#without a word fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kittynugg · 4 months ago

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guess who wrote another fanfiction!!?!?!?? THIS GUY

this one's going on tumblr first since it's a first draft, i'll throw it on my ao3 after i've refined it some (because as far as i know thats what talented writers on here do)

so make some noise if you like it because i might have ideas for more chapters who knows (im gonna write them regardless)

Just Say No

words: 1,947 not counting the little intro i wrote out rq

this is based right when ford's telling stan to fuck off in atots!!

also dont fucking tag this as ship.

"There's only one journal left," Stanford said as he walked up to Stan, the first journal–the first record of his eight-year folly–clutched in both hands. He handed it to him. "And you are the only person I can trust to take it."

He looked Stan in the face, his twin's eyes reflecting a fraction of the tiredness in his. His brows furrowed and he spoke. "I have something to ask of you. Remember our plans to sail around the world on a boat?"

And Stan's eyes widened slightly, and he smiled. This was a good sign.

"Take this book," he gestured behind him with his thumb. "Get on a boat," his arms flew upward emphatically. "And sail as far away as you can! To the edge of the Earth!"

Stan's expression faltered. This was a bad sign. Ford turned around and paced toward the portal.

"Bury it where no one can find it!" He swiped a hand downward, then folded his arms behind his back.

“..Uh, no.”

A word and a vocable. The last ones he expected to leave Stan’s mouth in that moment as padded over to hand the journal back to him. In his shock, Ford took it, running his thumb over the textured, tattered binding.

The room felt colder. And it wasn’t the harsh winter.

“..No?” He quoted, and his reflection in the gold six-fingered hand on the cover glared angrily back at him. Then he looked back up at Stan. His twin’s lips were pursed and his shoulders were relaxed. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

Stanley, just as Ford remembered, was not taking this seriously. It was clear he heard the anger in Ford’s tone but either didn’t care whatsoever about the fate of the universe or (the more likely answer) was being an insufferable mule for no reason. His eyes narrowed, and he said, “I mean fuck that shit.”

Ford’s jaw dropped a little. Instead of lashing out like his dear old abusive Pa had taught him, and like he so desperately wanted to, he handed the journal back to Stan. He did not take it and pushed it back toward him with a single calloused finger. “You can’t just say no, this is– this is the fate of the universe. Take the journal.”

“I can say it, and I’m sayin’ it again. No.” Now Stan was grinning. Like he always used to when they were kids when he knew he was getting to him. Unfortunately for Stanford this got to him even more than just the petulant refusal. “I’d do anything for you, Sixer, except for this one thing.” He folded his arms as Ford’s jaw clenched.

Fascinating. His brother was just as much of a miserable prick as he thought. Even after being allowed years to pull himself together. It was truly astounding.

Those observations came out verbally, just in a more crass way than Ford expected. “Stop being an asshole and take the book.” He was not one to swear– he just.. Wasn’t quite prepared for this. Stan was supposed to say “okay, Ford! I’ll leave and never come back!” and take the journal and leave. Such a simple directive!

“Name calling, really?” Stan placed his hands on his hips, his smile widening and the fire behind his eyes burning just a little brighter. “You’re gonna just do name calling?” He was having fun with this! Ford knew it!

He turned around to avoid looking at that smug face. “I’m not calling names, alright? I’m just stating facts. And the fact is–you’re an asshole.” Because he was! This was supposed to be a no-brainer. Take journal. Leave. Sail ocean. Bury journal. Dimension is safe.

What was so difficult about that?

“You’re the one who called me all the way up to this cold-ass state just to say ‘hey, fuck off!’” Stanley uttered that completely incorrect quote in a slightly higher voice, doing air-quotes with his fingers and rolling his eyes. His words had this.. Melancholy edge. Almost like the whole sentence hurt to say. “Maybe I’d’a done it if you acted like you wanted to see me at least..”

“..maybe sat down for coffee..”

“..talked..”

“It’s been a while, yanno?”

Well, now Ford made sure he wasn’t facing Stan for a different reason, because he was sure his expression had pinched into one of guilt and “ooh. I’m the asshole” and he refused to let Stan feel as if he was in the right for flippantly denying his one chance to be good. To make up for the years he could have spent studying in a liveable dorm room without insects crawling over his books that Stan ruined when he made the decision to– he should be saying this out loud. That would make a good argument.

“Maybe I’d be more willing to have coffee with you if you didn’t ruin my li-” he was cut off by a shrieked mockery of his own voice.

“WAAAAAAAAAAH!! MY SCIENCE FAIR EXPEWIMENT!!” Stan stomped a foot forward and balled his hands into fists. “IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, FORD. CRY ABOUT IT.”

His shout echoed against the concrete walls of the spacious basement for a few moments, and when it died down they were left staring at each other in shock. Ford’s shoulders were hunched all the way up to his ears. Stan stepped back and tapped his fingertips together.

The silence stretched on.

And on.

Until Ford spoke up.

“..But Dad said–”

This time Stan interrupted him in a small, almost broken voice, staring down at his feet. “Dad’s a fucking liar.” Ford hated Stan because of an accident.

No, Dad made him hate Stan because of an accident. Of course, all this time.. He was just– that was the only reason he kept them in the first place. Because maybe one day one of them would be useful. And when the prospect of “use” faded, well..

His right eye twinged. He was taught how disposable human beings were. He was taught very well.

And yet, a feeling in his gut, or his heart or wherever told him that this was it. His deus ex machina.

Absolutely not. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He chose to fight the narrative.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you did it. And.. brushed it off like it was nothing.” He ran a hand through his hair and started to pace. “You could have told me and I could have fixed it, then I’d have been accepted and I wouldn’t be here right now.”

The narrative, of course, didn’t like that one bit and fought back. Stan tightly folded his arms over his chest. “I didn’t want to be alone, it’s not– come on! You- you were seventeen too, you know what it’s like! “Bein’ scared, thinkin’ about the future.. Wondering if you’ll ever get a break– You’ve gotta know what I’m talking about.” He looked at his twin.

Ford saw the eyes of a puppy looking up at the bottom of his master’s boot. The eyes he remembered from the night Pa kicked him out. The eyes he avoided for a very long time, and yet the ones he saw in the mirror every night.

“I don’t,” he said, and Stan’s shoulders slumped. “My future was planned out for me. I didn’t have a choice, the first thing Dad did after I stopped–” He paused mid-step, then his foot slowly fell to the ground back into rhythm. “..after I got a good night’s rest, the first thing he did was pressure me to find a new college to go to.”

Stan huffed a sigh. “Yeah.. that’s rough. I remember my first night after that, heh, cried my damn eyes out.” There was no humor in his chuckle, and no joy in his smile. Only a hollow, empty feeling that was definitely another blow from the narrative.

“I, um.. Also.. cried,” Ford admitted with his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Tally that up– narrative, one. Ford, zilch.

“You did?” For some reason or other, his twin’s eyes widened. Like his own twin wouldn’t miss him.

Ford is crying. Ma holds him, and he can feel the way her shoulders hitch every now and then. It makes him feel worse, like her crying is his fault. He heaves his sobs into her chest anyway. It’s all he can do.

He can’t go back to that empty room.

It takes a while, but he can eventually breathe again. Just enough to pull away and look up at her, eyes wide and glasses pushed up to his forehead, and ask, “Ma.. Is- Is Stanley gonna be okay? Please tell me he’s going to be okay!” His voice comes out louder, more desperate than he’d hoped, but Ma manages a smile through her own tears.

“You don’t need a psychic to tell you that, hun..” she says. “He’s gonna be just fine, he’s not as useless as your Pa always tells the two a’you.”

Summoned like the demon he must be, Pa walks into the room. “Your brother? He’s probably already out selling drugs. Don’t bullshit him, Caryn.” He sits down and picks up his newspaper as if he didn’t just say that, and Ma’s hold on him loosens.

He cries harder.

Back in the real world and not Sad Flashback World, Ford made a point to keep his eyes wide open to prevent the tears stinging in them from falling. “..A little, yes,” he muttered casually with a shrug. “But I got over it.” He folded his arms behind his back.

“You’re still a shit liar, wow,” snickered his twin. “So you.. you’re sayin’ you missed me, right?” There was that puppy look again, except even more hopeful.

Ford looked up, cursed the narrative under his breath, and nodded.

You win this round.

“Silly question, but yes. I missed you.” Oh, ew, he actually felt lighter after saying that. “..and I still do.” To stop his lip from quivering he bit it, his eyes darting aside, and he slapped a hand to his face. “Fine! Fine, I’ll say it!” He opened up his coat and whipped the journal out. “Perhaps part of me wishes this wasn’t the only way, okay!? But- But it is!” His arm jutted out toward Stan, pushing the journal into his chest. “Stop making me feel unwanted emotions and take it! We can be pen pals if you must–”

Stan took the journal and hurled it across the room, the book landing with a thud and a burst of dust. Ford gave him a bewildered look. Instead of acknowledging it whatsoever, he tightly wrapped his arms around his twin.

Who.. did not reciprocate and just stiffly stood there like a scarecrow.

“..What– what are you–”

He was shushed. Shushed! Like an animal! But then Stan went all tense again. In a slow tone, like someone, again, confronting a wild animal, he spoke. “Ford, when’s the last time you ate?” Hm, he may have been a little on the skinny side. When was the last time he..

It took him a moment of hard thinking, but he pulled an answer from the recesses of his memory. “Tuesday, why?” Today was Wednesday. That wasn’t too bad.

“Last Tuesday?”

“Yes.”

“..No wonder you can’t fucking think clearly!” Stan pulled away with the same expression Mom would get when they’d skip lunch because they were too busy doing something stupid outside. “Bet you haven’t slept since then, either!”

Ford’s eyes narrowed. “Yes I ha– wait, could you hug me again?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Stan mumbled, complying, and then Ford continued.

“Anyway– Yes I have! I slept for an hour yesterday and I’ve got the wounds to prove it!” He pointed to his arm with a disgruntled huff, and Stan’s expression became that of a fish out of water. His eyes practically popping out of his face, his mouth agape.

“..what,” whispered his twin after a second of opening and closing his mouth like an idiot. “Wounds? Ford, have you been–”

Realizing his mistake, he threw his arms around Stan and squeezed as tightly as he could. Until Stan started to wheeze. “It isn’t important!” A shrill chuckle escaped him. “Brotherly love is, though! Come here!”

“Are you just tryna change the subject or do you mean that?” A chin rested on Ford’s shoulder.

Ford whispered, “..a little bit of both,” and couldn’t fight the smile off his face when Stan’s hold on him tightened. To Hell with the narrative, this was his choice. His deus ex machina.

And.. maybe he needed it more than he thought.

“We’re talking about the wounds later, though.”

“Shut up and hold me.”

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walkingstackofbooks · 4 months ago

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I started writing a short thing ages ago about Julian's relationship with Garak being pretty toxic and his friends being worried about him - but it all being accidental on Garak's part because loving, adult relationships are new to him and understanding human feelings doesn't come naturally and he's just trusting and relying on Julian to say if something's wrong.

Meanwhile Julian's never had a healthy relationship either, so he's also not aware anything's wrong. He's like, in love and 'happy enough' but also too anxious to say if there's something he doesn't like in case Garak rejects him over it and he'll take Garak being a bit rough over not having Garak any day.

But I started it way too long ago to remember any of the thoughts I'd had on actual details, and now I can't actually picture the type of relationship and what's happening between them in order to finish it off 😅 So obviously now I'm spending time writing a different summary of it, rather than actually thinking about it, even though I'm sure I could probably find those red flags Garak's giving off if I let myself ponder a bit more....

(... if anyone does have any ideas for the red flags Julian's friends are spotting, I'd love to hear them - I'm definitely not above letting you doing my thinkign for me :P )

OH - and the main point of this is that Julian refuses to listens to his friends, meanwhile Garak's hearing the rumours and seeing the truth in them and starts worrying why Julian's so content to let himself be treated in a way his culture apparently ought to ahve to=aught him is "bad". It's supposed to end well haha

#garashir #julian bashir #elim garak #honestly i was kind of hoping in writing this out a different way it might shake loose the thoughts #but no #this is practically the length of what i've written anyway just worded differently #welp #why am i like this?#anyway.#the other thing i couldn't really post without more oomph to it but this i can so 🤷‍♀️#my trek musings #fic ideas #wsb

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iinryer · 9 months ago

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I feel like 43 (piggy back ride) and 49 (leaning on the other for support) would pair with each other SO well 🤗☺️

A little scene prompt game to get me writing!

[43: piggy back ride + 49: leaning on the other for support]

—

“Come on, Buck,” Eddie grits out, as loudly as he can to be heard past the mask over his face and the roar of the flames a few floors above them, “come on, four more flights, we can do it,”

Buck just lets out a pained laugh, tightening his hold across Eddie’s shoulders—he’s been losing his footing more frequently and Eddie’s getting increasingly worried that they’re not going to make it to the ground level.

Eddie has been feeding him a litany of come on let’s go you’ve got it almost there the entire descent from the collapsed 11th floor, and at this point he’s not sure whose benefit it’s for.

The next time Buck stumbles, it’s on the landing between the third and fourth floors, and it’s accompanied by a weak, “Ed-Eddie, I can’t, I—,” before he pulls Eddie with him as he’s bracing against the wall and sliding down to the floor.

Eddie crouches in front of him, grasping the sides of his head, trying to get a better look through Buck’s cracked face mask.

“Buck—Buck! Hey!” Eddie gives him a frantic shake, “Hey, look at me, bud—yeah, that’s it, let me see those eyes,”

“Eddie, I’m—,” Buck cuts himself off with a cough and a harsh swallow, pupils visibly different sizes, “I can’t, I can’t—I’m so dizzy, Eddie, I can’t,”

Adrenaline zips down Eddie’s spine, hands tingling with it where he’s holding Buck’s face, separated only by the barely-functional protective gear, “Hey. Yes you can—Yes you can! Come on, we’re so close, we can swap masks for the last few flights—,”

Predictably, Buck interrupts him with a severe look—one that’s undercut almost immediately by the weak push to Eddie’s chest and slight slur of his voice—saying, “No. No, Eddie, not a chance,”

”Buck,” Eddie tries, again, like he has every other flight since floor 11, “I’m not the one with the concussion. Please—,”

“Diaz, Buckley—what’s your status,” Bobby’s voice crackles over the radio.

Eddie takes a frustrated breath before keying his radio, “Over three-quarters down, Cap. I can get us there, but Buck’s in pretty rough shape,”

Buck glares at him weakly through the crack splitting his mask.

Eddie glares back.

“Copy,” Bobby says, strain in his voice evident even through the radio, “IC is still adamant on personnel evac, they’re not permitting new entry unless both of you are compromised, the upper floors are too unstable. But we’ve got the best of the best waiting for the two of you by the eastern stairwell door,”

“Understood,” Eddie says, “Tell Hen and Chim they’ll see us soon,”

”We’d better,” Hen chimes in.

When the channel chirps closed, the only sound Eddie can hear is his own breathing inside his respirator as the two of them look at each other. Eddie gives them to the count of five in his own head before he’s saying, “Come on, Buck, time to go,”

Eddie pulls Buck up roughly, only for his limbs to ragdoll so quickly that Eddie ends up dropping harshly on his knees to be able to throw a hand out to keep Buck’s head from hitting the railing on his way back down.

To his horror, he can see tears spring to Buck’s eyes—ones that he’s sure have nothing to do with the smoke.

“I—I can’t, Eddie, I—,” Buck’s voice trembles, fumbling to grasp at Eddie’s turnout sleeve, “it’s spinning, and it hurts so—hurts so bad I can’t see,”

Concussion symptoms: loss of motor control, dizziness, pain, mood dysregulation.

Something above them crashes and roars.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Eddie tries, dipping down to press the front of his helmet to the top of Buck’s for a frantic moment, “I’ve got you, man, okay? I’ve got you,”

“Okay,” Buck nods against him, shakily, “Okay, you’ve got me,”

It very quickly becomes clear that Buck will not be able to hold himself up enough to simply lean on Eddie like before, so Eddie reconfigures.

Despite the weak protests, he manhandles Buck forward so he’s seated on the top step off of the landing. Eddie positions himself a step down with his back to Buck’s chest, and heaves the increasingly limp form behind him onto his own back.

There’s a muffled groan over his shoulder when he hoists Buck into a better position after standing, his own body screaming in response. But stand he does, and step by step, flight by flight, they move.

Almost like a mantra or a prayer, Eddie finds himself immediately falling back into the teeth-gritting promises of I’ve got you I’ve got you I’ll get us there I’ve got you all the way to the ground floor—and they’re promises he intends to keep.

[now posted on ao3!]

#forcing myself to start in media res and to let these finish without like. a whole arc. cnvjfjfjc #ITS HARD. I CANT SHUT UP #more of an action-y scene than a character scene like the first one #anyways this one was like 200 words longer than my first one which does not bode well for me gjfjdjf #shyaudacity #buddie #buddie ficlet #iinryer fic

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utterlyazriel · 4 months ago

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i was talking not long ago to @djarinova about how if i were to write a mando series what would it be about and then i rewatched tangled (2010) and then i braindumped and said it would go a little like....

you’re a quarry. not even a particularly unique quarry — you’re the wife of some lord, maybe he’s empire, maybe he’s not, but one thing is for sure; he’s got credits.

enough to lure in even the mandalorian who usually despises a hunt so pitiful as tracking down some spoiled wife who’s grown bored of her rich husband and decided to escape away with her affair.

he’s done this song and dance a thousand times, each wife dramatic in the way they complain of how their rich lord husband doesn’t love them, but din knows life is about choices & living with them — stars forbid the worst choice these women make are marrying a heartless man for his coin. he has little sympathy.

you are different from the get-go, first being that you’re alone. in the days he tails you, it’s clear you have no one watching your back, no other partner in the picture that you’re running off to elope with.

he’s been given strict instructions to bring you in alive, as usual when retrieving pesky wives, but you fight like you’ve truly got nothing to lose, managing to make your fingernails bleed with how you fight him.

he wins easily. and then you’re silent as you’re lugged back to the ship, not complaining, not moaning and groaning but just quiet, your eyes taking in everything around you as if it’s the last time you’ll see it.

it’s only as you’re settled down in the ship, bound hands between your knees that you speak — “i can get you three times your reward.”

and just as he’s beginning to think you’re different, like clockwork the bargaining begins.

“you’re not in any position to negotiate.”

you shake your head as though he misunderstands, “no, i don’t— you can still complete your bounty. but if you-” you inhale catches, as you choose your words carefully, “if you delay it, pretend i was harder to find than in actuality, i can make sure he pays you handsomely."

and that gets din’s attention, his body language betraying nothing, his helmet tilting to the side just an inch. “what’s in it for you?”

you laugh mirthlessly as you stare at your bound hands, aware of how ironic what you’re about to say is. “a few more weeks of freedom.”

this, din doesn’t buy. you married this man by your own choice— he knows because he did his research. he’s not in the business of tracking down slave brides or anything of the like. your marriage is completely legitimate.

he says as much, not sure why he’s even giving this conversation time of day— he should be taking off right now, setting course for your home planet, back into the arms of your waiting husband.

yet, he says, “you had your freedom. you chose this marriage.”

you deflate at his words and somehow din doesn’t feel like he’s won the conversation at all. he turns, prepared to head for the cockpit when you speak once more, “i didn’t know.” din stops. he doesn’t turn, doesn’t even tilt his head but that’s enough for you to keep talking, “i— he knew my father, they were friends. i knew him as a child and he used to teach me writing when he came to the house.” something heavy sinks into the bottom of din’s stomach at your words, somehow knowing where this is heading. surely, your father wouldn’t have allowed it.

but din’s seen the galaxy’s worst and knows very well that he would’ve. “i didn’t know what i was signing, i didn’t even know i was signing anything,” you say, voice tight. “just two weeks, please, it’s all i ask.”

it had already taken a week to find you. three weeks to track a bounty with no ability to fight would tarnish his reputation no doubt. but… he believed you.

“i can give you a week,” he says and doesn’t wait to hear your thank you, trudging up to the cockpit, wondering what the fuck he was going to do with an extra passenger for a week.

then you have a classic star wars montage — din decides his best course is to keep visiting new planets as if he’s hunting and you’re more than happy about that.

it takes a bit of back and forth before you convince him you do need your hands free to feed yourself — unless he wants to?— and he snaps the cuffs off you with a curt reminder that there’s nowhere you can hide from him. the threat doesn’t land because you’re too struck by the new planet, a landscape you’ve never seen before.

you tag along to the market and despite coming from a wealthy family, it’s as though you’ve never been outside before. you touch everything, fingers feeling every fabric and texture, and din has to step in when a vendor gets too angry at your lingering, pleasantly surprised when you snip back in the local language.

as you wander, din can’t keep his curiosity tamped down, asking how you learnt the language when you clearly haven’t travelled much— and you respond that, despite its glamorous appearance, there’s little to do as a lords wife and you’ve spent your years in the library, practising different dialects.

“su cuy’gar,” (hello) you say, turning back to him with a smile and din literally stumbles in surprise, hearing the mando’a roll off your tongue. he can’t think of a response so he just strolls past you silently, heading back for the ship.

you think you’ve upset him, maybe offended his culture, but as you walk half a step behind him, he holds out an offering of food, clearly only for you, given the helmet situation. he doesn’t put the cuffs back on you when you get back to the crest.

it’s only a week but it feels like a lifetime — for the both of you. you get to drink in every type of planet, frozen ones, scorched ones, ones bursting with plants and ones crawling with lava.

after the third one, maybe you imagine it but you can’t help but feel like din’s adjusting his choices, sticking to the leafy planets with hot springs to swim in and fruits galore to gorge on. his initial condition of only giving you strict rations is broken quickly and you wonder if he’s letting himself be selfish, indulging in things he normally wouldn’t just for your sake.

when you travel, you stick close for the sake of safety and the two of you murmur in manda’o when you need to be discrete and only once do you save his ass, stepping in front of a flung blade that buries into your thigh. he scolds you vehemently as he patches it up and you let him, too shocked that he’s insisting on doing it despite your two free hands.

he saves your ass ten times over, always managing to pull you back from heated discussions and bar brawls, din having an instinct that you’re barely beginning to form on your own and maker, you had no idea people killed each other this much out in the world.

you insist on cleaning a nasty gash on his arm, almost tucked beneath his pauldron and you never, never even ask about seeing his face.

even though you wish it never would, the week still ends.

“home time,” you say, trying to keep the glumness out of your tone. you have no intention of stalling or guilting the mandalorian who kept his side of the deal. your month on the run was only ever going to be a brief reprieve from the reality of your life.

the mandalorian gets quiet in your last day and as he sets the coordinates to your home planet, he doesn’t say a word. he’s suddenly the same mandalorian who hunted you down a week ago again, steely and cold as his armour.

the flight is short and in a manner of hours, you’re walking down the ramp back into the mouth of your home that begs to swallow you whole.

you keep your end of the deal, conjuring up some story of how the reason it took so long was you were hours away from being sold off into some of the human markets and mando is the reason you weren’t.

“he deserves handsome reward”, you whisper, almost embarrassed by the role you play with your husband now that it’s being observed by the ever silent mandalorian, his visor unmoving. “don’t punish him for my foolish decisions, my lord.”

your husband, thankfully, falls into your words easily and agrees to the high payment, triple what had been promised. you ask only to thank the mandalorian who saved you life as you leave, stepping closer and murmuring

“vor entye, mando,” (thank you) your eyes on his dark visor, for once, wishing you could see beneath it. he doesn’t say anything and you think that’ll will be all, the final words of the best week of your life forgotten from hours ago.

then…

“din.”

you halt, unsure of what it is he’s said.

“my name is din.”

you take the last gift from the world, the name of your hunter who showed you mercy, and watch the crest rise and leave the skies — certain you’ll be content with the memories of the week.

it’s not contentness that finds you though; it’s torture, knowing what’s outside, right out of your reach.

you don’t slide back into your old life at all, you’ve outgrown your mould and discomfort prickles at every severance of your autonomy.

your husband increases the guards around you ten-fold, til you don’t have a single moment alone. you reside in the library and leaf through the books on mandalore, finding more comfort in them than you ever had before.

it’s a quiet evening and you’re absentmindedly drawing circles on the page before you, dreading the upcoming banquet with your husband when you hear a fizzle outside, quickly following by a rapid succession of hits.

a thud hits the ground and you scramble to your feet, knowing with a sinking feeling that it’s your guards, not the intruder, who’s taken the fall.

you hit one of the bookcases as you back up and turn, hiding behind it as the door opens— and you recognise the glint of armour in a moment. it’s second nature to step forward, towards him.

his visor catches the motion and he goes rigid. for a moment, you both just stare at each other, barely processing that he’s come back.

he came back, for you.

“do you want to stay here?” he asks, modulator not hiding the strain in his voice. its not from lack of breath though.

“no,” you answer truthfully, taking another step forward.

“do you want to leave?” he says. “with me?”

you’re nodding before he’s finished his sentence. “yes.”

and then you’re following him through the halls, sticking close like you learnt to do, your heart thumping din, din, din, because never in your life has someone done this—come back and made it your choice.

you manage to make it out the boundaries of the property, your heart rising in your chest at the sight of the razor chest over the ridge when something catches around din’s knee and he crumples with a grunt.

you stop in an instant, dropping to your knees and hands fluttering as you try to tug him to his feet, horror twisting in your stomach at the sight of the arrow through the back of his knee, between his shields of armour—

“din— din, you have to get up,” you say, voice wobbling.

you don’t even get a chance to hear his reply, arms circling you and tugging you back, the guards of your husband having caught back up. and then you’re fighting, twisting in the ridiculous gown you’re in, yowling and scratching in that way that din has only heard once before, the day he found you himself.

as din himself is hauled sluggishly to his feet, it’s with the realisation that something coats the arrow still in his flesh, some poison that’s weaving into his blood.

he’s hauled to his feet and dragged back with you, forced to endure the torture of your cries, the endless no’s that leave your lips. it’s only as he drags his helmeted head up, eyes begging to see you, does he realise your cries are not for yourself— you’re still fighting, not tugging away from your captors, you’re tugging towards him.

you’re both brought before your husband, forced to your knees as he glares down at you, fury engraved upon his face.

“the very man i pay to return my wife is the next to steal her from me?”

the lie surges up within you easily. “no! no, it was a plan of my design. i… i tempted him with credits to help me escape.”

and if din wasn’t already captivated by you before, the very notions of your words that shield him, even when he brought you back to this monster— his heart stirs in his chest.

and what’s worse is that it works.

your husband turns his wicked anger and focuses it on you, stalking forward with a promise of vengeance— “escape? you cannot escape from what you have chosen. what you signed, what you promised to me.”

din seethes beneath his helmet, watching how you shudder and bow beneath the words, til you’re only a shadow of the self he saw in that one week. “yes. you’re right. i should have known better.”

din surges forward with a new wave of strength, blatantly ignoring the awful singing of the wound in his leg— the poison is weighing him down but it’s not enough to dull his senses.

he headbutts the guard behind him, holding his shoulders and takes out the three surrounding him in quick succession— but a sharp ping against his shoulder, a blaster shot, sends him to the ground again with a loud groan. you know instantly what poison coats the arrow in his leg, what you’ve watched killed a hundred trespassers over the years.

“stop it!” you plead, stepping forward to try to reach him, your movements futile as your husband’s hand snares in your hair, ripping you backward.

“stop,” he snarls. “trying to get away from me,”

“no!” you cry, twisting and clawing at his arm, gleeful when he shouts and releases his tight hold. you drop square on your ass and scramble back, putting yourself between the barrel of your husbands blaster and your mandalorian.

“i won’t stop. i will never stop trying to get away from you for every minute of every day, for the rest of my life,” you pant. your husbands face grows more gnarled with every word but all you can hear is the faint breath of din behind you, growing weaker with every breath.

“but,” you begin.

“no,” din’s voice comes from behind you, reedy and weaker than you’ve ever heard it.

“if you let me give him the antidote,” you voice trembles. you’re running out of time. “i will stay with you. i will never try to leave, never try to escape—”

“no,” din says again, barely a pained murmur. you continue on, chest heaving as you stare down your husband. “i will be your wife, just like you want, i promise. just let me heal him.”

the blaster wavers before your face and you hold your breath, waiting judgement before finally it’s lowered an inch— your husbands hand sneaking into his pocket to steal a vial of the antidote. he tosses it into the sand before you with a sneer and turns his attention to his remaining guards. “cuff him.”

you’re snatching up the vial before he’s even finishing speaking, turning with a speed that makes your hands blurry. you scramble to din’s weakening form, hands fussing as you realise you need to find some bare skin to puncture.

apologies garble out your mouth as you yank up the flight suit on his arm, putting the vial between your teeth to pop off the end, revealing the needle. you can hear how laboured din’s breathing is even though his modulator and you hurriedly line the needle up, preparing to push— when his arm sways back, away from the needle.

“no,” he says once more, breathless. “not… for your freedom.”

you make a noise that might be a sob, grabbing his arm and pulling it forward, shaking your head.

“i’m not worth dying for.” you counter, voice trembling, and you jab it into his arm before he can argue, a pained groan threaded through his modulator as the antidote spreads rapidly.

your chest heaves, the finality of what you’ve done sinking in, especially as the guards step forward, cuffs out and ready. your husband drawls your name, casual and snide, as though he hasn’t just terrorised you and nearly killed your closest attempt to a saviour.

“goodbye, din,” you whisper softly, you lean back, drawing a deep breath, prepared to relent, to submit— when din’s gloved hand reaches out, catching your arm with an alarmingly strong grip.

you barely get a moment of confusion before he’s murmuring, “get down,” and cocking his wrist, something blue lighting up.

you fold in an instant, trusting him completely, and din’s hand tugs you forward so you’re upon him, his hand shifting up to cup back of your neck. something whistling dangerously close to your ear and you screw your eyes closed, hearing several yells and thuds.

din’s body rolls, tucking you beneath him as the loud shot of a blaster goes off, burying in the dirt beside your head. another follows it and there’s another thud, a crumpled body hitting the ground.

the silence rings out, deafening in the rush of your emotions and the ebbing sounds of the fight. your eyes spring open and you stare up at the dark visor in disbelief, unable to grasp the hope rising in your chest. is he alive? are you alive? is… this real? are you free?

“breathe, mesh’la,” din commands softly.

you realise you’re holding your breath and you deflate as it rushes out of you — then din’s shifting back, groaning as he lowers himself to the ground. you realise there’s blood beneath you and you follow it in a panic to his leg, still leaking blood around the arrow wound.

“your leg—“

din waves you off, already pushing to his knees with a woozy balance. “i’ll deal with it at the ship. c’mon.”

he stands like it’s no big deal to have an arrowhead still stored in his flesh and you rush to your feet, only just then looking around at the bodies littered at your feet. a dozen guards or so and… your husband.

he isn’t moving but something sudden seizes at your throat and you reach out to grab din’s blaster, unloading several shots into your husbands body for good.

din’s gaze is on you when you stop pulling the trigger and for a moment, you wonder what he’ll think, then he nods, a minuscule motion, and holds out his hand for the blaster.

you hand it over and he holsters it, hand hovering for a moment as he assesses the distance between here and the ship. you take the pause and gently reach for his arm, slipping beneath it to take some of his weight, hearing the surprised inhale from under his helmet. together,

the two of your straggle back to the crest, trailing blood but lighter with the knowledge you never have to return — that your mandalorian trusts you enough to patch his leg up and then asks you, gruff and low, where it is you want to go next.

your choice.

#i never normally post things like this... like its a fic but its not a fic yanno? a drabble? an idea?#sloane writes #din djarin #din x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin fic #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #this takes some dialogue directly from tangled as i mentioned in the beginning!#also (whispering) like i was sayin i would never normally post smth like this #but its freaking 3k so i figure thats worth smth #and im stuck between a rock and a hard place with my other wips #and we're whispering bcos my hope is that without attaching a word count to this ppl will just start reading and get sucked in <3 #also if this storyline seems reminiscent of my latest arthur piece u would be correct <3 #this is my exact brand of angst & hurt/comfort. utter devotion and fighting to save each other #ok i done now :D #if we're friends u can unlock this style of fic! this is just copy & pasted from me and em's messages lol

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paracosm-draw · 3 months ago

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There are writers out there who make me fall in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi over and over again

Please never stop 🫶🏻

#let's spread some love for all the fantastic writers #i love you all so much you keep me awake at night with butterflies in my stomach and a ache in my chest and i wouldn't live any other way #my entire life would be so dull without your incredible imagination and your way with words that make me laugh and cry and long and smile #you're doing the gods work putting your character analysis and plots out there for us to read for free FOR FREE when we want #I'm so grateful that i exist in the same universe as you all #this is a love letter to writers #especially star wars writers as per my current obsession #especially obikin writers as per my current more specific obsession #writerscommunity #writers #ao3 writer #star wars fanfiction #star wars fic #obikin fic #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #star wars #obikin

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fandomfloozy · 1 year ago

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Classical Conditioning

Pairing: Kento Nanami x clingy!reader

C/W: reader's love language is physical touch, petnames (kento refers to reader as love, sweetheart, darling), sorcerer instructor!reader (students refer to reader as sensei), gn!reader, slightly nsfw, mdni

wc: 6.5k

~°•*~

You're on the way home from a particularly grueling training session with the second years. Your muscles burn, your limbs feel heavy, and you want nothing more than to treat yourself to a sweet dessert and head home.

Home to bed, home to sleep, home to Kento...

You weakly push open the door of the nearest cafe you could find and head in. No sooner does the entry bell chime that the exhaustion of the day dissipates from your aching body. From one moment to the next, you've gone from zombie walk to barely containing your excitement as you spot an unmistakably familiar head of blond hair.

You don't even hear the cashier greet you as you're halfway across the room, your feet moving on their own volition. The closer you get, the wider the stupid grin on your face grows until you've practically jumped your fiancée from behind, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your cheek against his.

"Kento!" You're nuzzling into him with your eyes closed, feeling yourself recharge to practically full capacity.

He doesn't seem the least bit startled or surprised to see you as he reaches a hand up to place on your arms. He moves his face away to get a good look at you. "Hi, sweetheart." He rubs his thumb on your forearm. "We were just talking about you."

In your haste, you failed to notice Takuma Ino sitting across from your lover.

You breathe out an awkward chortle, slinking your arms away from Kento and rounding his chair to pull out the one next to him. "All good things, I hope?" You slide a hand down his arm as you take a seat.

"Nothing but, sensei!"

"You're not one of my students, Takuma-kun." You give a semi-exasperated smile as you reach down the table to grab Kento's hand. "I already told you; you don't need to call me that."

Kento glances your way. "We were actually talking about potentially having him shadow you on one of your next missions." He gives a squeeze at your locked hands at the suggestion. "Have you give him a few pointers, show him how you do things."

"Oh!" You look over at Takuma. "I'm not sure what I could teach you that you don't know, you're plenty capable already!"

"But you're a first grade, sensei! I could pick up a lot from watching you work."

"You're pushing first grade yourself!" You argue.

"And you're pushing semi-special grade, darling," Kento chides, coolly sipping at his drink. "Don't sell yourself too short."

You frown. If you sold yourself too short, Kento upsold you too much.

Leaning your head on his shoulder, you let out a hum as you think. "Well..."

You look up and Takuma is giving you the closest thing a young man his age can get to puppy eyes. And it's working.

You fiddle with Kento's fingers. "I trust you're capable enough not to slow me down..." Takuma visibly starts to brighten. "So I suppose it couldn't hurt to have you come on a mission and shadow me--"

"Yes!" Takuma pumps a fist and grabs your free hand to shake in earnest. "I won't slow you down at all, sensei! Promise!"

You giggle as he continues to shake. "There's no doubt in my mind."

Kento chuckles a bit and moves to stand up. "Now that that's squared away, why don't I get you something to eat?"

"Oh! Yes, please." You remember that the sweet treat you came for remains unordered. You lean away to let Kento stand. "You remember my order?"

"You need to ask?" He smiles and starts making his way towards the register. You hold his hand and then his fingers to the last moment as they slip away from you. You then watch him with your chin leaned into your hand and a dopey smile on your face as you watch him tell the cashier your order and pull out his wallet.

"Your two's relationship is so wild to me." Takuma's voice breaks you out of your lovelorn trance. You clear your throat.

"I guess it is atypical," you hum.

Romantic relationships in the jujutsu world, especially between jujutsu sorcerers, are few and far between. Not many sorcerers become old enough or secure enough to explore those kinds of relationships, let alone get to the point of planning to marry. You and Kento are lucky...

"Especially because you two are such an unlikely pair."

You hum in response again, before what he said kicks in. "Wait, what?"

Takuma responds casually while taking bites of his pastry. "Well, you know. Sensei and Nanami-san are so different. Don't get me wrong, he's a great man, but he's kind of a square."

You snort, recalling your jujutsu tech days with Kento. "He's always been a little standoffish. Been that way since we were students."

"It's just crazy. You're so bubbly and nice, and he's so..." He gestures vaguely. "I guess what they say is true: opposites attract."

"Well..." You fidget. "He is a little more reserved than I am, I suppose."

He takes in another fork full of his food. "I don't think I've ever even seen him hold your hand first."

That leaves you speechless.

Was that true? Has he never held your hand without you reaching out to grab his first? You've never thought about it before.

No, surely, it's just in public. Takuma has never seen Kento initiate because you're in public. Kento doesn't mind PDA, but you're just more prone to initiate in a public setting. Surely that's what he means.

Surely.

The weight of the day is suddenly returning to your body all at once.

Kento returns with your order, hand on the back of the chair. "Don't worry about the bill, it's covered." Takuma cheers to himself. Kento turns to face you. "Ready to head home? You look exhausted."

You nod and let out a little, "Mhm." You reach out a hand and Kento helps you up. Huh...

Initiated.

"We're heading out now. I'll see you tomorrow, Ino-kun."

"See you, Nanami-san. Sensei."

You offer a wave and lean into Kento's arm as you walk out of the cafe.

Initiated...

The ride home is quiet. You're on the verge of nodding off in the backseat as the driver takes you and Kento home. He holds onto your treat from the cafe, your craving now forgotten. Your hands are folded in your lap as you try to stay awake.

It's private enough in the car. Surely, he'll at least try to hold your hand...

You want him to hold your hand. Your thigh, your shoulders, your waist... Anything, really. But he could at least hold your hand.

Please, hold my hand...

The car coming to a stop wakes you. Your head lay in Kento's lap as he gently pets your head.

"We've arrived," the driver announces.

"Let's get you to the shower and then you can sleep all you want, alright?" Kento whispers as he tenderly lifts you from his lap and into a sitting position.

Falling asleep on him like that in front of the driver. You really forced his hand there. He had to hold you in his lap. He had no choice.

Initiated.

Arriving home is a bit relieving, though. It didn't get more private than that. More comfortable.

You were showering. He was undressing and going about his nightly routine. It didn't get more intimate than that.

So by the time you stepped out of the shower, water dripping off your form, you expected something--anything--as you creeped up behind him. Dressed in pajama pants and slippers, brushing his teeth in the mirror, he saw your naked form in his peripheral.

He smirked and spat out the toothpaste. "All done, beautiful?"

You nodded meekly, holding your arm behind your back. He turned to face you and you looked at him, alternating between looking at each eye.

Surely, he'd initiate. Nothing was stopping him. You'd initiated all day; it was his turn. Surely...

He reached out to you, and you waited with bated breath...

...as he reached behind you, grabbing the towel to place over your head and dry you off. He smiled softly. "Go put on some pajamas. I'll join you in bed soon."

He then wrapped the towel around your shoulders and turned to finish washing his face. You stood, dumbfounded for a moment, before scuttling to grab clothes to sleep in.

Maybe he just isn't in the mood tonight.

T-shirt.

I mean, you don't have sex every night.

Underwear.

But even when you do... does he initiate? You suddenly can't recall.

Something you do every night, though, is hold each other. That's a given. Cuddling is essential. It's how you get to sleep: relying on Kento's warmth to lull you into a sense of security and comfort.

You rush to the bed and under the covers. You wait.

Kento emerges from the bathroom, turning off lights on the way to you. Your anticipation is almost palpable at this point.

He situates himself in bed, sat up and looking down at you. "Long day, love?"

The top half of your face is peeking out from under the covers as you nod. "Very," you remark with a bit of a whine. "Glad to finally be home with you, Ken." You reach out to him instinctively then think better of it and stop short, your hand flopping on the bed with a thud.

You both look down at it for a beat.

He laughs. "Me too." He picks up your hand from the space between you and presses his lips to it, holding back a chuckle. "Sleep well. We've got an early start tomorrow."

He then drops your hand to turn off the bedside lamp. The darkness somehow makes the room feel significantly colder.

Kento shimmies down into the covers, lays down face-up, and closes his eyes. "Good night, love."

"Night, Ken," you whisper.

You close your eyes as you replay the exchange in your head.

Initiated.

~°•*~

You wake the next morning curled up by Kento's side. Through the course of the night, it seems like you ended up drifting closer to him. Your head is on his chest, your legs tangled up with his.

His form is the same as he fell asleep in. Supine. Completely relaxed.

You sigh. You tried to give him a wide berth last night and still ended up encroaching on his space.

You carefully untangle yourself from him. His alarm hasn't gone off yet and you don't want to wake him. Once out of bed, you pad down the hall and to the kitchen. With the extra time, you decide you might as well get some breakfast ready.

In the silence while you're cooking, however, you can't help the doubts that start creeping up in your mind... You probably make him uncomfortable with your constant need to be touching him in some way, shape, or form. You know physical touch isn't his love language, and yet you pester him constantly anyway, even in public. He didn't so much as touch you last night without you practically begging for him to. He probably only reciprocates out of obligation.

Maybe you should tone it down today.

You hear the rushing stream of water from down the hall as you finish plating the food. Seems like you have time to pack your lunches for the day as well.

As soon as that's done, you pick at your breakfast a bit. The pit of insecurity in your stomach is having adverse effects on your appetite. You sigh heavily to yourself and figure you should at the very least have a coffee.

You prep one for yourself and one for Kento, and as if on cue, he emerges from the bedroom. His hair is glistening from the water and product still drying in it. He's got his dress shirt on with his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He looks absolutely heaven-sent.

"Ooh, thanks for breakfast, love." He smiles as he takes his seat at the table and you hand him his mug. Your fingers brush as he grabs it, and you yank your hand away a little too forcefully. Kento raises a quizzical brow at you. "Careful, I'm sure it's hot." He blows on it a bit before taking a sip.

You hide your hands behind your back to avoid potential slip-ups. You resigned yourself to no touching him unprompted today. You were going to stick to it.

"How did you sleep? I missed you when I woke up this morning."

"Slept fine." You grab your own mug to give your hands something to do. "Just woke up a bit early. Lunch is packed and everything."

"Oh, wow. That's quite proactive of you," he teases. Oh, you wanna kiss him. He digs into his plate and gives a nod to yours. "Aren't you having breakfast?"

You shake your head. He scrunches his brows and his eyes soften. God, you want to rub at the lines between his brows. "I should actually start getting dressed, if anything. I'll go do that now."

You set down your mug on the counter and make a beeline to your bedroom. This is harder than you thought. He's irresistible. How are you meant to make it through the day?

Ugh, but this is for his sake. You don't want to make him uncomfortable. Show restraint, you're an adult.

You get dressed, do your hair, brush your teeth, and take a look at the clock to make sure you're good on time before your driver arrives. Once you're sure you're presentable, you grab your things and start making your way to the front door to put on your shoes.

"Hey, sweetheart--"

You stop in your tracks and look over at Kento, who is standing by the coat rack, jacket in hand and a weird look on his face. His tie is still loose. That's unlike him.

He gives you a crooked smile. "You seem frazzled this morning. I'm sure you're in a rush, but do you mind helping me get my jacket on?"

You hesitate, then you walk over to him. You don't have to touch him while putting on his coat. This is fine. He's asking you to do this anyway. "I've got you, Ken." You take the jacket from his hands, and he turns around to give you full access.

Oh, his back looks so good under his dress shirt. One arm in. It'd be so easy to just run a hand over it and cop a feel... Other arm in. Has he always had such a biteable neck?

You don't get a chance to think about it before it's covered by the collar of his jacket. You clasp your hands together in front of you as he turns around.

"Thank you, darling."

He looks you in the eye and you can't help your gaze from drifting down to his lips. You should kiss him. You want to kiss him. But he isn't leaning in. He's not initiating. You shouldn't. But you can't help gravitating towards him when he looks at you like that with so much love in his eyes and--

You lean in and tighten his tie up to the collar of his shirt.

He looks down in surprise. "Oh! Heh, thank you again." He lets out a chuckle.

You smile. "Anytime." Success. You restrained yourself. That was a close one.

Your phone chimes and you look down. "My driver's here. I'm heading out now." You turn around and put on your shoes at the doorstep. You open the door and spare a glance back at Kento, who is still standing right where you left him. "I'll see you tonight. Have a good day. Love you!"

"Love you, too..." He trails and adjusts his tie with one hand while the other waves a goodbye.

You give him a quick wave back and close the door behind you.

Phew, this shouldn't be that hard.

~°•*~

It's really not.

That hard, that is.

You spent the car ride to the school congratulating yourself on a job well done, coasting off the high of a win. By the time you arrived in the classroom, the whole ordeal took a backseat in your mind. As it stands, Maki, Toge, and Panda are enough of a handful in their own right.

You enter and all of your students seem to be here, sans Yuta. You close the sliding door and smile before walking to the front. "Alright, be seated," you announce as you set your things down. "Pop quiz today, so notes away and pencils out, please."

Your students' audible groans fill the mostly empty room.

"That's too cruel, sensei," Panda whines.

"Mustard leaf."

"Yeah, you didn't even prepare us for this," Maki complains.

The chorus of complaints keep ringing out. You sigh at the lack of order. You're not exactly in the mood with only your morning coffee sitting in your stomach, but you can't exactly blame them when it's so early in the morning and it's the last day of the week. However, that doesn't stop you from taking a deep breath and bringing your hands together in a forceful clap.

The sound reverberates through the floorboards and up the walls. Your students freeze.

The juxtaposition of your gentle smile and the tilt of your head lend to the immediate quiet. "I thought I asked you all very nicely to put your notes away and take a pencil out. I must have imagined the idle chatter, hm?"

They all sit up straight, desks cleared, pencil in hand. "Yes, sensei!"

A handful indeed.

It's what you need today, though. While Kento's off working, you're busy with the second years. There's no temptation this way. Not seeing him for the better part of the day helps. The rapid pace of training and lessons keeps you distracted... for the most part.

That is until, without warning, he's walking onto the training field where you're leading your class through combat drills. He has one Yuuji Itadori in tow, skipping along beside him.

You're kind of geeking, but you try not to let it show. This is Round 2. Second test of the day. You're in public this time. Your students are around. You can hold back.

You greet him with a smile. "You're back early. How did it go?"

Kento rolls the shoulder on his dominant side out. "It went well, all things considered." He looks a bit disheveled.

"It was so cool!" Yuuji cuts in. "Nanamin's cursed technique is always amazing to watch!"

You feel a swell of pride at that. Kento is very talented, you're glad Yuuji gets to learn from him. "How did you do today, Yuu-kun?"

"I think I did really well--"

"His form is still sloppy. He needs to get a better grasp on real-time battle strategy." Now that he's closer to you, you notice Kento's hair seems out of sorts. You want to run your fingers through it and fix it a bit...

"I thought I did a lot better today," Yuuji pouts. He leans his head onto the front of your shoulder and whines lowly so only you can hear. "Nanamin's been kinda mean today, sensei."

You laugh and wrap one arm around Yuuji, using the other to rub at his hair comfortingly. "He really wants you to improve. I'm sure it's nothing personal, Yuu-kun," you coo.

"I'll watch your students for you." You don't get a good look at Kento's face as he is already briskly making his way to where your kids are training.

Now that you mention it, that was a bit snappy. You wonder if something happened to Kento while he was out today.

You hum. You release Yuuji from your hold. "Why don't you tell me more about how today went?"

"Well." Yuuji starts prattling on about how he met with Gojo this morning who then let him know Kento would be instructing him again today, so they headed off to meet him, and Kento had seemed out of it this morning to begin with. Anyway, they went to exorcise some curses, but Kento seemed to be a little more aggressive with them today than usual. He mentioned how Kento had scolded him sternly more than a few times while they were working, but once they finished Kento still seemed unsatisfied and kept grumbling about this and that, stuff Yuuji couldn't make out. "And once we were done, I asked Nanamin if we could eat something and he said okay, but he just wanted to stop by here first to 'Check on the state of the instruction you students are being provided.' Whatever that means."

Huh. You should've guessed Gojo was at the source of this. He was probably pestering Kento into this morning. On top of that, Kento seems to be dissatisfied with how Gojo is teaching the first years and came to analyze the situation.

No wonder he seems a bit touchy.

Oh, Yuuji is still speaking to you.

"Sounds like a lot." You nod along to whatever he started talking about next. "I'm sure you and Kento had a long morning, Yuu-kun. How's about you take him to find Gojo-san and the other first years, okay?" You start guiding Yuuji back across the field to Kento.

It gives you pause to find that your second years are out of breath and hands-on-knees by the time you get back. You couldn't have been talking with Yuuji for more than a few minutes, what happened in that time?

"Really putting them through their paces there, huh, Ken?" You breathe out a laugh nervously. Kento is kind of scary when Gojo gets him riled up.

"They can handle this much," is all Kento offers, standing cross-armed, facing you students.

You pause. Your brows scrunch together in worry. "Okay, guys. Water break! Be back here in five minutes."

Your students let out a sigh of relief as they stagger towards the sidelines for some reprieve. Yuuji trails a safe distance behind you as you round Kento to face him fully. You soften your eyes as you meet his own, shielded from you by his round goggle sunglasses.

"Are you alright?"

The scrunch in his brow relaxes a bit at your scrutiny. "Yes, darling, I'm fine--"

"Are you sure?" You press. You take him in a bit more. His stance is relaxing some more. "Your hair's all fussed," you tease with a snort.

He looks at you. You look at him. You're mirroring his arm-crossed stance. You don't move to fuss over him, especially if it'll just make him more uncomfortable in this state, but you expect him to at least run a hand through his hair himself.

"Are you sure you're alri--"

"Yes, everything's fine. Yuuji, let's head over the first year classroom." He's already leaving before you can protest.

"Aww, but I thought we were going to eat first." Yuuji jogs to catch up with Kento and the two talk back and forth until their chatter becomes too quiet for you to hear.

You're left kind of unnerved by how he left things. Kento isn't one to beat around the bush. He'll usually tell you what's making him upset without mincing his words, especially when it comes to venting about Gojo. This recent transgression must have bothered him something fierce.

"Lover's quarrel?" You hear Maki comment behind you. You turn and realize all of your students have gathered to watch you watch your fiancée and Yuuji walk away.

"Pfft, no. Nothing that dramatic." You wave off their concern, or lack thereof. They're fishing for gossip, and you know it.

"Seemed like something fishy was going on between you twooooo," Panda singsongs.

"Salmon."

"Hey, do you want to waste the last..." You check your watch. "Two minutes of your water break yapping? 'Cause you're going to need it for the next set."

"No, sensei!" They scatter off to finish drinking at their jugs.

"Mhm, that's what I thought," you declare to yourself.

You want to bask in this recent victory. You staved off another round of the grabby hands again, after all. But something about this win just doesn't sit right with you. You don't feel good as long as you know something is eating at Kento this much...

Hopefully he works out whatever he and Gojo have going on.

~°•*~

The rest of the day is a blur. Your students are eager to get a start on their weekend or on missions, so as soon as it's time to dismiss them, they are out the door.

No new assignments were offered to you as the day went on, and thankfully, it seems like there aren't any pressing matters for you to attend to with the higher ups. By all accounts, you're free, so you grab your things and make way out the door and to the campus gates.

You haven't had a proper meal all day, so you start contemplating what you could pick up on your way home. You had enough ingredients to make a big dinner tonight. Maybe a quick snack would be enough to stave off the hunger until then.

As you continue to ponder your options, who do you run into but Satoru Gojo himself.

He spots you before you can think of turning tail to avoid him.

"If it isn't my lovely coworker and counterpart!" He offers a childlike grin and waves as his lithe form approaches you. "How is the beloved second-year sensei today?"

"Just fine," you respond, walking past him without a second glance.

He doesn't miss a beat as he trails behind you and continues chatting. "Aww, c'mon. Give me more than that. I feel like I barely get to see you."

You sigh. "That's on purpose, Gojo-san."

He feigns offense, dramatically pressing a hand to his forehead. "You wound me. We've known each other for years. You can call me senpai when we're not around the students, or at the very least drop the honorifics."

"Would you rather I referred to you as 'hey, you,' or maybe as 'trash-kun'?" You tease. You didn't hate Gojo, per se. You just found him a mite unbearable sometimes.

"'Gojo-san' is fine, then..." He pouts. "You and Nanami are just the same." He brightens as he seems to remember something. "Speaking of! I got to speak to our resident ex-salaryman today! He was telling me all about how you--"

"How he thinks you're slacking on training the first years?" You interrupt.

"What? No! I'll have you know I am doing an amazing job, especially with Megumi and Yuuji. As a matter of fact, they're..."

You tune him out for the rest of the walk to the exit. The thought of Gojo defending himself in the face of a scolding Kento was amusing enough to get you through the rest of the walk out. At the gates, you find your driver waiting for you, the car idling and primed to take you far away from the school and this conversation.

"As much as I love our talks." You turn to look at Gojo with thinly veiled annoyance. "I should be getting home for the day, Gojo-san." Before you can reach for the door yourself, Gojo does it for you. He opens it widely and with a flourish, offering his hand to help you in.

"But of course, sorry to keep you. Get home safe. Get rested. I'm sure next week will be another doozy."

You accept his hand and roll your eyes half-heartedly as he goes on and on. You can't help the small smile on your face as you make your way into the car, though.

As soon as you're securely inside, Gojo peers in and looks you in the eye. "But if I could offer you a bit of advice, my dear kohai." His tone comes across a bit more serious. You attention falls securely on him at that. "I'd go about talking to our friend Nanami over... stimulus control."

Huh?

You give Gojo a look that you hope conveys your confusion, but any note of seriousness in his demeanor leaves him as fast as it came. He grins widely at you and closes the door before you have the chance to question him further. As soon as the door closes, the driver pulls off and Gojo becomes but a shrinking figure in the rear window.

Well, that was cryptic.

What the fuck did he mean "stimulus control"?

You don't think much of it after a while. Gojo is infamously too unserious for his own good. It would be a waste of brain power to read too much into what could very well just be him messing with you, so you don't. What you do continue pondering is what you could do for dinner.

By the time you get home, you've decided on snacking on yesterday's treat while cooking up a suitable feast to make up for missing breakfast. And to congratulate you on a job well done today.

You are in high spirits as you eat and cook at the same time. You could get used to this! Restraining yourself was far easier than you had anticipated. What had seemed like an impossible task this morning didn't seem so bad in hindsight. Maybe every day could be like this...

With no touching Kento at all...

And him not initiating any physical contact with you... at all.

This experience had really put Takuma's observation to the test, hadn't it? Kento really doesn't initiate physical affection with you at all, does he?

Your mood sours a bit.

But you attempt to pull yourself out of it just as quickly. He has other methods of showing he loves you. He shows you he loves you every day. Constant messages checking on how you're doing. Doing the chores whenever you're far too drained. Sitting down to watch your favorite show with you. Bringing back trinkets from missions outside the city that made him think of you. Not to mention that he says he loves you outright every day without fail.

Kento is an intensely loving man, and if you only had to sacrifice a bit of hugging and squeezing for his sake, that was completely fine with you. He just wasn't the type to receive love that way and that's okay.

That's fine.

There's a jingle of keys in the lock of the front door just as you're finishing up the last dish of tonight's spread. You turn off the stove and start transferring to a serving dish as Kento appears in view, dropping his briefcase and shedding his jacket at the front.

"Ken! You're home!" You turn to place the pot and spoon in your hands in the sink. "Dinner's just about ready, just gotta set the table and everything." You reach to grab a towel and wipe your hands as you turn around to face him. "Unless this is a have-dinner-standing-up-at-the-kitchen-island sort of da--"

Kento leaning on the kitchen island with a hand on his hip gives you pause. His head is hanging low as he reaches up to rub at the bridge of his nose.

You crane your neck to look him in the eye. "Long day?"

He sighs. "Like you wouldn't believe." He looks up at you, facing you head-on. An uncomfortable silence fills the space between you. He doesn't elaborate.

You scratch your head. "Well, at least dinner's ready!" You gesture to the courses for the meal. "One less thing to worry about."

"Mhm." He nods. You're not sure with the tinted lenses, but it almost seems like Kento is looking at you... expectantly? You don't know what to say. The silence stretches on. You twist at the towel in your hands.

You tilt your head and press your lips in a thin line. "You seem stressed."

He surprises you by letting out a dry chuckle and turning away. He takes off his goggles and places them on the counter. He runs a hand down his face as he leans on the other.

"Kento..." You approach him cautiously. You're not sure what to do. Usually you'd rub at his back, but you're not sure that's the right thing to do here. "If this is about the Gojo thing--"

"Gojo?" You're taken aback as he stands at full height and throws his hands up. He starts pacing and grumbles to himself, "Of all the things... Had to sit there and talk to Gojo about this, of all the people..."

"Are you alright?"

"Are you alright??" He turns quickly and faces you.

The outburst has you dropping the towel and bumping into the sink. You didn't realize you'd stepped back so far. Kento's right there with you, though. There's nowhere else to go and nothing else to do for him but to press a hand on either side of you, caging you in.

"Have I done something to upset you?" His bare eyes look into yours solemnly, almost pained.

You alternate between looking at both of his eyes for a moment. In your surprise at the seriousness of this exchange, laughter is suddenly bubbling up in your chest and bursts out before you can stop it. "What? Haha!"

Your fit of giggles seems to take Kento aback. He blinks. "Darling, I'm serious."

You try to stifle your laughter with the back of your hand. "Ken, honey, what do you mean?" You shake your head. "You haven't done anything to upset me. What made you think that?"

The warmth of a gentle hand on your cheek shocks you out of the hilarity of the moment.

Initiated.

Kento doesn't give you any choice but to look him in the eye. "I had to pull you in so you'd sleep in my arms last night." He emphasizes his words with a stroke of his thumb on the apple of your cheek. "I woke up without you this morning. You left today without a send-off kiss. God, I stopped by while you worked and didn't even fix my own appearance for the chance that you'd run your hands through my hair." Kento grows progressively more distressed as he speaks. You're speechless. "You haven't so much as brushed a hand against me all day. Have I done something that made you... uncomfortable with me?"

"Oh..." In the blink of an eye, all of the restraint you'd brute force trained into your disposition today is thrown out the window. "Oh, Kento." You reach up to place both hands on either side of his face. "You could never make me feel uncomfortable with you." You reach around his neck and squeeze him into you, rubbing your head into his cheek comfortingly. "The whole reason I pulled back today was because I thought I was making you uncomfortable."

"What?" He pulls away to look at you, placing his hands squarely on your shoulders, not moving them away. "What could possibly make you think that you make me uncomfortable?"

"Well..." You look down at your hands as they fiddle with his tie and dress shirt. "You have to admit the way I'm constantly touching and hugging and kissing you is a bit excessive, no?"

"No, actually. I don't have to admit that because it's not true. Look at me."

You peer at him through your eyelashes.

"Sweetheart, what made you feel this way?"

You glance away.

"Love, look at me."

You do. He's making full eye contact with you. Patiently waiting.

"Someone might have..." You trail off a bit. "Offhandedly pointed out...." Man, this is hard to admit now. "That you never hold my hand first?"

Kento blinks. Then blinks a few more times. "Surely, that's not true. Who told you that?"

"That's beside the point," you blurt. "The important thing is that that's what this whole thing was. Me making an effort to not touch you as much, only if you initiated first. And then it sort of turned out to also be a ploy to see if you'd even initiate at all... Which you didn't..."

Kento looks appalled.

"I just got really in my head about it!" You ramble on. "And then a little insecure. And then I was really just doing this all for your sake because I sort of got it in my head that you didn't like PDA--or physical affection in general--at all, because you never initiate any of it! And then I thought that maybe I was being too much and--"

In your panic, you failed to notice Kento slinking his hands down to your hips, towards the hem of your shirt. The feeling of the pads of his fingers on the bare skin of your stomach makes you jump a bit. "How could you ever think you're too much..." His palms are warm as they join his fingertips. He's moved his head to lean beside yours and speaks lowly into the shell of your ear. His hands start wandering farther up to your bare waist. Unfettered. "When I can't get enough of you?"

You squirm in his grasp. "Kento..." you breathe. You're not used to him taking initiative like this.

"I'm sorry I got so used to receiving your affection without any effort on my part." He glides his nose from your ear down your neck. "I got so used to having your hands on me without trying-" He presses a kiss at your pulse point. You gasp. "That I made a real ass of myself as soon as you took that away." One of his hands moves from your waist to your bare spine. It makes you shiver and arch forward. "I took you for granted and for that I apologize."

Your breathing is picking up. "It's okay, Ken," you say unevenly.

Kento shakes his head. "No, it's not." He pulls back just enough so that he's practically nose to nose with you. "I love you very much. Let me be sorry." He presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed.

You nod against him. "Okay."

"Surely," he continues. "I have to show you just how sorry I am." The sideways smile he gives you carries mischief. Your eyes widen before he leans down. You let out a yelp as he lifts you off the ground and onto the counter.

He sits between your legs, and you hold him by the neck as you try to keep your breath even. "The food'll get cold."

"You'll hear no complaints from me."

You giggle as he leans on one of his hands to smash his lips into yours and uses the other to start loosening his tie.

This is so unlike him, and you can't help thinking that you should deprive him of your touch more often just to illicit this response.

Somehow that reminds you of a certain someone's advice and you end up smiling deeper into the kiss.

"What?" Kento's laugh mixes with yours in the space between you.

You snort at the thought. "I can't believe I Pavlov'd you into expecting hugs and kisses from me."

"Oh, sweetheart." He leans down and gives your neck a playful nip. "You're one bell I'll just about always salivate for."

That makes you snicker and shriek even more as Kento continues trailing kisses down your neck and squeezing and touching wherever his hands can find purchase.

Dork.

For a love language Kento didn't start off with when you met him, physical touch sure seems to be something he can't go without. And that's all your influence.

You guess what they say is true, to be loved is to be changed.

~°•*~

divider via cafekitsune

gif via darkbluepassion01

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