Love A Mutual Who Never Reblogs My Posts. My Stuff Doesn't Fit Your Vibe, But You Still Follow Me? Amazing,

Love a mutual who never reblogs my posts. My stuff doesn't fit your vibe, but you still follow me? Amazing, love you.

Love a mutual who reblogs my posts every now and again. Every time I see you repost something I get excited that I hit that sweet spot and shared something you liked. Fantastic, love you.

Love a mutual who reblogs pretty much everything I post. I get to see all my posts again, you're clearly feeling my vibe, I feel seen. Spectacular, love you.

Things you said when we were drunk with Din x Reader

Meve your brain is massive

I give you: the smaller gathering Din saved his fancy champagne for

Warnings: none, allllllll fluff, so much fluff

WC: 475

The oddly shaped bottle of amber liquid Karga had gifted Din sat half empty between your outstretched legs. Grogu was long asleep, tucked into a bassinet next to Din’s bed. The two of you were slumped in the kitchen floor, candlelight dancing off of the steel appliances, falling flat on the adobe tile work of the floor. Din’s armor was caught in the same orange glow. Veins heavy with alcohol, hearts light from the feeling of winning a years long fight.

You were giggling at Din’s dramatic retelling of Moff Gideon disappearing behind a wall of flames. The part of the story where he almost died in the same fire irrelevant for the time being

He tipped his helmet back and took another swig of the unnamed liquid. It was certainly the fanciest thing either of you had ever drank. All sweetness and no burn going down. You didn’t think it was strong at all until you were both doubled over in laughter at absolutely nothing.

You clasped a hand to his knee and squeezed it. “Man, what a day. You killed your arch nemesis, adopted your son, and became a homeowner before the sun set. All you’ve got left is to get married and you’d complete your bingo card,” you laughed.

He set the bottle down between the two of you, head tilted back against a cabinet door. He turned just slightly so you could tell he was gazing at you from under his visor.

“We could get married. Right now,” he said smoothly.

You laughed again. “Yeah, okay.”

He didn’t waver. Not a single muscle moved.

“Din, you can’t be serious,” instantly sobering up.

He still said nothing.

“Din, are you serious?”

He gave a simple, “Yes.”

“Din,” you said softly, your heart tugging under the weight of this moment, “You’re drunk.”

“I am drunk, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

You were quiet for a long time. Sure, there had been moments you wondered if he could ever see a future with you. He had always steadfastly taken care of you, offering you the largest portion of food, offering you his bed, his blankets. When your boots or jacket wore through, he replaced them without being asked. He would just show up with a replacement in hand.

“You would really marry me?” you whispered.

“If you would have me,” he said softly, placing a gloved hand over yours.

A smile played on your lips, “Ask me again in the morning.”

“I’ll ask every day,” he said plainly drawing his other arm behind his head and crossing his ankles.

He was quiet for a long time.

“Are you going to sleep?”

“The sooner I go to sleep, the sooner I can ask again.”

You smacked his arm and laughed softly into the night.

“You’re an idiot, Din Djarin.”

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