A Din Djarin/Mandalorian x Reader Imagine prompt presented to me, by my brain, because who needs to focus or be productive while at work?
“You once asked what I would do if you fell in love with me.”
“Heard that, did you?”
“Mm.”
...
“-and? ”
——————
Word Count: 1k ish
Warnings: Implied sexy time because I couldn’t fathom writing it at work. I couldn’t handle it, it wasn’t safe, hahahaha. Reader is female presenting and is in possession of breasts. Probably the most “risqué” word in the whole thing.
Author’s Note: Your heart may burst like mine threatened to do while I was writing this. WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME AT WORK, BRAIN?? Also, I’m sorry for the questionable word tenses, segmented bits, and notes of things to expand upon to myself. This is more like a textual sketch of moments and emotions than a solid fic at the moment. Thus calling it an imagine. Please be gentle with me, I wrote this for myself l a s t y e a r (well, in Janurary.. almost a year.) and had never intended other eyes to perceive it.
——————
Imagine:
You sell yourself to make ends meet in the trying times after the fall of The Empire. It isn’t an easy life, the Guild members and drifters that filter in and out of your port city are not known for their sweet dispositions. So when the Mandalorian hires you on to the Razor Crest not for the expected services, but as a sleep aid... it didn’t take long to pack your things and go.
As for your duties: provide what intimacy you can to the Mandalorian to take the edge off, well, everything.
The first night, after haltingly telling you to touch him to help him sleep, he snatches your wrist away from his thigh so hard you think it might snap in his grip.
He hastily releases the offending wrist and apologizes.
As you rub the soreness out, he explains.
He just wanted to be touched. Held. Feel connected to something. So he could get some sleep.
The helmet stays on.
What Ensues:
Being the big spoon.
Him in simple bedclothes with his helmet on. Using deep pressure on his tightly wound limbs.
Your touch never goes below the waist. Running your hands up and down his arms, tracing your fingers over and around his clenched hands.
Prying them open, tracing your fingers over his palms, entwining your fingers together. Sketching delicate circles on the nicked and scarred flesh at the back of his hands with your thumb.
Some nights, massaging his temples and corded neck muscles when he has a headache.
——————
Helping with cleaning up the back of a haircut he’s given himself.
Helmet. off. With his back to you. In a part of the Razor Crests’ hull with no surrounding reflective surfaces.
Realizing that, most likely, no one has run their fingers through his hair since he was small. Massaging his scalp.
“You have dark hair.”
“Yes.” His voice, unmodulated.
Absent mindedly guessing his eye color( brown. kind.) He doesn’t confirm your guess.
“Not Kind.” he says.
You kiss the whorl of hair at the crown of his head when you’ve finished, ascending to the cockpit to check the kid in his pram. Throwing a “Whatever you say.” over your shoulder.
Him not looking back, frozen, thunderstruck, until after your steps up the ladder rungs have faded.
——————
Keeping an ever expanding list of minute details you discover about him for yourself.
——————
Stopping on a peaceful, verdant planet.
Having a quiet afternoon on a secure landscape.
“Stretching our legs. Getting some sun(s)” he calls it.
You are tending to The Child while Mando stands back, surveying. You wave the baby’s little hands that grip the forefingers of each of your own. Making faces, talking to him.
“I don’t pay you to do that.”
You laugh.
Travel, lodging, free meals, barely having to lift a finger in recompense... this arrangement is less of a monetary exchange than he implies.
“Don’t worry, I won’t ‘charge extra.’ He’s a darling little thing.” you quip.
You can’t bring yourself to look away from The Child, to reveal that you’re suppressing a bemused smile.
A gentle breeze stirs your hair, sends the swathe of long grass around you and The Child dancing. You close your eyes for a moment, relishing the green scent and the smell of warm earth.
If you’d turned, you’d just catch the tilt of the helmet. The visor fixes on you while your back is turned, while you smile and play with The Child.
...
...
...
“My eyes are brown.”
You pause and turn, a tender smile playing freely on your lips now.
“I know.”
——————
Him wanting to sleep listening to your heartbeat.
You cover your eyes with a makeshift rag blindfold. He rests his bare head against your sternum.
Being a little startled by how touched you feel, in awe of the level of intimacy this implied on both of your parts. You automatically card your fingers through what you now know to be loose dark curls.
Trying not to let your mind wander to his head, his face, his mouth in particular, settled between your breasts, lest your heartbeat quicken.
His breathing slows, and he drops off. His body curved loosely around you, holding you around your middle.
You curl into him in turn, craning your head down to kiss the top of his head. A twin to the first kiss.
Breathing in his scent slowly, softly. Your hand in his hair curling involuntarily.
“Careful, Mando. What are you going to do with me if I accidentally fall in love with you?”
——————
A night comes where he says
“ I want to touch you. ”
The blind fold returns. ~insert smut and filth~.
I can’t write it right now, I’m at lunch but still. *At work*
Afterward, he lies on his back, one arm at your waist holding you tight to his side. The other hand resting on the arm you have flung across his chest. Eyes still covered, your head rests with your temple pressed against his cheek.
He radiates warmth, the weight of his arms around and on you, settling you, pressing you down into a half doze.
You’re fighting sleep. Struggling to savor being held, no longer the only one doing all of the holding.
You nuzzle an infinitesimal amount closer, spurring him to speak.
“You once asked what I would do if you fell in love with me.”
Now you’re awake. Heart shifting from peaceful drowsing, making the jump to lightspeed.
“Heard that, did you?”
“Mm.”
...
“-and?”
“Hm.” He chuffed. Breath hitching into the ghost of a laugh. You half imagine, half feel his mouth twitching up at the corner. “What other option do I have?”
“What other option do you...wh-?”
...
The arm at your waist presses you closer into him, the hand on your arm gives a gentle but firm squeeze.
“What option do I have-“
He presses a kiss to your temple. A clumsy thing; a little too fast and firm. A jarring bump of lip and tooth to orbital bone. The abrasive scritch of his mustache against delicate skin.
Maker, your heart aches.
...
“-other than to love you in return, you tender little fool.”
——————
Final Notes: Welp, what is up my fellow Mand-hos? There it is. My frenzied Mando fantasy that flashed into my mind on January 3rd, in the year of our lord, 2020. Before I knew what the year had in store apart from the anguish of waiting for the new season. It all needed to be put to page or I could not be a functioning member of society. Let me know what you think, I hope you enjoyed it! Thoughts/comments/asks are welcome. I’m sorry there was nothing spicy. I promise you, at the time, it was there in my brain. I could possibly be convinced to attempt the filth. Maybe. Lemme know if thats somethin y’all would be interested in.
I’ll go ahead and tag @trek-and-wars-are-equal-stars for being the first to asert that I should: DO IT COWARD 😂
Edit: Gonna be bold and tag @miranhas-art because I love her art, and the thought of her even possibly reading this.. I- Your work is so beautiful and the close ups of small intimate moments inspired the way I wrote this 🥺
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In GDT's Frankenstein, the jar Victor and Elizabeth trap a yellow and black butterfly in is the same jar that is used in Crimson Peak, that Lucille Sharpe traps yellow and black butterflies in.
These same exact yellow butterflies are used in Crimson Peak to represent Edith Cushing, who, to some degree, was inspired by Frankenstein author, Mary Shelley, "Actually, I'd rather be Mary Shelley, she died a widow.”
i remember when we were in typography II and also editorial design I we got shown the fucking text hierarchy image
and I'm seeing more and more people not grasping this concept when editing so i thought that if for some reason you haven't seen this image i probably shouldn't gatekeep it. Text hierarchy is literally essential knowledge to make yourself understood. Try to have an order in your text, investigate, test things, show your edits to people and ask "hey what order are you reading this on?" because the golden rule is that your design should be easy to interpret most of the time.
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me: Listen, I don’t care about the cameos of this episode, yeah, it’s neat that they brought back Brendol Hux and boy did the actor nail a voice that sounds like Hux’s accent and brought Gilad Pellaeon into live action, but I’m mad about the lack of Rae Sloane and–
The Mandalorian: Hey.
me:
me: Okay, that’s not as wild as the last three weeks, but oh my GODDDD, they really got Domnhall Gleeson’s brother to play his character’s father, that’s pretty fucking funny.
Harry appeared in the latest episode of The Mandalorian. Jon Favreau is an executive producer of the series so probably helped to cast him. He plays a member of a non-human species, so you can't see his face. https://twitter.com/dayasdear/status/1643535831997489152?s=20
when he wants to be, Din Djarin is polite, patient, erudite, and diplomatic, reasoning out potential problems if he feels that will get him the results he needs. as a general thing, he seems to prefer talking a problem out if he’s not met with violence first.
on the other hand he’s also King Himbo of the independent system FAFO who learns by doing and sometimes getting his shit wrecked multiple times in succession.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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