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nouearth · 7 months ago

Text

teach me hard and soft.

pairing. zane phillips x male reader.

part two.

word count. 9.3k.

summary. the constant studying was getting to zane. reader helped his grades up, sure, but was it worth missing out on the parties where he could be dicking down random men and getting black-out drunk? reader's sudden proposition makes him think twice before quitting.

content warning. college!au, jock!zane, top!zane, nerd!reader, virgin!reader, bottom!reader, reader wears glasses, slight dom and sub dynamics, blowjob, dry-humping, rimming, praising, muscle and body worshipping, size difference, breeding, dirty talk, verbal, soft to rough!sex, a build to exposing reader to sexual intimacy!

Tutoring sessions were supposed to bring boredom. Mind-numbing monotony that wore heavy on Zane’s eyelids; weariness that steamrolled his mouth open with a yawn; frustration that made the inside of his head blare as his brain blended your explanations into a pasty mixture of nonsense. One word went in one ear and out the other, and another break would be enforced for the sake of his sanity on the surface. In actuality, Zane knew it was for your own mental soundness.

Yet upon the third meeting of the new week, redoing his calculus homework left him alert and excited—the complete opposite of boredom. It had little to do with the assignment at hand and everything to do with the man who was flipping through Zane’s textbook through brightened and adoring eyes like he was lost in the fantastical world of superheroes fighting for justice from panel to panel. It was you. You and him were polar opposites. Numbers were Zane’s kryptonite, while frankly, they were your super power, and evidently so as you’d complete multiple practice worksheets from Zane’s textbook to pass time. Until Zane was done with his own work.

It had become increasingly difficult to ignore you, especially with the incentive you had offered Zane last week if he completed the extra worksheets you assigned for practice—last week’s quiz was abysmal. Zane couldn’t get it off his mind—the idea of him tutoring you about all of life’s own intimacies. Instantly, an apparition of you; beneath him, over him, kissing, touching, feeling, squeezing, pleading; he snapped back to reality when he felt a warmth over his hand, and another source of heat swarming below his pelvis.

“Done? Looks like you corrected everything.” You peered over the opposite side of the short table, cross-legged on the floor like Zane beneath it.

“Oh—Uh, yeah. I had a little trouble with 4C, but…” Nonetheless, Zane slid the worksheet and a lined paper containing his proof of work towards you.

“Already looks like you’re getting the hand of it.”

It took a lot of willpower to stop himself from smiling when you perked up at the sight of his corrections.

Sunlight squinted through half-turned blinds in your bedroom, the sun bloated and content over the sheets of paper as you scanned them, comparing his answers and work to your own, and surprisingly marked them correct afterwards. Zane had a sigh of relief whenever you did, through briefly, because it would cycle again as you analyzed the next problem. Sometimes a little too long, though. Your brows would scrunch in confusion on how Zane came to that conclusion on a problem, but with a fix of your glasses, you tightened your gaze to analyze his work closer, and you marked it correct. That would repeat until you returned the worksheet with a score and a comment on top.

83%, Nice work!

It was like you were born to teach. You went over what Zane did correctly, what led to incorrect answers, what was missing in the formula, and what process that could save him the headache of memorizing. Every word came out of you like a story—a purpose to make sense of the world, of the problems you had given him. Your lips were distracting, minted breath tingling the inside of his nose—and god, how he wished he could taste it right now. And so, Zane endured a little longer, opened his ears, and made sure he was attentive, because he certainly wasn’t going to get that reward if he was slacking off.

“Nice job today! I’ll let you relax since you’ve been working hard. I know you have a match coming up, so…” You flipped through your binder of worksheets, unclasping it with a routine tug, and handed it to Zane. “Just finish problems one to four, is that okay?”

“Yeah. Perfect. Thanks.” Again, it took a lot of willpower for Zane to keep himself from smiling, especially since it seemed like you remembered his upcoming wrestling match. Like clockwork, he failed, blessing you with those pearly whites of his. As according to plan, you couldn’t spare a single second holding his gaze before feeling some type of way. Zane had picked up on your fidgeting—fingers, toes, and all—it was adorable.

Though, what wasn’t adorable was that you seemed to have treated this session like every other session, as if you hadn’t proposed that damn incentive that Zane had been working towards.

Did (M/N) forget? He couldn’t have, right? He was practically whining his way through when I began teasing him and—

And Zane would’ve been on his way out if he wasn’t so determined and unabashedly brazen.

“I thought I was going to teach you how to kiss.” Zane directly stated. Not as a question, but as a fact. You promised me this.

You caught your breath before you could choke on the water you were sipping. Instead, your shock was fleeting in the brights of your eyes.

“Oh—I… thought you forgot—“ You stammered through your surprise, and it only made Zane want you even more. Maybe there was regret that you had even proposed the idea, but it seemed like it wasn’t getting in the way of your conscience with how you stumbled to sit on your bed.

Zane followed, a pleased grin growing across his face, almost predator-like, because you were just as eager as he was, and it was exciting to know that he caused you to fidget for another round. “You couldn’t possibly think that I did your worksheets for…” Then, he looked over his shoulder, at the empty bowl on the table. “—a bowl of strawberries, right?”

“Well… strawberries reduce inflammation in the body, and I know you probably get tossed around a lot on the mat—”

God, his rambles are cute.

“I don’t get tossed around. I do the tossing.” Was that a threat? Zane didn’t mean for it to sound like one. He was merely playing a game of intimidation, to see if you were a man of his word. Even with the fleeting fear that heavenly passed from one eye to the other, whether it was from his taunt or from the evident size difference between you and him as he sat himself next to you, you seemed assured in your decision.

“Sorry, I’ve never been to your matches—“ Instead of acknowledging his presence, you stared at your folded hands, clammy in your lap.

“That’s fine. It gets boring pretty quick. I end up winning them.” Zane edged himself closer to you, in hopes to lift you from the enchantment of your palms.

“Really? Whoa, that’s cool—I would love to see it for myself. I’m sure I won’t get tired of it.” Knees touching now, and you still won’t look at him. Somehow, concentred even more now, on your fingernails this time. Biting them, pushing your cuticles back. Zane would’ve been annoyed with anybody else, by this inconsiderate lack of attention, but not you.

Never you.

A drop of silence fell over the both of you. One body hesitated, while the other was quietly pursued. Cicadas buzzed outside your window, passersby laughed in turn from a joke, and multiple vehicles roared, presumably racing each other down the street of your apartment. Zane watched you through all of it; the gentle inflate of your cheeks because you felt hot in the mouth, the bite of your lips because you were about to speak but ultimately rescinded; the curl of your toes into your socks because Zane suddenly put a hand over your lap to tear your gaze back towards him.

When you did—with those quivering eyes—Zane whispered, “Can I?” A permission that lit a twinkle in your pupils, stars mirroring the bright blues of Zane’s eyes. He leaned in because he was immediately pulled in like some kind of spell, a tilt to his head that you naturally countered, and pressed his lips to yours. “Follow my lead.”

Your lips were soft, incredibly supple flesh unfortunately stiffened by fear, an inexperience that Zane would cherish from this moment onward as he adapted and stilled until you’d adjusted.

“We’ll go slow, okay? Soft. Gentle. All of that. As long as you work with me.” Zane pulled a centimeter or two away from your lips, mumbling while making sure his breath compelled your lips to move. “Your turn. Kiss me. A small peck, can be a smooch too, your choice.”

“Y-Yeah, okay…” You nodded. You turned your body towards him for proper positioning, cross-legged, and Zane followed in turn. Then, you leaned in. A peck to Zane’s lips, your glasses bumped against his nose in the process. A chaste, pure moment of affection that Zane wished could have amounted to more, but he didn’t want to rush you.

Another one, a smooch like Zane had suggested, and a rather puzzled one at that because Zane was smiling from ear to ear, and you were confused, almost embarrassed as to why. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no… you’re just…” He couldn’t keep himself from laughing. First, at the absurdity of this mutual settlement. Second, at the luck he was given because it had to be you, someone he’d briefly discounted as merely ‘an awkward nerd’ upon first meeting. Lastly, because you were more than ‘an awkward nerd’ to him now. A cute guy, a smart person, an incredibly pure and sweet boy that he would more than love to—

Zane was getting ahead of himself. Just kissing. For now.

You weren’t going to learn efficiently this way. This step-by-step process only worked on paper, on problems, on math problems, and Zane was done adapting your style of teaching. Zane was a demonstrator, it was how he taught wrestling to the younger kids at his part-time job. And man, were you in need of a good demonstration.

“—so cute…” With one hand to your cheek, he guided you closer, and pressed his lips to yours again. A bit harder this time, but enough to pull a gasp, a breath, a sound out of you. You parted your lips, and Zane seized the opportunity to claim the soft flesh as his own. He could feel a gentle buzz festering among the joined lips, a spark that compelled you to take its voltage in and pass it off to Zane with a gentle nip. Then, a suck when the bolt of electricity returned back to you tenfold, and your hand—you didn’t know what to do with them, curling them into your shorts for the meantime, but Zane had the experience to know. He held one, squeezed to let you know that you were in good hands, then guided it towards the underside of his jaw, letting you hold him.

“Hold me if you feel lost.”

“Okay…”

It continued on like this for a while. The passing of electricity, of sparks. Eyes closed, lips held and parted away from one another for a breather, then reunited with a thin string of spit bridging warmth between the two mouths, mutual devotion climbing from one end of spit to the other.

“Just like that…” Zane whispered, encouraged, praised. He was referring to the ease of your tension, seemingly melting away baby the second, but also the sounds coming out of your mouth. What was once desperately vaulted in the back of your throat in fear of sounding too eager, moans had now fallen dramatically off your tongue like they were meant to be, and Zane sucked it right off in fear you’d restrain yourself again.

“Was that okay?” You paused, muttering into his lips. It tickled when Zane chuckled, the soft, thick hair of his mustache aiding the quiver of your lips.

You pulled back to give him space, to take in the air around you, but Zane had a sudden hold on you, on the back of your neck, gentle but firm, and gazed proudly into your eyes, past the crook of your glasses. He haunted you to the core with that smile of his, stilled your breath for a long moment when he squeezed at your nape, something knowing and mischievous, like you had been branded with a hot iron, his name engraved into the now bruising hold on your flesh, and you knew you couldn’t go back on your word now even if you tired.

As if you wanted to.

“A natural…” It was distracted, Zane didn’t mean for it to sound half-hearted, but that only meant that he was telling the truth if he dove immediately back to kissing you again, without bothering to fix the slant of your glasses.

You got it. It was as simple as that. The swapping of lips, of saliva, of licks, Zane made it all so easy, and all you had to do was follow his lead. He kissed you until you begged for a break. You kissed him until the rush of blood in your southern region had calmed.

And it never did, even when he kissed you goodbye. He could spot your erection from a mile away.

It was like this for Zane’s meetings from then on. Tutoring went on as usual. He brought in his worksheets, you lectured him through the problems he’d missed, and you’d check off the problems he’d fixed. After, Zane would have you practice on him, learning how to lead for once.

As Zane returned with better scores, so did you with kissing. You’ve learned that touching was just as important as kissing. Zane liked his neck and chest rubbed, while you liked your nape held, controlled. Eventually, the two tutoring sessions a week doubled and became four, then it became six, until Zane found himself visiting you every day, with fluctuating hours depending on his schedule and yours. Though, you two made sure to free up your time to accommodate. Your lessons remained consistent, but Zane’s, however, had gotten longer. It was his excuse to make up for your inexperience.

In reality, he really wanted to be your every ‘first’ as selfish as it was.

You never knew there were so many types of kissing. Zane’s lips on your neck were your favorite. The softness of his mouth. The warmth of his tongue. The nuzzle of his mustache. As much as it was a struggle to hide your erection, he knew. You felt comforted by his words that it was only natural and couldn’t be helped.

And excruciatingly helpless when he confessed, “I’m hard too.”

Zane found you had a surprising knack for french-kissing, and that ultimately became a normalcy between you and him. Once you felt the slip of his tongue exploring your warm mouth, you were a goner. Kissing with just lips didn’t feel right anymore. You needed tongue. You needed his spit covering your tongue. You needed to suck at his own wet flesh. You told him that, through breathless pants, that you needed to explore more of him.

And Zane resonated with an astounding, “Me too,” and left you blue-balled, like always, on the bed.

And like always, you found yourself rubbing to the thought of Zane, wondering if he was doing the same, if he could find a way to during practice.

You would think about the new lessons for the week: kissing positions. It started off simple—making out on the couch, tenderly sharing tongue while you sat on the kitchen countertop. You naturally felt an inclination to touch him, it was the right thing to do, and the longer your hands were on Zane—squeezing his shoulders, caressing those built muscles that had been sculpted through sheer hard work and dedication—all the more ramped up these feelings for him had gotten.

He preferred you sitting on his lap, the perk in your posture meant that you had too—the warmth of his cupped palms around your ass being a constant reminder.

You kept it to yourself, but you were at his disposal.

It sounded naive. Wrong. And to be frank, cliché, but it was fluttering to feel so wanted. A nest of honeybees festering in the pit of your stomach, all because Zane’s attention was on you. Praising you for doing so well, when in actuality, you simply allowed him to ravish your neck that day until he was certain that hickies would blossom across the cavas of your neck overnight. Admiring your tainted skin the next day by topping his bruises with another round of painful, but welcomed sucks, because marks had never looked so beautiful on someone. Thrilling because you were a work in progress, and would be labeled as so until Zane had the final say. Whenever that day would come, you dreaded knowing it could end soon.

Zane kept it to himself, but he liked knowing that he’d branded you as his so easily.

It was common for both of you to end your visitations blue-balled—panting into one another’s mouth. Bodies collapsed onto another on the bed at the sound of Zane’s alarm, and every day, you found it increasingly harder to give into surrendering his body for practice. For his friends. For classes. For parties. He was a popular man, and this was the first time you’d cursed him for it, as much as you had been envious of it from the start.

When Zane unwillingly tore himself away from you, he felt his heart jolt with a spark, that same spark that had been passing from lip to lip, and festering in his veins to yours.

You looked at him with such distraught, a silent plea for him to stay. Disappointment laced in those pure pupils, and emphasized when Zane catalogued the mess he’d made on your body. Wet reminders of his presence on your neck cascaded over your collarbone, and down to the middle of your chest. The first few buttons of your shirt had been unbuttoned—the most visible skin you had bared so far, yet Zane had never felt his balls tightened up for such little promiscuity. It was like you were teasing him, pushing him towards the edge to see until when—just when he would crack and take you as he pleased.

That night would be an aide-memoire that you had captivated Zane, just as much as he had a control on you.

“Relax for me,” he whispered into your lips, ignoring a call from his friend with a toss of his phone before using the same hand to push you onto your back.

“Wait, but the party—“ Cold yet warm, that was how it always felt when you were with him. The draft hit your skin when Zane lifted your shirt to smother your stomach in tiny, fleeting kisses. Your goosebumps conflicted whether they should owe their arrival to the drop in temperature, or to Zane’s worship on your body.

“I know. They can wait. You’ll be quick.” Everything was moving at rapid pace. A beast in Zane suddenly unleashed from as he began removing your pants. An impatience you found yourself unsettled by, yet just as equally as desired with the way you followed every one of his command: to spread your legs wider, to keep your shirt on, to lean back on the pillows, braced on your elbows, to look at him, to watch him.

“Quick with what—“ Your mind was cluttered with so many demands, dazed by the sudden chaos of it all.

He barely gave you a chance to react before pressing his mouth to your hard cock. You instantly puzzled what all of this had amounted to the more he enveloped your length with a sudden gut-punching heat you had never experienced with your entire being. “Zane—“

“Just hold still.” He guided your shudders to his blonde locks, forcing a gratifying grip to his hair before power-washing your cock with his tongue.

Zane thought he heard your moans. Thought he knew them from flesh and bone from the times he’d devour neck and lips like an insatiable scent. But no—these were the sounds he was in desperate search for. Staggered, guttural, straight from the stomach and raw out your throat, as you begged for mercy from the suction of his mouth.

“S-stop, I’m going to c-come in your mouth—“ You desperately pleaded, rock-hard in his mouth and throbbing at the pulse of his tongue. The tip of his muscle flicked endlessly at your slit, beating it with the spit that had been over-compensating for his dry mouth.

“That’s the point.”

You tugged on his hair harder, not away, but towards you. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t muster the strength to watch him, and restrain yourself. That was absolutely impossible with the way Zane’s blue eyes locked with you, determination in his gaze that signaled that this had no longer been a demonstration. Sloppily sucking you off. Beating your wet dick off until it was swollen. “W-wait, Zane, stop—I’m really going to—“

Repeating, cycling, spitting, moaning, praising, urging, kissing, repeating until the thick release of your cum satisfied the grit of his throat. Drinking every ounce of purity out of you because it was a sacred resource. Until you felt completely drained with Zane’s throat at your disposal, the salty taste of your loads nearly costing him his sanity had you not pulled him up to ground him with a kiss.

Or maybe his sanity had already been broken, because he pushed the thick of your seed back into your own mouth when you two connected, and it drew out the most beautiful symphony of sounds from you: the shock of it all, the salty and bitter taste embarrassingly spreading thick over your tongue, and then the exaltation, when Zane sucked it right off of you as a way of saying, ‘I’m yours too.’

No, this had been done out of pure love—one that had been kept in reserve for you, and only you.

It was an open secret to how prone you were to bruising. Zane remembered the shock of returning the next day to an onslaught of hickies on your neck. Marks that you comically hid behind a scarf despite the summer season. Bruises that earned him a knowing side-eye when one of your roommates answered the door to let him in.

“Does it look bad?” You instinctively bared teeth, sucking in a gasp when Zane curiously poked at one bruise to the next.

“Sorry. I got carried away.” He remembered that night vividly—beating off his dick to it after practice. He’d left hickies on many people before. For you, he didn’t know why he felt so fascinated by the wear of your skin—the break of skin solely caused by him.

“Not your fault. Kind of the reason why I never played sports.” Popping open the cap of the soothing cream in your hand, you then began to apply the thick mixture onto your wounds. Well, one of them, before Zane took it out of your hand.

“I’ll do it… Let’s take a break today, yeah? We can cuddle, watch a movie? Anything you want.” Ann apology seeped into the kisses he brought around your neck before applying the cream onto your bruises, finishing what you’ve started.

Not too long after, he’d take you into his arms, your head comforted by his chest, while you went on with your free-time: scrolling through social media, laughing at videos that appeared on your feed with him, chatting, kissing, chatting again.

“Do you date a lot?” You asked one day, knowing the answer without Zane having to speak. Though, you really just wanted to hear it from his mouth, to clarify, instead of assuming everything.

“In high school and first year in college, yeah. But it’s been mostly hookups so far.” Zane found that your hands looked perfect in his: smaller yet equally veiny as he compared, then examined your intricately cut nails. Perfectly trimmed with little whites baring.

“Hm…” You nodded, letting him play with your fingers, stroke your hair, kiss at your neck, until your silence was deafening.

It was like Zane read your mind, because he’d spare you that smile of his—one you had been intimidated earlier on in your life before all of this—and your heart felt like it surged over hurdles during your pursuit to him. He laughed in your neck at the glimpse of your pout, and he would tease you with several pokes to your body, introducing various notes of levity until you broke out into a laugh yourself.

“Before you say it, no—you’re not a plaything.” Zane assured with a kiss to your lips. Whether he was telling the truth or not, you’d rather delay the revelation for a little longer.

You never realized that you and Zane barely did this. Getting to know one another was an interest that had been vaulted from the back of your mind as things were ramping up. There were times where you needed it. A break from everything, even if it meant that you’d fall deeper for him. For Zane, it was always on days where he had too many events to juggle on his plate. Venting to you came first, then you’d pacify his frustration at his friends, at his professor, at his teammates, with a semi-homemade meal, and a movie in bed.

You two would compensate for the lack of knowledge about each other by coincidentally pulling all-nighters. Somewhere among one of those nights, you two found the perfect balance of understanding each other from in and out.

“I came to watch you practice the other day…” His hand was roaming under your shirt, lingering over your stomach, and then up your chest to toy with your nipples. You groaned into his mouth at a tug of one of your nubs, mirroring his actions onto his own body. Though, you were always distracted by how big his chest felt under your palm, preferring to explore the muscular plane.

“What—“ Zane pulled away, breathless and baffled at the admission, because who would want to watch him practice? His previous partners never did that for him. “Why didn’t you say hi?” You looked so delectable under him. Swollen lips, tongue peeking to taste at the lingering residue of spit.

“Wouldn’t I throw you off your game?” You ran your hand over his forearm. Memories of Zane’s sweaty muscles bulging as he pinned a guy down coming to mind, thick veins charging the muscle fibers with a pulse. If those veins had telepathic capabilities, you’d assume the erection in your pants was from their own command.

“Don’t think so. I would’ve introduced you to the team too. They would like you.” Another kiss to your lips before he rolled onto his back, switching positions with you to pull you onto his lap.

“Really? I didn’t think I would have anything in common with them!” You’ve gotten more brazen in your touch. Affectionate. You gave Zane’s shirt three tugs, a magical number to him, and he tossed it off his body and to the corner somewhere, removing the obstacle between your lips and his temple of a body.

“Maybe. Maybe not? I don’t know, some of them are struggling in their classes right now. I mentioned to them that you brought my GPA up, so—fuck…” The steady progression from being anxious to greedy was fascinating in Zane’s eyes. He watched you tongue his pink nipple, assaulting one after the other until either had stiffened, and then his armpit—he never thought you would warm up to practically burying yourself into his hairy musk, licking again, inhaling him with awakening ferocity that Zane wanted to tame. After all, that’s what he’d been doing to you, right? Taming the baby pup.

“I have some free time… Just mention my rates…”

“Yeah—god, you drive me crazy.”

You and Zane explored each other effortlessly—no labels, no commitments, simply out your own free will, and maybe that was the reason why Zane cracked.

There was a droning sound in your room, somewhere in the vent, but you’d never noticed the monotonous buzz before until now.

Zane was angry. You could decipher it from his fist, the cushion of mechanical pencil comforting the clasping grasp. You’ve never seen him angry other than being slightly annoyed or inconvenienced, but the tension in your room weighed heavy enough to pull his gaze anywhere else but towards you. No welcoming kiss, no bantering, no playing footsies under the table—only work.

“Zane, what’s wrong—“ Your voice was gentle. Maybe if he would look up, he would soften at the distraught etched onto your face, fine lines wearing you down with worry, with deep dejection because it wasn’t about second-guessing whether you did something wrong.

When he reeled his hand back from your touch, you were absolutely positive that it was your fault.

“Are you done grading yet?” His voice was tempered, methodically calm while his gaze never left the screen of his laptop. Scrolling through an endless pit of web pages.

“Yeah…” You pushed the paper towards him, and he glanced at it.

64%. The lowest marks he’d received since you started tutoring him. He was doing so well. Constant 80s. His peak being nearly a perfect mark, and it was all crumbling because of a man.

He sucked in his teeth, a familiar feeling of contention seething in his stomach.

Two men.

It only happened in his matches, and when it did, it signified his victory.

“Hey, what’s—“ Another attempt quickly stolen with a sudden biting kiss. Rough hands roamed around you, a touch that you had already felt nostalgic for upon Zane’s absence the past few days, and then a bite to your neck, a painful mark, an answer as to why you had felt so deprived of energy in addition. “Z-Zane!”

“Nico and Austin,” Zane muttered bitterly into your clavicle. Your shirt was then unbuttoned at flying speed, and his eyes were searching, pupils dilating upon the scan of your skin. Marks of want, of pleasure, faded into your chest and neck like foam to coffee. “—these are theirs, right?!”

“W-what? No! Are you crazy, what?!” You gulped hard, your neck straining as Zane began to match several bruises to his mouth, renewing the plump skin out of spite, out of greed. Traces of his spit matched the outline of your mark to perfection, yet he continued, relishing himself into the warmth of your skin, to the sounds of your panicked moans as you rubbed at his back to pacify his sudden burst of anger. If they hadn’t made a mark on you, then they will soon. You were his territory, his worshipping ground, and he needed evidence that he’d claim you first. “What’s going on…”

“They…” Embarrassment crept his way up to his neck, then his cheeks as Zane settled upon assessing at what he’d done to you. Windswept, that was what he’d described you as you lay breathless beneath him. He’d missed this, yet it was frightening to know that the withdrawal symptoms from not seeing you every day resulted with an uncontrollable need to ruin you. The calm of your breathing consoled him in meantime, and also lowered his blood pressure a few beats. He refused to release his grip around your wrists, but loosened for your comfort, and breathed, “—keep talking about you. It’s been a few weeks since you started tutoring them, right?”

“Yeah—they usually come together… What do you mean they keep talking about me?” On first impression, you’d assume it was about the way you presented yourself. Guarded and reserved to most, but you always made sure you had good intentions, right? That couldn’t be the right assessment, though. That wouldn’t have made Zane riled up, practically eating at your neck from a comment about how you were standoffish.

“Don’t make me say it,” he squeezed past tight lips, forewarning with tense eyes because you were smart. You were supposed to know what he meant by now.

Clueless.

“It can’t be that bad—“

“They’re animals, (M/N). The way they talk about you like you’re a piece of meat.” He muttered bitterly warm at the underside of your jaw. Yet, a part of you felt like he was kissing to the thought of their ridiculing, whatever they were, and you let him do as he pleased, with restrained silence to hear him, to let him know that you were listening, to let him know that it was getting dangerously hard to focus on his words because—you had no idea when, but his hand had slipped inside of your shorts now, massaging you through your boxers.

He continued after carrying you to the bed, his shorts kicked off to the side, your own after, and pressed himself to you, practically into you as you felt him throb against your erection without missing a beat. “—keep talking about how pretty you’d look sucking them off. How they would like to see you struggle taking their cocks inside of your mouth, both at once. As a reward or something, for doing those damn worksheets.”

“I—“ Your mind felt foggy. All of this information was overwhelming you, plus the friction of your cock against Zane’s much larger erection held your mind hostage, harassing it with violent yet pleasurable rubs as you felt the tip of your cock constantly brush against the scratchy fabric. This was new, and you needed to focus and fixate on Zane’s worries. “Zane…”

“They’d blow their loads inside of your mouth. Over your face. Inside of your ass—“ Zane grunted hard, stroking a hand over your head while rocking into you with his broad body, with a rhythm led by greed and lust. The weight of his motion reflected onto the creaking of the bed springs, and his eyes searched looming repugnance. “—wouldn’t shut up about that ass of yours. How it filled out those shorts of yours so nicely. How they wanted to breed you with their cum, one after another, then another round, and another, until your body had given itself up.”

None. You were fucking hard, throbbing and solid as he rocked into you, polished his cock with yours, and your eyes—he could see how much you’d want that fantasy to come true.

“Zane, I wouldn’t—“ You whimpered when he pulled your boxers off, freeing your embarrassing boner for him to delight his eyes on. You stripped yourself completely for the second time, top to bottom. It triggered the memory of baring it all for the first time, where you received your first blowjob. You watched in silence, in between hot pants, as Zane stripped his muscular body of his clothing, one by one. Like a performance, a stage that was approaching its curtain call, because you knew Zane only had patience for one more lesson to teach you. Fuck me, please…

“And you know what’s worse? I thought they were just playing around, that typical locker room talk. Told them you were a virgin, never even kissed a boy in your life, and that it would all be too much for you…” You shuddered, feeling the warmth of his eyes analyzing you like a scanner, taking copies of your body and inking it into his mind. The sink of your stomach as Zane caressed your body downwards, the gentle hairs below your belly button, all delectably leading to the unkempt hairs of your pubic area, surrounding the twitch of your cock.

He could take you right now, but Zane liked playing with his food. Loved seeing the sweat form on your forehead and on your neck; loved watching your chest rise and sink when he wrapped a hot hand around your cock; loved hearing you whimper when his large cock joined his fist, stroking you and him together as one large mass.

“And you could practically see them come alive from that. Drooling, rubbing their dicks through their pants, because all they want to do is break you. Wreck that tight little hole of yours. Make your first time memorable. Two cocks fucking inside of you. Who could say that they got double-penetrated on their first time?” You could feel his heavy balls jump. He wanted to see that too, didn’t he? To see you wrecked like this. After all, he was a saint for holding back for as long as he did.

“And god—baby, would you call me a monster if I wanted that too? To see you take cock for the very first time? To see you crying out about how it wasn’t going to fit? But you’re a good boy, right? You’d relax for me? And take my cock in? No complaints?” Fingers. You could feel him rubbing at your rim when he brought your legs over his shoulders, one on each side. It was wet with spit, cold against your pucker as his cock jumped at the thought. Your own dick leaking pre-cum in turn.

“N-no—would want you to.” You gulped, a grit in your throat you tried to pacify. Then, a grit in your mind, because you reached over to replace Zane’s hand over your cock and his with your own. God, he was a handful. You could barely wrap around it with your fingers, let alone both of your rubbing cocks. But you tried, and your efforts were met with a shuddering moan from Zane, a shiver rolling up his spine tenfold compared to his hand. “I think I can take it—I’ll be good. I promise—“

“You’ll be good? You’re smart, (M/N). There’s no ‘thinking’ when it comes to this. Only an ‘I can’ and an ‘I can’t.’” His blonde locks hovered over his eyes as they casted downwards, addicted to the way your pucker kissed at the pad of his finger. Enamored of your beautiful hand holding his cock and yours as tightly as if your sanity had depended on the two throbbing erections. His hips buckled when you began thumbing at his slit, spreading your pre-cum with his, and that was when he knew he was devoted to pleasing you—when he pushed a lubed finger inside of you without warning, watching the way you struggled to swallow the length of his finger. “Which is it?”

You broke out into a staggered moan. The introduction of his digit collapsing the gears in your mind, having been conquered by nothing but an empire of pure lust, and you resisted, with a tension around the first knuckle.

“I-I can!” A guttural gasp when his finger began maneuvering inside of you, working you open little by little. Past his cuticle, then he would pull out. Then down to the first knuckle, you would then pucker. Then plunged deep to where the webbing of his fingers met, and you would gape. He cycled through with little alternations, fingering you while providing your cock and his the warmth and friction they desperately plead, stroking in sync.

“You can, what?” Two fingers inside of you, your hole sticky and slick with a generous amount of lube, pistoling past initial limitation. You shut your eyes with strain when Zane pushed a third into your heated hole. He had you holding your legs up now, splayed out with your feet in the air as he flattened himself onto his stomach to watch your hole with an inquisitive, yet lewd mind. Every now and then, he’d pull himself out to taste you, sucking his fingers clean, then endeavoring upon his curiosity with focused licks to your hole, flicking and swirling around your rim, then entering to dig inside of you.

“O-Oh, god—I-I can—“ Your cock throbbed at the sight of his imposing body—flushed with heat and sweat, splotches of red on his body from where you grasped and held onto him previously. You stilled, but your hands moved to tangle within Zane’s full locks, pulling, yanking, tugging, at the magical plowing your hole was taking from his wet tongue. “C-Can take your cock, Zane—“ Upon those final words, he ended his rimming with a loud slurp, then a sudden splat of spit to your hole—perceptive to the lube drying out on your body.

It was grand. Watching Zane’s broad body crawl back into position, onto his knees, then forward as he lined your smaller body with fleeting kisses. Kisses to the tip of your dripping cock, to your happy trail, to the supple skin of your stomach and chest, to your nipples, to your neck, then finally to your lips, where he spent majority of his delight upon. His questing fingers snuck to tend to his muscular cock, applying a thick amount of lube in midst, a mess on the sheets you’d figure you could later scold him for, and pressed the slick, wet head to your heated rim. You whimpered at the imposing taught, your hole puckering obscenely in apprehension.

“Going to make love to you,” Zane mumbled into the kiss, the other hand fondling your cock to ease the tension in your ass, in your legs, in your back, in the grasp you have on his shoulders. “Gonna make sure you feel full with my cock. Make you think about nothing but my cock. Make you mine with my cock. Make your hole ruined with my cock.”

“Ruin me…” You said with a pleading whine. Your hands caressed his large back, squeezing whatever came to your palm and under your fingertips, and you gazed into Zane’s promising eyes, your own imploring in case he were to turn on his words.

The scent of desire filled the air—one more yearning kiss, to quench the drought of your throat, and Zane loved you like this. Folded in between his embrace, his arms tucked around you as a safety net, rubbing your hole with his cocked, making small circles, your feet over his shoulders—he blessed a kiss on both ankles—quivering, fear and want dancing in the light of your eyes, and he finally pushed, slowly until the head of his cock slotted in.

Your chest lift upon the intrusion as you strain your head forward and groan with distraught. “O-oh, f—“

“Relax… Just relax…” He was barely in, his cock almost slipping out as you sealed yourself shut and kept pushing himself out, but Zane resisted, countering with a persistent push until you’d open yourself up for him again, allowing him to enter you a centimeter more. “You got this…” His words were comforting, the kisses on your chest and neck soothing the burn beneath you, and you loosened bit by bit, though with difficulty.

“M-mm, u-ugh…” It was lewd, fucking erotic with the whimpers that came out of your mouth, the heat remounting from their bodies reflecting with a fog on your glasses. Zane didn’t want to, but he had to shut you up with another loving kiss. Another peep out of you would’ve unscrewed the armor that had been holding him back from ravishing you completely.

Your scent drifted to Zane, potent and intoxicating, and it was upon impulse when Zane decided that he needed to be selfish, and take you for himself. Your entire groan tingled, the pressure on your opening suddenly too harsh, and your hole protested, the ring of muscle clenching tight when he pushed in more of his cock. “Need you, need you so fucking bad. Need to fuck you. Need to make love to that sweet, tight hole of yours.” Words spilled out of your mouth, his tongue sloppily tasting the corner of your mouth, then chin, and his cock fondled your balls and cock, squeezing, tugging, stroking, because he had to over-compensate. Zane was strong. Determined. And broken. Your body defied any reason to refuse his cock in any longer, opening for him, and inviting hm in upon the force of one long, deep, and guttural thrust.

“That’s it. I know, baby. I know. It hurts. I know… Just… Fuck… Relax for me…” His words were gentle, almost cooing when you instantly caught your breath, and then paused his thrusts with your hands on his toned thighs. Even so, the undeniable proof of your arousal, the throbbing and twitching of your cock, spilling thick strings of sticky pre-cum, was the sole evidence that allowed him to plunge himself deeper inside of you, past your resistance, until his pelvis met your ass. “There we go… Not so bad, right? Fuck, you’re so fucking tight…”

“M-mm, full—“ You felt so full, the discomforting pleasuring hitting you like a lightning bolt when Zane pulled himself completely out to watch your hole deliciously gape, then flushed himself back inside of you with one thrust. Your ass felt like it couldn’t handle any more of Zane’s cock. You clenched tight around his thick girth, feeling the veins throb with imposing lust, feeling his balls jolt and twitch as you squeezed even tighter when he began officially thrusting, whimpering louder.

“So full, right? Your ass taking my cock right now. God, I wish you could see it, baby…” Zane had brought himself up, his posture straightened to feast his eyes upon the sight of the tight ring swallowing his thick cock whole. He was practically salivating, the self-restraint he has had unlocking with every thrust, kissing at your ankles, your feet, as your legs remained hooked over his shoulders. His muscular body—sweating bullets, draining yet feeding him with heat while he flexed his stomach upon moving his hips against you. He made you feel loose and hollow, and your cock agreed with a desperate plea to be touched. Some form of friction around its veins, and you fulfilled it with a wrap of your hand, stroking yourself to the lewd sight before you, to the beastly groans Zane thickened the air with, to the smell of musk and sweat radiating from bonded bonds, to the glorious drilling your hole was enduring. There was wild fury in Zane’s face, of strength and passion, thick veins surging through his arms, biceps, neck, as he held the lower-half of your body higher, and fucked into you. You feared him as you wanted him, taking him like you had promised.

“Z-Zane! God, you feel so—g-good!” Fierce and untamed, Zane powered into you upon that confession. A slur of sounds you’d make, beautiful in his ears, embarrassing to your own, but Zane made you feel so wanted, so loved, that you didn’t mind baring it all for him. He downed your moans with a kiss, a gulp, a sloppy open-mouthed kiss as he was desperate to hear more of you, licking inside of your mouth while he stretched you open and filled you with his cock. “H-harder—Want your c-cock…” You’d give it to him, delegating those pretty whimpers that he’d happily starve for and feeding it to him tenfold. Whimpers, grunts, and moans ripped out of your mouth while tiny tremors and tingles explode from your overfull guts. You were taking him. Taking his cock. Taking him like a good boy. Wetness trickled out from his pounding, a leak of lube splattering upon the connecting impact of Zane’s hips to your ass.

“So good. That’s my good boy. Fucking take it. Good boy. Fuck. Take my cock. You like it, don’t you? You love being filled with my thick cock, don’t you? Been thinking about this since we’ve met, haven’t you?” Zane reminded you as your eyes rolled back in their sockets, leaving only the whites of your eyeballs visible. It felt like a punishment for asking him to do all of this with you—this mutual tutoring. But god, if it truly was, you needed to find more ways to make his blood boil.

“C-close—“ That was how you always jerked your cock off. Rubbing the sloppy, swollen tip of it against the palm of your hand. Rough and smooth, you liked it that way. You would accidentally rub at the most sensitive spot at your cockhead, ramping up closer to your inevitable climax, and that was what you did in this current moment. You rubbed your cock to the heavy weight of Zane’s dick inside of you, the tickle of his mustache on your lip, the crooked, fucked-out position of your glasses, the tantalizing depth his cock had reached inside of you. Zane’s hand skimmed down your chest, stopping over your nipple, where he tugged and pinched with a thumb and a forefinger. Close. You were so fucking close. One hand reached up to Zane to hold his nape and keep him from pulling away from you—because you needed him to watch you, to see you crumbling upon his very eyes.

“Come… Keep stroking that cock. So close, baby. I’m so fucking close, hm? Look so beautiful—god, I could do this all day. Could spend forever doing this with you. Fucking your ass. Making love to that hole… Making love to you.” Every word that came out of his mouth was a spell that took you higher and higher to your climax. He had his hands around your hips now, his biceps bulging as he powered you down onto his thrusts, and right there—Zane felt it, you felt it. You both hissed when his slick crown dipped to your sealed entrance, your prostate. A little more. Just a little more and—you felt him.

“S-shit, Zane! R-right there—“ You choked out.

With a subtle angle change of Zane’s hips, you felt his throbbing cock struck your prostate like it was rock, mined it as it you’d been concealing gold and life’s greatest treasure from the world. In a way, you did because you unleashed an unholy moan that sent tremors to the goosebumps on Zane’s body. He’d branded you now, ironing you with his cock, deep plunges deep into your hole, into your prostate. If his hickies was not enough proof of his devotion, you were convinced with the absolute euphoria Zane had sent your body in with the weight of his cock. You thought you knew ecstasy, thought you knew what it was like to be pleasured and fulfilled—but this was an entirely different level.

“Shit, baby. I need to come inside—“ He was ruined. Zane was fucking ruined. HIs hips on autopilot. Large, rough hands roamed your body, squeezing whatever came into his palm. He helped you in stroking your cock with one hand, the other playing with your nipples, or squeezing your waist, or squeezing your throat. He didn’t know what to do. He was delirious, fucked out of his mind, and all that mattered was that it was with you.

“P-Please—Come inside me, please—“ You managed to gather yourself and plead with him. As if he would ever deny that opportunity. But you needed Zane to know that you desperately wanted him just as much as he did. You wanted him in there. You wanted his loads desperately sticking inside of you, filling and keeping you warm even if his cock had abandoned your hole.

Your pupils were blown out, Zane’s blue eyes glowing as the size of his shaft stretched your flesh out, stirring the inside of your hole, kissing your prostate with every thrust. He held you close, arms clasped around your neck to fold you toward him. He had you whimpering with overwhelming sensations, the stretch of your legs and back forgiving because Zane was deep inside of you, turning you in and out like he had promised, overpowering any pain in your body while he circled his hips. Upon watching him, you’d never seen someone looked so pleased, so determined, impaling you with his cock over and over, brushing your body with his rough hands, and on the nth stroke of your cock, so relieved as he indulged on your endurance for as long as he could, before spilling his thick load inside of you. Not a second after, you chased after him in pursuit, your cum sprouting from your cock in six shots, Zane doubling that amount in your ass.

You both shared a deep, guttural moan, wallowing in your shared orgasm with a long, gratifying kiss while Zane continued to dump himself inside of you, panting, refusing to catch up on his breath, and stripping you the chance to do the same as he began moving his hips again. Languidly for the rest of time, but you felt his cum pushing deeper into you, warming up your guts with the help of his cum-covered cock. Your body was at his disposal, and he seized the opportunity to remind you that it was no longer your body, but his.

“You okay?” Slowly, he unfolded your body until it was flattened with the weight of his body collapsed on top of yours. You could feel his heartbeat, his muscular chest slick with sweat pressing to yours, slowly but surely coming down from its high. He was unwilling to pull himself out of you, the warmth of your hole around him nearly lulling him to sleep. Exhaustion in his eyes, but he mustered up enough strength to take care of you, stroking your hair back after licking your cum off your body in midst of repositioning.

You kissed him again, wanting to taste yourself off his tongue, and Zane accepted that as an answer, laughing into your mouth. “I’ve taught you well, haven’t I?”

“Couldn’t have asked for a better tutor.” You mumbled sleepily, hiding the blush in your cheeks into his shoulder while fatigue struck the muscles in your body until it begged for a rest. You wrapped your arms around him, embracing his large body into your own. His warm smell, his soothing voice, his adoring touch—you couldn’t fathom going back to a life without Zane in your life, teaching you about anything and everything, just as you did for him. It made your chest swell at the thought, your heart twisting itself until it began to hurt. But Zane kissed you once more, something that felt perpetual, and you’d calm.

“What are you doing for the summer?” He whispered, nuzzling his mustache against your cheek like you liked. He fixed the crook of your glasses with a twist, impressed by how they hadn't fallen off the entire time he was fucking into you.

“Working… Tutoring’s still in session for the summer classes, so I’ll be here.” You nodded, and he hummed in response. There was a brief silence, you’d reckon that could hear him thinking if you had the skills to.

“So… you know how I wanted you to meet the team? Maybe we could do that over the summer. What do you think? Think it’s only right to introduce my boyfriend to my best friends.” Nibbling on your ear now. You squirmed, ticklish as the tiny bristles of his mustache brushed against places that had never been touched. His smile only made it worse, the curve of the hairs grazing over your lobe and the shell of your ear.

“I’m your boyfriend?” It was impossible to stop yourself from smiling from ear to ear. The label made you feel fuzzy and warm on the inside.

“You didn’t think I did this all because I wanted to have sex with you, did you? I mean, it’s been months—“

“No, no—I was just…” You shook your head to shrug off even trying to reason with your confusion. “What about Nico and Austin? They were being kind of—“

Deceitful fingers spidered over the span of your belly. Lower, and lower. A roguish smile slowly formed on his face as he began fondling your sensitive flaccid cock. He then turned to you, gently pressing your nose to his.

“We can talk about that when the time comes.”

“When the time comes for—“

“You’ll see.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#zane phillips x male reader #zane phillips x reader #zane phillips x m!reader #zane phillips x you #zane phillips x y/n #zane phillips imagine #zane phillips fic #bottom male reader #x male reader #male reader #m!reader #gay reader #male reader insert #male reader x male reader #nou.fics

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dokries · 3 months ago

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pop quiz

pairing: chwe hansol (vernon) x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

word count: 432

warnings: mentions of being drunk (reader is telling a story; both reader and vernon are not said to drink alcohol), vernon’s just in his own world half the time, a kiss on the cheek

author note: hi…i’m alive! i wanted to post so i wrote this super short thing last night <3 i hope you enjoy !!

masterlist

“huh?”

hansol’s eyes narrow as you huff out a laugh. “what? did i say something wrong?”

you’ve known hansol long enough to understand his…lack of good listening at times, to put it simply. he is an attentive partner, of course he is—despite not hearing things exactly right sometimes (or at all), he’s always there when it especially matters to you.

after all, this time isn’t one of those since you’re telling hansol a story that seungkwan told you a few days ago—that hansol’s probably already heard from his best friend—but you and seungkwan are quite different when you share things, especially when it comes to telling them to the man in front of you.

“…like i was saying,” you pick back up with a smile after an eyebrow raise from your boyfriend, “seungkwan told chan that he shouldn’t be going around drunk anymore, which is crazy considering that you know…seungkwan himself is drunk at this point in time, right?”

hansol nods as you bite back a smile at what you’re going to say next, and you see the exact moment his eyes glaze over and he goes back to his own world again.

yup, you could never love him more.

“hansolie…” you get a hum in response as he checks his phone to make sure he didn’t accidentally delete an important photo (it’s of you, of course).

“pop quiz! what did i just say about soonyoung and seokmin?” you ask, eyes glittering too brightly for hansol to keep looking at them without being mesmerized like he usually is.

he lets out a sigh next to you, putting his phone down as he thinks. “um…you weren’t talking about them, were you? it was something about chan and seungkwan again...?”

you consider him seriously. “is that your final answer, hansol vernon chwe?”

hansol rolls his eyes, a chuckle slipping out before he can stop it as he mimics the tone you took, saying your full name. “yes, i very much am.”

“well, good ‘cause you’re right!” you grin and lean forward to give him a peck as a reward for listening, and his cheek moves underneath your lips before you move back to return the same gentle smile he’s giving you.

though hansol wouldn’t admit it, your little pop quizzes are probably the only ones he doesn’t mind, and he really does try to pay attention to your words (what comes after a right answer definitely helps).

hansol lets out a small sigh, pulling you closer next to him as you put your head on his shoulder. “so, what did seungkwan say again?”

“hansol!”

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crunchwrapsnoopy · 2 months ago

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Promposals [Touya Todoroki x Reader]

˙⋆✮🪩As long as I look fly by prom night!🪩✮⋆˙

"Promise to get a little better as I get older. And you're so patient and sick of waitin" Prom - Sza

High school Senior Prom AU of my fav villain ◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠

HS! Semi-Normal! Dabi x F. Reader

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

WC: 1008

"Soo..." my best friend, Mina, started with a coy smirk, "anyone ask you to prom yet?" She nudges my arm, obviously hinting at my boyfriend.

I shake my head, adjusting the books in my arms. "Nah, I probably won't go anyway. Seems like a waste of time, not to mention money."

"It's our senior year! You're acting like your parents aren't loaded," she scoffs, clearly unimpressed by my excuse. "And really? I thought for sure Dabi would've asked you by now. You guys have been dating for, what, five months?"

"Yeah, I thought he would too, but it's whatever. He's just not really into stuff like prom." I shrug, knowing my boyfriend is the definition of lowkey. Honestly, I’m sure he thinks going to prom would mess with his carefully crafted 'mysterious bad boy' nonchalant vibe.

Her eyes widen happily as an idea forms. "I'm sure Kiri wouldn't mind if you tagged along with us!"

I give her a look. Her boyfriend, Kiri, is very outwardly lovey-dovey, and there's no way he'd be okay with sharing Mina on prom night. She catches the look in my eyes and immediately reads my mind.

"Yeah, you're right. Bad idea," she admits, rolling her eyes.

"Very," I agree. "You two have fun, though. I gotta head home and study for that econ quiz."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure you'll have just as much fun with that," she jokes, giving my arm a playful pat before waving goodbye.

I wave back and head out of the school, walking toward my house, which is a short distance away in the suburbs. Normally, I'd ride home with Dabi in his sexy black Mustang, but he skipped today, which, knowing him, isn't too uncommon.

I unlock my empty house—my parents are in France on business, so I’ve been left to die. Well, technically they left me to "fend for myself," but it's basically the same thing. I kick off my shoes and head upstairs to my room, changing into some comfy lounge clothes before flopping onto my bed. I open my laptop and pull up my economics notes, trying to get through the material, but after a while, I realize I have no idea what the hell an "invisible hand" is.

I lean back against the pillows and let my eyes close. Studying is overrated anyway.

I woke up to the blaring sound of my phone alarm to take my vitamins that I had already taken earlier, but the alarm still ran incase I forgot. I groggily rolled over and squinted at the screen, still half-dazed from my nap. The time read 6:15 PM. Great. I’d fallen asleep for way too long. I rubbed my eyes, stretching as I sat up. My laptop was still open with economics notes, but the words blurred together like they were written in a foreign language. Ugh.

I pushed it aside and glanced at the clock again. Dabi would usually text me around this time, or he'd show up randomly at my door, leaning against the frame with that smirk of his. But today... nothing.

Sighing, I grabbed my phone, half-expecting another generic message from my mom or dad asking if I'm alive. But instead, there was a text from Mina.

Mina: "You sure you're not going to prom? Think about it! You'd look so hot in a dress, and I'm sure Dabi would change his mind n suck it up if you rly wanted to go. If he doesn't, still come and I'll make sure Kiri brings his best friend, so you’re not stuck third wheeling!"

I snorted at the part about Kiri's best friend. Mina's boyfriend has two best friends, Bakugo, who is painfully hostile, and Kaminari, who is super enthusiastic but also a little too much of a pervert, I'm not interested in either of those personalities. Either way, I have a boyfriend that I'm pretty exclusies with, and don't feel like pissing him off.

But the thought of prom? Of dressing up, of being surrounded by everyone else—feeling normal, like everyone else for a night—was kind of tempting. Even though I pretended not to care, I always wondered what it’d be like to go, to have that experience.

I stared at my phone for a moment, texting back:

Me: "I don’t know. It feels like too much of a hassle. You really think Dabi would go if I asked?"

There was a long pause before she replied.

Mina: "If u ask him? fat chance... But if you rly wanna go, I'll help u ask him!"

I could already hear her upbeat, enthusiastic tone in my head. It was like she was daring me to do it, challenging me to take that step.

I locked my phone, rolling my eyes as I flopped back onto my bed, already overthinking everything. As much as I hated to admit it, part of me kind of wanted to ask Dabi. Maybe he’d surprise me. But then again, maybe he'd just shrug it off and tell me he wasn’t into it, and I’d be left feeling stupid for even thinking it was a possibility.

Maybe I’d just let it go.

But a part of me couldn't stop wondering: what would it feel like to go with someone who actually cared enough to make the night special?

Just as I was starting to drift off again, my phone buzzed, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Dabi ❤︎: "You still up?"

I smiled to myself, feeling a little lighter. At least he hadn’t forgotten about me today.

Me: "Yeah, what’s up? :)" Dabi ❤︎: "Look outside."

I raised an eyebrow, curiosity sparking as I looked at my phone. Then, without thinking too much, I got up from my bed and walked over to my window. My heart nearly dropped when I first saw the fire—until my eyes caught the message the flames had formed.

"PROM?"

A laugh bubbled up from my chest, and I couldn't help but giggle at the absurdity of it all. Running downstairs, I grabbed some slippers and hurried outside.

"Yes! But you really need to put this out!" I called out, smiling wide as I watched him casually stand next to the fire, hands in his pockets, looking like he hadn’t just used his quirk to set the entire front yard ablaze.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

#dabi #mha x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #dabi x reader #dabi x you #mina ashido #kirishima eijirou #touya todoroki #touya x reader #touya todoroki x reader #mha #high school au

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haveihitanerve · 6 months ago

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okay so i have taken many a 'what batkid are you' quizzes and honestly the end explanation just doesnt really vibe with me and iits never articulate enough, so i decided to make a list of the batkids and their personalities (all decided by me) so if you want to take a quiz and then see if my description fits you better youre welcome to, or if you just want to see which batkid describes you best feel free too

Dick- you have a lot of deep seated trauma but you’re working through it. You tend to cover it with a smile and a laugh and are usually the older sister of the group, prioritizing other people over yourself. Your anger runs deep and you don't have a short fuse but when you do finally snap it is a sight to behold. You have one person in your life who is always there for you to fall back on and lets you release your anger on them. You make them a better person and they do the same for you. You trust easily and are fiercely loyal. Just remember its okay to be loyal to yourself too.

Babs- you are the mom friend in the group. Mad analytical, probably a whiz with technology, but you have good emotional skills too. You’re always focused on helping others out and are there for them when they need a good rant and some warm tea. You are a killer listener. You have some trauma, but instead of being overcome by it you embraced it and let it be a part of you for all to see. You worked through it and are stronger for it. Your net of people you love and trust goes far and deep, and everywhere you go you know at least someone. Thats not to say your trust is given freely, it is just more bendable. You take care of everyone but remember its okay to take care of yourself first.

Jason- your anger runs deep, but you are trying to improve. You find it hard to trust people because your trust was once shattered by someone who was supposed to always be there for you. You have a quick temper and short fuse but once your anger is out its usually over. (until of course your next temper explosion) You have a few good people in your life who you rely on and they help with the anger. Despite what people might think you are also a caretaker at heart and will help someone in need, regardless of your anger towards them. You have some issues but its okay, everyone does. Just remember its okay to let people in sometimes.

Cass- you are a badass. A little quiet, you are the observer. You notice the things others look over, like people. But don't mistake the quietness for lack of words to say. You are fiercely vocal when you wish to be, especially when it comes to defending those who cannot defend themselves or your friends. You have a knack for reading peoples emotions and know just what to say when your friend is feeling upset. The people in your life that you love and that love you sometimes have a hard time seeing that they are worthy of love, but you are there to remind them. Just remember to show yourself a little love too, and its not wrong to be quiet, so long as you are not silenced.

Tim- you are a mad man. Probably super smart but you live off of just spite for the world and caffeine. The people in your life that you trust are all extroverts and you are actually the introvert most of the time, but unlike normal situations you actually adopted them. You would tear yourself apart for the ones you love but just remember you don't always have to. They are there to work with you, not be protected by you.

Steph- you are a child of chaos. A gremlin. You’re the sassy, witty, snarky, confident, and funny member of your group. Despite what people may think you have a very strong moral compass and love fiercely. Those few people in your circle who you trust you would defend to the death and those who harm them better watch their backs. Something happened when you were younger who shaped that moral compass today but you don't allow the ghosts of the past to haunt you anymore. They tend to flee at the first wise crack. Humor is a bit of a coping mechanism but you also have others that are more healthy. Remember its okay to cry sometimes or let your guard down, its not weak and you have people that love you who are watching your back.

Damian- you are short. Im sorry to say it but you probably are. You have a bit of anger inside you, but you also have impressive self control and so i doesn't come out unless you need it to. You are aggressively loyal to those who have earned your trust and respect and would do anything to make them proud. You struggle a bit with seeing your own worth but those you have surrounded yourself with are always there to remind you how amazing you are. You are a very big animal lover and never shy away from a fight. You give off little sibling vibes, but you can also be incredibly wise and are sometimes like the old uncle. (sorry that was a weird comparison but it just feels right) You need to remember that you worth is not in correlation with your accomplishments.

#also i didnt add duke or harper or them because i dont know enough #about them #but if you do know them #feel free to add it for others #batfam #i hope theyre good descriptors #its all technically my personal assumption of the batkids #batkids #batman and robin #batfamily #dick grayson #jason todd #barbara gordon #cassandra cain #tim drake #stephanie brown #damian wayne

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happy-tree-friends-imagines · 2 years ago

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Camping with the Bears - Bears X Reader Short Scenarios

Hello everyone! These are some short writings I posted as a quiz on Quotev, you can check that out here: https://www.quotev.com/quiz/15375373/Camping-With-Bears-Friends-We-Bare-Bears

I haven’t written anything in a long time so I hope you guys enjoy these as much as I do! If you take the quiz, the results include: Grizz, Ice Bear, Panda, Charlie, and Nom Nom. This is just a short camping scenario that I thought of because I’m bored and I thought you guys might be too. You will find Grizz, Ice Bear, and Panda’s stories in this post and I will post Charlie and Nom Nom’s in another post so this one doesn’t get too long. It is assumed in these stories that reader and the bears + friends are already dating. But you could choose to read these as friendship if you squint past the romantic stuff.

Gender neutral reader!

Enjoy~

Grizz

"Grizz!" You exclaimed. "Where are we going?" You laughed as your boyfriend scooped you up off the couch, blanket and all, holding you tightly to his chest as he spun around. "Yeah! We're gonna go camping!" He cheered. Before you knew it, you were packed and in the car. You both decided to camp in the forest on a mountain that was little more than a few miles away from the beach, which you could see as the car zoomed down the mountain-side highway. The smell of pine-trees and redwoods was refreshing and the faint ocean breeze tickled your nose. Grizz chose a beautiful spot in a meadow clearing with the perfect balance of forest and ocean view. "Isn't this great?" He asked, taking the camping items from the car and setting them around your camp spot. "It's perfect," you agreed. "I'll get started on the tent and you can go gather some fire-wood." You reached for the tent bag right as Grizz did. "Woah, one second doll~ I've got the tent covered, you go explore and relax!" You raised an eyebrow at him. "You sure?" "Uh, yeah I'm sure." He grinned wide and your heart melted. You smiled back at him. "Okay... I'll be over here if you need some help though!" "Don't worry baby doll, I've got this," he promised. You walked aways into the woods, picking up pieces of log here and tiny bits of kindling there. But you were more interested in your boyfriend's actions going on behind you. Yeah, he told you he had the tent covered. But in reality, he had no idea how tough a tent was to put up. He wasn't going to let that stop him though. "This goes in here... yeah! And then this goes here," he thought out loud. You watched from the corner of your eye as he struggled with the tent poles. "Then all you gotta do is-" you giggled to yourself, hearing him struggle to pitch the poles into the ground even as the whole thing began to tip over on itself. You looked away for one second when: WHACK! "OOF-!" You twisted around just in time to see Grizz holding his middle, hunched over as if he had been throwing up. Your eyes widened in realization of the tent having fallen apart, he had tried to force the pole down until it snapped back and hit him harshly in his stomach! You were back at his side in seconds. "Grizz, honey are you okay?" The injured man gave a shaky thumbs up at you in an attempt to downplay his pain. "N-never be-better." "You goof," you helped him to sit on the ground nearby with a cold bottle of water to hold across his stomach. A few minutes later and the tent stood sturdily and soundly, you clapped your hands together as you finished getting all of your belongings inside. "Thanks, doll~" Grizz praises when you give him a kiss on his forehead and hand him another water bottle. "Next time, just ask me for help, okay?" ... Over the next few days, you two just go with the flow. You want to take a hike? Hell, yeah, let's go do it! Grizz wants to go down to the Beach for the day? Sounds like a plan! It's super relaxing and exciting to be spending this camping trip with your boyfriend. During the day, you hiked, climbed trees, went swimming, and maybe secretly solved a local crime or two! At night, you stayed up late telling stories, roasting marshmallows, and snuggling close while watching the stars (in-between chasing off food-stealing raccoons of course!). Once again, it was an end to a perfect day. Grizz huffed loudly as he threw down another load of logs near the fire, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand before throwing you a goofy grin. The sun would set soon, but from the look in his eyes, you could tell Grizz had an idea. "Let's go for a night hike!" He announced excitedly. He handed you a flashlight, throwing a backpack over his shoulder after fishing out his own light. You agreed happily, following your boyfriend into the darkening woods in front of you, feet falling upon a worn, narrow trail. You came across a river not too long after. Flicking on your flashlight, you could just barely make out the shadows of the fish swimming below. "Your majesty~" Grizz dramatically bowed down to you, hand held out for yours. You eyed the fallen tree he was standing on, it was wide and had landed directly over the river as if creating a crossing specifically for you. You laughed as you put your hand in his. "You sure that's safe?" Grizz gently pulled you up to join him on the tree. You stumbled forward a bit, catching yourself in his arms. "Hey, as long as you're with me, you'll always be safe," he promised. You could feel your chest tighten at this. The shadows around you lengthened, a sudden burst of orange light shining through the dense forest onto the both of you. Grizz's face turned towards the last of the light, eyes growing wide, mouth falling open in a quiet "wow". With a smile, you held onto his hand tightly... turning to watch the sunset too, you could see why he's so entranced, it's beautiful.

...

Ice Bear

"Camping could be fun!" You agreed with your boyfriend. "Where would we go?" "Ice Bear wants to go to the beach," said Ice Bear, scooting closer to you on the couch. He pointed at the pictures on the computer he held on top of his lap. You both looked through them for awhile in awe of how beautiful it looked. After a quick search of the nearest beach camping ground, you both packed up the necessary food and supplies for the next few days. Ice Bear borrowed a truck from a friend and soon, you were off on the road. You could see the seagulls cresting the clouds before you could see it. You could feel the sand in the wind as you gently held your hand out the window as you approached. The sun shone warm across your face. You were closing your eyes as you basked in it when you could finally hear it. The waves. They crashed against the sand like thunder upon rain. As they came to the shore, they brought golden specks of sand and tiny silver shells. As they went away again, they revealed the hurriedly digging sand crabs and slippery scales of retreating fish. On and on again they went, back and forth, back and forth. You grinned, not noticing Ice Bear's eyes softening as he looked over at you. Soon, he carefully parked the truck, backing up so that the tail end was facing the sea. You both jumped out excitedly, rushing to get everything set up just where you wanted it. Ice Bear lugged out his favorite travel grill and ice chest of goodies. You took to work setting out various towels and a beach blanket upon the sand along with a sheltering umbrella to shield from the sun. Everything was going perfectly. You were smoothing out the sand beneath the beach blanket to allow a better setting when it happened. Ice Bear was busy preparing a grilled lunch for the both of you. He didn't realize it, but when he was cooking, he hummed gently to himself a song he had heard when you first met. It was so quiet, only the very trained ear could hear it. Luckily, you were one so special to be able to hear him when he thought he was silent. But suddenly, he was. Silent. Nothing but the hiss of the grill could be heard. Your head popped up from over the umbrella. "Ice?" You questioned. He was standing there behind the grill as still as can be. His hands were drawn in front of himself, very much unlike him if he were entranced with cooking. You eyed him suspiciously, standing to make your way to him. "Are you okay?" You reached for his hand that he held to his chest. He flinched when you grabbed onto it and your eyes widened. "You burnt yourself!" You quickly opened the cooler and twisted open a bottle of cold water. "Let me see-" "Ice Bear is okay." "No, you're not okay!" You argued. "You're hurt!" You took his hand into yours again, more carefully this time. You poured the cold water onto the burn and inspected it for yourself. In reality it wasn't that bad. It looked as if he had just accidentally brushed against the front of the grill with the side of his hand, turning the skin an angry red. "You have to be more careful," you pouted, leading him to sit on the ground next to the ice chest where you prepared a cold compress and some Neosporin. Ice Bear said nothing as you tended to his hand. He watched you as you muttered to yourself about how he should be more careful, but that he was going to be okay. You flipped his hand gently within your own as if you were handling an injured baby bird. Ice Bear felt his face begin to heat up with all this attention. It wasn't long before you were pressing the back of your hand to his forehead, checking for a fever because of how red his face was getting all of a sudden. Ice Bear just blinked up at you with soft eyes as you concluded your check-over. "Alright, now you just sit over here and I'll finish up the food-" You cut yourself off as you glanced over at the grill. "Oh crap! It's burning!" Carefully tucking your boyfriend underneath he umbrella you were previously under with a stern, "Stay here," you ran over to the grill to try and save dinner. A lot of smoke and some charred lumps of food later, you had scavenged what edible parts you could of the burning food on two plates and brought it over to your boyfriend who had been patiently waiting where you had left him. "Ice Bear's sorry," he stated, eyes still soft as he looked over your disgruntled form. "It's not your fault, Ice. I'm just glad you're okay." You smiled at him then and his eyes grew, if that was even possible. "I love you," he reached out a hand and cupped it beneath your chin. You swore you could feel tears in the corners of your eyes like some cheesy romance novelist. "I... I love you too." He pulled you close then, moving aside to allow you a place at his side. Soon, the plates were empty, both your bellies were full, and sun began to set over the sea. The golden rays of light turned to a fiery orange, skipping across the crashing waves, and onto your skin. You relished in the warmth, shielding your eyes with one hand to see the horizon, you spotted a jumping pod of dolphins. Just when you were about to call out to Ice Bear about your findings, you turned to find that he had already seen it. He sat there next to you, eyes wide in awe, a perfect silence enveloping the both of you. Still, you smiled softly at him even if he can't see it now, cuddling closer with your head on his shoulder as the sun disappeared from sight.

...

Panda

"Camping?" You asked skeptically. "I don't know..." "To be honest, I've only been once before. But I'd really like to try it again, with you." Panda admitted shyly, nuzzling his head into your shoulder as you both sat on the couch. A long talk later and a few encouraging words for everyone and you were packed and ready to go. You both decided to camp in the woods. One, because it was the closest in case of an emergency and two, because Panda had said he had camped in the woods before. "I'm nervous but excited at the same time!" You said, helping to unpack the lifted-tent from the car. Panda agreed, helping you to set up the tent as a team. The leaves from the trees were a brilliant green and gave off a pleasant smell like that from a candle. The weather had been perfect all day so far and you couldn't be happier with how the set up was going. That is until... "Oh no!" Panda yelled, rummaging through his luggage. "No, no, no!" He panicked, this time running over to the car. The nervous man threw open the glove box, moving numerous papers, napkins, and a questionable amount of parking tickets to the floor. "This can't be happening..." Panda was on the verge of tears. You rushed over, holding onto his arm, concerned he might be injured. When you saw nothing was physically wrong, you asked, "What's wrong? What are you looking for?" Slowly... very slowly... Panda lifted the tiny rectangle in his hand, a glittery charm hanging from a braided string. His phone. "I-I forgot the phone charger!" You swore you saw a tear fall down his face. You knelt next to him, "Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry." "I guess we'll just have to save the battery for emergencies and maaaaybe the occasional picture~" You attempted to help him see the bright side. "If worst comes to worst, we could get someone to bring the charger to us. It's not the end of the world." You smiled shyly, adding quietly, "You can always look at me if you get bored." Panda choked on air, blushing furiously. "Y-your right... about the not being the end of the world part!" He pretended not to notice your last comment, though he had already begun taking your advice. ... The next couple of days, you both took your time. You searched for the prettiest places to explore in that area. These places included: the stunning oak trees as they towered above most everything around them, the large and gleaming lake (famous for coupled boat rides, which Panda just had to sneak a picture of both of you at), a traveling ice cream truck, and the several cute small forest creatures around the camp. Before you both knew it, it was the last evening at camp. Panda had a great idea, seeing the sun was beginning to set. "Let's go up that hill to get a better view!" He explained. You both held hands as you walked through the field of blooming plants and flowers trailing up the hill. When you got to the top, you both were stunned. It was beautiful. You could see most everything from here, the lake, the ice cream truck as it drove away, the tops of the oak trees, and the small forest creatures retreating into the woods for the night. You turned to Panda now, opening your mouth to voice all that you had seen, only to fall short of words. His back was to you as he had become mesmerized by the sunset. Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you nuzzled your face into his shoulder... you both watch in a comfortable embrace as the sun disappears.

...

(Sorry Panda’s is so short! I just can’t get a feel for his character lately ^^;;)

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed! Please reblog! See you guys next time!

#We Bare Bears #we bare bears x reader #ice bear x reader #panda x reader #wbb grizz #WBB Panda #wbb ice bear #we bare bears humans #human ice bear x reader #human panda x reader #human grizz x reader #htf imagines #happy tree friends imagines #grizz x reader #camping #camping imagine #camping scenario #camping with the bears #gender neutral reader

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yourneighborhoodporg · 1 year ago

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The Guardian

Chapter 6: Patience

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: ANGST (y'all like actually so much angst), hurt/comfort, mention of canon character deaths, descriptions of violence, banter, references to slavery & war, lil' bit of fluff, self-doubt, grief, sad Ani.

Summary: After spending hours in the Jedi Archives trying to catch up on the last ten years of galactic events, Anakin drags you away for an impromptu sparring session. However, in the throws of saber-to-saber combat, with Obi-Wan as witness, the troubled Jedi lets slip a concerning habit. One that you hope to guide him through.

Song Inspo: Valley of Pain — Bonnie Raitt

Words: 9.5k (I'm sorryyyy)

A/n: Okay, soooo I was thinking about splitting this into two parts, but then I was like ehhhh there's a lot of missing context if I do that. So here we are (I promise I will, like, write the shortest of short chapters for the next one XD). This one is super angst/emotion-heavy to help set up where we are so get ready. Also, please please please comment your thoughts because I got a little experimental with this chapter and would love to know what y'all liked/disliked :))

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet — Aristotle

Anakin leaned comfortably against one of many murky inner pillars, each carefully constructed to steady towering rows of azure-luminescent holobooks in the Jedi Archives. As he crossed his arms with a restive huff, the young Jedi was careful to navigate his right elbow so to avoid the large, rounded, and precariously placed head of Neti Jedi Master Ood Bnar. It was one of the many copper busts depicting legendary figures from The Order’s history that surrounded him. All of them thoughtfully gandered from short, gray pillars stationed at the end of every shelving chain up and down the Archives.

Regardless of his vigilant delicacy around such artifacts, Anakin’s primary attention centered on a point in the distance, just five stacks away.

The chestnut-haired man’s sights leveled on you and Ahsoka, comfortably sat on either side of a long hourglass table, part of the several two-seated structures that occupied each Archival study hall.

While he watched on, eyes poised to notice any hint of an end to the scholarly activities before him, he couldn’t help how the Archive’s careful silence infected him. The pin-drop quietude was accented by the intermittent flowing footsteps of a lingering Jedi or the occasional shuffle of a holobook being plucked from its resting place. It stretched the passing seconds like an endless hyperlane. And with each minute flick of sound, the deathly tranquility acted as a reminder.

That Anakin was waiting entirely too long for one of you to call it quits.

The passing hushes of quiet conversation and intermittent, echoing taps of fingers upon holobook screens had all grown tiresome for the impatient Jedi. Even the soft lumbers of elder Masters speaking in low intervals provided little entertainment while he continued to observe you both, hunched over an array of holobooks that marginally added to the yellow luminescence of the dimly lit stone-gray chairs, which engulfed your figures before the marble work surface.

Admittedly, though, Anakin had only entered a few moments ago.

He remembered last night, sharing a few plates of thrantcill pâté with Ahsoka at the far Temple refractory when, in their conversation, she revealed that you’d spent the entirety of yesterday’s afternoon in the Archives, scouring through endless texts regarding the last 10 years of galactic events and figures with her notes as a guide. From what he understood, the two of you had a nice little arrangement going. Ahsoka would study while you borrowed her notes and, in exchange, you would pause your research to quiz her on whatever she was learning these days.

But as a consequence, you had effectively been locked away in an academic prison, at least from Anakin’s perspective.

And he knew, that just wouldn’t do.

So he stopped by the Archives this morning, assuming he’d find you once again, pouring over a mountain of information with angled elbows and firm palms holding you up and awake by the cheekbones.

Despite spending the last decade of your life either studying within the confines of an old, abandoned ship or foraging for supplies in a desolate icescape, it seemed to Anakin that even with your newfound environment of possibility and connection, your engrossment in similar activities would continue in perpetuity.

That was, until he found it necessary to step in.

He pushed off the pillar with a gentle tick from the Force, choosing to saunter over when he began to notice your eyes in particular. Veined and faded red from staring at screens for hours on end.

Yup, time for a break, he decided inwardly.

His heels tapped with each resonant step, bouncing off the sonorously curved high ceilings before eventually leading him to be within reach of causing a mild disruption. As a playful muscle pulled at his lips, Anakin brightly slapped the table with both hands flat while swiftly leaning into your viewpoint.

The unexpected noise startled both you and Ahsoka from your holobooks, simultaneously drawing the eye of a few elder Masters. But that didn’t impede Anakin’s drive. In fact, your heedlessness regarding his presence only fueled his beliefs— that these many hours in the Archives had drained your senses enough, and that he alone would be the one to drag you away from it.

“Okay,” he announced rather loudly. “Enough is enough. You’re gonna turn into a holobook if you stay here for any longer.”

Anakin sucked in your miffed glare while Ahsoka tried to stifle a faint giggle out of the corner of his eye.

“You know I’m doing this, quite literally, to protect you,” you challenged quietly with a raised brow. “Can’t do much guarding without knowing what I’m guarding against.”

“You’re right,” he feigned admittance as he lowered his voice to your level, hopefully to discourage the subtly annoyed yet watchful eyes of a few librarians to his left by kneeling down and pitching in further.

“If this.” He glanced down at the closest holobook, grabbing it to lift into his vision as he read the title. “Holobook on intergalactic political alliances turns into a giant, being-eating Rancor, I know that I’ll be perfectly safe in your very capable, studious hands.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes before a barely perceptible twitch tugged at the corner of your mouth. You swiped the device from him, returning it to its rightful place on the table.

“Knock it off, Smarty,” you quipped as you tried to return to the holobook in hand.

But your subtle amusement was fuel to his teasing fire.

Anakin grinned. “Or you could quote the guidelines of the Coruscant Accords to a sharp-toothed Acklay looking to take a bite. I’m sure that would go over well.”

Anakin’s ears perked as you dropped the holobook you’d been analyzing to the table. Rather abruptly, you placed a hand on the workspace to twist toward the eager Jedi, slight frustration lining your features.

“And what would you suggest?” You asked expectantly.

The responsive Jedi opened his mouth to answer, but paused mid-vocalization as he tried to come up with a reasonable proposal.

Thankfully, the galaxy granted him a moment to think.

“Whatever it is, can you come up with it somewhere else?” Ahsoka piped up in a whisper. “I’m trying to study for my test.”

Anakin observed as your eyes softened toward his frustrated Padawan.

“Sorry, Ahsoka,” you offered earnestly before scooting out of the grunting, asperous seat below. You raised gracefully, leaning over the ornamented table to collect your many holobooks. “We’ll get out of your way.”

Anakin straightened while you grabbed the last text, watching you turn on your heel toward the Archives’ center circle as he followed at your side.

“Need a hand?” He offered while scanning the hazardously stacked pile of holobooks that leveled just below your inquisitive nose.

“No, not at all,” you spoke, dripping with sarcasm. “Can’t distract you from coming up with your grand idea on how I can be your perfect defender.”

An unimpressed frown flickered across his features briefly. That was, until a sudden lightbulb within him buzzed to life.

It was something to cure his boredom and it would meet your objectives, he excused inwardly.

“Well, if you can beat me in a duel, that would certainly prove your abilities,” he suggested casually.

He was hoping not to reveal the sudden wave of excitement that overcame him following these days of stark boredom. Anakin didn’t realize it until that moment, but what he really needed was a good, old-fashioned sparring session. Not with a drone, but with another Jedi. Something low stakes and disconnected from the war.

But the many developments since his arrival had not made that easy.

After Ahsoka had finished her essay that night when they first docked on Coruscant, Master Plo Koon decided to schedule a test covering the last few months of physical science studies from their tutoring sessions. So, with her hidden away in the Archives, Anakin wasn’t able to do much training or guidance as her new Master.

Not that he really had any idea how he was going to go about that anyway. It was all still so new.

He’d just wing it, he thought.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, was stuck in back-to-back Council meetings about Maker knows what. Anakin imagined hours-long discussions on possible solutions to the communications system infiltration with Temple technicians by their side, offering tidbits of advice on deconstructing board matrices and tracking transmitter codes as the considerations continued. Tedious, but necessary, he considered.

Even R2-D2 was indisposed, having been temporarily assigned to one of the Temple’s system specialists before Anakin had even arrived at the Temple hangar, left to run diagnostics on the potentially compromised system for hours on end as they moved from sector to sector. Though, while he lost that unofficial race, he knew that the only reason Artoo reached Coruscant first with his handful of clones from the 501st was because of their short ‘diversion’ to Hoth.

So, with everyone busy, that left Anakin with meditation and training alone, neither of which he found particularly enjoyable at the moment. Or, at least, since his time a few months ago on Tatooine.

In the days following Anakin’s return from that arid, porous world, particularly in recent weeks, he found it difficult to be left alone with his mind. Images of his mother, weak and crumbling through his arms, the guttural cries of Tusken Raiders, and the scalding whip of Dooku’s crimson sword would invade his senses in mere moments of solitude. Even in the briefest of silent pauses or calming realities, he’d hear them all. Clawing at his senses. Yanking at his heavy chest.

The worry of that reality pervading indefinitely tapped at the young Jedi’s thoughts like a dark harbinger. Especially in the stillness of the Archives while he waited for you to finish. Before he couldn’t delay any longer.

He was desperate for a distraction to snap his thoughts away.

So, when he suddenly remembered that the time you were spending in the Archives was entirely voluntary, Anakin couldn’t help how his spirit felt a little more enlivened as he hopped up from his meditation, a tottering crisscrossed position between two orange flowering Saavas, to toe race his way to the Archives.

Yes, he did actually want to check in on you after days of study, but Anakin too seemed to have his own personal motivations.

Company is what the young Jedi sought, and he was entirely satisfied to keep it with you.

He considered this draw more deeply, pulling at the roots of his kindling connection with you.

Something shifted in Anakin that night in the Uscru District, legs dangling off the end of one of Coruscant’s largest garbage pits as decaying fumes encircled his ankles.

He hadn’t met a Gray Jedi before, but he wondered if they were all like you. Your kindness and softness when speaking the truth. The warmth of your voice.

It anchored him, to those moments of comfort and safety he felt many years ago, when encircled by his mother’s protective arms. It was especially true on those cold nights, after dark and dreary days, when she would tell him of the tale of the sun-dragon.

How his heart would be his strength, much like how she was his heart.

And he missed that feeling, so greatly that when faced with the sensation again, he fell back into old habits. He couldn’t help it. He’d always told his mother everything, and for a brief glimpse, your nature made him feel at home again.

And so he told you.

Something that he couldn’t even at first admit to Obi-Wan.

He told you his mother died.

But it was when he felt your cold hands in his clammy palms, that he could finally sense the signals swirling within your being that you betrayed on your face to him that night.

Indications you kept very well hidden away.

But the touch of two Jedi freed you to share what you felt for the doe-eyed man, intentionally or not.

And he shouldn’t have been so affected by what he sensed, Anakin argued. The blue-eyed Jedi knew you had trained to dedicate your life to him. Or, at least, to the Chosen One prophecy. But still, for a being he met only a week prior, he couldn’t help but be taken aback.

You exuded tenderness, care, and unwavering loyalty.

For the first time in years, Anakin felt truly perceived in that moment. And while he still grappled with the words spoken that night, overshadowed by unfading ghosts of the past, it finally solidified within his sun dragon heart one cogent decision.

Anakin knew that he could trust you.

“I suppose,” you admitted as you reached the central reference desk, pulling Anakin back into his current reality.

Eyeing the large rotunda in the Archive’s center, you dropped the stack of holobooks at the expansive counter for return with a slight clang. As you pivoted down the main hallway leading to the Archive’s exit, you continued. “But I’m supposed to meet with Master Yoda this afternoon, and I don’t know if he wants to duel with me. So we’ll need to keep it short.”

Anakin grinned victoriously as he nodded. “Sounds good to me!”

—

The jaunt to Training Room C was quick.

At least by Anakin’s standards.

Once again, as his mind drifted, the thoughtful Jedi gazed at the room’s beige-white flooring and textured walls, outlined into zoning squares by dark wooden panels and pillars that crossed with geometric balance. His observations since returning to the Temple were the primary factor influencing his temporary tachysensia. Predominantly, that if yesterday’s experience was any indication, he had every right to believe training room availability would be similarly limited today.

As you stretched your legs against the far wall beside one of the two sets of three-tiered mahogany viewing benches on either side of the dojo, Anakin stood by the room’s entrance, twirling the blue glow of his saber in leisurely circles while dipping further into his memories.

First, he recalled the horde of Jedi present at yesterday morning’s emergency meeting. Anakin couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen that many Jedi in one room. Let alone the sum total, many thousands at least, present in the Temple since his arrival a few days ago.

The one outlier was, of course, the Battle of Geonosis, and the events that immediately followed. It was the first time Anakin realized the sheer power of The Order, fighting in tandem to protect peace in the galaxy against dividing forces.

The young Jedi was pleased by the Republic’s material victory that day. That was never in question. But any feeling of triumph was often overshadowed by the depth of another emotion that stretched and coiled along his bones like a growing mold.

Guilt.

It was clear, he thought. In that moment and in the weeks and months which followed.

He wasn’t strong enough to face Dooku that day.

And he nearly paid the ultimate price.

One glance down at his alloyed, dark steely arm with its thin crevices leading to an interior of gears and overlapping wiring was proof enough. Evidence that maybe if he’d trained a little harder as Obi-Wan’s Padawan, or followed his gut and joined Kenobi on his trek to Kamino, that things would have been different.

Maybe, just maybe, so many lives wouldn’t have been lost to such a stupid war.

A war he nearly prevented from happening in the first place during that battle, stained with Jedi blood.

Maybe, he would’ve been faster in countering Dooku’s rapidly twisting and thunderous blows.

And if he was swifter, maybe his mother would still be alive.

But no, Anakin’s power was no match for Dooku’s wielding.

At least, not yet, he thought.

His mind floated again, to the days and weeks following that deadly day. Scores of Padawans were knighted to feed the growing war effort, including himself. Generals were needed, and more knights were expected to take on Padawans to educate them on how to adapt their abilities to times of conflict.

It was necessary. He knew that. But still, the malformation of a pinnacle Jedi celebration, usually a grand and gradual affair, into rushed trial processes and fleeting bestowment ceremonies made him feel more like a piece of unrefined Duralium stumbling its way through a processing plant than a Jedi.

Though despite his new title, and greater set of responsibilities, Anakin considered himself just as equally removed from the planning affairs as he was when a Padawan.

Once all the Jedi were similarly recalled to the Temple after Geonosis, a flood of Council meetings followed in succession to determine The Order’s place in this war. They petitioned the attendance of many Masters, even giving Master Kenobi his own seat, as they negotiated the Jedi role of peacekeeper while trying to defend against the threat to one thousand years of peace.

And it never relented.

Emergency gatherings spiraled in succession, especially after the bombing of Cato Neimoidia.

He remembered it all well. The smoky remnants of a charred away district lost to the planet’s depths. The medical tents that gently swayed in eery silence, save for the intermittent groans of the few survivors. All of these images displayed in everlasting reels on the HoloNet News, shocking the galaxy into reality. The chaos that followed compelled many to realize that even overt neutrality would not keep worlds safe from this war.

But in these high-level meetings that addressed important events just like this, that strategized how to help these people, Knights or Padawans were never included.

They never included him.

So, instead, much like the past few days, Anakin would wander the Temple halls. Perhaps visit the gardens if he was feeling particularly meditative.

But that was just once. And only because Obi-Wan suggested it after catching him waiting opposite from Training Room R, sitting on the floor and leaning against a pillar with arms resting on each knee and a particularly glum look lining his face.

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan inquired as he stopped momentarily, no doubt in a hurried dash to another urgent Council meeting, Anakin concluded.

It was a few days before his knighting ceremony, and only a week after his mechanical limb was installed. But he wasn’t feeling as cheerful as he once thought he would be when he was a youngling. He was supposed to feel excited to become a Jedi Knight.

Not lost.

“Waiting,” he huffed in a monotone.

The impatient Jedi watched Obi-Wan angle back to scan the training rooms that lined the rear wall. Anakin’s expression was unchanged as his Master returned toward him in a curious manner.

“Have you been waiting here all day?” He asked inquisitively.

That same flat tone escaped Anakin’s mouth in affirmation.

Obi-Wan hummed with a hint of satisfaction. “If you showed this much patience in your training sessions, you may have learned a lot more,” he mused.

The nearly former Padawan gazed up at him unimpressed when he noticed a lightbulb go off behind Master Kenobi’s brightened eyes.

“You know, this might be a wonderful time for you to meditate. And I know the perfect place!”

Anakin groaned.

It felt like it all happened years ago, Anakin considered. But in reality, it had only been a few months. War had warped his sense of reality, and maybe that was why he felt a strange sense of déjà vu when he returned to the same hall of training dojos the day before, only for each expanse to be occupied with beings like him, loitering by the entrances and against pillars for their turn by the hour.

But today was different for some reason. Many of the training rooms lay vacant and the halls were generally unoccupied, save a few Jedi using the surrounding walkways for travel.

Part of him wanted to investigate. To see if some Jedi were called off to a mission he didn’t know about. No comms meant that he was even less informed about the Temple’s goings-on. But that never stifled his curiosity.

Instead, it all only seemed to further stoke his kindling restlessness.

Then, he remembered. Master Kenobi had offered to spar with him later today. Maybe he’d get some answers then.

But then again, if history with The Council proved repeatable, probably not.

“Are you gonna twirl that thing all day or are we gonna spar?”

Your sonorous voice shocked the distracted Jedi out of his stupor. He spun toward you, recognizing your casual stance, saber unsheathed and dangling at your side in its luminescent gray as you gazed at him expectantly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled while approaching your figure.

“Watcha thinking about?” You asked once Anakin’s gate mollified.

“Oh,” he inflated with a cartoonish shrug. “Just about how this thing is gonna end before I’ve had the chance to build up a sweat,” he grinned while crouching into an attack stance.

You mirrored his pose, matching his outward repartee with striking, fiery orbs.

“You should have more confidence” you scolded in jest. “I’m sure you’ll get some blocks in.”

Anakin rolled his eyes at the wide beam that engulfed your face. He leaned into his knees, centering his connection with the tingling flow around him.

“What is it you said?” The young man challenged confidently. “May the best Jedi win?”

“That statement still stands,” you affirmed, not skipping a beat.

A smirk pulled at the corner of your mouth.

“Show me what you got…

…Chosen One”

Anakin took this as his cue, kicking off with a running start before pouncing at you from a few meters away with a hard strike toward your rib. He slowed his surroundings with the Force, observing you launch your blade upwards to block the powerful blow with both hands squeezed on the hilt, releasing a hiss from the impact.

You thrust his blade down with your own as he decided to swiftly use that momentum to his advantage. Quickly, he swung his saber back around to strike you down the center. Flinging your weapon up, you deterred the attack with the horizontal posture of the blade. Again, Anakin watched as you slid that blue glow with the hammering snap of your saber toward the floor.

But the blue-eyed man only viewed this as another opportunity.

He twirled on his heel to boldly strike at your other flank. Yet, despite his keenness, you managed to successfully snag this attack too, a straightforward inversion of your blade standing before his path.

The simplicity sparked a flicker of annoyance within the young Jedi. His greatest strength was using his opponent’s attacks against them. And you were making the employment of that particular strategy very difficult.

He continued his strikes with more fervor this time, hoping to break your reinforced wall of defense and coax you into launching your own, fissuring swings. But no matter how much he Force-energized each crack, no matter how rapidly he recovered from your nimble deflections, he couldn’t seem to break your stoic face or weaponized fortification.

“Are you gonna try to fight me at some point?” Anakin drew out as he bounced back from your diverting blade’s assertive whip against his saber, forcing him nearly fifteen meters away.

Like a dance, the two of you melted into a circling prowl, using the space to breathe. Each step enlivened Anakin’s impulse to continue the duel as he surveyed your mimicking movements to keep the eager Jedi a sufficient length away.

“I thought you wanted to work up a sweat?” You exhaled innocently while continuing your slinking annular shuffle.

Anakin felt an intense heat billow behind his eyes as his confident yet teasing nature began to splinter into a more soured tone. Usually, he was not so affected by such innocent pokes. In fact, he found these moments regularly enjoyable, adding a taste of lightheartedness to the typically tense beats of combat.

But his mind was swirling all day with images of the past.

Images of failure.

Of failing others. Of failing the world.

His mother.

And in this transient instance, for some unknown reason, it felt like more than he could presently handle.

But before he could respond to your directed quip, another voice echoed into the training room from the dojo’s double gray doors with L-shaped mustard accents, having whooshed open without him realizing in the last few minutes.

“Anakin doesn’t like it when opponents go easy on him,” Obi-Wan commented as he entered his peripheral.

The peeved Jedi noticed your eyebrows raise in contest across from him at the Master’s words.

“I’m not going easy on him,” you clarified while leaning into another step along the arbitrary sphere of distance you and Anakin delicately maintained.

“Then I take it this is going well?” Master Kenobi announced to no one in particular.

The curious, bearded Jedi strolled to the side for a better view of the duel in discoidal stasis, lowering his form to the edge of the nearest Mahogany viewing bench before crossing his legs in humming anticipation.

“Yes, it is,” Anakin gritted. “In fact, I was just about to find an opening.”

“No you weren’t,” you deadpanned.

Anakin huffed at the truth of your statement as his heart rate quickened. He was beginning to grow tired of your overconfident comments and steadfast defense. He had too much on his mind and didn’t need someone else pointing out his ineptitude.

“Sparring isn’t always about the offensive,” Obi-Wan remarked casually to the atmosphere. “Sometimes it means allowing others to take the initiative for the duel to progress.”

“Tell him that!” You exclaimed with a sigh. “I feel like I’ve been fighting a training droid for the last half an hour.”

Suddenly, something in Anakin snapped. His meticulously bubbling frustration and annoyance had whipped into a flash of pure, blistering anger.

He reacted quickly, propelling himself out of his steady march with a shout as he determinedly bolted toward your figure, most of his connection to his surroundings stripping away to pyre his vehemence.

The Chosen One’s eyes narrowed on one objective and one objective alone— securing an opening.

He neared your form within a second, blade aimed at your shoulder and vision pinpointed like a laser on the curved dark gray spot of your smoothed-over cloak. He could almost smell those memorable industrial fumes of the shop from which you both purchased it, hovering staunchly above the seams as he neared your form.

But as his saber split down with a low whine to claim final victory, your own weapon sprung to life, knocking the blade out of its path and down toward his feet in a buzzing blare.

Anakin heaved his plasma sword up, revving for another turbulent swing as he let out an indignant grunt. His eyes were still locked on the same shoulder when it suddenly spun from sight in a blink. Out of nowhere, an abrupt blazing heat graced his opposite cheek like a near brush with a welder.

Registering the sensation, Anakin whipped around, searching for your figure only to find you stood behind him, sheathing your saber before clipping it to your belt with a clink. You trekked toward the somewhat stunned Jedi, a conflicted stitch tweaking your brows as you finished your approach.

Once you reached him, Anakin felt you tenderly grab his open hand, pulling it free and flipping it over to unlatch his palm. The young Jedi observed you raise your other hand, wrapped in a loose fist, but not for long. It hovered about his hand for only a moment before releasing into his grasp a couple strands of chestnut hair, lightly soaked in your sweat that perspired from head to toe, and perceptibly singed black on one smoky vestige.

Anakin stared at the strands, embarrassment prickling each finger pad as he tried to keep his expression neutral.

That was, until your hands met his.

You closed his fingers into a gentle fist, encouraging him to clutch the locks as softly as their texture.

He gazed up at you, taking in your soothing silver eyes and worried smile as an aura of concern leaked from your being like a latched wire. Swimming like loose electricity from your palm, into his.

“We need to talk.”

—

As you gently led Anakin to one of the training room’s far corners with a soft hand on the back of his elbow, your being was steadily flooding with unsettling disquiet, permeating throughout your circulatory system.

You had noticed fairly quickly, how Anakin’s chagrined eyes subtly shifted at your troubled words toward his former Master, who discernibly observed the scene unfold before him with a knowing shake of his head. Skywalker still internalized Kenobi’s judgments, including the ones that accompanied a perennial frown, you realized. And from his unsurprised expression, it seemed that Obi-Wan had observed these same alarming habits at some point in his life as well.

It was evident that the Master’s cavalier comportment further confirmed your suspicions— that they had not been fully addressed.

At least, not in a way that Anakin may have fully understood.

You noticed it again today, just before the spar began. Anakin, trapped in his own little world within the confines of his expansive mind. Whirling his saber vacantly with muscle memory akin to twisting one’s hair to pass the time. Within those few moments, while internalizing the satisfying stretch of your hamstrings as you prepared for the duel, you couldn’t help but sense the waves of emotion that rolled off the open-hearted Jedi.

Amusement, annoyance, frustration, hopelessness.

And most notably, rage.

You could only guess what thoughts were running through his head. You’d probably only scratched the surface of his internal struggles when he revealed some of them to you a few nights ago. But with time to reflect, you now wondered if that grief clouded his mind too strongly. Shielding him from understanding your words, or even the guidance others may have bestowed upon him in the past regarding this very issue.

You welcomed theories to invade your mind, consume your thoughts, and give you a moment of escape.

Focusing on this small blip in his signature proved far more attractive, more manageable than the vacuum your mind produced in other activities, including your studies in the Temple Archives. Even that distraction manifested as inadequate as you tried to break from your inner affliction rooted in Qui-Gon’s death. You’d spent countless hours flipping through Ahsoka’s notes, shuffling through holobooks filled with complicated galactic developments, trade agreements, alliances, controversial political figures, but nothing seemed to center you.

Nothing seemed to stop his face from appearing when your eyes closed. Even momentarily.

Even when you blinked.

Nothing, well, except for this.

Except for doing what you were made for.

Focusing mind, body, and soul on The Chosen One.

So you dove into the murky waters of this puzzle, only hinted at in your short time together.

The connection drew your memory back to that frenzied escape from Hoth. When you, Anakin, and Obi-Wan stood unified in an Aegean sphere of incandescence against the monstrous Wampan threat. You remembered, the three of you exchanging teasing jabs as you slashed down each beast with agile grace.

But as you dug deeper into that moment, the inner turmoil you sensed from the Chosen One only moments ago now suddenly felt very familiar.

And very alive.

It was Obi-Wan’a quip at Anakin’s apparent lack of humility that struck a similar, irate chord within the young Jedi. And in his frustration to verbally defend himself, he took an easily preventable blow to the face.

Withdrawing from your mind, you glanced up at the healing reddish-brown cut that stretched across his upper cheekbone. You drank it in as you continued to lead him toward the training room’s far wall. While you lacked the time or center of mind to acknowledge it then, you felt it necessary to address now.

You felt for Anakin’s past struggles. You really did. And deep within your being, you fervently believed that the swirling emotions surrounding his mother’s passing and childhood enslavement were justified. Those were deep, crimson scars that would take many years to stitch together. To heal. You yourself had only just begun that journey of loss with your own Master. You were still unable to fully pull away from the initial shock and amplified emptiness felt from learning of his passing.

And by virtue of his history, Anakin’s heedless frustrations toward meaningless words and enduring circumstances made you wonder. Did this powerful Jedi even have the tools to digest your guidance from a few nights ago concerning these very situations? Did he hear you about the importance of acknowledging those moments in life, before letting them go?

It was much like the errant thoughts of forceless beings, which you were compelled to guide past all senses for your own mental survival a couple nights prior.

You continued to draw on the similarities of your circumstances, excavating each moment, before realizing one important factor. That you were only able to feel that relief, that suffocating weight lifted, because of the guidance of others.

Because Obi-Wan gave you a little push.

So, you decided to do the same.

At first, as the duel began, most of your vitality was captivated by efforts to sense any blips in the blue-eyed Jedi’s signature.

But that constrained you to a perpetual defense, focused only on thwarting each intrepid blow. It was necessary, to stray from the energy-siphoning movements required to launch an offense that could counter Anakin’s aggressive form, if you were to successfully carry out your own furtive objectives. His style was elegant, technique steadfast, and it took a considerable toll on you to keep your focus on both the fight and any indications that would barely leak into the Force.

But these actions had unintended consequences, revealing that sucking the bustle out of the duel would be as equally infecting as one of Obi-Wan’s elicit remarks.

So, you leaned into it.

Keeping a relentless guard meant less opportunity for Anakin to use one of your strikes against you. A telltale tactic of Djem So. And it generated a number of occasions for you to toss in a few comments to test the waters. So much so, that when you pointedly told a certain, teasing Jedi Master that you were, in fact, not going easy on him, you were telling the truth. Your defense remained physical, but your offense flourished verbally with quip after quip.

But in those moments, as you sensed his vexation reach its peak, your own heart felt darkened. Weighted down like the planet’s gravitational pull as you carried out this assessment of mental fortitude. It was another chip at your empathetic being, flying away like loose debris traveling through the vacuum of space. Another task in protecting The Chosen One further plunged your identity into utter uncertainty.

You were also not going very easy on yourself.

But it didn’t last long, as it appeared that comparing him to an inanimate Jedi training device seemed to do the trick.

In a way, his sudden dart toward your smaller frame hurt most of all. Not only because you had a hand in driving him to this level of rage, but because you had never seen him so easily reduced to this level of vulnerability. Having known him only a week, you already understood through those many late-night conversations on a thousand-year-old space bucket, in the Coruscant garbage pits, and during your exploration of the entertainment district— where he had the gall to suggest orange was not your color— that his absorbent heart and related impatience was, as of now, his greatest weakness.

One you were sure the Sith would use against him, as they had with other Jedi thousands of years prior.

In some manner, it scared you. The ease with which you pinpointed this fragility in the brief time of knowing him. It was true, you had an uncanny ability to connect with others. But not this easily.

Maybe it was because you saw too much of yourself within him.

Or maybe the two of you were connected far beyond the confines of a prophecy.

Maybe, even through the Force itself.

Yet he tossed his connection to the Force aside in his mad dash to win. The ferocious Jedi was so focused on a strike, a successful nearness of his blade to some part of you to claim victory, that he momentarily tossed away any and all perception of protecting himself.

And it pained you, cavernously, the ease with which you blocked and dodged his subsequent blows. They were unstable, sloppy, and fueled by frustration rather than grounded in his connection to the Galaxy.

It left his entire form accessible to a fatal blow.

So, you decided to make your point in a way he couldn’t ignore.

Swiping your saber rapidly across a loose lock of chestnut hair hanging centimeters from his cheek, you allowed it to fall upon your palm to present the suddenly bewildered Jedi, who was swiftly silenced after realizing the damage you could have done.

You allowed your mind to extrapolate any words from thoughts that continued to rush over you as you both slowed to a halt on the opposite side of the training room from Obi-Wan. Your attentive eyes trained on his uncomfortable expression with a gaze wandering indefinitely, much like a youngling who had been caught taking too many sweets from one of the refractories.

“Your anger is concerning,” you began in a hushed tone.

Maybe those weren’t the right words, and maybe this wasn’t the best setting, but you were hoping to get some real answers that weren’t colored by responses saved for his Master's presence. You had your own difficulty sharing internal struggles with your Master, and he was the only other person around. You wanted this to be different.

Anakin’s eyes suddenly shot at you, narrowing in confusion.

“You were the one who told me my anger was justified.”

“I told you, that it’s ok to be angry sometimes, especially when losing someone you care deeply about,” you began in a softer lull. “That is completely different from allowing a staunch rage to get the best of you from impatience and words.”

Anakin’s eyes softened as he began to absorb your observations while his head slightly dipped in discomfort.

“Hey,” you whispered, touching his wrist, hot from exertion, lifting his uncertain eyes back toward you. “I’m here to look out for you. And I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t say that you need to be more patient and not take what others say to heart. It’s gonna get you killed.”

Your exposition seemed to click within the troubled Jedi in a way far different from your midnight murmurings on the Uscru District garbage pit overhang. You watched as he glimpsed downward, following his line of vision to the metal arm whose fingers he flexed in creaking evaluation.

You wondered…

“Did you…?”

“Yes.”

And that was all the answers you needed, the rest you felt through the Force.

Regret, frustration, and something new—

Realization.

But despite this potential step forward, you found it strange that even losing an arm to impatience and anger didn’t lead him to these reflections earlier.

“It’s not that easy.”

Or maybe it did.

You raised your gaze back up toward Anakin, his dejected stare stuck to the steel limb as if he wasn’t looking at anything at all.

As if his vision was thrown into darkness.

“You’re right, it’s not,” you admitted as, once more, you were met with a flood of questions through his countenance alone.

“It’s a task. Of constantly reminding yourself that what I, or Obi-Wan, or the world says to you or about you doesn’t matter. I mean, who cares what everyone says? It doesn’t change who you are until you let it.”

You stilled, observing Anakin’s brows relax ever so slightly. Yet skepticism still colored his absentmindedly agape lips. Even without connecting physically, you could tell that despite your statement, he was riddled with doubts. You knew he’d heard your words, but he didn’t believe them.

So, you decided to tell him what you really believed.

“I’ll tell you right now. You, right now, are good. And you, at this very moment in time, are enough.”

Anakin’s mouth closed as he gazed up at you in anticipation, a galaxy of sentiments flaring behind his eyes.

You breathed. “No one is gonna change that. And I’m not just saying that to save face. I mean it.”

For the first time in what felt like a long, clouded while, a smile peeked out from his subtly solemn expression. An air of solace had begun to enter the Force.

It seemed like being heard was what Anakin needed. Someone to recognize what he was feeling. What he struggled with. What he continued to battle, inside and out.

And you were happy to be that person.

“And it won’t be remedied overnight. Remind yourself of that.”

You knew what it was like to struggle with these emotions, realizing that what fed them most was your utter isolation. In a sense, despite being in closer proximity to others than you ever had, Anakin still seemed just as alone as you in these conflicts.

And that dealt another sharp blow at your opened heart.

“Look, I’m really sorry. I pushed you too far.” His shoulders relaxed at the softness of your voice. “I just needed you to see what this frustration does to you. It leaves you exposed. And, honestly, if I was less skilled, your blindness may have done some real damage.

His eyes widened, “I would never…”

“I know,” you rested a comforting hand on his flushed arm as he relaxed. “You would never, intentionally,” you assured, though your phrasing still had unnerved the young man. “But you made a mistake, and I’m just hoping to show you why it’s important to learn from it.”

You watched as he nodded, drinking in your sympathetic and forgiving nature into his own being. The two of you breathed through the stillness, allowing both of your feelings to stabilize through the fine sting of sensitivities that traveled back and forth across your hand, tenderly fastened to his lower arm with the Force swimming in between.

“You know,” he began, as you felt the air around him lift delicately. “I know someone who’d really like you.”

You took this compliment as permission for a more upbeat response. So your eyes squinted teasingly.

“Sounds like they have great taste.”

“Silvey!”

You paused momentarily before turning to the exclamation, still getting used to the nickname as Obi-Wan entered your vision from his place on the lower left of the far viewing bench. “Don’t you need to meet with Master Yoda soon?”

Windu must have told him in one of their Council meetings you’d heard so much about from Ahsoka this morning. You glanced up to your left at the wall-mounted chronometer displaying the time in bright blue symbols before approaching the bearded Jedi, a gradually settling Anakin following close behind as you called back.

“I’ve got some time!”

Quieting your voice, you turned to Anakin with a lighthearted taunt as you both continued your leisurely pace.

“You know, I bet you could’ve beat me if you waited a little longer.”

Anakin grinned at your brighter tone as the last of his worries washed away into the Force. It was, again, much like the thoughts of those clubgoers a few nights ago as, he too, seemingly took your words to heart.

“Give me another chance and we’ll see,” he commented, underhandedly complimenting your skills.

You smiled, a weightlessness overcoming you.

“You’re on.”

—

Obi-Wan Kenobi had seen this before.

Too many times to count.

Anakin had a habit of becoming lost within himself, allowing emotions to take over in place of duty, and logic. But despite the occasional slip-ups, the Master believed that his former Padawan had matured greatly in the past decade. His connection to the Force had deepened while his ties to outward attachments withered with time. From the beginning, that was something he knew the Council was especially concerned about when he joined The Order at such an old age.

Yes, he still made a habit of acting before thinking, much to the bearded Jedi’s chagrin. But he always proved to get the job done.

Anakin never let him down.

However, in the last month, Obi-Wan had noticed a familiar turmoil affecting the young Jedi, beginning soon after the attempted assassination of Naboo Senator Padmé Amidala.

In the days that followed, when Anakin was tasked with protecting the Senator, before traveling to Tatooine and, then, becoming involved in the Battle of Geonosis, Obi-Wan sensed that inky substance Master Yoda felt years ago begin to foam up from the depths of his being once more.

“I sense much fear in you.”

And Master Kenobi was finally witness to how greatly his fear had grown that day on Geonosis. When Padmé was knocked out of the LAAT tasked with chasing after Count Dooku, it was the first time Obi-Wan saw Anakin consider negating his duty for a connection. He nearly leapt out of that transport without a second thought, about to blindly storm after his feelings instead of pursuing Dooku to possibly put an end to this war before it even started.

It was a connection that worried him. That concerned Master Yoda as well. So much so that in those days following Anakin’s recovery after losing his arm, Obi-Wan pleaded with Padmé herself to end whatever bonds were forming between the two.

She reluctantly agreed, and though he trusted the word of the former Queen, Kenobi was still bothered by those moments of them together. Like the glances stolen during the holocomm data transfer following their escape from the Trade Federation home world, or the subtle moments shared out of earshot of both him and the clones during their brief medical supply pickup on Naboo last week.

It was instances like these when the Master Jedi wondered if maybe time would be the greatest teacher. Maybe confronting Padmé changed the nature of their bond. Strengthened it, even. Then, it was quite possible that further interference would have just made the situation worse.

He did finally convince Anakin to stay with him on that LAAT before they reached Count Dooku, who was attempting an escape through a dark, underground hangar. But despite Master Kenobi’s best efforts, those bubbling feelings of anger and hate pushed the young Jedi’s agitation over the edge.

Obi-Wan told him to wait. That they would only defeat Dooku if they faced him together. As a team.

As brothers.

But he didn’t listen.

They were unmatched fighting alone, handing Dooku off like some rabid animal bouncing between prey as Anakin tried to recover from his premature mistake.

And it nearly killed Obi-Wan.

But Anakin’s heart was too ferocious to let that happen.

Rage guided his hand, and his hand he lost.

In the weeks that followed, when Anakin was knighted and while the bombing of Cato Neimoidia temporarily threw them apart, Master Kenobi truly believed that this near-death experience at the hands of a Sith Lord had finally proved sobering to his stubborn friend.

But this moment… In his duel with his defender…

Maybe the Master Jedi was wrong.

Obi-Wan knew Anakin blamed himself every day for not ending the war before it started that day on Geonosis. Yet he worried that no matter the damage that came to Anakin from his own choices, he would never learn.

Deep down, Obi-Wan believed that Anakin never grasped the gravity of his actions because he thought he deserved the grave consequences he faced for each and every one of them. By some strange logic, losing an arm was his punishment for not stopping a war, and it excused him from doing differently.

And much like a flagellant, he dealt his own punishment by continuing to march down this path of self-destruction.

But he thought he had it under control. That he had finally taken his Master's teachings to heart and found solace in connecting with the Force, using the flow to wash away his troubles. At least he did when Anakin was given his own battalion. When he was assigned his own Padawan.

When he was distracted by the unstoppable toil of war.

Obi-Wan thought that his young friend had finally pulled himself together to lead like the great Jedi he knew he could be.

But now, with an indefinite pause as the communications system is evaluated, Obi-Wan sensed Anakin slip back into bad habits.

However, Master Kenobi, always the optimist, thought it would pass. That these cursory moments were just flukes, temporary setbacks that could happen to anyone in moments of peace.

But as his own eyes lay open to that rage take hold all over again in his battle with you, it felt like he was staring through a mirror of time, back when Anakin was first dealing with his feelings of the past as that youngling on Tatooine.

This instant seemed like more than a fluke, Obi-Wan thought. Maybe the new memories made old ones stronger.

So, while he watched you and Anakin re-approach the training room’s center sparring square, despite the new calm he sensed radiating off the duo, Kenobi kept his reservations about the consequences of incensing Anakin too vigorously in one session.

Thus, he did what any good arbitrator would do.

He deflected

“You may want to take a break,” he remarked toward your figure as it stalled, allowing Anakin to settle across from you. “You won’t have the energy you need to spar with Master Yoda should he request it.”

But, instead of acknowledging the inherent truth of his statement, you took the more ‘Anakin’ approach.

“Just wait,” you smirked smugly, turning to face the dark-robbed Jedi in a readied stance as you withdrew your saber from your carefully hidden belt with a click. “I plan to end this fight quickly.”

His head whipped to Anakin as unease tugged at creasing lips. Obi-Wan knew what Anakin was like if someone pushed him too far. And he was worried, for both of you, that you had done just that.

As he heard the faint activation of your gray luminance with a whirl and a fading hiss, his eyes settled on his former Padawan, expecting at best a rumble in his life force, a pointed stare, an annoyed huff.

But what he was met with, was most unexpected.

Anakin’s eyes creased mirthfully as he chuckled. The suddenly grinning Jedi popped you a grateful glance that spoke unknown tales as he unsheathed his own weapon with a bright flash, allowing its blue glow to complete the mirror.

Now it was Obi-Wan’s turn to furrow his brows in confusion. Perplexity surrounding this sudden change turned into intrigue as he stationed an elbow on each of his unfolded knees, leaning into the scene to further analyze this development. As the two of you bent at the ready five meters apart, a gentle smile shared on each face with mysterious calm and collection, peace seemed to be the space’s only purveyor.

Seconds passed, minutes wallowed, and still, that stark rush of power Kenobi always recognized in a duel with Anakin never came. The two of you stood in utter stillness, the gently muffled footfalls of passing Jedi in the outer hall accenting the echo of the wider Temple’s exterior.

That was, until you broke the hush.

“Aren’t you gonna come get me?” You asked in a challenging voice.

Anakin raised a brow intuitively. “You’re kidding, right?”

And just as rapidly sweeping as the pause that followed, Obi-Wan noticed a proud grin flash across your face before your legs propelled forward like lightning, meeting Anakin’s swiftly diverting blade with a slate clash. Master Kenobi observed as you spun with your saber stark behind you to block his first blow after flinging your sword into a whirl.

It wasn’t long after you vaulted over the young Jedi to reach his rear side when the Master noticed you return to old habits, sticking to a well-built guard as you blocked and parried blow after blow from your eerily calm opponent. The persistent offensive and defensive divide split you both into equal parts, like either side of a credit. It was a perfect balance that Obi-Wan knew drove Anakin to madness like nothing else in their own training sessions. Yet, the young Jedi seemed unaffected by this stasis.

In fact, he appeared pleased.

But even this did not fully convince the Master Jedi of any statistically significant change. He was an evidence man at heart, after all. And a few smiles and certainly odd behavior was not going to be enough to encourage him to consider this strange development fully. Obi-Wan would let these thoughts wash away without the proof to fully consider them.

That was, of course, before what happened next.

It was in those moments that followed, that Master Kenobi finally asked himself— how?

What he’d spent years trying to teach Anakin about patience, through connecting with the Force, breaking past bonds, and accepting the ways of the Jedi Order— if not to at least teach him the merits of flow and faith— you seemed to do in just the matter of a morning.

Sensibly, as he recovered from the initial surprise of the next instances, Obi-Wan knew that Anakin was not a changed man. But it did certainly feel like it when he observed this unexpected breakthrough take place before his eyes. It usually took weeks, or even months for Anakin to understand Obi-Wan’s teachings when he was his Padawan.

And he couldn’t deny that it was still like that now.

Yet here he was, demonstrating the equivalent of months of meditative progress after a short, albeit evidently salient, conversation with you.

And oh how Obi-Wan desired to know what you said to him. The words you used, the phrasing, the voice.

What was it about you that finally got one of his teachings through to Anakin?

More than ever before, as Obi-Wan’s eyes locked intently with your figure, he wanted to understand you, deeply. Not just due to your connection to Qui-Gon, but because of your mystery. Your past was an enigma, known only by his late Master, a barren ice planet, and the Force itself. Your notable intelligence, pervasive empathy, and skilled abilities had to come from somewhere. From some experience. Some reality.

The General surmised that, in that short moment, Anakin’s eyes must have been unveiled due to a conversation entrenched in those very qualities that he too began to have a swelling affinity for.

He needed, no, was compelled to know about your past, who you truly were, and how you became the skilled Jedi presented before him.

All of these thoughts and intrigues flowered throughout Obi-Wan’s mind as he observed nearly a half an hour into the fight the subtle mistake in your lunged footing. Anakin redirected your block to the ground before tripping your errant leg out from under you with a quick flick of his own, plunging you back first to the milky wooden-lined tile below.

As the blue incandescents of his blade swiveled inches from your throat, Obi-Wan’s slightly widened eyes were further coaxed by the sudden breathy chuckle that escaped from your lips.

A gentle smile inched across Anakin’s countenance as he held his blade firm. To anyone else, his expression would have easily been excused for simple sportsmanship. A manner that aired accolades of ‘you fought well’ to the opponent.

But Obi-Wan knew him better than that. He knew that tempered grin. He’d seen it before, albeit rarely. The first time being at the Temple ten years ago, during one of their first training sessions. Anakin told him he had said the same to Qui-Gon, but his confidence and fortitude drove him to tell his new Master as well.

“I had a dream I was a Jedi. I went to Tatooine and freed all the slaves.”

And despite the following discussions on attachments, and the importance of letting them go, that smile remained. Primitively, Obi-Wan thought it was just Anakin’s version of a dreamy expression, or childlike wonder. But he learned after years of becoming his friend, that it meant nothing of the sort.

It was hope, he concluded. Hope in himself. Hope in doing the right thing.

And now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen that look in years.

But before he could dive further into what all this meant, you finally spoke up.

Following a few stabilizing coughs with elbows planted for support, you gazed at The Chosen One earnestly as your voice softly flowed from you.

“Now that’s a Jedi I’m proud to defend.”

Taglist

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@randomwriter435

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munchboxart · 1 month ago

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I finished Mario & Luigi Brothership!!! I am writing this right after the credits, so I have no idea if there's post credits stuff.

Big warning, major spoilers, I will spit everything out!!!

Also, the only other M&L game I've finished was Superstar Saga + Bowser's Minions, so I can't say anything between those 2 games for experience.

Super long by the way, the game is like 40+ hours long.

So I will be going in order from story + characters, gameplay and then misc. if I have anything else to say.

STORY

I can't lie, the first half felt so fucking boring LMFAO. I think that was also an issue in Superstar Saga but I did pay more attention there (probably because it was the first M&L game I played). Man I'm sorry I do not gaf about "new world new characters" shit. Kirby did this too when they first went 3D and I couldn't care less I'm sorry, not. I do like the Extension Corps. though.

BUT THE SECOND HALF? IT HAD ME LIKE THIS

The first time I heard Bowser Jr.'s voice I started to lock in. LIKE DAMN? CHARACTERS I ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT?

I'm happy that they gave Bowser a more subdued role in the game since I heard he played more major parts in older games. I'm also happy that they're tagging along Bowser Jr. more in these stories!! I wish we got a little more but I'll happily eat the crumbs. I'm so happy they gave him a friend, albeit, a little bittersweet since he and everyone else from Mario world don't belong there :( I'm a little shocked that they didn't have a scene together in the end in the credits though? I figured they would've shown him and buddy saying goodbye, though I'm also happy with them showing Bowser saving 2 Goombas. He is that guy!!!

SORRY going back to Concordia, I'll be honest, I paid half attention in the first part of the story. I can't say I was too invested in any of the characters. Peach joining IDLE was cute. I did like the story in Rumbla island and the one with Chilliam and Burnadette, don't care much for the rest. Extension Corps. were fun, I definitely like all of the bosses from them. The Bowser arc was definitely one of my favorites, albiet, it felt... shoehorned in I can't lie. Bowser Jr.'s story makes sense in it but Bowser's story just felt really short compared to the rest, especially when collecting the bond tear things?

The Great Conductor is fucking awesome. I love that guy. Shamefully, when he did that quiz on if you know Luigi or Mario, I got all of the Luigi's right but every single Mario wrong 😔. Did not care about that fraud, only saw the goat in my eyes. I would love to have a giant plushie of the Great Conductor.

As for the Glohm part of the story. Since I didn't pay attention that much, Cozette being Zokket was a surprise to me LMFAO, HONESTLY, I CAN SEE HOW SOMEONE CAN SEE THE CONNECTION, but I didn't sadly. I'm a little sad that Zokket is a guy though, there are not a lot of fem villains in general so I don't really understand why they made him a guy aside from just making the twist harder to catch.

Anyways, let's talk about the big bad baddie, Reclusa. Oh my god, Nintendo loves their vague jester-esque characters LMFAOOOOOOO

Before I get to his character, can I think the puzzles dragged it way too long LMFAO. WHEN I SAW THE PUZZLE ROOM I GROANED SO LOUDLY. LIKE FIRST THE BONDS AND NOW THIS?

Anyways, Reclusa's motivation is very very interesting. At first the "everything's better in an isolated world!" thing doesn't make sense, especially since the TVs he forces onto people are just simulations of them with their friends and bonds, things he's trying to get away from. But it makes more sense as a selfish point of view, where HE wants to live alone. Also I remember hearing someone talk about how he also could kill everyone this way from starvation. Munch to think about.

I think I like Reclusa way more than Cackletta? A little more memorable I think but I think Cackletta's personality is a little better? At least along with Fawful. Also I think Reclusa has the better theme, phase 3 is pretty awesome.

As for the fight with Reclusa. Uhm, ok so I might have over-prepared LMFAO. PHASE 3 TOOK ME LIKE 3-4 TURNS. I had to be sure to have Waitaminnit (where it gives you an extra turn in a row), Bros. Boost, Item Share and Performance Bonus. I also made sure to get that Golden Grampy Turnip glove where it gives you like 30% pow and decreases speed or something. Reclusa's ball form gave me more trouble than phase 3 💀 it's a little sad. I wish he had more HP. But it was fun, Glohm forms of the Zok bosses definitely gave me a harder time when it was their turns too (I suck at dodging). I wanna try again to see his other moves.

OH ACTUALLY I just remembered, the looping Mushroom Kingdom goes hard. I think that's such a cool part of the story it's awesome. Plus it's the first and only part of the Mushroom Kingdom we get to see in 3D for M&L.

Overall, I think it was fun. A lot of slow times to be honest but there are some very good parts that make it worth while. My feelings toward it reminds me of how I felt with Kirby's Forgotten Land, but this one definitely went better for the story and some characters. Still foreign but not foreign enough that it becomes unrecognizable (compliment). Definitely won't replay it, though.

GAMEPLAY

It's fun, especially when you unlock all of the Bros. moves. I think it's extremely strange that Luigi's select button isn't B anymore when you pick his menu stuff. Although, him auto jumping makes sense in the 3d environment, would probably frustrate players if it wasn't auto. Although, I hate how he just jumps in place sometimes instead of moving forward. I love spamming jump while walking, especially one at a time per brother, so him jumping in place and lagging behind is annoying.

Also, Luigi's AI in the overworld is finicky but not bothersome most of the time, since there are very few times you'll be needing him alone. This was definitely the most frustrating part I had to experience. I took too long to pass the bomb but he wouldn't pick up another one (this happened 3 times because I am slow).

Also I love Luigi Logic. I forgot to mention this in the story part but one time I was so entranced by Luigi Logic that I didn't pay attention to a word he said. Haha Luigi you're so smart and funny twirls my hair /j

I love Bros. Attacks so much, definitely what makes M&L iconic. Although, the same issue I had in Superstars is in here too, where it takes forever to get the first/second bros. move. It makes the gameplay so boring. Although, I do think I prefer Superstar Saga's more? I like that they incorporated types way more, like what do you mean a fire only Max-Mix Vortex doesn't do more damage on the ice type Pipegunk? Whatever.

Plugs are cool I think, although I think it's kind of crazy that they give you 4-5 extensions at the end. The gloves and treasures are basically useless aside from like 2 treasures/gloves. Item Share is also busted, I was interchanging those on and off with other plugs when I needed a shroom. I wish changing plugs actually took a turn because of that? Sure I could make it harder for myself but whatever.

OH ALSO I DIDN'T BRING THIS UP EITHER IN THE STORY MODE, MY FAVORITE ENEMY ARE THE SHY GUYS. I love that their attacks are basically just Mario Party mini-games. Shy Guy Says!!!! It's so fucking awesome.

Misc.

Some out of order stuff that I think of.

I like that they're ragging on Luigi less, maybe it's because it's a new world so they don't know about Luigi much, but it's nice that they're treating him better.

I didn't mention this in the story section but I really like Reclusa's world in phase 2-3. Splatoon Side Order vibes much? Does a good job mixing in electricity and brain stuff I think, if that makes sense.

This made me laugh, I'm sorry.

I'm obsessed with this, THIS IS SO CUTE. THE LITTLE PAWS ON THE ARM REST, and Jr.'s spikes matching the ones on his head, while Bowser's matches his shell. I FORGOT TO TALK ABOUT THIS, BUT THE ARMY CARING ABOUT BOWSER JR.'S FRIENDSHIP WITH BUDDY..... I wish they pushed it more but 😭😭😭I also wish they pushed Bowser trying to protect Jr. a bit more too. Like give me more content pleaseeee 😭😭😭😭😭

Uhmm music. I'll be so honest, I don't think the M&L series has had that much of interesting OSTs aside from a couple. I did mention this earlier but Reclusa's theme definitely is a big standout for me, since I never really liked all of the other final bosses themes. Speaking of which, I'm shocked Bowser and Zokket doesn't have a unique theme? The only ones that get a unique theme is the Extension Corps & Reclusa, which is... strange. Especially when Zokket was framed as the big baddie for most of the game.

I hate the "rhythm game" Dyode and the other one makes you play, THAT IS NOT A RHYTHM GAME, THAT IS A BABY'S FIRST MUSICAL TOY. I hate that it's not even that accurate to the song either so I sometimes get "Great" because the beat is weird!!!

Oh yeah, when I first fought a full set of Bowser's army, it just felt so right. This is Mario and Luigi!! It just reminds me so much of how I felt with Forgotten Land. Speaking of which, I'm seeing a correlation of games that started out as 2D, moving into 3D for the first time (for Mario & Luigi, it's more like a first time on a console) and the story being about going to another world. And if that becomes a trope (or already is), I hate it very much. Like why is the first thing you want to do when celebrating your game moving to another dimension, is to go to another world? It feels alienating. I want to see the original characters!! I don't care about tweedle dee and tweedle dumb in this new dimension we don't have any history with. At least M&L's wasn't that bad of a change.

I think that's all for now? I'll definitely talk more if I have any other thoughts. Not really much to talk about in-depth for. I don't regret playing it but I definitely wish there was less fluff in the gameplay (stuff that makes the game longer, like hunting for the bonds).

#m&l brothership spoilers #mario and luigi spoilers #spoilers #brothership spoilers #m&l spoilers #etc #long post

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mod-kyoko · 1 year ago

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school au headcanons!! pt. 3

fandom: danganronpa: killing harmony

type: hcs, non-ultimate au

a/n: just how the characters would be if ultimates didn't exist

♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

shuichi saihara

fucking mock trial kid if not debate

the shy but smart one

the one that the popular girls mess with like he's a little social experiment

his teachers love him because he always behaves in class and has amazing grades

kaede akamatsu

piano accompanist for the choir and theatre

in all honors classes and the honors society

perfect life?? does not struggle ever?? (seemingly)

the one girl as school who always looks held together and you've never seen her look anything less than happy and healthy and you're like please how

orchestra kid also (plays violin)

keebo

in robotics

kind of unnoticed

incredibly socially inept-

has the stereotypical small set of "nerd" friends that all sit on their computers at lunch and talk about video games and coding

kokichi oma

fucking theatre kid

class clown

some people hate him some people love him

some girl always humbles him when he gets too roudy in class

kind of the teacher's nightmare

ran cross country

rantaro amami

sk8er boy

every girl ever has a crush on him??? (but he's gay-)

secretly dating a soccer player

effortlessly popular somehow

honors classes

plays dungeons and dragons

kaito momota

the kid who carries a bluetooth speaker through the hallways-

p.e. is his favorite subject

runs cross country

the one who befriends the teachers that everyone else takes advantage of/teases

tsumugi shirogane

literally goes to school then goes home???

spends all her time in the library as an aid

self-sabotages her own social life

never ever goes to big school events but sometimes enjoys watching the play and musical

in the anime club

himiko yumeno

dnd player

people think she's weird but no one has beef with her

in quiz bowl 💀 (competitive trivia basically)

always participates in the school's talent show

band kid (trumpet)

maki harukawa

the girl that fucking hates everyone

always shows up to school just looking absolutely done

super quiet in class and does really well

her counselor tried to get her to join some extracurriculars so she decided to join cross country

takes her anger out in p.e.

gonta gokuhara

the kid with the kindest heart but suffering grades that the bullies love to target for some reason

does track and field

volunteers for so many organizations

he eats lunch in his favorite teacher's classroom

spends a lot of time studying but often cuts it short because he's so frustrated

angie yonaga

art club, art classes, lives and breathes art

always drawing during class and there are always people asking her to draw them

her art is always earning those rewards and being displayed throughout the school

friends with all the other art kids

kind of weird and accepts all the other weirdos of the school

the one kid that gifts drawings to their teacher that they hang up around the classroom

miu iruma

slacks off during group projects and in p.e.

just as unfunny as "the boys" of the class but no one cares because she's a girl

no one has ever told her to shut up

is in robotics competitively

makes fun of theatre and band kids

ryoma hoshi

everyone calls him emo (even though he is literally not) because he keeps to himself and wears dark colors

on the tennis team but doesn't really participate in any other school activities

wears his tennis jacket to school 24/7

gets lowkey bullied but always gets cold, quiet revenge rather than fighting back

kirumi tojo

always making conversation with the teachers and hanging out with them even though she has plenty of student friends

cleans up after everyone

is in student government

never ever dresses comfortably, always shows up to school dressed up

korekiyo shinguuji

the weird kid

everyone makes fun of him because he still wears a mask years after the covid pandemic ended

is on the quiz bowl team (100%)

model student and in the honors society

teachers dread him because he raises his hand just to add info to the teachers lecture either to correct them or because he thinks people want to know

tenko chabashira

fucking tryhard in p.e.

track and field

biggest school spirit at every rally

always yelling at the boys who mess around in class

is part of the GSA and acts aggressively gay whenever homophobes are around

#mod kyoko #danganronpa #danganronpa headcanons #danganronpa imagines #rantaro amami #kokichi oma #shuichi saihara #maki harukawa #kirumi tojo #korekiyo shinguuji #kiibo #keebo

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tgmsunmontue · 1 year ago

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It's all academic darlin' PART 6/10

12k+ Hangster AU. Updating 2-3 parts per week and will be finished by 14th January 2024. (Each part is ~1500 words).

Bradley is a professor but living his best life with IceMav parents. Jake is a pilot. Maverick sort-of tries (and fails) to play matchmaker, so he tries again. Touch of epistolary and sprinkling of one-sided unknown/mistaken-identity.

For the emails in this part (because bold (Bradley Bradshaw) and italics (Jake Seresin) aren't super obvious) the beginning and ending of emails are also marked with this: <>

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5

Bradley stares at the email and snorts in disbelief. Fucking hell, Mav's right. Alive and breathing and he’ll flirt with it. Though it does make him wonder why Jake didn't flirt with him when they were at the cabin. One word he'd never use to describe Jake Seresin is shy.

<>You’re lucky you’re not one of my students. Pretty sure I’d have to report that email for sexual harassment.<>

<>Lucky for you I’m not. Anyway, you started it.<>

<>Not intentionally. I’ve used that turn of phrase dozens of times before and never had anyone reply like you have. And I’m never going to be able to use it again without thinking it’s inappropriate, so thanks for that.<>

<>I aim to please.<>

<>I’m sure you do.<>

… … …

<>I’m sure you do.<>

Those four little words have Jake taking in a long slow breath, he’s never before realized that flirting through email was something you could do. Makes sense, he’s done it through text messages and apps plenty, and obviously in person, but through email is a new thing. Plus he’s never flirted and not known what the person looked like before, even if they were old pictures on Tinder or Grindr… Apps he never got back around to reinstalling on his phone. He wonders if it’s just the length of time since he got laid that is making him feel… interested. Curious. This flirting is two-way, he hasn’t had the guy give short or sharp replies, he’s humoring Jake. Almost playful.

He’s on a carrier for the next few months, training and upskilling; so he has nothing to lose in emailing this guy. Being flirty. Plus he’ll actually get some answers to his original questions which he sent off earlier. He’s definitely more interested in this than he thought though, wonders if the guy is single. Okay. That’s putting the carriage before the horse, they’re exchanging emails. If it becomes something more than just… light flirting and getting to know each other then he will ask.

… … …

<>So what do you like to do in your down time?<>

<>Well, I have a pretty full schedule. I teach and carry out research, but that’s my job so not down time I guess. But I love it, so it doesn’t exactly feel like work. Outside of my paid hours of work I do… well. Everything? I love trying new things, sometimes the more dangerous the better. I do rock climbing at least twice a week, hiking, do some jet skiing, water skiing, snowboarding. Picked up all the winter sports when I lived in Sweden. Plus my dad is a freaking daredevil and adrenalin junky so he’s always finding ways to do stupid shit. Usually drags me along. I go out to a quiz night with my postgrad students and some colleagues. What about you?<>

<>You mean the very little leave I have? I usually spend it with friends and doing whatever they want to do. I’ve started enjoying hiking a bit more, like keeping active. I love my job too, feel very lucky to get to fly and get paid for it.<>

… … …

<>Favorite type of music?<>

<>Country. Can take the Texan out of Texas, but you can’t take the country lovin’ out of the Texan. You?<>

<>I’ve yet to hear music I don’t like. But I’m a fan of things I can sing along to. I’m constantly singing, people say they can hear me before they can see me.<>

Jake rubs his eyes, feels like he’s making connections where they don’t exist. Lots of people like singing along to music. And Bradley is a common name. In the beginning some of the emails do actually go into the work Bradley does, and he gets more articles to read. He’s got a much better grasp of materials science now, and he re-reads the original article Mav gave him and it’s fascinating now, rather than being slightly interesting.

… … …

<>So how long is your deployment and what are you up to? If you can share it.<>

<>Unless something comes up I’ve got three months left of what is a seven month deployment. And I’m a naval aviator. Recently been doing nothing but night landings, which I have to admit has to be my least favorite thing to do. Nothing like taking off from a carrier though.<>

<>My dad was a naval aviator. A RIO.<>

<>Does he still fly?<>

<>No. He died when I was small. Training exercise actually, so you be safe out there.<>

<>Always.<>

Bradley stares at the screen in front of him, thinks about Mav telling him that Jake saved his life and what kind of fucked up mission apparently made him an Ace. Knows his mom didn’t want him joining any of the armed forces, but he doesn’t know how she’d feel about him wanting to… date one. Obviously exchanging some emails isn’t dating, but he still feels like he’s laying groundwork for something and it’s a little unsettling. But his life is so heavily intertwined with the defense force, he understands the ebb and flow and nature of work. Has to accommodate it often enough with his own research.

Also, he’s not sure, but he gets the feeling that Jake has forgotten that they’ve met. He knows now that Jake was dealing with concussion when they met, so he’s wary about reminding him. He’s been there; both the dealing with a concussion and dealing with Mav playing a bit free and easy with personal medical details. Regardless, being reminded you’ve forgotten shit and not remembering just makes you feel like shit so he just… ignores it. He doesn’t mention Mav, wouldn’t have mentioned Ice anyway, and just refers to his ‘dad’ to sort-of describe his dad, Mav, and Ice, even if it might get confusing if Jake picks up on it.

He takes the email communication as the opportunity it is though, to get to know Jake without the idea that he needs to portray any particular type of image. He’s going to ask all the questions which have crossed his mind in the last few months. Okay. Maybe not all of them…

… … …

<>Do you like cooking?<>

<>Yeah, definitely. I don’t get much opportunity though. My gran taught me. I like the meditative nature of a lot of the works. Like kneading dough, julienning vegetables, finely dicing things… that’s one of my happy places. What about you?<>

<>Yeah, I love cooking too. I totally get what you mean about it being meditative, takes you out of other thoughts and makes you focus. Also I love cooking for others. I’m told it’s one of my love languages.<>

… … …

<>You ever wonder what your life would be like if you took a different path? I think about it sometimes, if I'd studied something different, or followed my dad despite my mom pretty much expressly forbidding me to do so...<>

<>I'd be on my family ranch. Or in the airforce. I like my life though, wouldn't want to change much. <>

<>No regrets then?<>

<>A few. But I wouldn’t be the man I am today without them so not really.<>

… … …

<>Sorry this can’t be longer – I’ve got a pile of marking and then I’ve got to get to my dad’s for dinner. Weekly dinner cannot be missed upon pain of death, even if right now it’s a choice between undergraduate essays and dinner with the parentals.<>

Jake frowns, he’s certain Bradley had said previously that his dad had died when he was young. Must be a step-dad or something. The emails haven’t remained super flirty, but there’s definitely been comments here and there. One email confirming he’s single, which Jake had tucked away; felt encouraged that this was going somewhere and he feels weirdly invested in just where that somewhere might be. The emails have made the weeks flow quickly, the constant communication back and forth has just felt… good. Bradley has made him laugh, and challenged him to think about technical shit which he’d never done before. He’s still been working out and socializing plenty, but for fifteen to thirty minutes a day he spends reading and writing to Bradley and he’ll be back within six days and Bradley’s last line in his email has his heart skipping a beat and then going double time.

<>If my dates are right, then the GW gets in this week. How do you feel about catching up over a drink?<>

<>Before or after the hands-on experience and private tour?<>

He’s more confident this time that he’s going to get a positive answer, not the original dread after his first flirty email months ago. He does indeed get in this week, and for once he might have plans which aren’t with friends or family. He sends a quick email to his brother and sister, letting them know he’ll come and visit after he’s been back at least a week, which is his usual practice anyway.

… … …

<>So the easiest thing, for an ACTUAL tour of the labs, is for you to come to the University. I finish teaching at 3 on Friday, so can show you around then. Just come to the engineering office and I’ll swing by. Then we can discuss the hands-on experiences. You want my number?<>

<>You have a functioning phone?<>

<>Harsh. Here’s my number anyway. I’ll try and keep my phone safe.<>

What the fuck.

That’s just… it’s too much of a coincidence now. Jake scrunches his face and wonders if he’s maybe still just trying to make connections where there aren’t any. Is it all wishful thinking on his part? There just seems to be more and more mounting evidence though. It started off with a couple of things that made him wonder. It’s been too long now to ask outright, but he’s put the pieces together. Bradley Bradshaw is also somehow Bradley Mitchell and a part of him doesn’t want to ask. Can’t ask now that it’s been four months of emailing back and forth. He grabs his phone, most of the contacts are callsigns or emojis, and he decides to go with the theme and puts a little rooster emoji and he opens up the notes app. Wants to list things manually.

He likes singing to music.

He may or may not have a functioning phone. Again?

He’s a navy brat, which any kid of Mav’s would be.

Except he said his dad died in a training exercise…

Mav gave me the article.

Okay.

He cracks his knuckles and searches for Bradley Bradshaw again. Pictures of the Bradley who he thinks of as Mav’s son come up again, but this time he does some actual digging, clicking through links to conferences featuring keynote speaker profiles and it has actual photos. Definitely photos of Bradley Bradshaw, his name under the photo and everything. So Bradley Bradshaw and Bradley Mitchell are the same person and he’s coming to grips with that, because Mav gave him the article. He goes back and adds a row of exclamation points with a few question marks to help convey his confusion. What did Mav mean by giving him the article? What is he missing? Is he missing anything? Is he reading too much into this? He tugs at his hair in frustration.

Wait.

He goes back through the emails and there, Bradley says his dad was a naval aviator. Well, he guesses Mav was one too, even… but no. Bradley said his dad died during a training exercise. Something is tickling in the back of his mind and he logs in to the naval database, types in the name Bradshaw and there it is. There’s a fucking family resemblance to write home about, holy shit. He falls down a little rabbit hole of enquiry and finds out the history of Nicholas Bradshaw and Peter Mitchell and he knows now, 99.99% that Bradley Bradshaw is also Mav’s son. He puts all his email interactions with Bradley into perspective and yeah, they’d definitely been flirting and getting to know each other really well. He’s shared some things with Bradley which only Javy or his siblings know.

Also Bradley’s hot, even with the shirts and bad moustache and now that he knows what Bradley Bradshaw looks like, knows what he looks like shirtless chopping wood, or stripping off after a run, or explaining how the pump system works… Fucking hell, of course he knows shit about stuff like that, he’s an engineer. He said he was a teacher. And he loves music, and flying and can cook… He goes back to Rate my Professor and rereads them with new eyes and huh, okay, yeah, it all tracks.

Okay. They’ve arranged to meet and then… go from there. He’s not naïve enough to know drinks could mean anything, because Bradley Bradshaw for sure as hell knew who he was talking to the whole time. It does raise a different question in Jake’s mind though.

Did he think Jake knew who he was talking to?

PART 7

#Hangster #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #Sereshaw #rooster x hangman #It's all academic darlin'

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