#insecurity tw

third child in a family of six, is the elder in a set of boys, by exactly 12 minutes which obviously mean everything.

has always lived in his twin brother maverick's shadow, however. maverick was the golden boy, and mickey was the shit leftover. the forgotten and overlooked, or the just plain disliked. it made him bitter and jealous, he still harbors a grudge everyone prefers his brother.

his behavior in school was the opposite of maverick's. he got in trouble a lot, mixed with the wrong type of crowd. was lowkey a bullying asshole if he found cause for it.

had a turbulent on-and-off thing with ruby, which remains a situationship to this day. but everyone knows he's no good for her, and used to cheat on her in school.

after high school, he tried to follow his brother into the military because he found it was hard to cope without him. but he flunked out of bootcamp and had to come back and figure out shit on his own.

while mav was out saving the world, mickey got more involved in the family funeral home business, and found out the seedy details behind the scenes. his father essentially got him involved in a dark underbelly kind of world, where they'll fix your problem for the right price.

he's since become something of a fixer (think mike from breaking bad) and has a hand in the criminal scene. he's definitely done some terrible stuff for money.

has two twin boys of his own now, callum and chester, born from the same woman who is besties with his brother mav. they had a thing, but that thing imploded when she found out what he was involved in, and now he only gets them on the weekends.

is also responsible for his brother's loss of leg, after a business venture went south. not that mav is aware of this and never will be, if mickey has anything to say about it. yes, he does feel guilty.

kind of prick-ish, kind of sleazy. will sell you out for the right price. you probably shouldn't trust him as far as you can throw him.

They found him three weeks after Shin had been cleared to get up and start moving. Three weeks after she started the journey of rebuilding muscle and herself. Ahsoka and Sabine left her alone, for the most part. The Togruta’s cloak hadn’t left Shin’s shoulders since that first night, waking with it draped around her shoulders. 

Her tunic had been ruined with blood and holes that even she could not repair, so the Jedi’s cloak became all she had to cover her modesty, though Sabine had helped her repair the straps of her bra. The pants she’d been given upon her reluctant rescue were tied to her waist, double knotted to prevent the article from sliding off. Her pauldrons not longer shined where they sat strapped to her shoulders beneath the cloak, smeared with blood (an unfortunate amount her own), with a thin layer of ripped fabric separating metal and skin. 

Shin’s gloves and pauldrons stopped just before her elbows, bare skin and muscle just barely covered by Ahsoka’s cloak where it sat when her arms were down. Sabine helped give her a proper haircut, though there was nothing that could be done to force the brown from their head, leaving the only blonde in her hair for the frayed Padawan brain that settled over her right collarbone, dirty green beads untouched from where they were intricately woven the last time Baylan had helped them dye their hair. 

When they found Baylan, Shin had only found out through Huyang receiving his comm as droid and apprentice worked on fixing her saber, the charge pack wouldn’t hold and the crystal inside was reluctant; like Shin closing herself off from the force and from the kyber had harmed it. Huyang had spent days working with Shin to work with the blade, to reach back into the pool of the force no matter how much it hurt to reconnect.

It had been impossible, up until this point. The blade kept coming out warbly and unstable, before sparking back into its emitter and threatening to spark through the Apprentice’s hands. Huyang hadn’t even had the time to turn towards Shin, to warn that he knew their thoughts, order them to stay behind. She was gone in seconds, leaving only the tail of Ahsoka’s cloak whipping in the wind as she whistled for her Howler. 

Shin rode hard and fast across the Peridean wastes. The Nomads that had allied with the ‘Rebels’ had done what Shin’s own bandits could not; They found Baylan Sköll, and she would be damned if she let him get away. 

“We need not be at odds.” He was trying to worm his way out of the circle the Nomads had him trapped in, trying to talk his way out in an illusion of peace. Shin slipped from the Howler’s back, boots thudding in the dirt as she breezed closer, shoving past an armored being. Baylan was facing away from her, but she could see the way his shoulders tensed.

“You were supposed to return with the Imperial fleet,” His chin rose, yet he still did not look at her, igniting the anger that sat dormand in her veins. 

“I was supposed to die.” They snarled, venom in their tone as their hand wrapped around the hilt of their saber. The crystal resonated with her anger, with the hurt she knew was pouring off in waves, knew her Master could feel it too, the danger of the person he’d created. “I was supposed to die when Thrawn realized you were gone.” 

Baylan’s head turned until Shin could see the hard line of his lips. “You turned against me.” They snarled, finger hovering over the ignition of their saber. Anger flooded their mind, they could strike him down right here, prove that they could choose for themselves, choose this desire for revenge over it all. 

“Only a Sith deals in these absolutes, Shin. We are not Sith,” He sounded tired, like a father explaining to his child that the park was closed and they could not go play until another day.

“I am what you made me!” When their saber ignited, the orange of her saber was bled out, barely visible behind the tangible reality of the pain Shin had been carrying. “This is the end for you, my Master.” 

Near red arced through the air towards Baylan’s head, he’d seemed to be in acceptance of his fate, Shin could finally be free of this pain. She could finally let the past die, she just had to kill it, and maybe then she would be able to breathe again.

A pillar of pink energy stopped her blade, Sabine Wren placing herself between Shin and Baylan, supporting her saber against a beskar gauntlet. “Shin, you need to stop,” The Mandalorian was out of breath, like she’d ran the whole way here, or had worked herself up at the thought of what she knew Shin would do.

“This isn’t you,” Sabine pleaded, trying to get yellowed eyes to look at her, to turn their murderous intent away from the man at her back. 

“You don’t know me,” Shin snarled, teeth bared. Her muscles were still weak, arms shaking as she pushed against Sabine’s saber, moving one foot forwards to attempt to bring her down like they had on Lothal. 

When the connection broke, Shin sidestepped, avoiding interlocking blades with Sabine again; She wasn’t their objective. If the Mandalorian wanted to stop her, then she would have to take Shin’s like. 

Baylan’s gaze was somber, yet he did not probe the bond he once had with the apprentice, did not offer a vocal apology; He felt he knew how this story would play out, that if Shin would commit themselves to killing him, then it was their destiny. “You promised!” Shin hissed, emotion closing at her throat as she swung her blade. Sabine’s use of the force was growing, enough to prevent the blade from doing much else to singe her Master’s robes. 

Throwing her saber to the ground, Shin decided she wanted to feel the life leave his body. He abandoned her, Thrawn left her to die, and the Force was nowhere when she needed it most. She would not kill him as his apprentice, but as the daughter he raised, as the bandit and the monster he’d crafted. 

Her fist cracked against his jaw with a snap of his head to the side. Her second hit went into the unarmored section of his gut, knuckles cracking over his liver and sending him doubling over. The armor at her knee rang when she brought it up to smash into his chin, his blood flying from his mouth in spittle as teeth cracked under the pressure. 

Shin followed him to the ground, knee pressing into his abdomen as her hands secured themselves around his throat. His hands pressed into her wrists, but the armor stopped him from being able to do anything. “You promised me, Master.” A fat tear dropped onto his cheek as Shin’s face reddened. ‘What did I do wrong?”

A large hand settled against Shin’s shoulder as Baylan’s face turned purple. “You need to let him go, Shin,” Ahsoka’s voice washed over her, urging her grip to loosen. Baylan’s breath rushed past his lips in a choked rasp. 

“No.” They vehemently declined like a petulant child. She wanted it to stop hurting- she needed it to stop hurting so bad. She could feel the stubble of rough hair against her fingertips in the holes of her gloves, could feel the warmth of his skin like a beacon of his life, life that she needed to take away. “He deserves it,” 

“Perhaps,” Ahsoka agreed, kneeling in the dirt beside Shin. “But you don’t want to be the one to do this.” The hand on her shoulder was an anchor, as was the warm thumb that pressed past the thick material of her cloak, rising goosebumps to sweat damp skin. “You don’t know that,” They argued, even as they felt the fight abandon them too. “You can’t know that.” 

“But I do, Shin.” Their eyes were still yellow, overpowering the pools of blue and silver, with dark veins spreading across pale skin, but Ahsoka could see that glimmer of hope, that promise that Shin was still good. “You’re in an unimaginable spot right now. And try as I may, I cannot make this decision for you. You have to decide for yourself.”

Ahsoka’s hand begun to raise from her shoulder, willing to leave Baylan’s fate up to the turmoiled blonde. Two hands wrapped around her wrist, keeping her hand in place; the choice was made. 

“Come on,” Ahsoka guided them up, off of Baylan, guiding their sorrowed eyes away from his broken face. They turned back at him one last time. “You said you'd never leave.”  Sabine was picking their saber from the ground, though instead of offering it back to the Apprentice, the weapon was handed to Ahsoka. Shin did not argue as the Togruta clipped it to her belt; wanted nothing to do with the near red blade, the reminder of how much she was failing in all of her teachings. 

Ahsoka walked with Shin all the way to the shuttle, where she dropped bonelessly into a seat in the cockpit, hands in her lap, staring at the flashes of scarred, pale skin that poked through the holes in her gloves. Their fingers clenched and unclenched; Baylan deserved to die, he promised he’d never leave, promised he would always be there, and yet… He left, he left her alone on a planet far from home, on a mission she did not agree with. 

Now she was stranded on the graveyard planet, housed by the enemy, and abandoning all of the teachings she had once been so eager to learn..

Ahsoka settled into the seat across from her much more gracefully. Her hand reached out once more to touch the cool skin just above their gauntlet, bringing their focus back up. “You did good, Shin,” Ahsoka praised, fingertips grazing tensing muscle, easing the stiffness. 

“I was going to kill him,” They argued, though their voice held no fire, their accent thicker than could translate to basic, words slurring as she reverted to a language that had been dead to her for so long. “I wanted to kill him… I want-”

“But you didn’t, because that isn’t who you are.” “Why is everyone so intent on telling me who I am?” They seethed, leather gloves creaking as their hands flexed in anger. 

“Because you need the reminder that you are more than you’re seeing yourself as, right now.” Ahsoka pulled Shin’s saber from her hip, holding it into the chasm between them. Shin stared at the weapon sourly, as if it could be at fault for her pain. “Take your kyber,”

With a sigh, Shin reached for the saber, though it was pulled away before her fingertips could brush cold metal. “With the force, Kurs’kaded.” Sabine spoke up, alerting the Apprentice to her presence, leaning in the open doorway; she hadn’t heard the Mandalorian come in, the force hadn’t given her the brush of whatever it was she’d grown used to with Sabine’s presence. 

“I don’t need the force, and I don’t need you.” They snapped, rising to their feet harshly. She turned away from her saber and faced the door, staring past the faded paint on Sabine’s pauldron as they started for the door. “I can’t let you go,” Sabine’s hand reached out, pressing on Shin’s shoulder, barring her from the exit. “Not like this,”

“It’s none of your concern,” Shin had growled, fingers wrapped around Sabine’s elbow, rearing to flip their positions, to fight her way out if not for the burn of muscle, than for the promise if she got too far, they would kill her.

“What if you don’t come back, Shin?” Sabine wasn’t looking at her, golden eyes focused on the ragged scars from the blade that had ripped her open, had brought her to them after months of isolation from everything. This was enough to give Shin pause, to stop pressing against Sabine’s hand, and to watch as The Mandalorian’s hand shook where it parted Ahsoka’s cloak further across her bare abdomen.

Her fingertips were cool against inflamed scar tissue, still in the painful process of healing without the aid of bacta or any real medical supplies over the alcohol created by the Noti to help keep it sterilized. Shin swallowed thick in her throat. She could feel the Togruta’s eyes on her back, but the glide of Sabine’s fingers along her scar and the way the Mandalorian’s hand pressed against the plate of armor over her abdomen, where Shin knew her own scar sat healed under all the layers.

“What if you leave, and we can’t get to you in time?” There was a vulnerability to Sabine’s voice, a hurt that Shin found she did not like being the cause of on her face. “What if you come back wrong?” 

“Careful, Mandalorian; Someone might start to think you care.” Their voice was raspy, cracking with unidentified emotion as their hand finally dropped from Sabine’s elbow. 

“Seriously?” Sabine scoffed, the jab of her finger into their stomach had them yipping in surprise, stepping back, away from the shock of pain. “All this and you didn’t figure that one out? Are you a di’kut?” The next time Sabine touched her, it was with the palm of her hand into their shoulder, forcing them back into the chair. 

Shin’s head turned to pass a helpless look towards the amused Jedi Master as Sabine’s fingers gripped at her jaw, forcing them to look her in the eye. “Of course I fucking care. I’ve cared since you stabbed me, I’ve cared since Seatos, I’ve always fucking cared.” 

Shin’s gaze was fixed on Sabine’s narrowed eyes, on the twitch of muscle under the collar of her flight suit, and on the smooth furrow of her brows. 

She’s beautiful…

Ahsoka stood and brushed past Sabine; The Apprentice watched in her peripherals as their saber hilt was clasped to Sabine’s belt, before the Jedi was sweeping from the cockpit with the door swooshing shut behind her.

The moment the door shut, Sabine’s lips were pressing against theirs, urging their eyes to close and their hands to move back to the Mandalorian’s elbows as she leaned onto the arm rests of the cockpit’s chair. 

Shin’s heart thudded against her chest, with each thump entwined with the glide of Sabine’s tongue across her lips, the anger faded, the hurt eased, finally offering the sought after reprieve from the hurt. 

Sabine pulled back, breathing hard as their eyes blinked open. “I care, and I’m not leaving.” She whispered in their shared air, hand raising to brush against their cheekbone before she was leaning back, dropping into the chair Ahsoka had once occupied.

“Now take your saber back; we’ll fix it together,” 

Begrudgingly, Shin sighed and raised her hands. Opening back up to the force after months of trying didn’t go as she’d prepared herself. For the first time since Seatos, it felt like coming home again, as she felt the life spark back into her being, reclaiming her space in the cosmic flow of life, interweaving her story back in the threads of the universe. It was overwhelming and it hurt, until she felt the warmth of someone pressing forward with her, someone whose fate was  so so intricately woven with her own existence. When silver eyes opened, Shin caught the look of concentration on Sabine’s face, and the crack of a smile on her lips when her eyes opened and caught Shin staring. 

It took some work to figure out the flow between them, as Shin’s saber was brought to hover between them, pieces unfolded from each other as they slowly worked to expose the wounded Kyber. She’d bled it a lot, had made her crystal hurt the way Baylan had made her hurt, and it was evident in the darkness and the blood of the force threatening to overshadow the orange, but… it wasn’t too late. 

Shin had many dreams healing from her wounds, months back, but in her fever, she could recall the feeling of Ahsoka’s hands brushing through her hair, of delicate fingers smoothing the rough edges of her braid, and the promise of “It’s never too late.” Passed between the silence, a promise that they hadn’t been able to understand.

Now though, with Sabine’s form rising from her seat, Shin watched as the woman’s fingers brushed against her Kyber, the pad of her thumb trailing along the ridge from where she’d snapped it from the peak on Ilum herself. “It’s okay,” Sabine promised, gently; Shin could feel it, could feel her words and her touch as if her and the Kyber were of the same entity, as if, in the red that Sabine was urging away from the crystal, she was easing the darkened blood from her own presence in the force.

Shaking her head, Shin rose, trapping the Kyber between their hands as they interlocked their fingers with Sabine’s. The Mandalorian glanced at her once, before her eyes shut. Her forehead pressed against their joined hands. Shifting their weight between their feet, Shin’s head bowed, fingers squeezing against Sabine’s. “I am one with the force…”

“And the force is with me,” 

When they separated, there was no red to be found in the glowing Kyber, a bright, vivid orange, paler than she’d seen but still bearing the unique coloring, floated between them peacefully, held up by the combined force of both apprentice and padawan. 

“I know you,” Sabine promised, as they worked to reassemble the saber together. “Forever. You hear me?” She grabbed the saber from its stasis, pressing it into Shin’s waiting palm. “You can stab me, you can call me names, and you can walk away right now, but don’t you dare forget; I know you, and I care.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Shin promised, closing the distance and hesitantly moving to rest her forehead against the feisty Mandalorian. 

Sabine’s arms circled their neck, noses bumping together as she leaned up on her toes, fingers carding through the short, scruffy hair on the back of their head. “Better… say it again,” 

Rolling their eyes, Shin pressed forward to shut her up, pressing their lips together with little fanfare, hands moving to rest on Sabine’s sides, thumb pressing into the space between beskar and flightsuit to brush against the fabric over her scar. 

Baylan Skoll would go on to become their prisoner, but Shin would not give him the glory of a reaction, or a response when, the next time they visited, her padawan braid was gone, cut with care by the Togruta who held out her hand in kindness when he had left. 

“Can you give me a second? I want to try it on.” You say, standing up from the bed and planning to remove your clothes before trying on this dress. 

“Sure.” Holder is kind enough to nod and continue sitting on the bed without making a small trek to follow you at first. 

A date night hadn’t been planned when Stephen returned to you, but as you take off your clothes and zip up this dress, you watch yourself in the mirror, pouting towards your own reflection again. 

“Shit.” You mumble, but Holder catches that one remark like the sleuth he is, standing up from the bed and walking forward to observe you from behind. 

“Look at my lady.” Holder teases, smiling against the back of your neck. His gorgeous hazel watch you in the mirror and those tattooed arms almost clutch your waist. 

You soon realize that the form-fitting dress shows off more insecurities of your body than expected. 

“Do you still think I’m pretty?” You whisper, nearly ashamed of the question itself. You know just how much he loves you, but looking in the mirror still left you drained sometimes. 

“What did you just say?” His voice lowers, now laced with both shock and frustration this time around. And yet, he still watches you in the mirror and his brow furrows once more. 

“Do you still think I’m pretty?” You clear your throat, trying to repeat the question without exposing more tears. 

In that same instance, Holder turns you around, almost setting your hips against the front of his infamous jeans. 

To make matters deliciously worse, you can already feel how his clothed erection bulges. At the center of his jeans, Stephen pulses for you without fail. 

Holder opens space between you both. In return, you immediately recognize the quick but affirming snap of his capable finger. 

“Sit down on the bed.” Somehow, his voice lowers even more, no longer tinging with flirty intentions or smiles. 

You sit down on the bed as told and it takes everything within you not to squirm with anticipation. Though you’ve made love to Stephen many times before, he hasn’t revealed this dominant side in a while, leaving you intoxicated of course. 

Before you can ask another question, Stephen walks closer and closer towards the bed until he’s able to sit right between your legs. 

You can’t even move alone again before he takes both hands and dares to rest your legs onto both of his shoulders. Even your dress rides up as if planned by him. 

“Damn.” You barely talk to him and he hasn’t even kissed your thighs yet. At this point, your panties might as well leave now, fluttering down towards the carpet below. 

“I’m not goin’ to sleep until you know…” As Stephen responds, he looks up at you with those hazel eyes once more while sitting between your legs.

“Know what?” You whimper, trying to face him while looking downward. Your own body already wants to clench or squirm, feeling how his breath slides. 

“How…fine..you are….” Right then, he finally kisses between your thighs, accenting the phrases as he speaks. Your eyes quickly shut and you toss your head back, already understanding what Stephen wants to do. 

Threading of your panties rips out loud in this bedroom before Holder even can finish pulling them down with his teeth. He doesn’t care, tossing the fabric aside and reaching to settle his hands onto your thighs, opening your legs even further.

By the time he tongue flattens between your folds, you damn-near cry, heaving through every breath. 

“Oh my…” You trail off again, feeling dizzy in the name of ecstacy. All you can do is whimper or beg as Stephen moans and tastes your juices  

“What did you say?” Holder is definitely sly now, bragging between licks of your soaked folds. Meanwhile, you feel so wet against his mustache and beard that he still strains within his jeans, craving to be resting inside of you before long. 

Yet, Stephen waits, needing you to be ready. 

“Can I come, please?” You ask, trying to last a bit longer as his dangerous tongue moves faster. You feel otherworldly pleasure as he licks. 

“Only if you tell the truth.” Holder warns, moving his lips away from your swollen bud. You seem hollow without the touch, needing to feel so much more.

“What…what do I have to say?” You struggle through words once more, trying to look down at him. 

“Look at me. Look at me, Baby.” He instructs, bringing his voice down to another simmering whisper. When those hazel eyes look towards you again, Holder’s face is nearly drenched, glistening before your wetness can even fully drown him tonight. 

“Yeah?” By an absolute miracle, you glance towards your best friend and somehow respond back to him. Your body almost squirms, drifting on the proverbial brink. 

“This is proof of how beautiful you are and we’re ain’t even finished yet.” Holder acknowledges the way your juices run along his chin. 

He then gently smooths his hands along your legs and lowers them off his shoulders, kissing you soon after. There’s no shame at all you taste yourself, even when  Holder moans against your lips. 

“Who are you, hmm? You my baby?” After pulling away from that earth-shattering kiss, Holder reaches out and caresses your face, smiling for the first time since tasting you. 

“Yes, Daddy.” You promise back, thankful in the name of desire when Holder stands up from the bed and finally opens his belt. 

“C’mere.” He lowers his voice once more, even after respectfully taking out a condom from the nightstand drawer. 

_______

You both are completely naked as you ride Stephen, rolling your hips and whimpering in his ear. He asked you to make full eye contact with him, taking back control. Each of you know that the last few weeks have been hell, but him seeing you rattled earlier felt like nothing he’d ever known before. 

On your best days, you were his light, one of his only reasons left in the world to keep going. He just wanted you to see what he loved in the mirror again. 

“Shit.” You come at last, breaking composure as your hands palmed his tattooed chest. He spills almost immediately after you, looking slack-jacked as his brow furrowed. 

“Fuck.” Stephen smacks your ass in return, nearly growling before his own voice pitches higher. As you look down to watch him below, his blondish hair is disheveled and those hazel eyes lidded, almost closed. 

You can’t even remember who cools down first, but you know that Stephen reaches for the back of your hair, smoothing his fingers through. He then offers one of the most desperate kisses. 

Your entire body is warmed by sweat and your breasts heave. You never want this moment to end as he still uses the condom to rest inside you. 

“Hi,” You almost couldn’t utter that greeting while looking down once more, facing your man. He’s so beautiful, reddened in the face because of ecstasy.