capcassianandor

[capcassianandor]

Out of the desert

Summary: You need to get out of town, and the bounty hunter that sometimes passes through is willing to help you escape. He'd do anything for you, but you don't know that yet. As you journey together, you realize you have more in common than you thought. Western!au

Pairing: cowboy!ace!Din Djarin x ace!Reader

Word Count: ~13.4k

Warnings: western!au, pining, very protective din, absolute FOOLS in love, old fashioned social norms (this fic borrows from a lot of things, so it is not a typical western au or social norms), mentions of previous relationships, nonthreatening injuries, playing fast and loose with adapting mando lore

A/N: I'm happy to finally be able to share this with y'all. It's very special to me. Please let me know what you think and thank you for reading and being so patient.

The setting sun looks like violence on the horizon, blood red tendrils of light spearing across the dust ridden desert. 

It chokes the air, settles in a fine mist over everything. 

You watch the particles float for a moment, your back to the empty apothecary behind you. 

Travelers are settling in for the night, horses tied to the banister outside. Most are single men passing through looking for work. You tilt your head and watch them shelter in the tavern across the road, the one you’ve had your eye on for the last hour or so. 

You're waiting for the Mandalorian to emerge.

The orange light of the sun hurts your eyes, but you don’t look away. 

Still, seeing them pass through, knowing they could leave, that they probably had people waiting on them, makes your heart ache with loneliness and you have to remind yourself that this is what you chose, this life, this town.

You’re content here, even if you’re so lonely your chest feels like an empty cavern most days, echoing back your own lonesome wails. 

You’re safer here, for now, even if no one cares for you. 

Only the sheriff looked out for you, and he didn’t so much as care for you as covet you. His attention is a constant reminder that you do not belong, and that one day his patience with you would wear thin and the town would no longer be the safe haven it currently is. 

You should be grateful for the safety the town provided to you, even if it's a brief respite. 

Still, you would like to belong somewhere, to someone. 

That a lump forms in the back of your throat at the thought means nothing. You don’t take your eyes off the door of the tavern across the road.

The sun settles lower in the sky, sinking slowly beyond the horizon. The flush of dusk makes everything look more beautiful, a sky coated in midnight hues instead of the painful blinding sun of the day reflecting off parched earth. Stars are already appearing on the horizon. 

You should just close up for the night, but you know the Mandalorian is across the street. And you won’t get a chance to talk to him alone if you go over now. You need him to come to you, to the quiet little store away from the prying eyes of the tavern’s patrons. 

His people, the Mandalorians, are famed bounty hunters, or cultists, depending on who you asked. You’d seen him come down the street with a bounty, watched him tie up his horse before he disappeared inside. 

Crest is in front of the apothecary, so you know he hasn’t left yet, that you haven’t missed him. 

The Mandalorian’s horse is a beautiful silver gray and speckled with black, as though someone had flicked a paintbrush at her. She’s incredibly intelligent and seems to meet your eyes through the glass, like she knows you’re there and waiting for her owner. She isn’t tied to the post, though he never seems to be worried about her wandering off. 

Everyone in town knows the Mandalorian’s horse. She’s still saddled, his pack rolled on her back. 

They know, too, that you keep an eye out for him, on his things and his horse. They’re wary of you, whispering wild rumors to each other when they think you can’t hear - about how you’d come to the town, that you killed your husband, that you were a witch. 

Your vigilance is unnecessary, really. The townspeople might be wary of you but the Mandalorian terrified them.

When the dark settles in fully, you sigh and unlatch the front door. Crest nuzzles her nose against your hand when you step down to her. The air is still warm from the day’s heat. The sun ripened smell of hot earth hangs in the air, the scent of desert flowers beneath sweetening it.

It’s a clean scent, and a comforting one. 

“He’s taking longer than usual,” you tell Crest when she snorts at you. “Turning in a quarry? You must be heading west again.” 

You’d only been in town a little over a week the first time you saw the Mandalorian. You had just been hired by the pharmacist for your knowledge of herbs, which only added to your reputation as a witch. 

The woman next door had been holding you hostage on the front steps that day, trying to understand where you came from, who you were. She’d stopped talking and glanced at the lone man riding slowly down the center of the street, a body lashed down to his horse’s flank. 

Intimidating didn’t even begin to describe him. 

Hat pulled down low over his eyes, bandana tucked over his nose, you hadn’t really been able to make out his face, just the faint wisps of dark brown hair curling by his ears and the sweat shined cut of golden skin of his throat. “Get inside,” the woman had advised, starting to turn towards her own door.

“Wait,” you’d said. “Why? Who is that?” 

“Don’t you know a Mandalorian when you see one?” She’d asked with a sneer. “Sheriff didn’t think to tell you about that cult that lives up in the mountains?” You’d started to open your mouth, “Go on and get inside. He’s a mercenary and bounty hunter. He’s bad news.” 

She’d slammed the door without another word. 

You hadn’t gone inside, just watched him come down the road, chin lifted. 

He hadn’t paid you any mind. The Mandalorian just calmly dismounted his horse, and took the bounty inside the tavern to the sheriff, who regularly drank himself sick there. 

It had only been later when you were closing up the shop that you spoke to him. He was standing out front with his gloves off. His knuckles had been bloody, his skin purple with bruising. 

“You got bandages for that?” 

He’d slowly looked up at you, eyes still obscured, face still mostly covered. “No.”

“Well, c’mon in and I’ll get you some.” 

There had been a pause long enough that you’d started to doubt if you should have bothered, when he answered. “I’m not usually welcome.” 

“You are today. The good doctor isn’t here,” you’d jerked your head toward the door with a roll of your eyes. “C’mon in.”

Since then, the Mandalorian has become something like a deterrent to the townsfolk that found you odd. You were still an outsider, but now one with a powerful guard dog. 

The Mandalorian had taken to you easily that day. He had listened to you talk, offered surprisingly kind, if short responses. He hadn’t fussed too much when you insisted on bandaging his hand for him. 

And after that day, he made a point of seeking you out every time he was in town. 

He’s kind to you, even if he’s quiet and a little gruff. Even if you don’t know his name, and his face remains perpetually shrouded in shadow. He always makes time to sit with you for a while, and even if it was because he pitied you a little, you don’t mind. He listens to you, and, once, he’d even brought you a gift - a white and blue western patterned cowl that now perpetually rests around your neck. “Keeps the sun off,” had been the only thing he said about it. It was similar to his own, different in coloring and pattern. 

You suspect it means something to him, that gift, something important to him or his people. But you wouldn’t know, no one knows anything about the Mandalorians. 

He’s never made you uncomfortable. He’s never tried to come onto you, which you couldn’t say for the rest of those that frequented the tavern across the road. He should intimidate you - a strange man with a dangerous job and no ties.

The town gossiped, but you tried not to put stock in anything they said, since they whispered the same kinds of things about you as they did about him. 

You glance up from Crest’s nose now to see the Mandalorian in question step out onto the front step of the tavern, the sheriff just behind him. 

His wide brimmed hat sits low over his eyes, the rest of his face obscured by the bandana he always wears over his face. His button up shirt and vest are obscured by the long coat he wears, the barrel of his rifle poking over his left shoulder. 

“Are you sure?” The sheriff steps up next to him, their voices carrying much too easily across the road to you. You glance down, not sure if you want them to know you can hear them. You watch them from the corner of your eye, careful not to turn your head. “Sure we can’t interest you in any of the…services here? On the house, of course, as a sign of our continued gratitude.” 

His voice carries a sarcastic edge. He knows the Mandalorian would never accept the kind of thing he’s offering. 

Mando doesn’t so much as turn his head. You reach for the Crest’s brush in one of the saddlebags. “If not for women…men?” The Mandalorian still doesn’t speak. “We got all types of folks around here, y’know.” 

“I’m not interested.” He steps neatly away when the other man attempts to lay a hand against his shoulder. 

“At least stay the night,” he insists. “It’s dangerous here and out there alone,” he nods at the open plains beyond the town’s perimeter. “After dark.” 

You can’t help feel those words are meant for you, that he knows you can hear, a reminder that you’re stuck and alone. 

Mando finally turns his head, but doesn't say anything for a long moment. The silence stretches until it's uncomfortable. “No,” he repeats, his voice low and rough as it always is. 

“C’mon now, Mando. I know you’re crazy about that creed of yours, but you can have a little fun.” He puts his hands on his belt and raises an eyebrow, the wooden planks creaking beneath his feet as he shifts. 

The Mandalorian’s shoulders rise and tense, the first real sign of his irritation, when the sheriff continues, “Maybe I can offer you somethin’ - someone you really want. What about that one there?” Even without looking you know the sheriff is pointing straight at you. “I know you’ve taken a special liking to her and all. Well, I have too, but…she’s playing a little hard to get y’know? She-,” 

“No.” 

His voice is stern, this time, hard. 

He steps down the tavern’s front steps to the cracked earth below without another word. 

“Fuckin’ Mandos,” you hear the sheriff mutter. 

You tuck Crest’s brush back into the saddlebag as Mando approaches. The words unsettle you, a shake twisting inside your chest, the walls of your safe place closing in again. You weren’t long for this town now, not with claims like those made out in the open. 

“Headin’ west again?” You ask lightly, like your nerves are knotted in the pit of your stomach, like you weren’t just offered up like someone’s leftovers. 

He nods, his voice low and gentle as it always is with you. Different, you’ve noted, to how he speaks to most anyone else. “I need some supplies.” He steps close to you and glances over his shoulder, blocking your body from the view of the tavern. 

“Of course,” you say, swiping your hands along your trousers. “C’mon then, Mando,” you jerk your head in the direction of the apothecary. 

He follows and you hold the door open for him before flicking on the gas lights. They come on with pop and then glow low and yellow.

The shop is rather homely, worn dark wooden cabinets lined with jars take up most of the wall space. The scent of the shop reminds you of the forests where you grew up near, earthy with the smell of healing herbs. 

The Mandalorian takes up too much room in the small shop, large and imposing as he shifts on the wooden floorboards, hands on his belt buckle. 

Usually, when he comes in for supplies, he takes up residence in the chair in the corner of the shop and keeps you company for a while. Normally you talk about the goings on in the town and the characters that came through. Sometimes he’d tell you about the bounty he just hauled in, or his travels. Usually he would talk about his son, a rambunctious, sweet child from how he spoke of him. He never mentions having a partner, and so you assume the child must be from a relationship he was no longer in. 

“What do you need?” 

“Just the basics.” 

You nod and move behind the counter to get to work when he says your name. 

When you turn back with a jar in your hand, you find the Mandalorian without his hat on for the very first time. It’s clutched in his hands in front of him. His eyes are a deep shade of brown, shadowed and wide and sad. Your eyes dart over him, and you wonder not for the first time what he looked like without the bandana that covers his face. 

He repeats your name and then asks tentatively, “Are you okay?” 

“I’m…fine,” you answer as confusion washes through you. “Why?” 

“The way the sheriff speaks about you-,”

You shake your head and interrupt, “I heard him. You’re very kind to worry, but I’m fine.”

You aren’t, but what else could you say? The sheriff had made it known in the last few weeks that you belonged to him, and that your freedom depended entirely on your willingness to comply. 

It had gotten worse the last couple of weeks, because he’d come to the belief that the Mandalorian wanted you too. He didn’t like that you were friends, that Mando was oddly protective of you. 

His words had been harsh. You think he’s your friend, but he wants the same thing any man does. 

The words were nothing but a reminder of how broken you are. 

Mando doesn’t look away from you, his head tilting to the side. Your blood thrums beneath your skin, drumming along the inside of your veins. “He talks about things he doesn’t understand,” he says. “And you didn’t hear everything. You don’t know what he means to do. He means to marry you. And if you refuse, you won’t have a place here anymore.” 

“Mando-,” you begin. 

“He already thinks he owns you,” he continues over you. “He thinks you need tamed. He thinks your choices are just rebelliousness.” His voice is low, dangerous, brows tugged down over his eyes. He’s angry, you realize. “You heard him. He…offered you to me. It doesn’t matter to him if you say yes or no.” 

You cross your arms over your chest, and cock your head to the side. “You think I don’t know that?” 

He straightens, brows lifting in surprise. “What?” 

You sink slowly onto the pharmacist’s stool behind the counter. 

“You’re right,” you say. “To him, I am no longer a novelty that needs to be broken, but a nuisance that needs to be reminded of my place.” You shake your head, “But I don’t have anywhere to go. I have no family and hardly any money. Everything I had, I used to come here. Besides, I came from the east, and I don’t know how to survive the desert. I am out of options.” 

The Mandalorian doesn’t respond right away. When you look up, you aren’t quite able to meet his eyes, not used to seeing them. There’s something deeply hurt in his gaze, a sadness you can’t name. “No harm will come to you,” he promises, a dangerous edge in his voice. “I can take you west.” 

You stiffen and slowly glance up at him. His words wriggle in your mind, slither coldly down your back. First you escaped your husband, now you have to escape the sheriff, to…what? One day have to escape the Mandalorian? You’ve learned better than to trust. 

The sheriff’s words echo in the back of your mind. He wants the same thing any man does. 

And how long until he demands that from you? How long until he wants something from you in return for all his kindness? 

Still, the Mandalorian has never made you feel unsafe, he’s never made you feel uncomfortable.

And he might be your only chance to leave. 

You close your eyes, and slip a hand into your pocket to grip the knife you keep there, just to feel a bit stronger. It was only a matter of time before you had to leave, you knew that. 

The Mandalorian is a safer choice then remaining in the town. You trust him more than the sheriff at least. He’s your friend, but-

You shake your head and meet his eyes. “I already told you, Mando, I hardly have any money. I can’t pay you to take me west. And I have nothing else I can offer you,” you emphasize, gritting your teeth. “Nothing, understand? I have nothing else to offer you.”

He seems to understand. 

Mando steps forward and leans his forearms against the counter. “I am not asking to be paid. And I would not ask you for anything else.” He holds your eyes for a long moment before straightening and putting his hat back on his head. “But we have to leave now.” 

If you waited it might be several weeks until Mando returned, and by then it might be too late.  

You nod curtly and stand, gathering the things he’d ask for. “Go on and take it,” you push the supplies across the counter. 

He takes the supplies you set on the counter for him.

“He’s gonna have eyes over here. I was supposed to close up nearly an hour ago.” You glance up at him. “He’ll know.” 

“I can handle it.” He tilts his head, “Do you trust me?” 

You hesitate, you’ve learned better than to trust anyone, but you’ve already decided to throw your lot in with his. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?” 

When the Mandalorian steps outside the apothecary, you know he’s being watched. Behind him, you click the lock into place in the door and turn off the gas lights. He descends the steps and tucks the supplies into the saddlebags. 

A few men stand in clusters on the other side of the road, coats pinned back with hands on their hips, the shine of the revolvers they carry visible even in the dark. The orange glow of their cigars burn bright in the darkness. 

“Heading out of town, Mando?” The sheriff calls. 

He nods without answering. 

“Won’t be back for a while, I reckon? Shame you can’t stay, there’s a wedding tomorrow.”

You jolt at the words. 

Mando saddles his pack and glances surreptitiously up at you, his head dips forward slightly. You nod, knowing the men across the street can’t see you in the window with the lights off, and move away from the door. 

He would tell them that you were finishing a draught for one of the neighbors, someone who came to the back door. You don’t have a pack, but you have so few possessions it doesn’t matter. You grab your journal and stuff your hat on your head before slinging your long overcoat over your arm, sweeping tinctures at random into your pockets. 

You leave the key behind, and don’t bother to lock the back door. 

You can think of few things worse than being married. Again. And especially to a man like the sheriff. 

The street behind the apothecary is silent and still. It’s almost too easy to sneak past darkened doorways and empty alleys. Still, you keep your head bent to conceal your face, and move quickly. The red dust of the place swirls around your ankles, coating your boots in a fine mist. 

You wonder if this is wise, to go with the Mandalorian. He’s quiet and kind but that meant nothing, really. With the sheriff, you at least know what kind of monster he is. You aren’t sure what’s worse, to be left with a monster or to be surprised by one. 

Something about Mando tells you he’s not that way, even gruff and dangerous, he isn’t dishonorable. 

You hear a few gunshots as you hurry along, anxiety biting at your lungs. 

When you turn a corner a few minutes later he’s waiting exactly where he said he’d be. Crest snorts when she sees you and Mando reaches a hand down to pull you up. You settle behind him on the saddle, and he lets you shift until you’re comfortable. “They’re coming.” 

“Then let’s go.” 

He nudges Crest into a trott and then a gallop, and you hope you never see that town again. 

The sun is just peaking over the horizon behind him, threads of purple dawn coloring the sky, when the Mandalorian feels you shifting against his back. You’d fallen asleep a few hours into the journey when he’d slowed Crest out of a trot, your cheek pressed to his spine as you snored lightly. 

He’s given you a good head start, if the sheriff decided to follow. He’d have to take care of his wounded first before he could. 

The Mandalorian means to move quickly, to keep both of you safe. 

There’s an ache in his back from the position you’re in against him but he wouldn’t dare disturb you. You’re sleeping so peacefully and your weight against him is nice, warm. 

Din is trying to swallow the turbulent emotions swirling inside him. He cares for you, and the fear that curls around the base of his spine at the prospect of you being married to that man, is anything but friendly. It makes his chest feel tight, the weight of feelings he harbors for you crushing. 

He’ll never tell you, because he’s already learned that caring for someone isn’t enough. He wasn’t enough to settle for, he’s learned that lesson. 

To hear from the sheriff the way you’d arrived in that town, desolate and desperate. How he’d taken you in and provided for you, not because you needed help, not because you were in danger, but because you were estranged from your husband, and thought it only a matter of time before you broke and went looking for a new one - it had incensed him. 

The sheriff had assumed it would happen quickly. But you’d settled into a routine, a quiet, lonely little life in the town, seeming to enjoy your independence and solitude. 

Well, aside from Din. 

You were alone aside from him. He’s your friend, but more than that, he’s your protector. 

Sure, there was only so long the sheriff could put up with something like that. Your kind were supposed to need help, were supposed to need someone. But you didn’t seem to. And that grated on the sheriff. 

He might have already acted, if it weren’t for Din. If it weren’t for him taking a liking to you, if it weren’t for the two of you becoming friends.  

Crest trots along at an easy pace, and Din sets his sights on a copse of trees up ahead that he often stops at to rest. There’s a creek nearby too, for water and washing. 

“Hey, Mando,” you mumble against his back. Your voice is soft and fuzzed with sleep. “I’m gettin’ pretty sore. You mind if we stop for a bit? Or I can walk along if we need to keep moving.” 

Like he’d let you walk. 

He gestures to the trees. “We’ll be stopping there.” 

“Okay,” you agree, your hands lightly gripping into the fabric of his coat. 

Din doesn’t reply, patting Crest’s neck instead. The purple on the horizon quickly bleeds into a parched yellow, and then the spear of a blue that only ever came with early morning, clashing with the burnt orange of the earth, the sand yellowed grasses and pale cacti and desert blooms. 

“It’s pretty out here,” you comment, hands tightening on his sides when you lean around him. “Prettier than that town.” 

He glances out over the landscape, parched, cracked earth, dotted with sporadic clumps of trees that eventually fell away to nothing but the orange of the open desert. Gold poppies and desert lilies make homes next to cacti and tumble weed and desert grass. 

It’s an okay view, but he prefers the mountains. He prefers green.

“Yes,” he agrees with you anyways. It’s beautiful, even if he doesn’t prefer it. 

When Crest comes to a halt beneath the trees, the sun has risen far beyond the horizon. It drips from the sky, swollen and lazy with midday heat. Din dismounts carefully before offering you a hand down. 

You aren’t used to riding, as he is, and you stumble a bit. 

He catches you, steadies you with a hand on your waist before he releases you. The warm press of your hands against his forearms disappears, and the weight of the loss leaves him hollow. 

You don’t seem to notice that he can’t stop himself from drinking you in. There’s a certain beauty in the cut of your features. 

You duck quickly away from him before he gets the chance to fully admire you, stretching your legs and adjusting the hat on your head until he can no longer see your eyes. 

He wonders how long you thought it could go on. There was no way you would have been able to keep on living like that in the town. You hadn’t seemed surprised, just resigned and tired, like you hadn’t really believed you could find a place to just be. 

“We should rest. For a while.” 

“How far along is the next town?” You ask, tipping your chin up to him, hands fisted on your hips. You’d put on your longcoat, but you have the sleeves pushed up, your forearms exposed to the sunlight. He tries not to look at the glow of your skin in the light. “If it’s somewhere I can walk, you can just let me go here. I’ve been enough trouble and I can figure it out.” 

Din doesn’t respond and you knock back the brim of your hat with one finger to better see him. “We should rest here. Travel when the sun gets low again.” 

You lift a brow. “So it's far?” 

“What?” 

“The next town?” 

“Yes.” 

He’s lying. Kind of. 

You could probably walk to the next town, but it’d be a long one and dangerous. 

He isn’t planning to take you to that one anyways. It’s much too close to the one you’d just left, it would be too easy to find you there. 

And he isn’t quite ready to part with you. 

Neither of you will be able to return to the town you’d just left, and he’d like to be sure you’re safe wherever you end up settling.

You nod slowly. “Okay, Mando.” You turn and lead Crest down to the water to drink. “Go on and rest. I slept enough.”

He shifts from foot to foot for a moment before turning to the copse of trees. 

Din settles himself on the ground and leans back against the trunk, tipping his hat over his face. He trusts you enough to let himself sleep. 

You let Mando sleep for a couple of hours. 

His breathing is deep and even. You watch the rise and fall of his chest from where you sit on a log, chewing on a stick of something you found in Mando’s pack. You wonder if you should wait a while longer to wake him. 

You aren’t sure how far ahead you are of anyone that might have followed you from the town.

If anyone followed you from the town. 

Crest munches on desert grass nearby. It’s a peaceful spot. The creek makes for a gentle background noise, the air cool beneath the trees. 

The scent of wet desert earth is pleasant, the soil around the creek bed is like wet clay and when you push your free hand into it it squishes pleasantly around your fingers. When you finish the stick of whatever the ration was made of, you wash your hands in the stream before standing to refill the canteens with water. 

“We need to move again.” 

Mando’s voice startles you, and you nearly drop the canteens.

His voice is close, and when you turn, you find him directly behind you. You clear your throat and take a step back, “So, you’ll tell me how far the next town is now?”

He shifts, head tilting to the side. You can just make out his eyes. “We can make it to the next town by sun up tomorrow. But I think you should bypass it.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s not far enough. It’s the first place they’ll look for you.” He tilts his hat back a fraction, like he’s trying to get a better look at you. “You should go farther west.”

You give a slow shake of your head. “Really, I think it’s fine. I don’t have anything to pay you with to take me further.” 

You’re also not sure you want to travel any further with him. You would not jump from the frying pan into the fire. 

Mando makes an irritated noise. “I am not asking for payment,” he says. “You shouldn’t go to the next town, but I’ll take you there, if that’s what you want,” he agrees, though he doesn’t sound happy about it. 

You blink, surprised. 

You’ve never had someone so easily bend to your wishes. You’ve never had someone listen to you the way the Mandalorian does, who actually takes your opinion and wants into consideration. 

He seems to value your opinion, and accept that you know what’s best for you, even if he doesn't agree.

“We’ll have to rest again before we get there.” He turns on his heel and makes his way back to Crest, patting her side and then checking over her hooves. 

You stand by the stream for a few long seconds, emotions swirling in your belly. The Mandalorian seems to be genuinely trying to help you. And you know him - he’s your friend. You’ve known him for months, had soft feelings for him for most of that time. 

That, and he’s right. You’re still much too close to that town. A day’s ride was nothing to a determined man. 

“Mando,” you call as you start towards him. “You’re right. The first town is too obvious.” 

He doesn’t speak as he saddles Crest and adjusts the pack on her back. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” he says, his voice muffled and laden with something heavy, though he doesn’t sound angry. “I wouldn’t harm you.”  

Something in you twists, gravel lodging in the back of your throat as you shift nervously, fidgeting with your fingers. “I know. It’s not you that’s made me afraid.” 

Mando nods, “I know.” He swings himself onto Crest before leaning down to help you up behind him. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the next town?” 

“I’m sure,” you answer, lightly fisting your hands against his sides. 

The sun is once again tilting low on the horizon. You think again about how beautiful the desert is, and how dangerous. 

In the distance you can see the peaks of the mountains where the Mandalorians must live. Even a half day's ride west makes them seem so much larger. They seemed mere pinpricks from the town. “Do the Mandalorians really live there?” You lift a hand and point to the peaks in the distance.

Mando cups his hand around your wrist and lowers your hand so it’s pointing midway up one of the smaller mountains on the range. “Yes. About there.” 

He doesn’t let go of your hand for a moment, and the press of his worn leather gloves against your skin is warm and pleasant. His thumb slides over your pulse point before he seems to realize what he’s doing and abruptly releases you.

A warmth spirals up from your belly and prickles pleasantly at the underside of your skin. You’re glad at that moment that you’re behind him and he can’t see your expression. It must be written all over your face how much you’d liked his hand on yours. 

Even so, he’s warm in front of you, if a little stiff with tension now. Your thighs bracket his and you lean into his back, cheek pressed against the soft, worn material of his jacket. 

You clear your throat, “So, is it true that you’re in a cult?” 

You feel the slight rumble of his chest when he laughs and tries to suppress it. The brief tension breaks, and his spine softens back into you again. 

“No,” he answers. “It’s a good rumor, though.” 

“Why not correct them? They wouldn’t fear you so.”

There’s a long pause, the clop of Crest’s hooves the only sound aside from the buzz of insects hiding in the low grasses. “We don’t live the way they do. Their fear is our protection.” 

You consider that, watching the side of his face. 

Just above the bandana, you catch a glimpse of golden skin and the peak of a sharp cheekbone. His eyes are a deep mourning brown. The color of his eyes seems lighter now than it had in the low light of the apothecary the day before. The sun casts them a deep chestnut, even though they’re shaded by the hat tipped over his eyes. 

He’s rather beautiful, you don’t need to see the rest of his face to know that. You’ve thought so before, many times over, when he visited the apothecary. You’ve always liked the shape of his shoulders, the way he stood with all his weight on one foot, the slightly shy way he ducked his head. 

You like a lot of things about him. You like the way he covers his face, and listens to the town gossip you impart on him, and tells you about his travels if anything worth mentioning had happened. 

“I never feared you,” you feel the need to tell him. 

Mando’s shoulders straighten, the tilt of his head angling up. A strange kind of pride radiates from him. “Because you understand. You understand fear.” 

You know exactly what he means. 

You understand not living the way others do, you understand their fear being a kind of protection. But while you are alone, the Mandalorians at the very least have each other. “Would you tell me about them?” You ask. “The Mandalorians? Are you all nameless, like they say?” 

He laughs again, and this time the sound is more distinct. His body relaxes further back into yours, and you wonder what Miss Next Door would say if she could see you now. Likely she’d have a heart attack over the way the two of you are pressed together. 

It makes you wonder again, at what’s wrong with you. You can’t help feeling that being this close to him, listening to him talk, feeling the warmth of him, should inspire something more in you. 

But it doesn’t. You like this just fine. You like being close to him, you like the comforting scent of him, the sun warmed leather of him. But you don’t want more, you don’t feel more than that.

And that is why you’ll always be alone. There’s no place for someone like you. 

“Another rumor,” he dismisses. ‘No, we are not nameless.” There’s only a moment of hesitation before he continues, “My name is Din Djarin.” 

It’s a slightly strange name to your ears, but it suits him. You tell him as much, “You have a lovely name. Din Djarin.” 

“We are people of many kinds,” he says without prompting, like he’s settled into his trust of you. “A creed binds us together. We are warriors, survivors.” 

You hum and lie your cheek against his back again, through his layers of clothing you can just make out the sound of his heart. It’s a steady comforting sound, just like he’s steady and comforting against your body. “Survivors,” you murmur. “And protectors, it seems.” 

“This is the Way,” he says, the inflection of his voice a bit odd. “Our people were once decimated by purges. I was not born to the Mandalorians.” 

“You weren’t?” You ask, surprised. It seems like something so integral to who he is, like it's something woven into his bones and blood. “I find that hard to believe.” 

“It’s true,” he reaches a gloved hand out to pat Crest between the ears. “My parents were killed when I was young. The Mandalorians saved me. I was a foundling, taken care of by the collective. You know I have a foundling of my own.” 

“Your son,” you say, and he nods. You’d always assumed he was a child from a past relationship, but this somehow makes more sense. 

Foundlings are an odd notion to you, but a nice one, one that appeals to you. “So everyone takes care of the foundlings?” 

“And the children born to Mandalorians, yes.” 

You shift against him, intrigued. “You are quite different.” His spine stiffens and he doesn’t answer you. It takes you a moment to realize he thinks you mean it in a negative way. “It’s nice,” you amend. “I imagine my own life would be quite different if we shared responsibilities in that way.” 

Din relaxes again, his chin dipping forward in a nod. “It has its advantages.” 

“Are other things very different?” 

The Mandalorian pauses for a long moment, before he begins telling you of life in the mountains of Mandalore. Not everything about it is idyllic. The Mandalorians are warriors after all, which means a certain level of baseline brutality. But their culture and religion intrigue you.

He’s never spoken so much to you, and never about the other Mandalorians, like being alone together has given him permission to open up. 

“Women,” he mentions, “and men are equal. All are equal. The way you and some of the others are treated…it’s not understandable. Not to me, or any Mandalorian, I would guess.” 

“Equal,” you echo. “How do you-,” 

“Of course we have leaders, a hierarchy. But all can be leaders and all are warriors. We are all warriors.” 

You straighten at that, darkness falling in earnest now, the sky once again a hazy blue and purple. “All of you? Really?” He nods as he brings Crest to a stop. “Would you teach me?” You ask as his boots hit the ground and he holds out a hand to you. 

“Teach you?” 

“To fight. Or at least to defend myself.” You slide off Crest, your legs aching again. 

He makes a noise under his breath as he steadies you, “I’m not sure how much I can teach you in a few days.” 

“Somethin’ at least,” you plead as he releases you. “I’ve got a knife and everything.” 

“Fine,” he agrees, but something about his tone tells you he’s proud, happy that you’ve asked, that he wants you to know how to defend yourself. “After we eat.” 

You nod and let him point you to some tasks. Gathering anything that can be used for fire fuel, while Din takes care of Crest, making sure she’s well watered and that there’s something for her to eat. 

When you have a little fire going and the last wisps of rosy light are burning out in the western sky, the Mandalorian goes about preparing a dinner for you. He’s methodical and precise, and when the food is finished he makes a gesture at you to eat. 

“Won’t you too?” You ask when he makes no move to serve himself. He shakes his head. “Why?” 

“You would see my face.” 

“Oh.” Your brow crinkles. “But I’ve seen-,” 

He shakes his head, “Not all of my face.” 

Din doesn’t explain further, but you decide not to question him. 

He’s explained a great deal to you in one day, revealed things you think must be information most outsiders don’t have. 

You nod, “Okay. So come sit back to back with me. You must be starving, I won’t eat while you don’t.” 

Din seems surprised with your concern, but he does as you say. You lean back into each other as you eat, listening to the sounds of him doing the same. Cicadas sing in the grasses that sway in the low breeze.

Already you can see the changes in the landscape, soon you’ll be out of the desert bowl and into the flat plains that make up the earth before the foothills of the mountains. 

The ground is rocky beneath you but you don’t mind. The warmth of Din soaks through to your skin, even though layers of clothes, as the night and the cold descend on you. 

He’s a comforting presence. He always has been. You crave this, this closeness, the way he feels against you without the expectation of anything more. You’re starved for it. 

You’d looked forward to his time in the apothecary because it gave you someone to talk to, but also because you felt safe with him there, comforted. Now is no different.  

“Din?” You ask, to make sure he’s listening but also just to speak his name. Another thing he’s given you today; his name. 

“Yes?” 

You stare straight ahead, out into the blackness of the empty desert, and you imagine all the times the Mandalorian must have traveled these lands alone. You wonder if Din is as lonely as you are, or if he was content to be alone. 

Maybe he isn’t lonely most times. You aren’t sure how often he goes back to the mountains.

“You said the Mandalorians are equal among each other.” You feel him nodding. “And the collective cares for the children. So, is it possible to stay single? Not to have children?”

You feel his breath stop, a still kind of silence hanging in the air between you for a moment. “I only ask because it's so important to most where I’m from, and I wonder if it's the same with Mandalorians. If you didn’t, you were an outcast.” 

There’s a long pause but you just continue eating, waiting for him to decide whether he’d like to answer you or not. 

“Yes. Many don’t,” he says eventually. “Most important is the survival of the group. And many of us are foundlings. Blood is not as important. We have a saying - Aliit ori'shya tal'din. It means family is more than blood.”

You nod and don’t reply, focusing on finishing your food instead. You hadn’t known the Mandalorians had their own language, but it makes sense and the sound of it is pleasant. 

It must be nice, in those respects at least. Without the pressure of finding a match, or being matched. Without the pressure of producing children. 

Homesickness washes over you in a fierce, sudden wave, followed by a loneliness that lodges so firmly in your chest you find it hard to breathe for a few minutes. 

You desperately want a place to belong, a family and a home, you’re just sure you can’t have those things because of what it seems to require of you. You aren’t enough alone, not enough the way you are. 

The grief of not having a place, a home, is a physical thing. No family, no future.

You push the melancholy down, that lonely ache in the middle of your chest that said you would never be enough, that said there was something deeply wrong with you and that made you unlovable. 

When you’re done eating and the mess has been cleared away, the Mandalorian teaches you the basics of wielding a knife. He’s a patient teacher, his voice soothing and low in your ear as he maneuvers your hand on the handle of the blade. 

“It would be better if you had a revolver,” he tells you. “The knife should be a last resort, since it means someone got close enough for you to be able to use it.” 

You nod in agreement. “But it would have its uses,” you weigh the blade in the palm of your hand. “For protection.” 

His eyes squint and you know without seeing his mouth that Din is frowning at you. You shrug at him and tuck the blade back in your pocket. “I’m only thinking of the sheriff.” 

You expect his brow to relax with understanding, but it only makes him appear more worried. “That wouldn’t have happened.” 

“Well,” you concede. “Now it definitely won’t.” 

Your breath clouds in the air around you, and you reach up to tug off your hat. “We should get some shut eye.” 

Mando nods at you, looking distinctly more distressed.

You start to turn away but before you can, his hand circles your wrist. He says your name, the sound of it gentle. “I need you to know - you should know, I would not have left you there alone, if I thought that was a possibility. It’s why I didn’t leave you this time. Do you understand?” 

You aren’t quite sure you do, but a lump has formed in the back of your throat nonetheless. He cares about you, you realize, and has for a while, and that hurts because it means he’ll probably tire of you too. You like Din more than you care to admit, and you won’t ever be enough for him. “Yes,” you nod. “I understand.” 

His chin dips slightly in acknowledgement before he releases your wrist. 

You sort out sleeping arrangements, and Din offers to take the first watch. You curl on the ground with a blanket that smells like hay and earth, near enough to the fire not to shiver, while the Mandalorian settles beside you. 

There’s a moment, right before you fall asleep, that you think you feel his hand brush over your forehead. 

The next few days of travel are easy. 

Those few days quickly run over into a week, but you don’t mind. 

You and Din Djarin slip into an easy routine. He tells you, more and more each day, of the Mandalorians, and of the land you travel across which he knows well. He knows every swell of the earth, every crack in the soil, where to look for water, each blade of grass. 

You don’t remember him being as chatty in the town, but maybe he simply wasn’t comfortable enough there. This is his domain, and for once he’s not traveling it alone. 

He does seem more comfortable out on the open plains, away from people. 

And he seems to like you, or at least enjoy your company. 

Evenings and midday are by far your favorite times of the day, because you and Din get to lean into each other and eat, and because he teaches you small things, like how to track game and read the signs in the wilderness to tell if people or animals have passed by. 

Din lets you hunt with him, and a few nights you have rabbit for dinner. Learning how to break down the animal is by far the worst part of it all, but it’s still a useful skill to have and one you wouldn’t have had otherwise. 

He teaches you how to use your knife and then his revolver and the rifle too. 

You like how he guides your hands and presses his chest to your back as he shows you movements and how to handle the weapons. The feeling of his body around yours makes your skin prickle pleasantly, your stomach filled with butterflies you haven’t felt in a long time. You like how he touches you, careful and precise, his hands lingering just a little long. “No one ever showed you how?” 

“Never,” you say. “It wasn’t something I was supposed to know.” 

He makes a discontent noise but doesn’t comment further. You have a distinct feeling the idea is offensive to him, that some are taught to defend themselves and others aren’t. 

Each night, he points out the constellations to you. He describes how they move across the sky through the seasons and how they’re used for navigation. 

You listen with rapt attention. “So, if you know the season and where the stars sit at that time, you can find your way around?” He nods. “Wow. I never knew the sky was used to travel.” 

Din is sitting on the ground, reclined against a rolled pack while you lie flat on the ground next to him, the crown of your head almost touching his thigh. It’s cold and not particularly comfortable but you don’t care. The earth of the grassy plains is much more comfortable than the rocky desert had been, and the Mandalorian has given you both the blanket and his coat to lie on. It smells like him, like leather and pine. 

It’s the first time you’ve seen the skin of his arms. He removed his gloves when you sat down to eat earlier, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Din’s forearms are scarred, his skin crossed with lines from what must be many years of bounty hunting. You don’t mind it, the golden bronzed hue of his skin appealing. The veins in his arms collect in strong hands, and you want to know what his calloused fingers would feel like between yours. 

You could spend forever watching the stars, and listening to his low voice tell you stories. 

He tilts his head down at you. He doesn’t have his hat on, his hair like tufts of cloud that stick up around his head. “How did you come to that town? How did you know where you were?”

“I…wandered. Anywhere was better than what I was facing.” You don’t elaborate further than that and Din doesn’t ask, just looks up and points out another constellation. 

He tells you of the legends that are attached to the stars by the Mandalorians. You listen until the fire burns low and he tells you to get some sleep.

You sit up and lean against his bent leg. The position is a little close, but you spend most of the day plastered to his back, and figure it isn’t too close. His scent becomes more intense when you shift, like the small cake of soap he’d used to wash at the creek when you stopped for the day, like pine and leather. “It’s nice out here. Quiet.”

He stares at you for a long moment, the dying embers of the fire reflected over his skin and in the depths of his dark eyes. His gaze flicks over your face before settling on your eyes again. You swear the skin above the bandana turns a bit pink. “It’s usually a lot lonelier,” he admits. 

“Yeah,” you smile. “I was in a town full of people, and still lonely.” You glance up at the sky, “At least out here, there’s no one to judge you.”  

You touch his hand lightly, just because you want to know how it feels. It feels nice, warm. The nerves in your belly beat up against your lungs, step on your ribs and over your heart. “Thank you for sharing so much with me, Din.” 

You release his hand when his fingers flex beneath yours and lie down again, closing your eyes to the stars. You don’t feel as alone as you once did. 

Before you drift off, you feel his fingers sweep across your forehead again. 

You wake to the Mandalorian dousing the fire suddenly, his hand is on your arm shaking you awake as he says your name. “Get Crest and go, I’ll find you.” 

“What?” You sit up, groggy. “Why? Go where?” 

Despite his urgent tone, his touch is gentle. “I need you to get to Crest,” he repeats, “and ride until you cross the river.” He helps you stand when you see the riders in the distance, torches held aloft. 

Your heart seizes hard in your chest, a fierce panic crawling up from the pit of your belly. 

“No,” you latch onto his arm hard. “Din, they-,” 

“Go to Crest,” he says, eerily calm, a quiet rage humming just below the surface. “I’ll find you.” 

“Din, there’s five of them!” You say, digging your heels into the ground. Maybe more than five, you can’t tell. 

“I can handle it,” he assures you. “I need you to go now,” his voice softens a fraction. 

You move slowly toward Crest, feeling as though you’re in a dream. You never thought you were important enough to chase this far. The last few days, you had been able to convince yourself they hadn’t followed at all. “But I can help. What - what if something happens to you -,” 

“I’ll be alright,” he says, the sky behind him starting to lighten, a rosy, dawn colored pink. “If not, just keep riding west. There’s a map and a compass here,” he taps the saddlebag. “You have enough supplies to reach the next town. Now go.” 

He has the rifle in his hands. “Din-,” 

Instead of answering, he says something lowly to Crest, in the same language he’d used the other day. She takes off immediately, and you struggle to hang on for just a moment. You dig your knees in and manage to get the reins into your hands. 

Crest seems to know where she’s going, following a small, well worn dirt path through the grassy plains. Behind you, the sound of gunfire echoes. You try only once to glance over your shoulder, but you can’t see anything. 

You aren’t sure how long you ride, and you find it hard to track the movements Crest makes. Eventually, when the sun is just fully over the horizon behind you, she slows. 

The river comes into view. 

It isn’t a large river, but Crest trots over the wooden bridge across it like she knows it well, before finally coming to a stop beneath a copse of trees on the other side. 

She’s foamy with sweat and breathing hard. “Good girl,” you pat her gently before sliding from the saddle. You’re breathing hard too, your body is stiff and your stomach churns with nerves. You clench your hands into fists to try to contain the shaking. 

How long would it take Din to walk to you? Already you want to turn Crest around and go searching for him, but you aren’t sure if that’ll make it worse. You don’t know where you are or how to get back to where you’d come from. 

You pat Crest gently and decide to stay put. 

You’ve only seen the Mandalorian commit violence once, in a shootout in the center of the town. And, you suppose, when you left the town, he’d clearly at least delayed them with injuries. 

For you, and now he was doing it again. Something about it makes your heart flutter. Its kind of morbid, and you kind of don’t care. 

You lead Crest to the water to drink before turning her out into the grass to graze. She never seems to need tied up and so you just leave her, watching the sun rise ever higher in the sky. 

A cool breeze blows over the land ruffling the swaying grass. The sky burns bright blue, clouds drifting in from the north until the day feels colder than it should. Your heart hasn’t slowed since Crest came to a stop. 

You press your hand to your chest, a bit worried something might be wrong. The stillness irks you, but pacing only makes your heart rate tick higher. The wind continues to pick up, the sky promising rain. 

Just when you start to feel too much time has passed, a figure appears on the horizon. You can’t be sure it’s Din but you click your tongue at Crest anyways. She trots over and snorts when you clamber onto her back. “Look,” you point. “Is it him?” 

She breaks into a gallop without another word from you. 

Din is clutching his side, a spot of red bleeding through his shirt. 

You slide off Crest before she’s even come to a stop and catch yourself against him, nearly knocking both of you to the ground. 

Sweat slicks his brow and he’s panting, but aside from the blood on his side he seems unharmed. “Din? Are you hurt?” 

You reach for his side when his hand captures yours, his grip tight. “I’m fine. I told you to cross the river.” 

“We did,” you look up at him. “I need to look, you can’t just bleed out.” 

He grunts and whistles for Crest, before urging you up onto her again. You help him swing up behind you before he nudges her into a trot. “I’m fine. It looks worse than it is.” His arms circle you, reins held loosely in his grasp. 

He’s still breathing a little hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly against your back. “What happened?” 

A long silence passes. You cross the river again and keep moving west. “We should stop so-,” 

“There’s a better place up ahead. It’s going to rain,” he says, his voice a familiar, comforting rasp in your ear. “Secluded. Runoff creek from the river. A couple apple trees.”

“Okay,” you agree, pressing your hands over his on the reins, just to steady yourself. Even through his gloves, you can feel the heat of his hands. To your surprise, he turns his hands in yours and captures yours lightly. He squeezes your hands and you return the comforting gesture. 

The patch of trees and the runoff creek are near a steep rock face you’d seen in the distance. It's hemmed in and shaded. It feels safe. 

Din lets you fuss over him, sitting still on one of the rocks near the creek bed while you clean and bandage the wound on his side. He was only grazed by a bullet, and he was right that it looked much worse than it actually is. 

Still, it needs cleaned and bandaged. You try to move quickly, since Din seems fairly shy about being seen, but your hands are shaking and it takes longer than you would like. What if he hadn’t been grazed? What if it had been worse? All because of you? 

His side is lined with old scars, wounds that look like he badly tended them himself. He doesn’t make so much as a peep as you work. You're glad to have taken some of the tinctures with you.

When the bandages are firmly in place, you check over his knuckles. They’re swollen and bruised but otherwise fine. “Are you in pain?” You ask, glancing up into his eyes. “We have a tincture for that if you are.” 

“No.” 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” You ask, hands still covering his.

His gaze bores into yours, dark and calm. “You don’t have to worry about them anymore.” 

You stare at him for a long moment, before you nod. “Okay.” You glance away, very aware that you’re still holding his hands between yours. “Thank you.” 

He did that. For you. It sends another bolt of guilt through you. 

He’s your only friend and you’d nearly gotten him killed. 

Din nods and you nod back, decidedly not letting go of his hands. You can’t seem to bring yourself to do it. 

He pats your fingers. “I’m okay. I would do it again.”

You’re sure your heart is in your mouth, and you can’t seem to swallow it down. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes but you blink them back.  

“Just,” you squeeze his hands again. “Give me a minute.” 

He doesn’t try to pull away, and when you fit yourself into his arms, he doesn’t comment on that either. His hands curl into you, warm and safe and grounding, and don’t let go. 

You don’t travel that day. 

Din catches fish in the stream for you to roast over the fire that evening. He watches you carefully from the corner of his eye, not able to shake off the feeling of you curled in his arms. You’d fit yourself there as though it came naturally. 

It was only then that he’d felt you shaking and knew that you wouldn’t be able to travel. 

He also hadn’t wanted to let you go. He isn’t sure how long you’d stayed there like that. 

Instead, once you calmed enough that your lungs weren’t trembling with fast, suppressed breath, he’d let you get him the tincture, which did help with the pain even if he didn’t really need it. Only then did you seem comfortable with moving away from him. 

While he fishes he watches you. He watches you gather apples, and then twigs for a fire. He watches you feed and water Crest. The trees keep most of the light rain off, but your clothes are still lightly spattered with it. You wear the cowl he’d gotten you, he’s hardly seen you without it since he got it for you. It makes him feel like he’s standing in the sun. 

“How many have you got?” You ask as Din directs his eyes back to the stream when you approach. 

“Three so far,” he answers, the heat of your skin sinking into his when you step closer. He holds his breath but you don’t lean into him. 

“That should be enough, shouldn’t it?” 

He agrees, and drops his makeshift spear to start cleaning the fish. You stand by and watch, insistent to learn how. Din is glad you want to know, he’s happy to show you. The way you lean into his side as you watch only has a little to do with it. You rest the side of your forehead against his shoulder. 

He’s been thinking of asking you to come to Mandalore. You would be safe there, and, he hopes, happy. You could learn to fight and navigate and hunt, like you want to. 

But it also feels selfish. Din knows. He knows why he wants to ask you, and it feels dishonorable. 

You roast the fish, and then eat back to back like you always do. 

No one has ever made that consideration for him before, to make that simple change so he could eat at the same time. 

“Mando,” you curl against his spine because you always somehow finish your food before he does. Maybe because he spends too much time thinking about your warmth pressed against his back. 

“Yes?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yes.” 

You make a noise like a hum and settle again. You fist a hand into his coat and he thinks about you in his arms again. Something painful clenches in his chest. He wishes he could just tell you that he cares for you. 

It’s quiet for a while before you suddenly ask, “Have you ever danced?” 

The question is a little odd but he answers you anyways. “No.” 

“We used to have dances all the time. Where I’m from.” you say. “It's something I really miss about home. I wasn’t any good at it but it was fun.” Your cheek is pressed to his shoulder. “I could teach you, since you’ve shown me so much.” 

He almost refuses before thinking better of it. He sets aside what’s left of his dinner and slips the bandana back over his nose. “Okay. Show me.” 

“Really?” You ask as he stands, clearly surprised.

“Yes.” Din helps you up from the ground, and you smile at him. He patiently lets you lead him through a couple steps that he’ll never remember the motions to, before you settle in a slow sway. 

He closes his eyes, because it's nice and he’s gotten what he wants again, you curled in his arms. “This was everyone’s favorite part,” you say. “Just holding and swaying.” 

It is nice. It’s comforting, the feeling of you in his arms, warm against his chest. 

He pulls you tighter to him, rests his chin against your shoulder, and leads you in a slow circle. 

Maybe he will remember the steps, because the laugh it pulls from you is worth it, the pleasant weight of you against his chest is worth it. 

You pull in shaky breaths, and he doesn’t make a noise of protest when your arm curls around him inside his coat. You smell like bluebells, like new rain on grass. 

He isn’t sure how long you stay together like that. 

One evening, several days on, Din just watches you breathe from his place leaning back against a fallen tree trunk. You’re closing in on the end of your journey together, and feels he should while he has the chance. You’re on the ground next to him, chewing on the slice of apple he’d just handed you. 

He likes watching you, and he’s glad you’re slightly in front of him so he can do it in peace. 

You’re pretty. Everything you do is beautiful. 

It’s not right, but he understands why you’re coveted. 

It’s also not right that he covets you.

He stares at you for another long minute before returning his gaze to the horizon. The sky is still boiling, red bleeding into orange as the sun settles lower through the long waves of grass. He’d stopped you earlier than he normally would have. 

Maybe he’s trying to prolong your time together just a little bit. 

Your body is pressed to the side of his bent leg, your chin on his knee, the warmth a comforting thing. 

You’ve completely let your guard down around him again. He doesn’t blame you for thinking the worst of him, for being wary in the beginning. What else could you be expected to think? He’s become protective of you, he’d kill those men again, if given the chance. You’re protective of him too, now. You make sure his wound, shallow and superficial as it is, is taken well care of. You make sure he eats, and rests.

Din likes you. He doesn’t want to leave you in some town that would probably treat you just the way the last one had. 

You’re smart and capable and a fast learner, and you deserve better than to be whatever thing they were trying to mold you into. 

You’ve become incredibly important to him over the last few months, ever since you offered to bandage him in front of that apothecary. He cares for you, and the last two weeks have only solidified that. He always wished he had more time with you when he visited you, and now that he’s had it, it's made everything worse, and much more complicated. He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to let you go. 

He wants to court you, but he’s not sure if the way Mandalorains court would mean much of anything to you, and he’s not sure you want that anyway. Besides, anytime he’s tried that, it’s gone badly.

He doesn’t want things to go badly with you. 

That, and he knows he won’t measure up to what you need. He never has. 

“Din?” You ask suddenly, turning from the fire to look at him. He raises a brow and continues slicing through the apple he’s cutting up for you one piece at a time.  

He likes the easy way you curl into him, craves the contact, the warmth like nothing else he ever has. 

He offers the next slice of apple to you, perched on the edge of the knife. 

You take it with a glowing smile. He knows it pleases you when he does little things like that for you. 

“Y’know,” you fidget with the slice of apple for a long moment before biting into it. “I’ve never met a man like you before.” 

He tilts his head. “What do you mean?” 

You smile and look away, scuffing your boot along the ground. 

The terrain turned in the last two days, from the light brown of the plains to the deep, rich coffee earth that lies in the foothills of the mountains. 

He’s close to home, close to losing you. 

“You don’t seem to really want anything from me,” you shrug. “You know how the sheriff treated me. Wasn’t any different with any of the other men in the town, or where I came from. I know what they wanted from me. I’m not stupid.” 

Din doesn’t say anything, just watches you reach up to push your hat back on your forehead.

“I mean, men have tried to control me most of my life,” you admit, still not looking at him. “And you don’t. You seem to see me as you said, equal.” You pause before lifting your eyes. “I was married. Before.” 

“Sheriff said as much,” Din says. “Knew you were hiding from someone.” 

That had been the sheriff’s point to Din that evening he helped you leave. You were desperate and alone. Weak, he’d said. But stubborn, and he’d already picked you, you just didn’t realize it. 

Din couldn’t have left you there, he wouldn’t have gone anywhere without you after hearing what he had. 

“Right,” you nod and take the next slice of apple he offers you. You reach over with your other hand and cup your fingers around his wrist. It sends a jolt through him anytime you touch him, and now is no different. A slow warmth spreads through him. You’ve been touching him a lot lately. “I know. But he didn’t know why.” You glance at him from beneath lowered, thick lashes, and wait for him to nod before you continue. 

You release his wrist and fiddle with the apple slice. “I did love him. He was so kind and courted me properly.” A jealousy that means nothing rakes along his veins, that someone before you’d known him had gotten the chance, that you’d married him. “At first, anyways. And all the girls kept telling me how good it’d be once I was married. That being intimate was…something special. Only I couldn’t understand what they meant. I didn’t want that, but I thought I just had to wait.” 

You shrug, “But that feeling never came. And I realized something was wrong with me. Because even as much as I cared for him and for other people, the little crushes over the years, I’d never wanted anything more. I’ve never really wanted to be intimate with anyone. And if I understand it right, that’s not normally how people feel.” 

There’s a pause, where you stare into the fire and then gaze toward the faded midnight blue of the horizon. He watches the way a tendon in your jaw jumps as you chew the apple slice. 

Part of him can’t believe what he’s hearing. He’s never come across anyone who feels the way he does, he’s never heard anyone else describe what he feels. He holds his breath, heart seizing in his chest, not daring to think you might be saying what he thinks you are. Din opens his mouth when you continue. 

“I’ve…I never felt that way about anyone,” you repeat. “I know somethin’ is wrong. I should feel something. But I don’t.” You shrug, “Anyways, he was my husband and I did love him, so we were intimate. But then I couldn’t get pregnant, and he said it was because I didn’t really want him, because I was broken. My body wasn’t welcoming. I was too cold.” 

You glance up at him, “So that’s why I had to leave. It got around the village and-,” You take in a sharp breath and shake your head, “Anyways so I left, and I decided I’d do things my way. Makes for a very lonely life, though, when you know you’ll never be good enough. I know I’ll always be alone.” 

You pat his hands again, frozen in place on the apple. “I’m sorry if I’ve said too much,” your voice takes on a nervous tinge. “I realize it’s a sensitive subject but you’ve shared so much with me, I thought you deserved to know why I was in the situation I was in. Especially since you helped me. You saved my life, I know you did. Twice. So, you should know.” 

You breathe out hard, your hands releasing his and twisting together anxiously. “And…well, I’ve come to care for you. Maybe it's presumptuous of me but, I want you to know that. How I feel and what you did for me. You saved me from more than you can ever know. Given me more, with all you’ve shared.” 

Din turns toward you and meets your eyes, your irises are glowing in the fading light. You’re so beautiful, and he can’t believe you’ve put to words something he’s always felt. That there’s someone else that feels that way. 

You swallow nervously and look away from him. “I know it's strange and you probably don’t understand. I thought I should just tell you because…I think we’ve been going along pretty well and I don’t want to disappoint you.” 

Din’s heart lurches. He needs to say something. 

He sets the apple and knife to the side and captures your fluttering hands. “I understand. I - it's the same for me.” 

You shrink back from him, your expression pinching in. It’s a pained look, like you think he’s making fun of you, like you can’t fathom someone might feel the same. And, he supposes, a couple minutes ago he hadn’t been able to either. “You don’t have to be cruel. We can just pretend I didn’t - I know I shouldn’t have said it, I’m-,” 

“No,” he interrupts. “No. I’m not - There was someone once. Someone I loved. I courted her. I did everything right. But it - it didn’t work, because I didn’t want to be with her that way. I wanted everything else but that.” 

You stare at him, unblinking. “You cared for her?” You ask slowly. 

He tugs down the bandana from over his nose and looks at you head on. You blink in surprise, your eyes flitting down his face. “Yes. But she wanted to be intimate and I didn’t. I never felt that.” 

“Oh,” you say, still staring at his face, your eyes darting from his lips to his eyes and back. “So, you’ve never-?”

He’s shaking his head before you’ve even finished the question. “I understand. Part of it at least. At first, I thought I just didn’t have time - traveling, bounties - but then realized I - I feel what you do. I never wanted it.”

You don’t answer him for a long time as you search his eyes. “Really?” 

“Yes.”  

“I didn’t know - I-,” you stumble over your words, leaning closer. “I thought there was something wrong with me.” 

He nods and takes the apple and knife back into his hands to steady himself. “I didn’t either.” 

You smile suddenly, so widely it looks just a little painful. He watches you fight the expression back as you bite your lip and look down. “Well,” you say, “ain’t that somethin’.” 

“Here,” he nudges another slice of apple into your hand.

You take it from his fingers, still smiling. 

Din presses his knee into shoulder, and you immediately lean into him. “I care for you,” he says before he can think better of it. 

You finish chewing the bite of apple before answering. “I know.” You look up, “I was just worried I wouldn’t be enough.” You sit up fully and reach up to cup his cheek gently. 

He leans into your touch. It’s all he’s ever wanted, your touch and attention. You smooth your fingers along his jawline, the tug of your skin against his is pleasant. “You’re handsome,” you say. 

A flush burns hot through him, but he doesn’t answer, lost in the way you cup his face in your hands. 

You smile, and lean up to kiss him. 

Din hesitates for half a second before meeting your lips. You taste like apple and smell like the fresh breath of rain brewing on the horizon, like desert flowers. 

You settle softly into his arms when he pulls you into them, your fingers skating down his throat and over his collarbone. 

He anchors his hands on your waist when you open your mouth to him. He’s hungry for you, and you return the press of his lips against yours eagerly. You’re so warm against, against the chill of the night, and you grin when he pulls back to rest his forehead against yours. 

Your mouth is just a little swollen when he sweeps his thumb against your lips. 

The truth of you settles down in his bones, you were never going to want more than he could give. You would never find him wanting. 

He kisses you again, and you laugh when he does. 

The next morning, when a town comes into view on the horizon, he manages to say it. “You should come to Mandalore.” 

“What?” 

“That town,” he says, tipping his head towards the collection of buildings just in view. “It’s not going to be any different from the others.”

“I thought they weren’t a problem anymore?” Your fingers hook anxiously into his coat. 

“No,” he says, his voice slightly gruff as he tries to tell himself it wasn’t a bad idea to bring it up. Just because you care for him, just because you had the same kind of feelings he did, doesn't mean you’d want to stay with him. “Not them,” he says. “But their people might be just the same.” He brings Crest to a halt. “And you wouldn’t ever have to worry about that with me.” 

“With you?” You ask softly.

You peek around at him, eyes wide and waiting. “With us,” he corrects. “With Mandalorians.” 

A smile breaks over your face and you pat his side. “It’s okay, I like the thought of being with you.” His heart nearly stops at your words, affection seeping into his very blood. His love for you integrating itself into his very being, the core of himself and his creed. “But are you allowed to do that? Just bring people back to the cult?” You tease.

“Not a cult.”

“Not a cult,” you agree. “But, really, are you?”  

“Yes,” he swings down from Crest and offers you a hand. “I am.” You let him help you down, and both of you stare out over the horizon to the town. “I will take you there, if that’s what you want,” he says, not letting go of your hand. “But I think it would be more of the same.” 

You tug at the brim of your hat before taking a step back from him. “Yeah, probably.” 

“Mandalore would be unknown to you,” he continues. “But you wouldn’t have to stay. Not if you wouldn’t want to.” 

You turn and gaze toward the mountains. “How far?” 

“Another day’s ride. Quicker if we pick up the pace.” 

“Have we been going slower than usual?” 

“I didn’t want to push Crest with two of us. This journey usually takes under a week for me alone.” 

You smile again. “Oh, and here I thought we were makin’ time.” 

He ignores your joke. This is important to him, and important that you know what choice you’re making. “You know much of Mandalorians now. You can decide if you’d like to live amongst them.” 

Your mouth twists to the side. “But, would I be allowed to learn to become a warrior? And learn to use the stars for navigation? And how to track people and animals?” 

“You already have - you are-,” he starts. 

“And I wouldn’t have to marry. And-,” You stop and stare at him for a long moment, your eyes searching his. “I could be myself and I would be with you.” 

“Yes.” A strange swell of pride bubbles up. “You would be with me. And you could leave, if you wanted. Or, I can take you to the town now.” 

You take his hand again, and consider your twinned fingers. “Would you visit me there?” 

“Yes.” He’d go to you anywhere, visit you wherever you settled. 

For a moment, you’re quiet, and he resigns himself to you leaving him. At least you wouldn’t be so far away. “I want to come with you,” you say, meeting his eyes. 

The sharp pang of relief swells in his lungs. Din steps forward and tugs you into him, cradling your face between his palms. “Good,” he says. “I don’t think I can be without you now.” 

You reach up to tug down the bandana over his mouth, your eyes running hungrily over his face, drinking him in. He tilts your face up and kisses you gently, unable to believe you’re real, someone who fits with the pieces of himself. 

He had been so sure he was alone in his feelings. 

And then, you, a perfect fit. 

#din djarin x reader

[capcassianandor]

The Mandalorian Masterlist

Below is a masterlist of all my Mandalorian/Din Djarin works. Enjoy!

Request Guidelines

(Main Masterlist)

* = Smut

»»————-　♡　————-««

Step Into the Daylight (indefinite hiatus)

When You Get Injured During on a Bounty Hunt

Mando to the Rescue

Why Do You Know How to Get Bloodstains Out?

Din’s Birthday

Prison Break (and Reunion) With Mando

Flirting with Din

When You Try to Keep Mando Safe

Taking Care of Din 

Arguing with Mando About an Action Plan

Did You Do Something New With You Hair?

It Isn’t What It Looks Like!

This is Everything (Part 2 to - It Isn’t What it Looks Like)

Catch Me if You Can

You’re Beautiful (Din x Mandalorian Reader)

Mando Meets Rebel Princess

Overprotective Mando

Intel Gone Wrong

Let Me Protect You

Lazy Morning with Din

Cleaning Up the Mess

What Comes After?

An Unexpected Surprise

Do You Trust me?

Dad Din HCs

Dad Din during Labor

When You Get Hurt

I Got These For You

I Think He Knows

I Can’t Feel My Legs, My Love

Din Gets a Broken Arm

Will You Dance with Me?

Aliit

Jealous!Din

You Saved Me

When You Get Sick

One of those Days

Help Her!

The One that (Almost) Got Away

Are You Sure This Isn’t Hoth?

We Can’t Do That!

Painkillers

You Put the Stars to Shame *

You Are Beautiful to Me

Bubble Bath Time

What Does Cyare Mean?

Pleasantly Marked

Din Gets Scared

Protective Din

The Not So Secret Candy Stash

For Now - Run

Mystery Pie

Take it Off

Cleaning Din’s Armor

Only a Child or Riduur

Betrayal 

Reconciliation (Part 2 to Betrayal)

Memories

Rainy Day Cuddles

First Kiss

A Moment to Breathe

Douse The Lights *

I Have Always Loved You

Trust

Talk To Me

Knocked Up

Please Don’t Go

Stutter Something Profound *

Stargazing 

Does He Know?

Massage

Oh.

Safe

Home

Injured

Protector

Vulnerable

Rookie Mistake

Fresh Start (Alternative Ending to Betrayal)

In Which Reader is Clumsy

In Which Din Has a Nightmare

The Mandalorian

Only if You Mean It

Gorgeous Girl

Not Moving

Teasing

Flower Crowns

Stuck

Missed

Home is With You

New Friends

Matching Capes

Stubborn 

Green with Envy

Those Eyes

#din djarin x reader

[capcassianandor]

Din Djarin: Languid

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Excerpt: “Can we do this now?” he asked, resting his nose against your cheek. His breaths coated your face. “Please?”

You smiled, burying your hands in his hair. Your eyes drifted closed in bliss. “Yes, Din. I want you. Right now.”

He kissed your cheek and placed your hands back on his armor. “Please get this off of me, and please keep me awake.”

And you did.

Warnings: sleepy, love-filled sex between a married couple. Wife!reader, grogu’s asleep, unprotected sex, mostly just kissing and feeling up. NOT breeding kink. A bit of cockwarming.

A/N: Once again, Happy Dincember everyone. I cannot explain how grateful I am for almost 3,000 followers without crying.

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated :)

Pedro Masterlist

(GIF from Pinterest)

The familiar scuff of his boots on the Crest floor pulled you from REM sleep into barely languid, and the heat of your body from the cot’s covers warmed just so.

Your riduur was home.

Due to how out of it you were, it took you a few moments to realize that no, this wasn’t a dream. This was real. The two-day mission turned five, turned seven, turned nine, turned twelve was finally over, and your numb body somehow found the strength to prop itself up and drape yourself with the blankets.

You sat like that, all wrapped up in your cocoon, smiling to yourself with your eyes closed, for a few moments. You then stood up slowly, taking the blankets with you, and squinted your way out of the bedroom. Your eyes were no wider than slits, and you thanked the maker for muscle memory.

You swallowed the sleep from your mouth and rounded the corner, feeling your muscles ache with stretch, still in a daze. Your head was beginning to swim with dopamine, and with one last yawn, you made it to the cock pit.

The sight before you halted you instantly.

There was your husband, wrapped in wealth and impenetrable metal, leaning over Grogu’s tiny bassinet. He must have gotten fussy when Din opened the airlock, and Din had immediately taken care of it.

You’d have to thank him for that later.

He sat Grogu up, patting his back, and fed him small bites of maple bar. His favorite.

“That’s it buddy,” he whispered. “Swallow. There ya go.”

You stood and watched this encounter, soaking it in. It was moments like this that you missed the most when he was gone—moments so domiciliary and domesticated that they etched into your heart implicitly. These moments were so wrapped in rarity that you could not even daydream about them or yearn for them, because you didn’t even know they existed. Like watching a Mandalorian brush his teeth, or chop an onion, or change the sheets, or breathe at night. They were the memories you would recall when you were old and graying, unable to describe them in a way that did them justice.

You wrapped yourself tighter in the blankets, just watching and basking in the glow of it. Eventually Din laid Grogu down, tucking him in, and traced his face with his leather-bound glove.

“Goodnight buddy,” he whispered, and turned to you.

You looked up at him in all his sheathing, and smiled.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi,” he whispered back. He smelled of metal and woods with a hint of gunpowder. In the nearly pitch black of the room his shoulders still appeared as broad as ever, his armor was caked in mud, and his weapons belt hung a noticeable amount lower than usual.

You took a moment to soak in the fact that you would look at him like this for the rest of your life.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, moving closer to you.

“You didn’t,” you replied, “your boots did.”

His chuckle underneath the modulator was nothing like it was out of it, but it was enough to bring you home.

“You know I like being up for you when you get back,” you said, looking up higher at him as he came closer and closer. The warmth of the blankets and increased blood flow were not the only things warming your insides now. “Let me be your docile, obedient wife for once.”

You could feel the smirk on his face. “Yes. Obedient and docile, perfect for you.”

He made it to you, wrapping his hands around your waist. Your hands laid on top of his cooled beskar chest and chills etched up your spine as you looked up at him with a smile.

He pressed his forehead firmly against your own. The smell of forest and frost on him engulfed you. “My wife is none of those things.”

You hummed. “No, she isn’t.”

He began slowly walking you backwards into the bedroom, as if you were swaying in a dance, and your hands crept up to his helmet.

“Why didn’t you wake me up when the kid was fussy? I could have taken care of him.”

His gloved hands trailed up your back and the exhaustion in his voice was present. ���I missed him. Wanted to take care of him.”

You smiled and pressed a kiss to his visor, tasting a mix of ice and salt that burned your chapped lips. “Okay.”

The back of your knees hit the bed frame and you stopped, creeping your hands underneath Din’s helmet.

“If you take this thing off me I’m not going to be able to keep my mouth off you.”

He said it so nonchalantly, as if that was a normal thing to say, and the fatigue of his voice and body language liquified you even more. Your still drowsy state was not helping matters.

You felt euphoric, in a perfect state of conscious and unconscious, like you were still in a dream. It was paradise.

“That’s exactly what I had in mind,” you said, removing the sheets wrapped around you. You let them fall onto the bed before reaching back up for him, slowly rising the helmet off of his head. The familiar hiss coated your ears as it rose, and the chocolate eyes that were yours forever met your own.

He smiled in the dark, illuminated by the moon. He brought his mouth inches away from yours, breathing in your breaths. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you responded, and he kissed you.

Immediately, the taste and feel of him washing over you threatened to crumble you to the floor. Din hands on your waist were the only things keeping you upright.

He kept you standing like it was nothing.

He kissed you slowly and deeply, taking his sweet time tasting you again. Your hands worked their way up his body, tracing his beskar all the way up to his hair. Your tongue met his at the same moment your nails scratched his scalp, and he pulled away from you to groan.

“Can we do this now?” he asked, resting his nose against your cheek. His breaths coated your face. “Please?”

You smiled, burying your hands in his hair. Your eyes drifted closed in bliss. “Yes, Din. I want you. Right now.”

He kissed your cheek and placed your hands back on his armor. “Please get this off of me, and please keep me awake.”

And you did.

Piece by piece, you disrobed the Mandalorian from his beskar down to complete nudity, watching his eyes open and close as he began to drift to sleep as he stood. A few times you had to lean him onto you to prevent him from falling, and he kissed around your pulse point every time. Whispering gibberish.

Finally you squatted down to remove his boots, and just like that, he was naked in front of you. His purple under-eyes stood out in the moonlight, as well as a new scar across his abdomen. Your irises coated in worry, reaching up to feel it, but he stopped you.

“Tomorrow,” he said, kissing you more passionately than he had all night. “Tomorrow.”

Then he disrobed you.

The rough skin on his hands tracing you lit you on fire, boiling you enough to keep you conscious. He was the slowest with your panties, pulling them down your thighs like an art form. You scratched your nails down his warm back, and that seemed to speed him up.

As soon as the fabric hit the floor Din lifted you into his arms, laying you down flat on the cot before crawling overtop of you.

“Din, you’re tired, I can—”

“No,” he said, burying his head in your neck. “Wanna be close to you.”

You couldn’t say no to that.

He took the sheets you had discarded and covered them over the two of you. You could see nothing else but him, and you were completely surrounded by the scent and warmth of his skin.

“Maker I missed you so badly,” he said before kissing you hard enough to make you whine. You pulled him as close to you as possible, tracing his body as he kissed and kissed and kissed you, memorizing your mouth. The passion and heat in you were rising, and with one trace down his haired chest with your nail, he pulled away. He traced his hands over your face, pushing your hair away to see you fully. You traced his face too, noticing his scruff had turned into a full beard.

You always liked that look on him.

“Y/N,” he whispered. “My Y/N.” He spoke as if you were unbelievable

“I’m right here,” you responded, holding his face in your hands.

“I just want to be inside of you,” he whispered, almost pathetically. “Can we just skip to that part?”

You smiled, laughing loudly, and kissed him quickly. “Yes.”

He huffed a laugh and kissed you again, nice and slow, like he had been the whole night.

He kissed you and felt you for so long that you didn’t know if he would make it. His movements slowed and slowed as he went on, touching you and tracing you so meticulously it was like he was painting you from nothing.

Finally, with a firm kiss to your jawline, he entered you tortuously. You exhaled in pure pleasure, and your body threatened to rapture already.

He was a dream come true.

Din halted when he was as deep as he could go and tucked his head into your neck. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar’ika riduur.”

You kissed the side of his head. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, adol akaan.”

And that’s when he started to move.

As he moved in and out, in and out, in and out, dragging each thrust on and on to feel every inch of your folds. He felt all around you, re-memorizing you; how you skin felt, how your body had changed, and the exact rhythm of your heart.

Tears spilled from your eyes as he moved, and you moaned his name over and over, grateful for the return of it in your tongue.

“Keep—keep doing that, saying my name,” he said as he moved. “Almost forgot I had it.”

You repeated it over and over again, clenching around Din when he began to shake. He swirled his shaking fingers around your clit, and with one last clench, the both of you went.

The covers above your heads did little to hide the sound of your synchronization, and it was then that you really started to drift. Din was so warm inside you—filling you up completely—and his body had you trapped in a cave of sheets and serenity. You were perfectly satisfied with your husband safe and sound in your arms, and your body began to fail you.

You felt Din prop himself up and press kisses around your face and your mouth, and your lips tingled with the intensity of it all. He rubbed his nose against yours and pecked your lips before laying back on top of you, pulling the covers raised above his head off as he did. You were hit with fresh air, and were inches away from bliss before Din whispered one last thing in your ear.

“Goodnight, docile and obedient wife.”

You drifted off with a smile.

None of this was a dream. This was real.

Your riduur was home.

Mando’a Translations:

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar’ika riduur: I love you/ I will know you forever, my sweet wife.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, adol akaan: I love you/ I will know you forever, even through war.

Tag list: (I apologize if your tag is not working/not added. Let me know if you’d like to be added!!)

@leahkenobi

@cityofidek @burned-dorito @tiredbuthappy @punkiwiki @lovesbiggerthanpride @darth-voder @samanthacookieone @torchbearerkyle @stardust-galaxies @c4psicles-blog @joelsflannel l @mysun-n-stars @tateelii @kirsteng42 @leithatnight @arson-tm @l0calgoth @thesmutslut @alastorhazbin @grincheveryday @martinsmomo @letaliabane @cathenan @big-ol-boat @niiight-dreamerr @jezebel1945 @call-me-doll-face @yelyahcardella @letskeepthislo-ki @misspearly1 @petals-opento-the-moon @just-a-sewer-goblin @em---r @kirsteng42 @leithatnight @arson-tm @l0calgoth @thesmutslut @alastorhazbin @grincheveryday @reader8679 @torchbearerkyle @stardust-galaxies @c4psicles-blog @joelsflannel @mysun-n-stars @tateelii @darth-voder @kirsteng42 @leithatnight @arson-tm @cockscombkingdom

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#din djarin x reader

[capcassianandor]

touching din | din djarin

Summary: The three times that Din bends his own rules and engages in physical touch. 

his primary love languages are acts of service and physical touch. i will die on this hill. i started this one just to indulge in the thoughts of touching his lovely face. it’s been in the works for a while and although i know it’s far from perfect, i’m glad that it finally gets to see the light of day! warnings: bad language, potential incoherence? idk i’m very tired but i hope you like it tags: plenty of fluff, plenty of indulgent, sfw touching, and then a good handful of angst. rollercoaster central. this takes place over a period of time, so part of it comes after finding out grogu’s name, which is why he’s referred to as many things! word count: 4650 written by: archie support me on ko-fi!

The travelling between planets would’ve been excruciating if not for your life partner and your adoptive child. The three of you made rather an unorthodox family. A runaway from Corellia, a Mandalorian and a… a sweet ball of green. An unorthodox family, indeed, but loving.

The Child chirped and bubbled away on your lap, apparently having a conversation with you while you sat in the pilot seat. You listened attentively, made agreeing noises at all the right moments, the lights of hyperspace travel filling the cabin with slow flashes. He really was so cute. You’d tell him it often, and you’d tell him that Din thought so too, even if he’d never say it. That much was obvious.

It was in the way he carried him, the way he protected him. The occasional pat to his head, or the quiet rub to his long ears as he slept. He wasn’t the type to openly say it, but it was clear, and that was what counted.

The Child reached out to the knob atop the gearstick, fingers wiggling.

“Baby, no. We have to always ask Din about the ship, hm?” You bounced him gently on your knee in an effort to ease the sad coos- but there was no need. A gloved hand reached around you, exposed fingertips closing on the ball. It was unscrewed and placed into the waiting green hands, content whirs and chatters soon filling the air.

The warmth in your chest grew into a smile as you dropped your head back, peering up at the helmeted man that stood just out of sight. “That’s a yes, then?”

A nod. “That’s a yes.”

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#din djarin x reader

[capcassianandor]

It’s funny that anyone would think that Steve and Robin aren’t platonic soulmates when they’re canonically attached at the hip.

Steve has a whole conversation with Robin that’s loaded with inside jokes as he literally ignores his date at the basketball game.

They follow each other around the video store talking about their love lives where they make reference to stealing each others jokes, wishing they could combine into one person with both of their skill sets, and regularly picking movies to watch while they work (and knowing their interests in movie genres).

Steve wakes up early to pick Robin up for school before he has to go to work, even though there’s several hours between that and when they open. He also doesn’t know that Robin can’t drive, so he’s obviously just been chauffeuring her around no questions asked. He was already doing this at the end of season 3 for their job interview.

This all started in season 3, but was solidified in that final scene where they’re going after jobs together, spouting off to potential employers about their best qualities to land the job. Robin has clearly had time to warm up to Steve and jokes with him about his resume and with Keith about Steve’s terrible taste in movies, but excellent taste in women.

During that drive to school in season 4, they talk about both of their love lives, in which they reference an off screen conversation where Robin gave Steve advice to just be himself and girls would like him more, the same advice he’s giving Robin for wooing Vickie.

They openly talk about Vickie throughout season 4, so clearly there’s no shyness or residual awkwardness from the coming out or Steve’s former crush on her. In fact, it appears to have made them even closer. See: the boobies conversation in episode one.

They’re close enough that Dustin has obviously mocked Steve for not dating Robin repeatedly after the events of Starcourt. They have that platonic with a capital P speech down pat. They joke twice about being in charge of the kids together, once when Dustin and Max barge in to search for Eddie and they joke about taking turns strangling the little idiots and then again when they get on the boat about bedtime’s at 9 kiddos.

Both joke and poke fun at each other. Robin makes fun of Steve’s protective streak with the whole ‘unless you think us ladies need you to protect us’ comment. Steve makes fun of Robin snooping in Nancy’s room and jokes about her not giving off an academic scholar vibe. Steve jokes about wanting to punch her in the face when she won’t stop rambling about rabies. Steve teases her about her muppet joke working because he’s the one who made it up. Robin’s previously teased him about how many children he’s friends with, not knowing he’s protecting them from supernatural horrors.

By the end of season 4, we find out that they both had issues learning to walk. They both think their romantic interests are doomed. They give each other the same advice.

They always gravitate towards each other, especially when they’re in danger, always in the same group. Robin clutching at Steve and making sure he’s okay after Eddie held the bottle to his throat. Robin jumping in directly after Nancy when Steve got sucked into the watergate. Robin moving behind Steve in the upside down when the bats were coming at them because she knew he’d protect them (actually everyone goes to stand behind him). Robin crying out for Steve first when the vines snatch her. Steve finding Robin to grab the supplies for the Molotovs and then chasing after her when Vickie kisses that boy.

Any time we see people break off into groups, they’re together. Paired up to discuss end of the world strategies and their unrequited love lives. Team search for Eddie. Team keep Eddie safe and hidden. Team destroy Vecna. Always the same team.

Steve encouraging Robin, even after the incident with Vickie in the store because he doesn’t want them to give up on love. Him being so happy to see her flirting and chatting with Vickie at the school. Robin comforting him when Nancy runs into Jonathan’s arms.

If you’re watching all of that, I don’t see how you could come away with anything less than them being platonic soulmates. They’re practically finishing each others sentences while they bounce one brain cell back and forth between them.

[capcassianandor]

First kiss with Steve happens in the rain 🌼

you got it baby! thank you for requesting and being patient <3 | first kiss, friends to lovers, 0.9k

The picnic goes off without a hitch. All of your friends come and bring an assortment of snacks and games and it's a lovely afternoon.

It's also a typical afternoon in your life of being in love with your best friend -- plenty of staring at Steve when he's not looking, feeling his eyes on you when you look away. His hand ghosting over your elbow, his fingers lighting up your entire body when he hands you a sandwich. It's stupid and everyone can see it and you know that one of these days you're going to have to do something about it.

But mostly it's a nice day. Being with Steve and your friends makes you happy.

It's only once they leave that the clouds roll in. Everyone else has wandered off, Eddie taking half of the kids to the Arcade and Nancy and Robin dropping the others off. Steve stays behind to help you gather the last of the items you'd brought and drive you home, because of course he does. It's always like this -- moments alone where you wonder if today will be the day that you fess up, that he asks you about the lingering glances, that you decide to kiss him. If today will be the day you ask for what you want so very badly.

Maybe the universe hears you because the clouds darken and then the sky opens, cold rain making you gasp and shocking you into stillness. "Holy shit," you call into the now empty park. You've only got the picnic blanket and a basket and bag of cups to bring to his car, but you can't move.

"Hey!" Steve calls. He's jogging back towards you on the grass. "C'mon, you're getting soaked," he urges, reaching for your elbow. You step away from him not in avoidance but because you're trying to at least shift the blanket to cover the things that really shouldn't get wet.

"It's just water, Steve," you say. Rain drips from the tip of you nose, your eyelashes, the ends of your hair. It's a little late to avoid being soaked at this point, so why try? You expect to turn around and find him back in his car, shaking his head at you. You're pretty sure he'll give you whatever spare clothes he can find in his trunk and drive you home to dry off, because Steve is just like that. A caretaker at heart, and just a little softer with you than everyone else.

But when you turn around he's still there, hands on his hips and his lips turned up at the edges. His shirt is already a shade darker and his hair is flopped over his forehead, water running in rivulets down his own face. "You're so weird," he says, but it sounds like a compliment. It sounds fond, affectionate even. The storm in your chest begins to rival the one in the sky above you.

"You're used to that by now." You take a step into his space and reach slowly, hand shaking just a little, to brush the soaked strands off of his forehead. It doesn't do much good since it's still raining, but you can hear how he inhales when your skin touches his. Nothing that hasn't happened before -- you've touched Steve thousands of times.

But here, in the rain, it's different somehow. It's electric. "I am," he says. He swallows and drops of water run down his throat, over his adam's apple. Your eyes follow and you realize your hand is still on his face, gently cupping his cheek.

"Sorry," you say, pulling it away but he catches your wrist, fingers warm and firm around your pulse point.

"What for?" Steve's eyes bore into yours. You shiver but it's nothing to do with the chill slowly seeping into your bones. He drags your palm back to his face and settles his jaw into it. "Are you cold?"

You shake your head but his small smile turns into a frown. "You're shivering," he says. No, you think, I'm shaking because this feels like something important.

"I'm fine," you say, so softly you're surprised he hears you. His hand slides from your wrist to cover your hand with his own, taking a step closer so that your toes touch in the wet grass beneath you.

"Bet the stuff is getting soaked," he rasps. His other hand settles on your neck, right above the hem of your t-shirt.

You try to remember to breath steadily. "We should get it in your car." Your own voice sounds about as wrecked as his. He nods and his nose brushes yours.

"We should," he says. You close your eyes. Steve's breath is hot on your lips and his thumb traces your bottom lip. "Can I--"

Before he can finish you surge forward blindly, missing his mouth and catching the corner of his smile before he gently adjusts you and slots your lips together properly. If you had any thoughts to spare you'd laugh about how cliche this is -- a first kiss between friends in the rain, like something out of a movie or a romance novel.

But as it is, every cell in your body is screaming Steve's name, relishing in his touch, his warmth, his kiss. His tongue sweeps across the seam of your lips before he pulls back and tugs you into a hug. You're both breathless, wet, and laughing, giddy on the possibility that now dominates the air between you. You nose as his neck, wrapping an arm around his waist, and smile.

"Now we can get in the car," he says into your hair. You can feel his own grin as you nod.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

[capcassianandor]

would you maybe do ❝  you’re the only thing that matters anymore.  i can’t eat,  i can’t sleep—  all the goddamn cliches from every stupid movie and song.  you’re all i think about.  i’m useless except when i’m yours.  ❞ with Steve?? Seems very much like a Steve thing to say with a grand romantic gesture maybe 💕

ahhh i definitely agree, this is absolutely a steve thing to say and i hope the romantic gesture is grand enough!! 💕

...

Thunk.

You’re not quite sure what that sound is or where it’s coming from. You look up from your book, one you had been completely engrossed in for the last few hours, but when you don’t see anything moving or notice anything that’s fallen off your bed, you go back to it. You get about half a page of reading in before it comes again.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

You put your bookmark between the pages and close your book before you get up off your bed to search for the sound. It keeps coming, and you realize it’s coming from your window. With all the weird happenings in Hawkins you’re more than a bit wary, because you’ll be damned if you’re going to end up monster food for whatever weird creature of the week is showing up now, so you grab the biggest, heaviest book you own to protect yourself before walking towards your window. You���ve hit someone with it before, completely accidentally, and knew it would be an excellent way to bludgeon something that might attack you.

Except it’s not some weird monster, or a Russian soldier, or even a government goon. No, standing on your lawn at nearly ten o’clock at night, is none other than Steve Harrington. Who’s really the last person you’re expecting to see right now, and the reason you’re spending your Friday night at home with a book.

Okay, well, you can’t put all the blame on him; most of it you put on yourself and the stupid crush you’ve been harbouring on him since you’d made the stupidly wonderful decision to go to Scoops Ahoy last summer, before Starcourt Mall burned down. Unfortunately, as you’d gotten to know Steve and become friends, that stupid crush had only gotten bigger and harder to contain. And when he’d been working in the mall, scooping ice cream with Robin and taking time to chat with you when you stayed way past your break time, he hadn’t been having any luck getting dates—something you were happy about. You felt bad being happy, yes, but him striking out meant you could spend more time with him (and Robin, lovely Robin, who’d very quickly become a staple in your life along with Steve).

But since leaving Scoops Ahoy and starting work at Family Video, Steve’s game had apparently done a 180 and now? Dates all the time, with all the very pretty girls who you’d gone to school with. Never more than once with the same girl, but Steve’s got his groove back and it aches a little, seeing him so excited every time he has a date. But you’re his friend, of course you are, so you push down your own feelings to smile and laugh and encourage him, just the same as Robin and Dustin and the others do, though it’s been getting harder and harder to do lately.

So you’ve been slowly pulling away; you find yourself visiting Family Video far less frequently, usually when Steve isn’t there. You find reasons to skip on group movie nights or hang outs at the Harrington house, and start keeping more to yourself. It’s just until you get over this stupid crush, you tell yourself, and you even tell Robin one night, when you’re on the phone well past midnight and she manages to drag your reasoning for skipping on an outing to Indianapolis with her and Steve.

You’d thought Steve hadn’t noticed. But obviously he had, because here he is. So you put the big book down on your desk before you unlock your window and open it.

A rock goes whizzing by your face, barely missing your cheek, which you were not expecting. You yelp, and that catches Steve’s attention.

“Shit! Sorry! Did I get you?” he yells up at you and you lean out the window to shake your head where he can see you.

“What are you doing here, Steve?” you ask, resting your hands on the window sill so you can lean out a little farther. You can see him shuffling from foot to foot, a big silver boombox resting by his feet. One of his hands is constantly running through his hair, a nervous habit you know he has. His BMW is parked at the end of your driveway.

“I have something I gotta tell you,” he calls up, gesturing with the hand not in his hair. You feel your stomach twist in your abdomen; is he here to break off your friendship? Maybe he knows about your crush and he’s finally had enough. What other reason would he have to be here right now? He probably just finished a date with his latest girl—Heidi? Lauren? You couldn’t remember and honestly, you didn’t want to. Especially not if it was someone Steve was choosing over you. Not that you’d blame him, but still.

“Steve, really, you don’t have to say anything.” Because it’ll hurt more to hear you tell me it’s over before it even began, you want to say. But you don’t. You start to head back in through your window, but Steve shouts and stops you before you can get back in.

“Wait! I do have to say it, because I can’t stand that we haven’t been as close lately. It’s killing me and I can’t keep going like this.” You’re silent, watching him move closer to your house, grabbing the boombox to hold up to his chest. “You’re the only thing that matters anymore. I can’t eat, I can't sleep—all the goddamn cliches from every stupid movie and song. You’re all I think about. I'm useless except when I'm yours.”

Holy shit.

That is definitely not what you’re expecting him to say, and one hand comes up to cover your mouth because that was actually the sweetest thing you think you’ve ever heard him say to you.

That’s when he starts fiddling around with the buttons on the boombox until he gets it to do what he wants, and he cranks the volume dial all the way up before he holds it up over his head. It takes a second before you hear the opening bars of Careless Whisper start to play. He starts swaying back and forth, boombox held high, and god you feel yourself falling even harder because Steve is here, doing this for you, after telling you something that sounds like it would be straight out of one of the romance novels on your shelf.

You get to enjoy the sight in front of you for about a minute before you notice a light turn on and start shining from the house next door.

“Turn the goddamn music down!” You hear your neighbour, old man Mitchell, yell from the vicinity of his yard. It ruins the moment, just a bit, and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up as Steve nearly drops the boombox on his feet in his rush to turn it off.

“Sorry!” Steve yells back, and you laugh louder. Steve laughs too, the sound floating up to your window, and you can’t help the smile on your face.

You wave your hand at Steve, gesturing for him to come inside, and even from your window you can see the way his entire face blossoms into a wide grin as he lowers the boombox and makes his way towards your front door.

Steve wants to be yours. And you want to be his. And when you unlock the front door and pull Steve in for a big kiss, you press play on the boombox so the two of you can dance to George Michael’s unbearably cheesy song in your living room while you tell each other how you feel.

[capcassianandor]

ISVY - Chapter 2: The world is ahead.

ISVY Masterlist

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Teaser/Ch. 1/Ch. 2/Ch. 3/Ch. 4/Ch.5

Summary: New beginnings lie on the horizon.

WC: ~3.3k

A/N: Hello there, dear readers it's lovely to have you back. Thankyouthankyouthankyou for reading and enjoying these idiots (affectionate) as much as I do. Your feedback/comments/keysmashing/tag screaming means so much to me.

Chapter Notes: Name of the new campaign’s base city - ‘Dowdunipse’ pronounced (Dow-done-ipps).

See masterlist for general series warnings.

By interacting with my content you are indicating that you are 18+.

Your little book club for two continued for a few months before you'd even noticed the time passing. It became something of a ritual, dropping books off to him, trading one out for the next on one of your days off each week. Eddie invited you in for a beer or a cup of coffee, and always asked for your take on the book that he’d just finished. His smile or quick wit dragging you into a full-on discussion each time, without fail. Soon enough, you found yourself looking up at the rich colors of October reflected back from the thick foliage that all but surrounded the trailer park as you waited for him to answer the door.

“You have got to be kidding me with this one,” Eddie stared daggers at you, shaking ‘The Drawing of the Three’ from the other side of his screen door. “I just spent four days getting invested in this series, and you're telling me that there Aren’t. Any. More?!”

“He said that he’s gonna continue it, Eddie, it will just tak–”

“Well that doesn’t help me right now, does it?”

“I told you it was good! It’s not my fault that you didn’t believe me.” Your weight shifted to one hip, glaring back at him with an expectant look of your own, meeting his attitude defiantly, crossed arms and all.

“Jesus, Alright! You were right. It was great.” He opened the door for you, and as his face came closer you noted the quick twitch of his lips that told you that he was struggling to contain a grin. “Are you happy now?”

“I am, thank you. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

He grumbled something about you being a smart aleck as you stepped past him, shouldering him gently as you went. Beelining directly toward your favorite spot on his couch, you fell softly into it without hesitation. “Listen, Munson. You may think you hate me now, but I promise you’re gonna love me for this one.”

“You say that every week, Precious.” He interjected, rolling your newest nickname over his tongue easily and sitting down on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. “But after last week, I just don’t know if I can trust you anymore.”

“Oh yea?” Your answering eye roll just a little bit exaggerated. “Well you also say that every week. And something tells me that you’ll always come crawling back for more of my top tier product suggestions.”

Eddie laughed at that. The sound of it was rich and warm, and you swore you could feel that warmth spread itself out under your skin every time you heard it.

“Sounds like you stole that line right out of my book.” He shifted back, taking this week's new book from your outstretched hand.

“That mean I’ll have to take my wheelin’ and dealin’ outside the city limits once you’re free and clear?”

Eddie’s smile faltered a little, but didn't leave his face when he looked up at you. “Nah, you’re all clear to set yourself up as the head honcho of Hawkins. When I get the green light from the doctor, I’m actually gonna start working"

"Oh?"

"You don't have to look so surprised, damn." He stood, crowding over you to grab the lighter he'd abandoned earlier on an overhead shelf. The sudden proximity forced you to press farther back into the couch. "Wayne says they always have a job for me with him, until I figure out what I really want to do.”

"Who said I'm surprised?"

"Well, your eyebrows, for one." Leaning suddenly forward, he poked gently at the wrinkle that had appeared on your forehead.

“Very funny.”

Eddie Laughed, leaning over to ash his cigarette in a nearby tray. “Nah, I mean it! You couldn’t lie to me if you tried. One of the downfalls of having such an honest countenance.”

“Oh so what you really mean is that I can’t tell a convincing story. Trying to tell me that I'm not cut out for Hellfire, huh?” You stood and arched your back a little, stretching out an ache in your shoulder.

“Oh no! You’d do great.”

“Come on, you just spent the last 5 minutes making fun of my honest eyebrows!”

“It’s really the enthusiasm that counts. I promise.” He insisted. Still grinning, he held up three fingers for good measure. “I’ll make a real Bard out of you yet, Precious.”

“Were you even a boy scout?”

“Ha-ha! Me, a boy scout? Hilarious, sweetheart, really.” He reached toward you again, pinching your cheek playfully between the thumb and forefinger of his free hand. “Besides, I think the honest eyebrows are cute!’ He smirked, and quickly vaulted to the other side of the coffee table in anticipation of the swat you would inevitably loose in his direction for all the teasing.

“Oh shit! What time is it?”

“Uhh…Let me see” Eddie turned away, leaning over the kitchenette counter. “Quarter to Three?”

“Fuck, have to go or i’m gonna be late.”

“Returns?”

“Oh shit.” Your fingertips brushed over his gently as you took the stack from him. “Thanks Eddie!”

He lumbered outside after you, watching as you slid into the car and backed down the gravel path, apparently faster than he liked. “Hey!” Long arms waved over his head to capture your attention again. It worked. Rocks crunching under your tires paused their complaints, and you cranked the window down a few turns to hear him more clearly.

Once halted, you looked up, turning your raised eyebrows back to the trailer. “What?”

“Be careful!”

“That’s it?” You tried to hold onto your aire of indignation, biting back a wide smile.

“Yea, you hooligan! Now go! And don’t forget to call me later!”

“Alright, alright. Bye!” You blew a playful kiss out the window, and saw him mime his way through catching it.

He bowed in that same exaggerated way that he did almost everything, like the movement had to find a way out of his body as quickly as possible. Gingerly, he pressed the palm - which had so valiantly caught your apparent affection - over his heart. You let your eyes wander to the rearview as you drove, and watched as he shrank away into nothingness. Only when he faded completely, eaten away by the low-hanging branches that obscured everything from view, did your attention return to the road ahead.

"You're really something else, Munson." You said it to no one in particular, finally giving in to the dumb grin that fought to surface every second you spent with him.

By the time 5 o’clock rolled around the only thing to be heard in the library was the periodic chirp of a cricket. Well, the cricket, actually. Who’d gotten himself stuck in a wall somewhere, like a month ago. You’d convinced Conner and some of the other part time kids to look for him more than once, and he’d managed, somehow, to elude them all. After the last active manhunt came to an end, it was decided that the little guy deserved to stay in whatever comfy little shelf he’d curated for himself.

Barely a soul had been seen browsing the shelves since you arrived. Taking over from the new girl; you found-to your joyous disbelief-that she had finally managed to re-sort a whole cart of returns on her own, leaving you with little to speed the slow forward march of the clock. Not a soul had come or gone in the last hour, so now seemed as good a time as ever.

You pulled one of the worn, leather-topped stools out to the front desk. Thankfully the cord on the closest wall receiver was long enough to let you settle comfortably at the very end of the open counter, and it gave you a perfect vantage point to see if anyone decided to stop in..as unlikely as that seemed on a crisp evening like this one. Better to be safe than sorry, as your mother always said. Imagining the lighthearted sing-song tone she always paired with her subtle warnings, always seemed much easier when you were getting into something you shouldn’t be.

The faded teal phone stared at you strangely from its place on the wall. Almost mocking you when your fingers hesitated for a second to grasp it. Calling your friends on the slow days was normal, routine. Hell, it seemed like these days they called you first when they knew you were supposed to be working alone. Especially Robin and sometimes Steve, too. The phone lines between the Library and the local Family Video were regularly tied up at the same time. Admittedly more often than they probably should be. You never managed to feel any real guilt about it though, since no one ever really seemed to notice. One of the incredibly rare perks of living in a town like Hawkins.

Eventually you shook yourself out of whatever brain fog you’d stumbled into and dialed. Eddie answered on the second ring, sarcastic as ever. “You’ve reached the Munson residence, how might I help you?”

“Hey”

“Hey hey! It’s about time, I was starting to think you’d abandoned me completely.” That damn Cheshire grin. You could practically hear the way it was plastered all over his face the moment he realized it was you.

“The audacity of you, sir!” you feigned your best dramatic gasp, “It has been less than 3 hours since I was literally at your trailer.”

“And?”

“And? You told me to call you, remember?”

“Awh, Come on. I know you missed me.” His teasing chuckle came through as little more than a hiss. “You missed me, didn’t you, Precious?”

“Fine, Munson. I missed you a little, but only because there’s nothing to do.” You caught yourself sticking out your tongue in response, as if he were there to see it.

He laughed, and you couldn’t help the way a smile crept back over your mouth. “All right-allriiight. I just wanted to ask you a favor.”

“A favor, huh?”

“Yeah.” His tone shifted, sounding like all his confidence drained away as he spoke. You could almost picture the way he’d be balancing the receiver on one shoulder so both his hands were free to wring together. “I have an appointment this week, and it’s gonna take like, all day. And I was sort of hoping that I could talk you into bringing me another book tonight?”

It was like clockwork. A happening almost as certain as the fact that the burning autumn forest would soon begin to lose its leaves. Every time that either of you- or anyone really - broached the subject of his scars, he faded a little. Almost as though, in those moments, he became a copy of himself.

You never pried, and he never really deflected, but he just couldn’t seem to think about it for more than a moment without stiffening up. Words came out a little quieter. His usually explosive gestures reigned in a way that looked wrong on him somehow. The smallest adjustments were becoming the most obvious to you. A pause in his train of thought that lasted just an extra beat. An unintentional gravel in his response whenever someone mentioned the attack. It hurt to hear. Hurt even more to see. In true Munson fashion though, he sprang back just as quickly. Guiding the conversation back to where he could feel more like ‘himself’, without so much as a blink.

The duality of it was familiar, in a heart-wrenching way.

Masks like those weren't altogether unknown to you. They say that ‘it takes one to know one’ and you certainly knew him. Having spent the better part of your school years a little bit isolated, you had often kept better company with books than other kids. For years, you had thought it easier to get lost among the high walls you’d built. Vulnerability was a hard-won ally. Knowing what the battles felt like made it easier to listen, though. And knowing that someone is willing to listen makes it easier to rest, burdens can’t be set where there’s no ground to hold them.

You had gone quiet in your hesitation.

“Hey,” Eddie finally said your name again, trying to break the silence. “you, uh, still there?”. When you didn't immediately answer, he must have pulled away from the phone to fiddle with it. The commotion and whispered frustration that followed finally startled you back to reality. “Shit! God damn phone. Can’t even have a - fuckin' conversation.”

“I’m here, Eddie. Sorry I was just uh…” You sighed, looking down to where your phone's mismatched gray cord worried between your fingers. “I just wanted to let you know that I know how hard it can be to trust anyone with the heavy stuff, but if you ever want to, you-uh. You can trust me.”

Silence.

Deafening silence radiated from the receiver despite your fingers’ death grip around its long neck. You could practically see the look on his face. Imagining his dark eyes blown wide and the usually soft wrinkle of his forehead set into a hard line. “N-not that I think you need any kind of explanation, or anything at all really. Shit.” You tried desperately to backpedal, hoping that you hadn’t said too much. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I shouldn’t have even said anything. I just meant-”

‘No! No, really. It’s okay” His voice sounded a little bit strained, breathy in a way that reminded you of–’no. It can’t be,’ you thought. ‘This little shit really sounds like he’s laughing!’ “You are not laughing at me right now…Munson?”

“NO! I’m not really laughing. Okay well that’s a lie.” That part was true, at least. He was laughing. In spite of his best efforts to hide it, he was giggling at you. “I am laughing, but not at you.”

“Oh my god.” You sighed. Certain that you'd probably die of embarrassment. You tucked the phone tediously into your neck, and pressed both hands to your face. ‘No, I get it. Here I am, spilling my fuckin’ guts to you-just because I think I know what it’s like-to feel like you can’t talk to anyone-and we’re barely even friends. I overstepped, and I’m sorry Eddie. Really.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” His tone went suddenly serious. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What? I-I just meant that I assumed–”

“No no. I mean in what world do you think that we’re not friends?”

“Uhh, well I thought in this one?”

“Well then, I'm sorry to have to be the bearer of bad news here, Precious. But you must have fallen into some kind of dimensional rift. In this universe we are in fact, friends…Good ones, even.”

You felt scrambled. Unable to line your thoughts up in a way that made sense.”Really?”

“You would dare even question me?!” He playfully scoffed. “I'm wounded.”

“Eddie…”

“Well I never!” He scoffed, putting on his very best ‘dramatic English nobleman’ sort-of accent. “You've hurt me, good lady. Truly and deeply wounded me to my very soul.”

You couldn’t contain the giggling that bubbled up through your chest as you tried your best to mimic the voice. “Well rest assured, I would never dream of causing you even the slightest of harm, Master Munson. So perish the very thought!'

"Good." He sounded softer somehow, mellowed out like he'd finally relaxed into the exactly three pillows on his bed. If he couldn't set up outside to read on the dangerously rickety-looking hammock, he would be holed up in his room. He felt safe there. Only really able to relax in well defined, comfortable spaces. At least that's what he'd told you, one of those times he'd humored you with a little bit of detail about the aftermath of being attacked.

'Cold.' He'd said, after an evening where you'd each polahed off a few more beers than usual. 'It was so fucking cold. I was flat on my back on the ground, in the dark. And I could barely feel anything…except for the cold.' That was the most detail you'd ever gotten from him, though. Even a little drunk he'd cut the conversation off there. "Really, Sweetheart, it's better that you don't have the details. I promise."

"Couldn't have you doing something to get your invitation to Hellfire revoked now, could we? Not just anybody gets one of those, you know."

A few weeks into your newly established friendship, he'd ventured into the topic of Hellfire. The party had a brand new, exciting adventure on the horizon, and he couldn't have been more thrilled that everyone was joining in for the club's official re-christening. Eddie had even gone so far as making Henderson swear on their friendship that he wouldn't build Steve's character for him. Apparently the negotiations that followed were dire, and poor Dustin ended up helping Steve a little bit anyway. “His bard wasn’t even using ‘Healing Word’! It was hopeless, I had to help him or he wouldn’t have a prayer of making out of his first NPC encounter! - Just don’t tell Eddie? Please!”

The whole gang buzzed with excitement, even though it would be a short campaign. Eddie even gave you a sneak peek at the big bad guy that ‘shouldn't kill too many of them’, the whole time brandishing a self-satisfied smirk. One too many quiet days in the hospital had passed him by while planning out the finer details, and he was itching to see it come to life. Every dirty tavern, dark church, and quirky townie in the city he’d dubbed ‘Dowdunipse’ waited in perfect poise. Ready for one of the poor unsuspecting adventures to stumble into. It was the only time his earthy eyes glinted with something like pride.

Viewing Hellfire from the inside like this, made it even clearer that everyone in town had been nothing short of bat-shit crazy to think that they had anything to do with all that chaos. You were sure of it long before that, though.

Unfortunately, if anyone could inadvertedly unite a po-dunk little place like Hawkins against them, it was Eddie. Being in a few of the same classes Senior year made you aware of each other, so you'd heard it. The ‘Freak!’ called out too often when he passed through the halls. Everyone heard it.

The first real conversation you’d had with Eddie told you everything you needed to know, though. He’d stooped to pick up a book that you dropped on your way into class. It had been that copy of ‘The Hobbit’ as a matter of fact. The one both of you lived best, be it unknown to you at the time. His soft smile and warm eyes met yours, when you looked up to take it back. He waved off your thanks and complimented your ‘choice of fiction.’ You’d always thought he was kind– sort of cool even. But, then again you were someone who usually preferred the company of the novel you were reading over gossipping with the few close friends you kept back then.

So, maybe you were just a freak too.

The overhead chime rang. A glance at the clock told you only five minutes to remained until closing time. “Of course…” Disdain threaded heavy into your response. “Sorry, Edds. I’ve gotta go, but I’ll bring you something else to read on my way back.”

“Oh-okay, sounds good. I’ll see you later then.”

“See ya.”

You’d nearly hooked the phone back into its place when you heard him bark. “Hey, hey wait!”

“Yea? What is it?”

“You're coming right”

“Of course I am, I just said–”

“No! Shit.” He was muffled for a second, like his hands had come to rest on his face. “I know you’re coming by. I mean, are you coming to Hellfire?”

“Oh. Yea, well if you're sure I wouldn't be–”

“Stop! Stop right there, Precious.” He interrupted “Don't even say it. Don't even try to say some stupid shit like you'd be imposing or something.”

His laugh feels infectious, once again spreading like a chill over every inch of your skin. “All right, jesus!” You smiled, leaning back into the wall. “You can count me in then, Dungeon Master. I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

Series taglist: @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @leatherboundriot @aysheashea @chaoticcancer @bebe0701 @roanniom @theoncrayjoy @hellfirestxnes @peachyproserpina @hellfiresmaster @marsupiooo @fracturedarkness @missingmunson @boomhauer @hellkaisersangel @catvvitch @lmili @lezzy-bennet @feralchaospixie @infinitetrashbag

[capcassianandor]

Omg hi. I have an idea for a steve fic if u want to write that would be amazing coz you write steve really well. Ok its something after steve and reader are married and they go to some formal event or wedding or anything? And towards the end of the party reader is wearing steves suit jacket over her dress and steve loves it and is kind of turned on so he whispers in her ear about what he wants to do with her? Only if u want to

hi, thank you!! i changed it a little bit and also made it a little blurb instead i hope that’s okay!! (0.8k) [18+ for suggestive bits]

Steve’s been handsy all night. From the moment you’d stepped out of the bathroom, green satin draped perfectly over your body with your head tilted to put your second earring in.

His jaw had fallen slack, slightly blown away from your appearance and despite his best compliments and hints, you wouldn’t skip out on the wedding. 

He can’t really remember whose wedding it is. Someone from high school, an old friend of yours you’d stayed in touch with post graduation, he thinks. It didn’t matter. He’d crash an infinite amount of weddings if it meant seeing you dressed like this. 

His hand sits heavy on your thigh the whole drive, thumb stroking the inside of it. Steve has to be touching you at all times. An arm around your waist when you walk in, his hand on your thigh again while you sit at a table, fingers stroking your elbow as you hold a flute to your lips, gloss sticking to the rim. 

At some point, you shiver. The air conditioning in the reception hall has left the room almost icy when you’re not surrounded by a hoard of wedding guests on the dance floor. In an instant, Steve’s shrugging his suit jacket off and hanging it over your shoulders. You try to protest but it’s warm against your bare arms and smells like Steve and you end up tugging it tighter against you. 

There was something about the fabric hanging over you, swaying when you did, one hand always gripping the front of it to make sure it stayed snug around you. Steve felt his chest burning, adoration spilling over when he’d watch you talk to Nancy and Robin across the room. A hint of pride mingling with it all because it was his jacket that you were wearing. 

The jacket slips, exposing slivers of your bare shoulder for the briefest of moments before you’re tugging it back into place. His cheeks felt flushed, either from the buzz of the alcohol or how worked up he was seeing you in his clothes. 

You’re not much better. While you’d been cold, Steve was burning up making him roll the sleeves of his white button down up to his elbows. His tie had loosened around his neck, the top button being undone. You were ready to jump him right then and there. 

You don’t really question it when he pulls you away from everyone else. The place was buzzing with people, quick to drain both your social staminas. He just wanted a minute alone, you assumed.

He secludes you on the outskirts of the room, hidden in the shadows of the dim lighting. His arm is warm around your waist. The disco ball hanging in the center of the room casts broken fragments of light over your face.

Steve’s nose nudges against the soft skin of your neck, taking subtle inhales of your perfume. It’s one you only wear on formal occasions, something intoxicating, sensual. A little woody with notes of something floral and maybe it’s the pheromones but he can’t get enough.

His lips start to press against the spot below your ear, a mere brush at first. It tickles, your shoulder rising up to squeeze his face. You can feel his smile against your skin as he presses his lips more sure, more fervid against your skin. 

“Steve,” it’s a mix between a laugh and a gasp. His lips curl into a smirk, brushing against your earlobe. His teeth are a dull scrape against it. 

“What?” a false sense of innocence. Like he isn’t in the middle of sucking lilac below your ear, like his hand hasn’t slipped behind his suit jacket hanging off your shoulders to hug the curve of your ass. Your mouth feels dry, it’s a struggle to swallow down the soft mewl you want to let out. 

“You look so pretty, baby,” a hot exhale against your ear causes a heat to spread down your body, pooling low in your stomach. “‘Specially in that dress with my jacket ‘round your shoulders.”

A whimper catches in your throat, the heat of his words searing into your brain. He’s murmuring in between open mouthed kisses against your neck, warm drags of his lips against velvet skin. How pretty you are, how he’d take you right there if it weren’t for the people in the room. 

You dip away, feeling like you’re on the verge of combustion, like you’d explode at any moment. You kiss Steve’s pout away. A kiss you’d intended to be quick becoming anything but when he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth, kissing you deeper, slower. Your head spins. 

You pull back and immediately grip his hand, dragging him behind you to say your congratulations to the bride and groom. You ignore the knowing look in her eyes as she takes in your blown pupils and Steve’s less than subtle smirk, making up some excuse about not feeling well and bailing early. 

Steve’s nose nudges your temple as you leave, his seemingly permanent smirk pressed to the side of your face. You bite back a smile, cheeks burning as he babbles on about how pretty you look and how he can’t get enough of you. 

“Yeah, yeah Casanova," your voice has a teasing lilt, it makes Steve grin. He lets out a soft laugh. "Let’s just make it to the car first, okay?”

[capcassianandor]

hey angel! ❤️🔥 what do u think of number 70 from the hundred different kisses prompts? maybe a lil friends to lovers or enemies to lovers scenario w sir stevie <3?

i think maybe genius <3 couldn't do enemies to lovers cos idk how enemies ever accidentally kiss lmao but friends to lovers is forever my jam!!! so here is maybe the most lovesick steve i have ever written - enjoy honey <3! 1k+

Steve’s not entirely sure why he does it.

Okay, that might be a bit of a lie. He knows why he does it — the idea of pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek has been the focus of several chin-in-hand fantasies for months. He’s tracked over a dozen scenarios of it in his mind, a hundred times over.

It’s the perfect non-committal move. One that his nerves could potentially handle to actually go through with. Because see, if it goes wrong, it can all be written off as platonic. He's kissed Robin on the cheek before. Friends can kiss each other on the cheek — especially if it’s as a thank-you, which he has definitely decided is the most natural way to do it, if he ever were to.  

And if goes right...

Well, that’s where Steve’s mind wanders toward most of the time, til he’s aching inside from how lovesick he is. How terribly unfair of the world to make his heart latch onto his closest friend. To make his charisma and flirt fail him when he really needs it; to put you in this elevated untouchable space where Steve feels like he’s not allowed to feel this way. Yet he does, yet it yearns between every rib, til he feels it in every breath.

So, sure he knows why he does it; but honest, he’s not expecting it from himself.

It’s certainly spur of the moment. That’s what Steve blames it on when he blinks, heart thundering in his chest, nerves turned to 11, and his face rivaling the sun in heat.

Because, fuck, when he’d leaned down to press a quick kiss to your cheek in a thank-you — you’d brought by him lunch at work just because you're sweet like that — you had turned. And a kiss aimed for your cheek, instead found your lips.

You blink at him, clearly surprised. Steve can’t blame you, considering he just, albeit accidentally, kissed you full on the lips. In the middle of the Family Video at 1pm on a Friday.

Steve had lent a lot of time to the thought of what it might be like to kiss you, to kiss you properly. And, shit, it was so far from what had just transpired, that shoddy quick kiss that was over as quick as it started.

You blink at him again, licking your lips and Steve can’t help but watch your mouth. His brain taunts him with the knowledge he's technically kissed it now. God, was it possible to have a heart attack this young?

His heart was racing, palms getting clammy and Steve briefly prayed for all those head injuries to strike him in the form of amnesia here and now. For being your best friend, he’s suddenly impossibly unsure of the emotions that shutter across your features.

You clench your fists at your sides, swallow thickly, your eyes shifting about his face... nervously?

His hope both manages to rise and plunge simultaneously and shit, this definitely feels like a heart attack. Pure mortification is clawing through his heart and it’s about to come out his throat in the form of some croaky apology when your hands fly up and settle on either side of his face.

Everything in Steve’s head falls quiet because all at once, your lips are on his and you’re kissing him.

Steve all but melts into your kiss, his eyes fluttering shut as your lips meld against his and you pour all fondness into it. All the mortification in his heart blends away to pure glitter and his heart pumps it, fast and strong, til every limb is buzzing with it.

You’re kissing him, he thinks, dopey and happy. You’re kissing him! he thinks again and the loud brazen thought reignites his frozen hands, which grasp the front of your shirt and tug you evermore closer.

Neither of you move back very far when the kiss breaks, intertwining breaths as you both hover close. Steve swallows, prays that when he opens his eyes he won’t just be back in his bedroom, staring at the ceiling, and pries them open. You’re already watching him, that same nervous expression back on your face.

“That...” You start, still a bit breathy. “That wasn’t just an accident, right?”

Steve chuckles but it comes out a bit strangled, his gaze skirting along every plane of your face. He tries not to quiver under the feeling of your hands on his skin, still cradling his jaw sweetly.

“I mean, technically the first one was,” He admits, leaning closer so his forehead can lean against yours. “But no. God, no, I’ve... I want you.”

It’s so forward, so lacking the suaveness he usually possesses in these moments but Steve doesn’t care if it’s completely raw with emotion. You kissed him and it’s like a perfect key to every feeling he’s been holding back from you.

“And I- I want you to want me.” Steve confesses, his grip on your shirt curling tighter. He manages to unfurls his fist and smooths it out to a tender hand, lets it drift to your face and rests his palm against your cheek. Your eyes are wide, eyes darting frantically as if you’re searching for a hint of insincerity. You aren’t going to find any.

“I didn’t think you—” Your voice cracks around the words, giving away the swell of your emotions. It makes you laugh a bit, quiet and nervous, and you avert your eyes for the next part instinctively. “I didn’t think you saw me that way.”

Steve has to take a moment to gather himself because it feels like a goddamn fracture has gone through his chest.

“Sweetheart,” Steve coos, the pet name slipping off his top as sweet as honey. It melts under your skin like butter in the sun, til you’re gooey inside and wobbly at the knees. You meet his eyes right as his thumb shifts and gingerly traces along your bottom lip. The blood beneath it tingles hot at the attention.

“Please, let me prove how wrong you are.” He utters, voice soft. His nose brushes against yours, the faintest of nuzzles. You think your heart might collapse and you’d let it, if it meant this — this Steve, entirely affectionate and fond in a way you couldn’t ever imagine — was something you got to keep.

You nod, the slightest motion against him. Steve delights, his hazel eyes brighter, his grin wild with elation.

True, it’s not quite what Steve had pictured all those times he imagined getting a chance to kiss you, not even close to one of those romantic locations he’d have preferred and god, he’s in the stupid work vest for Christ’s sake.

It's nothing like he pictured, no, but when he gets to kiss you again, passion so tangible it’s sweet on your lips, Steve decides it’s so entirely better.

join the celebration! (or don't. only if u want, idk im not a cop dude)

[capcassianandor]

Steve is a man who has so much love to give, but he's too scared to give it away because it never ends well. They either don't want it or they take advantage of it; taking way too much from him and never giving it back, never filling the empty space in his heart where all the love comes from. It remains empty. No one wants to give any to him. He's come to believe he doesn't deserve it. He's only made to give love. Not receive it.

#😭😭😭😭😭😭

[capcassianandor]

Mom & Dad | s.h.

summary: in which you and steve talk about what the future holds for the two of you

steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings/tags: established relationship, FLUFF, i just wanted to write a really fluffy fluff piece ok ok, talk about babies like reader and steve cheesy go in depth about babies and their life ok, picture that one convo where steve is talking about his future 6 little nuggets but it’s with someone who wants that too, no bad things happened everyone is alive and well and no one is unalived my house my rules everybody, the reader is kind of golden retriever-esque and yeah, CASUAL DOMINANCE from steve bc uh have y’all seen him ik you have

wc: 1325ish

•••

steve harrington hummed as he rubbed his cheek against the top of your hand, a faint smile curved on his cheek. he peppered a couple of kisses on your knuckles, before you squealed as he nipped at one of your rings.

“you’re gonna crack a tooth!” you whined, leaning to jab at his side with your freed hand. steve let out a huff, before he pressed a soft kiss to your ring, and then dropping your joined hands to rest against your leg “stevie? ‘m love you.”

“i love you, pretty girl.” steve leaned across the center console of his car to press a soft kiss to your forehead, before he took to tapping on your knee. “was thinking about you today, when i took the gremlins to school this morning.”

“yeah?” you turned, eyes bright as you batted your eyelashes toward your boyfriend. “thinking of how pretty i am? how i so deserve a neopolitan milkshake?”

“you want to go to benny’s later don’t you?” steve quirked his brow, and you nodded with a grin as he let out a laugh. steve continued to laugh as he pulled out of your driveway. “god you’re so lucky you are ridiculously adorable.”

steve watched from the corner of his eye as you playfully huffed, dropping his hand and crossing your arms over your chest. it was only for a bit though, as you perked up seeing a yellow labrador retriever being walked along the sidewalk. steve came to a stop at the stop light, barely biting his smile back as you craned your neck behind you to keep an eye on the dog.

“can we get one when we live together?” your question fell so easily from your lips, that steve barely felt his heart skip. a car honking made steve move again, and he pressed back onto the gas as he started driving again.

“what, you want a lab?” steve questioned, and you nodded quickly, shyly smiling. “surprised you don’t want a golden retriever.”

“want one of those too.” you giggled, and steve watched from his peripheral as you folded one of your knees to your chest.

“put that down, not safe.” steve pressed his left hand firmly to the steering wheel, before flicking his thumb and pointer against your knee. “if we got into a wreck that’d hurt you, put your pretty leg down.”

you listened almost instantly, and instead grappled for steve’s hand, entwining his fingers with your own.

“figured maybe when we moved into a house, y’know?” you explained, tapping a finger against steve’s hand. “little yard, white picket fence that way our dogs could run around.”

“thought about this a lot, huh?” steve teased, and you nodded as he pulled into the parking lot of hawkins high school.

“yeah.” you shrugged, fiddling with the sleeve of the sweater steve had let you borrow. “figured we’d get settled down, i mean one day this’ll be us.”

you gestured around you, smiling as you looked to the middle school and high school buildings.

“we’ll be ugly brick buildings?” steve teased, and he grinned as he listened to you groan and throw your head against the headrest with a small thud.

“no!” you whined, waving your hands around in front of you. “one day we’ll have kids, y’know?”

“oh.” steve swallowed, before he sent you a faint smile. “and what’ll these kids be like?”

“oh my god- so, they’ll honestly be such nerds it won’t even be funny.” you giggled, eyes wide as you unrolled steve’s passenger side window. “but it’ll be okay because they might be little jocks- i mean they’ll be ours so they’ll be good, y’know?”

“like the party?” steve asked softly, and steve just watched as you let out a fond little sigh.

“of course like the party!” you grinned, an ear to ear thing that made steve’s heart ache. “they’ll be such smart asses, but our little smart asses! and they’ll have your hair-”

“but your eyes.” steve smoothly cut in, and he turned in his seat to be able to face you more.

“my eyes?” you repeated, and steve grinned wide as he propped his elbow on his center console so he could watch you. “really?”

“oh yeah.” steve leaned forward and pinched your nose playfully, reveling in the shy way you dipped your chin and batted your eyes at him. “and we’ll have a shitty camper van, travel every summer when they’re out of school and see the world.”

“how many?” you squealed, eyes wide, turning even more in your seat, barely noticing that steve undid your seatbelt so it wouldn’t bite into your neck. “like three boys and-”

“three girls.” steve grinned, leaning closer to you. “you, me, all of them loaded into a camper. drive around and see the rockies and the grand canyon, maybe even yellowstone.”

“end up in california!” you added, squealing as you grinned widely up at steve. steve hummed, a fond smile spread on his face as he wiggled his fingers into your side so you’d laugh again. “all of us harringtons could end up in a little beach-side town, learn how to surf and catch sand dollars.”

“yes!” steve grinned, leaning his head against his headrest so he could still look at you. “us and our little brood of harringtons.”

“i’d like that.” you nodded, tapping your fingertips against the back of steve’s hand. “oh my god us being on the pta and doing scouts!”

“you just want an excuse to keep boxes of girl scout cookies in the freezer.” steve teased, and he laughed when you didn’t make a move to deny it.

“oh my god, and we’d have a dog-” you grinned, thinking for a moment. “probably a fish.”

“a fish our kids begged us to get, but we end up taking care of.” steve joked and you nodded, a wide smile on your face. “and we’d gripe about us having to take care of it, but we really wouldn’t mind.”

“and we’d pay the neighbor’s kids to go and take care of them when we’re out of town.” you added, voice shy as you blinked up toward steve. “yeah?”

steve hummed leaning forward to curl one of his hands against your cheek. his thumb soothed gently across your cheekbone, following the swell of it as he nodded. he used his fingers to tilt your face up, his eyes focused on yours.

steve said nothing as he leaned forward and let out a soft sigh, before he brushed his lips across yours. you tasted sweet, like the bubblegum he kept specifically for you in his center console. you keened into his kiss, and steve couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped as he slid his free hand up so it could rest against the nape of your neck.

when you both pulled away, steve couldn’t help but smile at your kiss swollen pout. he leaned forward again and planted a softer kiss against your mouth, just in time to hear the school bell ring. you smiled shyly, pulling away from steve as you flipped the sun visor down. steve watched fondly as you used the mirror to right your hair, sliding a thumb under your lip to wipe away any smudged chapstick.

steve flipped the radio on, and sent you a wide smile as he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. he smiled even wider somehow when you entwined the fingers of one of your hands with his, and he couldn’t help but pepper a couple more kisses along your knuckles.

yeah, he could see himself having a whole brood of harringtons.

ones with his hair, your eyes.

them calling you, mom and him, dad.

steve shook his head, unlocking the car as the party came into view. he listened to your squeal as you leaned out the car’s window- waving at the group of high school students frantically with your free hand.

yeah, he could definitely imagine that.

[capcassianandor]

ruby my beloved congrats <333 going to request ❤️‍🔥 prompt #17 from list #1 with stevie <3 ily bff

lyss my absolute moon of my life <33!!! thank u for the congrats u really have been here since like. well not day 1 but like what feels like day 4 <3 i hope this murders u and u call me a bitch for it hehehehehehe (1.2k!)

It’s a Steve thing.

He’s touchy, always has been with you. Whenever the chance presents itself, it’s like pure instinct the way his hands will reach out, forever seeking yours. There, palm to palm, fingers laced together, you can see how his shoulders relax that extra inch. How his grin comes a bit easier. The soothing touch of his lover.

More than half the time, you’re not even sure if he’s even aware he’s doing it — reaching out like it’s a built-in desire. Relaxing at your touch. More often than not, it feels natural state of the two of you; hands tangled together.

He does it while driving, while walking, while sitting together in the movies with your knees knocked together in the middle. Considering all this, he shouldn't be able to surprise you with it anymore.

But he does.

It’s a warm night, crickets loud and sun low when you all lumber out the diner’s front doors. It's the usual Friday get together of all your friends. Chatter bursts from the group loudly, echoing out into the streets. It’s been a raucous dinner, though, it always is wherever Eddie goes.

Leading the pack of you to your parked cars down the block, Jonathan and Nancy stroll side by side, her arm in the crook of his. They’re talking, Jonathan’s head ducked to hear her soft voice.

Trailing behind them is Robin and Argyle, with an astounding height difference. They're both locked in an intense discussion that involves a lot of hand gestures and eyebrow movement on Robin’s behalf — though, that might just be a Robin thing. Argyle is nodding and every couple of seconds, you can hear his familiar 'dude!' from ahead.

Behind them are Steve and Eddie, engaged in their very own discussion. With a similar dynamic, Eddie is giving riveting commentary on a story as well as a visual aid through his puppeteer hands while Steve listens on intently, that gorgeous grin on his face that drives you a bit crazy.

Which leaves you, lingering, at the end of the group.

You think whoever designed sidewalks to only fit two people side by side should probably die.

Unlucky 7th. It never feels great to be the one trailing behind, relenting your pace because there’s no room left for you beside them. It feels even worse if no one notices. 

A cruel voice tells you that if your slow you feet, they probably won’t notice your absence for a while. It’s completely wrong and it’s also not at all fair to your friends. You haven’t been ignored all night. Dinner had its own twisting and turning conversation that had involved all of you, voices overlapping and easy laughter shared. 

Somehow, it’s not enough of a comfort to stop self-doubt from sprouting. Walking like this, on your own, while the others chatter happily, unaware, picks at an insecurity inside you like an old scab. It stings in your chest, worsening the longer no one turns to check you’re still with them.

You soothe it with silent grumbling. A pity fest for one. You’re certain if your boyfriend turns around he’ll see the biggest pout on the face of the earth.

With your eyes on the ground, surprise overtakes the stinging in your chest at the sudden appearance of hand waving in your face.

Your head yanks up. Confusion furrows your brow, though, there really is only one person it should be. One person who adores holding your hand more than anything in the world.

Steve’s peeking over his shoulder when you look up, hazel eyes light. His hair bounces with every step. Upon meeting his eyes, Steve's smile turns to a grin and he gives his fingers a little wiggle. You know what he’s asking for.

“And then—  Steve? C’mon, man, this is like the point of this story! Show your seniors some respect!” Eddie’s voice cuts in, completely oblivious of you behind him.

Bless his heart, you know he means nothing by it. His focus is a thousand miles away from his body, you’re sure of it, as it always is when he’s in the middle of a rant. Steve’s gaze moves back to his friend and he nods, to show he’s listening.

But even so, his fingers wiggle again, an invite to intertwine your fingers.

Like a soothing balm, the stinging in your chest wanes a bit as you clasp Steve’s hand and link it with your own. His fingers fit snug against yours and he gives your hand a little squeeze, warmth and love in the form of his touch.

It’s enough to quell the pitiful thoughts from earlier, your heart a little softer now as you walk behind Steve. Your connected hands banish the mere thought of drifting behind — especially when Steve’s other hand swings behind him and he holds it out. You feel stupidly affectionate for him. You accept it in yours.

It must look a bit silly, Steve walking regularly with his arms behind his back, both hands twisted in your own. He swings them to the sides as you walk, though you’re nearly at the car now, giving little squeezes that let you know he’s thinking of you even as he talks with Eddie.

When Steve’s beemer comes into sight, there’s a silent relief in you. You’re parked closer to the diner than the others and as you approach, Steve’s feet slow to a stop.

There’s a chorus of goodbyes, one salute from Robin, and an appalled noise from Eddie, who has suddenly spied your connected hands.

“Oh my God, you two are disgustingly sappy.” He says, without any real edge to his words, but his face scrunches up all the same. “Were you seriously holding hands the whole time?”

Steve doesn’t respond, just holds up one of his hands, your conjoined hands giving a wave at the metalhead. You can tell his smile oozes smugness.

Eddie’s hands begin to pull at his face as he walks, dramatically pulling at his cheeks in a downward motion. “Nooooo, the public display of affection! It’s melting meeeee....”

His knees wobble and jerk as he walks backward, still pretending to melt at you and Steve — the latter rolling his eyes bemusedly at the display, giving your hands another squeeze. Robin’s yell has Eddie straightening up and in an instant, he’s off, with his bid goodbye lingering in the air behind him.

“What a weird guy,” Steve chuckles, watching him go. His hands leave yours for only a moment, to turn and face you, one reattaching gingerly. The other comes up to cradle your face, all amusement from Eddie’s antics replaced by utter adoration.

“You good, sweetheart?” He asks, that little pinch between his eyebrows that tells you he’s concerned. “M’sorry you got stuck at the back.”

You lean into his big hand greedily, soaking up the affection. Your words come out a bit meeker than you’re trying for, voice quiet. “Kiss me and then ask me again?”

Steve grins.

You suck in a breath instinctively as he leans in, pressing a slow generous kiss to your lips that makes you weak in the knees. Your interlaced hands break apart so Steve can slide his palm along your waist, curling around it and pulling you closer. His chest presses against yours.

One kiss becomes two, becomes three. You’re breathless when finally he pulls back, eyes scanning your face lovingly. The softness of his thumb skims across your cheek fondly.

“Y’good?” He asks again, lips a lot pinker than they were a second ago. Your grin comes easy.

“Mm, I’m not sure,” You muse, tilting your head and pretending to think about it Steve’s eyes shine a little brighter, his smile a little more mischievous than before. He knows you too well. “You might have to kiss me again, just to check.” You say.

“I think I can do that,” Steve agrees, his grip on you waist tightening as he pulls you back in — and he kisses you sweet, til the pitiful thoughts of earlier as far, far in your rearview mirror.

join the celebration ? <3

[capcassianandor]

🍭 lollipop - 25. “Don’t do that. Don’t push me away. I can’t help it” From list 4 with steve??? pls and ty honey <3333

thank you for this request sweet anon! i hope you like it <3 even if it is just a pile of angst oops

steve harrington x reader, 1.2k, general tw for depression (it's not explicitly stated but it's kinda implied)

Steve knew something in you had changed when you slowly stopped hanging out with everyone. Even when you did join them, he noticed that you weren’t entirely there. You always seemed a million miles away, smiles a little too forced, eyes a little too hollow. Where there used to be warmth that made everything seem a little brighter, there was nothing but hardness in your gaze, like the light in you had been snuffed out. 

It was like you were becoming a shell of the person you once were, right before his very eyes. 

And he understood why, because he’d gone down the same path the first time he witnessed the horrors of the Upside Down. How could someone face everything that you all had and not come out the other end a different person? 

Steve wanted to be there for you—show you that you weren’t alone, that you had someone who could help. That you had him. He just had to figure out how. 

That was how he found himself hovering on your doorstep tonight, shifting from foot to foot as he waited for you to answer his constant knocking. It seemed like an eternity before the door swung open to reveal you standing on the other side of it, wrapped in a blanket and peering out at him in confusion. 

“Steve?” Your brow furrowed, hands gripping the edges of the blanket to draw it tighter around yourself. 

“Hi. Can I come in?” 

“I don’t think—” 

“Please?” You opened the door a little wider for him, moving to the side wordlessly as he hurried across the threshold and headed straight for the living room. You followed him, taking a seat on the couch and watching him pace back and forth in front of you for a good while until he finally stopped. 

Steve turned to you, letting out a deep breath. “I had an entire speech planned out in my head on what I was gonna say to you, but now that I’m here I’ve forgotten everything, so forgive me if I’m, like, rambling a lot, and I’m sorry if I sound pushy or anything, I just—I need you to know this.” 

You hesitated a beat before answering, wary of what he was about to say to you. “Okay.” 

“I know what you’re going through right now, Y/N. Well, not exactly what you’re going through, but I get it. Hell, I’ve even gone through it myself. This saving the world shit is fucking awful, I get it. It’s like, the world is fine, but you’re…not. Not you, specifically, I mean, but us. We’re not fine.” He blurted, hands moving a million miles a minute in gestures that might’ve been a tad too crazed, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You feel like you’re suffocating in your own thoughts all the time, and you keep replaying everything in your head, wondering if things would’ve ended the same way if you’d just tried something else, or gotten to Eddie a little faster. You feel like you’re never gonna be okay ever again, but I’m here to tell you that you will be. You’re gonna be okay, because I’m here for you. And I know that sounds like a load of crap, I thought so too after everything, but I promise, I’m here for you, anything you need.” 

He halted in his pacing once more to look at you, pleading honey eyes boring into yours. You glanced away immediately, focusing on the lamp in the corner of the room, because the longer you looked at him, the more the defenses you put up would start to crack. “You can yell at me, throw things at me, tell me you hate the world and everything in it, tell me you hate me—I don’t care. I just want you to let me help you.” 

You pressed your lips together, fists clenching under your blanket. “I don’t need your help, Steve. And I appreciate the effort, but I’m fine.” 

“You’re my best friend and I love you, you know that. So you know that I mean it in the nicest way when I say, no you’re not. You’re not fine, Y/N, and I know that because I know you. I know you’re not sleeping, I know you’re barely eating, and I know that you’re scared and angry and confused and about a hundred other different emotions that you can’t pinpoint., because…y’know, who wouldn’t feel the same after everything that's happened?” Steve couldn’t help the bitter chuckle that fell from his lips at his own words, because it was true. 

Even he still felt the same way most of the time, terrified that something else would happen and it would be right back to square one, all of you fighting a war against something the bounds of which you couldn’t even begin to understand, but fighting anyway because if you didn’t, no one would.

“And I wish I could take away everything bad in the world from you, but I can’t. All I can do is help you through it, if you let me.” He said defeatedly, kneeling in front of you.

His hands rested on your knees, the warmth of his palms spreading through your whole body. “I can’t lose you, okay? Not after everything else we’ve lost. I need you, Y/N. You’re my best friend, and I need you. So I’m sorry if I sound like an asshole right now, but whatever tough ‘I can handle it on my own’ thing you’ve got going on here, don’t do that. Don’t push me away.” 

“I can’t help it.” You whispered, lip trembling. When you finally met Steve’s gaze, your eyes were bright with unshed tears, and he was next to you instantly, wrapping his arms around you tighter than you ever thought possible. His hug was the final nail in the coffin, the last crack in your wall that sent it crumbling to the ground. You buried your face into his chest as sobs shook your body, clutching at him like he was your lifeline as you let every feeling all out into the fabric of his sweatshirt, barely hearing the reassurances he whispered into your hair. 

You’d never cried like this in front of anyone before, not even him, and after you’d finally stopped hiccupping, you felt strangely lighter. Still the same as before, but a little bit like the weight on your shoulders had been lessened just by knowing Steve was here. He wiped your tear tracks away with his sleeve gently, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“I’m sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean to shut you out.” You sniffled, inhaling a shuddering breath. Steve made a noncommittal noise, taking one edge of your blanket and squeezing himself under it, squishing even closer to you.

“Hey, no. You don’t be sorry. Just promise me you’ll let me help you through this.” 

You held out your pinky towards him. “I promise.” 

“Good.” He linked his own pinky around yours, giving it a firm shake. “Now let’s try and get some sleep, okay? What can I do for ya? I can sing a little something, if you want. Some Tears for Fears, perhaps?” 

You let out a watery chuckle. “Not Tears for Fears, please.” 

“Whoa, what’s wrong with Tears for Fears?” 

“Nothing. Just…stay here with me?” 

“Okay.” He said softly, rubbing his thumb over your shoulder. “I can do that.” He wouldn’t even dream of leaving. Not now, not ever. 

[capcassianandor]

hello i’d like to check out a movie please 📽

it goes something like this: you and steve go on a date but pick each others outfits!! and while you know Exactly what you want him to wear, you expect him to kinda halfass it cause he’s a “guy” so just a dress and heels etc but he surprises you and has a full top to bottom to shoes to jewelry all with Reasons like “you wore this on our first date” “your ears looked so pretty/they made your eyes shine” “i honestly just really like your legs in this but i remember how excited you were to wear it to that cancelled event so here’s your special occasion excuse!”

maddie… why ofc, hawkin’s finest can help you with ur movie finds!! this is such an adorable idea and it fits stevie just so well because he is absolutely is the type of guy that pays this level of attention <33 this yet again proves i cannot and will not shut up

the way it comes about is all bcos you— well, you have all your opinions when it comes to steve’s clothes. some of them are just fine, yanno the plain polo’s and such, and you swiftly tucked the pair of khaki’s he had to the baaaaack of his drawers when u first found them because absolutely not- but steve can tell when he wears something you like, even if you’re not aware of how you react. there’s always an extra moment of you drinking in the sight of him, eyes lingering, and you always end up toying with the collar of his shirt if you really love it and christ, the first time he wore those new jeans that are now your absolute favourite, you’d slid your arms around his waist and tucked your hands in his back pockets and made him blush up to his ears. and steve, well, he definitely has his favourites too- how could he not when you look like that? and you’re his? drives him crazy

he’s the one who suggests it, funnily enough. a picnic but with a twist, he says as you both lay in bed in morning and discuss what sort of mischief you both might get up to today— “a twist? what sort of twist?” you ask, lifting you head off his chest and peeking up at him. his arms around your waist tighten and he smiles, a bit nervous for a moment, then says, “s’bit dumb but- well, like we could pick what each other wear? like, i don’t know—“ you interrupt him, “yes.” “what?” “yes, let’s do that,” and grin in a way that told him you did actually want to do that. “that’s such a good idea steve, when you’d think of that?” and he gets all bashful, trying to distract you by stroking a soft touch across your hair, “just now, i- well, i was thinking bout what i’d hoped you’d wear today, actually”

“well, don’t ruin the surprise” you say, pressing a quick kiss to his check and wriggling up and out of his hold. steve’s makes an whiney complaint, hands already reaching for you but you dodge them and slip out of bed, tailing straight for the the chest of drawers. you barely get one draw open and your hands in it before steve’s arms are around your middle, having scrambled out of bed, and you’re hoisted up and away— you can’t help your little squeal, batting at his arms as he scoops you up and to the side- “steve! what are you doing?” and he puts you down, arms still around you, peppering kisses down your neck til you’re doozy with love and nearly distracted, “i wanna pick first, you go shower” he murmurs and really, you can’t say no to him

when you’re squeaky clean and wrapped in a towel, you toe back to the bedroom with relatively low expectations even though your heart glows at your boyfriend’s sweet idea. steve will always compliment you, there’s never a day you don’t hear how he thinks you’re the prettiest ever or how lucky he is to have you — but details, look, they just aren’t steve’s thing, you’re more than okay with that, he’s a big picture guy. so what you’re expecting is that he’ll have picked one of your dresses, short and sweet, maybe the pair of mary-janes that are your favourites, and a hair-clip if he’s really dedicated; but this? this…. is not what you expected

steve’s gone back to a bit nervous, betrayed by the way he runs his hand through his hair when you come in- it sticks up in strange ways that tells you he’s been doing it obsessively in your absence. still, his smile is sure and he gestures to the bed where his picks lay and you blink as you take them in— steve seems to take your silence as a bad thing, mouth opening and a ramble falling out, “okay, it might look a bit of a mismatch but- there’s a reason for it all, okay? like-“ he gestures to the t-shirt, one you haven’t worn in some time though you do like it, “this one, i don’t know if you remember but you wore it on our first date :) and it always yanno, reminds me of that,” and fuck, if you liked it before, you fucking love it now because he’s right, you wore that on your first date with steve and you had your first kiss with him in it, out by lover’s lake. your heart glows hotter as you realise how much steve is going to shatter your expectations with how much he has thought about this because he fucking notices these things

“the skirt because… well, i remember you really liked it in the store- quickest decision i’ve seen you make actually,” he huffs a laugh, gives another nervous run through his hair, “but you don’t wear it a lot which i don’t get because you look great in it and,” his smile turns to a bit more of a smirk, one you know well, “i’m a guy, okay? i’m not gonna deny that i love your legs in it,” his gaze drops to your currently bare legs and you roll your eyes at his flirts, “eyes up here, harrington.” he has the decency to look a bit sheepish, eyes pink, before moving on, “the earrings i think match your eyes and the necklace is the one i gave you, so :)” and damn, you might not make it out the house if he keeps this up- your chest feels like it’s filled with pure fucking light and some wet-sounding laugh escapes you and steve is stepping close til he’s in front of you, brows bunched in his concern, “oh man, was it too much?” and you’re shaking your head, clearing you throat, “no, no, definitely not. it’s just…. i guess, i didn’t think you remembered all that stuff,” and steve gives an appalled look, before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, “sweetheart, i remember everything about you,” he says, with a dopey grin that lets you know with completely certainty you’re so well loved by him <33

[capcassianandor]

Also obsessed with this one omg

“...” “...” “do you want to kiss?” “yeah.”

with whoever u want bestie!!!

omg i love that one too, and thank u for sending it bestie !!!! i hope you like it, i rlly enjoyed writing it 💕

...

Movie nights with Steve are a normal occurrence. They’ve been a staple in your friendship for quite a while, and you’re used to them by now.

Normally, though, there was more than just the two of you on the couch in his parents’ basement. There’s usually a small army of kids sprawled out all over the floor covered in blankets and pillows, while Robin either curls up beside Steve on the end of the couch, or drapes herself over your lap if Eddie hasn’t already claimed his seat beside you (though sometimes he claims an armchair all to himself). If Nancy and Jonathan swing by, usually with Argyle in tow, they’ll sit at your feet with a copious amount of blankets.

Tonight, it’s just you and Steve. Everyone else had cancelled at the last minute, and Steve hadn’t been able to call and tell you before you’d shown up. You’d felt bad, but he reassured you that he was more than happy to still have movie night if you were up for it. He’d already gone to the trouble of renting Back to the Future, after all, so you’d come in anyway. So here you are, sitting on his couch with a bowl of popcorn and a few cans of pop between you. He’s watching the movie, relaxing against the back of the couch, while you’re propped up against the end of the couch watching him more than you’re watching Marty McFly.

Steve’s so pretty when he laughs, the way his nose scrunches up and his skin shines in the light coming off of his parents’ ridiculously huge TV set. You see the way his arms flex as he brings his drink up to his mouth, and the way his throat bobs as he drinks. You definitely should be paying more attention to this movie because you’ve been wanting to watch it for months, but you never get the opportunity to be with Steve, just the two of you, and you can’t help that the crush you’ve been harbouring for longer than you’d ever admit is coming out more now than usual.

His hands fidget with the bowl of popcorn where it’s resting on the couch between you. You wonder what he’s thinking; is he missing the others? You know Steve enjoys having the kids around, no matter how much he complains, and to him a house full of his friends is a happy one, so maybe he’s disappointed that it’s just the two of you. The thought has you bringing your knees up to your chest under your blanket, and you finally turn your attention back to the movie when you hear him sigh because the last thing he would want would be to catch you staring.

“D’you want to kiss?” he asks, and it takes you a moment to comprehend the words. Is he messing with you? He has to be messing with you. Maybe someone told him it would be funny to ask. Except no one you and Steve both know and listen to would ever think this was funny, and Steve isn’t the type to do something he thinks might hurt someone else. Not on purpose, anyway.

You turn back to look at him, and you see he’s fully turned to look at you, now. His eyebrows are raised and he’s got his bottom lip worrying between his teeth. He’s serious. And so you swallow down the nerves that are tingling in your chest, and you nod.

“Yeah.” You’re sure of your answer, because damn if you haven’t imagined what it feels like to kiss Steve a million and one times before. Would his lips be soft, or would they be chapped? Would his hands settle on your waist, or would they cup your cheeks? How would he taste, or sound, or… there’ve been a lot of daydreams where you’ve explored the possibilities, and now you’re getting the opportunity to find out which ones are reality.

Before you know it, the bowl of popcorn is overturned onto the living room floor and Steve is leaning over you on the couch. He’s moving you as gently as he can, so you’re laying down while he hovers over you. His forehead is pressed against yours, his skin almost feverishly warm where it meets your own. His breath fans across your cheeks and the lower half of your face, and you smile at the way his pretty brown eyes sparkle in the low light coming from the TV.

“S’okay if I kiss you now?” he asks, his voice whisper-quiet. The corners of his eyes crinkle, the small lines endearing on his face. You nod, though he urges you to use your words, and you do.

You can taste the salt and butter on his lips from the popcorn. His mouth tastes a bit like the pop you’ve both been drinking, just a little sweet. He’s warm, almost unbearably so, where one of his hands moves to grip your waist through your shirt. The other hand stays on the couch, keeping him propped up above you and making sure his balance is steady. His lips move against yours, slow and soft and steady, and one of your hands comes up to run through his hair. It’s soft tonight; you’d seen earlier how it flopped down over his forehead, lacking its usually amount of hair products, and the feeling of it under your fingers is so good that you keep playing with it–enough that a soft moan slips out of his mouth as your fingers scratch his scalp.

Unfortunately, the need for air has the two of you ending the kiss much too soon for your taste. Steve is panting as he pulls away, just enough to look down at you, and you take in the sight of how plump and perfect his kiss-bitten lips look above you.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?” he asks, though the words come out a little hesitantly, like he has to drag them out of his throat. But they sink into you, telling you that oh, he’s thought about doing this with you before. He’s thought about you the same way you thought about him, about kissing you and being with you, as more than a friend. It’s a giddy, dizzying feeling in the best way, like the last few seconds under water before you break the surface for air. God, Steve Harrington is perfect.

“Probably not as long as I’ve wanted you to do that,” you answer, a little breathier than you’d like, and the way his eyes widen before his cheeks are flushing a bright red and a small, shy smile quirks the corners of his lips up has your heart melting in your chest. You’ll need to talk about this, you know, and while you can’t wait to solidify this into something more real, you still want to live in this moment as long as you can.

“...can we do that again?” he asks. You feel yourself grin, and it’s your turn to grab his chin in one of your hands and bring his mouth back down to meet yours to start kissing him all over again.

[capcassianandor]

CONGRATULATIONS RUBY!!! You're one of my favorite authors so I trust that you'll make something amazing out of this request (if you like it and feel like writing it, no pressure)

❤️‍🔥 with “Nobody in the world has hands this soft.”

just a little steve hand appreciation blurb (bonus points if you include comparing hands with him!!!)

M!!!! AHHH THANK U ANGEL!! im literally so :')) rn u are so very talented so it really means the world for me to hear u like what i write!! your bonus point suggestion like shaped this whole blurb im so glad u included it & omg its the first to break 1k+ words. i went for mutual pining besties bcos i've only written established relationship so far ! enjoy my dear!!! <3

You can’t believe you’re listening to advice from a 14-year old.

It feels like a new low. The idea that you can’t figure out the flirting thing on your own combined with the fact it’s your kid friend Dustin who seems to have a mountain-load of advice makes you feel— well, less than stellar.

But times are tough. And shit, it’s not actually bad advice.

Besides, despite Steve being your best friend, you’ll admit Dustin and him are close as well. Close enough that you made Dustin swear not to rat out your feelings to Steve at the first opportune moment.

He’d scoffed, then very reluctantly agreed. Seemed miffed you wouldn’t let him play matchmaker. Then set to work formulating a perfect plan on how you were to woo Steve — though he insisted you really didn’t need to because Steve was already well and truly obsessed with you.

“Honest!” He had said, eyes bright, and with that familiar cocky smile like he knew more than you. Which, in this case, might be true.

“Steve’s crazy for you, I can tell. He once gave this whole talk about,” Dustin waved his hands around. “Electricity. It’s a whole thing with him. Just trust me, you guys have it.”

Which leads to the here and now. You’re in the passenger seat of Steve’s beemer, the drive-in screen glowing ahead of you, just out the windshield. It’s night time, the dark lit up by dozens of shiny neon signs dotted about around the drive-in keeping you cozy in the car.

There’s an advertisement for Scoops Ahoy! ice-cream, all red, white, and blue, nautical symbols in every corner on a board to your right; a crimson and mustard coloured hot-dog stand with bright lit bulbs around it and a comically large weiner atop it. Beside it is a less glammed up, but nevertheless, trusty popcorn stand.

One of the buckets from there sits between you two, balanced between the seats. Steve seems to be unaware of your inner turmoil, his interest in the film properly piqued as you debate internally on Dustin’s advice. The film is miles away to you, worrying your bottom lip as you reconsider Dustin’s words.

“Just, like... find a way to touch his hand. No, wait- compare hand sizes! That’s like the oldest flirt in the book.” He’d nodded with enough fervor you nearly didn’t question him. Nearly.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you’d asked. “And where did you hear that?”

“Suze.” He’d said plainly. “And Suzie said she heard it from the girls at one of her camps. And it worked on me, so it’ll work on Steve. He’s simple!”

So, how do you go about this? You’re not sure there’s a natural way to ask to compare hand sizes. This feels like a flirt you’d do if he was just a handsome stranger at a party and you had a couple tequila shots on your side for encouragement. Leaned against a wall, sultry giggles and seductive touches; that seems more fitted for the flirt you’re about to try.

But you’re Steve’s best friend, not a stranger, and there’s certainly no liquid courage in your veins. No party. Just you, armed with more butterflies in your stomach than you can count and the advice of a 14-year old. God, you’re screwed.

You steel yourself and steal a glance at Steve. He’s in that grey shirt you like, long sleeved with just two buttons up the top. Both of them are undone.

You feel a bit peaky at how it makes you flush, seeing a flash of his chest. Briefly, you wonder if he’s worn the shirt because he knows it’s one of your favourites. The thought provides no relief to your nerves.

You fix your eyes forward and miss the way Steve glances to check on you, a smile toying at his lips.

Coincidentally, when he reaches for the popcorn, so are you — and your hands brush in the middle, burning hot, and you startle at the touch. Steve’s already apologising, pulling his hand but in a moment, you see it clearly there; your segue.

“Your hands are so much bigger than mine,” You comment, with a quiet chuckle to seem casual, shifting yourself to face him better. Your stomach turns over with nerves and you have to force yourself to meet his eye.

You raise your hand a bit, palm facing him. “See?”

Steve’s pauses, only for a moment, but it’s enough to send your heart rocketing. Just as you’re about to retract your hand and hope to hide your crumpled pride, embarrassment stinging at your chest, Steve grins.

He chuckles and twists in his seat to face you, unfurling his hand and extending it out towards your own.

He wavers, hesitating just short of pressing his hand against yours and when your eyes dart up to his face, your stomach tightens up a bit more at what you find. Nervous, you think giddily, he’s nervous.

In another second the expression is gone and he presses his hand flush against yours.

“I think you might have the world’s smallest hands,” He jokes, curling his fingers over the top of yours just to prove the point. He’s wrong but compared to his large hands, you can see why it certainly might seem that way.

“I think you just have huge hands, Harrington,” You remark, enjoying the feeling of his hand against yours far too much.

The butterflies in your stomach have evolved into something bigger — some sort of lovebird that pecks at your heart and leaves it bleeding in your chest. The beat of its wings gets louder every second Steve doesn’t pull away. In fact, he leans in closer.

“Nope, it’s your hands, 100 percent.” He nods along, lips quirked into an amused smile. The film continues unnoticed, just flashes of light that illuminate the side of his face. Subconsciously, you lean closer into his space, nearly close enough that you could lean over and lay one of him. If you wanted.

Steve continues with a tease, “I’m serious! Nobody in the world has hands this small.”

“Nobody in the world has hands this soft.” You counter with a grin. It’s true, Steve’s hands aren’t at all like how you’d expected; instead of calloused and rough, they’re supple and soft. Like a lover, not a fighter.

It takes a moment to realise your slip. Your heart stutters and Steve’s eyes turn a little wide. His cheeks flush and the only comfort is the obvious delight on his features, even as he blushes pink. His eyes dart to your lips. You hold your breath.

“Yeah?” He asks and licks his lips. “I- I’ve, uh, heard— well, some would say the same about my lips.”

It’s not nearly as smooth as you’ve seen him be, words a bit fumbled. He screws his eyes shut for a moment, gathers his courage, then keeps going. His voice is quiet, eyes watching you closely. “Softest... yeah, softest in the world s’what they’ve said...”

If by some terrible tragedy you’ve misread this and he’s not asking for a kiss, you’ll happily let the ground swallow you up after this. But with the nervous gleam in his eye, his pink lips, and hand against yours, you think you like your odds.

You close your eyes, lean in, and think of luck.

And even if it was just a line, you have to agree; these are the softest lips you’ve ever kissed, and maybe in the entire world.

join the celebration <3!