#hand holding fluff

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

shouto’s the type to feel too far away from you when you’re not at arms length. so whenever he has homework to do he does it on his tatami floor while holding your hand. he’s unbothered too, arm not cramping or moving while he writes perfectly well (or he tries) with his other hand. when you think about your position you can’t help but laugh from your spot laying on the floor. shouto never gets what you find funny.

[azzo0]

Katsuki cried the first time he held his newborn daughter in his arms. His eyes watered when the nurses guided his hand under her head and adjusted her on his arm. He trembled as he brought her closer to him. He held her closed fist in his hand, amazed by how small her hand was compared to his. Little fingers curled around his index, and he wondered how something this unbelievably tiny could manage to grip his heart so tight in a matter of seconds. He sat on the chair behind him, holding his baby girl close to his chest and covered his eyes with a hand, bursting into tears.

[thepromptswhisperer]

"Hold my hand." Prompts

Reach for the other’s hand. “Let me hold that for you.” 

Wear gloves to hide their hideous hands and only take them off if they truly trust the other and want to feel their warmth/skin.

See that the other’s hand trembles and reach out to hold it.

“You look like someone who wants to hold my hand.”

Platonic handholding that… doesn’t feel completely platonic.

“I guess we have to hold onto each other for this part.” “…” “Believe me, I don’t like it any more than you do.”

“I’m right here.”

Hands brushing against one another until fingers intertwine.

Secret hand holding (e.g. underneath the table).

“Do you want to hold my hand?”

Swinging the arm while holding hands.

Refusing to part with the other, holding their hand for as long as they can.

“Sorry. They are a bit sweaty/cold/etc.”

Recognize the other by how their hand feels in theirs.

Doing stuff while still holding the hand of the other is difficult, yet, as it turns out, not impossible.

“Awww. Do you need me to hold your hand?” “Shut up.”

See partner/crush/etc. hold hands with someone (else).

“Let me warm them for you.”

Grabbing someone’s hand as they move away.

Always hoped the other would initiate body contact. Yet when they finally do, it’s rather… unsatisfying.

“Hold my hand.” “?” “Just do it. (…Please?)”

A quick squeeze of the hand before they pull away.

Want to hold the other’s hand for comfort but restrain themself because they are aware that the other doesn’t like PDA.

Move through the crowd while holding hands so as to not lose one another – and not letting go afterwards.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.” “No, it’s fine. I… liked it.”

Turning a kiss on the back of the hand/cleaning the other’s fingers/admiring their nail polish/etc. into handholding in a single fluid movement that momentarily stops the heart.

Subconsciously reach out to the other (, only to pull the hand back at the last moment).

“I’ll (even) hold your hand(s) if that’s what it takes.” (“Who knew you were such a romantic?”)

[ethicallmurder]

they're not beating the allegations

[chilschuck]

hi there!!! I love your blog!!! I know you’re mainly a Chilchuck girlie, but I saw that you occasionally do Laios headcanons/drabbles, and I’m a massive Laios simp. if you have the time and inclination, would you maybe write about Laios realizing he’s falling for a reader who is also autistic like he is? and they’re both so in love with each other, but they don’t realize it bc they’re both idiots, so the party has to set them up lmao

OBLIVIOUS (IN MY LOVE FOR YOU).

꒰ warnings: ꒱ mutual pining, hopelessly in love silly guys, gn!reader. sfw as always!

꒰ wc: ꒱ 1.3k

✦ i hope this turned out how you wanted it!!! i felt bad that i’ve been doing so much chil and nothing for the others, so i was happy that you sent this request!! i’m not sure how to feel about this, but i’m happy to get something out for you!!! <333 honestly i’m worried this turned out badly, but alas, i feel that way about everything asdfdhgjhk. enjoy lovely!!!!

It was more than obvious to anyone but the two of you, much to the party’s displeasure. The mutual pining between you had been a constant back and forth for what felt like ages, and it was almost humorous how in denial it seemed you were.

Laios always spent time chatting with you before bed, his soft voice carrying so much warmth. You always noted how fuzzy your head felt whenever he’d talk about something he was especially interested in. It was almost heartbreaking to part with him to finally rest, longing to continue the conversation for as long as you could.

Little did the two of you know that the rest of the party had their eyes on you, tired sighs leaving each of them. This was every night now, and the fact neither of you were making an effort to come to terms and admit what you were feeling was beginning to become tiresome.

Chilchuck huffed, head in the palm of his hand. “I can’t believe that this is still going on. I’m tired of it.”

Marcille tutted, but the frustration at both of your ignorances was seeping through. “There’s got to be something we can do. They’re obviously so in love with each other...”

And right she was, with how absolutely enamored Laios had become. He’d never felt this way about anyone, the feeling seeping into his bones slowly but surely. With every smile you gave him, words of encouragement, or even reassuring touches, you made yourself at home in his mind and heart. Laios was content with just the whispered conversations and adventures together, not quite piecing together the entire situation just yet.

Marcille was not so sure that was something to be content with. Izutsumi was also getting fed up with the constant beating around the bush, and Chilchuck was sick and tired of watching this ordeal occur. The three of them had decided that enough was enough, and through gossip-like whispers, they decided on a course of action.

“I’ll try and talk to Laios,” Chilchuck settled, although he wasn’t entirely happy with the idea of helping an inner party relationship unfold. It was even harder to watch the two of you continuously pine after each other blindly, so he chose what he believed was the lesser of two evils. “You two convince you-know-who to get some one on one time with him somehow.”

Marcille hummed, finger tapping her chin. “Maybe we could get Senshi to cook something up just for the two of them, get them on a date of some sort.”

Izutsumi flicked her tail in annoyance at this entire scenario, before giving her own opinion. “Let’s just get them stuck in a trap or something.” At that, the elf across from her shook her head adamantly.

“Although that might work another time, I think setting them up would work best. We’ll all conveniently go off somewhere and leave the two of them to talk it out. Somehow…”

Thankfully, it wasn’t hard to get the two of you alone together. Laios would explain something about a monster your party had encountered earlier, delighted at your interest in anything he had to say. Before he knew it, the rest of the party had excused themselves after dinner, leaving just you and him with a cooked meal and unsaid words hanging in the air.

Even earlier, Chilchuck had decided to try and drill it into Laios’ skull that perhaps coming to terms and admitting what he was feeling wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Grasping for straws, Laios tried to create excuses that what he felt for you was just that of a close friend. There was no way he was falling in love, right? Yet, the look Chilchuck had given him shut him up quickly.

“You think friends just look at each other with that lovesick face you’re always making? And it’s not exactly hard to see just how much you care about them. It’s actually pretty obvious.” The half-foot grit out, floored that Laios still hadn’t figured out just how deeply he had fallen.

Marcille and Izutsumi had a similar problem with you, finding that you were convinced what you felt was just that of a deep friendship, of course you weren’t actually absolutely smitten with the man. Giving each other a knowing look, Marcille continued her prodding.

“I think there’s more to this,” the way she said your name so softly held your attention. “You need to talk with him. Maybe talk through just what you’re feeling.”

So now, as you took another bite of your dinner, you tried to figure out just what you were feeling. Laios was doing the same, and the silence, which was never a problem before, now hung with tension.

Both of you tried to speak, before signaling the other to continue, before giving a light laugh at the awkwardness. It wasn’t that just being in each other’s company was the problem, but more so that there was so much left unsaid.

Laios ran his hand through his hair, giving you that tender smile you had come to love so much. “You first.”

Another laugh left you, before your current train of thought followed through your words. “So I was wondering… Have you ever been in love before, Laios?”

That caught him off guard, swallowing hard before thinking of the right thing to say. “Well… I, uh…” A beat of silence followed as you let him find his words. “I wasn’t sure before today. What about you?”

Trying not to get your hopes up, or have the flame within you extinguished so easily, you smiled. “Same here, actually. I think…” You trailed off, just staring at his rosy cheeks and intent gaze making your heartbeat a little faster. Setting your plate to the side, you bit your tongue for a moment. Talk through what you’re feeling… You can do that.

“I guess I didn’t really realize, but… Lately, I’ve been really eager to be around you.” Your voice tried to fight back the tremors rising within you. Before you could continue, Laios grabbed your hand and gave you that intent expression again.

“Me too! I mean, I always really enjoy our talks. I look forward to them a lot.” He spoke a tad out of breath, trying to reign in how he was feeling. Another beat of silence, followed by the clearing of his throat.

“I think I’m in love with you.” You both muttered at the same time, before the feeling of both shock and excitement coursed through you. There was… no possible way, right? But with that doting smile and lovesick gaze he was sending your way, you began to think he did feel the same.

“Thank the gods,” you whispered, a huff of relief leaving your lips. “I had to have Marcille and Izutsumi make me realize.”

Laios laughed, cheeks flushed with delight. “Yeah, Chilchuck definitely gave me a talking to. I think Senshi tried to help me realize, too. It was definitely interesting.”

Both of you shared light giggles before Laios gently pulled you into an embrace. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, nuzzling into his neck.

“Sorry it took me so long.” He whispered, inhaling deeply, the air leaving him in a content sigh. Your eyes fluttered shut, shaking your head slightly in reply. “No need. That’d mean I’d need to apologize too.”

You pressed sweet kisses to his cheek, to his nose, to his forehead. Laios beamed, intertwining your fingers as he spoke from the heart just what he had been trying to come to terms with. You did your best to do so, too.

Chilchuck, Marcille, Senshi, and Izutsumi all let out sounds of relief at watching the two of you around the corner. Getting both of you to finally realize the extent of your feelings was difficult, but oh so worth it in the end.

“Finally,” Chilchuck grumbled, before scratching the back of his neck. “That only took, what? Forever?”

Senshi grunted, trying to recall just how long it had been. Izutsumi even watched as Marcille rocked back and forth on her feet, a certain sparkle in her eye.

She’d have to get the two of you to be open more often.

— dividers by @/cafekitsune!! <33

[novelbear]

“i wanna hold your hand” - excuses for your characters to hold hands

prompt list by @novelbear

"your hands are cold...let me warm them up for you."

taking advantage of the fact that they're walking through a crowded place and holding their hand so that they "don't get lost"

maybe they get slightly jealous while out, so they grab onto their partner's hand to establish their relationship

"something's on your finger. give me your hand, let me see.."

mentioning that they want to compare hand sizes

pinky promising over everything so that it's easier to naturally intertwine their fingers with the others'

"okay, but if i'm right then you have to hold my hand!" "that's not much of a punishment but alright babes, whatever you say."

"can you hold this for me?" "there's nothing in your hand." "exactly."

going in as if they're just innocently fiddling with the other's fingers, then trapping them about thirty seconds later

making the effort to find where their partner is and dragging them by the hand rather than just calling them over to where they wanted them in the first place.

"you need me to hold your hand so you can read the instructions?" "it helps me concentrate!"

grabbing onto the other's hand out of nervousness

slowly intertwining fingers while the other is driving

"they always hold hands and rub it in everyone's faces, i want us to look cute too!"

going on a rant about how much they love to hold hands, hoping that the other would take the hint and offer

"can you hold my hand?" "of course, my love."

[clare-875]

Hey clare!!!!! I love ur fics and you seem like such a cool person!!!!!!!! I would absolutely love if you wrote a tenya iida x reader with THE MOST FLUFF YOU CAN ADD pretty please <333 you can have complete free reign over the prompt, i'll be happy with whatever teehee ;) thanks lovely <333

A Dose of Him (Tenya Iida x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Tenya Iida x Female Reader Summary: Tenya Iida is in love with you Warnings: Fluff!! A/N: Omg, my first MHA fic! Thank you for all the love, I hope this is what you were looking for! <3 [MHA Masterlist] _____

When Tenya Iida is in love, you can see it in his eyes.

Tenya never thought there could be a goal beyond becoming a hero worthy of his brother's name. But then, you walked into his life. He wishes he could say his adoration of you was built off of many interactions; deliberate and steady and methodical, just the way he liked things.

But what he soon found out was that love was quite the opposite.

It crept up onto him and grabbed a hold of him and in an instant, he was whisked away in its clutches and prone to its effects. So you can imagine when he met you on the first day in Class 1A, he was beyond surprised and almost disoriented at how one glance at you - a stranger - could influence the pace of his racing heart.

It was confusing to him at first, and he could scarcely even acknowledge that the warm feeling ignited within him was because of you: You and your words and breath and presence. But even when he himself didn't know what it was he felt, his classmates knew.

Even those usually oblivious to such things couldn't miss the ways his eyes would dart beneath his glasses at an utterance of your name. They couldn't miss the way his irises seemed to gleam whenever your light laughter blessed his ears. They couldn't miss the way his gaze searched for yours in the breadth of battles; the lingering worry and anxiety clearing only in the aftermath, when he acknowledged that you were safe and sound.

When you started dating, your shared love could only amplify the devotion in his eyes.

He confessed to you early in your second year, his nerves exceeding even what he felt in his Hero Licence Exam. It had been an ordinary afternoon to any other individual but to him it was everything. His plan was simple and thought out: to get you to join him outside once class was over for the day. What he didn’t expect was for his anticipation to brim so much, he could scarcely get the words out. Ultimately when he had gotten himself together enough, he had stood straight and bowed to you rigidly.

“[y/n] [l/n]... I have liked you for a long time now. Would you please do me the honour of going out with me?"

He didn’t expect your response to be your light laughter. But you couldn’t help yourself at the formal and serious and just Tenya-way of his confession. However, when he lifted his head in time to hear you say yes, you can see in his eyes that they shone with pure honesty, devotion and love. “Yes, Tenya Iida. I would love to go out with you.” Your words to him were the beginning of a happiness he had never felt before.

When Tenya Iida is in love, you can feel it in his touch.

Before you started dating, Tenya could stare inquisitively at his hand you brushed for lengths of time. It was to the point where Midoriya would ask if there was something wrong with his hand. Any time he felt a flutter of your warmth when you stood close to him, or even in the passing of your presence he was frustratingly flustered. When you hugged him once he had fully recovered from his fight with the Hero Killer Stain, he swore he had a heart attack.

When the both of you started dating, Tenya had to learn quickly to get used to your touch for the sake of his poor heart. But in turn, in every caress and hold of his, you could feel his gentleness and care and utter love. He treated you like you could almost break under his hold, but you also never felt safer than when you were in the confines of his secure arms.

Every battle you were paired in he would subconsciously pull you close to him. In the aftermath, he could never be satisfied until his arms were wrapped around you once more. On dates, his hand would hardly leave yours. His touch would linger as he guided you away from oncoming traffic, helped you into your seat, and held your bags of shopping. In his mind, it was a given: You were his girlfriend and it was his duty to treat you as such. But to you, he was simply a gentleman amongst men.

And he was completely and utterly yours.

In lazy afternoons he has you in his arms, and when he is finally used to your presence enough to feel bold, his touch would linger on the flesh of your bare skin. It was like you were built just to melt into his embrace, and he always felt an unmistakable loss whenever you weren't. He would never say it aloud though, due to his irrevocably stubborn and flustered nature, but you would know the next day when he would scarcely leave your side.

"Are you okay? You've been following me around all day."

"I'm just... I'm just practising my stealth skills. No need to worry."

You could roll your eyes at his bullshit excuse, but your heart could only warm when you saw the pink on his cheeks. Before your boyfriend even knew what was happening, you had moved and shoved your face into his chest. Two of your arms wrapped themselves tight around his torso. "L-love? What's wrong?" He looks down at your attachment to him, and his own arms wrap themselves instinctively around you. However, his eyes widen when you lift your head and let a knowing smile enlighten your features.

"If you wanted a hug, you could've just asked for one you know?"

His heart pounds faster against your ear.

When Tenya Iida is in love, there won't be a day that you aren't reminded of just that: he loves you.

You are currently in your boyfriend's room and leaning heavily against his shoulder as he points out words that lose shape in your tiredness. "-and this, love, is what you do when you need to find the integral of this term. You see, you cannot-" His words are a jumble in your mind, and you faintly wonder why even in your hero course, you are doing mathematics. "Love, are you listening? It is of utmost importance that you learn this before your exam next week."

You hum at your boyfriend's blunt words, somehow they take an edge of gentleness when it is you he is talking to. "I'm listening baby, just resting my eyes for a bit." You promptly go from leaning on his shoulder to placing your head on his lap; a much more comfortable position you find for your aching neck and head. You can feel your boyfriend freeze briefly at your change in position, before seeming to relax once more. You can hear the sigh he lets out under his breath.

"Perhaps, we have done enough studying for today."

You smile and open your eyes briefly at his words, but surprisingly to you, Tenya is already looking down at you with softness in his gaze. "What do you say, love? I will walk you back to your room." As he softly speaks to you, one hand caresses your face gently and your lips upturn further in delight. His touch is heavenly after a day of torturous study, and despite being grateful for your intelligent boyfriend, you find yourself wishing it had been a day spent doing something more fun together.

As you look up to him through your eyelashes, you clutch his other hand and intertwine it in yours. Tenya feels his face flush red at your gentle hands caressing his. "No, let's stay here a while. Please?" Normally, Tenya would've upheld the rules of an approaching curfew and obliged to his role as class representative. However, his stature seems to melt just by your sleepy gaze and uttered words. "Okay, love." You grin in satisfaction and let out a small laugh of glee before focusing your attention on his hand once more and relishing his touch.

Soon, and completely expected by Tenya, you fall asleep.

You don't know it, but your boyfriend lets you lay there a little while, though mostly for the selfishness of having you in his presence just a moment longer. He then uses his strength to pry you gently into his arms, getting ready to take you to your room. As he travels the corridors he pays no mind to the teasing words of his classmates nor the "that's so manly," comment made by Kirishima. No, his gaze is solely on you, and his importance on making sure his peers stay quiet enough for you to sleep. His heart lurches when you snuggle closer to his warmth.

When he finally lays you in your bed, he hesitates for a moment before placing a kiss on your forehead and gently removing the deathly grip you have on his shirt. He sees you frown at the loss in contact and proceeds to internally swear that it was the most adorable sight he's ever seen. "Good night love." His words are merely a whisper in the dark room. "I love you." He witnesses your lips upturn and he smiles adoringly.

When Tenya Iida is in love you could never question it, because he encompasses it in everything he does, just for you.

[bakugo-softski]

Thinking about next chapter everyone finally noticing Izuku’s depression and ochako suggesting they all go to an amusement part to try to raise his spirits in the ultimate straight bait and then the outing falling flat immediately because that wasn’t what izu needed damnit😭😭 so bakugo ends up pulling him aside halfway through and them having The Talk hidden away from everyone else and crying and hugging and then they walk back out holding hands and just happen to walk by a crepe stand and and 👀👀

[loveanddeepstress]

I need zayne to come up behind me, lift his arms in front of me, slowly, his left hand wrapping around my waist, rubbing small circles into my side with his thumb, his right hand lifting up and across my chest to rest on my shoulder as he pulls me into his chest, burying his face into the crook of my neck, letting all the stress and tension of the long day melt away, cause right now, he's not Dr Zayne, who is precise, serious, and stem, but the soft, sweet, and clumsy zayne we know and love, cause right now, in that moment where it's just us in our quiet bedroom, he can be himself

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

thinkin about childhood best friend katsuki (wow shocker) saying he’s “immune” to cooties or he’s “too strong” to get them just to hold your hand and drag you around everywhere because if you’re not at his hip 24/7 there’s a problem.

[rahuratna]

Nanami Kento: Relationship Headcanons (now a fic), Part 6

Contents: pre-relationship, establishing feelings, slow burn, dinner dates, slow romance, first kisses.

When Kento said that he wanted to do things the right way, he was being very serious. You received more phone calls from him on each day of the week, at exactly the same time. He would call even if he'd seen you at work, albeit briefly, during the course of the day. He always made sure to first ask if you were occupied with anything else.

Each time you spoke was like filling in a new blank space on a crossword. A cryptic crossword, to be more precise. Everything you learned about him was either slipped like a knife between the rich layers of your conversations or hard won through every verbal sparring match you engaged in. It wasn't as if your interaction with him had become more complicated. The flow of thoughts and their exchange was still the most natural thing you both had engaged in.

There was so much more now, though, so much that hinged on Kento being comfortable enough to show you the parts of himself reserved for his leisure time. This was the self that manifested when he was truly off the clock and the rigid persona that inhabited his daylight hours could be shelved in favour of the man who simmered like a delightful burst of flavour, hidden just beneath the surface.

Kento was sensitive to the feelings of others. He was far less self-reliant than he thought (as responsible as the man was, he had terrible sleeping habits and ran through suits horrendously fast considering the nature of his work). He bought lots of books that he hadn't yet read, told his protégés numerous times not to look to him as an example, and then acted as exactly that, secretly indulged in romantic serials and b-grade martial arts films, ate fried chicken with beer every Tuesday and liked to visit the aquarium on his down time because watching the fish relaxed him. He always ended those aquarium trips by eating a sushi meal set, something you told him was decidedly morbid.

As someone who had spent years feeling drained by the many social interactions that came with any working day, speaking to Kento was a refreshing change, and not just because he was the man you had rapidly deepening feelings for. There was something about talking to him that left you feeling a little more enriched each time, as if some mischievous spirit, leashed by the strings that left lovers hopelessly entangled, danced with a loaded paint brush through your life, esoteric colours in unheard-of shades splashing against the placid walls.

Kento was a hopelessly beautiful mess of contradictions. Solid, yet vulnerable. Dependable, yet never disguising his yearning to live for something more. Practical and no-nonsense, yet a dreamer and an idealist. A man who gave himself no excuses, nor shirked responsibility, but made no secret of his desire for a soft life on a sunny beach.

You would not exchange him for anyone else in the world.

The second time you go out together, he calls it a date. He is completely unabashed in his approach. He sees no need to conceal what you both know to be the truth, now that it has been acknowledged. It's something you have keen appreciation for. He doesn't message you the details, instead asking you outright in the break room, where you meet regularly for lunch.

He wants to go to a specific seafood place that he feels you will enjoy. When you cheerfully agree, he touches you with intention for the first time.  It is only momentary, as if he can't contain the desire to do so. He reaches across the table and gently brushes his fingers over your wrist before that same hand smoothly unwraps the packaging on his lunch. You think that it's almost unfair, the effect that this small contact has on you, but then you see that his hands fumble with the chopsticks slightly.

Of course, it's only a matter of time before the conversation that is completely necessary takes place. You didn't know when it would occur, but the second time you go out together turns out to be the occasion.

He waits for you in the garden after work, as he did the last time. You're starting to learn how important routine in small matters is to him. You take your stroll through the school grounds, lingering in the familiar spaces that now feel new, due to the person beside you.

Kento is amused by the turn your conversation has taken.

"So, you've never learned how to swim?"

"Never. Even though I lived fairly near the ocean when I was younger."

"But what was it about the water that scared you?"

"Do I really have to tell you?"

"Yes."

"Is that an order?"

"More like a strong suggestion."

"How considerate of you, sir."

Kento clears his throat, and you glance sideways at him. Smiling, you continue.

"It wasn't the water itself. It was more the idea of what was beneath it. It's wasn't about what I could see, rather what I imagined was there."

"And what did you imagine?"

"Sharks."

"There were sharks near where you grew up?"

"Very rarely. But I thought of them anyway."

"Did you, perhaps, watch - "

You laugh and shake your head.

"Jaws? No, so that wasn't the reason."

He hums thoughtfully.

"All human fear has its root in a primal cause. It's our desire for survival, our learned fear. But not all fear is learned. Sometimes, we fear things that we can't quite put a name to."

This time, you're the one that can't hold back. You reach for him, the back of your hand brushing his.

"What are you afraid of, Kento?"

He pauses, before gently entangling your fingers. The simplicity of the gesture, along with its weight, steals your breath momentarily. He seems similarly lost for the appropriate words, the contact of your skin and his forming all the communication you are both capable of in that moment. Eventually, when the car draws up alongside, he has an answer for you.

"I'm afraid of many things. And my list grows longer every day."

The place he has chosen, ironically, is a quaint seaside cafe, a fair distance from Jujutsu Tech. This was why he had asked to leave earlier today. The place is situated on a high ridge overlooking a long, winding staircase that leads to a faint strip of shingle below. The sea looks rough, the weather grey and uninviting, which makes the atmosphere within the cafe seem cosier by comparison. The table he chooses is private, and this time you are seated closer to him, the setting more intimate.

"How did you find this place?"

"I was on a solo mission in the area for a few days. Got caught in a storm and found my way in here."

"Lucky coincidence. I like this place a lot. It's warm."

Your eyes travel across to Kento whose posture is a tad stiff. You realise that because he had come here alone on the previous occasion, he hadn't accounted for how small the seating space at each booth was with two people present. The leather couches formed an 'L' which left your shins pressed against the backs of his very long legs. You never were good at disguising your amusement and Kento watches you with narrowed eyes as you peruse the menu and wiggle your toes slightly. He clears his throat and taps his fingers along the edge of his drinks list.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Very."

"Hmm."

"Why, aren't you?"

"I mean to say, does this seating arrangement make you wish for more space?"

"No. It's cosy."

He goes back to reading the drinks list and remains noticeably rigid, as if he is doing everything in his power to keep from making you uncomfortable. It's not long before he asks again.

"Are you sure that you don't want to move?"

"Oh no. Not at all."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"Is this my first personal encounter with your stubborn streak?"

"Perhaps it is."

You look up and can't help the laugh that escapes you at his put-out expression. You move your legs further along until they rest beneath his ankles, a far more comfortable position for both of you.

"Better, my good sir?"

The corners of his mouth curve upward, as if against his will and he relaxes, leaning back in his seat.

"Better."

The appetisers arrive, soft shell crab thermidor for him and sake-steamed abalone for you. He insists that you taste some of his food and you manage to sneak a small sample of yours onto his plate. As you wait for the entrée, sipping on the piping hot tea served in a beautiful earthenware pot, your gaze is caught by the turbulent sea, the distant waves breaking against the shoreline with a muffled roar.

"What are you thinking about now?"

Kento is watching you when you turn back to him. His voice is soft, carrying that gentle undertone that you'd never thought you'd be fortunate enough to hear, let alone have directed at you. You close your eyes momentarily before swirling the tea in your cup, stalling for time.

"I was thinking about how happy I am right now."

"You are?"

"Yes."

There is something in his glance now, something so warm, but so heavy. Your meals arrive and there is no opportunity for you to address it. Kento tucks into his food with relish. It seems that colder weather increases his appetite and, you have to admit, you're very much the same.

He returns to the earlier conversation you'd been having. This was one of the things you appreciated most about speaking to him. You both instantly knew what the other was referring to, even if time and other topics had passed in the interim.

"Would you be open to learning how to swim?"

"Oh, yes. In fact, I've made resolutions to learn at the gym many times. But I'm not sure ... I've always ended up postponing it."

"Why?"

"Things become busy. I forget."

"Sounds like there's a deeper issue here."

"Do you plan to do something about it, then?"

"Possibly."

"Don't tell me that you were one of those kids who stood behind the scared ones at swimming lessons and pushed them into the pool."

"Do you really think I'd do that?"

"No. But how else would you get me into the water?"

"I'd provide an incentive."

"You'd feed me?"

"Just how one-track minded are you?"

"I can't think of a single other reason to get motivated."

"Maybe I'd get in first."

You almost choke on your miso cod.

"Hmm. That may work. Nanami Kento, grade one sorcerer and swimming pool siren. Has a nice ring to it."

"This conversation will never be repeated to another soul."

After supper, Kento does not call the car. There is an enclosed nook outside the restaurant, sheltered from the worst of the wind, where you both stand, his upper arm pressed against yours. It seems that many physical barriers are coming down today, something you're definitely not complaining about. There is something about the sheer strength of the man standing so close to you that is both intimidating and intoxicating. In this moment, you feel that you can say anything to him.

And, possibly, he feels the same, because his next question opens the topic you weren't able to broach earlier. The one that darkens the already narrowing spaces between your life and his.

"You said earlier that you felt happy."

"I did."

"Just for that moment in time?"

"No. Being here makes me happy. And talking to you on the phone does too."

"I'd hoped I wasn't bothering you."

"Your calls are never a bother."

That keen sweetness, the unspoken tension that always hovered so close to your tongues was thickening the air once more. Kento looked down at his hands, fists closed over the railing.

"Are you saying that I make you happy?"

"Yes, Kento."

"What if that isn't always the case?"

"Are you talking about your work as a sorcerer?"

"Yes, and ... other possibilities. If this goes any further, I need to know that you will be safe and have peace of mind. If it means me sacrificing my own happiness, and yours, temporarily, I won't hesitate to do what's necessary. I don't want to see you hurt."

You let out a soft sigh and meet his gaze. It was vital that you address this now. He was not the sort of person who would leave an issue like this hanging tentatively between you two. You cannot mince your words either, because to do so would be an injustice to someone as principled and straightforward as the man standing beside you. You realise that in this moment, there is a different type of courage surfacing inside you, one you didn't know you possessed until you met him.

"Kento, I'll be frank. If anything happened to you, I'd be hurt beyond measure. With, or without us ... progressing further than this. I can't help how I feel. It's too far beyond my control. No, I'm not ashamed to tell you so. Nor am I embarrassed. I want you to know that I will miss you when we can't spend time together. That I will worry for you when you're out in the field. That I will wait for your call and feel relief when I hear your voice. That whenever a fatality is reported, I will feel sick to my stomach and never cease looking for you until I know that you're safe."

You pause and collect yourself. It's too late now, too late to cram the words back into your mouth. Secrets like this can never be swallowed. In this business, words like these birth curses. But they also birth wondrous things, feelings you know you can no longer live without.

"I want you to know that all these things are true, but they don't make other truths lesser, simply because they exist. Knowing that I will miss you doesn't take away from the fact that I cherish the time I spend in your company. When I worry for you, it's only natural. You worry for people you care about whether they're near you or not. You can choose to do whatever you want, Kento, now or in the future. But your actions can't change the way I feel. Not now. Not ever. You can save many people, multiple times, as a sorcerer. But you can't save me from myself."

The laugh that escapes you then is a little wild, a reckless sound that you wish you hadn't uttered, but it's another on the long list of things you can't pull back into yourself.

Kento is watching you as if you've transformed before his eyes, spurred on by the treacherous ocean behind you, into some kind of weapon that holds him in thrall, as if you've dealt him some grievous wound that, somehow, births more pleasure than agony.

He doesn't speak, but his hand comes up, the broad palm unspeakably warm and heavy against the side of your face. His fingers are rough in certain places, strong and capable as they trail down your cheek, pausing intimately at the corner of your mouth, before they move down to enclose the side of your neck, thumb resting beneath your chin.

Your face turns to him, a hapless sunflower towards a solar flare that arcs across space to unfold and destroy it. Your mouth opens under his, readily, and his warm, slightly chapped lips cover yours with that gentle firmness, so characteristic of everything he does. Your head is pushed to the side, tilting as he leans into you, something desperate under the staidness of his kiss, as if he is the one who has swallowed all the words you've spoken and is attempting to breathe his own intent back into you.

Your head tilts even further, as the kiss becomes less chaste, as his lips move with greater firmness against yours. He steals every breath you attempt to take and repays it with molten honey that threatens to drown you. His fingers are now tangled in your hair and yours are clenched in the fabric of his coat.

When you separate, a necessity to keep you both from suffocating, his eyes are shut tightly, the bridge of his nose slightly creased, as if he is in pain. You don't think you've ever seen a more beautiful sight.

You echo his movement, gently cupping his cheek with your palm and guiding his face back towards yours. Not for another kiss, no. Not now. There'll be plenty of time for that later. For now, you rest his forehead against yours and close your own eyes in turn.

Something about the sigh that escapes him, the solid weight of his head against yours, the soft fall of his hair against your brow, reminds you of an illustration you've seen in one of the many storybooks you've read as a child.

A weary knight finds a safe haven in a perilous forest, his back against an old, gnarled tree, sword shoved upright into the earth before him. You are willing to be the sword, no matter how thin your edges are worn. You are willing to be the tree, no matter how scarred time makes you. You want to stand by his side, for as long as you are permitted, holding off the beasts of the forest until dawn arrives.

@tsukimefuku @kentocalls @g-kleran @actuallysaiyan

[leighsartworks216]

All The Gentle Things

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

This will have more parts, I just needed to get this out of my system first

Warnings: referenced blood sucking, touch-starved Astarion

Word Count: 355

Masterlist

AO3

It was your new goal to show Astarion all the gentle ways of love - consent and kindness and giving with no mal intent. He deserved it, even if he didn't think so.

It was slow-going at first. Late at night, sitting by the dying fire, you asked to hold his hand. He'd raised his eyebrow and made some snarky comment, but he still held his hand out for you. You pretended you didn't hear the way his breath hitched when you lightly traced his veins and knuckles. You didn't even really hold his hand; you supported your hand underneath his and felt along his skin with the other, but he was still so entranced.

The next day, while stumbling through rough undergrowth, he grabbed your hand. To keep you from falling flat on your face, he'd said. But once you were steady on your feet, he didn't let go. You didn't press the issue. You simply gave his hand a squeeze and continued on the path together.

Kissing was even harder to soften. It felt like too heavy a subject to bring up in any conversation. So you began once more at his hands.

Late at night, laying together after he drank from you, delightfully lightheaded and tired, you brought his hand to your lips. You didn't even think about it beforehand. All you knew was you wanted to share your appreciation with him, tell him how grateful you were to have his trust like this. You wished you'd been present enough to watch as his eyes stared in awe at your lips as they trailed kisses along his palm to his wrist. You'd even moved his hand so his palm cradled your cheek and leaned into it, before sleep lured you away. Astarion wished he could have stayed there all night, holding your cheek and watching as your eyes shifted beneath your lids, but all too soon the time came for him to leave and find more filling prey.

And while kissing was still too hard to talk about, no extra attention was brought to the way you'd both kiss the other's palms and wrists.

[ivystoryweaver]

A Date, Then? - Steven Grant

Steven + Cup of tea + Holding hands + Reading

Fall Fluff Masterlist | Steven Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Notes: GN!reader celebrates Thanksgiving, tw food (but it's not a Thanksgiving day fic). Reader is SMITTEN

Word Count: 1k || for @vintagegirl01's request Steven Grant x reader enjoying a cup of tea and holding hands as they read together (Kinda like how Carl and Ellie from Up did in the Married Life Montage where they are in their designated seat reading their own book and holding hands). (I'm not posting your actual ask message yet bc I want to keep the Marc part in my inbox bc I love it & want to revisit it)

"Knock, knock," Steven sing-songs after you've clearly already opened the door. "Hiya."

"Steven, come in," you warmly greet your neighbor, noticing the stack of books tucked haphazardly under his arm. "You can set those anywhere."

"Right, thanks." He nods to your apron. "Cooking something?"

"Mm-hmm, turkey and all the trimmings for Thanksgiving."

"Right, sorry. Thanksgiving Day is tomorrow, innit? Sorry to disturb you." His cheeks flush as he grants you an apologetic wave.

"No, you're fine. I wanted to host a Friendsgiving or maybe a Neighbors-giving? But I only know you so far," you explain, leading him toward the kitchen. "Maybe next year, after I've met more people. I thought maybe you would like some leftovers, if nothing else."

You go on to explain that, aside from turkey, you're making yams with vegan marshmallows on top and using non-dairy items and vegan butter in the stuffing. You're also working on some green beans, cranberries, and of course, rolls.

"You have to work tomorrow, right?"

"Off at 5:30."

"Would you..." you bounce on your toes apprehensively, your tummy flip-flopping. "Would you like to come over for dinner? I understand if the turkey's a dealbreaker, no worries."

"Could I?" He breathlessly returns. "That would be so lovely, actually."

"Perfect," you beam at him, realizing you should have just asked him in the first place.

"So I guess I'll let you carry on," Steven says, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shifting from foot to foot. He nods toward the stack of books he's returning to you. "Loved those. Thanks for the recommendations."

"You already finished them?" You gasp disbelievingly.

"Had some time on my hands."

"Do you have to go? You seem kind of in a hurry."

Steven pauses, confused. "I thought you were cooking."

"No, I was just doing some prep work. We're supposed to read tonight, right?"

"Right." His shoulders relax. "Unless you need help cooking?"

You assure Steven it's all right, putting on the kettle in the process. "Which tea? Blueberry black, white tropical or cinnamon plum?"

"Blueberry black," he decides, reaching with familiarity into the cupboard to retrieve his favorite cup and yours, along with saucers. You gather the spoons, sugar, non-dairy milk and honey.

"You're sure I'm not keeping you?" He politely asks one more time.

You stop in front of him, setting your tray aside. "Steven, it's Wednesday. Eight o'clock. Book time." You smile at him sweetly. "Highlight of my week."

Steven's dark eyes shine with hope and intrigue. "Yeah?"

"Yes. I love our reading dates."

Inching closer, his hands fidget, gaze flickering away from yours before he clears his throat. "So...a date, then?"

"I don't know." You ease toward him, wishing one of you knew how to make an actual move. "Is it?"

The kettle's whistle grants you the reprieve neither of you were actually seeking.

Finally, you settle into to cozy chairs in your living area. Sometimes you read together at Steven's Library - your affectionate nickname for his flat. But typically, your place is more organized and calm. That, and Steven loves your oversized twin chairs.

Since he picked the tea, you would pick the music. Then you grab your current books and settle in. You cozy up with your dark purple cable knit blanket, draped over the back of your chair. Steven tucks his "reading pillow" close to his chest - a mushroom shaped pillow he finds particularly amusing and very you.

Then comes the best part - the most distracting, delicious part of reading date night: when Steven reaches for his glasses. It's a procedure you have memorized. First, he tosses his curls away from where they fall over his eyes. Then he puts them on, biting his bottom lip, before stealing a glance at you.

Busted. Every time.

Your cheeks heat as your eyes dart back to the book you haven't really started reading. Steven opens his book, clears his throat, shifts in his seat and you glance over every time his finger reaches to turn the page. You notice every twitch of his jaw, every time his corded neck bobs when he swallows, every curl that tumbles across his forehead.

It suddenly occurs to you that not only do you have a crush on your neighbor, you're actually quite smitten.

"You alright, love?" His eyes meet yours before he nods down to your book. "Don't think you've read a thing."

"Oh...could you read out loud?" You quickly recover, closing your book and shrugging helplessly. "Must be going cross-eyed from reading those recipes."

"'Course I can." He beams. Steven likes to read to you, and you find the sound of his voice equally thrilling and calming.

Scooting his chair closer to you, he sets aside the mushroom pillow and moves his book into a good position for you both to see. Then he proceeds to make his non-fiction historical perspective sound like a Grimm's fairy tale.

You reach for your tea, realizing you should have brewed something herbal and calming because your heart flutters every time his arm brushes yours when he turns the page. The cadence of his voice lulls you under a spell somehow.

Placing your tea back down, you resist the urge to lay your head on his shoulder or something equally embarrassing, but you want to somehow be closer to him, so you reach for the page next time he needs to turn it.

"I'll help," you whisper as your hands clumsily brush.

Steven almost drops the book, but quickly recovers, covering your hand with his own. "This alright?" Warm brown eyes lock onto yours.

You quickly nod, fighting your nervousness and squeezing his hand to let him know how badly you want this.

Eyes still fixed on yours, he pulls your joined hands to his chest, smiling at you adoringly. He raises the book to continue reading as you bring your opposite hand up to help him hold it in place.

Eventually your head does make its way down onto his shoulder.

You don't know what to say and maybe he doesn't either. But he's holding your hand and you're thankful for that.

Fall Fluff Masterlist | Steven Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[thefrogdalorian]

My Pain Fits In The Palm Of Your Freezing Hand

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: When you and your Mandalorian companion are ambushed by a group of bandits, you hope that his stubborn nature will not make the task of treating his wounds any more difficult than it needs to be. But that is not the only obstacle. You also hope that the depth of your unrequited feelings for Din will not impact on your ability to care for him...

Word Count:  2.2k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: Canon typical violence briefly described, reader provides first-aid to minor, bloody injuries. ✯ Author's Note: A daydream about holding the stubborn tin can man's hand turned into whatever this is!! I've never written unrequited feelings for Din before but it made my heart ache in the best possible way. Hope you enjoyed!

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

Once the adrenaline of your latest brush with death subsides, your focus immediately pivots to caring for your Mandalorian companion. Although the heightened emotions leaving your body render you a trembling, shaky mess, your priority is to ensure his well-being. Maker knows he will never take care of himself.

As you approach the Razor Crest, you mentally scan yourself for painful areas. Casting your mind back towards the encounter as you try to recall anywhere you could have been hurt. After all, you will struggle to assist him if you are not healthy.

You recall that you had taken a couple of painful blows to the side during the skirmish, but your clumsy assailants had fortunately missed all of your vital organs. Aside from a pounding heart and dry mouth, you have mercifully made it through the ambush unscathed. 

Satisfied that there are no immediate areas of concern to treat, you turn your attention towards Din. You cast your mind back over the altercation, towards any wounds he may have sustained. It is easier said than done, considering how many of them leapt out of nowhere and caught the two of you off-guard as you walked through the thick forest towards the ship.

You remember how many of them Din fought off with his bare hands. Well, through his gloves. Still, you know they will have provided scant protection, so you are keen to check them for injuries. 

You momentarily struggle to remember what happened after Din had seen most of them off as you crouched behind a bush, hiding. 

Then, you recall how one of your assailants had slashed at Din’s hands when he grabbed the remaining pair of them around the throat. It had been a frenzied attack, which momentarily worked as his grip loosened. Just when you had feared that all hope was lost and they were going to escape, Din brought his boot up to deliver a swift kick in the stomach to the slower of the duo, which sent them careening into each other.

Din had used many parts of his body, as well as all of his wits and expertise as a warrior to see your attackers off. He had done a formidable job, considering how much they had taken you by surprise.

Still, the state of his hands concern you.

You are pretty sure they sustained the most severe damage. Plus, as they are vitally important for everyday function, treating them takes priority.

It is settled... Din’s hands are the first area you will treat. 

If he will let you, that is.

Your Mandalorian companion does not possess a reputation for being the easiest man in the galaxy to take care of... a willing patient, Din Djarin is not.

As the two of you ascend the ramp up to his beloved ship, you hope for both of your sakes that he makes this process as painless as possible.

“Din, sit down and let me get the medkit,” you order when you finally enter the familiar old ship's hull. 

“Let me initiate the launch sequence first,” Din stubbornly responds.

“No,” you reply, shaking your head as you fold your arms, glaring at him.

“Fine,” Din mutters in annoyance. 

It seems your sternness has done the trick. 

Din perches atop a crate as you grab the medkit in preparation to treat his wounds. You hope he does not make it harder for you than necessary. Din has never made any secret that he is comfortable being fussed over. You are no stranger to the fact that he hates being taken care of like this, but if you do not tend to his wounds, you know he will never do so himself. 

“Your gloves,” you nod towards the two-toned leather which covers his hands, “Take them off, Din.”

Din sighs and lifts his gloves beneath his helmet, seemingly biting at each finger to loosen them before repeating the process with his other hand. You feel like a voyeur and wonder whether you should turn your head and look away, as though his gloved hand disappearing beneath his helmet is somehow sacrilegious. Despite your inner turmoil, you cannot help but watch, unable to tear your gaze away until finally, he slides the gloves off and bares his flesh to you. 

It is not the first time Din has removed his gloves in your presence, yet you still feel a thrill travelling across your body at the faintest sight of his skin. 

For Din Djarin’s bare hands provide you with the tiniest peek at the man that lies beneath the cold, hard beskar. To catch a glimpse of the human side of the formidable warrior, the side of him you yearn to know entirely.

You remember how stunned you had been the first time he had removed his gloves in your presence while he was repairing a blaster several months ago. 

You had been sitting elsewhere in the hull as he worked at the bench, tools spread out as he dutifully performed much-needed maintenance on one of his many beloved weapons.

A grunt of frustration indicated that the parts had been far too intricate to repair with his cumbersome gloves. So, he had pulled on each finger one by one, tugging them off. Seemingly uncaring about baring himself, even ever so slightly, in your presence.

You had tried your best not to look, but you had been unable to resist sneaking a glance at who he was underneath his armour. Although for the most part, you kept to yourselves, there was no lingering frostiness in your dynamic. You and Din were amicable, possibly even friends... if he could even have such a thing.

That day, you watched as his hands meticulously repaired his blaster. You noticed the smattering of dark hairs across the back of his hand, the surprisingly tanned skin and the calluses and scars which littered the back of his hand. It was a fascinating glimpse into the man who hid so much of himself from you, yet you still felt you knew enough about him to believe he was, deep down, a good man.

Your mind ran wild with so many questions. Was his skin a similar colour elsewhere on his body, or was it tanned because his hands were the only parts of him that saw the sun? Did the dark hairs on the back of his hand mean that the hair on his head–if he had any–was a similar colour?

They were questions you knew you would likely never get answers to. Nor did you expect to.

When Din had hired you to care for The Child and attend to maintenance on his ship, he had informed you of the rules regarding his armour and helmet. He would remove neither his helmet nor armour in your presence. You were never to question the reasons why or attempt to subvert this stipulation in any way.

That was why glimpsing a sliver of his skin had thrilled you. It had exposed the man you had been yearning to see in a way that was not a violation of his Creed.

Yet, when you see his hands this time the circumstances could not be more different. Neither could the emotions Din’s bare hands provoke in you. 

Rather than feeling a thrill at the sight of his skin, now you cringe when you see the wounds that litter his flesh. His knuckles are split and bloodied, contusions that will surely colour shades of blue and black before eventually healing. There are also angry red gashes in all directions, a result of the bandit’s vibroblade making contact with his hands. 

You steady yourself, mentally preparing for the gargantuan task of providing first aid to a stubborn Mandalorian. Din values all you do for him. You are certain of that fact, even if he does not often vocalise it. Still, having someone take care of him is an uncomfortable prospect for a man who has spent so long leading a solitary, nomadic existence.

When you finally take his calloused, yet soft, skin in your hand, Din sucks in a harsh breath at the sensation. The sound is amplified and crackles slightly through the vocoder. A reminder that, although he has bared some of himself, he is still mostly hidden from you. He feels like more machine than man sometimes.

You take a bacta wipe from your medkit, and the antiseptic’s sour smell lingers unpleasantly in the air. You hold Din’s hand still, as you carefully bring the wipe towards his skin, your brow furrowed in concentration. 

“This is going to sting,” you murmur apologetically. 

Din nods. You hear him inhale deeply as he braces for the first contact with the remedy. You prepare yourself to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to make the process needlessly painful for him. 

At the first touch of the bacta wipe against his bronze skin, he jerks away from your touch, groaning slightly in pain at what you are sure is an uncomfortable, stinging sensation against his cuts.

“Hold still,” you sigh, flashing a disapproving glance in what you hope is the direction of Din’s eyes, hidden by his helmet. 

“Sorry,” he huffs.

You cannot help how your lips curl upwards at the sight of him sulking. This hulking man, all broad shoulders and gleaming beskar, reduced to a wounded child. You wonder if he is pouting beneath his helmet.

Din flinches again when you resume your task, but this time, you do not chastise him. Instead, you are thankful that he is not making this any more difficult than it needs to be. 

At least he has not told you he can look after himself. 

Content with his behaviour, you diligently tend to Din’s wounds. You ensure each one is cleaned thoroughly with the bacta patch and then wrapped in a bandage. It will take a few days to heal, but he will have plenty of time as you hurtle through hyperspace towards Nevarro again. Unfortunately, it will mean he likely has to refrain from being the hands-on father you know he loves to be. 

When your task is almost complete, you move to sit by his side on the crate. You need to steady your hands by placing your elbows against your thighs as you wrap a particularly nasty wound, which already streaks angry red tendrils across two knuckles. 

Din groans again in pain, and you quickly reassure him, “Almost there,” you whisper encouragingly. 

With the task finally completed, you cannot resist gently taking his hand in yours. Ostensibly, to check him for any wounds you have missed. In reality, it is borne out of a selfish desire to feel his skin against yours. Precious contact you had been yearning for since you first laid eyes upon his skin all those months ago. 

If Din notices the way you subtly lace your fingers with his and hold his hand in your lap for a few moments longer than necessary, he does not say a thing. Only when you disentangle your fingers from his grip does he speak again.

When you move to stand up from the crate, he places his arm across your stomach to stop you. You look at him questioningly, wondering what is going on beneath that bucket of metal. 

“Thank you,” Din finally whispers, voice thick with emotion.

You move to open your mouth, to respond. Before you can, Din’s deep voice cuts through the stillness.

“For everything… I…” Din pauses, sighs deeply, then continues, “I appreciate everything you do for me.”

You simply nod, too taken aback to speak. It is unlike Din to be sentimental or emotional, not with anyone other than Grogu. It is part of what makes him such a respected and feared hunter. Yet, here he is, confessing his appreciation for you. It causes hotness to creep up your neck and face, embarrassed by his earnestness. Desperate to respond, but not entirely trusting that you can keep it together. 

“You’re worth it, Din,” you smile, daring to believe that this moment will change something for the two of you. You hope he will finally realise the depth of the feelings you hold for him; that you have always held for him. 

As you take his hand in yours once again, you sit back on the crate. You take up a more comfortable position and daringly lean your head against his shoulder. The pauldron is bitingly cold beneath your cheek. But with how warm your skin suddenly feels at his words, it is an altogether welcome sensation.

Din noticeably inhales at your gesture, and you momentarily fear you have hurt his tender skin. Until he relaxes once again and squeezes your hand as best as he can considering his injuries, a reassuring gesture that soothes your worries.

As you sit there holding hands in the relative darkness of the hull, you imagine a shooting star passing somewhere far in the skies above.

You wish on it and dare to dream that, one day, Din Djarin will love you, too.

Follow @thefrogdalorianfics for updates on my latest fics!

[it-happened-one-fic]

It's Nice - Floyd

Author Notes: So. Just like with all Floyd fics this one has featured copious editing and has been trapped within my Google docs for quite some time as it underwent that lengthy process. But here it is. A premarital hand holding fic for Floyd. This fic was edited while I was listening to "They Don't Know" by Tracey Ullman which I can almost promise you influenced how this fic turned out. As per usual, Reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fluff/ pre-marital hand holding/ romance implied/ sfw

Word count: 1365

I sat silently next to Floyd, watching as the unpredictable young man toyed with my hand and fingers. 

Simply put, it was an odd way to pass time, but, according to Floyd, my hands were interesting.

And evidently enough, he did find them interesting. After all, the infamously mercurial merman was just sitting next to me, leaned over so that he was largely lying on the table in front of us as he reached over and toyed with my fingers. Apparently perfectly satisfied as he fiddled with them while simultaneously being beyond careful with them. Almost like he thought they were fragile or something.

It was almost enough to make me forget exactly why all of my classmates found Floyd to be a fearful entity.

My gaze slowly shifted to our hands as I pondered what exactly made my hands so uniquely interesting to him, and then the young man in question let out a giggle. 

I frowned slightly, glancing his way questioningly as he sat up with a smile on his face as his eyes stayed on our hands.

 I didn’t get to actually ask him anything though, since he opted to explain without any prompting, “Your hands are so teeny~ How do you get anything done?”

His two-toned gaze found mine as he teasingly questioned me, and I frowned at his words. Slipping one hand out of his grasp, I held it up to better inspect it for myself.

Sunlight streamed through my spread fingers, but, for all my careful looking, I could not find anything unique, interesting, or particularly small about my hands.

In fact, it just looked like a hand. Plain and simple. Nothing special or unique about it at all.

“Are they really that small?” My response came out as more of a murmur than anything, but Floyd still managed to hear it.

“Sure they are! Look,” As he spoke, one of his own hands wrapped around my wrist as he pulled my arm, and me with it, over so that he could flatten his left hand against my right one.

He leaned around our hands, which were now pressed palm-to palm, to look at me with a wide grin, “See?”

His eyes were glimmering at me as I focused on our hands and found that, sure enough, his hand was far larger than mine, with the tips of his long fingers clearly visible over the top of mine.

“Well, I guess in comparison…” I trailed off as I noticed Floyd’s expression shifting from playful to curious as he looked down at our hands and sat back so that he was now sitting directly in front of me.

Slowly, and almost carefully, his hand shifted until his fingers slipped in between mine and folded down over my hand.

He looked utterly fascinated as he carefully held my hand in his with his fingers slipped through the gaps between mine.

And, largely by instinct, I mirrored his motions. But instead of staring out our mismatched hands, I was watching him as I interlocked our hands and caused his eyes to go wide.

It was one of those moments where Floyd looked anything but scary. In fact, he stared at our interlaced fingers with an almost childlike innocence that confused me.

What was so special about holding hands?

He’d tugged me along after him, all but squeezing the life out of my hand along the way, so why…?

I stilled, with my questioning thoughts grinding to a halt, as I realized, with no small amount of surprise, that Floyd had never held my hand like this. 

Instead of lacing our fingers together as they were now, he’d always simply wrapped his hand around mine. Enveloping it in his larger hand as if he were trying to completely hide it from view. 

Perhaps it was to ensure he had a better hold on me, but then I’d always found that I had a better grip if I had laced my fingers through another person’s and locked our hands together in that fashion.

It was a wild shot in the dark, but I found myself eyeing the young man closely as I slowly began to question him, “Floyd, have you never….?”

I trailed off, not entirely sure how to finish my question. But Floyd evidently understood what I was asking since he nodded and responded fairly easily.

“In my mer-form, I’ve got finger webbing, so…” He trailed off, opting to continue to gaze at our hands before giving my hand a tentative little squeeze that had me wondering if this really was the same young man who usually gave out bone-crushing hugs and had what might be the most merciless grip I’d ever experienced.

Though, to be fair, whenever I received one of his squeezes, it was what he referred to as a ‘tiny squeeze’ and was more of a hug than the vice-like hold that he usually dubbed squeezes.

But instead of commenting on his typically crushing grip, I tentatively finished his sentence for him, “So you’ve never held hands like this?”

He nodded, his eyes still on our interlocked hands, with his dwarfing mine as he continued to hold my hand with a surprising amount of gentleness. Almost like he was afraid I would break or slip right from his grasp if he did anything else.

I frowned slightly as I watched him in silence, but it was a strange thought, because I didn’t think I’d ever outright run from him since our early meetings, when he’d been chasing me and making life generally difficult on Azul’s orders.

Since then, I’d gotten so that I was much closer to him and the other two young men of the Octavinelle dorm that had been involved at that time. Now I only ran from him in a more playful manner, though sometimes I was genuinely trying to get away from him; it was never out of fear.

But perhaps a stranger thought was the one of how he’d never held hands like this. Though it made sense in regards to the webbing he had in his merform, it was still strange to think that he’d never done so while on land.

He’d been here for a fair bit of time, after all. He was a second year here at Night Raven College already, and Azul had said they’d gone to some sort of boot camp when they’d come on land, so he’d had plenty of time to hold hands.

But perhaps the opportunity had never arisen. Either way, the novelty of holding hands like this did explain his quietness.

After just a few more moments of silence, his gaze lifted so that he was looking at me once more. An almost embarrassed smile crossed his face as he spoke once more, “It’s nice. Holding hands.”

He held up our interlocked hands as if to show me how nice it was, and I smiled at how our palms seemed to fit together like two puzzle pieces. 

His hand was larger, but mine still fit perfectly in his palm, and our fingers interlaced like they’d found the perfect place to rest. Almost like it was meant to be.

It was almost laughable, in moments like this, to think that so many of the other students here at NRC thought I was insane to spend time with Floyd. But then, I supposed most people didn’t see this side of him.

And, with an odd degree of surprise, I realized that he was right. This was nice, holding his hand like this.

Floyd was always a mercurial person, and somehow that made quiet moments like this all the more special.

By no means did I have a problem with his playful nature, and I could understand his mood swings. I had bad days myself.

But when compared to the usually busy days of time here at school with him and all of my other friends, moments like this seemed oddly precious.

And perhaps that was why my smile spread the way it did, and I gave his palm a tiny squeeze and received a very careful one in return as soon as I softly responded, “Yeah… It is.”

[pls-hold-me-im-justa-weeb]

SANJI HAND APPRECIATION POST- NSFW

TW's: hand kink, sucking on fingers, fingering (GN reader), 69

Word Count: 991 (unedited)

Thinking about Sanji's hands- how they're precious to him and how they can make the meals his nakama thrive off of.

Thinking about how you'd just stare at them as he was smoking or cooking, and thinking you were interested in the activity instead of him.

Thinking about how once you get into a relationship, how you wait a little bit so he knows that you're not just in it for the sex, so you hold his hand and kiss the back of it.

How Sanji holds your hands reverently with the very hands he refuses to fight with. How you could stare at his hands for hours, and how you love it when he decides to adorn his fingers with rings.

How he is so gentle when touching you, skimming his fingers over every inch of your body- every imperfection and every mark that makes the story of your life.

How eventually, when he caresses your cheek and traces your lips with a gentle finger, you suck it into your mouth. How he freezes and blushes but lets you lave your tongue over the digit and suck while keeping eye contact.

About how Sanji can't stop thinking about the image of you sucking on his fingers and absolutely loving it.

"My love... just give me a second I can't... mmh! I can't... hah~"

You don't answer, your mouth full of his two fingers as you pump his dick in time with the pumping of his fingers. Your drool drips onto his dick, lubricating it. You look up at him, on your knees before him as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Fuck... you just love my hands, don't you? So greedy for them- hng! and so... fuck I can't hold back anymore."

He yanked his hand out of your mouth and stood, stooping down to pick you up by the waist and place you on the bed. He lays down on his back and guides your body so you're straddling his face and his cock is laying hard against his abdomen in front of your face. You whine at the change but immediatly dip your head down to lick and suck at his balls.

"Mmh! So good. My little angel is so good for me, my darling," he babbles praise mindlessly, his hands tracing over your hips and ass as he gets closer and closer to your ready hole. With each close pass of his fingers, your hole clenches around nothing, and his voice gets more breathless.

"Lemme take care of you, okay? Let me watch as you cum on my fingers. Moan all over my cock for me, hm?"

His fingers finally find your slick hole, and begin to slowly sink in. You quieted your loud moan by shoving his dick in your mouth, and you squeal a little as he finds your sweet spot quickly. He slowly, almost excruciatingly slowly pumps a finger in and out, and you could tell he was staring at his glistening fingers disappearing into you. The thought of the sight sent another moan through your chest, and he gasped as the vibrations echoed around his cock.

"If you keep moaning like that, I'm going to cum," he warned. You didn't care, rocking your hips back onto his long, slender fingers. He kept his hand in place, letting you fuck yourself on his middle finger, then let his ring finger come up to prod at the slick opening. As the finger worked its way in, you rocked back faster, using the motion of your body to suck his dick at the same time.

"Ohhh~ good job. Doing it all by yourself? Okay, baby that's enough now. Just moan and drool on my cock as I finger fuck you, okay?"

You stilled your rocking and reached out with one hand between his knees to stabilize yourself. He began quickly, shoving his fingers skillfully into you and pushing on your sweet spot. You could only moan and whine, lightly shoved forward by the force of his thrusts to choke on his dick.

He added another finger, and your voice raised in pitch with the pleasure coursing through your veins. You popped off his dick, unable to keep still enough to protect him from your teeth. Your words were pretty little jumbles of how his fingers felt so good, and your free hand worked the tip of his dick quickly in time with his thrusts.

Your breathing sharpened and a tiny whine left your throat before his tongue joined his expert fingers, snapping the coil in your abdomen as you came on his fingers. He worked you through your orgasm, watching intently as you pulsed around his fingers. Nearing the end of your orgasm, you took him back into your mouth and bobbed your head a few times. His fingers twitched inside you, and hearing the release of his grunt and tasting him cumming down your thrat made you cum again.

You pulled your mouth off his dick and flopped to the side, out of breath. Sanji shifted so he could take you into his arms, but you grabbed his hand before he could wipe it off.

Still flushed from your orgasm, he watched as you took his fingers into your mouth, laving your tongue over them to clean them off. You finally pulled them out of your mouth, then eyed his lips hungrily. He closed the distance, letting you suck his tongue into your mouth with a moan. You cleaned off the remnants of your essence from his tongue while one of his hands rested gently around your neck. He wasn't choking you at all, but it made you melt.

Finally content with yourself, you pulled back after one final kiss. You curled up with your back against his chisled chest, playing with his fingers.

"I'm happy you like my hands so much," he murmured. You nodded.

"I love them, mainly because I love you."