۶ৎ back when you were little, you went missing in the upside down. now that you two are older, he panics whenever you don’t answer.
𖦹 childhoodbestfriends then dating
lowk a little sad but it gets happier :( mentions of death
words: 1.3k+
Steve could feel the dirt between his fingers.
It always lingered, always dusted, always reminded him of how it was like. How it was like to hold your lifeless body in a different world unknown to him. He still wakes up in the middle of the night, feeling the pressure of your small body in his arms- unable to do anything about it.
The way he found you when he went down there. Wrapped, tangled, and lifeless amongst vines that made him want to throw up. Seeing the face of the girl he loved so dearly, pale with the warmth taken away.
He remembers everything, sometimes he wishes he didn't. But thinking about it only made him realize just how grateful he was that you were back. It consumed him daily and every time he saw you- and he felt sad for you whenever you said it was all in the past.
Being dead for 3 minutes wasn't "just the past". Being his best friend and then suddenly gone wasn't something to never think about.
You two met in first grade, and from then on, Steve was convinced that that is when life truly started to shine for him.
He remembered the feeling of always wanted to talk to you, but he was to shy to do it.
Seeing you in the fields of the playground, picking at the tiny flowers while the others played. The way your hair blew in the breeze like water- fanning over your small face.
It was until you two were assigned a poster project together- where it required tons of colorful markers and tons of opportunities for him to become friends with you. He still remembers the night you were at his house, in his living room, with marker smudges all over the two of you from playing.
From then on, you two were a pair. Unspoken words that automatically made you two mesh into one. Like the stars and sun.
He was so in awe of you- so in love with this little girl before he even knew what love felt like.
But it felt like everything.
----
Steve remembers how cold it was that morning when he woke up. 5th grade happened in a blink of an eye- but you were there. Always, every morning in the classroom with the warmest smile on your face, running to hug him.
He went downstairs to the smell of nothing. Not like bacon or coffee, not like home.
He peered his head, his mother whispering to his father. Her eyes were red and glossy eyed all around, her breath slightly wobbly as she talked. He blinked and walked into the kitchen, not wanting to get into his head that something terrible happened.
It did.
Last night as you biked home from his house, an "accident" happened- the only trace of you left being your precious pink bike. You must've fallen and went into the woods, lost, trying to find home.
And you haven't been found since, not since 9am that morning.
He felt that feeling then, a sense of not wanting to live on this Earth anymore- a feeling no young boy should ever experience.
His girl. He knew you weren't his, but it was clear you were- judging by the look on his parents when they told him. They knew just how much you were his, and he was yours. His sun, his life and back, his promise, his glow. Best friend.
Those later nights went terribly slow. Slow in a way that it felt like he was crying in his bed for a restless amount of hours.
He was.
Every morning, evening, and night- he went to your house. He sometimes slept over in the coldness of your bed, falling asleep to the sobs of your parents who tried to stay strong in front of him.
But he knew he was experiencing something similar to them. A loss of someone they loved. And oh, did he love you.
When the cries died down- he would lay in your bed, gently tracing your walls and posters with his fingertip. Whispering your name, prayers, confessions, a picture of a future he wanted with you.
There was no life without you, and he felt that absence so deeply and painfully in his soul- like you were some part of him. Such a young age must have seemed silly to others, but for you- he was tied.
He felt sick at the reminder that the tie was cut. Gone. Forever. You.
It was until one night, he was sitting at your desk and quietly playing with the toys you had- his mind somewhere else.
He hadn't been home in over 3 days or gone to school in over a week.
He couldn’t step into the classroom and not see the way your eyes sparkled when you said hello to him. At school, all he stared at was you. He had nothing to look at now.
But his parents understood, shockingly so.
He sighed and rested his head against his palm, eyes fluttering to look outside the window. A soft red glow peered just outside your windows where it faced some of the many trees in Hawkins.
On the ground, opening and opening and waiting to be discovered.
He discovered.
Four times. He’s on his fifth call and the phone keeps ringing with no reply.
It was already too rainy and too cloudy for him, especially when the days inched to the date when you were taken. It made him feel sick all over again- the risk could be higher, or worse. He could lose you again.
That's why he was already grabbing his keys and heading to his car- trying not to think of any possible scenarios.
Yeah, that night happened years ago. When you were quietly his, in the small moments when you two were kids. But now you truly were Steve’s, his girlfriend, his future.
He couldn’t lose the only future that made sense.
He didn’t even have to use his brain when driving to your house, like his car could drive on its own from routine. The rain pattered louder onto his windshield, the water dripping down like blood.
He felt like his stomach was flipped, hit, and sucked out of him. He couldn’t help it.
But he was already exhaling at the sight of your perfectly intact car sitting in the driveway. Your moms car was gone- telling him it was just you.
You were home. You were okay. Still his.
His fingers fumbled with the key to your house as he pulled it from his jacket- not even bothering to cover his hair up from the rain. He looked up to the window of your room.
Curtains open, a warm yellow glow peering inside. He sighed again and stepped towards the front door.
——
Once he was inside, he melted at the tidiness and calmness of your home. It was still the same kitchen, living room, another place where he could be himself.
It was so very quiet, the kitchen smelling like pumpkins. He heard the soft music coming from upstairs and he smiled to himself as he recognized some of the songs. A cassette he spent two hours making for you.
He quietly headed upstairs and knocked on your door with a pattern. 2 1 1.
The music got turned down and that was his signal that you knew he was there.
He called your name in a shaky voice as he peered inside He didn’t know why he was nervous or scared. His true soul would finally rest if yours was too.
“Steve?” You ask so gently that he wanted to cry.
You opened the door fully with a small smile, your eyes lit with innocence. Despite everything, it was still you.
“Oh, thank god.” He exhales, melting to hug you. He was soaking wet, cold, the water dripping down onto your carpet. Your feet lifted off the ground.
You let out a breathless laugh since his arms were so tight around your waist- only wearing his shirt and tiny shorts.
“Thank god? For what?” You say lightly.
He exhales- the air from your room slowly starting to dry him off. His face buries into your neck.
“For being… okay. You weren’t answering the phone and it actually scared the crap out of me.” He pulls away to cup your face.
Warm, firm, there.
“Oh shit.” You giggle, and it seemed like you were to obvious to see the real worry in his eyes.
“M’ sorry, I totally didn’t hear.” You kiss him as an apology, your lips pressed firmly to his.
Hands slide beneath your hair as he inhales through his nose, smelling your perfume and just you alone. Usually you always felt a small smile against your lips, one that always stayed there no matter how many times you’ve kissed.
You slowly pulled away with a sad smile, your thumb sweeping across the mole just under his lip.
“Hey.” You whisper with realization, “did I actually scare you?”
He was so exhausted from the fear of losing you again that he simply nodded. Your eyes flicked back and forth- his hazel eyes now so worn out. You could understand his side, so clearly and vividly. If he went missing like you did- you’d go just as crazy as he did.
“Steve.”
“It just-“ he takes a shaky breath, “it still messes with my head. That fear of not being able to say bye.”
You felt like your whole world collapsed at those short words. You couldn’t bear all that he went through, no matter how terrible your experience was.
It hurt how you knew the importance you layed in his life. Like he knew you better than yourself. You think he did.
“Oh baby.” You shake your head and sit down of the edge of your bed with him, the rain outside growing louder and your blankets turning wet.
“…I’m so sorry I didn’t hear the phone, I swear I would’ve picked up at the first ring.” Your fingers slowly trailed along the curves of his hair, something you were only allowed to do.
“I know.” He says weakly.
Your touch effected him like how it was for any man who had his hair touched. Completely worn down. His eyes crinkled close to hide the gloss behind it, soft sobs escaping and imprinting onto your shirt as he curled against you.
“I s-still remember it so well.” His voice cracked against you and you shattered.
You always tried to retract that night whenever it was mentioned. Steve knew it as well- but sometimes he was so desperate for reassurance that he simply had too.
“I try so hard to forget.” You whisper. “But I’m here, yeah?”
Never leaving.
You manage to dig your fingers gently under his face, cupping it and tilting it up to look at you. His breath hitched when your lips pressed against his nose, his top lip, and then his bottom.
“M’ right here.” Your hand rests over his.
A second later, his fingers trail under your shirt and directly over your breast. But it wasn’t like that. His hand dusted over the warmth of your skin, over the feeling of your heart peacefully beating.
“Here.” He whispers like a little boy. He felt like that now- like he’d lost you all over again.
It stayed like that for a long time. The only noises being the steady sound of your heart against his ear, and the soft music being played in your room. You kept your cheek squished to the top of his head, your hand sliding up and down his tense back.
Your head looks out past your lace curtains and at the dark sky- filled with so many reminders of the past. Your parents were gone of a business trip, and so were his. Being alone with Steve always calmed you down, even on the bad days. Even as children, in the crowd at the playground, it was always him.
“Stay tonight.” You hum, kissing his forehead in another form of reassurance.
He stayed quiet as a yes, his arms tight around you.
“I have cookies in the oven?” You smiled.
“…They smelled really good when I got here.”
“I know they’re your favorite.” Kissed his nose, “and after being the best boyfriend in the whole whole world, you definitely deserve them.”
“That’s a stretch.”
There was always a part of Steve that felt like he did too much. That his worried state was overwhelming for you, that he only was a reminder of the past.
“Definitely not.”
“Yeah?”
You nod, gaze so very gentle.
His lingering frown slowly made its way up and you rubbed your thumb over it. That’s when he finally allowed himself to lift up and kiss you deeply. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration to stable you. He savored the feeling of your lips moving against his, the noise clicking. You were here. Lips to his, body to body.
“Is that a yes to staying over?” You mumble against his lips.
You could see the dried tears danced all around his cheeks, kissing the last of them away that stayed on the corners of his eyes.
“You got me at the cookies.”
“So your only in it for the cookies? Your not worried about me anymore?”
He rolled his eyes with his fingers sliding into your hair, bringing your head down so he could kiss it. So naturally, so right. Alive. He kissed your forehead all the way down to your chin, feeling the warmth from your skin.
It wasn’t cold like how he remembered it from so long ago. It was there. You were there. In your bed with his shirt, smelling like vanilla, kissing him like the world had no end.
His hands looped with yours as you two stood up, kissing behind your neck as he walked behind you.
“‘Course I’m still worried.” He hums. “But your here.”
He repeats the very words you said out loud, and then over and over again in his head. Because even with what happened, you were right. There was no chance in the whole universe that he would ever let you go again.
He spins you around, kisses you tenderly, and strokes your cheek.
“I love you.” He whispers like he’s always done with you in moments like these.
“I love you too Steve.”
You two smile.
“Always.”
He realizes that just because what happened to you was in the past, didn’t mean it was going to happen again. He had you in his arms, physically and mentally- grasping onto another piece of his life that had always lingered.
You became a simple friend during childhood, his crush, his girl. Souls were intertwined and now he knew that you were okay- and you were his.
heyy!! can i request a fluffy fic where reader is staying over at her boyfriend steve’s house and when steve’s showering he realizes he forgot a towel so he calls for readers name and asks her to get a towel for him but when she walks in the bathroom with his towel, her eyes are closed. he thinks that’s really cute of her and he’s like “baby you don’t have to close your eyes” and he’s like “i’ve seen every inch of you” or “you’ve seen every inch of me” and shes innocent and cute. they end up showering together nothing sexual but just intimate and fluffy. sorryyy it’s kinda long but i think you would do really well with this one and i am absolutely in love with your fics!! you’re super talented and i can’t wait to read!! much love 💗💗
Staying over at your boyfriends house leads to soft intimate moments shared
It was a big step in your relationship—staying overnight at Steve’s house for the first time, at least it felt like a big step to you. You had been to each other's places before, but only for a few hours at most, so when Steve suggested spending the whole weekend with him, your heart hasn’t stopped racing.
Everything was going smoothly, you arrived with a duffle bag full of all the necessities you needed and Steve had a huge smile planted on his face.
“You’re here—finally! I’ve only been waiting for like the whole day.” He playfully rolled his eyes, lifting you in his arms while you giggled.
“I didn’t wanna come too early.” You confessed quietly, and Steve shook his head.
“I don’t care whenever you come, only that you’re here.” He booped your nose, and immediately took your stuff, placing them in his room before coming back to you.
He put on a comedy movie as you settled down, before ordering pizza for you both. “I’m starting to think the only thing you eat is pizza, Stevie.” You raised a brow.
He shrugged but didn’t deny it. “It’s a Friday night—I don’t feel like making anything.” He sprawled himself over you as you waited for the food to arrive.
And it was delicious, or perhaps it was only because you were sharing the meal with your boyfriend. You finished the rest of the movie and it was getting late, at the signal of your yawn Steve picked himself off of you, stretching his arms above his head.
“C’mon, it’s time for bed sweet girl.” He led you to his bedroom.
“I’m gonna take a shower, I won’t be long, alright baby?” He said, and you nodded, sitting down on his mattress while you waited.
It was only five minutes later when Steve looked around his bathroom and realized he forgot to bring a towel with him.
“Shit,” he muttered to himself.
“Honey!” He called out for you, raising his voice to be heard above the running water.
You quirked your head outside the room, wondering if Steve wanted you—before mentally slapping yourself, of course he meant you.
“Yes?” You responded in the same tone, standing up.
“Can you please get me a towel, baby? I forgot mine.” Steve asked, feeling slightly bad.
“Ok!” You eagerly said, looking around his room for one before spotting it lying across the floor near his closet.
You picked it up quickly, but paused before turning the doorknob. The thought of him being bare made your face go scarlet, he obviously needed his privacy, right? You closed your eyes tightly, before entering, holding your hand out that held onto the towel.
Steve heard slow steps padding across the floor and stuck his head out from the curtains to see you. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of you clumsily attempting to navigate around his bathroom, while trying not to bump into anything.
“Baby, why do you have your eyes closed?” He asked gently.
You furrowed your brows in the most adorable manner, tilting your head to the side. “Well, why shouldn’t they be? You’re showering.” You stated as if it was obvious.
Steve laughed lightly, wishing he could just scoop you into his arms. “There’s no need to be shy, sweetheart. You’ve seen every inch of me.” He couldn’t stop the smugness from taking over his tone.
If you weren’t already blushing before, you definitely were now. You swallowed thickly, stammering as your eyes still remained closed.
“Uh—I…you can’t say that!” You huffed, a small pout forming on your lips.
Steve’s smile softened at your shyness, reaching out to hold your elbow and pull you the rest of the way towards him. “Open them, baby.” He placed his hands under your chin, lifting it to coax you into opening them.
You slowly fluttered your lashes open, revealing the irises he so dearly loved. Your breath caught as you observed his dewy skin, droplets of water sliding down his chest and hair that fell over his forehead—he looked so beautiful. Realizing you had been staring, you hastily averted your gaze, flickering your eyes around.
“H-Here you go.” Was the only thing you could say as he pushed the towel into his hands, about to turn back around until he caught you once more.
“Why don’t you join me, sweetheart?” Steve blurted, and your eyes widened.
“What?” You loudly exclaimed.
“Come in while the waters still warm.” He explained, though it was only a reason to try to convince you.
You contemplated the offer, still feeling the urge to run, but with how sweet Steve was staring at you, you refused to look away.
“Are you sure?” You shifted your weight around on each foot.
“Of course.” He said without hesitation, trailing his hands down to grip at the edge of your top, already trying to work it off of you.
“Okay, okay!” You laughed, pushing them away, capable of undressing yourself.
“Just helping.” He winked, before turning away to give the space you needed to shed yourself.
You took a small breath, not believing how you were still alive in this moment, and slowly began to take your clothes off. Without a sound, you stepped into the shower, and Steve grinned—immediately allowing you to take his place under the stream of water.
It was warm, though you couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through you. You heard the sounds of Steve rummaging around for a moment, before he gently placed his large hands over your scalp, raking shampoo through the entirety of your hair.
“You don’t have to.” You whispered, but relishing under his care.
“I want to.” He hummed back, massaging as your head tilted back until it hit against his shoulder, a sigh escaping you.
He leaned down to press a feather light kiss on your forehead, happy when you smiled in response. Even when his hands started to ache he didn’t pull away, releasing all the built up tension in your head.
You rinsed your hair, about to return the same treatment before realizing he had already washed his own. You deflated a little, and watched as Steve squeezed a generous amount of body wash—his body wash, into his palm and set his hands on your body again.
“Just let me take care of you,” he mouthed against the space below your ear, guiding the soap down the slope of your shoulders, across the span of your chest, and the sides of your waist until it lathered.
You felt like you could cry—his kisses never stopped around your neck and throat. Steve bent down, holding your leg as he cleaned your thighs and calves, giving the utmost care, even when he reached your softest parts. You stared down at him with affection, moving his head back up to look at you so you could connect your lips in thanks, communicating all the words you couldn’t say.
He only returned the same expression, keeping his hands on you even when the water hit your warm body, and you stayed close the whole time, rubbing your hands up and down his biceps.
It was unclear how long you two stayed like that, only that eventually the water turned cold and you grew concerned for Steve’s water bill, he reached behind you to turn it shut, helping you out so you wouldn’t slip.
You felt unbelievably giddy afterwards, getting dressed together and brushing your teeth. He smiled at you through the reflection of the mirror, and his mouth tasted of mint when he couldn’t help but kiss you afterwards.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He said into the darkness of the room, wrapping you back into his arms underneath the softness of his blanket.
“Goodnight, Stevie.” You responded, nuzzling yourself into the crook of his chest, sighing comfortably.
That night you dreamt of the feeling of his warmth, unable to forget the ghost of his fingers touching you like you meant everything to him.
- the morning after a terrible argument, you come down with the worst fever of your life. unfortunately for your dignity, Steve Harrington still loves you enough to play nurse through all of it.
- cw: sicky reader, fight, hurt/comfort, stevie being a sweetie pie >⩊<
no reader description (aka pic is just aesthetic purposes ^^) also inspired over a jeno fic i read a couple yrs ago and thought abt recently... if you know which one pls let me know so i can tag them :p
Steve thinks you and him are cosmically doomed to have the worst timing imaginable.
Exhibit A: the last twenty-four hours.
Yesterday you’d both had the same day off for once, which almost never happened anymore between Steve picking up extra Family Video shifts and you drowning in work all week. You ran errands together, made fun of the kids after they got too worked up from pointless arguments, argued in the grocery aisles over whether to get the E.T or Indiana Jones themed cereal.
It was normal. Easy.
Then somewhere between takeout containers and exhaustion and too many things left unsaid lately, it stopped being easy.
Steve couldn’t even fully remember how the fight started now. Something small. Something stupid. You accusing him of never talking about what he was feeling anymore. Steve snapping back that every conversation lately somehow turned into him doing something wrong.
Then it escalated.
Like it always did when both of you were too tired to communicate properly and too emotional to stop talking.
“You don’t even want to be here half the time,” you’d snapped at him.
Steve looked like you’d slapped him.
“That’s not fair.”
“Well, what am I supposed to think?” you shot back. “You barely look at me anymore.”
Steve ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “That’s not what’s happening.”
“Bullshit.”
The second the word left your mouth, you regretted it.
Steve’s expression hardened instantly—not angry exactly, just hurt.
“Seriously?”
But by then both of you were angry enough to keep going anyway.
It ended with Steve grabbing his jacket and slamming your apartment door hard enough to shake the walls while you cried in your kitchen.
Which would’ve already been bad enough.
Except you woke up this morning feeling like actual death.
By noon, your fever had climbed high enough that your teeth hurt. Your throat burned so badly it felt shredded every time you swallowed, and your chest ached from coughing so hard you could barely breathe afterward.
You held out until almost two in the afternoon before finally calling Steve.
Steve showed up thirteen minutes later with medicine, electrolyte drinks, soup ingredients, cough drops, two thermometers because “the other one looked unreliable,” and the kind of worried expression he tried hard to hide whenever he was scared.
He’d barely spoken to you since arriving.
Not mean or cruel.
Just… distant.
Like he was forcing himself to stay calm.
And honestly? You deserved it.
Right now, Steve sat at the foot of your bed with one leg bouncing anxiously while Back to the Future played on your TV. Every few minutes he glanced over his shoulder to make sure you were still conscious.
You had spent most of the day curled beneath blankets while he took care of you in silence.
He made soup.
Made you take medicine.
Refilled your water constantly.
Pressed cold washcloths to your forehead.
Cleaned your kitchen while you slept.
He even argued with Robin over the phone because she wanted to come over and “diagnose you dramatically,” and Steve insisted you needed rest.
But he still hadn’t really looked at you.
Not fully.
Not the way he usually did.
And every second of that distance sat heavy in your chest.
You pushed yourself upright slowly, immediately dizzy enough that the room tilted sideways.
Steve muted the TV instantly.
“Whoa, hey.” He stood fast. “What do you need?”
His voice softened automatically around concern despite everything.
Guilt clawed at your stomach.
“Just going to the bathroom” you muttered back.
Steve frowned immediately. “You need help walking?”
The fact that he was still asking things like that after last night almost made you cry on the spot.
You shook your head weakly.
Big mistake.
Your vision swam. Steve noticed instantly, moving closer without touching you yet.
“Easy,” he said quietly.
“I’m okay.”
“You almost fell over.”
“I’m dramatic.”
“No. You’re delirious with that fever you got.”
A weak huff escaped you that turned into coughing almost immediately. Steve’s expression tightened hard at the sound.
Gosh. You hated this.
Hated feeling helpless.
Hated knowing you’d hurt him.
Hated that he was still here anyway.
You shuffled toward the bathroom slowly while Steve watched like he was debating following you in case you collapsed.
Once the door shut behind you, the thin thread holding you together finally snapped.
You sank to the floor beside the sink with trembling hands covering your face.
Everything hurt.
Your body.
Your chest.
Your head.
Your heart.
The apartment felt too quiet without Steve talking to you properly. Every careful movement from him all day somehow hurt worse than if he’d just yelled.
You’d spent the entire morning thinking he was going to leave. That eventually he’d decide last night was too much.
That he’d grab the few things he kept at your apartment—his extra clothes, the Polaroids tucked beside your mirror, the stupid toothbrush he insisted on matching to yours—and walk out.
The thought alone made you nauseous.
A sob tore painfully out of your throat.
Then another.
Your coughing immediately got worse after that, sharp enough to make tears stream harder down your face.
You pressed your forehead against your knees miserably.
You were so tired.
Three soft knocks interrupted your spiraling.
“Sweetheart?”
The nickname nearly broke you.
“Can I come in?”
You couldn’t answer properly through your throat, so you tapped weakly against the floor instead.
A second later, the door opened carefully.
Steve stepped inside quietly before shutting it behind him.
The second he saw you on the floor, his entire face changed.
All the distance from earlier cracked instantly.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Fresh tears burned your eyes immediately.
Steve crouched in front of you carefully, close enough to touch but still giving you room.
“What happened?”
You laughed once weakly through your crying.
“What do you mean what happened?”
Steve’s eyebrows pulled together.
“You were okay five minutes ago.”
“No I wasn’t.”
Your voice came out smaller than intended.
Steve went still.
You wiped at your face angrily. “I feel awful and you’re mad at me and I know I deserve it but I just—” Your throat closed painfully around another cough. “I can’t do this today.”
The second the words left your mouth, Steve’s expression fell completely.
“Jesus,” he whispered.
You looked away immediately, ashamed.
“I’m sorry,” you croaked. “About yesterday. I know I was being horrible and dramatic and—”
“Hey.” Steve’s voice turned firm instantly. “Look at me.”
You didn’t want to.
He waited anyway.
Eventually, you forced yourself to lift your head.
Steve looked devastated.
Not angry.
Not cold.
Devastated.
“You seriously thought I was punishing you?”
Your stomach twisted.
“I mean…” you whispered.
“Baby, no.”
The tenderness in his voice hurt worse somehow.
Steve exhaled hard through his nose before sitting fully on the floor in front of you.
“I was trying to give you space.”
“In my own apartment?”
A tiny smile tugged at his mouth despite himself. “You know what I mean.”
You stared down at your hands.
“I didn’t know if you still wanted me around.”
Steve looked genuinely alarmed.
“What?”
“You left.”
His face softened instantly.
“Oh.”
The memory of last night clearly hit him all over again.
Steve dragged a hand down his face tiredly before scooting closer.
“I left because I was angry, and i didn't want to say something that i'd regret..” he admitted quietly. “Not because I wanted to leave you.”
Your eyes burned again.
“I said awful things.”
“So did I.”
“You didn’t mean them.”
“Neither did you.”
That shattered the last of your composure entirely. Another sob escaping before you could stop it.
“C’mere,” Steve murmured immediately.
He reached for you gently this time, hands warm against your arms as he pulled you across the tiny bathroom space until you were practically folded into his chest.
You went willingly. Like your body had spent all day waiting for this exact moment.
Steve wrapped both arms around you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head while you cried against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered again.
“I know.”
“I didn’t mean any of it.”
“I know that too, baby. I know,” he whispered softly.
You clutched weakly at the back of his shirt.
Steve rested his cheek against your hair.
“I’m sorry too,” he murmured after a moment. “I shouldn’t have walked out like that.”
“You were mad.”
“Still.” His arms tightened slightly. “I hate leaving you upset.”
Your chest ached.
Gosh. You loved him so much. Even when things got messy. Even when neither of you handled things perfectly. Even now, feverish and exhausted and crying on the bathroom floor.
Steve pulled back just enough to look at you.
“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”
You tried to answer.
Ended up coughing instead.
Steve sighed softly. “Okay, that’s enough talking for you.”
Despite everything, you smiled weakly.
“There it is,” he said immediately, relief flickering across his face. “Was wondering where that went.”
“Feel disgusting.”
“You look disgusting too.”
You stared at him in betrayal.
Steve grinned for the first time all day.
“Aw, there you are.”
You managed a watery laugh before another cough interrupted it.
“Okay,” Steve decided, pushing himself to his feet while still holding onto you carefully. “Bed. Now.”
“I can walk.”
“You almost passed out standing up twenty minutes ago.”
“Now you're being dramatic.”
“You almost walked into the wall.”
“…oh.”
“Yeah.”
He guided you slowly back toward the bedroom with one arm around your waist.
The apartment felt warmer now somehow. Like the tension finally dissolved.
Steve got you back under the blankets before disappearing briefly into the kitchen. You heard cabinets opening, water running, the microwave beeping.
When he returned, he carried fresh water, medicine, and one of your hoodies.
You blinked at it.
“Why do I need that?”
“Because you’re freezing and keep stealing my body heat.”
“You say that like you mind.”
Steve snorted quietly.
He helped you sit up long enough to take medicine, making sure you actually swallowed it before handing over the water bottle.
“Good?” he asked.
You nodded tiredly.
Steve adjusted the blankets around you again with ridiculous care before climbing into bed beside you.
The second he settled in, you moved toward him automatically.
Steve opened his arms immediately.
“Yeah,” he murmured softly as you curled into his chest. “There she is.”
You buried your face against his neck weakly.
He smelled like laundry detergent and the peppermint gum he always chewed when stressed.
One of his hands slid slowly through your hair while the other rubbed absent circles against your back.
“You scared me today,” he admitted quietly after a while.
You frowned sleepily against him. “Sorry.”
“You called and the first thing you said was ‘I think I’m dying’. I could practically hear your frown.”
“In my defense,” you mumbled, “I really did think I was in that moment.”
Steve pressed a kiss against your forehead after letting out a light laugh. “I almost ran a red light getting here.”
Guilt surfaced again immediately.
Steve must’ve felt you tense because he nudged your head gently.
“Hey,” he whispered. “None of that.”
“But—”
“No.” His hand moved to your cheek. “We had one bad night. That doesn’t erase everything else.”
Your throat tightened painfully for entirely different reasons this time.
Steve looked down at you carefully.
“I love you,” he said simply. “Even when we fight. Even when you’re stubborn. Even when you accuse me of emotionally cheating on you with Robin because I bought her mozzarella sticks.”
Your eyes widened weakly. “She was flirting with you.”
“She called me ugly twice during that conversation.”
“Ehh. She’s complicated. Playing hard to get.”
Steve laughed softly under his breath. The sound wrapped around you warm as a blanket. Your eyelids growing heavier by the second.
“Sleep,” Steve whispered, fingers tracing gently along your spine.
“You’ll stay?”
The question slipped out before you could stop it.
Steve immediately pulled you closer.
“Try getting rid of me.”
Something in your chest finally loosened completely. You pressed one weak kiss against his collarbone. Steve’s hand stilled briefly in your hair. Then he tilted your chin up carefully and kissed you properly.
Slow.
Warm.
Apologetic in all the ways words sometimes couldn’t quite reach.
When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.
“Get some rest, sweetheart.”
For the first time since waking up sick, you actually thought maybe things would be okay again. And tucked safely against Steve’s heartbeat while he held you through the fever and exhaustion and leftover hurt, sleep finally came easily.
like, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated <3
summary: when steve gets hurt in the upside down, the party doesn't know who to call — thankfully, he remembers someone he always had a crush on in high school with larger than life aspirations to become a nurse.
pairing: nursing student!reader x season four steve
content/warnings: mentions of wound care and cuts, scars, bruising, etc, all of steve's injuries are in reference to when he gets attacked by demobats in s4, eddie is alive bc i fucking said so, no nancy slander on my watch, i know absolutely nothing about medical care so i probably got some stuff wrong, slight references to steve's trauma (shitty parents, his king steve era, feeling unloved), major hurt comfort, happy ending!!
word count: 4k
The day Nancy Wheeler calls your apartment to tell you about demogorgons and the Upside Down, you think she's playing a cruel, uncharacteristic prank on you.
You're not sure why she'd do that — you graduated high school a year and a half ago and were currently gearing up to return to Hawkins for Spring Break, because where else would you want to spend it? At first, your initial response is to sputter, and then laugh uncomfortably into the receiver of your plastic phone.
You're not even sure how she got your landline number; you live in a shitty off-campus loft and Nancy would probably only know to reach you via your parents' house, where they — and you, up until graduation — have lived their entire lives.
When you ask her that, she pauses, then avoids the question. This clearly isn't the goody two-shoes Nancy Wheeler you remember from high school.
What you do remember, however, is that she got into some hot water when she started dating Steve "The Hair" Harrington — god, what a douche he was — but last you heard, they'd broken up over some stupid misogynistic shit he pulled and she'd moved onto Jonathan Byers. You thought it was an odd pairing, but it wasn't much of your business.
"Anyway, you're in school for nursing, right?" Nancy steers the conversation effortlessly away from your questioning, and you swallow, bumping your hip against the ugly floral wallpaper that decorates the kitchen walls.
Again, you have no clue how she remembers that. You and Nancy were a year apart in school, and you were friends when you were younger, but you'd drifted apart in middle school.
"You there?" she asks.
You clear your throat. "Yeah, I'm a sophomore. Why does any of this matter, Nancy? You're not answering any of my questions, and honestly, you sound like you're on drugs or like you're having some kind of psychotic break—"
Suddenly, you're cut off by some shuffling on the other end, and you think you hear some yelling — a mix of older teenagers and prepubescent ones, then painful groaning. Your eyebrows furrow in concern.
"Nancy? Nancy, are you alright?"
"This isn't Nancy," a male voice croons on the other end. Your eyes widen. "Hi sweetheart, my name's Eddie. You might remember me, I've been a senior for like, four years. Anyway, good ol' Wheeler isn't on drugs and she isn't having a psychotic break, that I can promise. What she's telling you sounds totally bonkers, I know, because I was you a few weeks ago, but she's telling the truth. I promise."
The image in your brain only gets foggier. Was Eddie Munson on the other line? In what weird, fucked up world is Nancy Wheeler hanging out with Eddie Munson?
"So, all that aside, the reason why we're calling is because we need someone trustworthy with medical skills. Is that you? It kinda has to be, because you already know all the nitty gritty details, and we'll have to kill you if you say no."
You fumble. "Um. I- I don't know. I'm only a sophomore."
"Do you know how to take care of wounds?"
"It, um, depends on how bad they are."
"Let's say they're... moderately bad. From an animal. Hypothetically supernatural. Of the bat kind."
"What?"
"How about stitches?" Eddie continues, "Because, listen, I'm no doc, but I'm pre-tty sure Harrington could use a few."
"Harrington?" you echo, "Wait, this is about Steve Harrington?"
In the background, you hear a child's loud voice: "You said you wouldn't tell her!"
"Eddie," you say slowly, "Are there... kids there?"
"Listen, don't worry about that," he says, and it's far too nonchalant for your worrisome nature to take, "Are you able to help or not?"
You glance at your packed dufflebag on the bed. The one that was ready to spend the week at your parents' house before Nancy Wheeler called 30 minutes ago.
"Yeah," you say, grabbing your keys from the hook next to the front door. "Give me a second to grab a pen and paper, I just need the address."
Up until today, you've never been to the Harrington's house before.
In high school, you were never invited to Steve's infamous parties, but you always heard about them at school on Monday — about someone doing keg stands, about some couple, together or not, having sex, about someone jumping in the pool naked... teenage debauchery you were never part of, yet, for some reason, you yearned to experience.
The house is dark from the outside, and somehow, it feels even colder on the inside. A girl with short hair answers the door — someone you faintly recognize — and she immediately seems more down to earth, but more high-strung than Nancy.
"Hey," she greets in a tone that feels kind and familiar, and a part of you wishes you had that effect on people, "Steve's laying down in the living room. Nancy and Eddie took the kids home."
You nod as you follow her through the expansive house, all marble and tacky and wealth expressed in ways that feel frigid.
"I'm Robin, by the way," she says, "Nance said you were someone we could trust?"
You shrug. "To be honest, I'm not sure why. We were friends growing up but we grew apart... I don't even know how she got my number."
Robin waves her off, "That was all Eddie and Dustin. Don't be surprised if they hack your stuff one day."
You can't tell if she's joking or not.
In the living room, Steve Harrington — who you think you may have spoken to once when you were both juniors, and that's it — is laying shirtless on the couch, his eyes lazily half-closed while The Golden Girls play on TV. You want to snort at that, but you're more concerned about the red, bloody lashings and cuts that cover his side and throat. You swallow at the sight.
"I know Nancy kind of gave you a rundown about the whole monster thing but it's probably a little more gnarly in person," Robin says softly. She kneels down by Steve's head and presses a hand to his shoulder, shaking him gently. "Hey dingus, we brought someone to help clean you up since we're all no help."
"What did you guys do for him?" you ask, willing your nerves to fade. There's something different about working on someone you knew in high school — the attractive jock all-star everyone had a crush on, that is — instead of some random person you're practicing on.
"Um, Nance made him a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. And we're not sure if he's concussed or anything, but we've been keeping him awake... gave him water and something to eat and some ibuprofen for the pain. That's it, really... we didn't know what else, and we couldn't bring him to the hospital. He looks like he got mauled by a bear."
"Yeah," you agree humorlessly, opening your first aid kit on the floor. You pull your pen light out and bite your lip. "Do you think we can get him to sit up?"
"Sure, if you help me."
You nod, each of you taking one of Steve's arms.
"Hey Steve, we're gonna help you up a little, alright?" you say gently, tactfully pulling him up into a seating position against the couch cushions. You're surprised that he goes easily, his head flopping back as he groans. "Can you hold your head up for me? I remember you had really bitchin' hair in high school. Do you still have it?"
"'f course I do," Steve mutters, his hazel eyes languidly glazing over you. You flick your pen light on to look at his pupils. "Hey, 'member you."
"Hm?" you ask, distracted by the task at hand. He's clearly exhausted and might have been injected by some... supernatural venom, but he's not concussed, which is a win in your book. You decide to move on to cleaning the cuts on his face.
"I said I 'member you," he repeats, hissing when the alcohol cloth makes contact with the bloodied slices on his skin. "We went to school together."
"We did," you murmur, smiling softly. "We were in the same class."
"Uh-huh. Class of '85, baby!" Steve attempts to pump his fist in the air but quickly retracts in, a zip of pain ripping through his shoulder. This time, you do snort with laugher. "You're pretty when you laugh."
"Looks like you haven't changed a bit, Harrington," you say as you finish tending to the wounds on his face. "Let's take care of this thing on your neck, huh? What happened here?"
Steve shrugs nonchalantly. "Demobat tried to strangle me."
"Right," you mutter, assessing the damage. "Looks like you might have some scarring. You'll need to keep an eye on this and make sure it doesn't get infected. Do you trust anyone enough to stay here and do that?"
You look to where you thought Robin was sitting behind you, but it seems as if she's long gone.
"Don' really wanna bother anyone with it," he replies. "I can do it. 'm a big boy."
You furrow your eyebrows. "Steve, you're in seriously rough shape. Someone should be taking care of you."
He pouts. You hate to admit that it's adorable.
"Don' like asking for help."
You sigh. "It doesn't look like you need stitches or anything crazy, but let me stay the night to keep an eye on you, alright? I don't think you should be alone right now."
Steve, wide-eyed and boyish, looks to you like you just hung the moon for him.
He doesn't fight you as you continue to clean and check his wounds.
Steve sleeps for the next day.
You don't bother trying to move him to his bedroom. He's clearly comfortable, snoring away on the couch, and it sounds like he hasn't gotten enough sleep in the past month. So, you let him.
In the meantime, you don't do much. Robin left her phone number behind, so you call her periodically with updates, not that there are many. You don't know where Steve's parents are, but you remember them being quite sparse in high school, so you're unsurprised that the pattern's unbroken almost two years later.
You live out of your duffelbag and call your own parents to let them know that you got caught up with something at school and you'll hopefully be home in a few days. In the meantime, you occupy yourself with reading books that you brought along from your apartment, and when that gets boring, you watch TV and wait for Steve to wake up.
Eventually, that evening, he does.
You brace yourself. You're not sure what for — in the few hours you've spent watching doctors and nurses treat patients, you've seen some people wake up distraught, some angry, others confused and upset, but Steve does... none of those things.
His eyes blink at you blearily, craning his neck and stretching it against the arm of the couch. He lets out a low groan, one that makes your stomach flip, and you swallow, taking slow steps towards him with your first aid kit in hand.
"Hey," you greet delicately, "How are you feeling?"
Steve looks at you as you scan over the angry red marks on his throat. He has on a shirt on, but you'll need to peel back the fabric to assess the wounds on his stomach, too.
"Shitty," he croaks, his eyes widening some at the crack in his voice, "Went through puberty again, too, I guess."
You smile bemusedly before lowering to your knees and sitting back on your ankles. At eye level, Steve looks far less exhausted than he did 24 hours ago.
"You look better," you say, eyeing the cuts on his cheek. "You should eat something and drink some water. Shower, maybe."
"You saying I smell?"
"Well, if you and all your friends really aren't fucking around about all this demoshit, I would assume they can't smell great."
Steve attempts to shrug. "I've smelled worse. Like Dustin Henderson after demolishing multiple roast beef sandwiches."
You wrinkle your nose, popping open your kit to begin the process of cleaning his cuts and replacing the bandaids.
"Is there a reason why you all hang out with freshmen? Or is Nancy's brother just, like, really attached to her?"
Steve winces when the cold alcohol cloth touches his skin. You murmur out a halfhearted apology.
"'s a long story," he mutters. "I kinda... accidentally got myself involved in this and... now I'm here."
"And now you're here," you echo softly. "Barely walking with a random nurse-in-training tending to your supernatural bat wounds."
"Psshhhh," Steve turns his neck to face you, cocking his eyebrows. "'Random'? I told Nance to call you."
You pause, a mess of used, bloodied alcohol swabs on the ground beside you.
"How on earth did you know I was a nursing student?" you ask, reaching for the stack of bandaids. "We barely talked in high school. I don't even think we signed each other's yearbooks at graduation."
"Um, yes, we did," Steve says pointedly. You arch an eyebrow at him in disbelief. "Go upstairs to my room. Hawkins Class of '85, the yearbook is on my shelf."
"I'll pass for now," you smirk.
"Anyway," he huffs dramatically. "We were lab partners spring semester junior year. You were always really good at science and I vividly remember asking you why you liked that stuff so much — you're the only reason why I even passed anatomy, and you said you wanted to be a nurse."
"You remember that?"
He shrugs. Like it's insignificant. Like you're surprised anyone can even recall your name instead of just passing over your face like a mushy blob.
"I just thought it was cool," Steve continues. "No one I knew at the time had any idea what they wanted to do, and you were so set already. Even when I was a senior, I had no clue. I was just gonna hang around Hawkins and work for my dad and... I just thought, maybe I could be like you, y'know?"
Your face warms, so you busy yourself with tidying the mess you've made on the ground. It feels silly to be so awestruck by Steve Harrington and yet... how couldn't you be?
"That's really nice, Steve. Thank you." you say softly. His face melts, matching the sweet smile on your face, and he almost looks relieved.
"Thank you for coming here," he mumbles. "I know it's not, like... your typical situation."
"I'm happy to help," you reach out hesitantly and place your hand against his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Let me make you something to eat, alright?"
You don't anticipate staying another night at Steve's, but it just... happens.
You make dinner for the two of you while the local news plays lowly in the living room, the TV flashing against Steve's tired face. Together, you eat grilled cheese sandwiches in silence. You hand him a glass of water between bites and then offer him a Gatorade.
After dinner, you run a shower for him in the ensuite bathroom of his bedroom. You lay towels out for him and slowly help him up the stairs, just like he's any other patient, and not the boy who could make any girl, teenager, or woman in Hawkins fall to their knees just with a flick of his eyes. You tell him to shout if he needs you, but you secretly hope he doesn't. You're not sure if you could spare yourself the embarrassment of helped a naked, wet, injured Steve Harrington.
While he showers, you make his bed and prep your supplies so you can tend to his cuts and wounds when he gets out. It's a repetitive but necessary process to prevent any infections, and Steve's lucky he didn't need stitches or anything worse. You're fumbling with your collection of travel-sized bottles of topical antibiotics when Steve emerges from the steamy bathroom in a pair of gym shorts and an old Hawkins High School shirt.
You look up, your polite greeting suddenly lost in your throat at the sight of his wet hair and tired eyes. There's something devastating and boy-like about his appearance, and your heart twists in your chest. You try to shove it down.
"That was exhausting," Steve mumbles, his posture slightly slumped. He eyes his bed, then where you sit on the carpeted floor. "Oh— did you— are you leaving?"
"I hadn't really thought about it," you admit. "I just thought it might be more comfortable for you to sleep in your own bed instead of the couch. And I have to redo all your bandages and stuff."
Steve nods. "Where do you want me, doc?"
"On the bed is fine."
By this point, you and Steve have familiarized yourself with this process, and with each gentle clean and touch, his wounds get a little bit better. You assume he'll be able to do this for himself at some point in the near future, but there's a part of you — the caretaker, nurse part of you, you assume — that really likes doing it for him.
He lifts his shirt, twisting slightly to showcase the bruising and sores on his side.
"Can you stay another night?"
For a moment, you pause. Glance up at him, but his eyes are focused on the Hawkins basketball team pendent tacked up on the wall. You continue adhering the band-aid to his skin.
"I can do that," you say softly. "You're healing up well, though. I can teach Robin or Nancy, or whoever you want, to do this, if you'd like."
Steve doesn't immediately reply. Not when you gently pull down the material of his worn sleep shirt and help him back into a sitting position, and not when he runs a hand through his damp hair.
"Will you grab the yearbook off the shelf?"
Your eyes follow to where he's pointing and you nod, standing from your spot on the bed. You retrieve it and hand it to him, watching as he flips to the back pages. It doesn't take him long to find the masses of autographs — not to mention, a couple of lipstick marks and more than a few phone numbers.
"Looks like you had quite a few admirers." you joke.
"Yeah, and none of them cared once high school wasn't real anymore," he snorts humorlessly. It's a second more before he points to your messy handwriting, shoving the yearbook into your lap. Sure enough, your signature is there, followed by a short message. "Read it and weep, doc."
You roll your eyes. "So? Everyone signs each other's yearbooks at the end of the year. It's a whole nostalgia thing."
"Read it."
"To Steve," you read aloud, "It's been great going to school with you all these years. Excited to see where you land. Wishing you the best of luck."
You look up at him expectedly. He shoots you a look.
"Keep going."
Below your handwriting is someone's unfamiliar penmanship. It takes you a few seconds to decipher it, but when you do, your stomach flips.
Coolest girl in Hawkins. Super smart. Wants to be a nurse. If she ever comes back to this loser town, it's a sign I have to ask her out.
"Who wrote that?"
Steve puffs out a breathy laugh. "Who do you think?"
"You thought that about me?"
"Of course." he says it like it's the easiest answer in the world. "I still do."
You can't help it when a loud laugh bubbles up out of you. Steve grins, wide and toothy, and you think it's the cutest thing you've ever seen in the world.
"I think you're delusional, Harrington. Maybe you are concussed."
"You said I wasn't, and you've been a damn good nurse so far."
You laugh again, shaking your head at the boy before you. You feel unbelievably giddy, like you just found out your middle school crush likes you back.
And maybe, really, that's exactly what it is — even if you're hesitant to admit it to yourself.
With a swallow, Steve gently shuts the hard covered yearbook before pushing it to the side, as if closing it will put some kind of finality to the ridiculousness of everything that was Hawkins High.
You remember Steve having a rough go of it his senior year. You don't know the details, but you heard rumors. No college acceptances, Nancy Wheeler drunkenly breaking up with him at a Halloween party that fall. It had been a long freefall for King Steve — one that had twisted up your insides at the time, even if the extent of your interactions were longing glances in the hallways.
"Stay," Steve suddenly says, and this time, his ask is breathier, quieter than it was 20 minutes ago.
You look at him. Allow your eyes to wash over the golden boy sitting in front of you, who's no longer such a golden boy at all, but bruised and beaten down and cut up by supernatural forces that you still don't quite understand. He's been swallowed up and spit out by Hawkins and young adulthood and Scoops Ahoy and Nancy Wheeler and Tommy Hagan and Mr. and Mrs. Harrington and even his latest venture at Family Video, where he works with Robin but regularly gets yelled at by teens trying to rent R-rated movies.
(He swears it's not that bad, but his eyes all but twitched at the mention of his boss, who apparently has a dictator-like approach to running the store.)
"I already told you I'll stay." you reply softly, hand pressing into the soft mattress. Your fingers make an indentation in the foam, and Steve's mouth parts. Carefully, he reaches out, his larger palm covering yours. Your breath hitches in your throat and you feel like the biggest loser alive, your gaze remaining low on your now-joined fingers.
"No... I mean, stay here. In my bed. If you're comfortable." Steve amends. He almost sounds nervous, and it finally makes you look up. When you do, his eyes are wide, and you realize you're right.
You nod. "Do you want the TV on?"
He thinks for a moment. The past few nights, you've been sleeping to the sounds of the local news and late night re-runs of sitcoms. You don't ask why and Steve's grateful for it.
"No, 's fine," he decides, trying to shift into a more comfortable position against the pillows.
"Don't strain yourself," you scold. "I'll help you move if you need it."
Steve snorts lowly as you round the bed, clicking the lamp off. His bedroom, now bathed in the inky blue of 1 1 pm, feels less intimidating this way.
You climb in on the other side, pulling his comforter over your body.
"Are you comfortable?" he asks as you move onto your side.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
"Shush."
You smile. Steve doesn't miss it.
He wishes he could face you, but he can't with the wounds on his side. Instead, he lays on his back, his arm splayed out between you two, his hand palm face up. It's quiet for the first few minutes as you both listen to each other's breathing.
Steve's not sure if you're sleeping when he says it.
"Can I ask you something?"
You open your eyes. "Hm?"
"Sorry. Did I wake you up?"
"No," you answer honestly. "I was drifting a little, but I'm awake. What'd you wanna ask?"
He pauses. Promises himself he won't lose his nerve.
"When I'm a little better... Maybe before you head back to school, or maybe in the summer when you come back, like after the semester's over... can I take you on that date?"
Steve stretches his neck to look at you. Even with his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he can't quite make out your facial expression, with the way you're biting your lip and smiling at him. He can't figure out if you're looking at him with pity or if you're excited, but either way, he can't recall the last time he was this nervous to ask someone out.
And then, he feels your hand slide into his, and it's like all of his worries never even existed at all.
"I would really, really love that, Steve." you murmur, intertwining your fingers with his.
You both grin at each other in the dark like fools.
Summary: Steve discovers that if he plays with your hair for long enough, you will fall asleep on him every single time.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, sleepy affection, domestic intimacy, kissing, touch-starved steve harrington, comfort fic (lmk if i missed anything)
W/C: 1.2k
Read more of my writing here: [masterlist]
You’re both sprawled across his couch after a movie, the living room lit only by the television and the warm orange lamp beside the window. Rain taps softly against the glass while some terrible late-night advert mutters quietly in the background now that the film’s ended.
You’re tucked against his side beneath one of his old blankets, half talking about something Robin said earlier while Steve absentmindedly plays with your hair.
Not even consciously, really.
Just something his hands started doing at some point during the relationship and never stopped.
Twisting soft strands around his fingers. Scratching lightly against your scalp. Pushing hair back away from your face whenever it falls forward.
Steve likes touching you. This is not exactly new information.
What is new is the fact your voice suddenly cuts off halfway through a sentence.
Steve glances down.
You’re asleep.
Completely asleep.
Mouth slightly parted against his shoulder, breathing slow and even, one hand still loosely curled in the fabric of his t-shirt.
Steve blinks once.
“…seriously?”
You do not respond, mostly because you are unconscious.
Steve stares at you for another few seconds before looking down at his hand still buried in your hair.
Interesting.
The second time it happens, he starts suspecting a pattern.
You’re sitting between his legs on the floor of his bedroom while he half watches a movie over your shoulder and half messes with your hair mindlessly. You’d insisted you weren’t tired less than ten minutes earlier.
“You literally slept till eleven,” Steve reminds you while separating sections of your hair carefully.
“I know,” you mumble. “That’s why I’m not tired.”
“Hm.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“You like me.”
“Unfortunately.”
Steve grins slightly to himself before dragging his nails lightly across your scalp again.
Your shoulders loosen immediately.
Another few minutes pass.
Then, nothing.
No response to his last comment. No movement either.
Steve leans slightly sideways to look at your face properly.
Dead asleep.
Again.
Still sitting upright between his legs.
Steve laughs so suddenly he nearly wakes you back up.
“Oh my god,” he mutters quietly.
By the fourth or fifth occurrence, it becomes less of a coincidence and more of a genuinely ridiculous amount of power for one person to hold.
Especially because Steve starts testing it.
Not maliciously.
Scientifically.
“You’re doing it on purpose now,” you mumble one afternoon, already sounding half asleep despite having argued thirty seconds earlier that you were “definitely awake.”
Steve, stretched out beside you on his bed, continues scratching softly through your hair with an expression of complete innocence.
“Doing what?”
“The hair thing.”
“What hair thing?”
“The…” You frown weakly. “The sleepy thing.”
Steve bites the inside of his cheek hard trying not to laugh.
Because it really is absurd.
You could be fully awake, actively talking, even complaining about not being tired at all, and within ten minutes of Steve touching your hair for long enough you’re suddenly fighting for your life trying to keep your eyes open.
“You’re being dramatic,” he says.
You squint at him suspiciously through obvious exhaustion. “You’re evil.”
“Mhm.”
“You’re like…” Another yawn interrupts you completely. “Like a tranquiliser gun.”
Steve loses it completely at that.
You fall asleep less than five minutes later with your face squashed into his chest while he quietly laughs into your hair.
After that, it becomes sort of unavoidable.
Steve starts noticing all the tiny signs before you even realise you’re tired.
The slower blinking. The way your body gradually gets heavier against him. The increasingly delayed responses during conversations.
And every single time, without fail, the second his fingers slide into your hair properly, you melt.
On the couch.
In bed.
Once in the passenger seat of his car while he waited for Robin to come out of Family Video after locking up.
Another time at the Wheeler’s house with your head in his lap while everyone else argued loudly over a board game around you.
“You cannot be serious,” Dustin says, staring at your sleeping form in disbelief. “How does she keep doing that?”
Steve barely looks up from where he’s still lazily playing with your hair. “Doing what?”
“She was literally talking.”
“Yeah?”
“And now she’s unconscious.”
Steve shrugs like this is completely normal behaviour.
Robin narrows her eyes immediately from the opposite couch.
“Oh, this is definitely psychological.”
Steve scoffs. “What does that even mean?”
“She’s associated you with sleep now.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It absolutely is,” Robin says. “You Pavlov’d your girlfriend.”
“I did not Pavlov my girlfriend.”
“You basically turned yourself into a human melatonin gummy.”
Steve rolls his eyes, but his hand never stops moving gently through your hair.
Mostly because Robin’s not entirely wrong.
There’s something about the trust of it that affects him more than he expects. The fact you fall asleep so easily against him. The way your whole body relaxes the second he touches you softly enough.
Like some part of you recognises him as safe before you even consciously think about it.
That part gets to him a little if he thinks about it too long.
Which is why he tries not to.
Unfortunately for him, you make this extremely difficult one rainy afternoon a few weeks later.
You’re both curled together in his bed while thunder rumbles softly outside, Steve lazily tracing shapes against your scalp while you blink sleepily up at him.
“You know,” you mumble eventually, “I think my body’s accidentally been trained.”
Steve grins immediately. “Finally admitting it?”
“This is your fault.”
“My fault you’re always sleepy?”
“My fault for trusting you enough to fall asleep this much.”
The smile slips slightly from Steve’s face at that.
You notice immediately, even half asleep.
“What?”
Steve looks down at you quietly for a second before shrugging one shoulder.
“Nothing.”
“Steve.”
His fingers slow slightly in your hair.
“It’s just…” He huffs softly through his nose. “I dunno. Kinda nice, I guess.”
Your expression softens immediately.
Because there it is.
The actual thing sitting underneath all the teasing.
Steve likes being trusted.
Likes being needed in these tiny quiet ways that nobody else really notices.
The way you automatically reach for his hand crossing roads. The way you sleep better beside him. The way you unconsciously move closer every time you’re tired.
You shift upwards slightly against his chest until you can kiss him properly.
Steve kisses you back slowly, one hand still tangled gently in your hair.
“I genuinely think this is my favourite thing.”
Your lips twitch.
“Me falling asleep?”
“No.” Steve smiles faintly. “You trusting me enough to.”
Something warm twists painfully through your chest.
You kiss him again before you can think too hard about it.
Steve’s fingers slide slowly through your hair once more afterwards, scratching lightly against your scalp in that familiar absentminded rhythm.
Dangerous.
You narrow your eyes immediately. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“You know exactly what.”
Steve looks deeply unconvincing. “I’m just touching your hair.”
“You’re literally weaponising affection.”
Steve starts laughing quietly while you attempt to glare at him through increasingly heavy eyelids.
“You’re already falling asleep,” he says.
“No I’m not.”
“You just blinked for like six seconds.”
“That means nothing.”
Steve grins down at you, still gently combing his fingers through your hair.
“You’re done for, sweetheart.”
You open your mouth to argue.
Then immediately yawn instead.
Steve looks so unbearably pleased with himself that you weakly shove at his chest in protest.
It does absolutely nothing.
Mostly because less than ten minutes later, you’re asleep against him again.
And Steve, unfortunately, looks far too happy about it.
Summary: You and Steve, but its in his golden retriever personality to be unable to stay mad at you
A/N: Slightly inspired by Im gonna miss you by milli vanilli if you couldn't tell from the title
It started over nothing.
Not nothing exactly, because in the moment it felt like something. It felt sharp and annoying and personal in the way small arguments sometimes do when both people are tired, when both people are saying things a little too quickly and listening a little too late.
But looking back, it was nothing.
Steve had been late. Only twenty minutes, which was not the end of the world, but you had been waiting outside the video store for him with your arms folded against the evening chill, pretending you weren’t checking your watch every few minutes and pretending even harder that you weren’t starting to feel stupid for standing there alone.
By the time his car finally pulled into the parking lot, music drifting low through the open window, you had already told yourself you weren’t going to make a thing of it. You were just going to get in, let him apologise, and move on, because it was Steve and you missed him and you didn’t want to waste the night being annoyed.
Then he leaned across the passenger seat, pushed the door open for you, and gave you a rushed little smile.
“Hey,” he said, trying for casual. “Sorry. Got held up.”
That was all.
You climbed in and shut the door harder than you meant to, the sound filling the car before you could pretend you hadn’t done it on purpose.
Steve glanced over at you, one hand still resting on the gear stick. “Okay. That sounded personal.”
“It wasn’t,” you said, looking ahead.
“It definitely was.”
“I’m fine.”
Steve stared at you for a second, and even without looking at him properly, you could feel the way his attention settled on the side of your face. “That’s not a fine face.”
You turned to him. “I don’t have a fine face.”
“Yeah, you do. It’s this little…” He gestured vaguely, as if drawing your expression in the air. “Tight mouth thing.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have a tight mouth thing if you weren’t always late.”
Steve blinked, like he hadn’t expected the conversation to turn that quickly. For a second, there was still room for him to soften, still room for you to smile and make it less serious than it sounded, but neither of you took the chance.
“I said I was sorry,” he said.
“You said you got held up.”
“Okay, and then I said sorry.”
“Barely.”
He let out a small laugh, but there was no humour in it, only frustration starting to edge into his voice. “What do you want me to do, get on my knees in the parking lot?”
“No, Steve. I want you to show up when you say you will.”
The car went quiet.
Steve looked away first, pulling out of the parking lot with his jaw set and his hand a little too tight on the steering wheel. “I’m twenty minutes late.”
“You’re always twenty minutes late.”
“That’s not true.”
“It kind of is.”
“Right,” he said, nodding once as he looked at the road. “Okay. So we’re doing this.”
You frowned. “Doing what?”
“The thing where one small thing suddenly means I’m the worst boyfriend in Hawkins.”
“I never said that.”
“You’re acting like it.”
“I’m acting like I’m annoyed because I was waiting for you.”
“And I’m acting like I’m sorry because I was late.”
“No, you’re acting like I’m dramatic for being annoyed.”
Steve glanced at you, his eyebrows lifting before he could stop himself. “You are being a little dramatic.”
The second he said it, you both felt the shift.
Your face dropped, and Steve’s expression changed too, just enough to show he knew he had said the wrong thing. But pride got there before the apology did, and instead of taking it back, he tightened his grip on the wheel and stared ahead.
“Seriously?” you said.
He exhaled through his nose. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No, I meant-” He stopped himself, shaking his head as if he already knew whatever came next would make it worse. “Forget it.”
You turned toward the window, watching the passing streetlights blur into soft gold lines against the glass.
Fine.
If he wanted to forget it, you would forget it.
Except neither of you did.
The silence stretched all the way to your house, but it did not make anything better. It only gave you both more time to sit in everything you had said, more time to replay the little digs, more time to feel hurt without admitting that was what you were feeling.
When Steve finally pulled up outside your house, he parked by the curb but left the engine running, one hand still on the wheel like he was already halfway to leaving.
That annoyed you even more, partly because you knew he was probably just unsure what to do, and partly because you hated that he was making you ask.
“You can come in, you know,” you said, though your tone made it sound more like a challenge than an invitation.
Steve looked at you carefully. “Do you want me to?”
“Do you want to?”
He gave a frustrated little laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Why are you answering everything with another question?”
“Why are you acting like being here is a chore?”
“I’m not.”
“You literally haven’t turned the car off.”
Steve looked at the keys, then back at you. “Because I didn’t know if you wanted me to come in.”
“You could ask.”
“I just did.”
“No, you asked like you were hoping I’d say no.”
He leaned back in his seat, his shoulders tense and his expression caught somewhere between hurt and irritation. “I can’t win with you tonight.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
You turned to him fully. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m trying, and everything I say is apparently wrong.”
“You’re not trying. You’re defending yourself.”
“Because you’re acting like I did something awful.”
“I’m acting like I wanted to spend time with you and you showed up late, then made me feel stupid for caring.”
Steve’s expression changed for a second. Softer. Guilty. Like the words had actually reached him.
But then he looked away.
“I didn’t make you feel stupid.”
The softness in you closed again, because for one tiny moment you had thought he understood, and then he had gone straight back to proving his point.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I’m not deciding it. I’m saying that wasn’t what I meant.”
“But it is what you did.”
Steve’s fingers tapped once against the wheel. “Okay. So what do you want me to say?”
The question came out tired, but it sounded dismissive, like he was asking for the correct answer instead of actually wanting to understand you.
You stared at him. “Wow.”
“What?”
“Nothing makes a girl feel loved like her boyfriend asking what line he’s supposed to say to stop the argument.”
Steve closed his eyes briefly. “That is not what I meant.”
“Then maybe think before you say things.”
He looked at you then, and for half a second, the hurt on his face was plain before he covered it with a harder expression. “I do think.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
The car went silent.
You regretted it almost immediately. Not enough to say so, not yet, but enough for your stomach to twist and for your fingers to curl slightly in your lap.
Steve looked forward, his jaw tight. “Nice.”
You swallowed. “Steve-”
“No, it’s fine.” He nodded once, eyes fixed on the road ahead even though the car was still parked. “Apparently I don’t think. I don’t try. I’m always late. Got it.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That is exactly what you said.”
“No, it’s what you’re choosing to hear.”
He laughed under his breath, bitter this time, and you hated it. You hated the way it made you feel like he had already decided you were impossible, like he had stopped seeing why you were hurt and only saw the argument itself.
“Right,” he said. “Yeah. Of course.”
“You know what?” you said, reaching for the door handle because leaving suddenly felt easier than staying there and letting the whole thing get worse. “Forget it.”
Steve turned his head. “Seriously?”
“What?”
“You’re just leaving?”
“You were clearly about to anyway.”
“I was parked outside your house.”
“With the engine still on.”
“Because we were talking.”
“No, we were arguing.”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice rising slightly now, “because you’re mad at me for being late, and I’m trying to explain-”
“You’re not explaining, Steve. You’re making excuses.”
That did it.
His expression shut down.
“Fine,” he said.
The word landed between you like a door slamming.
You waited for him to say something else. To soften. To reach for your hand. To do any of the things he usually did when he realised you were both going too far.
But he didn’t.
He just stared ahead, breathing hard through his nose, and the longer he said nothing, the more impossible it felt for you to say anything either.
Your hand tightened on the door handle.
Fine.
You opened the door and got out.
The cold air hit you instantly, but you barely felt it as you shut the door, harder than you meant to, and started toward your house. Behind you, Steve didn’t drive away, and for one second you thought he might get out.
You wanted him to.
You wanted to hear his car door open. You wanted him to call your name, to come after you, to say the whole thing had been stupid and he was sorry and could you both please just stop before you said something else you couldn’t take back.
But nothing happened.
So you kept walking.
When you reached your front door, you glanced back despite yourself.
Steve was still there, hands on the wheel, head lowered slightly, and for one tiny second your anger wavered because he looked less angry than lost.
Then his headlights shifted as he pulled away from the curb.
Your chest tightened.
Fine.
If he could leave, then you could let him.
You went inside without looking back again.
Hours later, the argument felt even stupider.
That was the worst part.
It hadn’t been about anything serious, not really. It had started with Steve being late, then a comment, then a look, then him saying something sharper than he meant to and you snapping back before you could stop yourself. Within minutes, it had grown into something neither of you knew how to get out of without being the first one to back down.
Now you could barely remember who had actually started it.
All you knew was that Steve had left with his jaw tight and his hands fixed on the steering wheel, and you had let him go because you were too proud to ask him to stay.
You told yourself you weren’t waiting for him.
You weren’t.
You were just sitting on your bed, staring at the same page of your book for the past twenty minutes because the words would not settle in your head. Every little noise outside made your eyes flick toward the window, and every time the phone stayed silent, your chest pulled a little tighter.
He was probably still mad.
Fine.
You were still mad too.
At least, you were trying to be.
You had replayed the argument so many times that the words had started to blur together. One second you remembered Steve’s face when you snapped at him, the way his expression had dropped before he covered it with irritation, and the next you remembered him looking away from you, muttering something under his breath like he didn’t trust himself to speak properly.
You hated that part most.
Not because he had left, exactly, but because you had stood there and watched him go. You had waited for him to turn around. You had wanted him to. But when he didn’t, you had folded your arms, lifted your chin, and pretended you didn’t care.
You cared.
Far too much.
Your room felt quieter without him in it. Usually, Steve had a way of filling the space even when he wasn’t doing much. He would sit at the end of your bed and flick through one of your magazines, making little comments under his breath, or he would complain that your window was impossible to open even though he still insisted on climbing through it half the time.
Now, the silence felt pointed.
Lonely.
You closed your book and threw it lightly beside you before pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes.
“I’m not apologising first,” you muttered to yourself.
The sentence sounded childish out loud, which only made you more annoyed.
Then there was a knock at your window.
You froze.
For a second, you thought you had imagined it. Then another knock came, quieter this time, followed by a familiar voice through the glass.
“Don’t throw anything at me.”
Your heart betrayed you immediately.
You got up slowly, pulling the curtain back to find Steve Harrington standing outside your window, hair slightly messy and jacket zipped halfway, holding a paper bag in one hand and looking far less confident than he usually tried to.
For a second, neither of you moved.
Then he gave you a small, awkward wave with the hand holding the bag.
You opened the window but didn’t move aside yet. “What are you doing here?”
Steve looked down at the bag, then back at you. “I brought you something.”
You glanced at it. “Is that supposed to fix everything?”
“No,” he said quickly. “No, I know it doesn’t. I just…” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes dropped from yours. “It’s your favourite snack.”
Your expression softened before you could stop it.
Of course he remembered.
Steve noticed things like that, even when he pretended he didn’t. He remembered which flavour you picked out first, how you always claimed you weren’t hungry and then stole half of his food anyway, and the small details you mentioned once and forgot about until he brought them back to you like they mattered.
“I’m still mad at you,” you said, but your voice had lost most of its edge.
“I know.”
“And you were being annoying.”
“I know.”
“And stubborn.”
He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Okay, that one feels a little unfair coming from you.”
You gave him a look.
Steve immediately nodded. “Right. Not the time.”
For a moment, the silence sat between you both. It wasn’t heavy like before, but it was awkward and careful, like both of you were standing on opposite sides of something fragile and neither wanted to be the one to break it again.
Then Steve held the bag out a little.
“I miss you,” he said.
It was quiet, so quiet you almost thought you had imagined it.
Your throat tightened.
Steve looked embarrassed as soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes dropping to the window ledge as he let out a small breath. “I know it’s only been a few hours, and I know that sounds dramatic, but I do. I hate fighting with you. I hate walking away and pretending I’m fine when I’m just driving around like an idiot, thinking about what I should’ve said instead.”
You looked at him for a long moment.
The anger you had been holding onto felt smaller now, not gone completely, but softer around the edges.
“You were driving around?” you asked.
Steve huffed, glancing away. “Yeah.”
“Steve.”
“I know.”
“That’s very dramatic.”
He looked back at you. “I literally just said that.”
A tiny smile pulled at your mouth, and Steve’s shoulders dropped like that one small reaction had taken half the weight off him.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted. “I went past Family Video twice. Then Dustin’s house, but I didn’t stop because I knew he’d somehow make it worse. Then I ended up buying that.” He nodded toward the bag. “And then I sat in my car for ten minutes trying to decide if showing up here made me look pathetic.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “A little.”
Steve sighed. “Great. Love that.”
“But in a sweet way.”
His eyes flicked back to yours. “Yeah?”
You nodded, softer now. “Yeah.”
Steve swallowed, his hand still resting on the window frame. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For what I said. And for leaving like that. I shouldn’t have.”
You looked down at the bag in your hands, the paper crinkling under your fingers.
“I’m sorry too,” you said quietly. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
“You kind of had a reason.”
“So did you.”
“Maybe,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “But I still hated it. The second I walked away, I hated it.”
You glanced up at him.
Steve’s face had gone serious in that way it sometimes did when he was trying not to joke his way out of something. His hair was falling slightly out of place, and there was a nervous little crease between his brows.
“I don’t want us to be like that,” he said. “The whole saying things just to win thing. I don’t want to win if it means you look at me like that after.”
Your chest ached because you knew exactly what he meant. You had both been trying so hard to prove a point that neither of you had stopped to listen properly, and now that the anger had thinned out, all that was left underneath it was how much you hated being apart from him.
“I don’t either,” you said.
Another silence passed, but this one felt different.
Gentler.
You finally stepped back from the window. “Are you coming in or are you planning to stand there looking sad all night?”
Steve blinked, then pointed at himself. “I looked sad?”
“You looked very sad.”
“I was going for regretful.”
“Same thing.”
He started to climb through the window, which would have been much more graceful if his foot had not caught on the frame halfway in.
“Careful,” you said, grabbing his arm.
“I’m fine,” Steve said quickly, despite nearly falling into your room. “Totally fine. Very smooth.”
“You almost face-planted.”
“Didn’t, though.”
You shook your head, but you were smiling properly now, and Steve noticed that too.
Once he was inside, he stood in front of you, close enough that you could smell his cologne and the cold air still clinging to his jacket. For a moment, neither of you said anything, and then Steve reached out gently, his fingers brushing your sleeve like he still wasn’t completely sure he was allowed to touch you.
“I really did miss you,” he said again, softer this time.
Your chest warmed.
You leaned into him before you could overthink it, wrapping your arms around his waist, and Steve didn’t hesitate. He pulled you in immediately, one hand settling against your back while the other cradled the back of your head, holding you like he had been waiting all night to do it.
For a while, neither of you moved.
His hold was firm, almost like he was trying to apologise through it, like he wanted you to understand all the things he had been too stubborn to say earlier.
“I was waiting for you to apologise first,” you mumbled into his jacket.
Steve laughed under his breath. “Yeah, me too.”
“That was stupid.”
“Really stupid.”
“You’re still stubborn.”
“So are you.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, and Steve’s mouth twitched.
“But, like, in a cute way.”
“Careful.”
“Right. Sorry.”
You shook your head, trying not to laugh as he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. It was slow and soft, lingering just long enough to make your eyes close.
When he pulled back, he brushed his thumb lightly over your sleeve.
“Next time,” he said, “we should probably not wait hours to say sorry.”
“Probably not.”
“And maybe one of us should be the bigger person.”
You looked at him.
He nodded seriously. “I vote you.”
You shoved his shoulder lightly. “Steve.”
“What? You’re very emotionally mature.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet you missed me.”
You tried to glare at him, but it came out too fond to work.
Steve smiled, warm and pleased, then reached for the paper bag still sitting between you. “So,” he said, holding it up, “am I forgiven enough to share these, or is this more of a peace offering I have to surrender completely?”
You took the bag from him. “I’ll think about it.”
“That means yes.”
“That means sit down.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge of your bed like he belonged there, because he did. You joined him a second later, the space between you smaller than it had been all night, and Steve watched as you opened the bag, his knee brushing yours.
“You really remembered my favourite?” you asked.
He looked almost offended. “Of course I remembered.”
“I’m just checking.”
“I remember everything.”
You raised an eyebrow.
Steve paused. “Okay, not everything. But important things.”
Your smile softened.
He nudged your knee gently with his. “You’re important.”
The words were simple, but they settled into you anyway.
You leaned your head against his shoulder, and Steve shifted at once, making room for you like it was instinct. His arm came around you a moment later, warm and familiar, and for a few minutes neither of you said much at all.
The argument wasn’t fixed all at once, not completely. There were still things to talk about, still feelings to untangle, still apologies that would mean more because of what happened after them rather than what was said in the moment. But Steve was there, holding you like he didn’t want to let go, and your favourite snack was sitting between you like a tiny peace offering.
When he pressed another kiss to the top of your head and whispered, “Still mad?”
You looked up at him, pretending to consider it.
“A little.”
Steve nodded. “Fair.”
“But less.”
His smile came back, soft and relieved. “I can work with less.”
Heyy, could u write a fic where reader was there when Steve's car gets smashed into the upside wall thing, and gets him a new one for his Christmas?? And he's actually like tearing up and everything bc he loves the colour or smth dumb ❤️🩹
BRAND NEW
Steve Harrington x fem!reader
WORD COUNT: 1.6K
NIA'S NOTES: Thank you for this request!!! I'm currently in the middle of writing another fic, and I knew I wouldn't be able to get it done today so I worked on this just so you guys get a post today!! I'm feeling less stressed, and I get a 10 day long break, so many fics incoming ++ expect to see the series soon 😉 Enjoy my lovelies!! 💕
Christmas was different this year, quieter, it held something that nobody was quite ready to bring up yet. Bringing it up felt wrong, like speaking of it was forbidden. It was unfamiliar, having to get used to the silence in the house at Christmas. There was no laughter coming from the living room when you were still wrapped up under the covers, and no one to knock on your bedroom door, begging you to come out so you could all open presents.
Even though every year it was spent in fear of not knowing what was creeping up in the background, it was still spent with your friends. Many of your friends moved away, started new lives to forget about what took their lives from them for years. Having to spend Christmas without them for the first time was something that you never wanted to get used to, but Steve made up for all of that.
You and Steve have lost a lot in the past few years. Close friends, time, and even yourselves at one point. There wasn’t a way to bring any of that back, and that physically pained you. In the process of going into the upside down, Steve lost his car, it was his baby, and everyone was aware of that. You knew that you couldn’t bring it back for him, it got completely destroyed, but you wanted to replace it, because it was the least that you could do for him.
His arm is loosely draped over your waist, lazily brushing his thumb under your shirt. Your eyes slowly flutter open, and your met with that stupid grin on his face. He leans down, pressing a slow kiss to your lips, taking his time with you, because you really do have all the time in the world.
“Merry Christmas, baby.” He grins, brushing his hand through your hair.
“Merry Christmas.” You say with a warm smile, shifting to rest your leg over his hip. “It’s too quiet in this house, feels weird waking up to nobody screaming or banging on our door, demanding that we get out of bed.” You laugh, shaking your head.
A quiet hum leaves his lips, and he presses his lips together. “I don’t know if I hate it or love it.” He mumbles.
“I like the quiet, but also, I’m going to miss Dustin screaming at us to wake up, and Mike getting frustrated that we take too long getting downstairs. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I wish I could hear them making a noise downstairs right now. It doesn’t feel right that they aren’t here.” You sigh, frowning at him.
“I hate to say it, but I feel the exact same.” He laughs breathlessly.
“Oh, they are going to love to hear this one.” You grin.
He blinks at you for a second, then clicks onto what you’re saying. “No. I take it back. I’m glad it’s quiet. I actually got to sleep without being pestered.”
You gently shove his chest, rolling your eyes. “Sure. Yet you woke up at almost the exact time they used to wake us up.” You say, raising your eyebrows as you look at the alarm clock.
He rolls his eyes. “Coincidence.”
“You got yourself so used to it that you woke up pretty much at the same time they would wake us up. It’s like they’ve trained you for this.” You laugh, causing him to huff.
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” He groans, leaning his head against the headboard.
You comb your hands through his hair, letting the silence fill the room for a few moments. The house used to be filled with the front door slamming open, filled with everyone’s voices as they invited themselves into your house early morning. Then you’d hear a knock at your door, followed by Dustin practically yelling for you to stop being lazy. At the time, it was frustrating, but now you wish you could get that life back.
“We should go open our presents now.” You say, more as a decision than a question.
“It’s not like they’re going to grow legs and run away.” He huffs, dragging his hands down his face. “Can we just go back to sleep?” He asks.
“We went to bed at eight last night, Steve. How are you still tired?” You ask, shifting out of his arms to sit up, and he follows with another groan.
“I’d really love to answer that question.” He says with a cocky grin.
You roll your eyes and slip out of bed, your feet padding along the carpet as you walk downstairs. He follows behind you, his hand lingering on your lower back. Once you step into the living room, you make a beeline for the Christmas tree, leaning down to switch the lights on. They start to twinkle in colourful flashes, slightly worn out from how long Steve had kept them for, refusing to throw them away, but it was his attempt at making Christmas feel just as same as the last.
“Those lights are on the verge of not working.” You laugh, curling your legs underneath you as you pull the presents from under the tree.
“I’m not throwing them away until they don’t work at all.” He shrugs, walking over to the fireplace to light it.
“Hanging on by a thread.” You grin, sorting a pile of presents out.
“I’ve had them for years, not letting them go to waste.” He says, sitting down in front of you on the carpet, flashing you a sweet smile.
You slide Steve’s presents in front of him, perfectly wrapped with ribbons on top. “Apparently nobody knows how to wrap gifts, so I wrapped a few for some people.” You grin.
“Perfectionist.” He hums, settling a present down on his lap.
“The joys of unwrapping a present.” You grin. “Open up the ones from the others first before the presents from me.”
He replies with a nod, tearing open his first present from Robin. “Can’t go wrong with socks.” He grins, holding up the Christmas pattern socks to show you.
“Classic.” You hum, watching as he opens the next few.
He picks up aftershaves, more socks, cassette tapes, showing them to you with a huge grin. “I’ll be putting these cassettes to great use.”
“Time to open my presents.” You beam, pushing the presents in front of him.
“Eager?” He asks with a laugh, tearing the wrapping paper open.
“Can we appreciate my wrapping skills before anything.” You say with a sweet smile, pointing to the ribbons.
“I don’t see the point. It gets thrown in the bin anyway.” He mumbles, pulling out a pair of sneakers he has been eyeing in shops for the past few months. “No way.” He laughs breathlessly, shaking his head as he stares down at them.
“You like?” You ask.
“Of course I do. Thank you so much, baby.” He grins, leaning over to press a kiss to your lips.
“Had to get them. You’ve brought up how much you’ve wanted them for months.” You whisper, slowly pulling back.
“I love them.” He says, moving onto opening the next present. He pulls out a dashboard bobblehead, then turns to you, looking completely lost. “You’ve confused me here.”
You push yourself up from the floor, and he joins you, staring at you blankly. “Follow me.” You grin, sliding your slippers on before you walk to the front door, walking out into the cool air. His movements are quick, sliding on his slippers and almost tripping out the door as he follows you to the garage. You glance at him before pulling up the garage door up, revealing a brand-new burgundy BMW.
He looks at you, his mouth wide open, barely able to get clear words out. He walks over to the BMW, rounding it before placing his hand carefully on the side. “You’re insane, baby. You’re actually insane.” He mumbles, shaking his head as he looks at you.
You walk over to him, and his arms come around you immediately, letting his head drop to your shoulder. A choked sound leaves his lips, and you slip your hands into his hair. “I know it’s not exactly your beamer, but I wanted to get you something that maybe helps you get back into the normality of life.” You whisper.
“It’s perfect.” His voice cracks. “She looks exactly like my beamer. Same burgundy colour too. It’s like she never left this garage.”
“I’m glad you like it.” You whisper, holding him close.
“I love you. I love you so much.” He mumbles, pressing kisses to your neck.
“I love you, Steve. I know we’ve lost a lot, and there’s no way we can get anything back, so I thought I could replace the beamer. It’s not the same, but it’s close enough.” You say with a sweet smile, resting your hands on the back of his neck.
“Trust me, no present could compete to this.” He grins, lifting his head from your neck. “We have to go out for a spin.”
“I still have to open my presents, but of course we can.” You beamed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s get inside before we absolutely freeze.”
He nods, slipping his hand into yours and pulling you into the house, shutting the door behind you with a quiet click. He turns to you, gently resting his hands either side of your face and pressing another slow kiss to your lips, letting out a quiet sound. His lips are gentle against yours, a quiet promise.
“You’ve really done it, baby.” He grins, holding you close to himself.
“Always.” You whisper.
The rest of the morning goes slow, and he watches you open your presents from him with the biggest smile. All he can focus on is you, and he can’t stop bringing up how much he loves you. It may be a different Christmas, one that you would have to get used to together over time, but knowing that you were both safe was all he needed.
Thank you for reading!! 💕 Liking and reblogging is very much appreciated!! 💕💕 So glad I get a break, I'm going to finally get through the longer requests!!
hii can i request a fic where steve has a baby sister and his gf (reader) comes over while he's babysitting her so she ends up helping out and when steve sees how good she is w his sister makes him emotional n he's like i can't wait to have our nuggets
"Our little nuggets"
⋆⭒˚.⋆ Steve Harrington x reader ⋆⭒˚.⋆
english is not my language please be kind and sorry if i wrote wrong :) requests are open if you want!
Summary: When Steve is left babysitting his sister alone, you come to the rescue
Warnings: Domestic fluff, baby care, emotional family themes, discussions of future children, strong romantic intimacy.
The Harrington house was quieter than usual on a Friday night, but the soft cries echoing from the living room told a different story.
Steve had texted you in a mild panic an hour earlier
Steve: Lily is in full meltdown mode, mom and dad are at some fancy work dinner. Please come over before I lose my mind, bring reinforcements.
You arrived with a bag full of supplies, strawberry ice cream, a new teething ring, your favorite lullaby playlist queued on your phone, and a soft blanket that smelled like your laundry detergent.
The second Steve opened the door, relief washed over his face, his hair was charmingly disheveled, a faint smear of baby food on his polo shirt, and eight-month-old Lily was fussing on his hip, her little face red and tear-streaked.
“Thank God,” he breathed, pulling you inside with his free arm and kissing your temple. “She’s been like this since they left. I swear she knows when they’re gone.”
You set your bag down and immediately reached for Lily, the baby leaned toward you with a pitiful whimper, and the moment you settled her against your chest, her cries softened, you rubbed slow circles on her back, swaying gently side to side.
“Hey, sweet Lilybug, rough night with your big brother, huh? It’s okay, i m here now.”
Steve watched, transfixed, as Lily’s tiny body relaxed into you, her chubby hand grabbed a fistful of your shirt, and she let out a contented sigh, nuzzling into your neck.
“How do you do that?” he asked, voice soft with wonder. “I’ve been bouncing, singing, playing peek-a-boo for hours, you walk in and it’s like magic.”
You smiled over Lily’s head. “She just needs that extra feminine touch tonight. Plus, I think she likes my heartbeat, it’s steadier than yours when you’re stressed.” You kissed the top of Lily’s dark curls, inhaling that sweet baby scent. “Right, princess? We girls have to stick together.”
Steve led you into the living room, where blankets formed a colorful nest on the floor, scattered with soft blocks and stuffed animals, he flopped down beside you as you settled cross-legged, arranging Lily in your lap so she could face him.
The baby immediately reached for her big brother’s finger, gripping it tight while gnawing on the new teething ring you offered.
“Tell me more about when she was tiny,” you encouraged, bouncing Lily lightly on your knee. “I love hearing Big Brother Steve stories.”
Steve’s expression softened, eyes warm as he watched the two of you. “I was seventeen when Mom got pregnant. The house had always felt… big and empty growing up. Just me, mostly, you know, dad at work, mom at events. Lots of nannies and quiet dinners. When they told me about Lily, I was shocked. Thought it was a mid-life crisis or something, but the day she was born…” He trailed off, smiling. “I held her in the hospital, and she was so small, her hand wrapped around my thumb, and she just stared at me with those big brown eyes, same as mine. I promised her right then I’d be there for her. No matter what.”
Lily cooed happily, kicking her legs. You laughed softly and leaned over to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “You’re keeping that promise. Look at her…she adores you.”
The three of you played on the blanket fort for a while, Steve built wobbly towers with the blocks while you held Lily’s hands, helping her “knock them down” with dramatic giggles. Every time the tower fell, Steve would gasp theatrically, making Lily squeal with laughter, you joined in, making silly faces that had both Harrington siblings cracking up.
Bath time came next, turning into a splashy adventure in the kitchen sink, steve filled the baby tub with warm water and bubbles while you gently undressed Lily, blowing raspberries on her round belly. She kicked excitedly, tiny feet splashing as Steve lowered her in.
“Careful, monster,” Steve warned fondly, but he was grinning ear to ear, water flew everywhere when Lily smacked the surface with both hands, soaking the front of his shirt. You burst out laughing, grabbing a washcloth to help lather her dark curls.
“Look at you two,” you teased. “Teamwork makes the dream work. Lily, tell your brother he’s a natural at this.”
Steve flicked a bubble at you playfully. “Says the girl who’s got her wrapped around her finger in seconds. I walked the halls with her for forty minutes earlier, singing that terrible lullaby, she cried harder.”
You hummed the same lullaby now, softer and steadier, while rinsing Lily’s hair, she calmed instantly, leaning back into your supportive hands with heavy eyelids. Steve watched the entire scene, chest tight with emotion. The way you instinctively knew how to support her head, how your voice soothed her, how natural and loving you looked, it cracked something open in him.
After the bath, you wrapped Lily in a fluffy duck-themed towel, and Steve carried her upstairs to the nursery. The room was softly lit with a nightlight, filled with pastel colors and the faint scent of baby lotion. You lotioned her skin together, Steve carefully massaging her tiny legs while you dressed her in fresh footie pajamas.
“She was colicky for months when she first came home,” Steve shared quietly as you worked. “I’d take night shifts so mom could sleep, and dad would pat my shoulder and say ‘good job, son’ before disappearing, but I didn’t mind, holding her while she cried, walking up and down the hallway until sunrise… it made me realize how much I wanted to do better than they did with me. I didn’t want her growing up feeling alone in this big house.”
Your heart swelled as you leaned against Steve’s side as he rocked Lily in the glider, your head on his shoulder. “You’re already doing that. She’s so loved because of you.”
Lily’s eyes grew heavier as you both took turns reading from her favorite farm animal board book. You made the sounds, loud moos and quacks, while Steve did the narration in his best dramatic voice. Lily smiled sleepily around her pacifier, one hand clutching Steve’s shirt and the other tangled in your hair.
Once she was finally down in the crib, you and Steve slipped out, leaving the door cracked. Downstairs, you shared the strawberry ice cream on the couch, legs tangled together, steve pulled you close, burying his face in your neck.
“You’re so good with her,” he murmured, voice thick. “The way she reaches for you, calms for you… it makes me emotional, baby. I keep thinking about my own childhood, how empty it felt sometimes. Lily won’t have that and if we ever have kids…” He pulled back to look at you, eyes shiny. “God, I can’t wait to have our nuggets.”
You cupped his face, smiling softly. “Nuggets?”
“Our little nuggets,” he clarified with a shy laugh, cheeks pink. “Tiny terrors with your smile and my hair, running around, making messes, calling us mom and dad. You’d calm their tears just like you did tonight, and I’d build the forts and read the stories. I saw you with Lily and it hit me so hard…I want the whole thing with you, diapers, first steps, tantrums, bedtime snuggles. All of it.”
You kissed him deeply, pouring every bit of love into it. “I want that too, Steve. Our family. Whenever we’re ready, you’re going to be the most present, loving dad. The kind who stays up all night walking the halls, just like you did for Lily.”
The night stretched on sweetly, you watched a silly movie, pausing every so often when the baby monitor crackled.
Around 11 PM, Lily stirred with a small cry, you both went up together, Steve changing her diaper while you warmed a bottle. Back in the glider, you fed her while Steve sat at your feet, head resting against your knee, one hand gently rubbing Lily’s back.
“Remember when she was newborn and I’d call you at 3 AM freaking out?” he whispered. “You’d talk me through it every time, even before we were dating, you were already part of this.”
Lily finished her bottle and drifted off again in your arms and you laid her down together, then stood watching her sleep, Steve’s arm around your waist, your head on his shoulder.
When his parents finally returned near midnight, they found the house peaceful: blankets folded, dishes done, and the two of you curled up asleep on the couch. Steve’s mom snapped a quiet photo, smiling at how perfectly you fit into their family.
Steve woke just enough to pull you closer, murmuring against your hair, “Love you. Can’t wait for our nuggets… and more nights like this.”
You smiled sleepily. “Love you more. Me, you, Lily, and all the future little nuggets.”
The morning light filtered softly through the half-drawn curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the bedroom. Dust motes danced lazily in the air, and the world outside seemed hushed, as if it too was reluctant to fully wake.
You stirred first, nestled against Joe’s chest, your legs tangled with his under the heavy duvet, his arm was draped possessively around your waist, his breath slow and even against the top of your head.
He smelled like home, faint traces of his cologne from yesterday mixed with the clean, warm scent of sleep.
You smiled into his skin, pressing a gentle kiss to his collarbone. Joe hummed softly, not quite awake, but his body responded instinctively, pulling you closer, his hand slid up your back in slow circles, fingertips tracing the line of your spine beneath the oversized t-shirt you’d stolen from him the night before.
“Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep, deep and velvety.
“Morning,” you whispered back, tilting your head to look at him.
His eyes were still half-closed, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, hair tousled in that effortlessly sexy way.
God, you loved him like this, soft and unguarded, all yours.
He leaned down and captured your lips in a slow, lingering kiss.
No rush, just warmth and affection, his mouth moving gently against yours.
You melted into it, one hand coming up to cup his jaw, thumb brushing over the light stubble there. The kiss deepened gradually, tongues brushing in lazy exploration, tasting the remnants of last night’s shared wine and the sweetness of morning.
Joe’s hand wandered lower, slipping under the hem of your shirt to rest on the bare curve of your hip. He squeezed gently, pulling you flush against him, you could feel him already half-hard against your thigh, the evidence of his growing arousal warm and solid through his boxers.
“Mmm,” he sighed against your mouth. “You feel so good.”
You smiled, nuzzling into his neck. “So do you. Don’t want to get up yet.”
“Me neither.” His voice was a low rumble. “Let’s stay here all day.”
His fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, dipping under the waistband of your panties but not pushing further.
Just teasing, savoring.
You shivered pleasantly, pressing closer, your breasts brushing against his chest through the thin fabric. The sensation made your nipples tighten, and Joe noticed immediately, he shifted, rolling slightly so you were half beneath him, his weight comforting rather than overwhelming.
He kissed you again, slower this time, pouring love into every brush of lips.
“I love you,” he whispered between kisses. “Love waking up with you like this.”
“I love you too,” you breathed, your hands roaming over his back, feeling the smooth muscles shift under your palms.
You trailed your fingers down to the dip at the base of his spine, then lower, slipping beneath his boxers to cup his firm ass and he groaned softly into your mouth, hips rocking forward instinctively.
The movement pressed his now fully hard cock against your core, separated only by thin layers of fabric.
Heat pooled low in your belly, a slow, delicious ache building but there was no frantic urgency, just a deep, lazy wanting.
Joe pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with desire but soft with adoration. “Can I touch you?” he asked, always so considerate, even after years together.
“Yes,” you nodded, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Please.”
His hand slid between your bodies, fingertips skimming over your stomach before dipping into your panties.
He found you already wet, slick with arousal from the gentle build-up. A low, appreciative sound escaped him as he circled your clit with one finger, feather-light.
“So ready for me,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “My beautiful girl.”
You gasped softly as he continued those slow, lazy strokes, building pleasure without haste. Your hips tilted up to meet his touch, but you kept the rhythm unhurried, matching the sleepy morning haze. Joe kissed along your jaw, down your neck, sucking gently at the sensitive spot just below your ear that always made you shiver.
He slipped one finger inside you, then two, curling them against that spot that made stars bloom behind your eyelids, his thumb kept up the gentle pressure on your clit.
You moaned his name quietly, fingers threading through his hair.
“That’s it,” he encouraged softly. “Let me make you feel good.”
The orgasm built like a warm tide, rising slowly, inevitably. When it washed over you, it was gentle but intense, waves of pleasure rolling through your body as you clenched around his fingers. Joe held you through it, whispering sweet nothings, how much he loved you, how perfect you were, how he could do this forever.
You came down slowly, breathing heavy but content, pulling him into a deep kiss, your hand moved between you, palming his erection through his boxers. He was rock hard, the fabric damp where he’d leaked pre-cum.
You stroked him slowly, savoring the way he throbbed in your grip.
“Want you,” you whispered against his lips.
Joe nodded, helping you push his boxers down, his cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the head glistening.
You wrapped your hand around him, stroking from base to tip in long, lazy pulls and he groaned, forehead resting against yours.
“Condom?” he asked, even though you were on the pill and had been exclusive for years. He always checked.
You shook your head. “Just you, want to feel all of you.”
He kissed you deeply, then helped slide your panties off.
Skin to skin now, he settled between your thighs, his weight braced on his elbows, the tip of his cock nudged at your entrance, sliding through your wetness, he rocked against you a few times, coating himself, teasing both of you.
Then, with exquisite slowness, he pushed inside.
The stretch was perfect, connecting you completely.
You both moaned into each other’s mouths as he bottomed out, hips flush. For a long moment, you just stayed like that, joined, breathing together, eyes locked.
“I love being inside you,” Joe whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Feels like coming home.”
You cupped his face, kissing him tenderly as he began to move.
Slow, deep thrusts, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, grinding gently at the end of each stroke so his pelvis rubbed against your clit.
It was lazy morning sex at its finest: unhurried, sensual, filled with love.
Your hands explored him freely, running through his hair, down his back, gripping his ass to pull him deeper. His mouth never left you for long, kissing your lips, your neck, your shoulders, wherever he could reach. Soft praises fell from his lips between breaths: “So tight… so wet for me… love you so much… you’re everything.”
The pleasure built gradually, like honey dripping, each thrust dragged against your sensitive walls, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.
Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, urging him on without rushing.
Joe’s pace remained steady, deep and loving.
Sweat began to sheen on his skin, mixing with yours where your bodies pressed together. The room filled with the quiet sounds of sex: soft moans, the gentle slap of skin, whispered names.
You rolled your hips up to meet him, changing the angle slightly, the new sensation made you both gasp and Joe buried his face in your neck, sucking lightly as he thrust a little harder, still controlled, still gentle.
“Close?” he asked, voice strained but warm.
“Getting there,” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t, he reached between you, thumb finding your clit again, circling in time with his thrusts. The dual stimulation pushed you higher, the coil in your belly tightening slowly, deliciously.
When you came the second time, it was deeper, more powerful.
Your walls fluttered and clenched around him, drawing a guttural groan from his throat, Joe kept moving through it, prolonging your pleasure, kissing you through the waves.
“I’m close too,” he panted against your mouth. “Where do you want me?”
“Inside,” you whispered, holding him tight. “Fill me up, Joe. Want to feel you come.”
That was all it took, a few more deep, loving thrusts and he spilled inside you with a long, low moan of your name.
You felt every pulse, every warm spurt, his cock throbbing as he emptied himself, his hips stuttered, then pressed deep, grinding as he rode out the aftershocks.
You held him close as he collapsed gently on top of you, careful not to crush you, his weight was comforting, his breath hot against your neck.
For several long minutes, neither of you moved, just basking in the afterglow, hearts slowing together.
Eventually, Joe lifted his head, smiling down at you with that boyish, lovesick grin that always melted you, he brushed damp hair from your forehead and kissed you softly.
“Best way to wake up,” he murmured.
You laughed quietly, tracing his jaw. “Agreed, though now I might need a nap.”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. “We can do that or round two after coffee. Your choice.”
“Both,” you decided, pulling him back down for another lazy kiss.
He stayed inside you for a while longer, softening gradually, neither of you in any hurry to separate.
His hands stroked your sides, your thighs, every touch affectionate and reverent and you talked in low voices, about nothing and everything. Plans for the day (mostly staying in bed), how much you loved each other, silly memories from the week before.
Eventually, he pulled out carefully, a soft trickle of his release following. Joe reached for a warm cloth from the bedside table, cleaning you both gently, then he pulled you back into his arms, spooning you from behind this time, his chest to your back, one arm wrapped around you, hand resting possessively over your heart.
The sun climbed higher, but the morning remained lazy.
You dozed lightly, waking occasionally to his kisses on your shoulder, his fingers tracing lazy hearts on your skin.
When desire stirred again, it was the same slow burn.
This time you turned to face him, pushing him onto his back and straddling his hips. Joe’s hands settled on your waist, eyes full of wonder as you sank down onto him again, you rode him slowly, grinding in circles, hands braced on his chest and he watched you with pure adoration, thumbs brushing your nipples through your shirt before pulling it off so he could touch skin to skin.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, sitting up to kiss your breasts, sucking gently on one nipple while his hands guided your hips.
“Ride me just like that. Take what you need.”
You did, moving in that same unhurried rhythm.
The angle let him hit even deeper, and the intimacy of face-to-face made it even more loving. You kissed constantly, messy, open-mouthed kisses filled with moans and whispers of forever.
When you came again, you cried out softly into his mouth, body trembling and he followed soon after, holding you tight as he filled you once more.
Afterward, you collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, laughing breathlessly at how perfectly content you both felt.
The sheets were warm and rumpled, the room smelling of sex and love and morning light.
Joe’s hands never strayed far from your body, always caressing, always reminding you how cherished you were. Between words, more kisses, more slow caresses that inevitably led to him sliding into you again from behind while spooning, or you taking him in your mouth for long, lazy minutes while he stroked your hair and praised you.
By the time the clock showed noon, you’d lost count of how many times you’d come together. Your bodies were sated, pleasantly sore in the best way, skin marked with faint love bites and fingerprints. Joe pulled the duvet over you both, holding you against his chest.
“I could spend every morning like this,” he said, voice soft with contentment.
“Every morning,” you agreed, pressing a kiss over his heart.
The world outside could wait.
Today was for lazy touches, loving words, and the kind of slow, intimate sex that reminded you why you’d chosen each other, again and again.
Of Course She’s My Girlfriend! | Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader
SUMMARY: No one knows for sure if you and Steve Harrington are dating or just really close, really touchy, friends. Dustin, with the help of the party, sets out to find out the truth and put an end to the unsolved case of what you and Steve are.
A/N: If you’re a reader of Heroes, take this as my formal apology for chapter 30 and 31 :)
WARNINGS: Fluff, the kids are certified stalkers, kinda suggestive at the end
WC: 2.6K
Main Masterlist!
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Whether you and Steve Harrington were touchy best friends who seemingly had magnets that drew you into one another, or simply just a couple, was a mystery to which no one had a definitive answer to.
It was no secret that you two were best friends for the past couple of years. You both met in middle school and ever since you were put in the same science class, you two were inseparable.
Your playful shoves and harsh pillow fights that left you with a headache for days slowly matured into something more intimate as you both grew up.
Your fingers would brush, your knees would touch, you’d tangle your legs with his.
No one questioned it at first. Not until you and your friends were hanging out at the Wheeler’s place during a movie night.
The kids had taken the floor and you older teens were spread out along the couch. Robin tucked away in the corner with her knees pulled to her chest, Nancy sitting beside her with her legs crossed, Jonathan to her left with his arms crossed, and Eddie sitting next to him, his head drooping back every now and then as he slowly fell asleep.
And of course, there was you and Steve on the other side of the couch.
Your back was pressed against the arm of the couch, legs draped over Steve’s. But that wasn’t the issue. The issue was that his fingers were gently grazing up and down your thigh.
Dustin was lying on his stomach and glanced over his shoulder. The poor kid had to do a double take to ensure his eyes weren’t deceiving him.
And surely enough they weren’t.
One of Steve’s hands was on your knee while the other was caressing the soft skin exposed at your thigh.
You yawned, leaning to rest your head onto his shoulder. Steve smiled at you and snuggled his nose into the crook of your neck.
Dustin’s eyes widened.
Since when were you and Steve a thing?
And that’s the question that made him think for days on end.
He couldn’t go fifteen minutes without his mind wandering back to the idea of you and Steve being a thing. Everyone knew you two were close, but close enough that he was touching your thigh and rubbing his nose along your neck?
What the fuck kind of friendship was that?
Dustin thought maybe that’s the kind of friendship you two had established.
But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he would never be caught dead doing such a thing with one of his friends.
Then again…you and Steve had always been touchy.
Dustin couldn’t take the spiraling questions in his own head anymore. He needed answers and he needed them fast.
He rounded up the party at his house one late afternoon and paced his living room.
“Does anyone think their relationship is kinda weird?” he asked, walking back and forth, hands on his hips.
Mike’s eyes followed Dustin. “I mean, they’ve always been touchy,” he said. “This isn’t some insane revelation.”
Dustin halted in his tracks. “That’s what I thought, but the other day when we had a movie night, she was pretty much sitting on top of him and he was, like, touching all up on her and rubbing his nose against her neck,” he explained, cringing at each and every word. The vision was forever ingrained into his mind and he wished for a way to delete it.
“That’s disgusting,” Will gagged, scrunching his nose.
“Well, what if they’re dating?” Lucas suggested.
“That’s what I was thinking too,” Dustin replied.
El furrowed her brows, looking between the group. “I do not follow. Wouldn’t they tell us they are boyfriend and girlfriend?”
“I mean, I guess,” Lucas shrugged. “Unless they wanted to keep it a secret.”
“But why?” El asked.
“Who knows,” Max grumbled, leaning back onto the couch. “Can’t we go to the arcade or something?” She was growing increasingly bored by the second. She didn’t really care what you and Steve were. In her mind, it was none of her business.
Dustin’s eyes lit up. “Holy shit,” he breathed out. “They’re hanging out today! We could go spy on them!”
“And see if they’re a thing!” Lucas exclaimed.
Max blinked, standing up. “Woah, woah, woah,” she said, closing her eyes and shaking her head. When she opened them again, Lucas was standing too. “We’re not gonna go spy on them!”
“I think Steve mentioned something about the movies,” Dustin explained, already moving to grab his shoes from beside the door.
“Uh, hello?!” Max shouted. “We’re not spying on them!”
Mike stood up, checking his watch. “Wait, what time is the showing? We should be there before they show up.”
Lucas snapped his fingers. “Smart.”
“Are you all deaf?!” Max yelled.
“Six o’clock showing,” Dustin said, tying his laces. “We can make it if we leave now.”
Dustin shot up, him and Mike already walking out the front door. Lucas went to leave too, looking over his shoulder from the doorway to see Max standing in the living room with a look of bewilderment. “Max, come on!” he said before walking out the door.
Max’s hand landed on her face before turning to face El and Will who were still sitting on the couch with wide eyes. “I hate boys,” Max sighed.
“Hey!” Will scoffed.
“You don’t count.”
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The kids claimed their spots towards the front of the theater, assuming that you and Steve wouldn’t want to sit too close to the screen.
A few minutes had gone by before you and Steve walked in.
Dustin sank into his seat, pulling his cap further down his face in an attempt to cover it. “I’ve got eyes on our targets,” he whispered.
One of Steve’s hands rested against your lower back, the other holding a bucket of popcorn. You were rambling about something and Steve was nodding his head, a small smile on his lips.
“Wow, they’re totally dating, hooray,” Max mused sarcastically. “Can we leave now?”
Dustin turned around, looking over the seats watching as you and Steve sat beside each other. “Not yet. We don’t have solid evidence.”
Will rolled his eyes. “So you’re just gonna sit there looking over the seats like a complete weirdo for the entire movie?”
“Yes.”
El raised a brow. “That is creepy.”
Lucas and Mike peaked over their shoulders. You wrapped your arm around Steve’s looking up at him with eyes that twinkled as if he had given you the moon.
“Aww,” Lucas cooed. He turned to face his friends. “Now that’s what I like to call the look of love.”
Max, El, and Will looked over, Dustin still having his neck completely craned around and staring.
Steve’s thumb brushed your cheek gently, a look in his eyes that none of the kids had ever seen before.
Will turned back around, shaking his head. “This feels invasive.”
“Very,” Max agreed, looking away. “Why can’t we do something fun on a Friday in the middle of the summer?”
“Because this takes priority,” Dustin announced, eyes still fixated on you and Steve. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. Tonight. Mark my words.”
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After not gathering enough evidence from the movies, the kids then followed you and Steve to a drive in diner later that night.
Your legs were kicked up on the dash, and by the speed in which your mouth was moving, you were definitely talking about whatever new nerdy interest you had gotten into recently.
“No way,” Dustin grumbled, peaking just barely above a bush with his binoculars over his eyes.
“What?!” Lucas whisper shouted, thinking that Dustin had evidence that you two were dating.
“Her feet are on the dash!”
Max threw her head back. “Oh, my God. I told you they’re not dating.”
“They definitely are,” Dustin fired back, removing his binoculars from his face and turning to her. “Steve would kill any one of us if we put our shoes on the dash.”
“That is true,” Mike agreed.
“Okay, and?” Max asked. “They’re, like, super close. I’m sure he doesn’t give a shit.”
“This is ridiculous,” Will mumbled. “I mean look at us! We’re hiding in a bush stalking people!”
“Shh!” Dustin shushed his friend. “You’re going to get us caught,” he whispered.
“Woah, look,” El said softly, pointing a finger straight ahead.
The kids whipped their heads back over to you and Steve.
You were laughing, Steve’s fingers brushing your hair out of your face. He was leaning in slowly when…
You shoved his face out of the way.
“Ha!” Max exclaimed, standing up straight. “Told you they weren’t dating!”
Mike grabbed her wrist, pulling her back down into the bush earning a glare from her. “Get down! You’re gonna expose us!”
“Maybe you need to be exposed for stalking, you creeps!”
“You’re literally stalking too!”
“Doesn’t make any sense,” Dustin mumbled.
“Makes sense to me,” Max spoke up. “They’re not dating. Case closed. Let’s go home.”
“He just kissed her,” El spoke.
“What?!” Lucas exclaimed, looking back to the car.
“Are you sure?” Will asked with uncertainty. The angle in which they were would make it difficult to tell as they were facing your passenger side window.
“On the cheek,” El clarified.
Dustin stood up. “We’re going to their apartment.”
“What?!” Max exclaimed, watching him, Lucas, and Mike climb out from behind the bush and toward their bikes. “You’re joking! You have to be!”
“How would we even get in? Breaking and entering?” Will asked with a scoff.
“Not necessary,” Dustin told them. “I stole his spare. Come on, let’s go!”
Max and Will groaned, rolling their eyes.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Steve’s Beamer pulled into the parking lot of your apartment, the dim lights illuminating the street.
You smiled and turned to face him. “I had fun tonight, Steve,” you said softly, cheeks flushed a shade of pink.
He smiled, turning the car off. “Yeah?”
You nodded. “Mhm.”
Steve leaned in over the center console, face just inches from yours. “Well, I had fun too,” he murmured. His eyes flickered down to your lips. “Good thing I have more planned for tonight.”
You raised your brows. “Oh, really?” He nodded with a low hum. “Why don’t you tell me then?”
“I think it’s better I show you.”
Steve’s lips ghosted over yours before he finally kissed you.
You sighed into his mouth, your fingers raking through his hair. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. His lips parted slightly as your tongue was just centimeters away from entering his mouth.
He pulled away, nose brushing yours. “But not here,” he murmured. “We’ve got a whole apartment to ourselves.”
You smiled as he hopped out of the car. He walked over to your door and opened it, extending his hand out to you.
You took it and he shut the door before locking the car and leading you up to your shared apartment.
As soon as the door opened, you were back on him again.
His back hit the door, your hands pressed firmly against his chest, lips on his. He groaned, hands moving to grab your waist.
He pulled away, eyes wide. “Holy shit, you want me that bad?” he teased, that stupid smirk on his lips.
“Shut up, Harrington,” you said, rolling your eyes.
Steve chuckled, picking you up before kissing you again, your legs wrapping around him. He walked to your shared bedroom, lying you down onto your back on the bed.
Your legs remained wrapped around his waist as his lips peppered kisses down your jaw. He made his way down to your neck, playfully biting down on the sensitive skin.
You moaned softly, fingers digging into his back through the fabric of his shirt. “Steve…”
“Hmm?” he asked, kissing the spot he just nipped.
“Did I leave my jacket there?”
Steve furrowed his brows, completely caught off guard. He thought you were moaning his name because his mouth was making you feel good. Meanwhile you were asking about an article of clothing. He lifted his face up and glanced down at you. He followed your line of sight, staring at your jacket that was lying on the dresser. “Maybe,” he said with a shrug.
He leaned back down, kissing your lips for about two seconds before you gently pushed his chest and he pulled away. “I know I didn’t leave that there.”
Steve wanted nothing more but to kiss you in peace, yet here you were, stuck on a jacket that was lying on the damn dresser.
“Baby, you had to have left it there,” he reasoned. “Why else would it be there?”
You could’ve sworn you put it back into the closet before you left, but maybe you didn’t.
“I guess…”
Steve’s hand slid up your shirt, causing you to inhale sharply.
He kissed your cheek, fingers trailing along the fabric of your bra. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” you responded as if it were second nature.
He leaned in to kiss you again, this time deeper. His tongue grazed your bottom lip and you let him in, sighing as your fingers ran up the back of his shirt, trailing along his muscles.
Suddenly, something creaked from under the bed.
You both jumped, pulling apart.
“What was that?” you whispered, eyes wide.
Steve’s eyes were wide too as they bore into yours. “I don’t know,” he whispered back.
Bam!
“Ow!”
Something like instant recognition flashed behind Steve’s eyes. “Dustin?!” he shouted, climbing off of the bed.
Dustin groaned, crawling out from under the bed. As soon as half of his body was out, Steve grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, yanking him up. “What the hell are you doing?!”
“I was conducting naturalistic observation!” Dustin defended himself, throwing his hands up.
“What the fuck does that mean?!”
“You were spying on us?!” you shouted, getting off of the bed.
“I needed to know if you two were boyfriend and girlfriend!”
“Of course she’s my girlfriend!” Steve yelled, shoving Dustin back, making him stagger. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
Both you and Steve thought it was painfully obvious to everyone around you that you two were together. You both did so many things that only a couple would. So, how could anyone not know?
You ran a hand down your face. “You didn’t think to just ask us?!”
Dustin blinked. “Oh…” he trailed off. “I guess I could’ve done that,” he mumbled.
You narrowed your eyes at the jacket on the dresser. “I knew I didn’t leave that there.”
Dustin’s eyes followed yours and he let out a loud sigh. “I told them not to touch anything,” he grumbled, shaking his head in disappointment.
Steve blinked, turning to Dustin with raised brows. “What was that?”
Dustin sucked his teeth, looking up at Steve sheepishly. “Would now be a good time to tell you that the rest of the party is here too?”
Your eyes widened in horror.
“Can we come out now?” you could make out the muffled voice of Mike coming from your closet.
“Yeah, it’s hot as hell in here!” Lucas exclaimed.
“I didn’t condone any of this, I’m sorry,” Max apologized.
“Me either!” Will added.
“Can we sleepover?” El asked.
You pulled your lips into a tight line, nostrils flaring slightly. “How did you guys get in here?”
“Oh,” Dustin chuckled. “I stole his spare key a while back,” he said, motioning to the guy he now could identify as your boyfriend with full confidence, no questions asked.
Steve shut his eyes and ran a hand down his face. “Just a bunch of bad ass little kids.”
Summary: Tony's soundproof tech protects people's ears, not their eyes.
Warnings: some smut, poorly written story, unprotected sex (wrap it up), pet names (Sweetheart, baby), proofread but i'm not good at that
Word count: 455 (flash-fic)
Fandom: Marvel
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
[A/N] Just a slight idea I wrote. I started off on a roll but it quickly fizzled. I wanted to post something though so I might extend it later when inspiration strikes again.
Bucky was good in bed. Everyone in the tower knew that by now because you weren’t exactly quiet. How could you be though? You had never been fucked this good in your life. You’ve truly been missing out. You’re making up for lost time with all those exes of yours and climbing on Bucky every chance you get. It got so bad that Tony actually soundproofed both of your rooms.
Of course, sometimes you didn’t make it to either of your rooms which caused you to be temporarily banned from that area “until further notice”
Bucky actually preferred to have you in one of your rooms, cause then he could see if he could make you scream any louder. One of these days he is actually going to split you in two. At least that’s how it felt.
Today was no different. Bucky had you faced down on the mattress, relentlessly pounding into you. His fingertips gripping your hips so hard they were surely going to leave permanent dents.
You were boneless. Sprawled over the mattress, your ass only now slightly in the air since your knees gave out. You were gone. As far as you were concerned right now, you were in space due to how many stars you were seeing. All you could do was moan and scream and let out the occasional heavy breath.
The soundproof system Tony built worked for the ears of the people on the outside. But there was a slight flaw. Some people just don’t think before entering.
You were too lost in pleasure to even process what was happening other than the feeling of Bucky’s thick, long cock buried deep between your thighs but you felt him slow down.
"OH MY GOD!" the intruder yelled.
“Can I help you?” you heard Bucky’s deep voice say with a tinge of irritation laced in it. You felt a cool piece of fabric get draped over your sweaty bare skin and a hand placed gently on your lower back to keep it from moving.
“Can you lock the door?” you heard the other person say but you still couldn’t tell who.
“The door was locked!”
“Bucky,” you whined, moving your hips against him.
“I know, sweetheart, I’m here,” he whispered, his other hand reaching to gently stroke your hair. His head snaps to the intruder, “Get out, Wilson!”
“You two need to calm down,” he said before rushing out the door and slamming it behind him.
“Now” he started as he removed the sheet. He flipped you over onto your back and hovered over you, “Where were we?”
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you. Bucky let out a deep chuckle at your neediness.
“Don’t worry, baby. You know I’ll take care of you,”
five times he wordlessly knows what you need and one time words are all he has — din djarin
˗ˏ✎ synopsis: a collection of moments between you and din that show your developing relationship and his ability to know what you need without so much as a word.
˗ˏcontent - pre relationship, slow burn, mutual feelings but they go unspoken, little bit of angst in the final part (reader is surrounded by mercenaries), canon typical violence, cute mando family moments
˗ˏwords - 882 + 1018 + 765 + 849 + 827 + 1438
˗ˏnotes - i started this in dec and got alll the way to the last part and my ability to write for him just disappeared... but im back babey (semi inspired by a conversation me and @stevebabey had before christmas)
one, the blanket —
Another shiver rakes your body, your skin prickles with bumps as it tries to help warm you, but you're too drawn into what's in front of you to notice. The child is ready and waiting for his last meal of the day, and as he stretches his little arms out towards your hand you see his mouth open with the tiniest yawn you've ever seen, and your heart sores. The little man is tired, you can see it in his movements—much slower than usual and lacking their typical cheekiness.
"It's okay buddy, you're almost there now, just a couple more bites and I'll get you all wrapped up for bed." You yawn, the child's tiredness is infectious, and you laugh a little at the way his eyes light up when you mention bed.
It’s not long before your promise is fulfilled. The child ate up every last bit of his dinner and he was so polite and well mannered that you gave him a glass of warm milk before tucking him into his soft sheets. He asked—although perhaps asked is the wrong word—for a bedtime story and of course you happily obliged. You read a short one, one of his favourites, and he was out like a light before you even made it halfway through the book.
You had wandered back to the makeshift dinner table and were now clearing up the plate, spoon and cup that had been left behind in the wake of the meal. There wasn't a lot of mess, so you let your mind wander as your hands got to work wiping and cleaning and washing. You spare only a second thought to the mandalorian, you know he's up in the cockpit at the moment, he so rarely shows himself during the child's dinner time—he proves to be a distraction more than anything else, to both you and the child—but it's clear to you that he wishes to be more present during meal times. Sometimes you think about how heavy the weight of his creed must be, and how it must hurt that he can't sit and eat with his family—the child... and you hope yourself—at mealtimes.
A deep thudding stirs you from your thoughts, your eyes feel heavy and the whip of wind is rattling against the outside of the crest—you must have landed somewhere, too preoccupied to notice. You turn your head towards the sound and you see the mandalorian disappearing down the hallway. He pokes his head through one doorway, as silently as he can, checking on the little one. You can hear the lightest of snores if you listen closely, and a smile graces your features at the thought of the mandalorian watching over the child as he sleeps.
The door to the child's sleeping quarters shuts softly, and the mandalorian spares a quick glance over to you—although you don't believe he will actually be able to see you properly, you still smile—before turning the other way and disappearing down the hallway. You lose sight of him quickly, and although you hear the far away sound of a door opening and closing you don't give it much thought.
You've just about finished clearing up when the sound of footsteps comes back into focus again. You don't turn to look this time, you've just got one last glass to put back in its place and then you'll be free to put yourself to bed for the night. You hear the mandalorian scuffling around behind you, then a soft pat, and then the sound of footsteps continues and he's leaving again, disappearing back down the hallway as fast as he had arrived. You're puzzled, but don't pay it too much mind. He's tired, and you all have a busy week ahead, you need all the rest you can.
You sigh, a good sigh, one that says ah, finally, I have finished my little tasks and I'm free to rest. The wind whips against the side of the crest again and it sends another shiver over you.
God, when did it get so cold?
You stretch your arms out in front of you, trying to get your muscles to relax a little and–my god, my hands! they're freezing!
You turn, intent on getting yourself into bed as fast as you can, when a flash of blue invades your periphery. You look around, as if trying to find the owner of this mysterious blue square or perhaps looking to make sure they wouldn't catch you as you wander slowly towards it. (Of course, you know who the owner is, if it's not yours—and it isn't—then there aren't really many other options for whose it can be). It’s possible, you suppose, that it could just be an old rag used for cleaning, or maybe discarded material from one of the mandalorian's old capes, although it's more likely to b—
Oh.
Oh.
It's a blanket. Soft, navy, and a little tatty on the edges, but it's definitely a blanket.
You shiver again.
But... Did I forget that I brought that out with me? Surely I would've–
Oh.
A second realisation hits you.
Your cheeks warm and suddenly all of the Mandalorians shuffling and disappearing into doorways makes sense.
He was looking for this blanket.
Looking for this blanket, for you.
two, the breakfast —
Your eyes flutter open, and the gentle, warm light from the corridor floods your vision as you slowly sit up in your bed. You blink at the clock on the shelf next to your head, and it blinks back at you:
0822
You yawn. It's not late by any meaning of the word, but it's enough of a lie-in that your heart thumps a little faster than normal at the thought of the child patiently waiting for you to get him his breakfast. Mando would be busy by now; flying and plotting a course in the cockpit, talking with people about possible jobs on the spare comm-link in the far left side of the crest, cleaning his weaponry, or one of the other hundreds of things he busies himself with on the days he finds himself without a bounty to chase. You know he'd love to spend his mornings with the little fellow, talking with him and feeding him and cleaning up after him. But Mando's never been one for slow mornings, always preferring to get up and immediately start trying to provide.
You burrow to the bottom of the small cabinet by your bed, rooting around for a fresh set of clothes. You suppose it's possible that the child won't have even woken up yet, last night wasn't the easiest night for him. It was the first night in a while that bedtime had fallen while the crest was still mid-flight, which meant that Mando was tied up in the cockpit and you were on bedtime duty solo. And, to be fair to the little man, he had done well to begin with, you barely even noticed a change from his normal bedtime behaviour until the crest went through what you can only think to describe as a heavy patch of turbulence and then it all went a bit lopsided from there.
His blanket slipped out from his grasp, just as he was drifting off. The chill must have woken him up and even though the blanket was only separated from him for a few seconds it had snapped him back to being wide awake and you had had to calm him down once the ship began to shake again. The metal walls had been creaking, it had been loud enough to freak you out as well, so you tucked yourself up next to the child and ran your hand soothingly up and down his side while reciting to him his favourite type of story—a story about the brave, strong Mandalorian who fights bad guys and keeps his family safe on his big, fun spaceship.
You think you managed to get yourself to bed at just after 3 o'clock this morning. Mando was still flying the ship when you tucked yourself into your own bed and you had wondered briefly about when he planned to sleep before your tiredness had overtaken you and you had drifted off.
The smell of food is the first thing you notice as you slip out of your room. It's not strong, nor is it a burning smell, but it's there, and it's food, and it makes you uneasy.
Your emotions hit you in waves, first, the panic (that the child has somehow gotten his way into the kitchen and is making food on his own), then the anxiety (that he will end up hurting himself and all because you had slept in), next the guilt (that you had allowed yourself to be selfish and now the child was potentially in danger) and then, finally, the relief.
You sigh heavily when the kitchen comes into view. There is the child, happily playing with his homemade spaceship toy, there is a three quarters empty plate lying an arms length away from him on the table and there's a glass of juice placed next to it.
He is fine.
"Morning." Mando says. His voice is deep and it sends heat across your face.
"Good morning." You reply, smiling at them both.
Your eyes meet Mando's visor and he nods at you before turning away, busying himself once again. You walk gently towards the child and he coos as you sit in the seat next to him. You now realise that the scattered bits of food left on his plate are bits of pancake, blueberry pancakes by the look of it, and you feel your stomach pang with jealousy.
"And how was your breakfast this morning little one?" You run a finger behind his ear, which earns you a delighted giggle. "It looks delicious."
You turn your head back towards Mando, about to ask him if he has had anything to eat yet, and if he managed to sleep last night at all, but when you look over to where he was a moment ago you are surprised to find that he has disappeared. Your eyebrows furrow, a question ghosts your lips, and you're about to stand when your eyes glance upon something perched on the table.
A full plate of food is sat merely an inch from the tip of your fingers.
You glance around the room again, but you know Mando has already slipped away to some remote corner of the ship. Your stomach growls, and you suddenly realise just how hungry you truly are.
The food is for you, there's no question. The plate is coupled with your favourite caffeinated beverage and the pancakes are garnished with a singular piece of fruit—the one you had ogled at during your last market visit.
You didn't know Mando had gone back for that...
You had wondered that afternoon why he had left you and the child at the baked goods stall, he so rarely leaves the two of you unattended while you are out. You had thought maybe he was getting word on a bounty and didn't want the child to overhear. But as you stare now at the mouth watering piece of orange fruit in front of you, you can't help the warm feeling that blossoms in your chest.
I never even told him this was my favourite fruit. How did he know?
three, supply run —
There's something wrong.
You can't quite put your finger on it, but in the last few weeks you have felt… off. The bed you sleep on that usually has you drifting off within minutes now feels lumpy and hard. The blanket that never fails to give you comfort now makes you agitated and irritated. Your favourite part of the day, meal time during the evening, now leaves a sour taste in your mouth (and it's not the food).
Something is wrong. You just feel wrong.
And you know Mando has noticed. You catch him staring at you when he thinks you're not looking, when he thinks you're too preoccupied to notice him. He's always watched over you and the child, he's your protector, and he knows that if you’re safe then the child is safe too. But it's different now, not bad, just... different. His gaze isn't fleeting anymore, you think it watches you as you move about the crest, just trying to go about your day—help the child, prep the crest, sort through the mess of Mando's inventory—and it makes your chest ache.
You feel something tickle your cheeks as you move silently towards the cockpit. Tears sweep across your skin, as warming as they are confusing. The child is resting peacefully in his cot and it gives you some extra time to mull over your supposed wrongness. And, unsurprisingly, that makes you feel worse.
You can tell by how the crest is moving that you're about to land somewhere, you should probably pause and take hold of something for balance, but something deep inside you is spurring you forwards, telling you to keep moving towards the cockpit. And so you do.
The light is harsh as you enter through the doorway, it takes your eyes a second to adjust to the change. Mando huffs out a small greeting and you do the same. You take a step forward, about to ask where the pilot has landed the crest today, and what his business will be here, when your eyes finally pay attention to the view in front of you.
"Mando... are we in my hometown?" Your voice is thick with emotion, you swallow hard in an attempt to regain control over your voice, but your waterline is already lined with tears and they're threatening to fall fast.
He doesn't look at you, still fiddling with the controls as he docks the ship and sets her to park. "I–" He coughs, something burns within his chest. His focus is still on the console and so his words tumble out in a rather clunky way. "I... I–it was just an–uh, yeah–I thought that it'd be a good stop for supplies." He finishes. His cheeks feel hot and he's worried that he just made a complete fool of himself, but when he turns to face you—the crest now completely still and parked—he finds your eyes are still trained on the view from the window.
He notices the tear stains on your cheeks, and the way you are trying too hard to steady your breathing, but he says nothing. He brushes past you on his way out of the cockpit and his breath hitches, his fists tighten and you apologise in a dazed way as he steps around you.
The opening beeps of the cockpit door snap you out of your trance and your eyes flick around the room wildly. You brush your tears away, hoping that Mando didn't see them—but deep down, knowing that it would've been impossible for him not to—and your eyes meet his visor again. You're shocked to find him already looking at you, or more accurately, you're shocked that he didn't turn his head away when he saw your head moving around to face him.
"Supplies, you say?"
Your voice already sounds brighter to Mando's ears, and he smiles to himself—thankful just this once that you can't see past his metal headgear. You are able to read him better than anyone else he knows, and a little voice in the back of his head is telling him that the look on his face right now would be impossible to read as anything other than what it is—adoration.
Mando nods before turning away, leaving you alone in the cockpit while he preps the few things needed for a market visit. And you sigh, mind reeling over the possibilities of showing Mando your home again, already feeling lighter than you had a mere 5 minutes ago, and your wrongness is now being drowned out as you follow the mandalorian's footsteps and exit the cockpit.
four, the chores —
You finish wiping the blade and place it down gently onto the fabric you had laid over the table. The pile of assorted guns and daggers, along with the three spears and singular pulse rifle, is rather large now. The two small, circular shields (that you've never once seen be used by anyone) are also polished, although you were unable to pop out the large gashed dent that covers almost the entire left side of one of them.
You feel a slight twinge in your foot, the beginning of a cramp, and you jump up quickly, shaking your leg wildly and trying to stop the string of curses that are desperate to leave your lips. The room is oddly silent, apart from your grunts of pain, the music box sits an arms length away, you must not have noticed when the record stopped... You hesitate, torn between hitting replay and leaving it silent, but the decision is made for you when you look at the clock and see just how late it is.
I've been working for... how long?!
Your heart suddenly thumps wildly, your foot cramp long forgotten, and you move quickly from the table to the weaponry, your arms full with as much as you can manage to carry.
God, how could that have taken so long? I've still got to change the sheets on all of our beds, give the child a bath, wipe up the cooking area and oil up a few of the door hinges!
Your movements are hurried, and you manage to get everything back into its rightful place within 5 minutes (although you do almost lose a finger once or twice). You rush towards the basket that holds your bedding... but you don't see any.
Huh?
You bury your hands between the odd capes and spare blankets, searching for those familiar sets of bedding, and your hands come back empty. You huff, confused and a little ashamed that you've somehow misplaced the bedding, and you decide to just go to the kitchen and start wiping up instead, to take your mind off of it.
But when you get to the kitchen, the whole place is spotless! The cooker is polished and the plates and bowls from breakfast and lunch are all clean and placed back in their spots in the cupboard (and you definitely know this, because you checked each and every cupboard and counted the number of dishes... twice!). Even the sink is empty!
You spin around on your heel, deciding to go find the child, who should be in his playroom this time of the day, and take him to the washroom for his bath. Safe in the knowledge that at least this will be one thing you are actually able to do, and still confused as to why you haven't been able to complete anything else on your checkless since lunchtime...
But the child is not in his playroom. And now you're really worried. You race around the ship, sticking your head into every room you can think of, only to find the child is not in any of them. Your feet refuse to stand still and they carry you (almost subconsciously) towards the washroom, and as you get closer and closer you begin to hear the familiar sounds of an excitable child and the splashing that comes along with said child in a bath.
The door opens with a whack! and you grimace at how loudly the sound echoes through the room. Mando turns towards you, he is kneeling next to the tub, his armour is nowhere to found and he instead dawns a loose undershirt, a pair of dark trousers and his beskar helmet.
"Sorry." You whisper, as if trying not to wake a sleeping baby. Your eyes flit from Mando to the child, and back again. "You're bathing him."
Mando nods.
"You didn't ha—"
Oh.
And that's when it dawns on you.
"And you also changed the bed sheets?" You question, although you think—hope (dreading the potential embarrassment that will come if you’re wrong)—you already know the answer.
"Yes." He replies. He's not looking at you but it feels like his eyes are looking straight through you.
"And the kitchen..."
"Yes, that was me."
"Oh. Okay, thank you." Your voice is small, but it's hard to fight the smile growing on your face.
Mando turns to look at you briefly, "you don't need to thank me," and then he's gone again, back to giving his full attention to the little guy hiding amongst the bubbles.
"I-" You start, but you don't know what to say. Thank you anyway? I owe you one? You didn't need to do that for me?
Your thoughts swirl. There is so much you could say to Mando right now, and lord knows there are plenty of other things you could busy yourself with, but the look on the child's face when he saw you enter had your heart glowing and the opportunity to sit and enjoy a nice—if slightly wet—moment with Mando in relaxed mode was something you couldn't turn down.
five, babysitting —
Breathe... Just breathe. You tell yourself over and over again.
She's not even technically late yet, you and Mando—Din, to you now—had agreed on a midday pick up and here you were at... a quarter to the hour freaking out over nothing. He trusts her, he's known her for years at this point and hell, even you've met her– what... 2? 3 times now?
Everything is fine.
So why do you feel so on edge?
You hear the familiar clanging of the ship door as it opens, followed by echoing footsteps and the beeps of the door closing. Din comes to rest next to where you stand, his shoulder almost touches yours and you know, even without looking, that his eyes are trained on you right now with that familiar tilt of the head that he does so often.
Din can sense your nerves, even before he saw you he could tell something was different this time. He usually comes down to the bottom of the ship and finds you tinkering with something during the last few minutes of the child's miscellaneous playdates. He usually walks out of the ship door with you and wanders down the ramp while you perch on the edge with your legs dangling down beneath you. Sometimes he strikes up a conversation, other times you ramble about the child, and occasionally the two of you wait in a comfortable silence.
But not this time.
He felt uneasy when he came towards the ship door and he didn't spot you, even more so when he came outside to wait with you at the bottom of the ramp and you didn't say as much as a word to him.
He sees the anxiety you feel, it's written on your face as plain as day. You keep readjusting how you stand—left foot crossed in front of the right, then both feet facing straight with your knees in line and then back to left foot in front of the right—and whenever you do pause your movements Din can see your ankle bouncing up and down. You've had your arms crossed in front of your chest since he came to join you and your finger keeps tapping your elbow in a rather rhythmic pattern.
Tap. Taptaptap. Tap tap.
You know you shouldn't be as worried as you are, after all, you have no legitimate reason to feel so scared. Peli is a perfectly safe person for the child to be with, she invited him over for a playdate with her two young nieces—and you've actually met them, and they are quite sweet, if not a little excitable (but what kid isn't?)—and she's even babysitted him before as well, when you and Din have had to go away for a bounty together.
The thumping in your chest begins to get louder and it feels as though your heart is about to leap out from your throat. You can barely breathe. Your chest starts to heave and your knuckles turn white from how hard you are gripping onto your shirt sleeves. You don't know what—
Something touches your arm and you almost yelp in surprise. You glance to your right, ready to jump or flee or fight. But all you see is Din's helmet, head tilted, looking at you. You can only imagine the expression on his face—pity? Confusion? Sympathy?
You straighten your head. His hand doesn't leave your arm.
You take a deep breath.
Just beyond the nearest hill the faintest outline of a person begins to appear. They walk slowly, but undoubtedly in your direction, and they seem to be holding two things. One is a bag, you think. And the other is...
"They're back," you sigh, your voice is small but excited, and full of relief.
The tension is already beginning to lift from your shoulders. Din's hand is still resting on your arm, and if you hadn't been so distracted by the figure in front of you, and if you hadn't been wearing such a thick jacket, you would have felt his thumb rubbing small circles delicately across your arm. He only does it for a few short seconds, but he does it nonetheless.
Once Peli comes into better view you give her a wave and a smile, she waves back and then the child's hand peaks out of his sleeve and he waves back as well. It's enough to cause the smile on your face to widen, and you even let out an almost silent chuckle. Din slips his hand from your arm wordlessly, thinking that you probably wouldn't want his touch any longer and he takes a step away from you just as Peli arrives. He gives her a quick nod and then leaves the two of you to exchange pleasantries, quietly sneaking off to the crest's ramp and not so sneakily opening the crest door—the clanging is an issue; he wonders briefly if he should ask Peli to fix it soon.
six (one b), the bad job —
Din knew something wasn't right with this mission from the get go. There was something shifty about how the guy had spoken, demanding repeatedly about how both Din and you were necessary for what was needed. The man—Din has forgotten his name now, like it even mattered to begin with—had approached him just after he'd been turned down by another barman when he'd asked about possible jobs. The man was fast. Too fast. But Din had brushed it off at the time, too keen to get the job, too keen to earn some money again, too keen to get you and the child off this godforsaken planet.
Too keen to notice when the barman had signaled to the guy sitting at the table by the door, a small wink and a thumb pointed unsubtly in the Mandalorians direction.
“Din–Din, please. Are you there?” You curse, smacking the comm link against the wall and hoping the whack isn't hard enough to break the stupid little device.
“Ar–there–I–ca–hea–” Din’s voice hisses through the comm, followed by a high pitched whining noise that makes you jump back in surprise.
A strangled laugh escapes your throat, it’s thick with fear, and a half conscious thought flits across your mind—that if someone was listening and trying to find your location that the sound of your laughter would be a dead give away, and you’d be… well–dead.
You smack the comm against the wall twice more, for good measure.
“I’m here, Din, please–Maker–please hear me.” You beg, your voice is hoarse.
Multiple nearby blaster shots cause your head to snap upwards, sure that if you could just see the end of the alleyway, hear the sound of people milling around the market, smell the fresh baked goods at the stalls, your heart wouldn't be beating as fast as it is right now.
But the thing that would reduce your anxiety the most, allowing you to take a breath or a moment to recompose yourself, would be if you were able to see Din.
"I hear you, I'm here." Din's voice breaks through the blaster noise.
Another shot lands to your right and you retreat further into the corner between the wall and the crate that you're crouched behind. Your dominant hand holds your blaster tightly, your knuckles are pale. The cool metal against your palm keeps you focused, as you rise onto your knees to get a better aim another shot races past your ear. You waste no time in firing a returning shot and the stupid bastard goes down within 2 seconds.
Serves him right for not ducking down after firing at me, amateur.
“Cyar'ika?"
You're about to respond when you hear a loud crash. The loose pebbles on the street floor start to vibrate, sending a shiver down your spine. The noise is almost loud enough to drown out your own thoughts. Your resolve cracks when you realise the reason for the sudden lack of shots fired.
They've got a heavy repeating blaster cannon. And they're somehow pushing it down the alley you're trapped in.
"Din, I-" You cough, a lousy attempt to get your voice under control. "I don't want to die."
Your voice cracks on the last word, your mouth is suddenly as dry as a rock in the desert.
It feels like eternity before you hear Din's voice again, your only company the static sound from the comms and the low rumbling as the cannon makes it way closer to you. There's nowhere for you to run, you can't press yourself any further backwards, you have no jet pack, no grenades, no fire blaster and you never even said goodbye to the kid. God.
Tears fill your eyes, you bring a shaky hand towards your face, about to confess through the comm link something that you wish you'd had the guts to confess when you weren't 2 inches from death, when the familiar static is interrupted.
"You're not going to die, cyar'ika, I won't let that happen. I'm going to get you out of this, even if it kills me."
"Din, please-" You start, about to beg him to stay away, to tell him to think of Grogu. He can't lose his mother and father figure in one day, he just can't.
"Don't tell me to stay away." He interrupts, his voice hoarse, "this is my fault, if I'd been more careful, done my duty, then you would never have been put in this position-" He cuts himself off, you hear him take a deep breath.
"But-" You try.
"No," his voice is firm, "I'm coming for you and I'll be leaving this planet with you. The child still needs you and... I still need you."
If you had the capacity to think about anything other than the group of mercenaries currently moving towards you, then you might have questioned the last part of Din's sentence. You might have blushed and wondered at what he could mean, you may have even considered the possibility of him returning your feelings... But the sudden silence around you had your thoughts billowing towards one conclusion, and it wasn't good.
"Din... The cannon–god, help me–the cannon–they"ve stopped pushing it. I can hear them readying it."
You gulp and ready your blaster, not willing to go down without a fight.
"When I tell you to duck, you duck, okay?"
"What?" You question.
"I told you, I'm getting you out of here." Din curses and you hear the sound of blaster shots again, but this time they're coming though the comms link.
"Din, what are you doing? Maker! I told you to protect the child!" You try, pleading to the stubborn mandalorian.
"The child is safe. It's your turn now." He states, giving you almost no room to argue.
Almost.
The blaster shots continue over the comm link. You hear the mercenaries up the alleyway begin to ready their cannon, but before they have a chance to fire—
"Duck! Now." Din demands.
You obey immediately, falling backwards onto your ass and tucking your head between your knees. Your blaster still sits in your hand.
The muffled sound is hard to place but the vibrations through the floor and the dust movements between your legs are easy to follow. You lift your head and rise to your knees just as a dark figure emerges from the cloud of dust. You drop your gun immediately when your anxiety ridden brain finally allows you to recognise the familiar glint of beskar in front of you.
You jump to your feet and slam yourself against the mandalorian with no regard to your body. His armour is hard, it almost knocks the wind out of you, but no pain or threat of attack could have stopped you from seeking out your chosen solace once you locked eyes on him.
"I'm here, cyar'ika, I'm here." He pauses and hesitates for only a moment before wrapping his arms around you.
From what he can see of you you seem to be mostly unharmed, just a few small scrapes across your arms and a large bruise across your cheek. He knows you'll need a cool press against your face soon or you'll run the risk of the bruise swelling badly, but the cuts are manageable and he'll be able to leave them a little longer before dealing with them.
"You're okay," he whispers.
You're unsure if he's reassuring you or reassuring himself, but you nod.
"Yeah, I'm okay. We're okay." You whisper against his chest.
Din swallows, his fear about your safety finally easing, his chest suddenly feeling not as tight as it had 5 minutes ago.
"Hold on, it's time I take you home."
You nod again, squeezing your arms tighter around Din's waist and looping them through the holsters and belts he wears at his sides. As the two of you begin to rise you manage to catch a glimpse of the alleyway. It's as you expected. The bodies of the four mercenaries lie surrounding their weapon, and the weapon itself has been blasted into several small pieces, one of which is lodged into the chest of the one that was closest to it.
You shudder, turning your head away from the mess as you continue to rise higher and higher.
The higher you fly the more the ache and anxiety in your chest eases. And when you land aboard the razor crest and lay your eyes on Grogu you find the only pain left is physical, and you're finally able to take a breath—unaffected by the anxiety and adrenaline of battle, safe and content with your family once again.
summary: you’ve seen a lot during your rebellion days & now with the New Republic… but working with a mandalorian may just send you into the wildest tailspin yet
word count: 11.9k (i’m sorry)
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. MAJOR MOVIE SPOILERS ⚠️ takes place before & during the events of the film, reader has a backstory & family but no physical description, light use of gendered language, slight annoyance to friends to lovers, pining & yearning, budding romance, threats & moments of violence/threat of kidnapping, flying as a love language, reader has instances of drinking and smoking, competency kink, light voice kink, slightly jealous!reader, spicy times in the cockpit (helmet stays on), dry humping, unprotected p in v, one moment of spit, creampie, protective and soft!Din
a/n: so… hi lmao I call this my ‘let’s daydream about being in the new movie’ fic or aka my attempt at plugging us into the storyline bcs it’s what we deserve lol big thanks to my dear @babynueva for always supporting my din delulu ily bb! Also this is my first official fic of the year & knowing it’s for Din means so much - so thank you for being here ♡ [divider credit & thanks to the ever amazing @saradika-graphics]
When a mandalorian first strides into base camp on Adelphi, you think you’re seeing things.
The sun bounces off his armor drawing all eyes. It’s like his ancient armor proudly beams of its power and striking force. The mysterious Mandalorian walks with intent, a steady gait that dares anyone to cross him. You can’t help but stare at the mysterious warrior.
“Is he… imperial?” Someone whispers in the mess hall and makeshift cantina.
“Nope, he’s working with us now.” Teva answers simply.
You didn’t believe it. But apparently it’s true.
“He’s set to be an independent operative, but know he is working for and with us.” The colonel’s words then officially etch the truth in stone.
Mando comes around basecamp like a ghost. Barely staying put for you to register his presence, yet the whispers about him grow.
“I heard he took out a whole imperial squadron and a Moff too.” Dyana, your closest friend, tells you enthusiastic to catch up on all the rumors.
Then Ward calls for you, and you miss out on any other gossip Dyana and the others had.
“I’ll be heading to Coruscant this week to meet with a few higher ups and senators… I need you to do all the debriefs with Mando while I’m away.
It’s like a rancor suddenly barreled into you.
“Wait, me?” You stupidly question confused, and Ward shoots you a look, raised eyebrows and all.
“Do you think you’re not capable of handling this, ranger?”
“No, colonel.” You quickly reply, and she nods.
“Good, that’s what I thought.”
When you see her off, it must be obvious how hesitant you still are. Her sturdy hand gives your shoulder a reassuring pat.
“Don’t worry. He’s not as scary as everyone thinks he is.” Ward reassures, but it doesn’t soothe you much.
Especially when the day arrives and you find yourself waiting for him.
Just like before, the mandalorian saunters in and your focus is immediately drawn to him. But then, it gets knocked out of orbit when you find he’s not alone.
A tiny green creature waddles in beside him, childishly blinking at every sight. Why is a child with the mandalorian?
“Where’s Ward?” A rich striking voice startles you. Of course the terrifying warrior would sound this intimidating.
“Went to Coruscant for a meeting.” You reply partly stunned you’re actually talking to him.
“And you are?” But then mandalorian questions, sharp and distrustful, and it pisses you off. He’s the newcomer here, and he decides to question you?
“I’m the person you’re stuck with for your debrief and mission logs unfortunately.” Your voice whips out sharp.
He doesn’t say anything.
“What about Teva?” He counters again, and you want to scream. What’s this guy’s problem?
“Out on a mission,” your reply is sharper, bladed with annoyance.
“If you want you can personally contact Ward and explain why I’m not satisfactory enough for your debrief. I’m sure she’d love that.” Then the defiant reply escapes you faster than you can stop it.
It’s as if the whole cantina mess hall heard you because it becomes deathly silent.
The mandalorian simply stares you down with his unflinching helmet. Then the warrior turns and strides out not saying another word.
“I think you pissed him off.” Wolf snickers breaking the stillness.
A sense of dread looms as you realize you might’ve truly just gotten yourself into a mountain load of trouble.
Ward calls that night, and you knew it was coming.
“Why do you want to start a fight with the mandalorian?” She asks calmly over the comms.
“I’m not! He started it!” You can’t help but childishly counter. You even further explain how demanding and untrusting he was.
The colonel sighs.
“You have to understand… His people don’t trust easily. And for good reason. Try to be the one to play nice here.”
You want to be petty and say he needs to as well, but you can’t argue with Ward.
“Do the whole debrief drunk.” Zeb jokes about it with you the next day, and you scoff.
But by the time sunset arrives you start getting tempted to get a drink because maybe Mando isn’t showing up.
Until he does. And again he’s not alone. The strange but sweet little creature continues waddling alongside Mando.
It’s awkward as hell when he approaches your table. The tension lingers thick from yesterday prickling across your skin in the worst way.
You don’t even know if you should say anything
“Mweh?” A surprisingly soft little noise floats through the tension and you turn towards it. You blink down to find the mysterious little being staring up at you with sweet wide eyes.
With curious claws, the baby reaches for the loth cat charm dangling off your belt, the one of many trinkets your niece has given you.
Melted by the sight, you grin and scoot closer. Then you unclasp the charm for the baby to examine it more.
“You like it? It’s cute right?”
The little one agrees with a chirp sounding so endearing.
Something softly clicks. If a creature so tiny and innocent as this baby confidently travels with the mandalorian, then he couldn't be that much of an ass.
Someone sighs. Then settling back into your seat, you find the mandalorian seated across from you. The baby hops up to sit beside him. Yet his eager eyes remain happily taken with your charm.
“That imp base on Hoth had no leads.” He speaks first.
You’re stunned.
Your gut urges you to not make a big deal about this, to simply now see him as another coworker.
So you nod and casually plug in the info on your datapad.
“Hoth was a long shot, but we appreciate you going.” You even add that in.
You knew of a few pilots who served during the Hoth raid. It’s an unforgiving planet, takes a lot of guts to investigate that icy fortress.
“What’s the next order?” Mando asks firm, all business, just like Ward had told you.
You slide him a bounty chip containing info on a possible military officer who could be running a smuggling ring. The mandalorian doesn’t say anything else, simply takes the card and stands up.
“Come on, kid.” All he does is address the baby, not even sparing you a second glance.
Cute and so politely, the kid hands back your loth cat with a noise that feels like a thank you.
“You’re welcome, little cutie,” you tell him warmly.
Once the pair are out of sight, you sigh exhausted, relieved, and sprawl out on the table glad it’s over. Someone barks a laugh, and you aren’t even embarrassed about it.
You can’t wait till this is over.
It’s already been a week and a half of being grounded doing these debriefs with Mando. You miss being in the skies. But all that hope of getting back in the clouds gets squashed.
“I need to negotiate a few more issues with Senator Organa… can you continue to do the debrief?” It isn’t much of a question but more of an order from Ward.
So you meet with Mando for the rest of the week and into the next. It’s cordial, barely speaking for more than ten minutes with each other.
You try to be friendly, make a joke about the weather, but he just silently stares at you, obviously annoyed.
And it pisses you off all over again.
But you think of the adorable little baby who eagerly tags along with the terrifying hunter. The kid sweetly waves, and you wave back. You started bringing treats after his guardian chided him for eating some of yours.
The annoyed sigh Mando gave when you brought more snacks to share was worth it.
This time you decided to bring something else along with you.
It was the first charm your sister gave you when you became a pilot. A tradition her daughter, your niece, now does with you.
“Look!” You eagerly hold up the plush creature that makes the baby’s eyes go wide.
With adorable tiny grabby hands, he reaches for it and you happily hand it over.
You grin pleased seeing how pleased the kid coos.
“What’s your name?” The sudden question from Mando surprises you.
A bit stunned, you give it to him.
He nods solemnly, repeating it. Your heart does a strange flip hearing his deep voice say your name.
“This is Grogu.” He then introduces the kid who chimes in hearing his name.
“Nice to meet you, Grogu.” You excitedly greet the kid.
Then you turn to Grogu’s guardian. This solemn but striking mandalorian now has you curious to who he is. Your mind thinks about the rumors that have spread about him.
“And you? What’s your name?” You ask politely, but immediately you can almost hear Dyana screaming at you. She’s become the new expert on Mandalorian customs.
“They’re private people,” she had told you, confirming what Ward had said. “It’s probably why not a lot of people know about him, much less his name.”
“I’m sorry, forgive me.” You stammer quickly. “You don’t have to give it.”
A moment passes, and you worry you’ve unraveled this tentative truce or whatever it is.
“Din… Din Djarin.” His full name. It’s lovely.
“Din…” you repeat it.
“It’s nice to meet you too.” And you mean that.
Mando, Din, nods, and you think it’s worth the few weeks being out of the skies.
When Din and Grogu leave you realize the kid still holds onto your plush charm.
“Come on kid, give it back.” Din urges noticing too.
“No it’s okay. He can keep it. Give it back to me next time.” You grin at the baby, and Grogu giggles pleased at the answer.
“What do you say, kid?”
Grogu chirps a sweet thanks and waddles away content with the plushie in his arms.
The next day, as promised, he brings it back. But you exchange another charm with him. This time it’s a cute cloud with a sweet face. Eager for the new trinket, Grogu ditches the plushie and you laugh.
Work then follows suit. Din explains on the intel he’s slowly gaining on the imp official.
“Taking a bit longer than expected.” Din gruffly admits.
“Don’t worry. Rodents like him know how to hide. It’s not your fault. Then again that’s probably an insult to rodents.” You’ve been trying to stay professional, channel your inner composed Colonel Ward. But the old rebel pilot comes out.
Suddenly, a chuckle follows.
Din laughed.
You swear you misheard it. But the way Grogu giggles agreeing with his protector, you know you heard correctly.
“A fair statement.” Din agrees.
And you grin back at him. A golden victorious feeling bubbles in your chest.
Watching the pair leave, you find you’re excited to see them again.
The rest of the debriefs go smoother than ever. You bring new charms for Grogu to play with, and Din seems to settle in more.
“You have a lot of those.” He even comments a bit dry when you exchange another new charm with Grogu. This time it’s a fuzzy bantha.
“Managed to gather a small collection.” You explain.
“Really… couldn’t tell.” Din deadpans.
That’s when you realized he just joked with you.
“Think you might like those two,” Zeb teases the next time he drops by the mess hall.
“It’s called being civil.” You stubbornly reply while messing with the holopad, and the Lasat warrior barks a laugh.
“Civil? Yeah sure.” He teases further.
You stay stubbornly quiet.
“Don’t worry… They’re a pain in my ass too.” Zeb huffs, and it does soothe your annoyance.
Especially now that something is festered in you, a sort of curious itch to learn more about Din Djarin.
“I heard… he really did blow up an entire imperial base. That’s how Teva found him.” Dyana is happy to spill more gossip about him.
“He’s quiet, doesn’t talk much. So I doubt he’d say anything even if he did.” You mutter.
“Does he really keep a pet around?” Dyana presses for any new info.
The word ‘pet’ sounds harsh.
“He’s more like the kid’s guardian.” The word ‘parent’ instead wants to slip out especially after you’ve seen Din’s fatherly watch over the baby.
“Oh that’s even more interesting! Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?!” Dyana shrieks.
“You’ve been busy.” You half lie.
You could argue that it’s because you want to protect Din’s trust and don’t want to disturb that. But the truth is, you don’t want to share this little secret bond you’ve cultivated with him.
You however rapidly kick those thoughts away.
Ward will be back sometime this week. Your brief time with the Mandalorian would be over soon.
Except that time comes sooner than expected.
The next morning Colonel Ward arrives, an early return. Disappointment arrives just as fast. You knew this was only a temporary thing.
Trying not to feel annoyed, you now work on your x-wing. Deep under the hull, you refuel trying just to keep your mind focused here.
“Didn’t know you were a mechanic.” Suddenly, the rich voice of a certain mandalorian echoes in the hanger.
You scramble out from under the ship confused if you heard right.
But standing off to the side are indeed Din and Grogu.
“What? Thought I just did paper work and worked as an assistant?” You tease.
Din chuckles, and it sinks into the glowing sunlight coating the hanger in its glory.
“You’re looking at one of the New Republic’s best pilots!” Dyana.
She perks up emerging from the other side of the ship, and you shoot a glare her way not even knowing where she came from.
“A pilot?” Din questions, curious.
His helmet tilts towards you.
“Sometimes,” you shrug.
“And I wouldn’t say best.” You weakly laugh then glower at Dyana again. She simply beams innocently back at you.
“One day you gotta tell him about Endor. Though I’m sure you have plenty of fight stories to share too, Mando!”
You want to strangle her.
“You fought at Endor?” Din asks, helmet fully facing you and voice faintly awed.
It all makes your skin feel heated and tight.
All you can do is shrug again.
Endor seems like so long ago now. You were so much younger then. Wild and ready to sacrifice it all for the sake of protecting everything you loved. A small secret corner of your heart aches for those days of when you flew with such fire.
“Well… gotta go! Nice to finally meet you both!” Dyana nods to Din and smiles at the baby before scurrying away.
A traitor in the flesh fleeing if you ever did see one.
“So…an x-wing pilot.” Din comments, still watching you. His curious and impressed tone ignites a strange sensation in your chest that threatens to consume you.
“On good days I am.” You again shrug with a half smile.
“So what was Endor like?” He inquires, and you’re surprised he’s curious about that.
“Don’t know, never went on planet… kinda was busy flying around.”
You don’t even need to see his face to know he’s giving you a silent unamused stare. He must not think your joke is as funny as you do.
A surprised giggle does come though. Both you and Din discover Grogu effortlessly climbing up onto the wing of the ship.
“Kid.” Din chides.
“How did you get up there so fast?” You laugh amused at the sight of this tiny creature waddling on top of your x-wing.
Din sighs, truly parental.
“I take it that you fly?” You ask him yet keeping your gaze on Grogu to make sure he stays safe.
“I do.” Din answers, confident.
“Must be why he’s so curious and comfortable around ships. It’s good when kids get to experience being in the air.” You think of your niece who eagerly tries to convince you to fly her around.
“My niece is the same way.” You reveal.
Din hums a noise, acknowledging he’s listening.
“Is she the reason why you have all those charms?” He asks in a tone softer than you’ve ever heard.
“Excuse you, they are medals of honor.” You jokingly try to sound offended.
“With you I wouldn’t be surprised.” He replies deadpan, and you snicker.
“But yeah… she’s the one who gives them to me.” You explain how it was your sister who first started giving you those charms to decorate your x-wing.
They were to remind you to come home safe.
“I was ordered not to come home unless I brought the charms back safe and sound.” You repeat the same words your sister told you.
A soft breeze enters the hanger bringing in a welcoming cooling touch. But it’s then you realize how close you’re now standing next to Din. You didn’t even notice when you or him moved closer to each other.
“That’s… sweet.” His voice carries a tenderness that sneaks under your ribs and sinks in deep.
You turn and find he’s already looking at you.
Under Din’s gaze, it’s like you’re caught in a tractor beam unable to speak or move.
Dangerous thoughts have already begun clouding your mind, and they all connect back to this man. Like how you’ve noticed how broad his shoulders look, and how strong he is helping move crates around the base. What’s worse is you’ve begun wondering what this mandalorian looks like under his helm.
Grogu’s little giggle finally draws your attention away. Currently he peeks inside the cockpit through the window.
“So I take it this is your ship?” Din asks.
“No, I stole it.” You quip back.
“Sure you did.” His dry reply makes you snicker.
“It’s how I got to fight at Endor.” You jest, stealing a quick glance at Din. Of course he shakes his head unamused.
“Thought you didn’t see Endor.” He uses your dry joke back at you, and you can’t help it.
You playfully elbow him.
Another little giggle comes. Glancing back to the ship, Grogu now peers over from the wing’s edge grinning at you and Din.
“Little troublemaker, are you going to be a pilot one day?” You smile at Grogu.
“Mweh!” He squeals.
“I think that’s a yes,” you tell Din proudly.
“No.” Din answers back firmly.
“It’s okay I’ll teach you one day,” you counter sweetly, and the baby giggles more.
“No.” Din repeats again firmer.
A small cluster of pilots approach. Their laughter and conversation fill the air. Guess this moment is over.
“Still need to see Ward… shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Din is smooth about making his exit.
Quickly Grogu jumps into his arms, and you bid the duo goodbye for now.
You haven’t been in the air for long, but it feels like you’re floating now.
The moments you see the pair become like scattered stars.
Months settle in, and a routine follows. You sometimes see Din in the mess hall cantina when you return from a mission. Discussing with the colonel, all you can simply do is give your boys quick smiles.
Other times Din stops by the hanger where you linger now more than ever hoping he drops by. You and him talk about work, missions, the various planets visited.
You want to ask what got him to work for the new republic, but you don’t want to disturb whatever is growing between you and him.
“It’s budding love.” Dyana sagely declares one evening at the cantina, and Zeb agrees.
“It’s not!” You screech over a drink.
“I don’t think Mando has said more than five words to me, yet I see him talking to you so much.” Another pilot chimes in.
“He talks to Zeb the most!” You argue back. The two of them are often paired up on missions now. You try not to get annoyed by it.
“Not as much as you, kid.” Zeb rebuttals.
“Don’t think we haven’t seen the way he hangs around the hanger for you.” Sash Ketter snickers, and it only ignites the discussion once again.
You dismiss all their words as attempts trying to rile you up.
Because you don’t want to face the truth. You long for your chats with Din, even just to see him for a moment and play with Grogu.
It’s just an awful infatuation. That’s it.
Your small vacation break now approaching may be more of a blessing than you realize. It’ll hopefully give you time to clear your head.
“I’m heading home to visit family. I’ll be sure to bring back something good.” You tell Din the next time you run into him outside the cantina.
“There’s no need. Just… be safe.” Din nods.
His gentle words carry you the entire flight home.
The brief week away provides peaceful moments of relaxation. While you enjoy the time spent with your sister’s family, you long to return to Adelphi.
“So, what did you get me this time?” You ask your niece the day before you’re set to head back.
“I got you… THIS!” She proudly raises up an odd creature. You can’t even tell what it is.
“She made it herself.” Your sister whispers, and your eyes go wide.
“What?! Why didn’t you tell me we have an artist in this family now?!” You cry excitedly scooping up your niece in your arms and tickle her with glee as she squeaks excitedly.
“Actually before I go… Do you think you can help me make one too?” You ask her and your niece's eyes light up.
With eager hands she gathers all her supplies to deposit them on the table ready to craft.
“So… are you going to tell me who you’re making this for?” Your sister asks slightly suspiciously as you add little puffballs to your monster creation.
“What if I just want my charm to have a friend, huh?” You deflect.
“Yeah sure.” She’s not convinced but thankfully doesn’t press any further.
As hard as it is saying goodbye to her and your niece, you’re thankful to finally be back to your routine.
And of course, the new little charm sitting in your pocket seems to hold so much weight.
Din returns a few days after you. It’s hard trying to ignore the bubbling joy that rises watching him approach your x-wing first.
“Welcome back.” He greets and Grogu squeals adorably scurrying to you.
Eagerly you welcome his jump into your arms, and you squeeze him tight.
“I miss you too,” you tell Grogu but hope his father knows you mean him as well.
“And look, I got something for you.” You shift to hold Grogu in one arm.
Then you hold up the new charm.
“What is it supposed to be?” Din sounds confused and slightly alarmed.
“It’s a little monster,” you reply lightly insulted.
“My niece and I made these, and I knew someone who might like it.” You grin towards Grogu now.
“Bweh!” He cheers and draws the charm into his small arms so enamored with the strange monstrosity already.
“See! He likes it, that's what matters.” You huff proudly at Din.
Grogu chirps like he agrees. You laugh then catch Din’s chuckle too.
“What do you say, kid?” Din says.
Grogu however doesn’t say anything. Instead he leans up and hugs you. His sweet little arms curl against your neck.
Holding this baby so tight is like holding a little newborn star. You’re grateful for this moment and hug Grogu close, closing your eyes to fully embrace this wonderful tiny soul.
“You’re welcome, little troublemaker.” You softly tell him.
The baby then settles into your arms as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Worried you might have overstepped, you quickly snap your attention to Din. His helmet stays focused on you.
You wonder what his eyes look like, what color swims within his gaze.
“Glad you’re back safe.” Din’s voice sounds low, softer and a bit thick.
“Me too,” you reply, letting yourself sink into whatever it is overtaking your entire heart.
This infatuation, or whatever it’s mutated into, grows stronger. And it terrifies you.
But you’re reminded quickly there are more terrifying things to face.
The wound isn’t looking good.
You’re more pissed at yourself for getting ambushed by damn pirates. This operation was supposed to be simple, check in on the distress signal intercepted by base. But one pirate ambush later and you’re now stranded trying to stop the bleeding.
You just hope the emergency signal you sent back to camp went through. Leaning against your ship, you take a deep breath trying to calm yourself down. You’ve dealt with worse. You can handle this.
Until something pierces your back, and a scream of pain escapes you. Electricity courses through your body knocking you to the ground.
Everything stings. You can barely concentrate, but you hear them. Gleeful disgusting laughs swirling all around. The damn pirates…
“Think of the price we’ll get for x-wing parts!” One of them muses.
“Or even for the pilot, quite a cute one.” That comment unleashes a panicked feral terror.
Get up, you have to get up. Even though every part of your body stings, screaming to stay still, you have to move.
You slowly try to sit up through the aftershocks, but then a boot comes to slowly step on your chest, pressing you down to the dirt.
“Nah uh little pilot, where do ya think you’re going.” A voice snickers.
You clench your jaw hard. This isn’t looking good.
A sudden blaster shot fires and immediately takes out a pirate with accurate precision.
“What was that?!” One of them screams.
Then a blaster shot silenced him.
“Step away from her now.” Din.
Or someone sounding like him.
The voice is deadly, terrifying, and you wonder if it even is Din.
Then the pirate towering above you with his boot still pressing on your chest suddenly gets thrown off.
Weakly you cough sitting up. While you do, you witness Din in action and realize he’s truly here.
And the way he attacks, effortlessly slicing through the pirate captain and the lackeys that try rushing him - he’s incredible.
You’ve never seen anyone fight so fluidly and powerful. You’re witnessing one of the most powerful warriors in the galaxy…
And he’s here to save you.
A small concerned whimper comes to your side and immediately you glance down. Grogu quickly waddles to your arm and flashes his wide worried eyes up to you.
“I’m okay, I promise.” He must see the wound, and you try smiling reassuringly.
He hums a small noise at you. Then he closes his eyes, laying his little claw against your elbow. Slowly a gentle warmth suddenly crawls up your shoulder.
What is he doing?
The stinging pain vanishes instantly. Reaching up to your shoulder, you find no wound.
“Mweh.” Grogu peers up at you with a small little wave.
“You really are something else, little trouble maker… thank you.” You fondly stroke his fuzzy little head, and he beams.
Din urgently yells your name and soon rushes to kneel before you. Gloved hands reach out to steady your shoulders.
“I’m fine.” You now reassure him and move to squeeze one of his hands.
An exhale escapes Din, relieved.
“I’m sorry you both had to come all the way out here. I’m sure there are better bounties to hunt.” You half tease.
“Don’t apologize.” He immediately snaps.
Grogu makes a sad noise as if chiding his father.
“Just glad you’re safe.” So Din gently adds and steadily helps you stand.
Zeb lands moments later with a mechanic to help patch up your ship. The entire time Din stays by your side, letting you lean against him for support. His guiding hand never leaves you.
You’re given the rest of the week off to recover.
“So was Mando on a mission with you when my distress beacon went out?” You ask Zeb when he drops by to check on you.
He snorts, giving you a knowing side eye smirk.
“Is that what you think?” Zeb doesn’t elaborate even when you pester him.
It’s Dyana of course who reveals the truth.
“Mando was the first to rush out. Ward had to practically stop him before he flew off on his own.” Her words unravel something effortlessly in you.
How can you ignore these feelings for a mandalorian anymore?
“I think it’s romantic.” Dyana thankfully doesn’t judge you when you finally admit everything to her.
There was no time for romance during a rebellion, during a war. Even now you almost scoff at the idea. There are other things to do, other things to focus on than get lovesick over someone.
But Din dismantled all those old thoughts in you, leaving you exposed and almost greedy for someone now.
“It’s okay to want that you know… romance and companionship.” Dyana tells you already sensing your hesitation.
You know her and a cute mechanic have been dating off and on for a while. She’s always been urging you to get out more, maybe try to find someone. Guess you just had to wait for a mandalorian to show up.
But you have to put all those giggles and feelings aside.
Your time resting is done, and immediately you’re thrown back into the rush of work.
A mission and orders arrive a few days later on your datapad.
Raid strike this week, get ready
It’s not a full strike squadron, but you’re thankful Zeb is tagging along.
“Think your boyfriend might be joining us.” He teases, and your eyes narrow hard. Now you regret him being here.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You rapidly dismiss.
“Huh uh.” He rolls his eyes.
As if summoned to add to your pain, Din enters the command center. It feels like feral lizard birds were released in your stomach.
Immediately his helmet spots you. Grogu perched on his shoulder chirps upon seeing you. Trying to act relaxed, you give the boys a casual wave and bright grin.
Zeb chuckles, and you silently shush him again under your breath. You walk to meet Din halfway.
“Glad you’re doing better.” He says, faintly warm, and you nod grateful.
“Thanks to my two heroes,” you thank them both again. Grogu beams toothy when you tickle his chin.
Din doesn’t say anything.
“Guess we’re finally teaming up.” So you speak up first.
“Seems like it,” Din agrees.
This isn’t the first time he’s seen you in your pilot gear. Hell, he just rescued you last week. But for some reason, you feel more self aware than ever.
Thankfully Ward enters, drawing the room’s attention to her.
The mission is to ambush the warlord now barricaded up in his mansion. He’s apparently greatly armed and even hired a small air brigade. It’s why this strike squadron was called in. You’re curious why Din is here though.
“Without the mandalorian’s intel, we wouldn’t have this opportunity. So we will be following his lead.” She sends her focus to him.
Din simply and silently nods back.
Then he moves to the holo map and gives details about the estate. Hearing how commanding and surefire his voice resounds, the way he walks confidently and without any hesitation, he’s incredible.
But there’s no time to linger on this warrior.
It’s time to fly.
“Finally get to see you in action,” you tell Din as he walks out with you.
“Guess you will.” He replies with a hint of something playful, and it only speeds up your racing heart.
All you can do is laugh before parting ways.
“Don’t get lost in the clouds.” You teasingly yell to the mandalorian and he looks back at you from over his shoulder.
You can’t see Din’s eyes, but you hope they’re amused.
Him and Grogu now trail away from where you’re stationed, and you settle into your ship.
Your x-wing roars alive, and the familiar comms flicker in your ear. Then the call signals electrify the start to battle.
“Delphi squadron, lock in.” Teva announces on the main channel, the leader for this run. Everyone follows suit locking in their coordinates.
“Blue 9, standing by.” You chime in, readying the flight path.
“Starfighter, standing by.” Then a new voice floats through your helmet.
The tone resonates rich as a stormy ocean sending a shock through your system.
Hearing Din in your helmet does something to you so wild that you feel guilty at how fast your core clenched. You recollect yourself fast.
That’s when you notice the ship he joined in with.
A starfighter? There’s no way. Those ships don’t exist.
But again, you’re proven so wrong.
Among the gunfire and smoke, the sounds of battle, a new gleam of silver catches your attention. The Naboo N-1 fighter is a marvel.
A sleek whisper of a dream, one minute she’s a simple flicker of light then the next she’s firing directly in the trenches of the fight.
But as in awe of the ship as you are, it’s the mandalorian who leaves you breathless.
Din flies amazing. The fast maneuvering, the excellent read he makes of the battle, among his readiness to swoop in and out of tight spaces - you’ve never seen anyone fly this beautifully.
It inspires you, the type of flying that makes you want to soar higher to catch up.
So you do.
You embrace the rebel pilot you always might be and dive through the canyons chasing after one of the bandits the warlord hired.
Quickly you dispatch the enemy ship then swirl and maneuver your x-wing to return to the open sky.
“Target on your left.” Din’s voice suddenly thunders in your ear, chiming in on your personal channel.
“Got it.” You reply steady and twist fast enough to fire on the swing mid air.
“Got him, great shot!” Listening to Din’s deep fierce voice over your private channel, his voice colored in pride, you have to mute the channel to exhale.
Because a wave of arousal crawled up your spine so fast you had to bite your lip. Now you try settling yourself down again.
You pride yourself on being composed when you fly. There of course have been times when you’ve gotten emotional and maybe reacted.
Yet here this masked man completely disarms you.
It’s a fight you realize you won’t win.
The raid is successful, and the warlord gets taken in alive. That’s the win that matters.
“Great job,” Din suddenly voices back in your comms, still sounding so proud, and you melt all over again.
“You too, thanks for the support,” you answer back, just as fond, then rapidly switch over the channel.
“Captain,” you ask Teva on his personal comms.
“Before we leave, do you think I can test Mando on how he flies?”
Teva takes a moment then sighs.
“Make it quick.”
Giddy you quickly chime back onto Din’s channel.
“Wanna go for a run?” A part of you worries he won’t want to join you.
“Lead the way.” But Din quickly answers, and you pull back up to the clouds.
The planet is rather gorgeous, full of lush canyons and towering mountains. It’s a flight playground. Among the skies, twisting and twirling down through the natural landscape, you and Din soar around each other, with each.
Playful, yet delicately cautious, your x-wing revolves alongside his starfighter. Din keeps up with you every moment. Quietly the image of a dance among the clouds floats into your mind.
“Up for a race?” He suddenly asks.
“Oh, you know it.” You agree, excited. You settle into your seat, ready to take off.
But in a flash, he zooms past you.
“What the hell?!” You shriek over the comms.
Din’s husky laugh in your ear is a beautiful reward.
Returning back to Adelphi, you and him fly beside each other. Ward gives everyone the night off, and the cantina already seems to shine extra bright landing in.
Settling into your spot in the hanger, you notice Din lands his starfighter closer than ever.
Sliding off your helmet, for a moment you worry about how bad your hair looks, how messy and sweaty you must be.
But heading down the ladder, Din already walks towards you.
All your worries vanish. You don’t even care how fast you walk towards him. Here standing before Din under the low lights of the hanger, the world melts away.
“You were incredible.”
“You flew… amazing.”
Both you and Din speak at the same time, words jumbling up and getting tangled. It startles you, even his shoulders stiffen a bit.
Then you laugh.
“No, you were the incredible one.” You tell him first.
“Not compared to you,” he shakes his head.
“Glad I finally got to see one of the Rebellion’s and New Republic’s best pilots in action.” There’s a smirk in his voice, and heat burns through your veins.
Any words you want to say, he’s stolen them right from you. All you’re reduced to is a love struck fool caught in the orbit of this powerful mandalorian.
Din doesn’t say anything either. It’s like you and him can’t look away from the other standing this close.
“Hey! Ya two love birds gonna join us or what?” Zeb suddenly breaks the spell, and your blood instantly boils.
You hiss foul curses at Zeb, and he only cackles with laughter.
Embarrassed and trying to escape this moment you shake your head heading towards the exit.
“Come on, let’s go celebrate.” You manage to smile at Din hoping to dispel any comments about what Zeb said.
The mandalorian follows you into the mess hall cantina. The lively celebratory air glimmers with joyous laughter. It’s a welcoming atmosphere, and even Wolf along with a few other pilots ask Din to join them.
“Maybe in a bit,” He nods, instead staying by your side when you approach the bar.
“No pressure, but drinks on me if you want.” You offer.
“I’ll pass, but thanks.” He instead places down credits for your drink, and you thank him with a toast.
“Come on, let’s see how good of a sabacc player you are.” After taking a huge sip, you allow the alcohol to sting in the best way.
“Think you might be dissapointed,” Din chuckles.
Of course he’s a damn natural.
Everyone at the table cries in frustration when he wins the second round, and you even narrow your eyes at him.
“Oh, so you’re a liar.” You joke good naturedly.
“Never said I was good or bad.” He answers and it’s rather coy, lighter than what you’ve heard from him.
“Next time Mando I want you comin’ with me off planet! We could really win big.” Someone suggests and now it’s comforting seeing how much everyone has warmed up to him, how much Din has settled in here too.
Until you realize the baby is missing and immediately turn to Din. Maybe it’s the atmosphere but you lean closer to him placing your hand against his arm.
“Wait, where’s Grogu?” You ask concerned and low.
Din leans closer to you, his helmet almost grazing your face.
“Don’t worry, he’s asleep in the barracks.” Din’s answer comes low, reassuring.
Then he reaches up to lay his hand on top of yours. It’s a reassuring hold, a soft touch that brings comfort.
You exhale relieved and don’t have time to realize what he just did until someone drags Din away to play darts.
He squeezed your hand, and you now fight against a dumb smile just thinking about it.
Even after another round of getting your ass kicked at cards, you don’t care. You glance over to Din.
A cluster of pilots surround him. You’re not surprised. He’s a marvel, someone truly remarkable. But one of the prettier pilots slides up next to Din, batting her eyelashes so dreamily up at him.
Something fierce, venomous and coated in jealousy, strikes.
Reaching to Wolf, you nudge his shoulder a few times, and he knowingly looks at you. Not saying anything, he discreetly slips you a smoke stick.
You head out of the cantina into the soft warm night and light up. The smoke in your lungs settles you down for a moment and cuts through the alcohol.
Dumb Mandalorian man making you feel this way…
Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you watch the smoke you exhale mix into the air.
“Didn’t know you smoked.” Din.
His voice melts into the night like he stepped out of the shadows themselves. As he wanders towards you, you shift to lean against the rail of the patio.
“Not often,” you truthfully answer. It’s been a long time since you lit up.
A bad habit you picked up during your rebellion days, being as young as you were around seasoned veteran pilots. It became a way to calm yourself down and stop your hands from shaking from the nerves.
You even tell him that.
“What made you join?” He asks, tentative and quiet.
A loaded question but one you feel comfortable enough to answer, especially with him.
The empire took so much from you. You’re grateful you and your sister managed to keep each other safe, look out for each other. You weren’t lying when you joked about stealing ships. Learning to steal is how you survived for a while as a kid.
Then you accidentally stole from a man named Luthen Rael, and your life changed. Whatever he saw in your eyes that day when he caught you… it kept you alive.
He’s the one who helped get your wings, got you in touch with rebellion once you could fly. Once you joined, you never saw him again.
“Never looked back since.” You tell this all to Din.
You don’t regret your choices. They’re what brought you here after all, kept you safe even during the danger.
“You did what you had to… you should be proud of the life you’ve made. Of the wars you've fought and survived.” Din sincerely commends you, and his words settle deep in your heart.
You softly thank him, appreciating the sentiment.
“And you? What brought you to the New Republic?” Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you finally decide to ask.
This time he’s sighing and moves to lean against the rail beside you. He’s pressed up right beside you.
“Benn a long way to get here as well.” He’s vague, but explains how he was, and still is a bounty hunter by trade. How that path led him to the kid. How Grogu is by Mandalorian creed his son and apprentice now.
“I couldn't keep getting involved with pirates, working for gangsters. It’s not the life I wanted anymore.”
It’s admirable seeing how valiant Din’s spirit shines, yet you hear how weary his soul must be like he carries so much guilt.
“There are wars you’ve fought too, Din. You should be proud of your victories. Even the ones you don’t think you should be.” Maybe it’s the fading alcohol and slow numbness of the smoke stick, but you want more than ever to just hold him.
You go to take another drag to stop yourself from doing anything reckless, but find your smoke stick is burnt to its final end.
“I don’t.. deserve such kind words. But thank you.” Din’s voice is thick, tangled in thorny emotions.
Yet underneath it all, he sounds softer and raw, like a man trying to find comfort in your words.
So you turn and see his striking dark T visor gaze on you.
A moment passes where it’s just you and him under the night sky, staring at each other.
“No matter what path you took, I'm glad you’re here.” You earnestly tell him.
In such a short amount of time this mandalorian has reawakened something in you and takes up such a large part of your heart.
“Me too.” Din mutters, nodding.
Another x-wing lands outside steals your attention away as the engines break the quiet night air.
“Always been curious to how they fly.” Din suddenly comments sounding intrigued.
“You wanna see?”
He turns to you, helmet tilted incredulous and challenging.
“Come on,” so you challenge him back with a toothy grin.
Immediately Din follows behind you, footsteps quick yet terrifying agile.
The hanger sits in eerie stillness this time of night.
“Should we even be here?” Din asks low, a bit cautious.
“Didn’t take you as a ‘by the books’ guy, Mando.” You use the common name everyone calls him as a tease.
“Only when it comes to my employer.” He replies unamused.
“Trust me, we’ll be fine.” You wave him off and he continues following you further into the dark hanger.
He doesn’t know it, but this place, especially for pilots, is an infamous makeout spot. You try not to think about that too much.
There you arrive at your x-wing.
“Hop in,” you nudge him towards the ladder.
“What?” Din sounding so boyish and confused makes you laugh.
“Get in,” you urge.
Sighing defeated he climbs up the ladder to the cockpit and you follow. You look away trying not to stare at his cute ass.
“Can we even fit in this?”
“X-wings are capable of holding various types and sizes of pilots. We are not the empire, thank you very much,” you proudly declare.
The hatch opens, and Din jumps in. The dashboard and control panel light up as he takes a seat in your chair.
Your throat goes dry seeing him sit in the same pilot seat you fly in.
“Throttle, control stick,” he points out immediately.
As much room as you have, it is cramped standing up. So you curl to the side, closer to him, but keep your eyes on the control monitor.
“It’s got a good radar system.” Din comments admiring the monitor too.
You rattle on about how these are the upgraded models everyone got after the war. The original ones you used during the rebellion are classic, but the upgrades were warmly welcomed.
“Sorry, this all must sound boring.” You weakly laugh.
“It’s not. Tell me more.” He reassures.
You’re about to until you hear commotion around the hanger.
So, quickly you scramble up and around to slide into the seat -
Right between the V of Din’s legs.
You crouch low and drag him down too.
“Wh…what are you-”
“Shh…” you shush him. “Have to lie low just in case.”
“So we should leave.” Din urges urgent.
“We’re fine.” You reassure him now.
The commotion you thought you heard passes by, and silence returns.
You exhale a bit relieved, moving to sit up. Then you grin at him from over your shoulder.
“See… told you we’d be fine.”
He stays quiet.
It hits you. Maybe you upset him or crossed a line being this close. Though you aren’t fully pressed up against his chest, the position is still intimate. You’re literally between his legs.
You want to apologize, especially now that the courage fades away fast.
But all you can think about is how stunning Din is, how gorgeous he looks here in your ship.
“One day you should fly it.” You truthfully blurt out while staring at him.
“Don’t think Ward would let me.” He stiffly replies.
“I would.” You immediately counter.
“Plus you look good in here...” Then you realize what you just admitted.
So you try to recover fast.
“Knowing your skills, if you had been with us during the rebellion days, you would’ve fit in just fine. Probably would’ve even been half as good as me.” You add hastily, half joking, hoping he doesn’t linger on anything you said before.
You now glance away to check out the window. The hanger is thankfully still empty.
Then Din suddenly softly breathes your name.
You’ve never heard it sound so holy and raw that it rips you wide open. You completely shift around to glance at him in the lowly light cockpit.
“How inebriated are you?” He asks husky, thick.
“I could recite the entire radar flight plan chart we made for Endor.” You tell him completely wide awake now. Every part of you feels like a live wire completely focused on this man.
His low weak chuckle makes your stomach flip in the best way.
Din exhales, breathy and deep.
You don’t want to over step, don’t want to ruin this. So you patiently wait, hoping he makes the first move.
Feeling his arms slide around yours, tentative but curious, you’re galvanized.
Immediately you rise and twist around to fully stare down at him. Looking at Din for a moment, here in the cockpit of your ship, you want to burn this image into your memory. Want to consecrate this in a way you never may do with anyone else again.
You rest your legs on either side of his, caging him in then you settle down onto his lap.
The soft low noise Din makes is music to your ears.
He says your name, but it sounds more like a warning.
“I want this… I want you.” You tell him, finally admitting the words out loud.
Then, you grind down on his lap, straddling him, and immediately pleasure floods into your system.
Din groans, and it spurs you on instantly.
Frustrated that you’re still in your damn flight suit, you unzip the top, slide off the jacket, and exhale feeling the coolness reach your skin. Sliding your hands up to his shoulders you whisper his name.
Then you grind against the bulge in Din’s pants pressing into you, and your mind goes foggy.
But not foggy enough that you notice Din remains still.
Everything collides into you with a halting stop. What if he doesn’t want this?
“I’m… I’m so sorry.” You halt your movements and apologize composed as you can. Awkwardly you lift yourself off of him.
“No I-” Din starts, but then stops himself.
You settle back down on him but this time further back on his thighs.
“Do you… not want to do this?” You ask cautiously. “Because it’s okay if you don’t.”
It’s okay if you don’t want me, is what you actually want to say. But you’re not brave enough for that, no matter how many empire ships you’ve shot down.
“No.” Din noisily exhales frustrated.
His hands go to rest on your thighs. His head falls forward, crestfallen.
“I want this, want you. Just afraid I won’t be able to stop.” He admits weak.
“You don’t have to stop… I don’t want you to.” You admit, soft and greedy, deciding not to hold back now.
Here in your ship, you think maybe he’s become your prey, trapped in your spiderweb. But then his helmet ever so slightly tilts up to you. Under the watch of his unflinching visor, you now feel like a prey caught within a hunter’s gaze.
His heavy breathing grows stronger and reignites something in you.
“Din,” You mutter his name, and he lets out a strained curse.
“I think about you… too much.” Din reveals like it’s a painful truth, as if the words hurt to say.
“I think about you all the time.” The truth leaves you effortlessly now.
“Wonder about what color your eyes are,” You decide to be the brave rebellion pilot you are.
“If you and the baby are safe, eating well,” you add, and he chuckles breathily.
“I think about how brave you are and how… lucky I am to know you,” you continue feeling molten and sentimental now.
Din says your name again, this time tender, and it almost causes you to falter.
So you lean closer to his helmet.
“I think about how handsome you are… imagine your cock inside me.” You mutter and hearing the words aloud feels too much.
But then his strong hands dig into your thighs and slide you on his lap fully, dragging you across his clothed cock.
How strong he pulled you, the fast friction draws a whine from you.
“Yeah?” He growls and leans his helmet directly against your face. The cool beskar touching your skin is heavenly.
“Yeah.” You moan, and your hips begin their rhythm again.
This time it’s not just you moving. Din finally grinds up into you, and you see stars. Your underwear sticks to your sticky core, but you don’t care.
Not when you and Din rut against each other and his hands chart a path all over you. One hand slides up to your neck, anchoring you close to him. The other moves to your back, sliding up to bunch your tank top in his grasp.
It’s too hot now, and you’re wearing too many clothes.
So you weakly draw away from his hold to reach up and yank your top off.
Then you wiggle the last bit of the jump suit off, trying to let your hips and legs be free. But it’s hard.
Din even chuckles at your struggle, and you shoot him a look, annoyed. Patiently, he helps slide the material down until it pools down your legs.
Now you’re simply in your underwear, completely bare before him.
The sensation of his gloved hands running up your stomach, across your back, reverently taking in every inch of your bare soft skin, it melts you.
“Beautiful,” Din breathes in awe.
Then one of his gloved hands crawls up to knead your breast in his grasp, pinching your nipple. Your head falls back, and your hips return to seek relief. Grinding against him without the jumpsuit, the friction is so much stronger, a delicious undercurrent making you want more.
“Din,” You sob, feeling the pleasure build fast.
“Want you inside of me,” you whimper quickly getting drunk on him.
He cusses again sharp, dragging you harder against his clothed cock.
A loss comes when his hands leave your body, but wearily your eyes open once you feel him move to his pant buckle. Eagerly you join in to help.
His cock in your hand is warm. He’s thick, delicious in size. He’s already leaking, and possessed by something raw you lean down to lightly spit on his cock. Din groans so loud you think it rattles your bones.
Stroking his cock slow, you love feeling his mess mix with your spit.
He quickly hisses your name.
“Inside now,” he urges, a desperate man. Clutching at your hips hard, he practically draws you up.
Who are you to deny your mandalorian?
He helps slide off your stick underwear, now fully bare.
Before you sink down on him, you lean closer to his helmet.
You don’t have to say anything. You simply look at him, a final reassurance to see if he wants this the way you want him.
A gloved hand curls up to your face, cradling your sweaty face, stroking your cheek. His touch is fond, and it rocks you more than anything.
He nods firm, so sure.
So you sink down on him, guiding him into you. Both you and him moan and the world implodes in the most beautiful way.
When you were younger and around the veteran pilots, they used to share tales of how they’d christen their ships. Back then, you couldn’t imagine bringing anyone into this sacred space to do that.
Now you don’t want Din to leave it.
A fervid raw desperation has you clinging to him, Din touches you so protectively, keeping you close. His hands clutch you firm, like he’s worried you could fly away from him at any moment.
Needing to be closer, you curl against his neck. You ache to kiss his skin. But the smell of gunpowder, of something beautifully musky, purely Din, floods your mind and makes your mouth water.
His pace grows sloppy, and you feel it coming too.
“Where?” He slurs urgently.
“Inside, got the implant,” you mutter half dazed, but when you feel his cock twitch inside you moan embarrassingly loud.
“Inside Din please please please.” You now beg, wanting to feel him so badly.
“Not until you come first, wanna feel you.” Din demands growling back, and it pushes you over the edge.
Your climax knocks you into another realm. You’re floating. Din follows you over not long after with the deepest groan.
His warmth fills you, even feel it leaking out, causing you to whimper so content.
Exhausted you flop against his chest loving the cool press of his armor against your bare skin. Then a part of you hisses to pull away. Until Din’s helmet gently leans to rest against your head, and his gloved fingers tenderly stroke your back keeping you in place.
“So… you ever done that before in here?” Din asks, partially joking but still curious.
You shake your head no.
“You’re the only one.” You reveal.
His hand tracing across your skin suddenly stops. Then it fully draws across you to draw you closer to him in a soft like embrace.
An aching adoration for this man cements itself into you. It’s now etched into your heart and now your ship. Maybe the two are the same.
After this night, you find him everywhere now.
Anytime he or you return back from a mission, one seeks the other out.
Din and Grogu now even rest in your quarters.
The lodging here is small, but it’s become your makeshift home. Grogu snuggles up warm among the blanket pile you’ve made for him on the extra cot. And Din sleeps beside you in your bed.
You believed it was something sacred to know a mandalorian, but you realize it’s a true honor to find one seeking rest beside you.
Bathed in the moonlight leaking into your room, you and Din stare at each other lying side by side.
You wish he could relax more, maybe take off his armor.
But remaining helmeted, you understand his creed and don’t want to push. It’s just a small piece of you being selfish and wanting to see him.
“What’s wrong?” He notices your silence.
“I wish I could make this more comfortable for you.” Is the best way you can tell him.
He chuckles.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
To even prove it he settles deeper among the pillows sliding closer to you.
“Nicer than the cot that I have on Nevarro.”
You almost laugh. He’s so endearing sometimes and doesn’t even realize it.
But you’re reminded he does have a home.
“What’s your place like on Nevarro?” You ask about it.
“It’s good, simple.” Such a boring classic Din answer.
“Maybe… one day you can see it.” That addition he makes has your heart racing.
“Yeah, I’d like that” you nod, grateful for the offer.
Slowly your eyes close on their own now.
“Brown,” until suddenly he blurts out a random color.
Wearily opening your eyes blinking at him a bit confused.
“My eyes… they’re brown.” He reveals.
A soft grateful smile warms your face as you thank him.
You fall asleep beside him, wondering about his home, what it would be like to wake up and see his beautiful brown eyes.
But those daydreams get shoved away fast.
Missions begin piling up. The empire trash is getting sneakier, working faster in the shadows. It keeps everyone busy. You barely see Din. When you do the exchanges are brief, simple glances or even short catch ups.
Ward eyes you and Din suspicious but of course aware.
Approaching Din you try avoiding the colonel’s gaze as she leaves.
That’s when you spot the ship that flew in yesterday.
“You wanted… this hunk of junk?” You dubiously stare at the razor crest. This is the beloved ship Din apparently had been searching high and low for.
“She flies better than she looks.” Din defends.
Grogu excitedly waddles up the ramp eager to be inside the old ship.
You still eye the gunship worried about how good she can protect the cargo she’ll soon be carrying.
“Might not be a x-wing, but I trust this ship with my life.” Din senses your apprehension.
You give him a soft elbow nudge that barely makes his budge. But he playfully nudges you back, and a grin tugs at your lips.
“Ugh,” Zeb groans with faux disgust seeing you and Din. You roll your eyes.
“You know, I notice with all the markings… this ship looks like it could fit in with a gold squadron.” You tell Zeb nudging your chin towards the paint.
He barks a laugh.
“Wouldn’t that be a sight. This piece of junk flying with us?” Zeb muses.
“I don’t know…I think the crest would fight right in.” You shrug, fond.
“Yeah? Think we could get Mando in a uniform?” Zeb adds and Din flat out shuts that down with a hard no.
It makes you and Zeb snicker.
Now you head in to examine the ship yourself and look around. The older metal, the antique design and layout, it really doesn’t ease your apprehension, but you trust Din.
“Your beskar boy has shit taste picking a ship like this.” Zed snorts heading up to the cockpit.
“Shut up.” You practically hiss at him.
But he leaves you and Din alone.
It’s hard to navigate this strange space lingering between you and him, as if neither you or him know how to move.
So you decide to be brave. You grab his hand and squeeze it.
“Be safe,” you nod to the mandalorian.
He quietly nods back, gathering your hand in his. He squeezes back just as firm.
You head out of the razor crest and into the bright afternoon sun. From the cockpit window you spot your boys. Din nods a farewell, and Grogu spotting you waves down from the control panel. In his grasp is your silly little monster charm.
Not moving from your spot, you keep your eyes on the ship until it fades into the jump of hyperspeed.
You don’t hear from Din for half a month.
It’s nothing new. You’re had months where missions kept you both busy. And from how displeased she was with the last mission, Ward apparently has him working on something fierce.
Then another week passes, and you’re sent on a protective mission to Chandrilla.
It takes your full attention. But the entire time your mind is on Din. Are he and Grogu safe? Is everything going okay?
“You must be in love.” The Senator you’re escorting on the mission says suddenly. Embarrassment floods you fast.
“I’m sorry?” You ask slightly confused.
He smiles at you kindly.
“You’ve been sighing, seem distant. Like a heroine kept away from a lover.”
Shit.
“I apologize. I promised I’m focused.” You reassure him, and the senator laughs.
“It’s fine, my dear,” he reassures, then leans in eagerly. “So tell me about the lucky person.”
Now here you are telling this Senator about your awful admiration for the mandalorian.
“Oh, a mandalorian.” He whispers in awe. “They’re a rare kind. He must be quite a sight.”
He is. But he’s more than that.
He’s kind and unbelievingly sharp. Strikingly powerful, and unwaveringly supportive. There’s a compassion that walks hand in hand with Din’s firm courage.
“Oh you got it bad,” the Senator laughs.
It’s unfortunately true.
How fast and quickly this mandalorian has disarmed you, but what else would you have expected from a warrior like him? Maybe you were doomed from the start to fight against feelings for such a fierce conqueror.
The thoughts of him keep you going through the mission.
Arriving at base camp, you instead find there’s already commotion.
Din has returned, but he’s not alone.
Jabba’s son, Rotta the Hutt, is with him.
At least Din and the baby are safe.
Standing off overlooking the beach, Din patiently watches Grogu play among the beach waves with the young Hutt.
“So, looks like you’ve been busy.” You say moving to his side.
“Tell me about it.” He sighs.
The rundown he gives you is surface level, getting tied up among the Hutt twins while trying to search for the infamous Commander Coin.
“Things might get hairy soon. I’m heading back to Nevarro to lie low for a while.”
His somber tone says more looms.
“Din…” you mutter cautiously.
He turns to you.
“If you’re in any danger…know that I want to help.” You urge, hoping he’ll tell you more.
“I know.” He nods, yet says nothing more.
Please, your heart begs, please let me stay by your side and fight with you.
But you know fighting against this adamant man is a losing battle. So you sigh and reach down to your belt.
The charm you have on today is your favorite, and you hand it to him.
“Remember to bring it back to me.” You can’t even look at him because your eyes suddenly feel like they could spill over a river of tears.
His gloved hand cradles your face, letting you fully look at him.
“We’ll be fine.” His voice soothes you steeled with resolution.
You nod, fighting harder against tears.
Then Din leans down. He presses his helmet against your forehead. You close your eyes and lean into the cool beskar.
With a goodbye hug to Grogu, you tell the sweet little soul to keep an eye on his dad.
This time, you don’t have the strength to watch them leave.
You throw yourself into any available mission.
Ward must sense why you’re doing this and in a punishment of sorts, she instead sticks you on filing reports.
“Mando will be fine,” Teva tries to reassure you.
You hope he will be. Days pass and you try to settle into a routine.
But then a group of Anzellans arrive in a panic. You’d been working on your ship when they landed.
Currently they rapidly relay a message to Ward. She patiently tries to listen to all of their worried voices.
“What’s going on?” You ask Wolf.
“Apparently Mando and the kid are stuck on Nal Hutta… don’t think it’s looking good.” He mutters back somber.
Absolute dread is unleashed in you.
You don’t realize you’re moving until you’re standing right before the colonel.
“Let me join the rescue strike.” You urge.
Ward turns to you, then sighs, even says your name a bit heartbroken. That says enough.
“Are we really considering not going?!” Your voice raises, shocked and upset.
“It’s not that simple.” Ward, calm and composed, tries to clarify, but just hearing that line feels like an alarm goes off in your head.
“What isn’t simple?! He’s one of us. We have to rescue them.” You argue back harder.
“There are protocols. And with the intel and alliance we’ve tried establishing with the Hutts we can’t just strike in, ranger.” Ward sharply explains, putting you in your place.
Anger burns through your veins.
“She’s right, colonel…” Teva suddenly speaks up.
“Mando is one of us.” He agrees with you.
More Delphi officers stand up.
Before Ward can even say anything, you turn on your heels and head out of the hanger zipping up your flight suit.
You don’t care if this will get you in trouble, hell even dishonorably discharged. Din needs you. Grogu needs you.
Then you hear a few others arrive in the hangar.
Ward calls out your name. This is it.
Turning towards her, you ready yourself to accept whatever punishment. Yet, you instead see your commander in her flight suit as well. Your eyes can’t help but widen.
She sighs yet gives you a half grin, understanding.
“I should sit you out on this mission.”
“I know. I’ve accepted that I’ll be doing reports for the rest of the year.” You sleepily shrug.
Her smirks grows bigger.
“Try two years,” she says heading to her ship.
You’ll happily accept that too.
The twin’s palace is heavily guarded, and it’s a true dogfight on Nal Hutta.
Then Din’s voice electrifies the coms as he reports in with Colonel Ward. Absolute relief blooms in your chest, and you feel like crying. He’s alive.
Now you fly harder and faster than you ever have. It reminds you of Endor. That final battle all you thought of was the hope right before your eyes, knowing something precious was so close and needed to be defended.
That’s what this feels like.
You manage to knock out a few droid ships, but the main focus is on the palace.
Yet Din remains inside.
And Ward gives the command to light the place up.
“Get out of there. Please.” You whisper out loud or maybe to the force itself.
Then, the stronghold goes under flames.
You and the others circle around, flying out of the line of fire from the explosion. Yet your stomach stays in knots.
“Anyone got eyes on Mando?” Wolf asks before you can.
Out from the smoke, there among the water below, you spot them. Your boys are alive.
A watery relieved laugh escapes you as you blink away the tears.
“Go pick up the trash, Zeb.” Ward jokes, and you can’t even be mad.
Knowing they’re safe is all that matters.
Vibrating with so much emotion, you land besides Zeb’s ship hoping to see them.
But Ward of course arrives first.
You instead idle by your x-wing, pretending to be checking your engines. Ward tells him the truth about the Hutts that even you didn’t know. So that’s why she finally agreed to go.
“And… we don’t leave our own behind.” Her words resound within you.
Din deflects, saying how he’s not with the New Republic.
“Sure you aren’t Mando, sure you aren’t.” She says.
“If you aren't one of us… Who do you think helped convince us to come?”
Ward’s insinuating tone shoots a shock up your spine.
You keep your gaze on your ship, refusing to even look their way. Focusing on mindlessly keeping busy, you don’t notice footsteps approaching until you move out from under the wing. There Din stands waiting.
He’s here.
Grogu cries gleefully, and your attention turns to him. You eagerly accept him into your arms hugging him tight.
“I’m so proud of you. You must have been so brave, my little ranger.” You even press a kiss to his fuzzy head, addressing him as the courageous officer he is.
The baby coos back fond, embracing you with his sweet but sturdy little arms.
While he’s still in your hold, your eyes open to find Din.
He stares unwavering at you, and your eyes water again.
“Welcome back,” you croak out.
Din nods, then, he raises up your favorite charm you gave him.
“Had to bring this back.”
With a watery laugh, you shake your head.
“Your dad is so silly,” you half whisper to Grogu who giggles, agreeing.
A sigh leaves Din but, in a few steps, he walks towards you.
Then you and Grogu are gathered into his embrace. You immediately wrap one of your arms around Din.
“Thank you… for coming for us.” Din’s voice is gentle, grateful.
“Always.” You answer back with a resounding truth.
Your job is tied here, and you might fly for the sake of the New Republic. But you believe your true wings, your heart’s flight navigation, now will always include a path for and to Din Djarin.
Currently he chats with Rotta, from what you heard might be staying here too.
Once you head into the mess hall Ward calls your name. With a patient knowing grin, she holds out the datapad with the promise of the paperwork you knew would be waiting for you.
Logging in with your chain link, a new message suddenly chimes onto the monitor from an unknown contact.
It contains a coordinates location to Nevarro along with a single message attached.
Stop by whenever, we’ll be waiting
Quickly, you start the reports happily accepting your punishment.
After all, there's a flight to Nevarro calling your name.
AN: for @societynsoelsscribbles JuneJukebox event, day 4. Divider courtesy of @saradika-graphics
AN2: Italics denote flashback. I might have been inspired by the Off Campus series on Amazon.
You looked down at the bassinet at the sleeping newborn. Their body immediately curled up and their tiny face scrunched before they let out a deep exhalation and relaxed. You stroked their cheek with your index finger, feeling a fresh wave of love bloom through you.
—
The bar just off campus is loud, music thumping through the floor, glasses clinking, people packed shoulder-to-shoulder around sticky tables.
And unfortunately for your sanity, Bucky Barnes looks ridiculously good tonight. He always looks good. Senior defenseman for the college hockey team, six feet tall, two hundred and something pounds of all thick muscle. He makes every girl on campus swoon.
He’s leaning against the bar in a dark henley with the sleeves shoved up his forearms, laughing at something Steve said.
You swirl the straw in your drink and try very hard not to stare.
Natasha slides beside you with a knowing smirk. “You’ve been looking at him for twenty minutes.”
“I have not.”
“You absolutely have.”
You take another sip, scanning your eyes elsewhere to prove a point - you haven’t been looking at him… and mostly because being slightly buzzed makes it easier to exist around him without spontaneously combusting.
Across the room, Bucky glances over.
Your stomach immediately does a full Olympic floor routine.
Then because the universe hates you he starts walking toward your table.
“Oh my God,” you whisper. “Nat!”
“You’re so screwed,” Nat says gleefully. She cocked her head, "Figuratively… and maybe literally too. Get it!” She winks before she dashes off.
Traitor.
Bucky stops beside your chair, one hand resting on the table. “Hey, doll.”
That voice should genuinely be illegal on a college campus.
“Hi,” you say, trying to sound normal and not like your brain has fully blue-screened.
“Havin’ fun tonight?”
“A little,” you admit with a laugh. “Maybe I’m kinda buzzed.”
“Kinda?” He arches a brow as the corners of his mouth twitches.
You point at him accusingly. “Don’t be mean to me. I’m delicate.”
That finally gets a real laugh out of him and the sound makes you warm in all sorts of places.
You: 0
Crush on Bucky: Terminal
Bucky looks down at your mostly empty glass. “Need water?”
Probably. Definitely.
He’s standing close enough that you can smell his cologne, and his thigh brushes yours when someone squeezes past behind him.
Your heart practically cartwheels.
You smile up at him and say, “But I’m having such a good time.” Something soft flashes across his face then.
Like maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only one crushing here.
—-
You feel two strong arms wrap around you, hugging you tightly from behind. “We did so good honey,” Bucky murmurs into your ear.
“We sure did,” you replied, your voice filled with awe. “Gosh Buck, the love I feel…”
“I know,” Bucky replies, pressing a kiss to your temple. “So glad for that night in the bar. Gave me everything I could ever want and more.”
Summary: You were only supposed to help Din Djarin with one bounty. But after the mission, you stuck around — teasing, flirting, testing the waters. He never reacted the way you hoped, always hiding behind practical words and stoic silence.
Or five times you thought Din was dense and one time you realized you were wrong.
Tags: Fluff, 5+1 things, miscommunication, SFW, Din Djarin is oblivious, he's trying his best, one sided, or is it???, idiots in love, protective Din Djarin, Din Djarin being soft (in his own way). No descriptions of reader. No mentions of Y/N.
A/N: I know it's a lot shorter than my other Din fanfic, but I hope you'll enjoy this one as well. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.
Word Count: 2.7k
masterlist
1.
You stretched your arms above your head, letting out a sharp sigh as the bounty’s unconscious body thudded to the floor of the Razor Crest’s cargo hold.
“That’s one way to say job well done,” you muttered, brushing space dust from your jacket sleeve before slinking into the co-pilot’s chair.
Behind you, Din Djarin closed the ramp and began checking the carbonite chamber, ensuring the target was fully frozen and secure. He hadn’t spoken much since you reached the ship — not that he was ever particularly chatty — but you chalked that up to the Mando brand of "taciturn charm."
“Well, that was fun,” you said brightly, spinning halfway in the chair to face him. “You always do jobs this entertaining, or was this just to impress me?”
His helmet tilted slightly toward you. “It wasn’t supposed to be fun.”
“No? Shame. You looked pretty good out there.” You gave him a teasing grin and leaned back, resting your boots on the edge of the control panel.
He turned fully toward you now, helmet glinting in the light of hyperspace pre-jump. “You almost got shot.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t let that happen.” You pointed a finger at him, lazily. “Knight in shiny beskar and all that.”
“…I hired you for your recon work. That’s all.”
You shrugged. “Sure, Mando. I’m just saying, you throw a girl against a wall to shield her from a blaster bolt, she might start thinking you care.”
He walked past you to the cockpit, flicking switches like nothing had happened. “We leave in ten.”
You laughed under your breath and leaned back further, hands behind your head. “You’re cute when you pretend I don’t fluster you.”
No response. Just the cold silence of a man fully immersed in his pre-flight check.
Not even a head tilt this time.
You pursed your lips, then smirked.
Alright. That one might have been too subtle…for him.
But you weren’t going anywhere just yet.
2.
You leaned against a stack of fuel canisters, watching Din as he crouched next to the hull of the Razor Crest, speaking low and serious with Peli Motto. Something about coolant lines or hyperdrive relays—you weren’t listening. Mostly because he’d taken off his gloves again, and there was something about watching his fingers flex against a piece of machinery that scrambled your thoughts like eggs on a Tatooine skillet.
Grogu was toddling near your feet, cooing up at you. You bent down and gave his ear a little scratch. “He’s lucky he’s got you, kid,” you said. “Shame you’re the only one in this partnership with any emotional intelligence.”
Grogu blinked at you slowly, then burbled in agreement. Or maybe hunger.
“Mando!” you called out, hopping off the crates and sauntering toward the ship. “Since we’re stuck in Mos Eisley for a bit… how about I buy you a drink?”
He didn’t even look up from where he was tightening something under the ship’s belly.
“No.”
You arched an eyebrow. “You sure? Could be a bonding moment.”
“No.”
You sighed, pushing your tongue against your cheek to hide the smile. “Are you afraid I’ll drink you under the table? Or that you’ll have fun?”
“I don’t drink on the job.”
“We’re not on a job,” you replied smoothly. “We’re in between. There’s a difference.”
He finally looked up at you, visor catching the Tatooine twin suns. “We don’t need to bond.”
You opened your mouth, but then shut it.
Instead, you gave a mock salute and walked off muttering, “Alright, Casanova, loud and clear.”
Later, you were helping Peli hook up a new motivator coil when she snorted and said, “You’re wasting your time, sweetheart.”
You turned your head. “Excuse me?”
“With him,” she nodded toward Din, who was now sitting on the ramp with Grogu in his lap, feeding him a little packet of something green and mushy. “You’ve been laying it on thicker than Bantha butter, and he’s just… nothing.”
You groaned, flopping back onto the sand beside her. “Is he dense, or just emotionally stunted?”
“Both,” Peli replied cheerfully. “Don’t take it personally. I’ve seen rancors with better romantic instincts.”
You covered your face with your hands. “Hopeless.”
“Yep.”
You peeked through your fingers, catching sight of Grogu now waddling toward you with food smeared across his mouth.
“Well,” you murmured, sitting up and letting him crawl into your lap, “at least one of them likes me.”
Peli patted your shoulder, greasy handprint and all. “That’s a start.”
3.
The alley was narrow, the kind of cramped, shadowed crevice that smelled like rust and desperation. You ducked in first, tugging Din’s arm behind you just as blaster fire cracked against the duracrete wall.
“I told you that guy looked too twitchy to be a clean drop,” you hissed.
“You waited until we were already inside to tell me that,” Din replied, voice flat but calm as ever. You could practically hear the slight raise of his brow under the helmet.
“Call it a hunch,” you muttered.
Another volley of shots whizzed past, and Din shoved you further into the shadows. He followed in right after, pinning you both against the wall as the enemy patrol ran past. There was barely a breath between you. His arm was braced next to your head, his chest pressed fully against yours, armor cold even through your clothes.
You tilted your head up slowly, voice low. “You know, if you wanted me pressed up against you, Mando, you could’ve just asked.”
His helmet was angled so close you could see your own smirk reflected in the beskar.
“Stay quiet,” he said.
“That’s all you’re gonna say? Really?” You leaned in just a little, voice all honey and trouble. “No comment on the close quarters? The dim lighting? The way your knee is pressed against my—?”
“I said quiet.”
You let out a long, exaggerated sigh, head thudding back against the wall. “I’m just saying, most people would at least acknowledge the tension here.”
Din shifted his weight slightly, and you thought maybe—maybe—that you’d finally gotten through.
Instead, he pulled back just enough to glance outside the alley. “They’re gone. Let’s move.”
And then, just like that, the warmth of his body was gone, his cape brushing your arm as he slipped back into the light.
You stood there for a second longer, staring after him.
“Unbelievable,” you muttered, jogging to catch up. “I was practically breathing pick-up lines in your face, and you gave me nothing. Not even a grunt.”
4.
It had been a long day. The kind that sank into your bones and made even the air feel heavy.
The bounty had fought harder than expected, and Din had taken the brunt of it — bruised ribs, a split lip under the helmet, and a noticeable limp that he stubbornly refused to acknowledge.
Now, inside the dim hull of the Razor Crest, the silence between the two of you felt comfortable. Grogu was already asleep in his hammock, snoring softly like some tiny, ancient gremlin.
Din was sitting on the edge of the cot, working one-handed to undo a section of his chest plate. You noticed the stiffness in his shoulders, the way he winced every time he shifted his weight.
“Here,” you said gently, crossing the space to kneel in front of him. “Let me help.”
He started to protest, of course. “I’ve got it.”
You gave him a look, one you knew he could feel even if he couldn’t see your face. “I didn’t ask if you could. I said let me.”
He hesitated… and then let his hands drop.
Your fingers moved carefully, familiar now with the clasps and locks of his beskar. You worked slowly, undoing the armor piece by piece — chest plate, gauntlets, pauldrons — setting each one down beside you with reverence, like they mattered. Like he mattered.
His undershirt was dark with sweat and streaked with grime. You resisted the urge to reach for a cloth and clean him up. Instead, your hands hovered near the edge of his vambrace.
“You always take care of everyone else,” you said softly. “Let someone take care of you, just this once.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” You smiled faintly, not looking up. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
You unlatched the vambrace slowly. His forearm tensed beneath your fingers, the bare skin warm.
He didn’t say anything to that. But he didn’t stop you, either.
When you finally looked up, you found his visor fixed squarely on you. The silence stretched between you like a held breath.
If he felt anything—warmth, tension, the way your fingers lingered against the edge of his wrist—he didn’t say.
Just a small nod.
And then: “Thank you.”
You nodded back, lips curled in the barest smile. “Anytime.”
You stood and walked past Grogu’s hammock, brushing a hand over his ears as you went.
From behind you, you could feel the weight of Din’s stare following you the whole way.
5.
The Razor Crest creaked under the weight of frost, a low groan echoing through the hull as wind battered the exterior.
You were both grounded — a storm too thick to fly through and a bounty who was likely just as frozen as the damn planet. The heating system, true to its usual charm, had sputtered out three hours ago.
You were curled into yourself on the floor of the ship, back against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around your knees. Your jacket was decent, but nothing short of a portable sun was going to fight the kind of chill creeping into your bones.
Grogu was warm in his little insulated pod, snuggled deep in his blanket nest, occasionally letting out a snore.
Across the room, Din sat on a crate, sharpening one of his vibroblades like it was just any other night. No sign of discomfort. No sign he was feeling the same way your teeth were chattering.
You didn’t say anything. You weren’t sure if it was pride or exhaustion, but the silence stretched.
Until finally, without looking up, he spoke.
“You’re cold.”
“No kidding,” you muttered, breath puffing visibly in front of your face. “What gave it away? The blue lips or the full-body shiver?”
He didn’t rise to the sarcasm. Instead, he reached into the compartment behind him and pulled out a heavy, worn blanket.
“Come here,” he said, scooting to the edge of the crate and patting the space beside him.
You blinked at him. “You’re inviting me to share body heat?”
“Purely practical.”
You snorted as you stood, dragging yourself over. “Right. Not because you enjoy my company or anything ridiculous like that.”
He didn’t answer, just opened the blanket as you sat down beside him.
It was warmer than you expected. His armor had retained some heat, and beneath it, his body was a furnace. The blanket went around both of you, his arm loosely draped behind your shoulders to keep it up.
The silence settled again.
Then, a little softer: “Better?”
You tilted your head toward him. “If I said no, would you let me shove my hands under your shirt?”
He didn’t so much as flinch. “No.”
You laughed, but it was quiet. Tired. The kind of laugh that cracked into something tender. You leaned your head against his shoulder, your voice dropping low.
“...Thanks, Din.”
He didn’t say anything. But you felt it — the shift. A subtle lean into you. The way his fingers adjusted the blanket more tightly around you both.
And then Grogu stirred in his pod, peeking out, blinking at the sight of you nestled together. He blinked once. Twice. And let out a soft, amused coo.
You met his gaze with a smirk.
+1
You stopped calling him Din.
Not on purpose. It just… slipped away.
It had started subtly: the teasing softened, the smiles dimmed. You kept your hands to yourself more, kept your jokes to Grogu instead. You still worked with Din, still followed him into the fire and out again, but the space between you felt wider than it ever had.
And maybe it was for the best.
Maybe you'd crossed a line, misread something. Maybe your flirting had made him uncomfortable, and he was too kind—or too stoic—to say it outright.
You hadn’t realized how much it hurt to pull away until you were halfway across a frozen plain, following behind him in silence, and he didn’t say a word about the wind biting at your skin.
He always offered the blanket before. Always stood just a little closer.
Now?
Nothing.
You tried to tell yourself it was fine. You were fine. You weren’t here to fall in love with a man who never showed his face. You were here because you wanted to be.
You didn’t expect him to care.
Then one night, as the ship drifted through hyperspace and Grogu was snoring softly in his hammock, Din stood in the middle of the hull, hands loose at his sides. Watching you.
“Why are you avoiding me?” he asked.
You blinked from where you sat on your bunk, caught mid-polishing your blaster. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
You looked down. “I just figured maybe I was… pushing too much. Saying things I shouldn’t have. Being… flirty.” The word stung coming out of your mouth. “Didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
There was a long pause. You expected silence. Maybe a brush-off. But instead:
“You weren’t.”
You glanced up. He stepped closer, the quiet clink of his armor unusually loud in the quiet. “I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
He hesitated, then said carefully, “I was flirting back.”
You blinked. “You what?”
He tilted his head. “You remember the first job? When we caught that bounty together, and I told you to leave right after?”
You nodded slowly.
“I made sure you got a full share. Paid for your passage off-world. Protected you during the shootout. I don’t do that for strangers.”
You swallowed. “That’s not—”
“And on Tatooine,” he cut in, voice quiet but firm. “You asked me to bond over a drink. I told you we didn’t need to bond.”
You furrowed your brow. “Exactly. You turned me down.”
“No,” he said. “I said, ‘We don’t need to bond.’ What I meant was—we already do. I didn’t think I needed more than what we had.”
Your mouth opened, then closed.
“In the alley,” he continued, stepping even closer, “when I had you pinned against the wall… You think I didn’t want that? That I wasn’t aware of how close we were?”
You felt your pulse jump.
“I wanted it,” he said simply. “I just couldn’t say it then. Couldn’t risk you thinking it was anything less than mutual.”
You sat up straighter, the air tight in your lungs.
He took another step, now close enough that you could feel the shift of his weight. “When you helped me take off my armor… I don’t let anyone do that. No one touches it. No one touches me.”
“Din—”
“And the blanket? On the ice planet?” His voice gentled. “That wasn’t practical. That was me finding the only excuse I had to hold you. To make sure you were okay.”
Your heart thundered in your chest.
“I thought I was being clear,” he said, finally. “But I guess I’m not great at… this.”
You blinked rapidly, trying to catch up. “You… you’ve been flirting this whole time?”
“As much as I know how to.”
There was a beat of silence.
And then, softly—warmly—he added, “So. You gonna keep pulling away? Or are we finally gonna admit we’ve been on the same page since the beginning?”
You stood, moving toward him until you were close enough to touch his chestplate.
“You could’ve said something.”
“I just did.”
You smiled, helpless and stunned. “Guess we’re both kind of hopeless.”
His hand brushed your arm, hesitant but deliberate. “Maybe. But not anymore.”
And just like that, all the quiet tension between you—weeks of half-meant jokes and unspoken affection—finally settled into something real. Something shared.
And just like that, all the quiet tension between you—weeks of half-meant jokes and unspoken affection—finally settled into something real. Something shared.
★ Plot: It's time for Bucky to write a speech, with you as his very interactive audience.
★ Director: @nourangul
★ Run Time: 700
★ Warnings: fluff, comedy, suggestive, swearing
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"Dear fellow constituents" Bucky started, holding the crumpled and unfolded paper out in front of him "It is my solem duty to say that you are being underserved-"
"Too mopey" You hummed, sitting across the kitchen counter, fiddling with the thread falling loose from your sweater.
"Mopey?"
"Mhm" You nodded, hopping up from your seat, rounding the corner "You need something that'll grab people's attention"
"So I should turn up with a machine gun?"
"No, that'll grab people's gunfire. I mean something with a little more…"
"Oomf?"
"Yeah! Sometimes it's handy that you're ancient"
"I'm old, doll, not ancient"
"Whatever you say grandpa" You took the pen from behind his ear, grabbing one of the thirteen discarded speeches screwed up on the countertop "How about- this"
You presented it to him and he started to read aloud, half waiting for the damn punchline.
"Dear fellow constituents, you're idiots" He looked to you "Nice touch, honey method huh?"
"Well they are! They're too stupid to see that Congressman Fuckface is trying to screw them over!"
"That's not his name, Sweetheart"
"I know" You rolled your eyes, arms encircling Bucky's waist "I just- this whole speech writing thing is bull, you'll do what's right for them, I know you will. They just have to open their eyes and see it"
"Thank you baby" He hummed, pressing a kiss to your head "Whaddya say you get ready for bed while I finish up here? I can come back to it in the morning"
"No, no" You sighed, pushing yourself up to sit on the kitchen bench "You're important to me and this is important to you so that means it's important to me too"
"Have you been seeing Dr Raynor without me?"
"Oh God no that woman's insufferable"
He cracked a smile, a small laugh even, something you hadn't seen in a while.
"Now c'mon" You started, all fake serious, hands on his shoulders "Let's write a motherfucking speech"
"You know you have a foul mouth, right?"
You smirked, leaning in close, lips brushing his ear "Didn't hear you complaining at your desk the other day"
"No" He hummed, his hand squeezing your waist.
You were soon interrupted by an electronic little song, trilling along underneath you.
"Dishwasher" He mumbled, reluctantly pulling back.
He moved to open the door, your legs hanging over it.
"Spread 'em, Sweetheart"
"But Congressman Barnes, what would your dear fellow constituents think?"
"That I'd look weird turning up without an arm on Monday"
"Fine" You sighed exaggeratedly, granting him access to the dishwasher.
He took out his arm, steam flooding out with it, and clicked it back into place, with that added little twirl for effect. He said it was a locking mechanism, but you were happy with the conclusion that he was your Disney Princess, and this was his dress spin.
"That new rinse aid work?" You asked, noticing how shiny it looked.
"Yeah, good call, doll" He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, eyes flicking over his arm again as he pulled back "Just like new"
"Perfect for speech writing, huh?"
He shook his head, grin betraying him "You really are persistent, aren't you?"
"If I remember correctly-" You grabbed his waist, pulling him in to stand between your legs "That's one of the many, many things that made you fall for me"
"One of many alright"
Bucky leaned in, pressing long, open-mouthed kisses to your neck and jaw, hands skirting up your sides.
"So" You grabbed the fresh notepad you kept in your pocket, stealing his pen again "You wanna talk about taxes, right?"
"God you're stubborn" His forehead fell to your shoulder, grateful for your help but really not wanting it right now.
"Sure am" You scribbled something on the page before using the end of your pen to tilt Bucky's face up, puppy eyes boring into your soul "Nice try, but we're finishing this damn speech if it kills us both"
"Sweetheart, if i'm dead, who's gonna give the speech?"
"I'm sure someone will read it at your eulogy"
"Nice, real nice. Let's just get back to writing it"
"There's the spirit!" Your legs hooked around his hips, keeping him close "Don't worry, Congressman" You cooed "You'll get your reward later"
Bucky immediately snatched the pen from your fingers, writing faster than he'd ever written before. Like, worryingly fast.
Taglist for all of my MCU writing - 45 + more in reblogs!
I wanted to write something about Din since the movie just came out, so enjoy this piece of smut :)
Din and you turn the lights in the razor crest off so that you can touch his face for the very first time.
Contains: smut, oral sex (f receiving), kissing, fingering, little bit of edging, praise kink, p in v, dirty talk, unprotected sex, breast play, creampie, gentle and sweet sex, soft!Din, angst, Din takes off his helmet, body worship, implied size difference, they're both a little nervous and shy, vulnerability, fluff, comfort, Din is a gentleman, crying (but in a cute way), established relationship
Wordcount: 6,252
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You giggle gently when Din pushes you back, his bare fingers grabbing your waist like it's the only place they have ever belonged.
"You're not gonna back out, are you?" you whisper once he has trapped you between his broad body and the wall of the razor crest. At this point, the need to press your lips against his, to touch his face and trace the mouth you have no idea what it looks like becomes unbearable. Like always when you are with him.
"No. Are you?"
That makes you burst into laughter, though you are not sure why.
You feel drunk. Drunk on him, drunk on his muscular body, drunk on the charged air that hangs heavily around you like dense fog.
"No. Why would I?" you murmur and trail your thumb along the visor of his helmet.
You have grown to love and resent it at the same time. You hate it because it is the only thing separating Din and you, it has taken so much from you and keeps taking more, but then again, it's him. It's part of his identity, whether you like it or not, so you would probably forever glare at that visor and feel like you're staring straight into his soul because you simply have to make your peace with what you have.
"I love you," you mutter, softly biting down on your bottom lip as you feel his grasp tighten on your waist.
"I love you too."
Sometimes, it's strange to let the curtains fall and give him so much while his expression and the depth of his eyes are hidden by his helmet. You doubt that you will ever get used to it, although tonight might change that experience.
His touch is feather light as he slides his hands up your sides, gently caressing the side of your breasts.
"I can't wait to feel you," you breathe, your eyes following the motions of his fingers. In response, one of Din's hands reaches up to cup your face, tilting it up a little. You wait for him to say something because you feel that the gesture has solely served the purpose of looking at you before speaking, but he doesn't, which makes you a tad nervous. After his thumb has tenderly swiped over the corner of your mouth, Din sighs heavily and grabs your wrist with his free hand.
"I… I'm ready. I think." He presses your hand against his heart, which allows you to feel his thundering pulse. You have always loved to rest your head on his chest, listening to his heart until you have fallen asleep and carrying the steady rhythm across the edge into the dreamlands.
"Okay," you smile, then take two large strides toward the door. You close it without a word but turn toward him while your finger hovers above the light switch.
Your grin is genuine, yet a little uncertain and vulnerable. Why wouldn't it be? What you are about to do requires trust and love, which you share for one another in unbelievable ways. This is just the last manifestation of that love, you feel.
After you have switched off the lights, the room is swallowed in darkness. There is not even the digital display of a clock or any red flashing lights that are somehow connected to the cockpit. No, Din and you have successfully removed any lamps or other sources of illumination from the sleeping place so that the two of you could carry out your plan exactly as you came up with it a few days ago.
"Follow my voice, sweetheart," you hear Din say, his voice still distorted from the helmet. Good. You have told him that you wish to be the one to take it off when the time comes.
Then, you stand in front of him all of a sudden, or at least you can feel the warmth his body radiates prickle on your skin. Your hands come up to rest on the side of his helmet while he places his palms on the small of your back.
"I'm nervous," Din admits quietly. The vocoder makes his voice sound even softer and more intimate, causing a shudder to ripple down your spine.
"So am I," you smile into the dark, standing on your tiptoes to gently kiss the side of his helmet. "But it's gonna be alright."
"I know it is," he murmurs, then drops his hands to the waistband of his pants. "Do you wanna do it? Or – "
You don't even let him finish with that and immediately begin undoing his pants and quickly yanking them to his knees. It's strange to do it blindly, but fortunately, your hands seem to be magically attracted by his heat and always know where to pull. After he has toed off his shoes and kicked off the piece of clothing, his shirt is next in line. You struggle a lot more with all the countless buttons and buttonholes, which draws a low chuckle from Din after a while.
"Do you need some help, darling?"
"I can do it," you protest and bite down on your lip in concentration, ignoring his teasing tone.
"I know that you can. I could make it faster though."
"Shut up," you scoff and finally slide his shirt off his shoulders, letting it drop on the ground next to him. It's not needed anymore. In fact, you wish it would never be needed again and this moment would never end. The lights would forever be turned off, his body in its purest form forever pressed against yours.
The next thing you feel is Din running a hand from your hip up to your shoulder.
"Can I?" he asks like the gentleman that he is, tracing soothing circles over your skin.
"Yes… Unless you need my help, of course."
He only reacts with a quiet snort and then starts the same process you have just finished with your clothes. You stay still, your lips curved while you feel his hands all over your body, at your waist, your chest, your hips and thighs. Obviously, he does way more than he has to and slides his palms over your flesh long after your skin is already exposed. You don't mind it, of course, even though you can't wait to finally take off that last remaining thing on his body. Well, you have waited for years, which means you can also wait another few minutes. Especially when waiting feels so good with him…
When Din feels like he's done, he brushes your hair over your shoulder, making it fall down your back.
"You're really pretty… So pretty, it just – drives me insane." His voice is hoarse and raspy, and now that the air around you is dark, you're so much more aware of every little noise he produces. All your other senses work better that way, which prompts you to pay more attention to Din's unmistakable scent of peppermint and parchment. Both fresh and grounding.
"Thank you," you whisper and feel your heart rate pick up as your boyfriend leads you to your shared bed, which is just a mat on the floor of the Razor Crest, but over time the two of you have made it a very cozy corner with all those blankets and pillows.
Din sits down with his back against the wall, like the two of you have discussed it. You feel a tad dramatic thinking about how you have gone through every little step even though the two of you have slept together so many times before. Still… it's different tonight.
"It's weird," he laughs gently while you lower yourself to climb in his lap as elegantly as possible in the dark. "Not seeing you."
"Yeah, well… Now you know what it's like for me every time," you grin, relaxing the second Din has you securely in his hold and manhandles you on top of him. Your knees are on either side of his hips and your hands are on his helmet at once, lovingly gliding them along the metal. When it's one of the only things of him that is accessible to you, you learn to appreciate it regardless of what a burden it poses in your everyday life. It's him, after all. Even though the material is so much colder and sleeker than his skin.
"I don't know how I would do it. If it was the other way around." Din rubs your naked lower back while his head dips lower, resting against your chest. "I don't know how I could stand not seeing you."
"I don't have a choice, do I?" you murmur and hope he doesn't notice the tremor in your tone.
Tears well in your eyes at his words, not because you're mad at him or disappointed in him but because he has hit a nerve. You don't know how to stand it most nights as well, and these feelings are so complex, you're not sure you are capable of understanding them yourself. How could you possibly try to explain them to him? You love him so much, it hurts not to be able to look into his eyes. And you hate that you can't see him without his helmet, but what is possibly even harder is accepting that there is no one you can channel your anger to. It's not his fault, so all you can do when he apologizes to you is kiss the top of his helmet, tell him that you're not mad at him and mean it. Because you do.
"Thank you," he growls and slides his hands up your spine, pressing you against his frame with so much force, you gasp quietly. "Thank you for – for doing all this shit. For – giving me the choice to love. I never – I never believed it would be an option. So what you're doing to me is the greatest gift I could ever imagine."
You don't answer at once because you fear you might burst into tears if you do. Instead, you bury your hand in the nape of his neck and rub his warm flesh, just feeling and savoring his presence. It's Din, it's the person you love regardless of any night you spend awake, staring at the ceiling and craving things you know you'll never have. It's the man you would sacrifice anything for, the man you quite literally travel through space for. Just to be with him.
"Can I… Can I do it?" you ask after a while, straightening up to make out his helmet in the dark.
"Yeah, sweetheart. Whenever you feel ready."
The truth is, you have felt ready for months, yet you take another beat, exhaling heavily before your trembling fingers drop to his neck.
"I'm really nervous," you chuckle and swallow hard while you start lifting his helmet.
"So am I… You don't know how much…"
The helmet is weightier than you have expected it, but it grounds you in some strange way. When you're done, you place it on the floor next to you, careful not to give it a scratch. Everything that follows once you sit upright is more overwhelming and more breathtaking than you could have ever anticipated. It's just a helmet, that's all. It's absolutely ridiculous to be so taken aback just by the fact that he is sitting in front of you without that single item, but you can't help it. Your heart is thumping in your chest, your hands trembling even harder as you put them on his chest.
"Hey." Your voice is breathy and weak, which is no surprise considering you're shaking like a leaf.
"Hey…" Din sounds different, though it is still undoubtedly him. Just… a lot clearer and closer than before. Maybe a little deeper as well.
"I… Can you say my name, Din?"
He does, and it causes a tear to roll down your face, catching on your upper lip. After that, you draw a deep breath and snivel faintly, which prompts him to cup your cheek with his hands and wipe the single drop away.
"Can I touch you?" you ask next, feeling grateful that he doesn't try to comfort you in your tears. It's simply what you need right now, and it feels too good to blink the wetness away. You don't know if his voice attempting to calm your demeanor would cause your tears to dry or only make you cry harder, but you don't want to find out, really. For now, everything is fine, even in spite of the overwhelming emotions you go through, the ups and downs and the helplessness spreading through your system.
"Yes. Wherever you want, darling."
You start at the base of his neck because it feels right to make your way up slowly. Meanwhile, Din's hands settle on your sides, tracing slow patterns but leaving you in control of the pace, the passion of the moment and everything else, which you appreciate. You can take all the time in the world, touch and explore his skin for as long as you want to, and you have a feeling in your gut that it is going to take a long time until you're done.
"Din?" you murmur after a few minutes, your hands lingering just below his chin now.
"Yes."
"Can you – describe it again?"
"Yes… Of course, sweetheart," he whispers and knows precisely what you want without you having to spell it out.
"I have hair on my face. Not a lot, not very thick hair… But some on my chin. And on my cheeks. And above my mouth."
You nod slowly, not minding that he can't see it.
"And your eyes are brown."
"Yes. They are. So are my eyebrows."
"And your nose?" You shift on his lap a little, moving closer to his chest.
"I don't – I have no idea how to describe noses, sweetheart."
The two of you laugh in unison, which causes a few tears to drip onto your own wrists. Then, your hands wander up further, and for the first time, you feel his chin beneath your fingers. Obviously, it's impossible to determine what he might look like just from feeling his bones and skin and hair, but you don't care about that right now. As he has told you, there is stiff hair that pokes into your fingertips when you trail your fingers over his beard. When you move them along his jaw, you can detect the end of it close to his ear.
"Careful, darling," Din whispers and squeezes your waist. "Don't hurt yourself. They can sting."
"I don't mind. I like it. That you have hair on your face."
Truthfully, you haven't met many people with beards before. Most people in the small town you grew up in were clean-shaven. You don't know why that is, but there is one thing you know for sure: you really adore what Din's face feels like beneath your touch.
While your boyfriend's palms travel up your thighs, you work your way up his face until you find his nose, which seems broad with a small curve in the bridge. You trace it with your fingertip, then move along his nostrils.
"I like it," you smile broadly, shifting yet another inch closer until your chest is flush with him.
"You like my nose, baby?"
"Yes… I think it's very beautiful."
After you're done with his eyebrows and forehead as well, you lean in and kiss his chin. It's strange to feel his beard tingle against the skin around your mouth, but most importantly, your body is flooded with joy and relief. You can't count how many times you have wished you could cover his face with kisses, his mouth, his cheeks, his chin, nose and forehead, and now, you finally get to do it.
"Din," you whisper, more tears falling from your waterline.
"I know, baby… I know." The charged air stirs as he speaks. You can't help it anymore, you lean in, close the distance and press your lips against his. You have experienced many vast and touching moments in your life, but this one definitely counts as one of the grandest of them all. At first, you forget how to breathe, your lungs forgetting how to work, as though petrified, just like the rest of you.
"Breathe, darling…" Din calms you, noticing your quick, uneven breathing. All you can do is whimper softly, your lips hovering inches above his soft mouth. Everything about him is so incredibly warm and mellow, even the sharp hairs on his chin, if that makes any sense.
"I want – " you start but don't finish the sentence because you don't know how to express the needs and wants you feel so deep in your stomach.
"I know… I know, darling. I got you. Do you wanna lay down?"
You nod since you feel that it might be best to give up some control for Din to take the reins. You feel exhausted just from the simple act of holding yourself up in his lap, and your body is still shaking so hard, you wish to just be covered by his wide, muscular shoulders. But there is one thing you demand, one thing you definitely can't go without yet.
"Please kiss me," you mumble while Din carefully flips you over, a knee pressed between your thighs and his body caging you in.
"Whatever you want, sweetheart…"
He is so unbelievably cautious and tender with you, it makes you think of yourself as a breakable vase or a glass sculpture. Every single gesture, his hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers teasing the swell of your breast as well as his deep, vibrating voice when his mouth hovers close to your ear. He kisses you everywhere, on your chin, on the tip of your nose, on your brow, your hairline, your ear and even your eyelids. That last part makes you giggle so hard, Din joins you, and for a while he just rests on top of you, his face squeezed against your brow as the two of you calm down from your outburst.
"I wanted to do this so badly… Kissing you. Kissing every part of you, my love. I don't – I don't even know how I made it so long without it. You're so beautiful, so perfect and I just – I need to show it to you." He has growled that last sentence against your temple.
Meanwhile, you bury your fingers in the back of his head, twisting the strands around your digits. Dark brown, as you know. At least that is what Din has told you. When you asked him about whether they were curly or straight, he wasn't able to give you a straight answer and said that they were flat after a long day of wearing the helmet but curly right after a shower.
"Please, Din," you beg him and sling your legs around his waist, trapping him against you.
"Do you want me to show you?"
"Yes. Yes, please." You have no clue what he has in mind for you, but it doesn't matter as long as it's him doing it. You would prefer it if it involved his face since this is the one time he has taken off his helmet, but regardless, you're not going to complain. Din shifts on top of you again, kissing you on your mouth and sliding his hand down your front.
"Are you gonna let me kiss you there? Between your legs?"
Your breath hitches at the proposition, your teeth instinctively grazing your bottom lip. He has touched you there before, made you unravel with his skilled hands, but his helmet has made it impossible to do that so far. You don't hesitate for obvious reasons and instead nod over and over again, so rapidly that you're positive Din senses the movement despite the darkness engulfing the two of you.
"Yeah?" he says, the grin tangible in his tone.
"Yes. I would love that."
"I've always wondered what you taste like, love… You look so pretty down there, and you're… so soft." He talks like he's already dreaming about putting his mouth on you, though he is still at your lower belly, pressing open-mouthed kisses across your skin which leave wet patches.
"Are you gonna hold my hand, Din?" you whisper before he can dive in, blindly reaching down, but you can only grab air.
"Of course, sweetheart." You feel it, his fingers finding the tips of yours and then tangling them with his.
"Anything you want… I just wanna make you happy."
"I am already," you laugh quietly, parting your thighs wider as you feel him settle between them, his face on the same level as your wet cunt.
"Well, then I want you to be even happier."
"I don't deserve you," you mutter under your breath, gripping the pillow next to you with your unoccupied hand to brace yourself for whatever his lips on your pussy is going to feel like.
"You're saying you don't deserve me… You and me both know that's not true. You're a goddess. And all I can do is make an effort every single day and hope to at least be worthy of you one day."
"Shut up," you chuckle, lightly squeezing his hand while you feel heat rise in your cheeks.
"I'm just telling the truth, darling…"
You want to reply to him, but whatever you would have come up with catches in your throat as Din encloses your pulsing clit with his lips in that moment.
"Huh. Fuck…" you groan and throw your head back, digging your nails in his flesh in a way that must surely be painful for him. But you just can't help it with the small electronic waves undulating in your system, your heartbeat quickening. You need something to hold onto and bury your claws into when the tension becomes overbearing.
"Din," you whimper, rocking your hips forward to show him how much you enjoy his treatment. He has his lips around your bundle of nerves, kissing and sucking it into his mouth while his index finger drags through your folds to play with your wetness. He doesn't push in yet, he just toys with you, keeps you on the edge of your seat, offers additional sensation to the swipes across your clit.
The experience is so new and familiar at the same time. It's like you can feel Din through and through with every single fiber of your being, and it's so unmistakably him, but then again, it has never been like this before. It's good, though. That much you can tell already.
"You taste perfect… So sweet and warm… Even better than I imagined." His voice sounds a little muffled with his head trapped between your thighs, but you can still understand him clearly.
"Feels – very good."
"Yeah? You like this more than just my fingers?"
You think about his words for a moment, remembering what it feels like to have his thumb press gentle circles into your clit.
"You don't have to decide, princess," Din chuckles deeply and hollows his cheek to apply pressure, then lets the little nub go with a plop.
"I like both. Equally."
"How about this then?" he whispers and begins feeding you two of his digits, his index and middle finger. Since you're properly drenched, it doesn't take a lot of work for him to work them inside, and you only feel a slight sting while your walls opening up welcomingly for him, which Din rewards with a low growl bubbling in the back of his throat.
"Oh," you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head at the way he uses his teeth to carefully nibble at your clit. You don't even know which part to pay attention to, everything is so good, you wish you could preserve the thrill, store it in the back of your mind and come back to it whenever you feel the wish to. It's overwhelming and messy, still you wouldn't want it any other way.
"I wish I could see you…" he mutters after a while during a brief break to catch his breath. The fingers thrusting and curling inside you don't come to a stop, though, which continuously causes sweat to gather on your forehead.
"I wish I could see you too, Din," you whine into the darkness, gripping his hand so tightly, you fear you're cutting off his blood flow.
"Fuck… The way you sound, baby. How you say my name… Just keep saying my name, love, okay?" He dives back in, which doesn't allow you to respond. You can't, given the way your head immediately starts spinning as he draws circles around your clit with his tongue, his spit smeared all over your pussy. You love when he plays with you for so long, there is wetness everywhere, on your thighs, on your lower belly and on his hand and wrist. Now, with his tongue swirling around your clit, he can add even more lubrication by trickling his spit onto you, which you find beyond endearing.
"Din," you squeal, rolling your hips into his face, which he praises with a dark grunt.
"That's it, sweetheart… Just like that. I just want you to feel good, I want you to take anything from me. You're so fucking pretty, so good for me. You taste like honey, darling… So perfect." His sweet talk, but above all his husky tone, causes you to turn even more feral. Soon, you scratch the back of his hand like a rabid animal, panting heavily while stars dance across your vision.
"Oh fuck. Din, I – " You want to tell him that you're close, that it might only take one last swipe to push you over the edge, but it takes you another two attempts until you can spill it out.
Din doesn't rush you. He acts like he's willing to spend another two hours between your legs, and that feeling stretches even after you have come down from your thrilling high which has left you gasping for air greedily. By now, your limbs are sprawled out and even your hand still grasped by Din is lifeless and limp.
"Fuck…" you sigh and lift your head only to remember that it isn't just your sight that's black but the room is actually darkened.
"How are you feeling, my love?" he murmurs and glides his hand up your thigh without attempting to change his position. He's ready to go for a second round, but for now, you have different wishes.
"Din…" you whimper, threading through his silky hair.
"Yes… Is everything okay? Do you need something?"
"Yes," you groan and gently tug at his strands. "Please… Come here, I – I want you to fuck me."
Yes… that's it. His weight on top of you, his lips all over your face like before, his cock driving in and out of you. You can't come up with anything more appealing than this imagination.
"You want me to fuck you? Is that right?" he chuckles but follows your request by crawling up to you. The mat tangibly dips under his weight and you feel your skin burn where he touches you instantly. And shit, he touches you everywhere. Your chests are flush against each other, his hips seem to fit against yours perfectly and now his lips are on the curve of your neck where he inhales deeply as if to savor your scent.
"Yes… Please. I need you to be inside me. Deep. I want – "
You stop again because you feel frustrated all of a sudden. Fuck, you don't know what you want, you just want him in every way there is, you want every version of him, you want him always and all the time and – most importantly, you don't want him to ever put that mask on again. You know that you're being selfish and insensitive for thinking that way, but this is just your mind, and it's the one place you can allow yourself to feel everything. It's the truth. You wish Din wouldn't touch the helmet again and let you see him from now on. Obviously, you would never ask it of him, you wouldn't even say that thought out loud, but it's how you feel deep inside.
"What is it, sweetheart?" Din asks, sensing the panic resonating in your voice.
"I just – want you. Please."
"I'm right here, baby…" He brings his mouth to yours again, parting his lips to show you just how present he was.
"You feel that, darling? You feel me? That's me burning for you."
At first, you're unsure whether he's talking about his hungry lips, but then you feel a bulge grinding against your thigh. He's rock hard with want.
"Do you want it inside?"
The question is unnecessary in your head, but you know that Din likes to edge you and make you wait just a little longer when you need it the most. It's the only time you think of him as mean, maybe except for when he had a long day and is a little snappier than normal.
"Yes. I want it, Din. I wanna feel you in my belly."
"Naughty girl…" he chuckles roughly but guides his tip to your slit as if it has been a command. "I want you to breathe with me, love. Do you hear me breathing?"
He stays silent so that you can listen to him drawing in his heavy breaths.
"Yes."
"Good… I want you to breathe with me. And relax… I'm right here, baby. Right here on top of you, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm yours, darling. And I will be forever. I don't even have a choice, because I'm gonna love you for the rest of my life."
Naturally, his words make you tear up, your throat bulging as you swallow.
"I love you."
At his last word, he starts pushing inside you, sliding in effortlessly due to the extensive procedure of preparing you for him. It probably also has to do with the fact that your body is completely at ease as it rarely is. You can't see his face in the dark, but right now, you feel like you do. The contours, at least. But it doesn't matter really because what the two of you have is greater than the dark or that helmet or the distortion of his voice when he speaks to you.
"Din," you whimper, closing your lids as you feel him fill you with his length. He's massive, thick enough to stretch your walls beautifully and long enough to reach deep inside you, right there where you're particularly sensitive.
And he knows. He knows where you need it, where to press firmly and where to treat you with cautious care. He can play your body like an instrument, which is why you pant like a dog minutes after he has started fucking you. His hips crash into yours, his thumb attached to your clit like there's not a single more attractive place to him and his lips showering you with kisses, just as he promised.
"So g-good," you stutter and move your hands over his cheeks, drinking in the feel of him because you know it's something you can't do often. The coarse hair, the wrinkles you trace on his brow, the sweaty temples.
"You feel incredible, princess. So good for me. Feels like your body was only made for me… To be filled by me."
"Mhm… yes," you shriek. At this point, Din has found a steady rhythm, causing your body to jolt up on the mat and your head to be pushed into the cushion below, which you don't mind in the slightest. You're comfortable with the blankets and pillows around you, but most importantly, Din is on top of you, and fuck, he is really set on making you feel wonderful tonight. At one point, he stops while deeply buried inside you, just to give you a moment to experience the fullness.
"Do you like that, baby?" he whispers in your ear, then kisses the corner of your mouth.
"Yes. Yes, Din, so much… Please."
"Please what?" he asks, sounding genuinely interested to hear what you crave so badly in order to give it to you.
"I want you to cum inside me," you whisper and arch your hips to get closer to him.
You know that Din is going to pump you full of his seed if you ask him. He nearly always does when you demand it, even though both of you know that it isn't the right thing to do. The right thing would be for Din to pull out before he orgasmed and for you to stop putting such ideas out into the open. But sometimes, bad things feel too pleasant to do the right thing, and tonight of all nights, you can't bring up the strength to be tough.
"Anything you want, love," he utters, and you haven't expected anything else. "But first, I want you to cum again. You think you can do that?"
His finger lightly ghosts over your cheekbone before his mouth falls onto yours once more, stealing away your breath and ability to speak. Part of you wonders why he even asks you that if he's going to silence you with his lips anyway, but a larger part just melts into his touch like butter under the sun. You reach your apex moments after that, which takes you by surprise. Like so often, your body betrays you and unravels at an unexpected time, just because Din is making you feel so incredibly good, pressing his thumb into your blazing clit, his cock sliding in and out of you slowly but forcefully.
"Fuck…" you whine out, limbs stretching away, which surely must create a rather unnatural and strange view if anyone could have seen it. Something within you explodes for the second time tonight, coating your vision white for a brief second before warmth floods through your veins. A beat after your body and soul have come back together again and you blink away the heaviness on your lids, you realize that Din is a split second away from orgasming as well, which prompts you to drape your arms around his neck and yank him closer to you. Without a word, you kiss him, but you hope he still knows all the things you haven't said from the way you devour him.
"I'm gonna cum, darling… fuck. Gonna – fill you up – Oh shit. Oh shit, oh – "
His head crashes into your face, his brow resting against your cheek while you feel his warm release overflow your spent pussy. This moment, the skin of his face and yours connected, is so remarkable and special to you, you already know that you're going to hold it close to your heart. Forever. Sure, you hope that this hasn't been the first and last time Din and you turn the lights down in the bedroom so that he can take his helmet off, but this night, the first time he makes love to you with his face revealed, is exceptional.
"Fuck…" Din groans, his nose scrunched against the side of your face. "Fuck, the way you took my cum, baby… So perfect. Made for me, like I said earlier. You see how perfectly we fit together? How perfectly your pussy takes me every single time?"
His voice is quiet, so intimate and close that you feel it vibrate on your skin as well as in your chest and stomach and even your thighs.
"Yes… So good – Din."
By now, you can barely hold your eyes open, which Din hasn't noticed earlier for obvious reasons. But now, given that you are babbling like you are drunk, he exhales gently, which resembles amused laughter.
"Are you sleepy, princess?"
"Yes. So sleepy, Din."
The darkness doesn't help in the slightest, no, it rather makes you feel like you're already in the lands of dreams. Your muscles are languid and heavy, your mind drowsy and your pussy just a little bit sore. Not enough to feel genuinely uncomfortable but enough to wish to spend the rest of the night in Din's arms while he holds you against his chest.
"That's okay… That's okay, love," he coos and rolls off you to tug you closer to his collarbone. "It was a lot today… But you did so wonderfully. I'm so proud of you. And I'm – I'm sorry."
The next day, when you try to remember what he has said to you a moment before you have dozed off, you're not sure whether he has actually apologized or if it has happened in your mind.
The part that throws you off is that apologizing didn't quite fit into the conversation because what would he be sorry for? For the staggering orgasm he has just given you? Well, you don't know if he has truly said it, but what you know is that you have been granted heavenly rest after that night.
Like you intended it, you fell asleep with his large body spooning you from behind, ensuring that not a single sheet of paper could fit between your bodies, which fit together so well, like puzzle pieces.
