#fuck I’m spiraling so hard I wanna die

[sensitivegoblin]

:,(

[yuwuta]

*TEST DRIVE — YUUTA OKKOTSU

❝I WILL NEVER LEAVE BY YOUR SIDE, DON’T YOU KNOW YOU GOT A RIDE OR DIE

pairings. okkotsu/reader, uhhh implied maki/nobara and sort of itadori/fushiguro but that’s not so important for now

warnings, themes. non-curse/modern au, marriage of convenience au, i thought long and hard about who would fit this trope best and all i can say is that i didn’t really pick just one in the end, so if this spirals in a wedding/marriage playlist, you’ve been warned, um… sort of implied possessive behavior on yuuta’s end but it’s only teased for now :)

word count. 2.5k i can yap about him all day

playing. test drive/ariana grande, going crazy/exo, heart of glass/blondie, idea/taemin, tipsy/chloe x halle 

“I just heard the funniest joke from Inumaki,” Nobara says, welcoming herself into your apartment. You’re not surprised, and continue with your dessert preparations. Yuuji, to your left, spares her a wave, before going back to diligently preparing the vegetables. 

Maki is the only one to respond by turning slightly in her seat to raise an eyebrow at Nobara when she walks up to the island, “Since when do you think Toge is funny?” 

“Not usually,” Nobara admits, taking the neighboring open seat. She crosses her arms atop the counter, and squints at you, “But he surprised me this time.”

Your eyes fidget to Maki, who seems equally confused by Nobara’s unnerving stare, then to Yuuji, who appears none the wiser, because he happily chirps, “Well, I wanna hear it! Tell us, Kugisaki!”

“He said that it was soooo kind of you to share your anniversary date with Yuuta and have us all over for dinner,” Nobara drawls, “Then I got confused, of course—but then I thought, ‘Maybe they’re secretly together and I just didn’t know. Wouldn’t be a huge surprise.’”

You flinch at that, “What do you mean that wouldn’t be a huge sur—”

“This is the funniest part, though,” Nobara squints, “He said that you’re actually married, and he meant that today is your wedding anniversary. He was pretty convincing, though. He’s very committed to the bit—even challenged me to ask you at dinner, but I figured I’d straighten it out now,” she drawls, reaching over to steal a cucumber slice from Yuuji’s station, “You’re not actually married to Yuuta, right?”

You pause, for too long. Maki’s disbelief shifts from Nobara to you, morphing into a threatening glare that makes you chuckle nervously. Yuuji keeps turning his head between you and Nobara, waiting for one of you to crack. 

It’s not her. “Okay… define married,” you mumble.

Nobara all but jumps across the island, standing up and slamming her palms on the counter top. “What do you mean ‘define married’—there’s only one definition!” Yuuji frantically sweeps his preciously sliced vegetables out of her range. “You’re either married to Okkotsu or you’re not, which is it?” 

You pause again. Too long this time. 

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Maki says, “It’s true? Toge says that shit all the time, how he can ‘still hear wedding bells’ when you two are around. Oh, I’m going to be sick.”

“Wait, you’re married?” Yuuji quips, “Since when? You should have told me, I would have gotten you a present!”

“Okay, okay—enough!” you yell, taking a step back, “It’s… true, but it’s not what you think. Yuuta and I are legally married, but we’re not together together.”

Nobara reaches to flick you on the forehead, “What the hell does that mean?” 

“It means, we’re married on paper only,” you explain, strategically placing your knife in the sink, far out of Maki and Nobara’s reach. 

“Say more words,” Maki demands, “Now.” 

You sigh. Even Yuuji has paused his preparations, blinking at you with those big, wide eyes, and you know for sure there’s no way out of this now. 

“It happened four years ago. I—”

Despite being the one who asked you to say more, Maki is the first to cut you off, incredulous, “Four years? You’ve been married to that beanstalk for four years and neither one of you twigs thought to mention it?” 

“Maki, let her finish,” Yuuji pitches in for you, reaching a comforting hand out to your shoulder, “Maybe she was dying and needed Okkotsu-senpai to sign her insurance papers so the government didn’t sweep her away! I saw that in a K-Drama once,” he smiles proudly. Nobara pinches her face in disgust, immediately refuting and calling Yuuji an idiot for believing everything he sees on TV. 

“Honestly, that’s not too far off. I’m not dying—and neither is Yuuta,” you hastily correct the worried faces peering at you, “But he was sick as a kid, and long story short is something got fucked up with his insurance when his parents died. It wasn’t a big deal, at first, but it spiraled into a bunch of issues, the biggest being the threat of taking his parents’ house away from him.”

Nobara pulls back, crossing her arms. “Why didn’t Gojo just do something then? That idiot has more than enough money to spare for some petty hospital bill, even with twenty years of interest.” 

“He did,” you assure her, “But then the house became its own problem. His parents didn’t leave the deed in his name, and the community board tried to say that Yuuta had no assets and wasn’t a favored candidate for their neighborhood, even if he was their son.” 

“That’s bullshit,” Maki interjects. 

“Yeah, totally not fair,” Yuuji pouts, “That’s his dead parents’ house and they wanted him to prove himself?” 

“Pretty much,” you sigh, “Basically marriage is something that helped prove his eligibility… plus some doctored philanthropic donations on Gojo’s end, and letters of recommendation from Shoko and her co-workers.” 

Nobara tuts her bottom lip out. “I don’t know, I’m not buying it.” 

“No, it makes sense. I’m sure by now all his parents’ neighbors are a bunch of uptight, old heads who didn’t want some kid throwing parties nearby,” Maki argues, “But once they hear he’s a young, married, nurse with a side hustle in philanthropy, I’m sure those geezers welcomed him with open arms. Sounds like some shit my family would do, too.” 

Nobara hums, factoring in Maki’s evaluation. “Okay fine. Yuuta marries you, he gets his parents’ house back and probably commits insurance fraud too,” she settles, “But what about you?—You said this was mutually beneficial, so what did you get out of it?” 

You probably should talk to Yuuta about revealing all the details of your marriage to your friends, but you knew it was bound to happen sooner or later. Yuuta’s parents’ death and the issues that came along with it weren’t a secret at the time, but your problems are something you kept private. It’s a miracle you’ve gone this long under the radar, and you know Nobara isn’t going anywhere with unanswered questions. 

“Permanent residency status,” you tell her, “Yuuta’s a citizen, so in marrying him, all my problems about finding a job in six weeks after graduation disappeared.” 

“But… you got a job?” Yuuji questions, head tilted. 

“Yeah, eventually, but I didn’t know I would, and it was either take that chance, or be forced to go back home, and my time was running out,” you reveal, twiddling your thumbs together, “Look, I would have said something at the time, but everyone had their own shit to deal with after graduation. I would have asked any one of you to marry me, but I knew Yuuta was the only one with a reason to say yes.” 

The kitchen falls quiet as the news sits with your friends. Nobara and Maki’s stern disbelief slowly morphs into empathy, and Yuuji’s bright eyes grow steely with concentration as he pieces your story together. 

Then he springs up, “Wait, I totally would have married you, senpai!” 

You laugh, a lightness easing its way back into the room. “Thanks, Yuuji,” you lean to give him a kiss on the cheek, but you’re met with Nobara’s outstretched palm instead. 

“Nuh-uh. Just because I think this marriage is insane doesn’t mean that I condone adultery.” 

“It’s not adultery. I told you, Yuuta and I are married on paper only—he’s free to date and kiss whomever he pleases, and so am I,” You roll your eyes, pushing her hand away and giving Yuuji a kiss anyway, which he happily accepts, sticking his tongue out in mockery at Nobara.

Maki scoffs, “Are we sure that Yuuta knows that?” 

“Of course he knows that.”

“So then why hasn’t he dated anyone?” Maki presses, eyes lowering into a teasing glare. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “Who Yuuta does or doesn’t date isn’t really my business.” 

Nobara pulls at her hair, “Yes it is. You’re his wife.” 

“His contractual wife,” you correct. 

“Contractual?” 

“Wait—have Yuuta and Toge not totally kissed on several drunk, or am I the only one who saw that?” Yuuji interjects.

“No, that was you and Fushiguro,” Nobara says, “And nobody cares about you two right now.” 

You put a hand on Yuuji’s shoulder, “I care about you, Yuuji. Please, tell us about your drunk escapades with our dear Megumi.” 

“Save it, Itadori,” Maki cuts in, crushing Yuuji’s bright demeanor, “You and Yuuta are way more pathetic. Keep talking.” 

“Since when do you even like to gossip?” 

“Since she met me,” Nobara gleams, proudly, “Now, keep going.” 

You give Yuuji an apologetic glance before continuing, “I just mean that by the end of this year, Yuuta and I can get amicably divorced without raising any suspicion. Our marriage can’t be contested as a sham, I’ll be eligible for citizenship and housing on my own, and all will be well.” 

It’s quiet again, for a moment. You bite your lip in anticipation. Ultimately, you knew that none of your friends would judge you and Yuuta for what you did, but it wasn’t exactly normal to marry your friends for legal benefits, and then hide your marital status from almost everyone you knew. Still, this conversation was going about as well as it could, until Maki starts laughing. 

Her laughter starts off quiet, then grows gradually, until it becomes concerning. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Maki actually laugh before—a few amused grunts, and occasional drunk giggles, yes, but full-on, blown laughter is a first. It’s scary, and as you glance at Nobara and Yuuji, you’re clearly not the only one worried. 

“You actually believe that he doesn’t feel anything for you—that’s rich,” she says through laughter, clutching her stomach, “God help you if you think you can just divorce him. You two are so fucked, you deserve each other.”

“Wait, speaking of rich, did you sign a prenup? Isn’t Yuuta totally loaded now that he’s a nurse and related to Gojo—I also don’t think that you’ll be able to divorce him that easily, but if you kill him, you could be an instant millionaire,” Nobara reasons. 

“That’s so shallow!” Yuuji exclaims, “Also, I’m a nurse, and I wouldn’t say I’m loaded.” 

“That’s because you’re not cute like Yuuta,” Nobara mocks, “If you were, then you’d make the big bucks.” 

“I’m cute!” Yuuji cries, turning to you, “I’m cute, right?” 

You reach to pat his head, “Yes, Yuuji, you’re very cute. And perfectly well off enough. Yuuta works inhumane hours for his money, don’t be like him.” 

“Itadori, you make, like, quadruple what the average person makes,” Maki reminds him, “You just spend it all just as quickly.” 

Nobara scoffs, “Which he can afford to do because he’s a nepotism baby.” 

“You just said I was poor and ugly, and now I’m a nepotism baby? Pick a story, Kugisaki!”

“I don’t have to pick shit. Nanami-san sponsors your entire life, and enables your bad spending habits,” she huffs, “Yuuta’s a nepotism nurse, too. In fact, you both make me sick.” 

“Okay, then by that logic Fushiguro is also a nepotism baby!”

“Well, duh. He’s, like, the poster child for nepotism babies all around the world.” 

You drown out Nobara and Yuuji’s argument, mulling over Maki’s words instead. Did she mean to imply that Yuuta would make your divorce difficult on purpose?—you don’t see why; Yuuta doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body, and it wouldn’t serve him any purpose. You didn’t sign a prenup, but you would never argue ownership over any of his assets, and you know that Yuuta knows that; he’d already given you so much, you would never try to take anything from him. 

In fact, getting divorced would only open more doors for him. You don’t know if Yuuta hasn’t dated in the past four years out of some lingering loyalty to your marriage, but if that was the case, then you don’t want to stand in his way for any longer than necessary, and you especially don’t want him to grow to resent you for it. He would no longer be unnecessarily bound to you; he’d be free, legally, to carry on with his life—you would be the only one indebted to him for his boundless kindness. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t thought much of your divorce throughout your marriage. You knew that after five years, you could get divorced without consequence, but you hadn’t pictured how that would go. The thought of it somehow messing with your relationship to Yuuta, and your mutual friendships makes your head hurt. Maybe you should have married Yuuji instead. 

“Are you kidding, Yuuta would have mauled him,” Nobara chuckles, “Plus he would have lost his childhood home.” You blink. Guess you said that last part out loud. 

Her words spark more bickering between her and Itadori, and this time you turn to Maki. It was evident that she was just as much in the dark as anybody else about your secret marriage, but, still, it seemed like she knew something that you didn’t. 

“Maki, does... you said I think that Yuuta doesn’t feel anything—then what does he feel?” 

Maki blinks, then shakes her head, “You clearly don’t know who you married. That’s for you and your husband to work out.” She continues, this time that same wicked laughter is back, “Just know that whatever your plan for divorce was, it’s not going to be that easy. Yuuta is stupid, clearly, but he’s not that dumb. At least, I hope not.” 

You pout, shoulders slumping. That was about the most cryptic and least comforting response a person could give, but you shouldn’t have expected more from Maki. Luckily, Yuuji moves to give your shoulders a comforting rub, forgoing Nobara’s exclamations of him being a homewrecking harlot. 

At this point, you can’t tell if their arguing or your overthinking is causing your headache. Maybe you should cancel this group dinner all together; there’s no way you and Yuuta won’t be the topic of conversation all night, and you’re not exactly looking forward to pairing Maki’s mystic messages with Toge’s public humiliation, unless you start consuming liquor now. 

Deciding that’s the best plan of action, you turn to your cupboards to reach for a bottle of wine, pawning off popping the cork to Maki when your phone buzzes, catching your attention. 

It’s a text from Yuuta, similar to one you’ve received on this day every day, for the past four years, with something a little extra tacked on this year. 

from: yuuta 🌟 — happy anniversary (and i’m not just saying that because the feds are watching) (＾∇＾) — cheers to us, and many more! 🖤

[bleucaesura]

WTF - Part 3

NO! No no no!

Blitzø tripped over himself to chase after Stolas for the second time that night.

I can’t let him leave me again… Not again!

Stolas was fast, his strides so much longer than Blitzø’s. And he must have heard Blitzø coming after him because he became rigid, dropped his arms, clenched his fists and began to move faster.

But Blitzø caught up. He took a desperate leap forward and snagged one of Stolas’s fists in his hand.

Stolas halted abruptly. A shiver ran up his spine, his feathers rippling in its wake.

It felt so fucking good to touch him.

It felt so good to feel his touch.

“I’m sorry!” Blitzø brought his other hand out and clutched tightly to Stolas’s hand. Like his life depended on it.

Blitzø looked down, squeezed his eyes shut and fought back his tears. He could feel Stolas’s hand start to shake.

“Blitz…” Stolas’s voice quivered. He sounded so far away. Blitzø looked up at him. Stolas’s face was turned away. Blitzø’s stomach churned and his chest felt like it was caving in.

“Please… I can’t take anymore…” Stolas whimpered. Blitzø could feel him shake with tears.

Fucking DAMMIT…

Blitzø choked back the tears in his throat. He could do this. He had to do this.

“For the record? I don’t think low of you AT ALL. In fact…” He swallowed hard, trying to steady his voice. “I think so fucking HIGHLY of you I’ve got you on a Satan fucking PEDESTAL!”

Stolas’s fist began to relax, but Blitzø could still feel him shaking. Or maybe that was him…

Stolas turned his face and peeked down at him.

“Wh… What?…” He choked through tears. “What do you mean?”

Blitzø felt so small. So very small, looking up into those eyes. Those fucking beautiful eyes. Eyes that shouldn’t even be looking his way. Eyes that shouldn’t be able to see into his soul. Shouldn’t make him so fucking happy. Shouldn’t make him want to die without them on him…

Blitzø tried to swallow the lump in his throat. His voice cracked.

“You’re WAY too fucking good for someone like me.” He clutched tighter to Stolas’s hand.

It was like Blitzø stung Stolas. He jerked his hand away, whipping around to face Blitzø, a look of horror and disgust on his face.

“I…” Stolas couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “ExCUSE me?!” He had to have heard Blitzø wrong.

Blitzø felt like a part of him was missing. Like Stolas had ripped off a limb when he took his hand away. His chest was caving in. He couldn’t breathe. He could feel himself spiraling. He’d fucked everything up again.

“You heard me…” Blitzø muttered. He could barely look Stolas in the eyes. But he decided-

Fuck it… In for a penny. In for a fucking pound…

“And the reason I YELL?” Blitzø clenched his fists and fought back his tears. “EVERYTHING I have. EVERYTHING I’ve earned in this life was by the skin of my teeth, kicking and screaming.”

Stolas tried to reach out to him but Blitzø raised a dismissive hand and continued.

“I don’t KNOW any other volume than a YELL or a SCREAM, Stolas. Because people like me? IMPS? The lower class… No one LISTENS unless we’re LOUD!”

Blitzø leaned back and screamed at the ceiling.

He couldn’t stop his tears any longer. So he just let them come.

“Blitz. No.” Stolas tried again to reach for him. “That can’t be-”

Blitzø glared up at him and cut him off.

“Wanna know WHY I thought you were fucking with me, Stolas?” He snapped.

Stolas worried his hands at his chest, his eyes cast down. He looked pitiful. Fuck. Blitzø wanted to hug him. But, Satan fucking dammit… Shit wasn’t that simple anymore.

“Why?” Stolas whimpered.

“Because why WOULDN’T I?” Blitzø’s voice cracked. His tears streamed down his face and pooled under his chin. “Why would I believe someone like YOU could care for someone like ME?”

Stolas stomped his foot in indignation. Why was Blitzø being like this?

“What is THAT supposed to mean?!” He huffed angrily.

“Open your EYES Stolas!” Blitzø threw his arms wide. “You’re a PRINCE! And I’m the fucking HELP!”

Blitzø tied the noose, and was ready to be hung by it.

Stolas gaped at him in horror.

“Blitz!” He reached out to him. “It’s not like that!”

“It’s exactly like that, Stolas!” Blitzø hugged himself, clutching tightly to his arms, claws digging into his skin. He looked at the floor.

“It isn’t for me… It’s never been…” Stolas wanted to reach out and touch him. Caress his face. Make him look at him and see he was sincere. But he couldn’t… He just… Couldn’t.

***

[littlemissthunderstorms]

gorgeous

alex turner x fem reader

i don’t really know how to summarize it, so just read and find out!! it’ll be a fun little surprise! (also i quoted a line from better than the movies in here, i just finished that book and i LOVED it so dearly)

i couldn’t choose just one song 😣

late afternoon was dull. rain poured outside and the sky was grey, adding to the melancholy of the day. as you sit on the couch next to your best friend alex, you couldn’t help but stare at the rain pattering against the window, trying to distract yourself from your thoughts. you had just recently broken up with your boyfriend, you realized he wasn’t the one and it made you sad. it was easy to let your thoughts spiral, you wondered if you’d ever find your person, if anyone would ever love you that much. could you be loved? you didn’t want to be lonely forever and then become an old lady living alone with her fifty cats in an old apartment. would you die alone? oh my god and then who would even take care of the cats? would anyone even know you died? what if- “ahem.” you jumped slightly, raising your eyebrows at alex who was looking at you with a funny expression, accompanied by a head tilt.

“soo movie or no?” alex chuckled. “you ruined my train of thought.” you smiled as you kicked him playfully. alex had always been your best friend, you had always been there for eachother and this was no different. he’d been hanging out at your house practically the second your boyfriend had moved out and you didn’t mind at all. alex laughed softly, brown eyes not leaving yours. as you gazed at the boy, your smile faded into a frown, your earlier thoughts returning to haunt you. alex noticed this, furrowing his brows. “you alright?” you hadn’t really allowed yourself to overthink too much since your boyfriend left, and now that you had really thought about being alone, it destroyed you. anxiety plagued you, filling you only with distress and thoughts of loneliness.

“i dunno.” you shifted your gaze to your lap, fiddling with your rings. “you wanna talk about it?” alex shuffled closer to you on the couch. you shrugged, eyes still fixated on your lap, averting his gaze. “is it about him?” you noticed how close alex was, causing your heart to race a little faster. “um- no.” you paused. “well, yes, related. i mean, it’s not exactly about him, like the fact that i miss him or anything. which i dont. not really. that seems kinda mean, but it’s true.”

you looked up at alex nervously to find him looking back at you, silently urging you to continue talking. “its just- i’m nervous i’ll never find anyone. sounds fucking stupid now that i’m saying it aloud but um..” you gulped nervously. alex eyes were soft and caring and the effect he had on you right now was concerning. nevertheless, you continued.“i’m scared to be alone forever, i just want to love someone and be loved. and i’m so scared thats not going to happen and i’m scared nobody will ever find me pretty enough to love me. i dont know.” you weren’t even thinking now, the storm of anxiety that occupied your mind now letting loose. “i’m just nervous i guess. i dunno, its silly.” you sighed “maybe i’m just overthinking.”

you kept your gaze on your lap as you finished your rant, too flustered to look at alex. he was close. really close. why was your stomach all swirly? the thunder outside filled the silence for a few moments. alex grabbed your hand, causing you to meet his eyes. “hey. don’t think like that. you’re gorgeous.” the way alex was talking to you, the way he was looking at you, soft brown eyes shimmering in the candlelight, all smiley and sweet. it was getting hard to breathe. you were so distracted by him that you forgot to respond. “thank you.” you muttered pathetically, making him chuckle softly, hand not leaving yours. the house was quiet besides the muffled sound of thunder and rain from the nasty storm outside that was getting more intense by the minute. candles and lamps emitted a soft glow throughout the room, casting faint shadows on the walls.

the way he was looking at you made your heart flutter. your eyes darted down to his lips for a split second before quickly looking back up at his eyes. shit. don’t look at his lips don’t look at his lips. the tension was so thick you were sure lightning was bound to strike between you two any second. the house was too quiet. was he getting closer? you nervously broke eye contact for a split second, your stomach fluttering as you looked back at him. he didn’t move, eyes still locked on yours. your face heated. “um- so what movie did you wanna wat-“you didn’t even finish your sentence before his lips were all over yours, nose pressed into your cheek and hand cupping your face. he kissed you like it was his job and he wanted a raise. you eagerly kissed him back, squeezing his hand tightly as you brought your other hand up to rest on his shoulder. he leaned over you, gently pressing you against the arm of the couch as he kissed the shit out of you. you brought your free hand to grab ahold of his hair, deepening the kiss which elicited a sigh out of him.

the intensity of the kiss increased as a strike of lightning illuminated the sky for a few moments, a loud boom of thunder following, rumbling the ground. you pushed your hand up his shirt, his skin warm. his tongue slid across yours. his hands were in your hair. your leg was wrapped around his waist as the kiss deepened, teeth colliding and soft sighs filling the air. another rumble of thunder shook the ground and just like that, the lights were out. you broke the kiss, the two of you gasping for air. the room was dark, almost pitch black.

and if it weren’t for the soft light of the streetlamps, the glow of the candle in the other room, or the incandescent moonlight, you might’ve not been able to see alex smiling down at you.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

hope this made you giggle and kick your feet, goodnight!

ps. this is like my third time writing anything ever so if it’s bad don’t come for me

[inthepeakymidwinter]

Teach Me. (Thomas Shelby x Reader)

Summary: Y/N is a secretary dealing with the usual creepiness of being a woman in a male dominated workplace. *cough* Thomas Shelby to the rescue. *cough* TW: Drinking Word Count: 1225 (It was a Thomas fic I couldn't skimp on this obvi) A/N:(This might be one of the last stories I keep up with. I LOWKEY might have arthritis so this was the one thing I wanted to work on tonight before I die at work tomorrow and have no more energy for the rest of the week 💀 anyway ENJOY!! I still wanna write more of this because its so cute and i can tell it will get STEAMYY) Tags: @globetrotter28 @theshelbyclan

--------------------

It had been three weeks since the start of my new job as Secretary of Shelby Company LTD. I was doing what I knew how to do best. Calling clients, scheduling appointments, working with the rest of the girls in the back to help coordinate others schedules and get ready for all the big meetings the Shelby boys were in. I knew nothing about horses or gambling but that was okay, Polly told me everything I needed to know between meetings and somehow, I was able to keep up.

After spending 9 hours sorting through old mail and calling to make appointments, I was ready to end my day. I was tired of the Shelby boys coming up to my desk just to make crude remarks and then walk away. Between the “are you working hard or barely working?” comments and the weird “I’m better now that you’re here” flirtations I was ready to give up the job I needed most but the girls that worked with me just told me to tell them to “fuck off”. I was too kind to be able to do that and not feel guilt for it. The only Shelby that truly treated me like a human was Thomas. He was the middle brother and the most professional. I admired his work ethic, and how he would put pressure on the other boys to be more professional.

It was almost time for closing the shop when a man in a dark coat walked in. He had the familiar peaky blinder cap on, and I immediately sighed. It was probably Arthur, the oldest of the Shelby boys. He usually came in to take a bit of cash and go gamble at the fighting matches on the corner. I continued to file my paperwork as normal until I heard footsteps walk up to my desk and I sat straight up to look at him. It wasn’t Arthur like I thought it was. In fact, it turned out to be Thomas.  He took off his cap to reveal his dark hair and short sides, a typical cut for the peaky blinders. “Do you have any clue where the rest of the papers are for my newest horse?” He asked me in a frustrated tone. I thought to myself about where I put his papers and then the location finally dawned on me. “They’re…uh- in your desk sir… I put them in the middle drawer on the right” I stuttered. He saw right through me and his eyes glimmered. He thanked me quickly and started to walk away, but it looked as if something bothered him deeply. I saw him stop in his tracks and turn towards me once more.

“Y/N…Come to my office when your done” He requested. I gave him a gentle nod but on the inside my heart had just leapt out of my chest at his request. After my anxiety spiraled for a few moments, I finally got the courage to go up to his office. One half of me was convinced I was going to be fired but the other half of me said I needed to pull myself up by the weak straps on my black mary janes and storm into his office unafraid.

When I finally brought myself into his office, I was surprised by the view of two glasses of some brownish alcohol sitting neatly at his desk. “Y/N, please… make yourself comfortable” Mr. Shelby stood up from his black leather office chair and gestured to the seat in front of his desk. I held my breath and walked over to the chair in front of his desk. I pulled at the edges of my skirt before neatly sitting down and crossing my legs. I watched Mr. Shelby begin to sip his drink before sitting down after me. “So what’s this I hear about Arthur stealing from the safe?” He raised his right eyebrow and looked at me for answers with his oceanic blue eyes. I sunk in my seat and frustratingly brushed my forehead. “Mr. Shelby, I don’t want to get in your private busine-“ “Y/N if there’s something you know…It’s best that you tell me” He raised his voice at first but calmed down the second I looked up at him.

“Mr. Shelby…I don’t want to tell you because he makes…advancements...and I really don’t want to get on his bad side” I sighed deeply and looked down at the floor.

“Advancements?” Thomas asked with both eyebrows up this time. “Uh-…Unwanted…romantic advancements” I murmured. He chuckled for a moment and drank from his glass once more. “Y/N, that’s just Arthur. Actually, that’s probably half of the Shelby boys. Tell you what…I’ll tell him off if you just tell me what’s going on, eh? Deal?” Thomas bargained.

I gave him a sheepish nod and spoke up, “I see him every Friday…leaving from the safe and when I walk home at night…I see him at the fights around the corner.” Thomas nodded and took a deep breath. “Thank you, Y/N,” He thanked and reached for the second glass of alcohol. “Drink with me, yeah?” He asked. I took the glass in my hands and asked him what it was. He paused for a moment to look in my eyes and he realized that I was asking him a genuine question and not joking. “It’s whiskey” He smiled. “There’s a lot you don’t know, eh?” Thomas asked me as I put the drink up to my lips.

“Only some” I spoke and decided to take a big swig of the liquid. Almost immediately it felt like I was on fire, and I started choking on the bitterness of the drink. “Easy, Y/N” Thomas raced over and got me a glass of water from his beverage cart on the left side of the room. He handed it to me, and I grabbed it like it was my last drink on earth. I coughed one last time and placed the drinks on his desk.  

“Mr. Shelby…I do know some things…I know a lot about being a secretary…and I also know that I won’t be drinking again” I chuckled. He smiled softly at me and ran his hands through his hair. “Y/N how old are you? I don’t think you told me when we hired you” Mr. Shelby questioned and sat back down at his chair. I began to comfortably shift in my chair and looked at Mr. Shelby. His eyes met mine and my face flushed. He was similar to me in that he dressed quite professionally every time I saw him around the office. His coat always matched the color of his suits and there was never a day that went by where he didn’t say goodbye to me. “I’m 22, Mr. Shelby” I answered him.

“Well…you have a lot to learn, Y/N” He spoke low and took another drink.

“and I would say…You have a lot to teach Mr. Shelby” I flirted. I don’t know what got into me with that drink, but it was exuding a certain confidence in me that I had never felt before. Thomas smirked at my reply and drank once more. “So I’ll teach you then” His smile matched mine and I felt my cheeks heat up. I could tell this was not going to end well for the both of us.

[f444keitflowers]

Yellowjackets characters as Boygenius songs !!

Taissa Turner - Souviner

Always managed to move in / right next to the cemeteries / and never far from hospitals / I don't know what that tells you about me / pulling thorns out of my palm / working midnight surgery / when I cut a hole into my skull / do you hate what you see? / like I do.

Vanessa Plamer - Emily i’m sorry

Headed straight for the concrete / in a nightmare / screaming / now i’m wide awake /spiralling / and you dont wanna talk / just take me back to montreal / i’ll get a real job / you’ll go back to school / we can burn out / in the freezing cold / and just get lost / Emily i’m sorry baby / you know how I get / when i’m wrong / and I can feel myself becoming somebody i’m not / I’m not sorry

Jackie taylor - Cool about it

I came prepared for absolution / if you’d only ask / so I take some offense when you say “no regrets” / […] / once I took your medication / to know what it’s like / and now I have to act like/ I cant read your mind / I ask you how you’re doing / and I let you lie / but we dont have to talk about it / I can walk you home / and practice method acting / i’ll pretend being with you doesn’t feel like drowning / telling you it’s nice to see / how good you’re doing / even though we know / it isn’t true.

Shauna Shipman - Letter to an old poet

I said "I think that you're special" / you told me once that I'm selfish / and I kissed you hard / in the dark / in the closet / […] / you don't know me / I wanna be happy / I'm ready / to walk into my room / without looking for you / I'll go up to the top of our building / and remember my dog / when I see the full moon / I can't feel it yet / but I am waiting

Lottie Matthews - Not strong enough

Always an angel / never a god / always an angel / never a god / I don't know why I am / the way I am / There's something in the static / I think I've been having / revelations / Coming to / in the front seat / nearly empty / Skip the exit / to our old street and go home / Go home alone

Laura Lee - Without you without them

give me everything you’ve got / i’ll take what I can get / I want to hear your story / and be a part of it / thank your father before you / his mother before him / who would I be without you without them? / speak to me / until your histories / no mystery to me.

Natalie Scatorccio - Revolution 0

If it isn't love / then what the fuck is it? / I guess just let me pretend / I don't want to die / That's a lie / But I'm afraid to get sick / I don't know what that is / You wanted a song / So it's gonna be a short one / Wish I wasn't so tired / But I'm tired / If you're not enough / Then I give up/ and then nothing is / I used to think if I just closed my eyes / I would disappear.

Misty Quigley - Stay Down

I wasn’t a fighter til somebody told me i’d better learn / to lean into the punch / so it don’t hurt as bad / when they leave / there you were / turning my cheek / i look at you / and you look at a screen / i’m in the backseat of my body / i’m just steering my life / in a video game / similar accent / a different name / it’s a slow down / so would you teach me im the villain / aren’t I / aren’t I the one / constantly repenting for a difficult mind

[piquedpequod]

"The Mercy Trap" - fanmix for Itsuki and Sensui from YYH.

Listen: (Youtube | Spotify) Lyrics:

Temptation Waits - Garbage I'll tell you something I am a wolf but I like to wear sheep's clothing

You come on like a drug I just can't get enough I'm like an addict coming at you for a little more

The Sodom and Gomorrah Show - Pet Shop Boys Are you gonna go To the Sodom and Gomorrah Show? It's got everything you need for your complete entertainment And instruction Sun, sex, sin, divine intervention Death and destruction

Lights Out - Röyksopp (ft. Pixx) Save me with a kiss A gentle touch, before the darkness

Lights out We won't be home tonight Everything is better in the half-light

Asking to Break - James Blake Asking to break All this time So go ahead

True love lets you break And stays around

Edge to Life - Recoil There's a piece of dust that crumbles in your hand If you decide to lose control There's a castle of sand that gets kicked in your face To see how easily you'd fall from grace

There's an edge to life That will cut you like a knife When you lay your head down You know you can't escape

Halo - Depeche Mode You wear guilt Like shackles on your feet Like a halo in reverse I can feel The discomfort in your seat And in your head, it's worse

Bring your chains Your lips of tragedy And fall into my arms

And when our worlds they fall apart When the walls come tumbling in Though we may deserve it It will be worth it

Never Let Me Go - Cindy Look at me right now Look at me right now Never let me go Never let me go

Suki Suki Daisuki - Jun Togawa A love so pure you could call it violent A ‘Je t’aime’ so forceful that it's engraved into the Shōwa Era

Kiss me as if you're punching me, until my lips bleed Hold me until my ribs make a cracking sound and break

Deep Slow - Buck-Tick Get rid of the sun; let’s become angels of darkness Just being born now, you waited only for me Soon, we’ll see the answers

More passionate, to the point of pain, like we’re tasting each other I was only waiting for this night, I can feel it already So, I’m sad—vanish for me

Soon, we’ll see the answers So please fuck me so hard I die

audience KILLER LOOP - Dir en grey Even the blood that flows from cutting your chest needs to be for a reason, right? People are healed by inflicting harm, right?

Can't you find a reason to live? There's a deep spiral and a garden full of all you people's lies up ahead

I Am Not Here - VOLA Houses, water I appear But I am not here

I believe in you There's a simple story We will make it through Don't you ever worry I believe in you

There is something beautiful crawling under violence There is something vulnerable moving into silence

Give - Sleep Token You take the dark and carve me out a home I picture you when you are all alone I know how we got here I know how we got here I am the shadow, you're a passenger I am the intake of breath so sharp and I know you better Just wanna know you better

If you wanna give Then give me all that you can give All your darkest impulses And if you wanna give me anything, then give Give in again

A Stroke of Luck - Garbage Did you know I was lost until you found me? A stroke of luck or a gift from God? Hand of fate or devil's claws? From below or saints above? You came to me

Mercy in You - Depeche Mode I would do it all again Lose my way and fall again Just so I could call again on the mercy in you

High Rise - Ladytron Black sun rising New day dawning Amplifying and destroying

Signals fading Darkness falling New day dawning Black sun rising

We're on the same high you and I Open on the same page, no sunrise

started 201?, fin. june 2024.

[diivineray]

Okay I’ve chilled cuz now I’m thinking about xie lian in book 4/5 and DONT READ if you don’t wanna get spoiled

But like the way these two contrast each other so deeply still pains me to this day.

And the way I see and understand both sides.

Especially after you’ve seen everything Xie Lian and Jun Wu went through all to help people. And they were ungrateful. Seriously, the ppl were ungrateful little fucks.

They wanted instant gratification. Sure, fear of what would happen to them causes panic and lack of faith, but ultimately the ppl really are the problem.

One mental image I always have is how Xie Lian was using so much of his power and strength to keep that statue from falling and crushing the people beneath him. It’s not logical to expect ppl to remain calm and faces are popping up on their bodies sURE but it’s the way they screamed and cried and pulled on Xie Lian who needed concentration to be able to IDK keep them fucking alive ?? And it’s a scene that regularly pisses me off because at that moment no one was thinking ‘he’s working so hard to save us’ they wanted a solution right then and now. And again that is fair. It’s a hectic situation.

Jun Wu spending years constructing that bridge and ppl couldn’t wait. It was taking too long. They started putting their faith in other people. I’m sorry but that would be piss me off too. And the fact that their lost faith results in his weakened strength, and the moment the volcano hit and everyone suddenly starts rushing forward to be saved, with Jun Wu’s already weakened state, no one was putting faith in him in that moment. Cuz if they had, his power likely would have gotten stronger. They were only thinking of themselves and saving themselves. Naturally the bridge would break. Not only did the people lose faith in their God but their God lost faith in them.

But all I could think about is how, even in life we try and try and try to help people and often times that help gets thrown back in our faces. Xie Lian made countless sacrifices for people and it still wasn’t enough. He practically gave his body to them to stab and mutilate and it still wasn’t enough.

Because he failed, because Jun Wu failed, something that was really the people’s fault they started to be hated. Looked down on. Their temples burned and destroyed. Statues broken and ruined.

They both wanted to do good, both thought they had what it took and both flew way too close to the sun.

The reality is, you can only do so much. There is a reason God, in Christianity does not intervene. At least in my own view, one it’s just how life is. People live and people die. You can’t save everyone. And if you could, I think the balance would be thrown off. There’s a reason in time travel that bringing back the dead, changing time to bring someone back alters and messes up things.

Humans are imperfect beings. They are going to make mistakes, they are going to be selfish and cruel, and they are gonna suck. But that’s also where they are kind of great too.

The world is not black and white. Mistakes happen, but they can be fixed. And that’s the big difference with xie lian and Jun Wu. What xie lian and Jun Wu couldn’t.

Not even Gods are perfect. Hell, most of them are meant to be seen as such as a way to show humans how NOT to be.

This is also what happens when you’re placed on a pedestal. When you overplay your own hand, when you take on more than you can chew. When you don’t ask for help. When you think because you have power you can do anything. It was a humbling experience for Xie Lian.

Xie Lian had to fall, and live as the very people he was trying to save.

And why I love this book so much is that it could have went the easy route and he could have kept that determination he had in the beginning but instead we see him spiral. We see him lose faith. We see him give into temptation, do some bad things and ultimately almost act out in revenge.

And I will always love the scene where he meets the old man in the rain because that too could have been brushed off so easily.

Xie Lian was waiting for a reason to NOT unleash the plague. He laid in that crater of his, and when that old man tripped over him and spilled his rice he was rightfully upset. Cuz sir what are you doing here just laying in the middle of people’s way?

And the old man got upset with him. And xie Lian already in his head was like ‘I guess there isn’t a good person left’ like he just saw it as ‘they don’t care no one cares’ when firstly he was going about it all the wrong way.

But when that old man started talking to him after they bickered with each other, he gave xie lian that hat. And showed xie lian yes, ppl aren’t perfect but they aren’t all that bad. He had to have a GENUINE interaction with someone to see it.

That person had to be mean first, had to act accordingly, be human for xie lian to see why that meant something. He literally picked xie lian up and told him to try again and not lay in the middle of the road you silly

And that was what he needed to hear. Just ONE person. He didn’t need the world to look at him, he just needed one. And that’s where Hua Cheng’s love comes in after those 800 years.

Jun Wu, didn’t get that. He had Mei Nianqing but after he found out the truth he ran away so naturally Jun Wu is going to take that as abandonment. Which he later uses to show Xie Lian that friends don’t stay. Family leaves. No one ever stays.

And the fact that he had to manipulate things in order to make Feng Xin cuz THAT BOY WOULD NOT HAVE OTHERWISE AND I STAND THAT.

to prove to xie Lian, look see?? Even your most loyal bodyguard doesn’t want to be around you. Isolation.

But just GAH. I’m about to read tgcf cuz now I’m in my feels and ugh i love this series so much 😭😭

[sapphosdickandballs]

Dear Sapho- her dick, her balls (dont blme me blame amal El-mohtar)

I see you have taken my challenge and engaged me in battle. Now beholth! the arcane edition!

Vi.

Cait

Jayce

Viktor

Mel

Silco

powder (note i did not say Jinx).

I look forward to your reply,

kiekebe

Vi-

How I feel about vi…I do feel like fandom has fucked her over a bit. I think she’s undergone hot and gay syndrome (fatal) when she’s actually a complex character. I’m super excited to watch her spiral into depression. I also think thatttt Caitlyn makes her better and more interesting

CAITLYN KIRAMMAN is there even any other answer

her and jinx

I…don’t think she’s that hot. I wanna look like her, for sure (gender envy like you wouldn’t believe) but like. She’s competing with sevika and mommy abassarda and Mel and jinx and Caitlyn and that’s just counting the women. So like. Also maybe it’s finding out the VA for vi is a Zionist. And I feel like her voice was a main appeal for her (at least to me) so

Canon caitvi. I wanted it in the first season. If it’s not in the second season I will genuinely cry

Caitlyn -

Literally number one cait fan here. She’s never done anything wrong and I love her and I also need her so bad. Girls with blue hair istg

Again. Vi. Best ship

Her and Jayce are actually pretty cute together I fear

She’s one of my favorite characters, which might be uncopular. And I like her more than vi, which is definitely unpopular.

I need angst. I need her to lose her mind. I need to watch her spiral into a terrible mess. Literally a requirement.

Jayce -

😴😴😴. He’s boring. I will give him the benifit of the doubt that he needs another season to cook, but like. Boring man

No one lmao.

Like I said, him and cait or him and viktor are sweet.

Idk. Probably that I don’t like Jayvik. Or that I think he’s silly looking.

Wanted him to smack his head on an open cabinet. The man needs that idk.

Viktor

Uh. He’s okay. I think he has a lot of potential. I think he’s gonna eat in the second season. As it is I thought him a tad bit underwhelming. But I’m strapped in and ready for his arc to finish.

Therapy

Him and Jayce or I feel like him and Jinx would get along

Hes not attractive to me 😭 I’m sorry. He looks malnourished I’ve never been into that

I want him to die

Mel-

Trying very hard not to bark at my screen she’s so arugaidiajkekfn. She’s so fine i swear. Oh she’s done shitty things but who cares.

No one is good enough for her. Especially not Jayce 😭

Her and her mom should patch things up I feel like that’s very sad. And if she dies! If she dies and never gets to make up with her mom!!

That she can do no wrong. She’s the best

Living. I need her to live that’s what I want.

Silco -

Silco’s story I was slurping it up with a spoon. I love sympathetic villains. I love horrible people with soft spots. The character himself was horrid but did I cry at you’re perfect? Yes

Proud Vander and Silco shipper. Those two old men should kiss I fear

Him and Jinx >>>

Ugh idk. Ig that I think he should’ve died. That makes sense. That’s a natural conclusion that’s the only way his story could’ve ended

I wish he would’ve given up jinx bro. For the good of the nation. Or fucked nasty with Vander at least once

Powder (you’re devious for this one)

😭😭😭 She kind of reminds me of my sister so I was in PAIN watching her scenes. I love her and I miss her. RIP in peace queen

Shes. A child??

Her and vi or her and ekko

She was kinda dumb for the monkey bomb thing. Like she threw a whole ass bomb and was like oh yeah this will have a great result. Ik why she did it but girl

🤷‍♀️

[g0ttal0ve101]

Lucky

Note: coming back with another caria post haha 😻 it’s not sad at all haha 😻 tw: suicide, self-harm.

████████████████████

Carl hated himself. While this might seem to be somewhat of an over-exaggeration to outsiders, it isn’t. Carl truly and utterly hated every aspect of his character. He hated the way his face reflected in the mirror, he hated the way his hair was such a bright shade of red, he hated the way his voice sounded when he spoke and laughed, he hated the way his ribs stuck out, he hated the way his bony knees were always covered in scrapes, but most of all — He hated the way he hated himself. No matter how hard he tried to act confident, no matter how much he tried to boost his ego, the drug never lasted.

That’s why whenever he got drunk, he would put a blade to his wrists and pray that he’d have the guts to do it. That’s why he’d cry whenever he woke up and realized how severe his hangover was, but also that he was still breathing in a world where he surely didn’t belong. Oh, Carl hated himself. But he did love one major piece of his life. (Perhaps it was the reason he woke up in the morning?)

Mia Jacobs. Golden hair that brushed against her back, adoring eyes that lingered on his face for a few moments more than expected, a tender voice to keep his self-hatred from controlling him, and a wonderful, wonderful smile. Whenever Carl thought about her, his heart raced. It was almost childish how anxious he grew when she was around. And it was surely childish that he had made her the sun, moon, and stars of her life. Without her, there would be nothing. Carl liked it that way.

So once he got drunk that night and put a blade against his frail skin, he thought about her. It wouldn’t be hard to end it right then and there. Sure, it’d hurt like hell and he might even be too cowardly to finish it off, but his skin was thin enough that he could slice it clean. Why didn’t he then? Why couldn’t he move? Well, it was simple — He couldn’t bear to let her go.

The knife clattered to the floor and for a moment, he grew frightened that it might have been a bit too loud for his older brother’s liking. Nevertheless, he was too drunk to linger on the thought for too long, grabbing his phone and seeing stars spiraling on the screen.

Mia’s number was always on the top of his list. He clicked it without hesitation and curled up on his bed, listening to the sound of the device ringing over and over. It felt like hours before he finally heard a signal being picked up.

“What’s up, baby?” Her voice finally peaked through the fuzziness of the static, bringing a bright smile to his face instantaneously.

“Hiiii.”

“Haha, hi? How drunk are you?”

“I’m gonna kill myself, Mia.”

There was silence for a moment. Then suddenly, the pleasant tone in her voice dropped into a very solemn one. “…Don’t fuck around like that.”

Too intoxicated to realize how horribly awful this was to do to his girlfriend, Carl could only laugh. “I’m nottt. I have the knife right here and I’m gonna slit my wrists and fucking die, hahah! I’m gonna fucking do it! But, but, buttttt, I wanna tell you that I love you and that you’re the best girlfriend everrr!”

And that was enough to make Mia grab her keys and head for the door. Without bringing much thought to the fact that he heard her car engine start running, Carl continued with ramblings as if nothing was wrong at all.

“Miaaa? Miaaa…”

“What is it, baby?”

“Mffmh…I love you, Mia. More than anything ever, hmgh…existed. You’re a good person, no matter what you say. If you wasn’t, erm, you wouldn’t be dating someone like meee…y’know? And if you wasn’t a good girl, you…ugh…you wouldn’t be so nice to me. I can’t even know what it feels like to date me, y’know, and it scares me when I don’t know that when you…mmh, yeah.” Carl bubbled out without reconsidering even a single word he sang. It was funny to him at first but whenever he received radio silence as an answer, he grew increasingly more sentimental. “Mia. Mia, I…I really do love you, Mia.”

Without another second to waste, Mia’s voice broke through his whimpers. “Carl, please promise me that you’re gonna be okay when I get there.”

Tears rolled down his face. If she was on her way there, she’d surely see how much he cut himself and simply become disappointed. Her eyes would bleed with disapproval and disgust as she helped him clean up, almost as if she hated his very being for acting this way. She’d think he was seeking attention, she’d think he was weak — All of these scenarios piled inside of Carl’s head until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Practically stumbling off the bed, he began searching through his drawers to start the ‘layering process.’ One shirt after another piling and securing the wounds underneath would hide them away from his loving girlfriend. He wouldn’t have to hear her disappointed voice. He wouldn’t have to look weak.

“Carl?”

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. I’m not mad. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“…Miaaa, I’m so fucking dumb…!” His sobs lingered for a while longer before he curled up in a ball.

“How many times did you cut yourself, Carl?”

That question alone spoke volumes to him. She was already disappointed with him. There was no saving it. Dropping the shirt he was pulling over his head, Carl decided to remain bare-chested until she showed up. There was no point in hiding anyway.

Having a feeling he wouldn’t answer any time soon, Mia sprung into action. “Okay, okay, just listen to me. Are you listening?”

“Yeah…”

“Go to the bathroom and put your arms underwater. I’m gonna be there in a minute, just go make sure you’re in there, okay?”

As he usually did, Carl obeyed her every word. He held his bleeding forearm tightly, stumbling out of his room while holding the phone to his ear clumsily. All he could hear was the sound of a car moving. It was sort of funny when he thought about how fast she must be going for a stupid thing like this. Because that’s what this all was — Stupid. Carl should’ve just got it over with and left Mia alone instead of worrying her so much.

Blood sprayed everywhere whenever he put his arm under the facet. The liquid began having a red hue whenever it hit the bottom of the sink, building up into a gross mess of his own mistakes. The call was still ongoing, however, neither of them spoke. That was until Carl started whining and freaking Mia out again.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m pulling in the driveway now, alright? Is the key still under your front doormat?”

Carl hummed and wiped the tears from his face, trying his hardest not to break down again. “Yes…yes, please d-don’t be mad…”

There was no time for anger. Entering the Mason family household and immediately rushing into the upstairs bathroom, Mia could honestly care less about being caught. Not that she would anyway - She’d snuck in many times before this and got away with it. She noticed the bathroom door was cracked open a bit when approaching it, pushing the wooden structure open to reveal Carl practically on the verge of passing out while trying to keep his wound under the water. Mia instantly hoisted him up by his armpits and steadied his balance.

For some odd reason, Carl was confused as to what was going on. “Miaaa…why’re you…?”

Brushing his hair back from his soaking face, Mia rested her free fingers on the open wound. Her boyfriend hissed in pain. “Shit, that’s deep.” She muttered under her breath, pulling him away from the sink to get the medical kit in the cabinet below.

“Don’t be maaad…! Mia, please…I’m sorry…” Carl hiccuped as he stumbled backward, nearly falling into the tub.

“I’m not mad at all. Just stay still and let me wrap you up.”

And that’s exactly what she did. Taking the cloth bandages and wrapping them around his forearm loosely, she ended up being able to keep the blood from seeping out. Carl simply watched her expressions as she went, his hair glued to his drenched face while trying to maintain a calm demeanor. It hurt whenever she touched it. Carl sort of liked the feeling.

Unable to filter his words due to the amount of alcohol he consumed, Carl leaned back on the toilet with a ring of raspy laughter. “How deep is it, hahaaa…? I really tried to do it this time, hehehe. Everything’s spinning and shaking.”

Mia huffed playfully to ensure he wouldn’t get the impression she was genuinely angered. “You’re drunk outta your mind, dumbass. That’s why you feel lightheaded…hopefully. I don’t think you bled out that much.”

Carl leaned into her embrace — At least he thought he did. In reality, his face plummeted into her chest harshly, and started rambling the same old script. “I love you, baby. I loooooove you. I’m sorry I was…mfgh…calling you.”

With a decrease in intensity, she gave him a sturdy pat on the back. His skinny figure still shook up like a bell. He giggled from the sensation of her rough hands against his smooth skin.

“Mmh…you wanna fuck meee?”

“Uh, no? You’re so wasted right now I don’t even think you can hear what I’m saying.” Mia snapped her fingers in his face, only to prove her point further when he stared back bewildered. “How are you even in the mood?”

Again, his filter was completely discarded from the words spewing from his mouth. “‘Cause I’m sorry…and ‘causeee…it’s all I’m good at.”

“What did you just say?” Mia asked sternly. Her tone sent waves of fear through his body, although he wasn’t sure what it was that scared him. The glint in her eyes made him want to hide away in shame; And yet, they made him feel good at the same time because they were locked on him. “Say it again. C’mon, I couldn’t hear you.”

Carl blushed heavily. Whenever she spoke to him like that he couldn’t help but get flustered. Even though he was drunk out of his damn mind, he knew better than to say it again. Instead, he sheepishly turned away. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Yeah, I thought so. You need to stop talking like that before I…” Her voice died when she realized how it sounded. She had to be gentle with him. Especially whenever he was in a state of mind like this. “Just stop it, okay? I wouldn’t let anyone talk to you like that, so why would I wanna hear it coming from your own mouth?”

Those words stung like a bitch. There was nothing he could say that would justify himself or his behavior because she was right. No one else in the world could say anything bad about him without facing the wrath of Mia, so why should he get away with it? He might as well get the shit beat out of him just like she did to the other ones for speaking down on him.

Lowering his head, he looked like a sick puppy out in the rain. “…You’re right. I’m sorry.”

There was silence for a moment. Mia grabbed his hands and turned them over, gazing at the bandages that she tied around his forearms. It only embarrassed him more. He pulled away and tried to stand up on his own, only to topple over into the bathtub with a harsh blow.

“Holy shit! Are you okay?!”

Laughter exploded from his throat. And for a second, she had totally forgotten how much depth his depression had impacted him. He looked like an ordinary boy, drunk, carefree, and having fun during his youth. No one would be able to see just how much he hated himself, just how much he wanted to die, and just how much he hurt himself to ease the pain of existing. In that sense, his laughter brought her bittersweet joy.

“C’mon, babe. Get outta there.” She pulled him out of the tub and into her arms as if he were a sack of potatoes. She didn’t even break a sweat. It was almost embarrassing for him — Almost. He thought it was more hot than embarrassing.

“Mmm…Mia…”

“What?”

Smiling like an idiot, he buried his face into the crook of her neck. With a muffled voice, he began listing off the reasons he loved her so dearly. “You make me laughhh, you make me smileee, you don’t make me…mmffh…saaaad, you have a nice vooooice, aaaand…” Lifting his face inches away from hers, a genuine smile rested on his lips. “You take care of me.”

Blush erupted on her face. She didn’t like to display herself whenever she was flustered, but she knew he would be too drunk to remember any of this anyway. So, plopping him onto his mattress where he belonged on a Friday night, she combed the hair out of her face and sighed softly.

“I take care of you all right.” Mia grabbed his head and shook it around as she always did. She was more gentle knowing how intoxicated he was. “It’s only fair since you take care of me, y’know?”

Carl grabbed her hand when hearing this, examining the scrapes and cuts she received on her knuckles from the constant fights she found herself in. Placing his lips on them, he murmured out what he was thinking. “…‘Cause I love you.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause you love me.” Mia repeated, unable to contain the heat from coursing through her body. She was never the lovey-dovey type — Couples like that pissed her off. But considering how drunk he was and the fact he wouldn’t remember any of it anyway, she continued to console his worries. “And I love you too.”

On the brink of passing out, Carl’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment or two before they glimmered up into hers. “Mfmm…you wanna be my girlfriend?”

“I am your girlfriend, dumbass.”

“Ohh, yeaaah! Wow. I’m so luckyyy…”

Mia scoffed. It wasn’t his fault that he was so blind to the truth. She hadn’t told him what occurs when he’s not around — How many skulls she bashed in, how many screams rang through her ears, how much blood stained her clothes; He had absolutely no clue of that reality. She only showed him what he wanted to see, a girl who would cater to him and love him for the weak soul that he was. That’s all that really matters; What’s on the outside.

Batting her eyelashes and pulling his head onto her thighs, she continued to caress his curls gently. “Yeah? You think so?”

With that, the mood lightened up greatly and allowed Carl to ramble onward. “Maaaan, I’m sooo stoked…you’re my girlfrienddd…! I must have a big dickkk…”

Blunt was the best way to be. Choking on her own laughter, Mia couldn’t help but put a hand up to her mouth and try to contain it. Carl, on the other hand, was so serious he appeared to be petrified. It was way past his bedtime, that’s for sure.

“Last time I checked, you wanted it to be three inches longer.”

“Mhm. Three inches to reach twelve.”

“Carl…you do not have a nine-inch dick.”

“Yeah-huh. Check it.”

“I have many times.”

Carl peered into his boxers as if he were a kid on Christmas morning, trying to measure his length with an eye examination. Telling by the fact his vision was blurry and swaying, he could hardly see the contents. Scratching his head and pondering the question, he bit his lip a little. Mia thought it was adorable whenever he made faces like that.

With a groan, he held his head. Then, in the most solemn and dramatic tone ever laced in his voice, he briefly explained the misconception. “Someone stole it.”

His girlfriend was on the verge of tears by the time he threw a pillow at her to make her stop laughing so profusely. “Okay, okay, that’s my bad. I’ll give it back to you in the morning, okay?”

“You took my dick?!” Carl cried, flopping on the bed as if he fainted on the spot. “Aaah, I’m scaaared! What if I gotta go pee during the night?! What thennn?” Suddenly accepting it without another second of doubt, his voice softened. “Mfmm…it’s okay. You can have it.”

Curling his knees into his chest, Carl finally closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep with his head still planted in her lap and her fingers still in his hair. She sighed softly at the sight. Even though he thought of himself as lucky, she knew all too well it was her who had the four-leaf clover in her hands.

[deyadee]

Fear and Guilt

Earlier today my mom was talking to me about weight loss drugs that I could be taking, apparently there’s a new version of one she takes that’s a pill that dissolves in your mouth. Previously it was a shot that you had to get in the side. I took it once and about passed out seeing it because I’m terrified of needles, then made me feel like I was having a heart attack and my ass was on fire. I’ve refused to go and get those shots no matter how much my mom says it helps her and will help me. I of course want to lose weight and not be such a fat ugly bastard anymore but I feel like any potential future like that for me is damn near impossible. I just feel like I have to give up and accept it. I’m HORRIFIED of needles. Do not put those fuckers anywhere near me and especially not in me. I hate getting shots, I hate having my blood drawn. It physically makes me sick to see one used on me or to know that I’m going to get one. I can sit through tons of gore and violence in horror movies like it’s nothing but the second they bring out a syringe I have to cover my eyes.

I agreed to take the pills but said absolute fuck no to the shot. I’ve had it before and it did nothing but make me feel like I was gonna die. I’d rather be fat than feel like I’m on meth or something. Though my mom and dad kept yelling at me to stop being a pussy and take the shots even though I said I’d take the pills. They said it didn’t even hurt and you didn’t notice it, except that’s what every goddamn doctor says before they stab your finger and juice for damn near 10 minutes. That’s what they said last time I got the shot, it felt like someone was grabbing one of my fucking fat rolls and pinching as hard as they could to cut off the circulation. Then afterwards the bitch that did it put it in wrong and it hurt to sit and my ass felt like it was actually fucking burning. Like when you sit on metal after leaving it in the Florida heat all damn day. Yeah no. I know you think I’m a fucking moron but it does goddamn hurt and before it I have to have a full-on panic attack the second I see them bring out a syringe or finger pricker.

So what does any of that have to do with the title? Sometimes I want to tell them that fear is one of the few things that’s keeping me alive. I feel like I would’ve been gone a long time ago if I wasn’t terrified of pain or giving myself a life-long disability. Sure, I’ve never tried to end it with a syringe, but it’s in the same ballpark. I tend to use a boxcutter, scissors, razor, or what’s in the closet. I never *really* do it because I always pussy out of it before I actually get it done. If I didn’t have that threshold of fear they’d’ve had one less daughter for a few years now.

Though I’m sure someone with their fucking Psych 101 class will come in here and say that fear is also holding me back from being happy because I won’t take one fucking shot when I could instead take the pills. I know fear keeps me back from doing a lot of things. Talking to people, trying to make friends, reaching out, telling someone about all of this, and while you might have a point about those- I think some phobias don’t need to be solved. Like needles.

Another one of my main thresholds is guilt. Just tonight I had a boxcutter and thinking about, the blade out against the thinnest bit of skin on my arm, thinking about my final moments. Then I realized how could I end it now when I planned to go to a street fair later this month, and then a few days later go out with my friend after she comes back from a trip? (Yes, I’m also shocked that I still have exactly one friend. This isn’t Watamote.) Not because I think those events are worth living for, but just because I feel guilty if I didn’t come. Or even worse, if I hit rock bottom and just wanna go home and hack and slash I just think “Do I want them to think I died over some stupid bullshit?” Like to me of course it’s a build up of dozens of different things that send me spiraling, but to the ones the outside it’s just because of some mean-spirited joke from a bitchy little brat. People will find me the next day and think “That ONE thing killed her?” When it wasn’t JUST that one thing, but I don’t wanna put a ton of Emo bullshit like “My TikTok account got deleted, I’m fat, and I didn’t get to go to somewhere I wanted today :(“ I’m so fucking weak and I know I’m fucking weak but I can’t admit it. I can’t tell people that something made me upset or that I’m crying because I feel like a failure. I can’t go out and show my parents this blog about me bitching about what I’m gonna do when we all know I’m not gonna do shit but bum around until I end up in a dead-end life but never do it because I feel like I deserve a miserable life. I could bring myself to show someone this blog. I originally wrote a diary promising that one day I’d leave as a note after I did or bring it to someone to read as a final cry for help. I’ve hid that thing away hoping no one will ever find it. I see it every once in a while and can’t bring myself to read more than a sentence because I sound so fucking whiny and useless, I’m sure if anyone else read this blog or that diary they’d tell me to suck it up and stop being such a fucking bitch about everything. Everyone around me has actual problems yet is so much stronger than me. I’m fucking pathetic and I’m scared someone will find it out eventually, if they haven’t already and just pity me too much to admit that they already know.

Random story, but back a few years ago while my family and I were on a walk in the woods I tripped on the path and twisted my ankle, I sat crying and not moving on the ground for I don’t know how long because I’d never felt pain as bad as this before. My parents had to help me to park bench before going to get the car since I couldn’t walk any farther. My little sister sat on the bench next to me as they went to get the car and had tears down her face. I was confused at why she was crying since she usually didn’t cry unless she was in trouble. My mom told me a few days later that she had been crying since she (Little sister) had never seen me cry before. Typically when I cry unless it’s over the loss of a family member/pet, I tend to hide away in my room and turn off the lights so no one can see me. I cried once or twice in the shower but stopped when my family started asking if I was crying in the shower. So I stopped crying in the shower unless I was completely home alone for a week at a time, or I would bottle it up and wait until everyone had gone to sleep to hide in my room and cry in the dark. It’s stupid, but I hate people seeing me cry. I feel like I’m not allowed to cry. Not because other people don’t let me, but because I feel my chest sink when I do, like I’m wasting other people’s time or being some kind of attention whore. I don’t mind when other people cry and I try to comfort or help them, though I don’t know exactly what to do all the time for them and end up just being awkward. Though when I cry I feel like it’s something no one should have to see. I shouldn’t burden everyone else. I shouldn’t bitch when everyone else has worse problems than me. I shouldn’t cry when I know no one will ever truly love me. I shouldn’t get sad when I break up with or get broken up with my girlfriends, I should just expect it to happen. I shouldn’t be surprised that those girls didn’t *really* wanna be my friend, they just wanted to use me as the one that looks worse in comparison to make them look better. When I cry I want to crawl up in my bed, hide away from the world, and hate myself for it.

[eepybeauty]

I can’t keep thinking that I am untouchable if I keep fucking up I’ll just keep causing problems for myself. I cannot handle everything at once. I should of blocked his number to make him think there wasn’t another chance. I was bored and wished keith would say things like him. But I’m just as dumb and just as naive because all I like is attention. He’s in a gang who’s trying to be better, I respect that but I don’t want nothing to do with him. The attention I got doesn’t mean shit if it’s not from keith. No one will compare to him I know how I sound but thats just how I feel rn.

I’m focusing to hard on the wrong things school is getting stressful I can’t fuck up I need to start taking this shit more serious. money is at stake here I can’t fuck up I have to keep trying I can’t keep ignoring and hope that things will work out for me. I fucked up last semester I can’t fuck up this semester I need to try harder I can’t be fucked.

I’m treating Amy like shit rn, I won’t help her with college I won’t help her with her prom dress and I’m not with her. I’m neglecting her just as much as I’m neglecting everything else

I’m doing so many things wrong

Chloe feels differently about me resentment jealousy it’s new it’s different. if I loose more weight look the way I want to look act the way I want to act have everything fall into it’s right place I would feel guilty if she still hands those feelings towards me. Because I have no idea how to comfort someone who wants to look like you. Why am I so bad at saying the right things. Then I want to get upset at keith that he isn’t better? I’m just as bad and shouldn’t hold that double standard. I feel like I’m such a shitty friend to her now. What is wrong with me. I’m sure she’ll be happy that I am getting better but I hold resentment towards myself the expectations I have for myself are so high nothing I feel or do will ever feel enough.

I know her feelings will quietly linger because I’m just the same. Maybe we’ll explode soon.

I feel like a huge fight is approaching between us. It will sent me down a spiral and I know will for her too. I am so scared of things going wrong. I am so weak.

I no longer feel valid I feel like im just narcissist now who craves attention. A really insecure narcissist.

I feel different now, the change has or is happening right now. I want to go back all I do is cry now and feel so sorry for myself.

Truthfully I feel like I have nothing else to offer besides the way I look.

All I do is mope in my sadness and expect to be comforted like I am some puppy

In reality all my sadness stems from my mistakes, guilt, shame, and insecurities. I am a selfish person who thinks nothing can touch her. I don’t think I ever experienced no real consequence. I don’t think I have ever experienced a heavy loss besides what happen to me in late November. (a problem I asked for)

yeah things will work out in its own way but am I changing in the wrong way? am I changing for the better? why can’t it be the same as it was before with the both of them? Am I becoming a shitty person? Why can’t I be better? Why can’t I handle anything? Am I doomed?

jfc I’m so fucking dramatic I just wanna die

January was the closest I ever felt to being suicidal, I loved going to the beach everyday and wish i was there again in those moments.

[tiny-yoongienthusiast]

Rating how scared of the 14 I am? It’s more likely than you think.

The Beholding: I’m not a big fan of being watched but I don’t think it would scare me enough to feed off of 2/10

The Slaughter: I mean....I don’t wanna go to war? Eh I mean the warfare and noises would probably be a lot for me so I’m gonna say I COULD be in that domain but it’s highly unlikely 3/10

The Stranger: I have a really bad fear of forgetting things like people and that makes me think of the ritual where nikola said she was tim and it was honestly hard for Jon to tell, but honestly probably wouldn’t be a very good dinner for the avatar 🤷‍♂️ 3/10

The Spiral: absolutely FUCK hallways and being chased through corridors 5/10

The Flesh: low pain tolerance, not good with body horror 7/10

The Hunt: WHOOOOOOO BOYYYYY FUCK THAT I’m the least athletic person I know I’d die so fast. Also not a fan of being torn apart by wolves 7/10

The Dark: really stupid considering the other options but I’m fucking terrified of the dark, can’t do it sorry 10/10

The Web: being manipulated isn’t fun but especially not if it’s physical and the added mental decline is just ehhhh....I’ll give it a lower score cuz Annabelle cane is hot buuuuut I am terrified of spiders..............6/10

The Desolation: I love fire but I don’t like the burning and I’m pretty scared of flame actually 8/10

The Corruption: ok ok I have OPINIONS cuz I don’t like bugs at all I hate the feeling of little legs moving over my skin BUT my fear is more about a concentration of bugs like how I hate carnival stuffed animals cuz when I see them hanging from those games i always feel like they’re filled with dust trash and bugs and if you grab it it’ll split open and spiders will pour out..............10/10

The Vast: I don’t like falling and I’m scared of falling from like, buildings BUT I have a deep fear of water and drowning so I gotta say 9/10

The Lonely: Honestly is either do really well or really bad cuz I’m perfectly fine being by myself I talk to myself and do well but if I had to live in the apartment that peter Lukas made I’d lose it cuz he said cutting off the internet like babe I can’t handle that. I love fog and cold weather so I’d probably be ok 4/10

Buried: no ❤️ 10/10

The End: I was a really anxious kid and was TERRIFIED of dying and now thinking about I don’t think I’m so scared of dying as much as I’m scared of lost chances and not being able to experience the good things about life anymore but in an eyepocolypse there are no happy things so I’d say probably 7/10

The Extinction: ohhhhhh fuckkkkkk yeah this one scares me now a lot 10/10

[helliontherapscallion]

(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Monday

Tuesday     Wednesday     Thursday (Part 1)     Thursday (Part 2)     Friday     Saturday     Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Pairing: SBI x sister!reader (she/her pronouns)

Warnings: swearing, toxic friends, panic spirals/attacks, injury, taking pills for pain

Summary: you have a very bad week, how will you manage? (Characters are fully human, but based on their DSMP characters. High school AU)

Word count: 4,818

(A/N): I’ve never played volleyball or watched Haikyuu before, so I’m not 100% certain how games work. Also, I probs should’ve split this into two parts, but eh.

“(Y/n) love, you look homeless in that sweater, it’s literally so fucking ugly.”

“Haha, yeah it is. I guess I just wasn’t really trying today.”

Adrian snorted, scanning your body with his cold eyes. “Today? You don’t try at all. You always look like trash.”

“More than trash, you always look like you just rolled in dog shit.” Sammy threw her head back and cackled at her own joke.

Your friends around you erupted in laughter as you four walked down the hallways of the hell that was your public high school. You awkwardly chuckled alongside them, you didn’t really find it funny, but you didn’t want to draw more attention towards yourself. 

“Seriously, (y/n), I really don’t know why we still hang out around you anymore. You really let yourself go.”

“Yeah, now that I think about it, you did gain like five pounds in the past week.”

“Really not a good look on you, love. Then again, nothing you do can make you look good anymore.”

You tried to not let their comments get to you, you really did, but sometimes their comments just rooted themselves deep into your subconscious. You didn’t try looking good anymore, you couldn’t wear anything without them criticising it. You could never win. 

“Awe,” Adrien poked your cheeks, “stop looking so sad. We’re just trying to give you advice. You really need it.”

“Yeah, (y/n). You’re so sensitive, get a grip.”

“Guys look, I think she’s gonna cry!” 

You wiped at your welling eyes with the sleeves of your sweater. “I’m not. I just got allergies.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Anyways, what are our plans for Halloween? We should totally dress up like sexy angels! I think that’d be so cool. Like, Clint’s party won’t be ready for us.”

“Oh, about that Annie…”

“God, what now (y/n)?”

“I was actually planning on spending Halloween night taking Tommy and Tubbo trick-or-treating with my brothers and dad. I won’t be able to go with you guys, I’m sorry.”

The group groaned loudly. “C’mon (y/n), you never hang out with us anymore.”

“Oh my god (y/n) you still go trick-or-treating? We’re juniors.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just been busy with my AP classes and studying for the SAT. My team captain’s really been pushing the team hard with volleyball practice. State finals are soon and we want first this year.”

“No matter how much studying you do, you’re gonna fail. You’re stupid, so why try? Just give up and hang out with uuussss.”

“Yeah (y/n),” Adrien looked at you suspiciously, “you’ve been ignoring us lately. I thought we were friends. Do you even wanna be friends anymore?”

You felt a flare of panic flare up in your gut. “I do! I-I just have so much going on right now. It’s starting to get hard to juggle everything.”

“We’re starting to think that you don’t like us anymore, we want our (y/n) back!” Sammy whined. The others agreed with her, making you feel guilty. You were ignoring them, it was selfish in your opinion. You supposed that you could skip out on taking Tommy and Tubbo trick-or-treating, there’ll be other years you could take them. 

“I guess I can take Tommy and Tubbo another year. They’d just have to go without me this year.”

They cheered, giving you praise. You beamed at that, they seemed down lately and you loved it when they’d give you compliments. They didn’t do that much, so that made their praise more special to you. You strived to get compliments.

You four went off to your separate first classes for the day. Yours was statistics, a class you’ve been struggling in lately. You didn’t know anybody in there except for your oldest brother Techno, so you tried to stick with him. Unfortunately, the teacher’s seating chart placed you both on opposite ends of the room, probably because of your last names indicating that you’re siblings. You placed your stuff down on the table and plopped down into your seat, already drained. You had a long day ahead of you; you had a major AP world history test in your next class, you had to give a presentation in your AP english class that was worth a quarter of your final grade, and you had a semifinals volleyball match that would last until late in the night. If your team won, you would be going to state finals, so it was a lot of pressure on your shoulders. You were the main setter, so you had to really focus tonight if you were going to score your team points. 

“Alright class, pull out your homework!”

Fuck, you had homework? You looked in your folder, only to see the unfinished sheet full of equations you didn’t understand staring back at you tauntingly. Mr. Mullins walked over to your desk, took one look at your blank homework, and just walked right past you. Another big fat zero in the gradebook for you, just what you needed. At least he wasn’t in the mood to berate you today. You didn’t need any more stress piled onto your shoulders. 

The lesson felt like it dragged on forever with you frantically trying to copy down the notes on the board and trying to understand the content at the same time. Overtime, he would call students up to the board. Hopefully, he would skip over you today. “Ms. Minecraft.” Goddamn it, you spoke too soon.

Your head perked up and you looked at him. “Yes sir?”

“Come up to the board and solve this.”

Gulping, you felt panic rise up in you and stood up with shaky knees. On the board was part of the newer content he was just teaching. Something that you understood only a little bit better than the rest, and that’s not saying much. You still didn’t understand the content completely. Your writing was shaky as you wrote what you thought was right on the board. Finding the answer, you circled it and looked at Mr. Mullins. He looked disappointed. 

“That’s wrong, Ms. Minecraft. Please sit down.”

You felt like your face was on fire as you saw the entire class burning holes into you with their eyes. Though they looked dead inside, as per usual with any morning class full of tired teenagers, their effects still took hold on you. You wanted to crawl into a dark hole and die. You sat back down and stared at your note packet, you couldn’t focus on the lecture anymore. Your attention was fully on your surroundings, you were hyper aware of every little whisper and bouncing leg in your peripheral vision. You could feel yourself spiraling, usually that wouldn’t happen until after your third class. Today was going to be rough. 

The loud chime of the bell startled you out of your thoughts. You shakily put your papers back into your binder and put the binder back into your backpack. Right as you were about to walk through the door, you heard Techno catch up to you. “Hey, you good?”

“Yeah Tech, I’m just peachy.”

“Are you su-”

“Technoblade. I’m fine. Now if you excuse me, I have to get to my next class. I have an important presentation I’ve gotta prepare for.”

Without giving him any room to argue, you rushed off to your english class. You had Adrian and Annie in your class. For your presentation, you were paired up with people that you hardly knew. At least they did their part in the project, you were certain you were going to die if you got paired up with Adrian and Annie again. You loved them, but they never did any part of their portion of work. They left it to you to finish at midnight the day the project was due. To be fair, they both told you they had family emergencies, so you covered for them just that once. 

You pulled out your flashcards only to have them knocked out of your hand when someone bumped into you. You quickly crouched to pick them up so you could have them in order by time class started. “Oops, sorry love.”

It was Annie. She and Adrian towered over your crouched form smirking at you. Looking back down to rearrange your cards, you murmured “it’s ok.”

“Are you ready for this presentation, I know I am.”

You smiled a little. “Actually, I think I’m going to ace this. English is my best subject.”

“Yeah (y/n), I wasn’t asking you. I was talking to Annie. Besides, you’re probably going to fail this.” Adrian scoffed. 

“Thank you for asking, Adrian,” Annie shot a pointed look at you, “at least someone cares.”

The bell rang, signifying the start of your second block. You felt like you had a lump in your throat blocking your breathing. If Adrian, one of the smartest kids in your english class, said that you were going to fail, then you probably were going to fail. That would take a huge hit on your grade, this project was worth a quarter of your final grade after all. You were zoned out for the entirety of your classmate’s presentations putting yourself into a spiral. You jumped when Mr. Todd, your teacher, called your group up to present.

You stood stiffly in the middle of your two groupmates and clutched your flashcards with clammy hands. Luckily, your part of the presentation was not first. When it came to your part, you were stuttering and tumbling over your words. You even dropped your flashcards in front of everybody, causing half the class to snicker. Your face burned as you hurried to pick them up and your other groupmate took this as a signal to continue the presentation. You still had an important point to make that was integral for the set up to your other groupmate’s part of her presentation. You stared at your flashcards for the rest of the presentation. 

When the bell rang, you made a mad dash out of the classroom. You didn’t want to talk to anybody, especially not Adrian or Annie. It was a relief that you had your lunch period at the moment. You could hide yourself in the bathroom nobody used and let your panic attack ride itself out. 

You ducked inside a stall and sat on the toilet, bringing your knees up to bury your face in them. The tears and panic you were holding in all day let itself out with explosive effects. You started to hyperventilate as you muffled your sobs with your knee. Your chest painfully clenched so you couldn’t breathe. Your limbs felt like they weighed two tons each and they were shaking intensely. You didn’t hear the end of the lunch bell ring. By the time you calmed down slightly, you were five minutes late to AP world history. 

You packed your stuff up in a hurry, power walking through the halls. You probably looked like shit, but you didn’t care, you had a class to get to and a test that you probably wouldn’t be able to finish now. You lost ten minutes of your test time. When you tried to open the closed door, you found that it was locked. You had to knock if you wanted to get in. You raised a shaking hand to knock, but the door was opened by a less-than-impressed Ms. Osborne. She ushered you to your desk and gave you your unit test. 

You couldn’t focus. The multiple choice section was usually a breeze to you, but you couldn’t comprehend any of the questions. When you could comprehend them, you couldn’t concentrate on choosing an answer. You did your best to find the correct answers, but you were almost positive that at least half of them were wrong. Your handwriting was nearly incomprehensible and your essay topic was something you didn’t study for. When you were done with half of the body paragraphs, the bell rang and you had to turn in your unfinished test. 

You had your independent online psychology course next in the library. You usually worked alone secluded in a corner deep inside the library where nobody went. You would get some solace in being alone. Maybe you’d calm down enough so that you could ride home with your brothers and not go for a long walk so you could avoid them. 

You settled down in the comfortable chair and pulled out your laptop to get started. Psychology was your favorite class. It was easy for you to understand, it didn’t have much of a workload attached to it, and it was fun to learn about. It always calmed you down reading about the intricate workings of the brain. 

By time the day was over, you got most of your psychology work done and you were on your way to the car you shared with Technoblade and Wilbur. You took out your spare keys and slumped against the window in the backseat. You were absolutely drained after your terrible day and you still felt panic swirling deep within you, waiting for the right moment to strike. 

You stretched out your legs across the seat and leaned your back against the door. For the first time that day, you felt peaceful. You still had at least fifteen minutes to yourself until your brothers would start to make your way to the car. You felt the panic subside slightly and you fully relaxed. You closed your eyes and let yourself drift off into a light sleep. You needed your energy for tonight’s match. 

The door you were leaning on swung open and you tumbled backwards smacking the back of your head against the metal frame of the car and reverse scorpioning onto the pavement. Your entire upper back and the back of your head exploded in pain and your lower back hurt slightly from having your back bent uncomfortably. You heard laughter above you as you felt tears of pain start to slip out of your eyes. Your legs swung out from their place above your face and landed on the ground with a painful thump. 

You saw three blurry figures above you laughing at your pain. You reached up with a shaky hand to wipe at your tears and saw Adrian, Sammy, and Annie. They were cackling as you shakily stood up and sat on the comfortable seats of the car. You waited patiently for them to calm down. 

Eventually, Sammy calmed down enough to explain what happened to you through chuckles. “I’m sorry (y/n), it was just too good to resist. You should’ve seen your face.”

She and the others broke back into uncontrolled laughter as they remembered your embarrassing fall. You were used to their antics, and quite frankly it felt good to make your friends laugh, even if it were at your own expense. Just as they were calming down once again, you saw Wilbur and Techno walk out the front doors of the school laughing at something the other said. Annie and Sammy heard their laughter and quickly turned around to watch them. They had massive crushes on both of your brothers, many in the school did. 

Your brothers made their way to your shared car and stopped to look at you in slight confusion. “(Y/n), were you crying? What happened?” Wilbur asked worriedly. 

“Yea-”

“Oh Wilbur, it was terrible, (y/n) fell out of the car. I don’t think she closed the door before she leaned on it.” Annie interrupted you with a faked concerned tone, a complete contradiction to her reaction before your brothers came.

Techno hastily made his way to the driver’s side door. “Well, if she’s hurt we better get going, right Wilbur?”

“Yes! We better get going, please excuse us.” He sat in the passenger seat and closed the door without hearing Sammy and Annie’s desperate attempts to stop them so they could talk to them. Your brothers thought Sammy and Annie were annoying. They absolutely hated being around them. 

Waving apologetically at your friends, you pulled yourself into the car and closed the door. Annie and Sammy looked offended that you had let Wilbur and Techno get away from them. Avoiding their eyes, you looked down at your tightly clasped hands. They were shaking slightly. 

After pulling out of the parking lot, Techno glanced at you from the rearview mirror. “You ok (y/n)?”

“Yeah, my back just hurts and I have a headache.”

“Well, do you wanna go and get some ice cream? We still have some time left before we have to pick up Tommy and Tubbo. Dad doesn’t have to know,” Wilbur asked you.

You sighed, you wanted nothing other than to take a nap before your match. “Sorry, but I need to watch what I eat today. We have semifinals tonight and I can’t have anything sugary. I just wanna go home and take a nap.”

Your brothers were quiet for the rest of the car ride until you reached your driveway. Techno twisted his body around in his seat to look at you after he put the car in park. “Did you actually fall out of the car?”

Shit, should you tell him the truth? If you did, they would almost certainly get mad at your friends. Sammy and Annie would never forgive you if you turned your brothers against them. You decided that you would take one for the team again. “Yeah, I wasn’t paying attention.” 

Techno snorted. “Well, that was stupid,” he jokingly said. “Next time you’re gonna get run over by a parked car.”

You knew that he meant that as a joke, but it still stung. Stamping your emotions down, you laughed with him and Wilbur. It was stupid of you to do, you shouldn’t have let your guard down if you weren’t at home. 

You winced as you slung your bag on your back and walked the best you could back into your house. Your upper back was killing you. You made a beeline to the bathroom and rummaged through the medicine cabinet looking for some pain relief pills. You took some and shambled off to your room to take your well earned nap. You set your alarm’s setting to its loudest volume and passed out. 

You jolted up and gasped when you felt a wave of pain hit your upper back. You blearily looked at the time. You had a little under two hours before you had to get back to the school for your match. You groaned when you pulled yourself up, your head pounding with every turn. You pulled yourself out of bed and once again took some pain pills. You went downstairs to grab an apple or something to eat. Your dad was at the stove stirring something around in a pot. 

He turned to look at you with an excited smile. “You ready for your match tonight? You’re gonna kill it!” 

You only nodded halfheartedly and plopped yourself down at the table with your apple. Philza frowned at your lack of enthusiasm, but he figured that it was just because you just woke up from a nap. You’d bounce back eventually. 

“Wilbur told me that you fell out of the car? How’d you do that?”

You shrugged, wincing slightly as it moved your back slightly. “Dunno, must’ve not closed the door.”

Philza was at your side in a hurry, his hands hovering over your shoulders. “Did you get hurt? Show me where it hurts.”

“My back and the back of my head.”

“Can I move your shirt so I could look?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

You felt him gently pull the neck of your t-shirt away from your body to peek at your back. You heard his breath hitch as he looked. Was it that bad? “Good god (y/n),” he breathed out.

“What, is it bad?”

“Don’t you feel how bad it is? Your entire back is bruised. I think there’s some blood too.”

“Damn.”

“First, language. Second, that’s all you have to say? Aren’t you in pain?”

“Yeah, but the pain pills are gonna kick in soon. I’ll be fine.”

“Would you be able to play tonight? I really think you should sit this one out.”

“No, I’m playing tonight Dad.”

“(Y/n),” oh no, he was using his stern dad voice. “It’s not a good idea to play tonight. You’re hurt, I’m sure they’ll understand if you sit this one out.”

You felt frustration rise up in you. “We’re in the semifinals. They need me, I’m the main setter. They’d lose without me playing.”

“(Y/n), I’m serious. You’re not playing today.”

“Dad, I am playing today. Look, I’ll talk to Coach Williams to see if I could be rotated out more often. I know she’d let me.”

He stared at you for a while before sighing. He knew there was no convincing you. “...Fine. But you better talk to Coach Williams about sitting out for a bit if your back hurts too much or I swear I’ll drag you off the court myself.”

You smiled a little at the small victory. “Thank you! I promise I’ll sit out if needed.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “If needed?”

You sighed, “when needed.”

He walked over to the pot, stirring the contents slightly. “That’s better. Dinner’s almost ready, I made some pasta.”

“It smells good, but I think I’m skipping out on it for today. I already ate this apple and if I eat any more I’ll probably hurl on the court.”

He made a displeased noise in the back of his throat, “fine, but you’re eating something when we get home tonight.”

He walked off to go get your brothers and Tubbo for dinner. You could hear their booming steps racing down the stairs towards the kitchen. They raced into the kitchen and almost crashed into the back of your chair. You stood up and looked at the two excitable fifth graders. “Careful boys, don’t want you getting hurt.”

“You’re no fun (y/n),” Tommy whined.

“Sure, sorry bout that,” Tubbo beamed at you.

You chuckled, making your way upstairs to get ready for your match. You took off your clothes with great difficulty and slipped on your jersey and your spandex shorts. They were way too short for your tastes, but you couldn’t wear longer ones, they’d just get in the way. You fondly remembered how your dad flipped out when he first saw you in them, he hated them with a burning passion. He still hates how short they are.

When you were struggling with pulling your hair back into a tight, sleek ponytail, the back of your head throbbed continuously with pain. You most likely bruised your scalp. 

You slipped on your shoes that were made specifically for playing volleyball and headed downstairs. You were met with Tommy and Tubbo jumping in excitement seeing you in your uniform. They loved going to your matches, even if they would always pass out in the car after them because matches usually ended late at night. You grabbed your dad’s keys and headed to his car. Before you could lead the boys out the door, Philza’s voice stopped you.

“(Y/n), coat.”

You huffed, grabbing your coat and putting it on before tossing him his keys. You four got into the car and set out for the high school. The short drive was filled with Tommy and Tubbo asking you questions about volleyball and encouraging you. “(Y/n), you’re gonna kick their butts!”

“Yeah!” Tubbo cheered 

Despite their voices causing a spike of pain to shoot throughout your head, you laughed at their enthusiasm. It was always nice to hear your little brother and pseudo brother in the stands cheering you on, they were your and your team’s personal cheerleaders. 

Not long after you got to the school, you were stretching with your team on the gym’s floor. Your posse found their way into the stands, sitting in the front row. The away team watched your team like a hawk, analysing every single player for any weakness. It was because of them that you tried to not show any pain when you moved your back. You talked to Coach Williams before the team stretch and she was obviously sympathetic with your situation. She agreed to switching you out with the standby setter every few rotations. 

The echo of the whistles caused pain to ring in your head every time someone scored or a foul was called. Your team captain, Haley, was constantly, yet discreetly checking on you throughout the game since she was always next to you. She was the team’s main spiker after all. 

The game droned on and on before you realized that the opposing team was targeting you when they were offensive. They probably realized that you were injured a round ago. You tried your best to block every ball that was sent your way, but a few managed to slip past you when you couldn’t move fast enough. This team was good, but your team was better. 

The score during the final round was tied and the clock was on it’s last ten seconds as the ball soared your way. You dove to hit it, landing on your shoulder on the hard floor and hitting it up high enough for Haley to spike the ball down. The crowd went wild as the ball bounced off from the opposite end of the court almost simultaneously with the screeching of the referee’s whistle, signifying the end of the game and your team’s victory.

You laid on the floor in pain, you thought you must’ve pulled your tender muscles in your back and shoulder. It hurt to move it. You felt one of your teammates grab your hand to yank you up into a giant full team group hug. You yelped slightly in pain as you felt arms press against your back and hands firmly patting your bruised shoulders. You were whisked away into the locker room to change into the pajamas you brought with you. 

“(Y/n), are you alright? That was a pretty hard fall.” Haley’s soft voice asked you. You felt your heart sing in your chest. 

“Yeah Hales, I’m fine. I just pulled a few muscles.”

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed together, “are you sure? As your team captain and your friend, I’m worried about you.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. You felt warm knowing that she cared about you. “I’m sure, worrywart.”

She rolled her eyes playfully and breathed out a soft laugh. “Sorry for asking, grump.” Her laugh sounded like music to your ears. 

Your phone vibrated in your pajama pocket, alerting you of your family waiting for you in the car and for you to hurry up. You sighed, “sorry Hales, I gotta go. Dad’s getting impatient.” 

She gave you a small smile. “Oh, well, tell your family I said hi! Good work on the court today, I wouldn’t ask for a different setter.”

You felt your cheeks warm up and you watched with wide eyes as she left the locker room. Your phone vibrated again, your dad was really starting to get impatient. 

You walked out of the school as fast as you could to find your dad’s car waiting for you up front. Jumping in and softly closing the passenger side door, you slumped against the window. “(Y/n),” Tommy’s tired voice slurred. “That. Was. Pog…”

You glanced back to see him and Tubbo snoring away in their seats. Your match was more exciting than usual, so that must’ve really tired them out. You chuckled, turning back around to lean against the window. You took care not to put any weight on your shoulder or back. 

“(Y/n), you were amazing out there, but why did you dive for that ball? That fall looked like it hurt.”

You hummed tiredly, “thanks Dad. I just did what I thought would win us the game. We’re going to finals!” You quietly sang. 

“Did you hurt your shoulder?”

“I actually don’t know, but I think I might’ve pulled a few muscles. Nothing too bad.”

“...I scheduled a doctor’s appointment for you tomorrow morning during your first and second blocks. I want you to get your back, shoulder, and head looked at. You looked miserable the entire match.”

You sighed, too tired to argue, “mmk.”

He chuckled before the car fell into a comfortable silence. The gentle bouncing of the car and the subtle hum of the engine was lulling you to sleep. Your eyelids were drooping by the time you pulled into your driveway. 

You drug yourself out of the car and into the house, leaving Philza with the sleeping boys. You walked straight to your room and plopped down on your bed, passing out instantly for the second time that day.

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

[jangofctts]

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit 

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end    

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met. 

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things. 

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income. 

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing. 

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster. 

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.  

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles. 

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship. 

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.  

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back. 

Whatever.

 Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off. 

Maybe. 

                                                       -=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you. 

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.” 

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?” 

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think. 

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.” 

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”  

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots. 

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.” 

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.     

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.” 

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…” 

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.       

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own). 

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.  

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.       

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that. 

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

                                                 -=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show. 

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will. 

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.  

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…          

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.  

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans. 

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.    

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal. 

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.     

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…        

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.   

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.  

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter. 

Eh.    

Could be worse. 

At least you aren’t dead. 

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun. 

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.        

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.      

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light. 

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.  

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room. 

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”      

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.” 

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.” 

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.   

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.  

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.” 

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”  

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt. 

Damn it.  

                                                     -=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this. 

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn. 

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red. 

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.” 

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”      

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it. 

“Leave.” 

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.” 

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved. 

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”  

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side. 

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.” 

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”  

You wince. 

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”  

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.” 

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.    

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet. 

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch. 

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage. 

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?” 

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.” 

You frown. “Poor guy…” 

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.  

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp. 

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?” 

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.” 

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.” 

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.” 

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them. 

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right. 

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath. 

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.   

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning. 

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet. 

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man. 

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell— 

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling. 

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?” 

“She isn’t made of glass.” 

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.  

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.” 

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance. 

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.” 

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.” 

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.   

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.” 

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin. 

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.        

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again. 

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole. 

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.” 

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.  

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope. 

Here you are—asphyxiating.   

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it. 

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?   

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off. 

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.  

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.  

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”           

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on. 

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.” 

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“ 

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah. 

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?” 

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.   

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.” 

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree. 

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk? 

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”    

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.      

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.” 

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.” 

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.” 

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din." 

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb. 

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”  

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing. 

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees. 

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch. 

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.   

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.    

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds. 

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm. 

“Paz—“ 

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”  

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.      

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.     

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh. 

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and���

“I wish I could kiss you.”  

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—  

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”  

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough. 

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.” 

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.” 

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.” 

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you. 

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.  

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals. 

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?” 

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered. 

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation. 

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.” 

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration. 

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—   

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip. 

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind. 

Din’s kiss is devouring—  

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—  

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning. 

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.   

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.” 

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on. 

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside. 

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth. 

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.  

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now— 

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit. 

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away. 

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.   

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.           

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.” 

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.” 

“Neither will your arrogance.” 

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out. 

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.” 

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic. 

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”  

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further. 

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—         

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words. 

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips. 

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?” 

Din. 

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.    

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position. 

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath. 

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.” 

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.       

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him. 

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.          

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete. 

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.    

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.” 

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need. 

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much. 

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours. 

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.      

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.  

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”     

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.            

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear. 

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder. 

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?” 

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.  

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.” 

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts. 

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.     

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—     

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.     

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?  

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.   

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.  

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.” 

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems. 

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air. 

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.      

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.” 

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.     

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future. 

You shrug it off.    

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear. 

“You love her, don't you?” 

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak 

or’dinni--dumbass idiot 

vod--brother/comrade 

tag list: 

@bobafctts​ @djxrxn​ @teaofpeach​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @nelba​ @datmando​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @dreams-like-clockwork​ @aerynwrites​ @auty-ren​ @huliabitch​ @anxiety-riddled-mando​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @trippedmetaldetector​ 

[thegreatobsesso]

Disaster friends Callie + Simon :D

Summary: Callie and Simon are stuck together via court order and accidental telepathic bond and Callie’s bad dreams make it hard for poor Simon to get a good night’s sleep. Enemies-to-friends arc activate!!!

✨ taglist ✨

@avrablake @adie-dee @dontjudgemeimawriter @ryorine @thelaughingstag

Comment to be added or removed :)

--

Simon POV

The walls were closing in and it jolted him from sleep.

The line between them hadn’t been this blurred since the thing first happened and he’d been so far inside the nightmare it felt like the experience was his own: a terrible, dark room underwater. The sound of screams, of metal doors clanging violently on their hinges. Being trapped and alone, left to die.

He flipped on the lamp next to couch, relief flooding in at the sight of his quarters and not those four walls. The force of it had woken him, but she was still dreaming up there, still in the cell.

He couldn’t sleep like this. And even if he could - could he let her?

He pulled his robe over his pajamas and headed up the stairs, willing his heartbeat to slow. She’d probably get mad at him. He didn’t care.  He couldn’t bear another second of sharing this particular mental landscape.

Callie was visible by moonlight only, lying on her stomach in his bed, crushing the pillow in a vice grip. He’d control her if he had to. God knew what she’d do, being forcibly roused from a bad dream. He sat, relieved to see she was actually wearing clothes, and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Wake up.”

Her brow creased, and she whimpered. fight, fight, have to fight.

“Hey,” he said again, louder this time. “Callie.”

Her eyes shot open; she jumped back and grabbed his wrist.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly. “It’s just me, you were having a nightmare.”

Her hair was an unkempt mess and she stared at him with unfocused eyes, maintaining her iron grip. “Bennett?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Just me. It’s okay.”

i’m here? you’re here? delaney? no, no, no, no if it’s not real-

A fractured series of thoughts poured from her, uncertainty about whether to trust her senses. The contact made it stronger. lost it down there, how do I even know this is real, how do I know I ever even came up, how do I know-

“It’s real,” he said, slowly prying her fingers off him. “I’m real, you’re here. Calm down.”

She pulled her hand against her chest like she’d hurt it, blinking to clear a fog.

“Go away,” she choked. stay stay stay stay stay stay i’m scared i don’t wanna be alone

“Please say what you mean,” he pleaded, the divide between her words and her thoughts splitting his mind apart. “I don’t know what to do when you-”

She uncurled herself in a frighteningly quick motion, shoved him away, stumbled out of bed.

“I need to get out of here,” she gasped, gripping the windowsill opposite him. The moonlight threw her silhouette into relief, her messy hair, taut arms and shoulder muscles - Ken’s pajamas, a camisole and drawstring shorts. “I can’t take being shut up like this, I need air, I need…”

Past the solitary confinement cell, there was another cage, a worse one - her childhood bedroom, where she was shut up as a last recourse for being bad. She beat the door on this one too, screamed nasty things, locked in from the outside. But there was no time frame for release here; it was conditional upon submission. 

Sweetness.

“I’m sorry,” he said, replying to it all out loud. “I saw some of it, but… I didn’t know.”

He wasn’t trying to do that to her - he, Simon. Never. He wasn’t, but it didn’t matter. She’d screamed at him and he got angry and left her up here, left food for her on the floor. 

Fuck.

“You can leave,” he found himself saying, watching from behind as she wiped a shaky hand across her face. “Come downstairs with me, seriously. You’re not trapped up here. Come on.”

She nodded and followed him numbly, down the spiral stairs to his main living quarters, and then left him behind, heading straight for the small kitchen. He watched her wordlessly as she raided his cupboard, uncorked a bottle of red wine and downed half of it without taking a breath. The remaining liquid sloshed as she lowered it, and she wiped her mouth while inspecting the label.

“Nineteen eighty,” she read, and hiccuped. “Excellent year.”

She raised a single eyebrow and held it out for him.

“No thanks,” he said carefully. “I thought we could-”

She shrugged and brought the bottle neck back to her mouth, downing the rest in the same fashion. When it was gone she slammed it on the table with a clunk.

He stared - should he have stopped her? “I didn’t mean to re-traumatize you,” he said. “I would’ve never-”

“I’m not traumatized,” she said, and hiccuped again. “I’m, I’m angry, and I…”

She held a finger up like she was about to make a very important point, but stood like that for so long he wondered if she forgot what she was going to say.

“I am a mess,” she decided upon, and then she swayed, leaning on the kitchen table. “And you’re, you’re so, I dunno, all-together. Everybody loves you. You got all this,” she said, dragging out all while she swept her free hand around the space, “and me? I got nothing. Nothing! And I tried, you know, I really did. I might not’ve known what I was doing but I fuckin’ tried. And, uh, it doesn’t matter, you know? Nothing you can do is gonna work when it’s wrong here.”

She jabbed a shaky finger into the middle of her forehead, and then brought it down and stopped just short of her chest.

“It was wrong before I killed him,” she said, her voice wobbling. “It’s always been wrong, always, always.”

She swayed again and this time it worried him. He closed the distance between them quickly and caught her arm. She didn’t push him away, but she didn’t lean on him either.

“I’m not perfect, you know,” he said quietly. “I don’t know where you get the idea I am, but I’m not.”

She looked up at him and made a gagging sound, and then swallowed thickly and closed her eyes. “I’m gonna be really drunk soon,” she croaked.

“Yeah, I should say so.”

He held onto her arm, afraid that if he let her go, she’d fall. Best to get the next part out while there was still a chance she’d remember it.

“I don’t wanna spend the next year fighting with you,” he said, “but you’re right, you didn’t ask for this. You have the right to be angry, and, I wish that you’d talk to me but I’m not gonna just lock you up until you’re nice. I never, I never meant to make you feel that way and I’m sorry.”

Her face crumpled again and she shoved him; not hard, just to convey her displeasure.

“Don’t say that,” she moaned. “Don’t you say I’m sorry to me, that’s the stupidest most backwards thing I ever heard, I’m the one who should say it and I can’t, I can’t even do it ‘cuz it wouldn’t be enough.” She swallowed, winced. “Oh, God,” she breathed. “I don’t feel so good.”

He nodded. “Well, I was gonna suggest going for a walk or even just being out on the balcony for a bit, but then you chugged an entire bottle of merlot.”

haven’t had a drop of booze for six years, he caught. forgot how much it doesn’t help

“It’s being alone, right?” he asked. “And closed in, like solitary. If-”

He shook his head. “Look, the bed’s big enough for the both of us and then some. I have to get some sleep, Callie, so if you want me to just sleep there too tonight, please just say so.”

He felt the craving rolling off her - warmth, a heartbeat, a shield against how crazy she went when she was alone, and he doubted it mattered who as long as it was someone.

She nodded, sniffled, and gripped his arm as he took her back upstairs.

A few days ago this would’ve been too strange to handle but at the moment he was too exhausted to make much of it at all except the possibility of peaceful sleep. There was space between them to spare, but it was close enough, allowed for the sharing of enough body heat to convince her she wasn’t actually hallucinating inside a solitary confinement cell.

He’d been in and out of every crevice of her mind, or so he thought, but he hadn’t realized it was quite this bad. She laid down with her back to him, pulling the blankets up over her shoulders.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she muttered, her mouth smashed into the pillow, and he caught in the broken-down intoxication of her mind that she was trying to be funny. “I never did this, y’ know? Sleep with somebody when I didn’t sleep with ‘em first.”

Ten seconds later she was snoring, and past the back of her head, snow gathered quietly on the windowsill outside. He didn’t remember much else and when he woke again it was morning; he’d slept deeply, and neither of them dreamt about anything at all.