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corazondebeskar-reads · 11 months

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well it's love, make it hurt - chapter twelve

well it's love, make it hurt series

twelve: the love we had but couldn't name

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Summary: Mando follows up on his promise to take a day off.

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, BDSM, established relationship, dom/sub dynamics, dom!Din Djarin x sub!reader, soft dom Din in that he's tender and loving service dom but also, sadism, masochism, spanking, anal, anal plug, rough oral, oral (m receiving), vaginal impact play I guess, boot kink, unprotected p in v, feelings, angst, angst with a happy ending (eventually. not in this chapter), a hearty helping of plot, canon-typical violence, graphic violence, description of injury, no y/n

NOTE: on ao3, this is listed as "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings." This is because selecting the warning/tagging it here properly would be a major spoiler for this chapter. If you need to know before you proceed, please message me privately. If it makes anyone feel better, this story will have a happy ending and is already completely written including an epilogue. I won't leave ya hanging.

also on ao3

4 ABY - Spring

It doesn’t happen right away, but he keeps his promise to you in the forefront of his mind. You spend four days on Takodana. Four luxurious days hiking leisurely through the trees and basking in the lake. You venture into the city to get food but don’t linger, even if it’s a fascinating place.

The urge to run, to keep moving, to press forward trickles from your spine into the soil on the first morning. You had landed during the night, Mando slipping silently out of bed to handle it before stealing a few extra hours of rest, and you took your caf to sit on the top of the ramp and look out at the sunrise.

He finds you there, morning fog creeping into the hull, and shakes his head before leaving and coming back with the blanket from the bunk to wrap you in.

“Caf’s keeping me warm,” you say.

He rolls his eyes, helmet turned to the ceiling.

That night, you notice he doesn’t seem to have taken to the vacation quite as quickly as you have. Before bed, you convince him to roll his flightsuit down halfway and lay on his stomach. He doesn’t have a clue what you’re up to, which makes you a little sad. But even though he thought maybe something sex-related was happening, he doesn’t seem too disappointed when you press your thumbs into the calcified plates of his shoulder blades and push apart in firm, gentle crescents.

The moan he lets out when a knot releases makes you wet, anyway. You’re straddling him, perched on his ass, and interspersing the massage with soft kisses up his spine and down the column of his neck.

His skin grows hot, though from the blood rushing back or from your ministrations, you couldn’t say. Either way, he’s flushed all over when your hands have had enough, and the warmth spreads into you as you take in the lax sprawl of his body. For a moment, you lay on top of him, folding your arms over his shoulders to rest your head. He hums in contentment, and you think maybe he starts to fall asleep.

That won’t do. You had other plans.

You sit back up and swing your leg off him, sliding back onto the bunk against the wall. You grin when he whines.

“Roll over, baby,” you say.

“You’re bossy tonight,” he grumbles, but obeys.

You roll your eyes. “Just tryin’ to take care of you,” you murmur. Truthfully, the act of soothing his aching muscles has you feeling like you’re standing on the cliffside, ready to fall into subspace where you know he’ll catch you.

“Oh yeah?” he croons, raising his hand to cup your cheek. Of course he’s clocked your mood, now that he can see you. That’s okay. You don’t hide anything from him these days.

When he’s settled, arms folded behind his head to prop his helmet up, you climb back on top of him, facing away.

“Hey,” he whines, tugging at your arm, but you shake your head.

“Hang on, let me—”

He must hear something in your voice, because he releases your arm and watches as you tangle your fingers in the hem of your tunic and tug it off.

He doesn’t notice anything, at first. You’re jittery now, and take a deep breath to try and steady your flighty limbs. Bending at the waist, you lay yourself down the length of his legs.

You don’t have to wait this time. He sucks in a sharp breath and groans, his cock already hardening where it presses against your stomach.

He puts his hands on your hips to steady you before sitting partially up and scooting both of your bodies back so he can lean against the wall. His hands slide up to your ass and spread you, thumbs brushing the edge of the black gem at the base of the plug.

“Cyare,” his voice is rich, a dark hot chocolate on a snowy night. “When did you get this?”

“At the market this morning. You were busy trying to bargain with that meat vendor.”

He taps a finger against the gem, and you jolt a little, but he doesn’t let you escape. “My filthy girl.” His thumbs slide down to your cunt, where you’re already soaked. “Has this been driving you crazy all day?” He tugs a little on it, not enough to pull it out but enough to get your attention.

You moan and rock back toward him. “Couldn’t fucking think about anything else.”

“You’re so, so good to me, cyar’ika,” he purrs, reaching down to grab your collar before wrapping it around your neck. “What a pretty little present. I’m not sure what to do with you first.”

You move to sit, and he pushes you back down. “Hold still.” The order is followed by a sharp slap to your ass, right against the plug.

It whites out your brain for a second. “Oh, fuck,” you say, digging fingers into his calves.

His cock throbs against you, and you jerk your hips toward it, trying to move enough to grind against him.

“I said hold still,” he growls. He spanks you again and again until you’re trembling to obey, your whole body screaming for you to push back into his hand, to take and take and take whatever he’ll give you. But the need to be good for him wins out, as always, and you bite your cheek from the effort.

He rubs a soothing hand over your skin, the already raising welts burning in his path. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and the tension slips from your spine.

“What was your plan with this, cyare? Just going to tease me?”

“I was going to fuck you,” you say into his leg, dark hair tickling your lips. You press a wet kiss to it, flattening the strands.

“How were you going to fuck me?”

“Just like this. Was gonna take it out and sit on your cock.”

“Hmm,” he seems to consider it. “We can do that next. First, I want to try something else.”

You’re too far gone to roll your eyes at him, so you just nod where your cheek presses against him.

“Sit up,” he commands, and though you don’t want to leave your warm, comfortable spot, you listen.

He moves your pliant body to his whim and eases you onto his cock, the thick head pushing your cunt open without his fingers to have cleared the way. You cry out, but it doesn’t hurt, exactly. Well. It does, but it’s delicious.

You almost lose control of yourself when he pushes in a little further, and you can feel him pressing against the plug through the thin layer between your holes.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Osik, cyare, you’re so fucking tight. Do you feel that?”

You can only answer in a strangled groan as he goes deeper, bottoming out in your cunt. The plug isn’t huge; it’s certainly smaller than him, but it feels much larger with how stuffed full you are.

Of course, it’s not enough. He needs more, needs to take more until he’s consumed you. With one hand on your hip, he brings the other up to your mouth, laughing when you open automatically.

As he shoves three fingers in, pushing deep until you gag a little, he thrusts up into you. “Good, sweet girl. So obedient. Such a well-trained slut.”

Your hand pats against his thigh, uncoordinated and frantic.

He admires the way your muscles are pulled taut, the way you strain and arch your back against the pleasure. “You want to cum?”

“Please,” is what he thinks you say around his fingers, saliva dribbling from your mouth and down your chest.

“Hmm.” He waits only a second for the desperate, cracked sound that tries to escape you. “Yes, sweetheart.”

He holds tight as you come apart on his cock, shaking and head lolling back. He pulls the fingers from your mouth to grasp around your side, fingers digging into your ribs to hold you up.

He fucks into you for a few more minutes, and decides he’s had enough playing around. He wants his gift. Keeping you fully seated, he reaches between you and tugs the plug, wiggling and turning it to ease it gently from you.

Whatever lube you used to put it in lingers, and the slick coating his cock ensures there’s no difficulty for you when he pulls out of your cunt and pushes into your ass. Once he’s fully buried within you, he sits still.

“Well? I thought you were going to ride me?”

You yelp as he slaps your ass again, but begin to lift up and fuck yourself open on his cock. He helps, rising to meet you and guiding you with hands clenched on your hips. They have little fingerprint bruises more often than not, but you love them. Love to look at them, prod at them to feel the sensual ache, and think of him.

“Oh fuck, that’s it. Keep that up, and I’m going to fill you,” he promises.

You don’t disappoint. (You never do; he’s not sure it’s even possible at this point, not with the way he’s taken with your every move).

He shoves his fingers back in your mouth right before he cums, not even needing to ask you to open your mouth since it’s hanging wide, panting desperately.

When he starts to cum, he wraps a hand around your throat, not squeezing but feeling the leather band of his collar underneath, and at his command, you ride out his orgasm with one of your own.

You don’t go hiking the next day, too sore and too occupied with getting him in your mouth. You miss the beautiful weather, but neither of you regrets the day wasted. Besides, you spend the whole next day exploring, swimming in the pool of a waterfall, and staying up late to look at the stars under the moonless sky.

Your last day on Takodana is bittersweet, but you’re prepared for the sting. It was never going to be anything else. This tiny corner of time and space carved out for the two of you. Leaving the peace isn’t the issue; you’re starting to get antsy anyway.

No, the issue is that you’ve caught a taste of something that isn’t yours to swallow, and it’s settled into your lungs. A reminder that it isn’t fit for your consumption. But even the burn is addictive, and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to resist. Not this. Not him.

Even so, when you pick back up with your next bounty, when you settle into the bunk of the Crest in the cold emptiness of hyperspace, it’s less suffocating than you’d expected, your body adapting to the weight and warmth of it.

He comes down from the cockpit while you’re still sipping your caf. “Got a message from my alor overnight,” he says, rifling around in the cabinet for a ration bar. “She’s asked that I come back for a week or so to help with some of the apprentices.”

You pull the blanket around your shoulders more, cupping the mug with both hands. It’s a chillier morning than usual. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, she—” he looks over at you and pauses. “Dank farrik, is the secondary heater down again?”

“Think so,” you say. “So—”

“We just replaced that. I knew that karking mechanic was no good,” he grumbles. “I’ll get it fixed while I’m there.”

You take another sip, sure that your palms only start to sweat from the heat of the drink. Of course, you had known he’d go back to the other Mandalorians, that his home was not this ship. But in the last year of working together, it had become yours.

He sits down at the table across from you. “I think she wants me to take an apprentice.”

“You’d be a good teacher.”

“I don’t know,” he tilts his head, and you can hear the smirk behind the helmet. “This isn’t really an appropriate place for a child.” He manages to make the leer come through the visor as he looks you slowly up and down.

You have nothing on but your collar under the blanket (a choice you have come to regret after leaving the warm bunk for the much colder hull). “Yes, I suppose you’d have to let me wear clothes sometimes.”

“Ah, I don’t think that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “So what’s your plan?”

“Well, we’re nearly to Faldos, so we may as well grab the last bounty. There’s a guild outpost on Nevarro we can drop them at.” He swipes your datapad from across the table and pulls up a map.

“You better not have closed my crossword,” you grumble into the mug.

He slides the pad back over with a section of map pulled up. “It’ll take us about a week to get over there. Taanab is fairly safe, no Imps, and only about a day from the Mandalore sector. Get you a room there for a couple of weeks, and then we can get back to work.”

“That sounds like a lot of credits, and both of us out of commission.”

“We can afford it,” he says.

You’re irritated that he’s brushing off your very valid financial concerns, but there’s a strain to his voice that you can’t ignore. A desperation.

“Yeah, maybe.” The tight smile you give him doesn’t reach your eyes; the creases pinched as your brain turns over the logistics. You stand and rinse your mug, rubbing his shoulder when you pass behind him. “Eat quick, or I’ll get started without you,” you murmur before heading back to the bunk.

“No, you won’t,” he calls after you.

You laugh, abandoning the blanket so he has to watch your bare body walk away.

The hunt on Faldos is quick. The bounty comes willingly, not fancying his odds at the end of two blasters. By the time Mando has him in carbonite, you had cleaned up and set the nav for Nevarro.

“Ever been?” he asks, buckling into the pilot’s seat as you strap into yours.

“Nah, never really spent much time over here,” you shrug. Truthfully, you hadn’t left Cantonica until you started traveling with Mando.

Ships were expensive, and though the desert was wretched, it was one of those places with a lot of local bounties for debtors without even entering Canto Bight. The targets couldn’t afford to escape the planet, so there was plenty of work that could be handled with a landspeeder.

When you are safely on the way, you unbuckle and climb out of the seat. He starts to stand up as well, but sinks back down when you settle on your knees at his feet. You’re still in the outfit you wore to hunt, and your collar is back in the bunk.

But you can’t wait. It’s twelve hours to Nevarro, and most of them will be spent sleeping. You place your hands on his knees and look up. He leans forward a little, head tilting in curiosity but as patient as ever, content to wait for you to make your move.

You make a show of looking up at him from beneath your lashes, running the tip of your tongue over your lips before speaking. “Please, sir—” you start, and flush.

He takes pity on you and cups a gloved hand around your cheek. “Need something, pretty girl? Go on. Tell me.”

“Please, can I suck your cock?” You struggle to stay looking at him, the urge to look down, away, anything to escape his intense focus.

“Aw, sweetheart. Of course you can.” He’s already reaching down to unclasp his trousers and give you access.

Hands on his thighs, you lean forward as soon as it’s free. He isn’t all the way hard yet, body still catching up to the rapid pace you were moving. It didn’t take long, as you nuzzle your face against it and press soft kisses around the base and his balls. Soon enough, precum smears on your cheek, and you pull back to lick the rest from his slit.

He groans as if he had sunk into a hot spring, loosening and settling into the seat. Usually, things move so fast and rough, but he’s perfectly happy to let you get your fill.

“Needy today, huh? Getting fucked this morning wasn’t enough?”

“No, sir.” You exhale the words before taking the swollen head of his cock into your mouth and moaning. The velvety weight on your tongue is one of your favorite sensations in the whole galaxy, accented by the salt and musk of him.

You swirl your tongue around the head, flicking over the slit and across the underside, and it draws a long moan and a twitch of his hips. You moan in response, taking more of him into you and sucking hard.

He nearly whines when you pull off with a pop, a string of saliva still connecting his cock and your lips, but you dive back in quickly with long, slow licks around his shaft. He buries a hand in your hair, not steering, but a solid reassurance of his presence.

You look up at him for a moment, tears in the corner of your eyes.

Later, he would realize you hadn’t even been choking on him yet. Later, he would recognize the ache of your supplication.

Closing your eyes tight, you nuzzle against him again and sucked his balls, rolling them with your tongue and burying your face in the space between. After a deep, shuddering breath, you shift and swallow down his cock.

He wanted to let you go slow, let you work your throat open for him, but his hips jerk, and you gag around the length of him. Instead of retreating, you dive after the struggle. After a few rapturous moments, you pull back, gasping.

“Please, please use me.”

He does so love it when you beg. “Use you? Use you how?”

Your whine is laced with frustration, a raw sound ripped from the very core of you. “Please, sir, please fuck my mouth. Use me to make you feel good.”

“Is that what you want, cyar’ika? You want to be a warm, wet hole for me?”

You let out a sob, squirming with the throb between your legs. In lieu of an answer, you stick your tongue out, mouth wide and welcoming.

He doesn’t tease you further. Can’t. Not with the way his mouth goes dry and his whole body pulses with need. He yanks you forward by your hair and shoves your face down on his cock, all the way to the bottom.

You gag immediately but don’t tap out, so he pulls back only a little before fucking his hips up into you. It’s loud and messy, with tears running freely from your eyes as you fight to keep up with the voracious pace he sets.

“That’s it, cyare. Maker, your mouth is perfect.”

You whine, throat convulsing around his thick length. The sound catches and morphs into a scream when he shifts his leg to catch your cunt on the tip of his boot.

It’s filthy, but you’re too far gone to think about it. Not when he chuckles darkly as you rub against it, not when he croons praise for letting him do whatever he likes to you.

“Take what you need, baby, but don’t cum.”

It doesn’t take long for you to stumble dangerously close to the edge. Your whole body is tense with the effort to hold back, but you’re still grinding helplessly on his boot. He holds you down on his cock, nose buried in the coarse curls at his base, and knows you’re about to lose your battle when your gag reflex has all but vanished.

He can barely hear the desperate sobs leaking from the split corners of your lips. He yanks your hair, pulling you completely off his cock at the same time he pulls the boot away.

You start bawling. A lifetime ago, when you first started indulging in your mutual darker desires, he was alarmed every time you cried like this. Now, it warmed him, knowing he had broken you, forced your body to accept the catharsis it so desperately needed. He held you up by your hair as you strained to get back to him.

He let you lower a little, where you could almost taste him. “You want it, cyar’ika?”

You sob harder, straining in his grasp.

“Keep your mouth open wide.” He eases himself between your soft lips, grinning at the way your muscles shake with the effort to obey. When he bumps the back of your throat, he slides the boot back, nestling it against your core.

“Suck,” he orders as your hips buck against the pressure. You latch onto him immediately, whimpering what he knew were pleas of gratitude.

“I’m going to count you down,” he warns. He’s close, so close, and needs you to scream in pleasure around his cock when he fills you.

“3… 2…” and on one, he flicks his ankle, kicking the tip of his boot against your cunt. You respond perfectly, just as he hoped, doubling over so his cock slips as deep as possible, your whole body jerking and shaking with your orgasm. The teasing had built you up high, but the shock and pain sent you crashing over the edge.

He holds you down until you’ve swallowed what you can through your broken cries, most of his cum pooling around his balls. You’ve calmed, somewhat, twitching through the aftershocks. He eases you off his cock, letting you slump your head against his thigh right beside the mess.

And then he kicks you again. Your scream, unmuffled, is gorgeous. The single tap is all it takes to knock another orgasm out of you, so he does it again. And again. And again.

He strokes your cheek, murmuring praise and encouragement as you let him toy with your body. When you settle after the last one, he moves his boot back, granting you a well-deserved rest. You look up at him, eyes red and swollen. He jerks his helmet down, and with enormous effort, you move your leaden body to the side so you can lap up the spilled cum.

“You’re incredible, you know,” he says, petting your hair while you licked him softly, “my perfect girl.” Your eyes slip closed, tongue moving out of reflex rather than any real effort to clean him.

“C’mon, let’s get to bed.” He tugs you up to your feet.

You sway on the spot, eyes still closed, and whine.

When you wake, the Crest is still and silent. You don’t remember getting into the bunk, but Mando had clearly stripped you down, cleaned you up, and tucked you in. His side of the bed is empty and long gone cold.

You sit up, savoring the pleasant ache through your body, until it all slips away when you finally wake enough to sort out your thoughts.

The ship is still.

Mando is gone.

You had landed on Nevarro.

You dressed quickly and slung your pack over your shoulders before finding Mando in the hull.

“I made caf, but it’s, uh, probably cold now,” he says, pulling you into his side with one arm while slipping knives into his armor with the other. “Sorry, it seemed like you needed the rest.”

“Thank you.” You let yourself lean against him for a moment before pulling away to wander to the galley. Your mug is full on the counter, but when you lift it for a sip, the smell makes your stomach sour. You set it back down and stared blankly into the milky swirls.

Meeting new guild leaders was always stressful. The stupid social games, the dance around discussions of compensation, the negotiations. Luckily, Mando seemed to have no problem with them. He ignored the niceties and gruffly insisted on what he was owed. His intimidating figure helped. But it doesn’t ease your anxiety.

Nevarro is hot and dry. The city where the guild is based is on a plain, set back from the lava flats. The two of you walk side by side into town under a great stone arch. When you enter the cantina, a protocol droid asks you to state your business.

“Move,” Mando tells it.

You huff and lean around him. “We’re here to deliver bounties.”

The droid leads you to a booth to meet one of the guildmaster’s assistants, who begins to look up your chain codes and process the bounties. You slide out of your seat after giving your information and tell Mando you’d be right back.

When you return, he’s wrapped up and hands you back your pouch, now heavier with your share of the credits. You follow him out of the cantina and back into the sun, stopping just outside the door.

He turns around. “Did you need something before we leave?”

Your whole body is cold, like the blood rushed out and left an empty shell. Your throat is tight, and you aren’t sure if you’re going to cry or vomit.

“Mando,” you start.

He tenses. “What’re you doing, cyar’ika?”

“Mando, I don’t want to go to Taanab.”

“Okay, that’s fine, we can pick somewhere—”

“I don’t want to sit in an inn and wait around. I don’t want to waste the money, and I don’t want to—I don’t want to be stuck, alone, and I know I can’t go with you; I’m not asking, I understand. But I, I can’t…” Your voice sticks in your throat; the only way you can stop the sob from bursting out with it.

He rests one hand against your face. You don’t move away, but you stop yourself from leaning into it.

“What are you saying? What can I do instead?”

He doesn’t understand, you realize. He hasn’t even considered the possibility, and it feels like your chest might crack open. You take a step back.

“Mando,” your voice shakes, and you have to take a breath. “I’m staying here. I talked to the guildmaster, this man called Karga. He has work for me, not hunting, but with operations. I’ll have a room and earn some credits. It won’t be a lot, but it’s better than what we—what I would lose at an inn.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No. You’re not staying here. It’s not safe.”

“I took care of myself just fine before.” Your face heats. Doesn’t he see how hard this is for you already? Why is he doing this?

“But you don’t have to, now. I take care of you, remember?”

“Mando—”

“No. This is ridiculous. You’re not staying here. Let’s go.”

You don’t move.

“Cyar’ika.” He puts his hands on his hips. “I’m not asking. Let’s go.”

You shake your head, jaw clenched, and look anywhere but him. “Stop. That’s not how things work out here.”

“Then I’ll carry you back.” He steps forward, deathly serious, but freezes. “You knew. Before you talked to him. You were never going to come with me.”

You can’t stop the traitorous tear that leaks out when you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Last night,” his voice breaks, and you cover your mouth to hold back a sob. “That was a goodbye, wasn’t it?”

“I’m sorry,” you cry. You’re still fighting for composure, shaking with the effort.

His hands fall to his sides. He steps to you, and you tense, ready to hold your ground, but all he does is put his hands on your shoulders and lean in, helmet pressed against your forehead.

He has to try a few times to speak. You’re close enough to hear the sharp, aborted breaths under his helmet. He settles on, “Can I come back for you?”

“I don’t want to get in the way of your duty to your people, Mando. If your alor wants you to take an apprentice, I don’t want to be the thing that stops you. You can’t ask that of me.”

“I’m not—” he takes a breath. “I’m not. I’m making that choice, not asking you to.”

“But you’re asking me to live with the guilt.”

“I’m not, cyar’ika; I’m not ready for an apprentice. I don’t want one. I can’t think of anything I want less right now than to be responsible for a child.”

“You’d be good at it. I meant that. You’d be a good teacher. A good father.”

“Someday,” he whispers. “But what’s the point if I don’t have you with me?”

You sob. It cuts deep, hurts you in a way he didn’t mean it to. There has been no talk of a future, no talk of anything beyond having fun and enjoying each other, basking in carefree companionship and pleasure without the pressure of a plan. And you know, you’ve always known, there was no place for you in his life. When it was time to set down the mantle of beroya and let the youth step in, when it was time to fulfill his duty to the tribe to foster the next generation, there was no room for an outsider.

You don’t say anything. For a moment, the grief hangs between you, a life just out of your grasp. A home. His child at your breast. Knowing the softness of his eyes and curve of his lips.

He sees you falling apart. And he knows it’ll be the worst thing he’s ever done, but he has to walk away. You’ll resent him forever if he takes this choice away from you. He pulls you against him, rubbing your back as you sob into the nape of his neck.

When he steps back, he keeps his hands on your shoulders. “I’ll come back for you.”

“You can’t promise me that.”

“Wait for me. I’ll come back for you. Promise.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll wait for you.”

It’s two weeks later when a bounty hunter slides into your booth. You know it’s too soon, but every time the cantina door opens, you hope it’s him.

As you’re counting out payment, the man leans over the table. “Didja hear?” he says in a low voice.

“Hear what?” You barely pay attention. Bounty hunting is lonely, and almost every single person who sits down wants to talk.

“About the Imps,” he says.

That catches your attention. “They’re gone.”

“Nah, not completely. There are remnants, pockets of them, scattered out there. Apparently, some warlord with a grudge gathered enough reinforcements for an attack.”

“Nearby?” This is the first time you’ve felt afraid here. Creeps and scumbags don’t phase you; the Empire is different.

“Nah, way out, but get this. They’re saying there’s nothing left on Mandalore but ash.”

note: I am hella anxious about this chapter given the haps so if you enjoyed it or feel inclined in any way to yell at me/cry with me/etc please do.

*title from "It Doesn't Feel a Thing LIke Falling" by Taking Back Sunday

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #make it hurt verse #din djarin fic #the mandalorian fic #dom din djarin #if you saw me post this on the wrong acct no you didn't lol #it's because I'm so nervous

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