likely arguing against going with Mark. But, for the first time in a while, you ignore the god, opting instead for a rare occasion of putting yourself first.

That was the first time in weeks you’d spent the night together, sharing your feelings and fears beneath his protective comforter while your insomnia took its hold, keeping your mind awake late into the hours of the night.

Luckily Mark had a few other ways to tire you out.)

Your muscles throb dully beneath your plated super suit in exertion, the white plates now stained a deep scarlet hue. You push forward, hands catching onto a flying car before it can crash into yet another building. The force drags you forward, but you manage to plant your feet and stop it just before it collides into the building which you now recognize as your favorite café.

A win amidst a sea of losses.

At least, that’s what you try to tell yourself, eyes flickering between the dilapidated buildings and the multitude of corpses left behind by the unknown threat. That’s when you see it. The figure that floats above it all, his familiar red cape flowing with ominous grandeur.

You know that suit.

But his face isn’t the same as you remember.

“Mark…?” His name leaves your lips a breathless question, confusion and doubt growing in the pit of your stomach with each cautious step you take toward your boyfriend.

Something’s wrong.

You feel it in the way his eyes snap to you without an ounce of recognition, cold behind his trademark goggles. And you most certainly feel it when his hand tightens around your throat before throwing you face-first into the asphalt. You make a choked noise at the feeling of your shoulder dislocating, the ground fracturing beneath you as a result of his strength.

It’s only then that you realize that the man above you isn’t your Mark, but an echo of what could’ve been. His hold on you is tight as he holds you up by the cape, scrutinizing every concerningly steady beat of your heart.

He leans closer, taking in the small details of your mask and suit, confusion settling on his face for the briefest of seconds before it returns to clinical stoicism, and he drops you unceremoniously onto the jagged ground. He clicks his tongue as you gasp for breath, glaring down at you with his lips pressed into a tight line.

You take the opportunity to muster the ability to kick him away from you, momentarily stunning him with your strength as he crashes into the café you’d just saved. The strangely dressed Mark reappears from the rubble with furrowed brows, brushing off stray dust from his suit.

You don’t give him a chance to recover, pinning him to a wall by the cape with an ahnk before popping your shoulder into place. You stalk closer, truncheons in hand as the sun disappears behind the horizon line. The Mark before you follows your movements closely like a predator waiting to pounce.

His jaw ticks as his hand closes around the ahnk, no doubt feeling the sting of Khonshu’s wrath as it burns through his glove and skin. Regardless, he pulls it free from the wall, throwing it at you with newly renewed conviction. “Who are you?” Though his tone is detached, you pick up on the smallest inklings of curiosity.

You hate the similarity he bears to your Invincible down to the very intonation of his question. But you can’t falter—you will not falter; not as a defender of Earth, nor as Khonshu’s sole avatar. Rubble crumbles above as the false Invincible before you holds your gaze both of you silent as a moment passes with rising tension.

He’s in front of you before you can blink, his fist pulled back before he punches you hard enough to level a whole city block.

You brace for impact, just barely finding time to raise your arms before you’re sent flying back. Had the sun still been up, you would’ve been nothing more than another stain on the concrete, even if only for a few moments, but all you feel is the blinding pain in your arms and back as you’re sent flying through a multitude of crumbled buildings.

It doesn’t take long for your bones to mend, but it takes even less time for the caped imposter to find you, appearing in a heartstopping gust of wind a few meters away from you.

“It’s rude to not answer when someone asks you something.” His arms remain crossed across his chest as he stares down at you from his place in the air. Next thing you know, glass shards dig into your back as he throws you by the ankle into another building.

So much for answering his question.

HEARTSTEEL with Streamer!Reader [1.8K]

kayn:

always comes in at the most random times. which can lead to a mixed bag or reactions ranging from a victory kiss to a scream of terror from the depths of your soul

most likely does it on purpose too because he’s a bitch like that.

could not give any less of a fuck if people knew you were together or not

sure pr is always on his ass but blah balah ablaha

you’re his partner and he’d be damned if he didn’t show you off to both your fans and his.

(he does reign himself in when yone steps in, though. holy shit that man is scary when he wants to be.)

Your headset sits heavy on your head, a sponsored brand you find yourself mentally critiquing as you focus on the game before you. A bead of sweat drips from your brow, a fruit of your concentration while your hands remain shaking and clammy on your controller.

The sound a heartbeat echoes distantly, though whether it’s your own or a game mechanic, you don’t quite know.You don’t notice a shadow shifting behind you or your chat trying to warn you, having muted it in order to focus solely on the game.

Arms curl around your chair as you turn down an infamous hallway, each creaking step of the rotting planks below your character sending a jolt of fear down your spine. Kayn watches behind your oblivious figure, trying to find the perfect moment to execute.

Unlike you, who wanted to go in completely blind, he’d watched numerous gameplays in order to pinpoint each jumpscare. Sure, he’d caught some flack from Yone during practices, but the thought of your reactions was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

It doesn’t take long for a familiar door to come into view, followed shortly by a series of quick-time events.

The ghost of his touch trails up your arm, yet you remain wholly unaware due to the stress of every new event. His hand removes one of your headphones, breath warming the cusp of your ear just as the final event appears on screen.

“Boo.”

Your sudden jolt causes you to hit the wrong button, successfully triggering a rather brutal jumpscare. As you jump back in pure fear, your controller flies from your hand, connecting squarely with your boyfriend’s nose.

The next few moments are pure chaos, with you screaming about an intruder in your house and Kayn keeled over in an attempt to stop the blood.

When you finally come to your senses, you’re shocked to find that your so-called intruder is actually your boyfriend, finally home from an extensive tour around Valoran following the success of Heartsteel’s latest album: STORMSURGE.

“Shieda?!” You’re quick to make your way to his side, panic rising in place of your previous fear. Blood pools in his cupped palms as he rushes out of the room with you trailing close behind whilst you apologize profusely.

Your poor, poor viewers are left with a view of an empty chair and an open door on your facecam while the death screen lingers on your monitor. Though muffled, they can hear snippets of the interaction transpiring between you and the rockstar from down the hall.

“Tip your head—forward not back, dumbass!”

“Fuck! Why’d you throw the controller so hard.”

“I was scared! And you weren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow…”

“Was s’posed to be a surprise.” There’s clear fondness in his tone despite the nasally sound of him pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I didn’t even hear you open the door.” You’re rubbing his back in soothing, trying your best not to wince at the copious amount of blood staining your sink.

“Well you also didn’t hear me leaning on your chair.” There’s a pause as Kayn sighs before mumbling a low, “I shadow traveled anyway,” uncaught by your otherwise sensitive mic.

It gets really hard to stay annoyed by his little prank when he looks like a kicked puppy. Even from this angle, you can see the small jut in his lip as he pouts, scowling slightly from the pain of his injured nose.

“M’sorry,” he apologizes after you bandage his thankfully unbroken nose. You can only chuckle as you clean his face and hands free of any blood, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry too. I overreacted.”

“Nah,” he shakes his head, leading the two of you back to your studio, “never apologize for feeling scared.”

Your chat rejoices at your return, half consoling Kayn and half making fun of him for being taken out in such a hilariously stupid way. He discreetly flips them a middle finger while you settle back in your seat, quickly closing the horror game in favor of a more lighthearted multiplayer. You miss the way he smiles when you respond to chat, though your perceptive viewers see the way his heterochromatic eyes shine in your dim lighting.

They see a downbad loverboy instead of the coldhearted rockstar face he offers the rest of the world.

yeah… sometimes he games with you, but he insisted to have his own controller and setup

if you look closely in the very right corner of your face cam, you can see the edge of his monitor peeking through; a candid shot of you the lockscreen

to tell the difference, he says

bullshit

sometimes he barges in without even knowing your streaming, already ranting about something that pissed him off

you always mute, ready to listen and offer advice on whatever he needs

he’s a mod when he’s not physically with you, banning any freaks who think they have a chance with you

he loves you and loves that you’re so confident in yourself, but your safety will always be your top priority

aphelios:

he’s with you every step of the way

he was your first supporter, after all

usually, he sits just out of frame and if you listen closely, you can hear a few of his mixes in the background when you speak

or he’s your camera man whenever you’re filming something outside the comfort of your home

there are also times he appears as a figure in your door—an ominous shadow, standing there menacingly for moments at a time before disappearing down the hall

this has led to a multitude of conspiracies about your apartment being haunted by a tall, lanky ghost

he finds it funny

you do not—okay it’s a little funny trying to suppress your smile as you dismiss your viewer’s concerns

your chat has grown a bit suspicious of your odd behavior, but you always brush it off as them being paranoid

you both finally decide to introduce him properly after you reached a particularly big follower goal

The camera blinks a bright red as your stream comes to life, a slew of comments come flooding in your chat, congratulating you for finally reaching the goal you’d been striving for for quite a while.

“Hey, guys! Welcome to my 500k follower special.” You wave at the camera, clapping your hands together while your eyes quickly scan the comments. “Thank you, ๑pinpinipi for the ten dollar dono! Yeah, as you guys can see, we’re gonna be baking today.”

๑getdiffed: we?? hmmmmm very very suspicious…

๑colon3: not rlly…but they’re doing the staring thing again

๑fardeded: IM SO EXCITED JBGJBONLNMK IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS STREABM FOREVERRRR

“Haha, I’m happy to see the enthusiasm, fard! Glad to know you’re still with us after all these years. Today, as many of you have guessed, I have a special little helper in the kitchen today—well, not exactly little, but you get the point.” You nod to the empty space beside you, encouraging the blue-haired male to join you in front of the camera.

He steps closer hesitantly, but stands tall with a soft nudge of your shoulder. Anything to see you smile.

๑willMYseed: NO FUCKING WAY IS THAT APHELIOS

๑colon3: WHAT THE HELLL

๑getdiffed: I KNEW THEY WERE SEEING SOMEONE BUT HOLY SHIT I DIDNT THINKNIT WAS HIM

๑fardeded: its all making sense now. i KNEW the music in the bg of someof their streams was familiar I DIDNT KNOW IT WAS THE COMPOSITION FOR STORMSURGE

๑averagegodling: who in the world is aphelios

๑averagegodling: WAIT HE’S THAT GUY FROM HEARTSTEEL???? :[user]_wtf:

๑ily[user]: gn. ive lost.

๑averagegodling: bros acting like they had a chance w [user] :skull:

You let out a boisterous laugh, leaning on your lover for support as your legs buckle beneath you. He holds you, smiling down at you gently as helps you back up.

“Sorry,” you wave a dismissive hand, “sorry, you guys are just too funny—fuck, what were we making again, Phel?”

He smirks as he whispers the dish in your ear, making sure to cover the mic clipped to your shirt to ensure that only you could hear his voice. His eyes stare dead into the camera, his hand lovingly stroking down your arm with the full intention to stake his claim.

“Right! Thanks, love,” you kiss his cheek absentmindedly before turning back to the camera, “we’re making yakgwa! It’s one of Phel’s favorites.”

๑willMYseed: WRITE THAT DOWN GUYS YAKGWA IS ONE OF APHELIOS’ FAVORITE FOODS

๑colon3: good googly moogly dID YOU SEE THAT SMIRK

๑fardeded: we get it king, they’re yours:[user]_sob]

Aphelios bends down, allowing you to pin his hair up with the gaudiest clip you could borrow from Alune without much protest, even allowing you to leave a lingering kiss on his freshly exposed forehead. With a roll of his eyes and a ruffle of your hair as payback, the two of you set to work in order to make the fried dessert.

It doesn’t take long to discern which of the two twins holds the culinary expertise.

(Hint, it isn’t Aphelios.)

He’s squinting at the iPad placed between the two of you. There’s a cute furrow in his brows you’ve only seen when he was making music. It’s rare to see him so concentrated on something other than his craft.

What you didn’t know is that he’s only like this because it was you who asked. Had it been Sett, Ezreal, or, god forbid, Kayn asking him to do this, he would’ve rolled his eyes and pushed Alune their way and called it a day. But it isn’t. It’s you; the person he’d tear down the moon itself for if it meant seeing you smile one last time.

“…Phel?”

He turns to you, slit brow raised in silent question.

“Does this flour look off to you?” You tilt the bowl toward him and he leans closer only to blanch at the odd concoction stirred within the bowl.

Oh. Haha. He was wondering where he misplaced K’sante’s protein powder. Silly him. Without much thought, he takes the bowl, chucking it in the sink with a quick text to Alune to pick up some wheat flour.

Oops?

๑PrideOfNazumah has donated $15: hey :)) could you check if aphelios has some birthday cake flavored protein powder left :)) both sett and i seem to have run out :)) no pressure :))

Sett [1.7K]

The world was cruel, often uncaring of those it brought punishment upon. Mothers, children, fathers, and lovers; nobody was safe from the ever-winding threads that wove history together, creating an ugly amalgamation of wars, famine, and ruination.

Regardless, you do your best to create a safe place in the world for your son, even if it’s difficult for the two of you to see eye to eye on most occasions. He has his father’s stubbornness, bearing the same crinkle in his nose whenever he bears the fangs he had inherited from you right back at you. Though, perhaps the worst thing he’d gotten from his father was his venom-laced tongue which spewed poison that hurt your heart more than any blade.

You never once blamed him, though.

You were the reason papa wasn’t around anymore. You were the reason he had to move to the outskirts of Navori away from everything he grew up with. You were the reason he had nothing. You reason your child—your own flesh and blood—despised your very existence.

Your fault.

Your fault!

It was all your fault!

Yet you took it all in stride. Still smiling and greeting him every morning with a gentle kiss to the forehead that he reels away from. Still tidying his uniform despite his protests, and still walking him to school even if he refuses to walk anywhere near you. It’s all worth seeing the smile that lights up his face when he catches sight of his friends in the schoolyard, completely disregarding the bidding of good luck you offer him.

Every day you smile to yourself as you turn your heel, breathing deeply in hopes of finding a job as funds are beginning to dwindle and the thought of selling your body sends a shiver down your spine.

You’d done it before, though, and ironically it was actually how you met your son’s father. The you of the past would have been quick to hop on the idea as it paid well and was relatively simple, but you could never make the mistake of falling in love with a client ever again.

Friends had warned you, truly they tried to help, but you didn’t heed their words. Their pleas for your well-being fell deaf in comparison to how your heart initially beat upon first forming a connection with the man. He was kind, gentle, and handsome to boot, but the flags—both green and red—were tinted by rose lenses as you found yourself falling a bit too hard too fast.

Maybe if you’d been a bit more preceptive you would have seen the glaring signs, like how his previously warm touches became cold, or how he smiled less when the two of you met up, or how his once soothing words began to make you doubt yourself and your worth little by little. Maybe then, you wouldn’t have been so shocked by his venomous words when you’d told him about the pregnancy.

You’ll never forget the look of raw anger and disgust that crossed his face as he clicked his tongue and stormed off with the excuse of cooling off. Your parents offered little support in the ordeal, ashamed of you for earning your keep in such an unkempt manner and getting pregnant so early on in life as a result of it. At least you had your friends to pour your burdens out to, or at least you used to, until you turned tail and fled the province, unable to look your parents in the eyes, or bear the scorn imposed upon you by your supposed lover.

Before you can delve too deep into the painful memories, you bring yourself back to reality, nodding kindly at your interviewer who gives you an unimpressed look in return.

She’s human, you note; her nails are trimmed short in comparison to your razor-sharp claws that fiddle restlessly in your lap, her ears are at the side of her head and bear skin unlike the fuzzy ones at the top of your head, and also unlike your own, hers don’t betray your emotions with a downward tilt. Her eyes travel between you and your resume, and you can’t help but feel scrutinized under her predatory stare.

Ironic, isn’t it?

Vastaya are typically known to be far stronger than the average human, bearing magic that most could only dream to hold that’s usually bolstered by their animal-like attributes. Yet here you were, cowering before a human who bears not a flicker of magic trickling through her veins. You do your best to shrink into yourself, eyes flickering anywhere but on her as a result.

The gaze of your interviewer softens a near-unnoticeable amount as she gnaws the inside of her cheek and once more, she glances at your resume. “Look,” she starts, quiet and slow as if to not startle an already frightened animal, “I don’t believe our business is the best place for you.” She can’t help but wince when you deflate, forcing yourself to pull through despite the harsh sting of being rejected by yet another job.

“It’s just…” She struggles to find the words, “Our business deals primarily with business transport, and it says here that you’re a single parent, right?” You can only muster a weak nod in response, desperately attempting to hear her out through the torrent of thoughts in your mind. She grabs your hand from across the table, rubbing soothing circles into your palm with her thumb.

It’s far beyond the boundaries of a normal interview, but she can’t help but empathize with you and your clear anguish. “You wouldn’t want to leave your son alone, would you? Most in our line of work don’t return from the first job, and I don’t think you want to imagine your son without you. So please, if not for you, then for your son, find another place of work.”

Her words do little to comfort you, but you nod along anyway, simply wanting to leave the vicinity as quickly as possible. However, just as you think she’s finally finished with her long-winded rejection, she fishes into her loose-fitting hanfu, pulling out a small slip of paper resembling a talisman.

“Here,” she states, pushing the paper into your hand. You come to realize that it’s a coupon for a free meal. As if feeling your confusion, your interviewer laughs lightly, a stark contrast to her cold persona mere moments prior. “For your troubles and a testament to your good luck in the future.”

You can’t help but stare at the coupon when you exit the building. It’s got a cute little design in the corner reminiscent of the badgers back in your home province and the black characters seemed to be hand-inked with love and care. You smile down at it, running your hand across the dried ink before pocketing the slip.

The sky is darkened slightly by the time you reach the entrance of the school. Towering whipwillow trees arch into a beautiful gate connected to an even larger tree that serves as the base of the school. It’s difficult not to admire such a work of art, cultivated through years of dedication to the act of magic.

However, every beauty comes with its own mars.

Holes and burn marks litter the tree from the Noxian invasion a few years back. Though most had been repurposed into open classrooms, they still serve as a reminder of the past and a sign to all that all that was once broken can be crafted into something beautiful.

In your moment of admiration towards the school, you nearly miss your son scurry past you, eager to go home and hole himself away in his room away from you. Luckily, you’re quick to catch him, much to his disdain. He shakes your hand off his arm, and you smile lovingly at him despite the added weight to your already heavy heart.

“I heard you were doing well in your classes. Why don’t we celebrate with a meal? I know a place you may like.” That was wrong, you didn’t even know if the teahouse was safe to bring a child. Regardless, your proposition was met with nothing but cold silence, causing your smile to falter slightly. Swallowing your pain, you guide your son through the active streets of Navori, sticking to well-lit streets and occasionally asking stall owners for directions while simultaneously purchasing ingredients for later with the little money you have on you.

Eventually, you and your son find yourself in front of a quaint teahouse, the same little badger etched into the sign above the entrance. When you push open the flaps, you’re immediately welcomed by a warm aura and the scent of fresh food.

A Vastayan woman is quick to greet you. Her ears seem naturally downcast, her lilac hair mostly held back by a band on her lower back, though a small portion is held together by twine next to her face.

“Welcome,” she greets, showing off her fanged smile that exudes the same homely aura as the rest of the establishment. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, are you new to Navori?” She guides both you and your son to the front, and it’s then you realize that the teahouse is practically empty. Guilt begins to seep in at the thought of catching this woman right before closing.

“Huh? Oh, yes, we just moved recently.” Your answer elicits a soft hum from the woman as she pours you and your son cups of tea.

“Allow me to formally introduce myself then.” After she places the cups down, she brings one of her clawed hands to her chest, “I am Ginora, owner of this little teahouse.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ginora. Ah, where are my manners? I’m [Name], and this is my son, Kuon.” You place your hand proudly on your son’s shoulder, only to have him shrug it off with a grumble. You’re quick to hide your wince with a strained smile as the two of you take the menus from the kind restaurant owner.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” she smiles before perking up when she sees you struggling to choose something. “Would you like some recommendations?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Ginora is kind; the type of woman you wish was your mother as well as the type of mother you hope you are to your son. She’s patient in the way she guides your son through the menu, who’s reluctantly polite to seemingly everyone but you.

“This is my son’s favorite.” She points to steamed pork buns on your son’s menu. Something in your brain clicks; it make sense that she’s a mother with her infinite patience and calming presence

Zagreus [856]

“What was he like?” Melinoë’s soft voice draws your attention away from the cauldron. It simmers quietly as you turn to look at her, the light of the eternal flame illuminating her already ethereal face.

You blink dumbly for a moment, trying to process her question ever so slowly. Hecate’s laugh rumbles a few meters away, and you cast your questioning glance to the elder witch. She merely raises her hands in defense, returning to the new scroll she’d scouted out along her many travels. Right.

“My brother,” she finally clarifies after a beat of silence and one-sided communication between you and the headmistress. “What was Zagreus like?”

This wasn’t the first she’s asked about your husband, but it’s the first time you actually feel ready to share his memory.

“He’s…” you pause for a moment, “he’s exactly how the tales regale.” A fondness glitters in your eyes as you step away from the cauldron, beckoning the younger spawn of Hades towards a table at the lounge. The shades are happy to serve you, offering only the nicest nectar provided by none other than Charon himself.

You take a sip, savoring the soothing taste of the golden liquid. Melinoë does the same, her eyes never once straying from your content expression.

“Zagreus was—is the oddest man to ever grace the Underworld.” Your chuckle is melancholic as you meet your sister-in-law’s two-toned gaze. Her eyes are the same shade of forest green and vermillion, though switched on opposing eyes. Unlike her brother’s carefree ones, they’re heavy, weighed down by a burden that should never be held by one person alone. God or otherwise.

Yet, even then, she holds the same stubborn determination the rest of her family seems to have, and you’d be damned not to help her in her goal.

“Have I ever told you how we met?” A swig of nectar forces down the bitter loneliness built over the century without the presence of your husband.

The younger goddess shakes her head and you chuckle, downing the rest of your drink with a small smile.

“Well…”

—

Filling in for Hermes as a messenger was not often a responsibility placed on your shoulders, but when the speedy god pled to you to make this one, itty-bitty delivery, you couldn’t say no.

He leaves you in one of Elysium’s vast fields with a pouch of…something and instructions to do nothing but “wait until he appears”.

“Who?” You quirk a brow, unamused by your friend’s vagueness.

Hermes only grins with an equally ominous: “You’ll know when you see him.” He readies himself to part, only to turn back to you one final time. “Oh! And if he asks, tell ‘em I was busy running an errand for the big boss, he’ll understand. Now, I know this is sudden and I swear on my life I’ll pay you back later, but looks like I’ve got to run! Take care of him, yeah?” All you feel is a gust of wind and the grass billowing at your legs before no trace of the messenger god is left behind.

Blast these gods and their stupid mind games.

Would it have killed him to at least give you a name?

You grumble obscenities that would have the most profane god fainting, kicking at the soft grass as you continue to wait idly. A few spirits of notable figures cross your path. They bow respectfully as they pass by you, unable to withhold their awe at the sight of your ethereal form.

“Thank the gods. Finally, some peace! Now, where is it…” A sudden voice cuts through your conversation with one of the shades. The owner ambles closer, huffing out a breath of relief as he sheathes his sword. The scent of ash reaches you before he does, and your nose twitches. There was a reason why you rarely ever ventured to the lower depths.

The man—the godling—stares. And stares. And stares…His pretty, heterochromatic gaze blinking slowly in confusion while his hand finds its way back to the hilt of his sword once again.

“You’re not Hermes.”

That much is obvious.

Burning grass follows every step he takes, and it doesn’t take long for the blade to be pressed against the column of your neck. “You’re another blasted witch,” he seethes, contempt clear in the way the blade pierces through your skin, drawing only the smallest inkling of divine blood. Again, another obvious point. Where in Olympus was he going with this line of thought?

Suddenly, all the pieces come together and you want to smite Hermes all the more.

Before you was the Zagreus, the notorious spawn of Hades whose presence has rippled throughout Olympus’ upper echelon due to his persistent climb to the surface. You’d heard of him in passing, though never found much of an interest in Olympus’ latest gossip hub.

There’s an awkward beat of silence before you recall Hermes’ request. It’s difficult trying to locate the pouch in your bag with the prince’s sword still pressed into your neck, but you do eventually manage, holding out the brown pouch as a peace offering in place of your neck

Genji Shimada [1.5K]

One of the first things he felt when he opened his eyes was anger. A red-hot inferno that scorched his core from the inside out. Next came the numbness in his limbs that once seared with an incomprehensible pain as they were cut down by his brother’s blade.

His brother.

The thought alone was enough to send him into another fit of anger, though unable to move due to his current predicament. He settles for glaring at the blindingly stark white wall of the unfamiliar room. It hurts to breathe—hurts to think. He tries to close his eyes in an attempt to find a semblance of peace in the darkness behind his eyelids.

However, just as he does so, the door leading to the hallway slides open.

“I see that you’re awake, how are you feeling?”

He opens his eyes slowly, glare landing on a blonde woman who merely tilts her head questioningly. He can barely process her words, his mind slowly translating it to his mother tongue. He never was the best at English.

The slow blinks he sends her are enough to have the doctor clicking her tongue as she taps away at the holographic computer. A file pops up between the two. It’s his. It lists his name, age, birthplace, and even what schools he went to. Yet, what perturbed him was the picture associated with his file.

In essence, yes, it was him, there was no doubt.

But, something felt off. Like it wasn’t really him anymore.

As if feeling his stare, the blonde woman tears her gaze away from the screen. Pushing up her glasses, she minimizes the holographic screen before making her way over to his side, a bottle of water in hand.

“You seem thirsty, please, drink up.” She slowly tilts the water bottle past his parted lips. He accepts greedily, allowing the soothing liquid to quench his thirst.

“Angela Ziegler,” she starts, a small smile playing at the edges of her lips while she caps the water bottle. His look of confusion causes her to let out a small chuckle. “My name,” she clarifies.

The woman, Angela, returns to her swivel chair across the room, tapping through the seemingly unending files before landing on one in particular. “You’ve caused quite some trouble, Mr. Shimada.” Her hand cups her chin gently, glasses reflecting the bright blue light from the monitor.

“You’re quite fortunate that one of our agents found you when she did. Had she not…well you can guess what would have happened.”

Of course he does. He wasn’t exactly expecting to wake up.

The door slides open once again, revealing an injured soldier clutching at her arm with a grimace tugging harshly on her lips.

“Speak of the devil,” Angela murmurs with an amused huff. The soldier—you—raises a questioning brow at your trusted friend. She merely shrugs her shoulders, tilting her head slightly to the injured man on the hospital bed.

“Shit…I didn’t know you moved him in here.” You sound embarrassed, unwanting to meet the ninja’s harsh glare. Angela makes her way over to you with an odd-looking staff and a medkit, her lips are pulled into a smile, but you can see the concern swimming in her deep gaze. Genji watches from his place on the bed.

The blonde takes your arm, uncaring of the blood that cakes her hand after. She tells you to raise it and you wince.

“What happened,” her once veiled concern is now bleeding through her tone. Your expression pinches further at her prodding.

“Operation went south and Reyes sent me to you.”

She hums in understanding, already inspecting the wound, “But you have Dr. O'Deorain on standby, no?”

You click your tongue, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head whilst she tightens the bandage. You hiss harshly, glare boring holes into Angela’s head, yet she remains unaffected. “I don’t trust her,” you snip curtly as if any mention of the redhead burns your tongue.

In a way, it did, that much Angela knew, which is why she never sends you away when you came to her.

“Oh, I have another reason for stopping by, too.”

This gets the doctor’s attention, causing her to look up from your arm with a raised brow.

“It’s a deal from Morrison and Reyes themselves regarding our little friend over there,” your chin jerks over to the bed-ridden Shimada. Your gaze is pitying as it drifts between his missing calves and arm. He does not take kindly to your blatant patronization, instead, his glare increases tenfold.

“Well, out with it.” Angela snaps your focus back onto her. Her foot taps rhythmically whilst she scrubs her hands clean at a nearby sink.

“They want him in Blackwatch. Says he’d be a good help for taking down the Shimada clan—”

“Have they seen him? Do they know he’s missing limbs? That he’s barely alive?” Her sudden outburst was to be expected, yet you remain unflinching under the scrutiny of her narrowed eyes. Her jaw is clenched, seemingly out of character in comparison to her usual persona.

With a clenched jaw, you attempt to move your arm, leaving her questions to hang tensely in the air. It hurts a lot, but you still continue to move it nonetheless. Angela grips your forearm harshly, stilling it, “Stop that, you’ll only hurt it more.”

The warning has you sighing, finally relieving your arm of its strain by allowing it to fall limply at your side.

“Cybernization.” Your voice was quiet and would have most likely been drowned out had the heart monitor been any louder. You knew Angela would disagree with this. Turning a man into a weapon wasn’t exactly humane, after all.

“What?”

“They want to turn him into a cyborg. Uh, with his consent, of course.” Your reassurance does little to placate her.

As you await her response, she lets out a defeated sigh, her shoulders slumping. “Don’t look at me. I’m not the one you need permission from.” Both of your gazes fall onto the silent man, who had yet to say a word since his awakening. Even while weakened and bed-bound, he still retains the ferocity and rage of a scorned man.

A stark contrast to the bleeding man you had found during the raid on the Shimada estate. You recall how his one remaining hand gripped tightly onto your uniform, his delirious gaze swirled with betrayal and rage as he faded in and out of consciousness.

Slowly, you shuffle over to him under Angela’s scrutiny. His eyes—the only part of his body he seems to be able to move freely—remain trained on you, judging each movement you make, from your careful steps to the nearly unnoticeable twitch of your fingers.

“Hello.” It felt like it had been years since you had last spoken Japanese when in reality it had only been a week.

He seems shocked to have his mother tongue fall from your lips, but that fleeting look leaves as quickly as it arrived. While he doesn’t ward you away, he isn’t accepting of your presence beside him.

You smile slightly as you introduce yourself, unbothered by his intense stare. “Do you know where you are, Mr. Shimada?”

He remains silent.

At this rate, your break would end before you’d be able to get any sort of reaction other than a glare. With thinning patience, you huff. First, the successful escape of Hanzo Shimada, and now the lack of response from his brother.

This entire family truly was troublesome.

Always keep a calm head, your mentor’s words echo within your mind.

Breathe in.

“Mr. Shimada,” you start, the previous politeness you once held now replaced by the stern tone you used on duty. Angela clicks her tongue, rubbing her temple as she places her glasses on the desk.

“We,” you motion to yourself and the room around you, “are Overwatch. We want to help you, alright?”

With his anticipated lack of a response, you continue.

Breathe out.

“I’m sure you know of a man by the name of Shimada Hanzo, yes? The assumed head of the Shimada clan?”

This gets a rouse out of him. The withheld rage surfaces. Though unable to move much, his nostrils flare, his lips pulling into an animalistic snarl and nearly tears the delicate stitching done to his face.

“Where is he?” His voice is low, hoarse from lack of use and damaged vocal cords. Your hand clenches at your side under the heat of his feral glare. He sits impatiently, awaiting your response, akin to that of a ticking time bomb. Angela watches you from the corner of her eye, ready to step in should things go south.

“We don’t know,” you shake your head solemnly, “which is why we need your help locating him. Of course, your contributions won’t go unrequited. We will do everything in our power to accommodate to your… situation.”

At long last, his glare falters.

A dry, mirthless laugh falls from his cracked lips. “You speak as though I’ve already accepted your offer.” His head lolls back onto the crumpled sheets and flattened pillow of his hospital bed, defeat and fatigue etched into the creases of his frown. “But, I suppose I have no other choice.”

ISO [1.1K]

2XXX, FLORENCE, ITALY

“Grazie,” you smile kindly at the waiter who brings you your food, taking in the beautiful architecture of the city. It’s a shame that you can’t stay to enjoy the sights, so you do your best to enjoy what little downtime you have.

After your light lunch, you find yourself wandering through the streets, occasionally stopping to window shop, partially to not rouse suspicion, and partially to gaze at the luxuries of the life you had lost long ago. With a shake of your head, you cast those thoughts away, focusing instead on the task at hand.

A small, holographic map emerges from your bracer, marking your location with a white arrow, and the rendezvous point with a blinking red dot. Pushing through the throngs of people would have been a lot easier had you not been barred from using your abilities out in the open. Instead, you find yourself uncomfortably tucked into the corner of a bus with the smell of cigarettes emanating strongly from your seatmate.

Yeah, you’re definitely telling Brim that he can leave going undercover to someone else when you get back to HQ.

It doesn’t take long for your bus to reach your stop, or maybe you simply zoned out. Nevertheless, you quickly exit the bus, excusing yourself as you squeeze past the other passengers. The streets are long, winding, and confusing, but you manage to find yourself before where you need to be.

The Kingdom Corporation building stands out against its surroundings, its walls a sleek white in comparison to the dated and faded hues of the older buildings.

You stare at it a moment, gaze furrowing into a sneer before you turn down a desolate alleyway. You loiter there for a while, swapping between the few selective apps you were allowed to have on your phone and messaging other agents with far more interesting assignments. Only when the sun completely sets and the streetlights flicker to life do you make your move.

Under the cover of darkness, you scale up the wall’s shadow, perching on its tiled roof with practiced ease. The Kingdom building is, as expectedly, far brighter than its neighbors, proudly bolstering its prestige with the illuminated K on the front.

Scouring the building, your eyes land on its unguarded roof. With little effort, you find yourself on it in a blink, the only evidence of your presence being the persistent remnants of shadow that linger at your previous position.

“Get in, and get out. Simple enough,” you murmur to yourself, pulling your hands through the Kingdom labcoat you’d brought along and adjusting the collar.

“Che ci fai qui da solo?” Someone grips your shoulder tightly, spinning you around to face them. You’re met with a masked Kingdom guard who, despite the mask adorned on his face, is clearly irked by your presence. “Sai che non ti è permesso stare qui.”

A moment passes in silence as he studies you. He reaches his hand up to alert his unit but is stopped by a hand gripping his wrist. The guard jolts at the sensation, turning to face the perpetrator only to find…you?

There isn’t much time to think as a fist collides squarely in the center of his abdomen, no doubt at least bruising a few internal organs, and with a strangled cough, he falls limp in your arms. You prop him against a nearby ledge, feeling yourself scowl at the sight before disappearing beneath the crack of the roof’s door in a shadowy wisp. You briskly jump between shadows, painstakingly combing through the building’s floors in order to find the opening you need. Impatience simmers beneath your skin as you traverse yet another long hallway with no leads.

The building’s interior is similar to its exterior, just as bright and empty, if not more so, each hallway seemingly more monotonous than the last. Well, at least the upper levels were. The lower levels, on the other hand, were dark, hidden easily by the corporation’s blinding front.

You reach into your labcoat’s pocket, pulling out a candid shot of your prime suspect–Isabella Romano, one of Kingdom’s up-and-coming scientists as well as one of the lead researchers for the ever-elusive Project Landfall. With a groan of frustration, you find yourself running a hand down your face. However, just as you were about to call it quits and report to Brimstone that the mission was a bust, a soft voice chimes down the hall.

“Bene, bene. Spero di risentirla di nuovo presto.”

Bingo.

Your gaze finds her easily in the group of grunts she’s chosen to surround herself with, blinking behind her and allowing yourself to fall into the group’s collective shadow before anyone could take note of your presence. The ride is silent as the elevator slowly descends, though it is soon broken by the scientist’s phone ringing. She takes a deep breath before picking up, but from your position behind her, it’s difficult to tell who she’s answering to.

“Hello? Yes, this is Isabella,” she replies in English. “Yes, Project Landfall has been progressing smoothly on our end, but our location is less than ideal, unfortunately. Yes, I am aware of the, ah, incident in Norway, but I promise that this will not end up the same. No, we’re still working on preparations, but I will update you as soon as we’re ready to commence opening the portal. Thank you for your time, ma’am, we’ll be sure not to disappoint.” The elevator doors slide open just as Isabella hangs up, revealing a linear metal corridor with almost nowhere for you to hide.

You cling to the shadow of every crevice, tailing the unsuspecting group silently. The corridor isn’t very long, luckily, stopping at another set of metal doors that slide open with a metallic whirr. The room itself is very spacious, with at least fifteen monitors lined neatly against the furthest wall, where a group of at least four people hover around, speaking in hushed whispers while observing something you couldn’t see.

You slip between them, becoming tangible for only a moment and grabbing the first manila folder you could find as you duck behind a supply crate. Your fingers are quick to comb through the files, thumbing through the multitude of useless reports before stopping at a sealed-away section with nothing but the Kingdom logo printed on the front. Footsteps near your hiding place, each step echoing louder than the ringing in your ears.

Then they’re gone.

Fuck it, you decide after a moment’s hesitation.

Tearing off the seal, you’re greeted by manuscripts of all languages pertaining to Project Landfall, just as you’d anticipated. Even the recent radivore encounter at the abandoned Norweigan facility had been documented.

You had to give it to them, these people were nothing if not punctual.

Yasuo [1.5K]

It’s quiet; way too quiet.

Something’s off, you can feel it, but your hand quivers around the handle of your blade, unable to unsheath it. You hear your own heartbeat pound in your ears–a daunting reminder that you’re alone, at least, you hope you are.

The bush nearby rustles–the wind, you reason. A twig snaps in the distance–wildlife, you bargain with your crumbling resolve. Footsteps echo through the underbrush of the forest, growing closer before stopping before you.

By now, your eyes are shut tight, blade long abandoned at your side in favor of protecting your head with your arms.

“A Vastaya?” You hear the person mumble to themself before sighing in what seems to be relief. The sheathing of a blade reaches your ears. Slowly, you gingerly open your tear-rimmed eyes to take a look at the stranger.

He’s looking away, mumbling to himself while he combs a hand through his long, tousled hair. You take the chance to examine his figure. He bares a shoulder pad that seems like it would be more of a hindrance than a help, and his cloak is ripped, exposing his scarred, yet admittedly toned midriff.

You force your gaze to his face, watching as he strokes his five-o’clock shadow between his thumb and forefinger with a pinched brow. There’s a scar across his nose, though it doesn’t make him any less attractive. You ponder on how he got it. A fight? An accident, maybe?

He meets your stare, offering a small grin while raising his hands in the air. “I won’t hurt you,” he starts quietly as if you’d run if he spoke any louder, “promise.” When you don’t flee, he slowly lowers one of his hands to point to himself, taking note of the way you tense, your eyes falling to his sheathed blade.

“I am Yasuo. I mean you no harm, truly.” Though his words seem genuine, you can’t seem to shake the wariness gnawing at your gut.

“Why are you here?” Your voice quivers, hand reaching down to the hilt of your blade. Only the clinking of steel clashing with steel is heard before you land pathetically on your back–vulnerable and unarmed. Your sword lands near Yasuo’s feet with a dramatic thud.

Silence stretches over the two of you. It’s a tense silence; one that leaves your mouth dry despite your constant swallowing. It’s only when Yasuo sheathes his sword do you allow yourself to breathe again.

“I take it you aren’t one for visitors?” His half-joke is met with no answer, even as he begins to awkwardly chuckle to himself. He sighs for what seems to be the nth time in the span of twenty minutes.

He parts his lips to speak, running his tongue along the chapped skin as he tries to find the right words. “Look,” he starts, “I just need a place to rest for a week at most. Then I’ll be out of your hair, I swear.”

“A week?”

“A week.”

Now it’s your turn to sigh, weighing to pros and cons of bringing a stranger–a human, no less–to your home. Your mind begins to spin tales of all the horrid things that could happen if you were to take him in, followed by even more outlandish solutions.

All the while, Yasuo patiently waits, watching how your inhuman ears twitch and fold with every new thought that pops into your mind. When it appears that you’ve finally come to a consensus, he stands a little straighter, forcing down that small bout of anxiety bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

“A week,” you say with a resolution that shocks even you, “but no more.”

He offers a grateful smile, handing you your fallen sword before mindlessly following behind you as you begin the trek home.

“I never did catch it. Your name, I mean.” He brushes away a touchy branch with a small scowl, eyes glancing up to meet your hesitant pout. You opt to give him your name–to make it easier for the both of you, you reason.

He says your name, the syllables falling from his silver tongue like a beautiful melody. It sounds nice–hearing your name from the lips of someone after all these years of solitude.

“Yasuo.” His name slips from your tongue before you even have the chance of thinking to stop it. The said man turns to look at you, tilting his head slightly in a silent question.

“Forgive me,” you look away bashfully, “I’m not quite sure what came over me.”

Yasuo hums, leaving the rest of the trek to bask in a silence far more comfortable to the one prior.

—

By no means would you describe your home as grand or lavish. It was a quaint cottage with all the essentials and a flourishing garden around the back. Your companion lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed with what you had to offer.

“...Only a week, right?”

He nods, not once looking in your direction in favor of taking in the view of your house, “Only a week.”

You usher him inside, that last thread of tethered hesitance dissipating when he places his blade by the door.

You breathe a sigh of relief, placing your own blade by his to ward off any of his suspicions. By the time you enter the foyer, he’s sitting stiffly on your couch, eyes unfocused whilst he tries to take up as little room as possible.

“You can relax.” You don’t wait to see his reaction, moving to busy yourself in the kitchen, though your ears do pick up on the small breath he lets out and the creaking of his muscles when he lets his shoulders sag. You wince at the sound. Just how tense was he?

You mindlessly drone through making dinner, taking extra care to make portions big enough for your impromptu guest. You call him into the dining room after setting the table, taking your usual seat while allowing Yasuo to choose his own seat.

He picks a seat across from your own. With one final glance at him, you begin eating your own food, filling the otherwise awkward silence with the scraping of utensils.

Hesitation flickers briefly across the wanderer’s face, and it isn’t until you shoot him a questioning glance does he gingerly place the now-cold food on his tongue. He chews in bites so slow and meticulous that you’re left to wonder if he actually enjoys it or if he’s fighting the urge to spit it out.

“It’s good,” he finally concludes. Your heart feels lighter from the statement, for some odd reason or another.

—

After showering the day’s stress away, it’s safe to say you’re shocked when you find Yasuo laying against the hardwood floor with nothing but a pillow beneath his head and an old blanket draped over his form. His shoulder pad sits forgotten in the corner next to your swords, glinting menacingly beneath the moonlight that peaks through the blinds.

He looks at peace with his eyes closed, chest rising and falling with each steady breath.

“Why are you here?” Tucked into the corner of the couch, you peer over the edge to look at him, voice barely above an inaudible whisper. He hears you, though, because of course, he does.

“I thought we’ve established this already. I just need a place to rest for a bit.”

You sigh, “That’s not what I meant. Why are you here–in this forest? It isn’t exactly hospitable to, uh, humans.” You stumble over your own words, fumbling with the hem of your sleeping gown.

“I’m here because I’m looking for something,” his tone matches your own; hushed and hesitant as if he’s spilling a deep secret to a close friend.

“Looking for something?” You parrot with a curious tilt of your head. He sits up, allowing the blanket to fall and reveal his nude upper half. For the sake of modesty, you focus your gaze on a loose thread on your couch, your ears downturned unconsciously from the embarrassment.

Yasuo watches your movements questioningly, chalking it up to the same fear you had earlier as he stretches his arm behind his head.

“I was…” he trails off, jaw tightening whilst his arms fall limply to his side, landing on the hardwood floors with a dull thud, “I was looking for a way to restore my honor.” His voice cracks at the end of his whispered statement, revealing a sliver of the man beneath his cool and composed bravado.

You hear the self-resentment that seeps deep into his tone–one that you yourself have grown accustomed to. After seeing him in such as disheveled state, you choose not to pry, offering only a soft hum. The silence that befalls the two of you is different than the previous ones.

No awkwardness. No fear. Only serenity.

You fall asleep on the couch that night, feeling far safer than you have in a long time.

–

The first two days pass by without notice. You go about your normal routine, taking care not to take in yet another hopeless wanderer. Yasuo, on the other hand, remains stationed at your humble abode, offering to care for your fauna while you’re out and about. Reluctantly, you agree, handing him a list of dos and don’ts before leaving for the market.

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minart-was-taken · 3 months ago

Text

A second chance Deleted Scenes and bonus sketches

Please read the comic here first!

This is a sketch from when I was about mid-way done with the comic. I thought it'd be fun to do a post with my headcanons regarding the differences these two have, but I never got around to lining it.

The comic was originally going to stay largely humorous so that I could end it at around 5 updates, but I had wanted to make something long form for this fandom for ages and the reception had been so sweet-- So I decided to go for the long haul and take the story seriously.

...Yea originally Maxwell was kicked in the balls and then transported Wx's soul back into the robo body.

I found the latter joke really funny, so I kept it in as a bonus for the finale!

Most of the comic was actually very easy to write. The cast is already full of things worth exploring and fun dynamics: so I just let them loose. However I did struggle a lot with writing Maxwell, as he is... Mysterious. I wanted his presence in the comic to imply deeper knowledge but I also... Don't know what Maxwell knows. It was a real tightrope.

There was a version where Maxwell fully knew who Woodrow was and brought up the name. However it felt far too disrespectful and in the end... overly dramatic. Considering I didn't actually have anything for Maxwell to be bargaining for, there was really no point to give him such a "big chip" in the game.

Another segment I struggled with MASSIVLY was the ending. From the beginning I knew I wanted a very specific outcome: Wx returns to being a robot but their empathy module is functional again.

Whatever the motives are in canon, in this comic I tried to establish that Wx being a robot is a part of their identity, not just an escape. Wx-78 has a lot of self destructive tendencies, and existing as a human would be a compromise on their identity. SO: The only real happy ending would be best of both of worlds. Wx being accepted for their full self, and them feeling ok lowering the walls between them and happiness (at least a little bit.)

While struggling to figure out what to do, I considered a dream sequence where the Wx we follow in the comic meets Wx-78, and later also Woodrow from the disconnected animation. I didn't ever really consider this a real option as it felt so out of place with the down to earth tone the comic had so far, but it was an interesting exploration.

There was another sequence between this segment and the finale that was cut out as well.

I found the idea of SHOWING that Wx put the Empathy Module in to be a very emotionally powerful idea, but although I sketched it many times I never felt satisfied... Given a few more months maybe I'd found a way to fit it in, but I wanted this comic finished. I have so many other things I'm doing, and this comic deserved an ending. I do like the one I made, I just... Its hard to not ponder what could've been!

But wait! There's more! Here's some additional deleted scenes that didn't quite fit the above chronological recollection.

This scene was what originally happened after Wx drank some of Walter's hot "chocolate."

It got cut since it kinda felt like writing Wx into a wall. However you can spot things from this scene in the finished comic! Like Wx claiming the others were helping them just because they were human, Wilson and Wx having a convo about fee fees, and Wx's wild laugh.

The next deleted scene was meant to occur sometime after the one above. It was then later turned into a few scenes, such as Maxwell and Wx's talk.

I got rid of this one because it felt wrong to have Wx just... leave and figure everything out. I wanted them to keep interacting with other characters and... Well, this was too soon! They wouldn't drop their guard that fast!! Nuh-uh!! You can see a lot of it was kept for later tho!

Before redoing those parts, I drew a bit about Wilson and Wx planning to go into the caves.

However I had no clue why I'd take them into the caves, and it just felt off pacing wise. This idea was reused too, though! I just sent Winona and Wigfrid into the caves instead.

Finally, a few deleted panels. You can probably guess where they used to be.

#THE YAPPENING #Watch out the post is LENGHTYYY if you click read more #DST #Don't Starve Together #Woodrow #Wx-78 #A Second Chance

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therapyandprozac · 4 months ago

Text

Title: Eager Are We?

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY minors DNI)

Words: 4.8k

Warnings: Consent king, size kink, slight angst, honorifics, light dom/sub, spanking, fingering w/ four fingers, oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, gun kink, cream pie, dirty talk, canon typical violence, mentions of masterbation, fluffy snuggly ending

Description: You make him lose a collar and he accepts another form of payment. Or Din finally has an excuse to make a move after months in way too tight quarters. Or Din being a pleasure dom. Take your pick, they’re all true🙈

A/N: Did not intend on the size kink but…it’s here(You could say Din is packing more than just an arsenal…😏that’s the only pun I promise hehe😜) ANYWAY smutty smut smut, more plot than i usually write but its just Din teasing the reader through the scope of his sniper rifle. There’s so much in this, I’m sorry or you’re welcome depending on what you think about it. Heed the warnings and enjoy!

“Dank Farrik!” He shouts as a green sludge covered alien escapes his sight and slips into an alley and disappears into the morning dawn. You step on a stick alerting it to your location and it bolts. “You!” He turns on his heels and points at you, you want to bury yourself into the sands of this dune covered planet. “Ship now.” He says no further words and just walks past you. The long way back, he remains in complete silence, nothing, while you apologize fervently in the blank mirror of his visor the whole way back.

“Mando I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching what was under my boot, it’ll never happen again. Please don’t ditch me, this is my best and favorite gig.” He stays silent and you attempt to do the same, but as you approach the ship you break again. “I’ll do anything to make it up to you! I love the kiddo and this apprentice-ship.” You trail off placing your hand on the Razer Crest followed by your forehead. Mando lowers the ramp and prepares her for boarding, when he’s finished he comes up behind you.

“Instantly assumed I’d abandon you?” His voice is laced with disappointment, but it doesn’t seem to be pointed at you.

“Maybe not stranded, but definitely not with you anymore.” You say under your breath, but loud enough for him to hear.

“You’re too hard on yourself, there’s no need for it. I know it’ll never happen again,” he puts his gloved finger under your chin and forces you to look into his visor, letting a pause sit in this air. “You’re not going to let it. You know how many womprats have asked to apprentice with me? While I do admit your beauty was a minor factor in my final decision.” Your heart flutters as he continues. “Your work in the field is why you’re here, you are a natural bounty hunter. It is my honor to train you through all of it, even the mistakes, especially the ones that we all make.” His voice is modulated but solid and secure looking down at you.

“How do you always know what to say?” You want to reach out and hug him, wondering what it would feel like to feel his cool chest plate against your cheek. A tear falls from your eye but before it can even pass your lips a gloved hand the size of your face gently absorbs the droplet and rubs his thumb pad against your cheek in sweet sweeping motions. When he doesn’t pull his hand away you make a spur decision to wrap your arms as far around his frame as you can. He sighs from deep within himself, you can’t tell if it’s relief, anger, or something else. Soon his arms are wrapped around your back holding you firmly against his beskar.

“Now that you know your position here is secure.” He pauses and asks a devious question. “You said you’d do anything to make it up to me,” Lifting up your eyes to catch his visor in your gaze, he continues. “Did you mean that?” His voice drops as his fingers traces delicate lines on your arm.

“Of course Mando.”

“Din. You may call me by my name, please. Off this ship I’m still Mando, understand?” His voice hardens by the end of the sentence making you realize how soft and genuine the beginning of his statement was.

“I will guard your name with my life, Din.” His name sat perfectly in your mouth.

“Good girl.” His voice was laced with that gravel, making you think of something else that would fit just perfectly in your mouth. Your eyes travel down his body taking in the beskar clad hunk of a man in front of you. He reaches his hand into one of many pockets and gives you a small pink vibrator keeping a small matching remote in his gloved hand. You can feel the smirk hidden beneath his helmet even though you can’t see it.

“You go to the market, I’ll watch you through my rifle, playing with and teasing you.” He toys with the object in his hand. “When I’m satisfied you’ll come back to complete your payment, understood?” The echo from his voice modulator made you want to drop to your knees right there.

“Yes sir.” You purr as he hands you a com unit and spins you toward your living quarters.

“20 minutes.” He utters walking toward where Grogu is sleeping in the cockpit of the ship, you smirk as a giant ball of anxiety forms in your core. If this is what he wants, you can play too, opening your dressing trunk for a semblance of control.

A short skirt won’t stand out too bad on a desert planet you think to yourself while forming your outfit. Gazing into the mirror you look yourself up and down satisfied with your ensemble. Long legs in cloth wrapping with a deep brown skirt that barely covers your ass, a shirt that hugs you in all the right ways and a cloak shorter than the skirt. You spin on a dime and love the way the skirt spins, exposing you more than slightly. You tuck the little vibrator into your pale pink panties, turning it on but setting it to 0 before you do. Walking out of the curtained off area you approach the cockpit, a large intimidating chair with a silver dome peaking over the top you smile before breaking the ambiance of the ship.

“What do you think?” You say to the back of his helmet, his chair turns around toward you and before you can blink your back slams into the wall behind you. A hand in the center of your chest pins you firmly, before he covers your eyes with his free hand. Moving his first hand from your chest to take off his helmet, you assume, only hearing a light hiss and then the softest lips are mashed against yours. Not in a desperation but in a deep longing of gathered glances, collected giggles, and months of endless flirting.

The give and take of the kiss pulls both ways as neither of you back down. You reach up to touch his hair or head, he could look like anything under there you realize as his tongue is exploring your mouth. He blocks your hand and shoves you back against the wall, apparently your ‘give and take’ had more give than either of you had realized as your head hits the wall again. He moves your own hand from his hip to cover your own eyes, as his hand remains glued to your chest.

“Meshla, I will never look unless you wish for me to.” You drop your hand to your side revealing eyes both gently but firmly pressed closed. The pressure from the hand on your chest softens for a moment before lips meet yours for multiple soft and sweet kisses before he licks his way into your mouth. You’ve kissed him before but never like this, if this is what is in store for the day you’re happy it’s only 9am. With a light hiss, silver matches your freshly open eyes.

“There’s my sweet boy.” Taking his metal covered cheek in your hand, gazing into your warped reflection has never felt so warm. His hand rests on your back before caressing your ass with his fabric adorned hands, gently slapping your ass pushing you into his chest.

“Okay, temptress,” He hisses punctuated with another, more aggressive slap.

“A vendor at the bizzare has a blade he tried to overcharge me for. You’re going to go over there, gorgeous and tempting as hell, and talk him down.”

“Hmm and what do I get if I do?” Drawing out the last vowel, teasing him but not enough, you crave to tease him until he’s screaming your name.

“First your debt will be paid.” His hand dances from your ass around your hip flipping over his hand with surprising delicacy. He runs his gloves against your panties feeling the vibrator. A rumble escapes his chest “Good kitten.”

“You could have asked!” You shout, reaching your hand down to cover his.

“I could have, yes.” He responds, furthering his point by increasing the intensity of his shuffling fingers. You crumble into him, his touch reminding you that you haven’t been with anyone for a number of years and haven’t even masterbated since you got this job. It’s such a small ship and though you hear the echoes of him pleasuring himself booming through the hull multiple times a week, you’ve been too exposed to do anything but squeezing your thighs together, at least Din had living quarters you thought.

“Oh it's too early for that meshla, we have a long day ahead.”

“Wait, wait, Din. Can I have one before I leave for the mission?” A dark modulated laugh in your ear, before the hand with the remote shifts, the vibration starts, and your head rolls forward finding the crook of his neck as you moan. “Oh gods yes,” rolling your hips. “Din please, yes fuck!” Riding his hand you are already almost cumming.

“You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever had unraveling on my fingers.” He whispers and you moan through your first orgasam of the day and in like eleven months. Turning the toy to zero, he keeps his hand to your cunt letting you ride out your blissful aftershocks.

“Been a while huh, sweet thing?” His voice is surprisingly light.

“How could you tell?” You cover your face with your hand.

“I barely touched you and you were writhing in my arms ner cyar’ika, it was both incredibly hot and quite obvious. If you’d like,’ His hand is playing with the turned off toy. “When you come back you’re going to properly take my fingers, meshla.” His words mixed with that voice teases a shudder through your whole body. You stand at full attention. “Eager are we?” You nod shortly, standing tall, hands behind your back. Din makes a mental note of this position and shifts his erection, before lowering the massive door to the outside world. You walk down the ramp step by step feeling his visored gaze on your ever moving body. Hearing the door hiss closed behind you and starting your bee line for the market

“Visual achieved.” A low voice comes through your ear piece.

“Like what you see bounty hunter?” You coo and shake your ass a little bit, hearing him groan, an evil smile covers your face. Looking down the scope of his sniper rifle, your shimmering hair in the breeze and a bright smile adorns your face.

The market is still far enough away that no one is around to see, so you decide to tease Mando. You spin carelessly knowing he’s the only one around to see what you’re showing off. Doing a cartwheel and landing it, you turn around and flip off seemingly nobody, he’s gonna hate that you laugh to yourself.

“You’re going to regret that.” A bass heavy voice rips from your left earpiece, as if on queue.

“Make me daddy.” You whisper under your breath, oh stars you can’t wait for the repercussions of that one. You’ve always had a thing for snipers, there’s something really hot about being in a threatening situation where the person holding the gun is miles away. But it is a whole other damn story when Din is the one behind the scope and trigger.

“Don’t forget, kitten.” The calmness in his voice sent a chill up your spine, immediately followed by the vibrator activating on its low setting.

“Finally! It’s been massaging my clit for the whole walk.” You say between your light whimpers. Finally seeing the market within view you walk through the crowds and ignore the stares and gawks at your ass. Focusing on your task you scan stands and search for the weapon when a man approaches you, he is absolutely filthy, the stench of him burns your nose. His hand is outstretched toward you, as he moves rapidly and with purpose.

“Non lethal, wait.” Knowing he was watching, the orders slipped from your lips with ease, commanding a Mandalorian is soaking your panties. What was not quite as hot was when the man’s finned hand touched your ass. “Fire.” Under your breath, the man's face shifts from horny to confused to expressionless. Not a moment passes before the man clunks onto the floor. “I would’ve taken him down if it wouldn’t have caused a scene.”

“Oh I know sweet thing,” a pause. “I’d pay to see that.” You blush but say nothing, only removing the evidence from the guy’s body. As you do you spot the target at a nearby booth.

“Eyes on the cargo. Guess it’s time to cause a scene.” An evil smirk on your face violently shifts into a wide grimace. “HELP! Help! Medic!” As a man rushes up with a hand raised, a crowd gathers behind you as you continue. “Oh thank the stars!” Intentionally loud your voice carries through the bizarre. “He just collapsed, he approached me and then fell like a stone at my feet.” In your peripheral vision you see your commotion was a success as all of the merchants in their booths had their eyes on you, instead of on all of their potential customers. “Please doctor please help him, I don’t know this man.” You slip through the shuffle as people surround the man on the ground.

“You okay, darling?” A voice from behind you pulls you toward your target, as you turn around. You see a tall lanky human man with the beautiful blade hanging behind him.

“Oh gods that was so scary!” You play him like a fiddle.

“Did you know him?” His voice softens.

“No, he just walked up to me.” You let the panic flow under your words.

“Sounds like a curse,” he backs up slightly.

“Maybe you’re right,” You feign contemplation, looking around his booth as if it was the first time you’d seen it. “I’ve been thinking about a blade, do you think you could provide one for me?”

“Of course sweet thing,” It takes all of your strength to not roll your eyes as he hands you a tiny switchblade. “Something light and delicate for a flower such as yourself.”

“Can I shoot him?” A voice mostly joking comes through your com, making you chuckle under your breath.

“No.” Responding to both men, before continuing with the merchant. “That one.” Pointing to the target, he tries to talk you out of it and reassures you the small one is plenty enough for ‘someone like you.’ Deciding to play into his blatant misogyny you pull your doe eyes and soften your voice. “Please sir, when that man approached me I was so scared and I couldn’t take my eyes off of that blade, I needed it.” Leaning over the makeshift counter you get close to his face. “Haven’t you ever had something you needed, like,” A deep sigh at this angle makes your chest rise with the glow of your skin reflecting the sunlight, the eye contact solidifies the deal. “Desperately needed?” He nods aggressively, blushing like a virgin.

“Y-yes m-ma’am, I do.” He reaches behind him and grabs the weapon. “On the house please.” A gentle smile and misplaced pity underlined his face.

“Thank you, your kindness will never be forgotten.” You turn around in a bee line for the ship. Hearing the man get screamed at by who you assume is or was his boss. “I think he got fired.” You say as you escape the loud sounds of the market.

“For the better, he was weak.” He says blankly, silently nodding in agreement with the man who you believe still has his weapon trained on you. You turn facing where the bizarre disappears behind the horizon and lift your skirt up exposing your ass underneath. “You that desperate sweet one?”

“Just making sure you’re still there, and for you, always.” You say matter of factly, earning another dark chuckle through your ear piece. The huge ship comes into view and you start sprinting, he chuckles watching you get closer before opening the door. “Yes yes I know I'm eager, just kiss me already!” You say holding the blade out to him with wide palms. With a hidden smirk he grasps the blade and tosses it carelessly to the floor. Your eyes go wide as you gasp before smiling and closing them tightly. A familiar hiss before he wastes no time to caress your lips with his, they dance over yours with a deep patience and gentleness.

One of his hands reaches and roams your ass, playing with the hem of your skirt, a second glove covered hand covers your pussy. His middle finger dances over your panties, before you left they were a baby pink, now your panties are a dark pink, soaking and waiting desperately for him. He puts his hand under your ass and lifts you onto a cargo container before spreading your thighs and admiring the sight of the toy bulging.

“I should close this.” A smirk you can hear pulling at one side of his lip as he walks to the control panel and closes the door. You shuffle and squeeze your thighs together as the seam of the hull seals shut. Soft warm light from the interior lights bounces off of his beskar as he saunters back over to you. “Open my love.” His modulator sings as he hums. “You did so good,” His fingers spread over your thighs as he slots himself between your legs. “Close your gorgeous eyes so I can reward you properly.” He finishes, drawing his complete focus to your cunt.

Your eyes pressed firmly closed the already dark environment now completely black, all you can sense is him. His fingers run over your ruined panties and take them off along with the vibrator, while pulling you to the edge of the crate. A familiar hiss makes you desperate for what he has in store. His two large hands hold you in place at the hips and you hear his beskar clad knees hit the floor.

You noticed his facial hair when he kissed you of course but this, so intimate, the fine coarse hairs add something you’ve never had before. As he kisses up your thighs closer and closer to where you want his beautiful full lips. His beard scratches your inner thigh and you can’t hold back the groan, needing him. You feel his smile against your leg and he nibbles at the piece he's currently loving.

Diving into your sweet cunt with a desperation you’ve never seen from him, has he wanted this as much as you have. When you heard the echoes of him masterbating throughout the ship, could he have been thinking about you? The thought makes you need to touch him and appreciate that you can actually, finally touch him, blindly reach down for your crotch and find his soft curly hair.

“Gods yes, Din please.” Grasping at his hair between your fingers and holding him against your cunt, he hums in response. Never slowing down he eats you like you’re the most delicious fruit, unable to hold yourself back your moans echo through the ship. Hearing your voice bounce off the ship makes you blush more than his luxurious tongue sending electric pulses through your spine and limbs. As you cum your hands pull him into you, as your legs wrap fully around his head. Not sure if he can breathe but not really caring as his fingers firmly hold you in place. Sweet kitten licks carry you through the waves of your orgasam.

In one swift motion he picks you up and carries you to his sleeping quarters. Opening your eyes once you hear him situate himself just behind you. Grogu’s hammock has been moved from its usual place above his bed, he thought this through, you smile and crawl in as he extends his hand for you. Once you crawl in you lay on your back, looking at his large figure strip from bottom to top, you follow his lead. When his cock springs free your mouth waters and you spread your legs even if you’re wondering if he’ll fit.

“Oh fuck Din! My eyes are closed, please take me.” You close your eyes groaning and rolling your hips, presenting yourself in a way that should be embarrassing. Wide open and splayed just for him.

“Do you want me to stretch you meshla, use my fingers?” His ungloved fingers wiggle against your thigh in a way that’s both adorable and wildly hot.

“Please.” You clench around nothing, pushing your leg into his hands.

“Want to prep you a little bit.” He coos, his voice unmodulated was new but deeply welcome.

“Thank you, I watched you undress and I wasn’t sure if you’d fit.” You try to press your thighs together and squish the man you didn’t feel get between your legs.

“Naughty girl.” That name makes something melt within you. He presses his hands onto your thighs, spreading you wide just for him.

“I couldn’t see your face cyar’ika, promise.” You swear as three of his large fingers ran through your slick. One finger plunges into you a few times before he adds another, scissoring the two together. Your whines and groans build as he stretches you beautifully.

“Ready for another sweet thing?” He whispers while his third finger toys threateningly with the tight ring of your pussy.

“Gods yes please, Din, more more!” You moan loudly, glad for the closed cabin door that dampens your noise to the outside world. He says nothing until he’s two more fingers simultaneously deep inside of you. Curling his four fingers to that sweet spongy spot that makes your back arch completely off of the bed. “Fuck fuck fuck Din fuck!!” You grunt and groan as his thumb begins tormenting his clit. Every muscle in your body tightens, your hands grasp at his sheets making fists of flesh and fabric.

“Cum for me kitten, around my fingers,” You do as you're told, having been staving off your orgasam thus far. “Such a good girl.” Twisting as much as he’ll allow with both his arms over your legs and one hand buried nearly fist deep within your cunt. His thumb runs gentle circles around your clit, the aftershocks flutter through each of your limbs. His fingers leave your pussy with a groan from both of you, leaving you gaping and ready for his cock.

You want nothing more than to open your eyes and take in the form of the man about to claim you. You keep them sealed shut if you did open them though, you’d see him looking down at you. The corner of his mouth upturned in a crooked smile, eyes warm and full of pride scanning over your whole body. Anticipation and desperation is all he feels as his chest heaves, having given himself no release by this point.

“Din if you don’t fuck me already I’ll kill you.” You say, only mostly joking. His laugh is beautiful unmodulated, the only thing better is his soft whispers in your ear as he is suddenly on top of you. His hand snakes down your skin to pull you drag the tip of his cock against your clit over and over.

“I’d like to see you try.” He purrs against your ear.

“You know I could,” You pant as he positions his dick where you’ve been yearning for him. “please!” He teases his tip in nice and slow, watching you intently, when he sees no pain he lets go.

“I think you’d get the closest.” He bottoms out with a hollow grunt while you shout and moan, all consumed by the sensation of him so deep inside you. His fingers were slightly wider than his shaft but lengthwise his cock is twice as long as his fingers. He fits in easier, still tight but not as painful as it could have been. Hopeful for a round two where he just rips you open without any foreplay, snapping back to reality, rolling your hips as you whimper under him.

Again if you were to open your eyes you’d see his wide brown eyes staring down at where he’s disappearing into you, skirt up around your waist, his hands grasping the fabric tight to your skin. Pulling you onto him just as much as he is thrusting into you, either way you’re more full than you’ve ever been in your life. He puts your legs up on his shoulders and resorts to just pummeling your pussy, you cum hard around him but he shows no sign of fatigue.

He slots his elbows on the bed just above your shoulders, you’re completely encased in him. His smell envelops you and you feel your hips involuntarily grinding on him again despite your overstimulation. He makes deliberate use of this compromising position and uses his elbows to hold you in place, his hips give no pause as he relentlessly fucks into you. He’s put you in a place where you can’t escape. Every thrust pushes your body up and immediately into his strong triceps, leaving you nowhere to go but further back onto his cock.

“I’m close, cyar’ika. Where do you want me to-,” He can’t even finish the question before you wrap your legs behind him, locking your ankles, squeezing him tighter.

“In me, please daddy.” That same dark chuckle from earlier only now unmodified, nothing coming between you, with a newly forming hickey on your pulse point.

“You sure kitten?” He pants, when you just nod furiously. “Words my meshla.” he states.

“Please gods fill me, make me yours Din!” No further conversation is needed, you’re so close, he growls burying his head into your neck. He resumes his rapid, almost rabid thrusting into your already sore cunt. “Fuck Din don’t stop, almost.”

“Let go baby I’ve got you,” He buttons his comment by pushing your shoulders down further, you’ve never felt so safe yet so utterly exposed to one person. “so good for me sweet girl.” He coos while his cock ripped so perfectly against your walls, pulling your final orgasam of the night out of you. A string of curses you couldn’t begin to understand flow off his tongue as he cums deep inside you, you squeeze around him desprate for every drop of him. He kisses your chest as he lets his body rest on top of you fucked out blissfully.

“Wait,” You whisper as he tries to pull out.

“Yes kitten?” He asks, his cock spent and softening slowly inside you.

“Don’t want it to end, don’t want to wake up tomorrow without you.”

“Love if you’ll let me, you’ll never wake up alone again.” He says, you can tell his eyes are on your face, when you smile he pulls out of you. Snuggling in next to you he laughs before saying “If you kept me in there any longer i was gonna have to fuck you again.” You groan playfully, snuggling and crawling onto him.

“How long have you wanted to do that?” You ask him, without seeing his eyes drift close with you on his bare chest.

“Since the first time I saw you in a skirt. It was at a bar on your day off. I left early, couldn’t stop imagining,” He pauses and you wish you could see the images he’s clearly seeing in his head. “You stretched wide around my cock, skirt teasing glances at your ass.” His thoughts and voice ebb and flow as he slips in and out of consciousness. Making a mental note to wear skirts more often. “Couldn’t sleep last night, we rest for a while?” His voice is just a whisper, you smirk as you snuggle into the bulky man.

“Guess I chose the right outfit. Sleep long and deep my dear Din.” You smirk to yourself before falling asleep, already picking out what skirt you’re going to wear tomorrow in your head.

___

My longest fic to date, let me know what you thought 💖

#Din Djarin Smut #Mando smut #Pedro Pascal smut #Star Wars smut #Mandalorian smut #Din Djarin fluff #Pedro pascal #honorifics #light d/s #dirty talk #gun play #pleasure dom

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