#good theres this wonderful implication of healing having to be intentional and something you have to want for yourself

[dreampearls]

the panopticon r-906 collei mv that caters Literally only to me is so so so vivid you dont even know

[no-droids]

Whenever You Want

Part Fourteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: Listen there is some dirty smut in this one yall okay like I was blushing when I wrote it, it has a very stark beginning and theres a pagebreak afterwards if you would prefer to skip over it. Smut includes oral sex (female receiving) rough sex, sensory deprivation, butt stuff (ass to mouth, anal fingering/penetration) so PLEASE LOOK OUT FOR IT PLEASE. Also there is jealous/possessive mando in this, season 1 Karga makes another appearance, and some angst/fluff towards the end

A/N: Nothing much today yoditos just love you all

***

Din said he’d meet you here.

You’re currently sitting across from Greef Karga in a cantina on Nevarro, a closed shield next to you and a blaster tucked into the back of your waistband, hidden underneath your shirt.  You’re barely even looking at him, though—your eyes are attached to the door by an invisible string, forcing your gaze back to it no matter how much it bounces around the room.

You don’t know where Din is, you haven’t seen him in hours.  But you do know that when he left, he was moving slower than you’re used to.  You don’t think anyone else would notice, but you sure did.  Not that he was obvious about it—you only picked up on very subtle hints.  Leaning up against things just a bit more than he usually does.  Taking slightly longer exiting the ramp of the Crest than his normal strides would carry him.

He didn’t say what he was going to do—just that he needed to find someone before meeting with Karga, and you accepted it.  But truthfully, you didn’t want to.  You were worried about him—still are, actually.  But for all intents and purposes, he was speaking and acting like himself, showing no real signs of exhaustion other than the smallest instances you described before, so you didn’t really have a leg to stand on.  He’s been through way worse, and you know it.  You just… find yourself worrying about him so much more than you used to, and you need to learn how to gain some control over that part of you.

The kid was still passed out from healing him and you remember Din carefully setting four pucks down in the sleeping baby’s sphere and giving his ears a gentle rub between leather fingers.  He turned back to you and told you to meet him at the cantina in three hours, but if it ended up taking him too long for any reason, to try your best to see if Karga will let you exchange on his behalf.

Admittedly, he didn’t sound too confident about it—the instructions were delivered with a tone that implied a doubtful, just-in-case scenario he wasn’t foreseeing happening.  Or maybe he just doubted the likelihood of Karga agreeing to do business with you, you’re not entirely sure.  All you know is that when he left, you were almost certain he wouldn’t be late, but you also took the time to grab the smallest blaster from his armory before heading out just in case.

Yet—here you are, three and a half hours later, eyes flicking between the door and Karga as you attempt to keep up polite conversation.  After turning down his offer of alcohol for the fifth time and still not seeing any glimpse of beskar coming to your rescue, you figure this may be as good a time as any to start the exchange.

During an extended break in the small talk, you slowly reach over to the corner of your booth and press a button on the face of the kid’s shield.  It hisses open and you completely miss the way Karga’s hand raises while three of his guards automatically reach for their hips.  The little green monster is still snoozing comfortably while you pull out the four glowing pucks Din left you and set them on the table one by one.

They scrape along the top of it as you slowly push them over to him, before sitting back in the booth and clearing your throat, flicking your eyes between Karga and his guards.  To you, nobody appears to have moved, so you muster a polite smile at him.

Karga smiles back, but makes no move to gather or inspect the offerings in front of him.

“Um…” you say after a moment, suddenly feeling your heart start to beat a little faster.  “Mando… Mando gave me permission to exchange on his behalf.”

“I believe you,” he drawls out in response, but the pucks still sit untouched in front of him as he leans back in the booth and studies you.  “Mando has always had a… let’s say, a frustrating penchant for disregarding the pillars of our code.  My apologies, young lady, but I’m afraid that I cannot accept these from you.”

Your voice comes out quieter than you’d like it to sound.  “Why not?”

“It is… unlawful,” he answers after a moment.  “Our organization operates under strict rules.”

Does it?  You blink.  No, it doesn’t.  You’re nothing to the Guild and you’ve sat next to Din quite a few times while Karga talked, listening to him drunkenly boast about return rates and out members by name.  You’re not sure why he’s barring you like this, but you’re also not self-assured enough to put practically any spine into it whatsoever.  “I’m… afraid I don’t understand.”

“I cannot legally do guild business with individuals not recognized as members in an official capacity,” he sighs, sounding grave and almost apologetic about it, but you don’t know him well enough to know if he’s a good actor or not.  “There’s nothing I can do for you besides provide you with my company, not until Mando decides to show.”

Well now that doesn’t make any sense, and you’re starting to worry that for some reason or another, he isn’t going to show.  Though it was incredibly well concealed, you’re well aware that Din was still lingering in the final recovery stages when he left the Crest earlier and all you have to go on is his word that he’d be here.  Something could’ve happened.  Something could be happening right now, you need to push.

“People pick up bounties for extra credits all the time,” you mumble, still way too fucking quiet about it.  Maker, you’re not even sure if he could hear that over the sound of the cantina.  Speak up, speak up.

“Yes, but those quarry are listed on the New Republic’s most wanted database,” Karga acknowledges diplomatically, educating more than he is arguing, before uncorking the bottle of glowing blue alcohol in front of him and beginning to pour himself another shot.  “They’re fodder.  Up for grabs—names, last known locations, and biometrics published for the entire galaxy to read.”  He tilts his head down at the four metal pucks on the table without removing his gaze from the gradually filling glass.  “Those pucks are different, they’re commissions.  Tied specifically to Guild contracts.”  Karga clunks the bottle back down again and corks it, pinning you with a stare.  “For all I know, you could’ve murdered a member of our ranks and come to collect payment for his bounties.  Can’t have that.”

Your blood suddenly turns to ice at the implication, eyes wide and your heartbeat rocketing as you look from Karga to the three guards casually stationed behind him.  “You—You think I murdered Mando?”

“No,” he says, easily and in the very same breath, before throwing the shot back and wiping his mouth with a grimace.  “Not sure I’d care too much if you did.  It’s not my rule, but I am required to follow it or risk losing my position in the Guild.”

Shit.  Shit.  What do you do?

You’re blank, left quiet and feeling increasingly unsure of how to proceed.  Karga, however, seems completely unbothered and even appears to be enjoying himself and your company.  He gives you another smile, this one a lot friendlier and more genuine than the one earlier, before setting his elbows on the table and leaning forward.

“Look, I want to help you,” he admits, keeping his tone light, “but my hands are tied.  Just relax and share a drink with me until he gets here, it’s not a problem.”

Fuck, you don’t like this, and a quick look around brings another reminder of Din’s continued absence.  Your chest feels tight, the anxiety starting to compound and make you jumpy.  It’s been too long—it’s been at least forty minutes or so of waiting by now and something just feels wrong about this.  Not having him next to you feels wrong enough on its own, but when he specifically told you he’d be here?

You clench your jaw and try to work up your nerve.  Karga is a nice guy, right?  He knows you by name, he knows who you are to Mando.  And while you never really thought about the bounty hunter’s omnipresent protection as being anything other than metaphorical, you suddenly realize that… it might be literal, too.  How much sway do you actually have here, you wonder?  You’re not stupid, you’re not going to try anything stupid, but maybe just another question won’t hurt?

“Well, um… how do you become a member, then?”  You ask him, and you watch as he leans back in the booth, raising both eyebrows at you.

“Excuse me?”  He asks, though there’s a genuine amusement in his voice.  Stunned that you’d even say the words aloud.

“I have four bodies,” you tell him shortly.  You’re still quiet about it, but his thoroughly entertained astonishment is beginning to rub you the wrong way.  You don’t want to be part of the Guild, you don’t want to be here, you’re doing this out of growing necessity.  “One of which I dragged through a blizzard on Hoth by its ankles and put into carbonite myself, so please just tell me what I have to do to get you to take them.”

“I can’t,” he repeats, shaking his head like you’re just not getting it.  “New members are only accepted if they bring in an S-level criminal from the database or if they complete a commission that was granted to them by someone of my station—neither of which apply to you.  If you cannot present me with any sort of reasonable argument for which they could, then I’m afraid this is not a favor I can swing.”

“I was sitting right here,” you return, suddenly finding your voice.  If Karga wants an argument from you to get this to happen, then you’ll do it.  You just need to finish this exchange, go back to the Crest, and scan around for Din’s signal.  “When you first gave the pucks to Mando, I sat right here and you pushed them over to this side of the table—I was present for the commission and now I’m here to complete it.”

He shakes his head.  “But I didn’t give them to you, I gave them to Mando—”

“Yes, but you only wanted to give him three,” you immediately point out.  “The last one, the one I told you I put into carbonite—you said you threw it in because you liked me, it could’ve been for me.”

Karga suddenly stops and blinks at you for a few seconds, and you bite your lip, wondering if the logic will hold.  It’s flimsy as fuck and you know he could very easily rip it apart if he wanted to.  It could’ve been for you but it wasn’t, he gave it to Mando.  You also purposefully leave out the fact that you’re also the reason Mando only gave him three bodies in the first place; your only goal here is to complete this transaction as quickly as possible and leave.  You don’t like the fact that it’s taking Din so long, and you also don’t like the fact that Karga seems so keen on keeping you here with him, no matter how many reassurances he provides.  He said he wants to help you?  This can be his chance to prove it.

After a few extended moments of consideration, Karga finally shrugs like he really couldn’t care less before reaching across the table for the pucks and beginning to stack them in his palm.

“What is your last name?”  He asks, turning behind him to gesture for one of his men with a jerk of his head.  The bodyguard exits the cantina without another word and your eyes flick back to Karga’s.

“Why does it matter?”  You ask uncertainly, watching another guard approach with a holopad as he shrugs once more.

“It doesn’t, but we need something for our records,” Karga explains, grabbing the device as it’s tapped against his shoulder without removing his gaze from yours.  “I can just use Doe if you don’t feel like sharing—most of our members tend to prefer anonymity, including your companion.”

Your eyebrows furrow even as your heart continues to pound, wondering how they can afford to be so lax about some things but take others so seriously.  “You have him down as John Doe?”

“First name Man,” Karga grunts in response, finally breaking eye contact to begin navigating through pages on the holopad.

“Ah,” you say shortly, knowing you’d probably find the joke funny in other circumstances.  You’re not out of the trenches yet, you still feel the worry tugging hard at your chest.

“Very well,” Karga announces with a sigh, pocketing the pucks in his leather overcoat and then handing the holopad back to one of the men flanking him after a moment.  “Someone is collecting the carbonite plaques from your vessel as we speak.”

You give him a nod, taking a deep breath that you hope is slow and subtle enough to not give your anxiety away.  He helped you out, you’re halfway through this.  Now comes the exchange.  Now it’s his turn to give you the credits and four more pucks, that’s how this should go.

Only, Karga leans back in his seat and cocks his head at you.  “Unfortunately, I believe we have found ourselves in the midst of yet another predicament.”

Your heart continues to slam, praying you haven’t somehow majorly fucked things up by getting this far.  Din still isn’t here, why is he so fucking late?  He nearly froze to death and you handled a dead body just to make this meeting on time, where the fuck is he?

You raise an eyebrow at him, willing the building panic not to show on your face.  “Have we?”

“You’re lucky credits are attached to commissions instead of rank within the Guild,” he prefaces, pulling out a large handful of them to begin counting, and your eyes flick around the cantina while you know he isn’t looking, “or else you’d be getting about half of what I’d normally give him.”

Heart galloping when you still don’t see any sign of him, you just decide to keep extra quiet as you watch Karga divvy out a sizable stack of credits, hoping your prolonged silence will protect you somehow.

“The question now becomes…” he lifts an eyebrow at you while sliding them across the table to you, “how many pucks do I give you in return, hm?”

Fuck, you don’t like this, you’re trying to make it crystal fucking clear that your intentions do not extend beyond the perimeter of this table.  There’s no you to be found in this deal, you’re just an emergency proxy in Din’s absence and you only inserted yourself in the situation to accomplish that task.  “I told you I’m only here to exchange on Mando’s behalf, that’s it.”

“Be that as it may…”  Karga glances around the cantina like he’s thinking extra hard about it.  This is a made-up problem, you both know there’s no predicament here.  He knows you didn’t kill Mando, he knows there’s no real reason to be giving you such a hard time about this, and you clench your jaw as he still seems to take his time considering it.  “Tell you what, young lady,” he finally turns back to you.  “Do me the honor of sharing one sip of this fine spotchka with me and I’ll give you four pucks to pass along to Mando.”

Okay.  Okay, you can do that, if he really cares that much.  Karga gestures for the closest droid to come by with a glass for you, but you just grab the bottle in front of him and uncork it without thinking too much, balancing the glowing blue liquid with two hands and diligently taking a small sip of it before setting it down again.  Appearing satisfied with your demonstration of upholding your end of the bargain, Karga grins and reaches into another pocket.

“Four for Mando,” he pushes four pucks across the table, “same rate and return as last time, as promised.”  You nearly deflate in relief as you quickly gather them up and begin dropping them into the snoozing baby’s shield along with the credits, but then Karga reaches back and pulls out another puck, pushing it over to you.  “And one for you.”

You blink at him, frozen in place.

“Lowest level, lowest pay.  Not even a criminal by New Republic standards, just a missing person,” he goes on to say, but then quite suddenly… 

Quite suddenly you’re absolutely fucking horrified.

You don’t want it.  Everything inside you surges up to scream that you do not want that puck.  It’s a waste of time, even if it’s an extra job—it’s too much trouble, too much fuel for such a small reward.  You already know good and well that Din won’t want to bother, getting this extra puck would be considered a detriment to him.

“What if I don’t want it?”  You ask, sounding nervous and vaguely out of breath as you look down at it.

Karga scoffs.  “Of course you don’t.  Nobody wants these, why do you think I’m trying so hard to pawn one off on you?”

Shit.  This is not at all how you expected any of this would go.  You know he’s not really asking, even if his tone and continued courtesy implies it’s only a request.  There’s an expectation attached to this, and it appears you take too long pondering an offer that isn’t actually voluntary.  Karga stares at you and your clear apprehension for just a few seconds more, before finally giving you an ultimatum.  “You said you’re here on his behalf.  You either take all five pucks now or Mando only gets three next time, your choice.”

Oh.  Oh, no.  This is a lose-lose; three pucks means more fuel and less credits, five pucks means more fuel and less credits.  It’s not like you have any real bargaining power here—almost everything he’s done for you today has been a favor of some sort and you’re well aware that things can always get worse.

Still, you take a deep breath and try your best to throw around whatever weight you have left in one final agreement.

“Give me your word you’ll go back to giving him four from now on, no more hassling or hard time constraints and we’ll take it just this once,” you tell him, trying to conjure and put power behind your words even though you’re unsure if they’ll stick.

“Deal,” Karga readily agrees with a smile, reaching his hand across the table.  You have no choice but to meet him in the middle and clasp it, unable to feel anywhere close to good about your performance here.  It was clunky and insecure and even though you just barely succeeded in making the exchange overall, you’re massively disappointed in the specifics.

But then Karga’s eyes quickly flick over your shoulder.

“Ah, Mando!”  He suddenly calls out, and your hand nearly snatches away from his while your body goes rigid.

Oh, this isn’t good, this is not good.  Well, it’s good that he’s here but it also really fucking isn’t.  You don’t even turn your head; you sit completely straight and still while the cantina falls to a hush and heavy footsteps begin to approach behind you.  You fucked up—you fucked up, you didn’t wait long enough and you feel the sharp regret instantly twist in your stomach.  He said he’d be here, why didn’t you trust him?  Your anxiety and stress compounded and spurned you to act too quickly, you made the deal a few fucking seconds before he showed up.

And, as Din eventually comes into your peripheral, taking his time leaning his rifle up against the table, you immediately realize that you should not have worried.  Recovery isn’t even a word in his vocabulary right now—he’s more intimidating than he’s ever been, more powerful and certain and dangerous while he lowers himself into the seat next to you than he’s ever felt to you before.  Everything is so quiet now that he’s here; you feel like even just swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat turns into an audible gulp.  The man sitting across from you may own this cantina and every material good under its roof, but the one sitting by your side feels like he steals the literal air from the room just by walking inside it.

Yet, in spite of the daunting presence of the Mandalorian, Karga beams and tips his glass at him.  “I believe you’ve arrived just in time for your favorite part of the conversation, friend.  The farewells.”

You stare wide-eyed down at the table as Din leans back into the booth and very slowly extends his arm behind your shoulders, saying nothing at all to him.

The testosterone is radiating from him to the point of near suffocation, you can taste the alpha in the air.  Your heart slams in your chest at the unspoken claim he just made with a subtle movement, and though you’ve never been one for masculine displays, this one weirdly feels… good right now.  You know it’s primitive and crude and you’re not a piece of meat to be fought over, but it doesn’t feel like that at all.  It’s the immediate feeling of security that serves to heat your cheeks, the fact that you’ve been a nervous mess trying to be extra brave this whole interaction and then suddenly you have the backup of an entire army contained within one single suit of armor next to you.

If you weren’t internally panicking at how badly you screwed this shit up, you’d probably be going fucking feral for him right now.

Karga says your name and your gaze snaps to his, feeling like you can’t breathe.  “My associate has collected the plaques, nothing keeps you here any longer.  It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

Still, nobody at the table moves.

After a moment, you carefully glance up and to the side at the sharp, metallic profile of his helmet.  Maker, you can’t explain it—it’s like you feel terrified but not really for yourself, if that makes sense.  You’re upset with yourself for not having enough trust in his word, absolutely, but something in Din’s demeanor tells you that he’s going to be considerably less understanding of how Karga handled this situation than the way you did.

The helmet slowly turns down to look at you, and you bite your lip while carefully placing your hand on his thigh brace under the table, letting him feel your fingers brush against the bend of his knee.

He turns back to Karga after a few seconds, still not saying a single word, until eventually Din’s arm is lifted from behind your shoulders and you feel his leather fingers gently clasp your hand, before he starts to rise from the booth and pull you along next to him.  You both stand, and he silently presses a button on his vambrace without dropping your grip, urging the kid’s shield to follow along behind him.

“Um, goodbye,” you just barely remember to tell Karga as Din begins leading you away, apparently not waiting for the polite farewells he arrived in time for.

“Wait!”  A voice calls out just before you can make your exit, and Din pauses just in time for Karga to extend that damned fifth puck out for you to grab.  Right in fucking front of him.  “Can’t forget this!”

Fuck.  Great.  Thanks.

Blood rushes to your face while you go to reach for it, taking the puck and then placing it in the open shield along with four others in a way that you hope is casual but you know isn’t.  You close the lid on it and then squeeze Din’s hand slightly, but he stays rooted to the spot for a few more seconds, having watched the entire exchange play out.  Though you obviously wouldn’t be able to read his facial expressions even if you could lift your head to look up at him, you can’t will yourself to do so right now.  You’re too disappointed in yourself and nervous—you just stand there silently as he looks back at Karga, staring at your feet and praying he doesn’t do anything brash.

After too many moments of uncertainty, you squeeze his hand again and slowly begin to pull on it.  Without needing much pressure at all, he goes where you go, and you end up being the one to lead Din out of the cantina by the hand still tangled with yours.

*** 

The walk back to the Crest lasts an eternity.

Neither one of you say anything at all to each other the entire way there, and you know he’s not mad at you yet, but you’re worried.  You feel incredibly self-critical right now and it’s really not helping that he seems even quieter and more wound up than usual.  You don’t know if it’s because he already figured out that you just handed him extra work or if it’s because whatever made him late to the cantina also altered his mood, hit a reset button and reminded him of the way he used to be, the armor he’s wearing.  Was there a confrontation, you wonder?  Is he okay?  He seems like he’s… extra Mandalorian right now, there’s not really a better way to describe it.

He doesn’t drop your hand, though.  As you pass through the markets and shanty huts lining the streets, Din holds onto you.  Shoulders tense and strides heavy, but his fingers stay tangled in yours.

Regardless, you keep your mouth shut and eventually the Crest comes into view.  The ramp drops to the ground and the three of you make your way up, and you have enough foresight to carefully drop Din’s hand and lead the baby’s shield over to the unused cot built into the hull walls, closing him in a safe quiet place to sleep and continue building up his strength again.

You turn around to see Din press another button on his vambrace.  He stays with his back to you as the ramp slowly closes, but as soon as it latches up against the hull and locks into place, he nearly whips around and suddenly he’s right in front of you, gloves cupping your face.

“What happened?”  He asks sharply, the helmet looking you up and down.  “Are you alright?  Why did you look so scared?”

You reach up to rest your hands on his, blinking up at him and not knowing what to say.  How are you going to tell him?  He’s gotta waste extra fuel and time on a bullshit quarry because of you, what are you going to say?  You don’t even know if it’s last known location is nearby; he might have to fly to some remote, desolate corner of the galaxy just for a handful of credits because you couldn’t wait a fucking hour for him.

“I, uh…  I-I’m sorry, I just…”  But it’s nearly impossible to form a coherent thought when he’s this close to you and sounding fucking sincere, genuinely concerned about you while you’re stuck worrying about how to break the bad news to him.  “Oh, stars, um…”

“Did Karga fuck with you?”  He asks in that same sharp tone when you don’t finish your thought, but you’re so absorbed in your own conflict that you barely even hear him.  “Because I can go back right now, the cantina is just—”

“Okay wait, please—” You suddenly speak up, “before I tell you, just… please keep in mind that I did save your life two days ago, so…”

“Sweet girl,” Din rumbles slowly, a subtle warning for you to hurry up and spit it out.  His fingers tighten just slightly on your cheeks, still so gentle but needing you to communicate with him right now.

Tell him, you just need to tell him.  If he gets mad, then he gets mad, but at least he’ll know at that point and you won’t just be springing it on him out of nowhere.

“I fucked up,” you breathe out, eyebrows pulling up in the middle as you tighten your own grip on his hands.  “I’m so sorry, I fucked up and you were late and I got nervous and I didn’t wait long enough and I tried to make the exchange like you asked me to but then I had to take a fifth puck and I didn’t want to but Karga threatened to short change you next time around unless I agreed to take an extra one for the lowest pay just this once and I didn’t have any bargaining power and you showed up right after I agreed to the deal and I’m so so sorry—”

You cut yourself off with your own ragged gasp, not having paused once to breathe throughout the entire thing while your expression twisted up with regret more and more the longer he allowed you to speak.

Din stands there in front of you and doesn’t move, hands still attached to your face.

“Okay,” he eventually tells you.  Stunted words, like he’s trying extra hard to find them when yours just fell out of your mouth in a complete mess.  “It’s okay.  You did… good.”

The silence is tense and you’re becoming more and more anxious the longer he takes to speak.  He’s lying for your benefit, he must be.  When he drops his hands from your face and takes a full step back, you take the gesture as symbolic and nearly launch into panic.

“Maker, I’m so sorry I didn’t wait for—”  You start to say, but Din cuts you off.

“Did he make you…”  His back suddenly goes a little straighter, voice finding a quiet edge through the modulator as his fingers subtly twitch at his sides, “…Uncomfortable?”

You pull back at the sudden change in subject and furrow your eyebrows.

“Who, Karga?”  You have to think about it.  Did he make you uncomfortable, or were you just uncomfortable already?  You might’ve just been scared because you were making it scarier than it really was, you can admit that’s a valid possibility.  “Um… no?  I don’t know, not… not really, I don’t think.”

“No?”  He asks, taking a small step forward.  “You don’t know?  Or not really… you don’t think?”

You know you can only see the blade of his visor, but something makes you feel like you’re looking right in his eyes.  You even go back and forth between where you’re pretty confident each one is, trying to read his intentions right now.  It’s like he’s purposefully trying to keep space between you even though he looks like he wants to move closer, fisting his hands at his sides when he looks like he wants to touch you.

“No, he just… lowballed me towards the end of it and I got intimidated, but I’m also not…”  Your expression narrows in concentration while you try to find the words to explain yourself, wanting to be as honest as possible with him.  “I don’t know, I’m not like you.  I’m not that strong, but I’m trying to get better.  I think he was probably just being normal.  He did offer me alcohol a bunch, but I’m pretty sure he also did that last time, so—”

“And I didn’t like it the last time he did it,” Din says quietly, taking another small step forward.

You blink up at him, completely dumb.  This is what’s bothering him?  Is he really not upset with you at all for giving him more work?  It’s like the major fuckup on your behalf just went in one side of the helmet and out the other, he barely even acknowledged it other than the role Karga played.  He said it’s okay and you did good, which are like… five of the most common words in Galactic Basic, a Wookiee could probably find a way to say them.  How are you supposed to take that?  Were you just overthinking this whole thing from the very beginning?  You know anxiety tends to be irrational by definition, but has none of your panic from the past hour been justified whatsoever?

“Why were you so late?”  You ask him, but it’s not accusatory in the slightest.  It’s… concerned, worried about his well-being without having a real reason.  He’s clearly more than fine right now, he’s like a hurricane enclosed in metal and holding still in front of you.  Too much potential energy just waiting for a reason to be released, too much tension held tight and ready to snap.

“I’m sorry.”  He quickly reaches out to grab your hand and squeeze it, before dropping it just as quickly.  Fucking lightning quick, you’ll never understand how he can be so damn quick with all that extra weight strapped to him.  “It took longer than I thought it would and she’s not really someone you can rush.”  His response, ironically, feels very rushed, like he’s trying to address the tangent but also keep things on track, but something in the answer he gives catches your direct attention.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“Who is she and what can’t be rushed?”  You blurt at the same time, not even taking a split second to think about it.

Din stops short at the blunt question, staring at you in a silence that feels like it’s vaguely taken aback.

After a few moments of that… strangeness, of the two of you realizing that you’re both feeling slightly possessive over each other for absolutely no reason whatsoever, you start to feel… warm.  In another weirdly stupid, primitive way.  You know that letting those kinds of thoughts have their day in a relationship isn’t a good thing, but you can’t explain it.  Some deep-seated, prehistoric instinct inside you just goes fucking nuts whenever he gets in either provider or protector mode.  Now you understand exactly why he wanted to get you alone after you admitted to being jealous once before.  You totally fucking get it, you’re right there with him right now.  He hasn’t said anything, but you think he feels it, too.

“She makes things,” Din finally answers you, careful with his words and somehow managing to address your question while also sidestepping it, leaving you with only the smallest bit of information to go off of.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly.  “Maybe.  He could’ve just been trying to be friendly.  What did she make for you?”

“She made it for you,” he responds, again not really answering the question but continuing to juggle two separate conversations for your benefit.  “Did he scare you?”

“For me?”  You ask, eyebrows shooting upwards.  Provider, that stupid cavewoman DNA whispers to your lower body, making your voice go a little breathless.  “You asked her to make something for me?”

“Did he scare you?”  Din repeats sternly, grabbing your hand and giving it a firm squeeze.  “Because I can go back, I swear—”

Protector, it whispers this time, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Everything is scary when I don’t know where you are,” you admit to him, knowing it’s the truth regardless of how self-deprecating it sounds.  The only times you’ve ever truly been brave was because of him or the kid.  Stabbing a Corellian and then immediately flying the Crest out to him afterwards, walking through a pitch black forest believing a dangerous criminal was hiding in it, dragging a dead body through snow and shoving it into carbonite, standing up for yourself and pushing a deal through when odds were stacked against you.  Though it’s nothing to him, it’s nothing, it’s leaps for you.  You’re slowly learning to find a backbone, and he’s the one inspiring it.

Din holds there for a moment, unmoving with his hand still clutching yours.  You can’t get a read on him but you know how you feel right now.  Achy.  Hot.  Needy.  Wanting him to come closer.

“Will you do something for me?”  He asks you after a prolonged silence.  His voice is quiet, but… incredibly restrained.  Controlled chaos—his body is rigid and he’s flexing muscles that aren’t necessary for just standing, feeling like a sprinter holding still on the starting blocks.

“Of course,” you breathe out.

Din lets go of your hand and tilts his helmet over at the corner of the hull behind you.  “Go turn around and face that wall.”

You freeze, immediately recognizing the undertone in his voice.  Heat ladles deep into the pit of your tummy, sends warmth pooling downwards.  He wants to do this here?  Right now?

“We’re—” you look around the enclosed hull, “Mando, we’re not in hyperspace, we haven’t even left the surface yet…”

He looks around too, taking a second to blankly take in his stagnant surroundings like he had absolutely fucking no idea, before turning back to you and not saying a word.  Maker, everything below your waist is already stirring, twisting hot and deep inside, but you’re trying to be the voice of reason for a second.

“What if somebody hears us?”  You whisper, and Din cocks his head to the other side.

“I can help you stay quiet,” he murmurs, and… fuck.  You don’t know what it means, but you immediately imagine his hand held tight over your mouth while he takes some of this stress out on you and you already feel yourself wilting at the thought.  Okay.

“Okay,” you breathe without needing anything else at all, before spinning around and standing exactly where he told you to.  It’s just a corner near the back of the hull, nothing else here to look at besides two metal panels meeting at a right angle, but that’s admittedly what makes your heart start beating quicker.  You can’t see him come up behind you but you can feel it.  Slow, measured, but so restrained.

But then he stops almost immediately, before the back of your shirt is suddenly being yanked upwards and you remember at the very last second.

Din carefully grips his blaster and then eases it out of your waistband, the metal sliding warm along your skin from pressing against it for so long.  You never told him you took it with you, and he’s so fucking quiet behind you.  You have no idea how he’s reacting to that piece of information you originally didn’t think twice about.

“Do you like carrying my gun around?”  Din’s voice murmurs soft through the modulator to you, but then the blaster is tossed uselessly to the side, skittering loudly across the floor of the hull.

“Yes,” you reply, beginning to shyly turn your head back to look at him, hoping to gauge his response.

“Don’t turn around,” he quickly interrupts you, pushing your shoulder back into position and keeping you facing the corner.  You blink at the metal walls in a bit of a daze but follow instructions regardless, feeling your heart pound at the sudden display of dominance from him.  He has a very valid reason for it and you don’t realize what it is until a few seconds later, but even if he didn’t and he was just telling you what to do for the fun of it… you’d still like it.

But then his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head and you shudder as your vision is replaced with a familiar black abyss.  Fuck, his helmet, why does he like it so much when you wear this?  Admittedly, you don’t have much time to contemplate—as soon as it’s fitted and secure, he spins you around and you have to just do your best to maintain your balance, not having any visual to help.

“Can you hear me?”  Din asks, and your clothes start to be ripped off of you.  Your shoulders tip sideways with how quick he is about it, feeling him pull the fabric off and hearing the soft sound it makes landing on the floor.

“Yes,” you tell him, but he doesn’t respond, continuing to strip you completely naked in the hull.  Once your upper body is bare and he’s yanking your pants and underwear down your legs, you try saying it again as you step out of them, louder for him this time.

“I can’t hear you,” his voice grunts after a moment.  You know he’s in front of you but you can’t really tell where, now that he’s not touching you.  “Scream.”

You take a second, not having hard evidence anymore but still very well aware that you’re parked close to a marketplace on Nevarro and multiple people are nearby while you’re wearing his helmet.  This is dangerous for him, and not sure if you should, but then an arm is wrapping around your back and a large leather palm rests directly over your chest.  Din repeats his last word very slowly and clearly for you, waiting to feel it under his hands.

Your sternum lifts while it rises with your deep breath and then collapses as you diligently yell as loud as you can into the helmet, feeling like you might deafen yourself with the trapped sound.

“Good,” he growls, suddenly spinning you around and pushing you back into the metal paneling.  “I can’t hear you, be as loud as you need.  Hit me or something, put up a fight if you want me to stop, alright?”

Arousal rockets through you and you let out a moan already, taking advantage of the noise suppression and beyond turned on at this point.  You feel like you’re buzzing with it, lit up with excitement and wondering with bated breath what he’s planning to do to you.

“Alright?”  Comes his voice from behind you once more, and you quickly jerk the heavy helmet in a nod for him.  You can put up a fight and you know he’ll stop, you don’t have any problem with that and the fact that he specifically made sure to wait until he knew you understood him makes you start to pant inside the hollow beskar.

But then you feel him flick a small switch at the base of the helmet and then everything abruptly cuts out and goes dead silent.

Nothing.  Nothing.  You’re standing in a pitch black room where no other sound exists besides your own labored breathing.  Just like the waterfall on Naboo, but you can’t speak this time.  Temporarily making you blind, deaf, and putting a proverbial gag over your mouth all with one powerful piece of armor.

You shudder and he kicks your legs apart before you can do much else, yanking your hips back while you just try your best to cling to the wall for stability.  You don’t know what he’s going to do, you’re completely isolated in here and the only way you can even tell he dropped to his knees is the hot glide of his tongue through your pussy from behind.

Oh fuck—you arch into position as best you can while hands wrap around your ankles to pull them apart, trying to make the angle better.  His tongue licks softly over your clit and each time is like an electric shock jolting through your body, making you twitch back and up for him, stretching and begging him to do it again.  You can’t see anything right now so your mind readily imagines the visuals instead, providing you with a third party view.  Din, fully clothed and face shielded by your thighs, eating you out from behind while you brace yourself against the wall, completely naked and at his mercy, head tilted down from the weight of his helmet and living for the moments he decides to drag his tongue across your clit.

Without warning, a sudden burst of sensation ripples along your backside and causes you to lift the beskar in surprise, but without being able to hear anything, it takes you a second to figure out that he just smacked your ass.  The realization comes more or less at the exact time he decides to flatten his tongue and follow the curve of you back and up.

You gasp into the pitch black and there’s a moment where you just hold utterly still for him, experiencing and processing the sensation for the very first time.  His mouth is soft and warm as he tastes you here, his fingers digging into the swell of your cheeks to spread you open.  You’re glad your face is hidden so he can’t see the shock in your expression, the way your mouth drops and your eyes close as you let him explore you this way.

His gloved hands leave you for just a moment while he continues gliding his tongue against you, along every single bit of skin he can reach, and then you feel a bare hand reach up between your legs and begin to rub slow circles around your clit.  His other arm pushes against your lower back and you’re forced into the corner even more, your naked breasts pressing hard against cool metal and feeling his hot mouth and strong fingers work you closer to the edge from behind.

You’re panting into the helmet, your hips arching back to feel that stimulation on your clit better, and as his fingers move over it slow and strong, you feel a soft vibration against your skin and you realize he’s moaning into you.  The knowledge sparks a different kind of heat through you and makes you suddenly go still and tense right here.  If he stays just like this for even just a few more seconds, you’re going to cum.

“Din, I’m gonna cum,” your voice warbles inside the enclosed steel—just as his touch decides to abandon your body.  You groan loudly in distress, completely alone without his hands or mouth on you anymore, but all he likely hears is the silence of the hull and the way your palm smacks against the wall with it.  You were so close, everything feels like it’s pulled up so tight and painful and it hurts—

A hand clutches your hip and then a thick cock is suddenly pushing up against your soaking wet entrance, going to alleviate that twisting discomfort.  Your eyes roll back and your whole body goes limp as he slowly eases forward and breaks you open, fitting himself deep inside where you love to feel him most.  Your hands claw down the walls with a swell of bliss as he pulls out and then starts thrusting—and fuck, you love this.  You love the way he’s trapping you up against the corner and making you see stars at the same time, the way he’s supporting your weight but crushing down into you, too.  It makes you go boneless and want to riot simultaneously, groaning loud into the quiet abyss as he gives you what you both desperately needed.

One of his hands sinks down between your legs to play with your clit again, while a slick finger presses up against your ass and you gasp as he slowly penetrates you there, too.  Din’s hips work steady and powerful behind you, pushing you into the wall with every desperate thrust, using the arm shoved between your legs to support you as well as stimulate, and you just feel yourself move into a different place.  You don’t have a name for it but it feels like hyperspace.  Silence so loud it feels suppressing, faster than anything light can touch, nowhere and everywhere, hurtling towards something you can’t see but know lies in the distance.  You can tell he’s still fucking the tension out of his body, you can feel him working another wet finger inside you and stretching the virgin muscles back there, but every sensation begins to slowly blur together in a wicked uprising of ecstasy.

You don’t know where you are anymore, just that his fingers keep rubbing your clit and you think he's trying to ease a third into you when your destination abruptly arrives.

You nearly collapse when you cum, contracting so hard around his cock and fingers that you cry out unexpectedly—and because of the helmet, you think it’s just as unexpected for him.  He stops moving—everything stops moving besides you.  Your hips stutter backwards into his stationary body, dragging your clit back and forth against the tips of his unmoving fingers and fucking him as best you can.  It shatters white hot and goes straight through to your soul, wringing pleasure and wetness between your legs in waves.

Your knees are knocking against each other when Din pulls out, his cock still deliciously hard and now soaking wet with your cum, and then they just suddenly decide to give up without warning.  You don’t fall necessarily, but you do slowly slide down the wall like a slug and Din follows you to the floor instead of holding you up any longer.  His sternum moves quick and heavy against your back as he breathes and then suddenly the same switch at the base of his helmet is flicked, and sound bursts into existence all at once.

He’s panting.  Harsh breaths behind you that match the rapid pace of his chest, and the ambient noise of the rest of the hull.

“Can you hear me?”  He gasps, sounding fucking wrecked, and you nod the helmet against the wall while gravity and exhaustion and his beskar chestplate squishes you into it.  “P-Put up a fight if you want me t-to stop, p-please—” he rasps out, almost the entire thing air and so close to cumming, and then his knees lift just slightly and the blunt head of his cock presses against your other entrance.

And, if you wanted, you absolutely could.  He’s got you boxed into the corner but he’s not constricting your movements, he’s given you every ability to struggle.  You could easily throw an elbow back against his side, push against the wall to shove him away, smack at his arms or even just flail against his body in panic—you could do one or all of those things to signal him to stop and you know he’d do it immediately, he’s asking you to.  You could struggle.  If you wanted.

Instead, you just grab hold of the beskar strapped to his thigh and drop the helmet to your chest, nearly vibrating with the thrill and preparing yourself for it.  You know he’s gotta be inches away from orgasm, you know from the tone of his voice that he’s right there on the edge and it’s not like it’s going to last a long time.  Thanks to him, you also feel like you’re just as slick and wet back there as you are between your legs, stretched open by his fingers while you came all over him.  You want nothing more than to give this to him, to let him be the only person in the universe that knows how you feel this way.

When you pointedly do not put up a fight and even go so far as to arch your lower back for him in presentation, Din curses and his fingers begin jerking back and forth over your sensitive clit once more.  It might normally be too much for you, but your body is sparking with lust and quickly acclimates to the stimulation, learning to burn and ache for it, too.  Fuck, it feels so good, you tense and melt into it at the same time, letting him ease you back up to that peak once more.

He pushes up against the tight ring of skin and you can’t fucking explain it—his fingers keep rubbing your clit and he’s slowly pushing into your ass and—

“I—I think I’m—” you suddenly lift the helmet to gasp out in surprise, forgetting he can’t hear you, “ngh—D-Din, I think I’m gonna c—”

He’s just barely able to breach the tight entrance and fit the head inside before he freezes—and even though everything happens consecutively, it’s all so rapid that it feels simultaneous.

Your hips could go forward, but they don’t.  Your body decides to send you backwards into him, pushing him inside nearly halfway all at once as your muscles lock down and just fucking strangle his cock.  Your piercing scream gets trapped in the silence of his helmet as you cum once more—painfully, madly and with every fucking part of you for him.  There’s maybe one or two mind shattering pulses of ecstasy before the rest of your body catches up and starts convulsing, and by then Din is already gasping and fumbling behind you, suddenly realizing what’s happening without hearing the sound of your ragged warnings and then ripping himself away just in time.

He punches out your name when he cums like you just fucking snapped him in half—his body hunches and the beskar digs hard into your back as warmth starts splattering along your skin.  You crumple while he shoves his hips up against your spine, riding and working the orgasm out of himself while yours just fucking obliterates you.  You think you whine his name—or a curse word or something, but it gets strained and your lungs lose air every time his powerful armored body humps you into the wall of his ship.

Finally he eases up and you just lay there and listen to the ringing in your ears.  Blissfully empty, still pulsing from cumming so hard and feeling like your bones just decided to stop existing and the rest of you was okay with it since you were already on the floor anyways.  You feel him shudder and twitch behind you, letting go of that last bit of tension until he too allows gravity to slouch his heavy torso over onto you.

You both stay like that for a while, until your eyes close and your everything below your waist goes numb.  Eventually you feel him shift and your head bobbles as the helmet is slowly removed, but a large palm cradles your chin to stop your face from slamming into the wall in exhaustion once it’s off.  You just continue to melt into the paneling like you’re nothing more than goo of a human being while he trades it back to its rightful place on his shoulders and tucks his cock back into his pants, before wrapping his arms around you and lifting you both up.  The floor and metal walls, once feeling like you and them were one, suddenly decide to disappear entirely as you’re hauled up into Din’s powerful arms.

He slowly carries your naked, fucked senseless body over to the fresher, and you squint your eyes open over his shoulder to see… he’s still got his rifle slung around his back while his cum is dripping down yours.  Not a single thing on him is out of place and you’re, well… a mess is a word that works.  Limp and doll-like, carried like your weight is practically nothing to him after years of having the densest armor known to the galaxy strapped to his body.

Setting you down is a mess, too.  At some point you think he just gives up and decides to return you to your humble floor abode with a patience and care unexpected from someone who just defiled you so thoroughly.  You hear the fresher door open and the faucet squeak, before he turns back around and crouches to your level.

“Stay here,” Din tells you lowly, his modulated voice coming gentle and warm through the sounds of water raining down against metal.  You don’t feel his touch directly, but your hair moves away from your face.  “I’ll be right back, okay—just stay here.”

Can do.  Easy.  He waits until you murmur a soft mhm to him before he leaves the tiny compartment, and then you soon hear his heavy footsteps ascending the ladder to the cockpit.

***

You don’t think you fall asleep, but the powering up of the Crest’s thrusters make you realize your eyes were closed.  Opening them barely qualifies as a squint though; you look around to see steam slowly filling the fresher, the water already running hot and welcoming in the small room.

You know you need to shower but you’re so fucking exhausted, you feel like you can’t even move your body.  You also know you can just do the same exact thing in there as you’re doing in here, you just need to muster up the energy necessary to get inside it and then fall back asleep.  He set you down in the small little space outside the shower door and then got everything set up for you, you can at least stand up and take a few steps.

Unfortunately, you might pick just about the worst time possible to plant your hands on the ground and work to struggle upright on all fours like a newborn animal.  The steady rise through Nevarro’s atmosphere pushes gravity down harder than you’re expecting—is he trying to fly quickly or are you just that dead-limbed?—and then of course, by the time you do manage to fight it and successfully get on two wobbly legs to hold yourself up, the subtle shift of the hyperdrive kicking in nearly knocks you back down again.  You stumble and grab the walls, bracing yourself against them and looking down at your knees in exasperation.  Come on, work.  Move forward.  Come on.

You’re glad he’s not here to witness this monstrosity, honestly.  Just opening the door and taking a few steps into the fresher is a feat—while you’re not in any pain and he didn’t leave any marks on you, you just feel… steamrolled.  Ran over by a truck.  Only having the strength to keep your feet beneath you as you finally move under the water and close the door behind you.

Oh, but this is wonderful.  This was such a good idea, he’s so fucking smart.  The shower falls warm and lovely against your body, wetting your hair and immediately heating you down to your bones.  You don’t move really at all—you kinda just stand there and slouch, closing your eyes against the spray and slowly breathing the mist into your lungs.  It feels so nice—not really restorative even though you like that word, it would imply the water provides you with any energy whatsoever.  It just feels like a comfort, a relief and sedative for your already wildly fatigued body.

You haven’t been in here for more than a minute or two when knuckles tap gently against the metal walls of the fresher, before the natural bass of Din’s unmodulated voice murmurs from somewhere beyond it.  “Hey.  Keep your eyes closed.”

How did he know?  You figured you’d be way ahead of him.  You’re standing but slumped over, wanting nothing more than to just say fuck gravity and pass out right here.  The walls are too cold to lean against now that you’re all toasty from the heat and steam, so you’re just unconsciously swaying on your feet, trying to balance the precedence of sleeping versus not falling over.  You don’t even comprehend the sudden flip of the light switch overhead beyond the fact that it makes it easier to snooze without being so bright behind your eyelids.

The door eventually opens at the very same time you realize you never answered him, but you just commit to the silence at this point.  It’s easy, you like it.  Soon you feel warm hands touch your shoulders, slowly spinning you around while you follow and hang your head, your neck not wanting to support it any longer, and then suddenly a bare chest is pressing up against you and powerful arms are wrapping around your body, and you can just lean all of your weight into him while your head rests right here on his shoulder.

He holds you without moving for a long time, keeping you just like this—your ear pressed against his skin while water rains hot and comfortable down your back.  Knowing you’re facing one of the walls, you crack your heavy lids just the slightest bit and finally notice the tiny compartment is dim and shrouded—the only light source is a single one coming from somewhere in the hull beyond the partially closed doorway.  It’s dark and quiet and you can barely see anything besides the metallic fresher walls and unfocused droplets chasing each other down Din’s naked skin.  Just you and him, flowing water with a sheet metal backdrop.

You think you spend an eternity like that and yet you still find yourself wanting another when he finally shifts, reaching over you to grab a bar of his generic soap but making sure to use the arm whose shoulder you’re not currently resting against.

It glides slow and hypnotic down your back, dragging up over your sides and then back down the curve of your spine.  He’s so sturdy and he doesn’t say a word while he does it, lathering it along your body and rubbing it into your skin.  His bar of soap, not yours.  They started out almost the same since you picked them up at the same vendor, but there’s just a slightly bolder and sharper scent to his that you recognize.  How the bar is far larger than yours because of how often he’s gone away.

Your eyes droop and you feel the water trail over your lips, dripping down your chin and pooling the dip of his collarbone.  The only other time you two shared this fresher was terrifying and he’s rewriting the memories right now, whether consciously or not.  Hot water, not freezing cold.  Standing upright and supporting you.  Heart beating strong under your ear, taking care of you this time until you can care for yourself.

You… you just worry so much more now, it’s becoming an issue.  You didn’t realize how much until you nearly lost him, and you know in your heart that he’s just going to go away again.  Throw himself into more danger, tempt death as always, risk his life for mere credits while all you can provide in return is this.  Skin to skin contact.  Someone to hold.  Someone who knows him, who knows the way he struggles between reaching out for a softness that life has always denied him and clinging to what is rough and familiar.  Someone to remind him that there’s still gentle and forgiving things in this galaxy that won’t disappear when he’s gone, and that he can always come home to them, as long as he can manage to find his way back.

Something sad tugs hard at your chest.  You want to tell him not to leave.  Again, again—you want nothing more than to beg him to stay.  You don’t have anything better to offer instead; if he asked you how it would work, how you imagine your lives would go if he wasn’t hunting quarry on a constant timetable, you’d be hard-pressed.  You don’t know.  But you know what you want to say, because it’s two words you shouldn’t say but always find yourself needing to say regardless.  

Don’t go.

But, instead of two words, you give him three.

Instead of asking him not to leave you again… in the haze and comfort of his arms, you think you just tell him that you love him.

And… you also don’t think the water falling down on the two of you is loud enough to cover it up this time.

It’s not ideal, you know.  You know.  From his point of view, he just got finished releasing all sorts of pent up tension on you, overwhelming your body with the strength and power of his in a way that normal people wouldn’t take as an expression of affection.  But you know him.  You know that he finds it much easier to express the things he feels in a physical way, which is why there’s a bar of soap against your back right now instead of his voice in your ear, telling you all the things you’ve always wanted to hear from him in return.  You know that sex is how this all began and it’s likely just the closest link between roughness and sweetness that he can really put his hands on, something that can fit him equally as well as it fits you.  Love is different, it’s thrilling and scary.  Even to someone like him, who lives everyday of his life surrounded by thrilling and scary things, who’s seen more bloodshed and suffering and pain than you can ever even imagine, you know that it’s scary.

Din doesn’t say anything back to your confession, and truthfully, not a single part of you was expecting him to.  It wasn’t said so he could say it back.  It just is.  Some things don’t need explanations, they just are.  You’re okay with that.

But, you eventually come to realize that he always waits until you’re just on the very edges of sleep, holding out until your blurry vision and fading consciousness can trick you into thinking you only imagined it.  You won’t ever figure out if it’s purposeful or if he just needs that long to find what he wants to say.

Another soft, lilting sentence in a language you wouldn’t be able to translate, even if you could pick out a single word.  It sounds so beautiful though, regardless of how mysterious and far away its meaning feels.  There’s something hidden underneath.  You ache to know what it is.

But you’re so tired.  You just whine softly against his shoulder, not being able to transform the thoughts into sentences anymore but hoping he understands regardless.  He can’t just resort to bearing his soul in Mando’a all the time now, especially when you’re always on the verge of sleep when he chooses to do so.

But at some point, his arms subtly tighten around you and the pressure is one of the only things that’s keeping you awake anymore.

“I won’t ever ask you to,” he says to you, the quietness of his baritone getting lost in the gentle spray and your looming slumber.  “I’m…  not allowed to ask.  I can’t.”

Your expression twitches just the slightest bit against his shoulder in confusion, wondering distantly what word or sentence you must’ve missed from before that would make him make sense.  Was that a translation?  Or a continuation?

But then your wet hair is slowly moved away from your nape and his head tilts down, face pressing into your neck and voice lowering until it’s nothing more than a breath against your skin, nothing more than a confession that he couldn’t ever say out loud with his full chest.  It’s a secret he only ever wants you to know, a truth he’s choosing to admit to even though you could ruin him with it.  You have no idea how much, you won’t know for a long time just how much power he’s giving you by telling you this one very simple thing.

“But whenever you want to look,” Din finally whispers, the only version of I love you too that a Mandalorian knows.  “You can.”

[merakiui]

Cat’s Cradle

anonymous asked: heya theree, can I request one-shot for yandere childe and healer fem!reader? after reader accidentally save him when he injured, he always following her and it's make reader really suspicious of him, because he is a fatui. she feel relieved when Lumine came because it distracted Childe attention on her. but when reader start enjoying her normal life again with her friends (Chongyun and the others), the jealous Childe Actually planning something behind her to trap her forever with him?ah sorry if this is too long ( ；∀；)(っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ

yandere!childe x healer!(female) reader art credit - shinyshynii on twt cw: yandere, implied stalking, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, manipulation, lying, mentions of murder/death, blackmail, rite of descension spoilers note - I modified your request just a little. I hope that was okay, anon! 

i. the introduction of blue and green.

Through the haze of addictive bloodlust, your hands reach out to mend the scrapes and bruises that litter his body like splattered paint on a torn canvas. Soft and gentle, it’s a contrast to the calluses that have amounted on his palms from years of handling weapons and giving his all in countless fights. In the background, a few meters away, a fallen Ruin Guard lies in a heap of various parts. That very thing had pursued you through these labyrinthine ruins with the vicious intent to kill. You’re grateful to the man who kneels before you like a prince accepting a crown, and so you choose to repay him in the only way you know how: with the soothing touch of your healing abilities.

Your hands calmly work their magic, fingers pressing into stiff muscles to release the tension and cast away any imperfections. His eyes are on you while you do this and he grins when your gaze shifts to find his.

“That should be about it,” you say, withdrawing your hands from his shoulders. “Unless there’s an area I missed.”

Without missing a beat, he tilts his head and replies, “Actually, you did.”

His teasing smirk tells you he’s up to no good, but you humor him anyways. “Oh? And where would that be?”

“Right here, sweetheart.” And his finger taps at his cheek. “Surely your savior deserves a little remuneration for his hard work.”

A kind smile makes its way onto your face when he stares at you expectantly. You hold up your hand to display the sparkling ring that hugs your finger. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. I’m engaged.”

He spies the ring for a short moment, his playfulness melting into quiet neutrality. “Your spouse must be a lucky person.” Straightening himself, he takes another look around at the dusty ruins, hands on his hips. “Well, I hope I can trust that you won’t get into anymore trouble. But if you’d prefer seeing this face I won’t stop you from finding danger.”

You shake your head, withholding a giggle, and the Pyro Vision around your neck rattles with the movement. He’s drawn to it at once, curiously observing the weathered material with a raised brow. There’s an odd glint in his blue eyes when he comes to an internal conclusion, but it dulls before you can ask any prying questions. From the looks of it, something has clicked within his mind—or perhaps you’re simply reading too much into his gestures. Upon realizing this, you take a step back in case he were to lash out.

When you analyze him from this distance, you can easily pick out the mask that sits in his hair and the clothes that fit his body nicely. Simply put, he is a member of the Fatui and you wonder just how powerful he could be to defeat a Ruin Guard in one fell swoop. At the implication of such monstrous strength, a wave of envy washes over you. Even with your Vision, you surmise you wouldn’t be nearly as strong as he is, which is a stab in your confidence. The difference between the both of you is clear as day: he can handle a Ruin Guard, whereas you cannot. 

Before you can wrap yourself in these web-like thoughts, you bring yourself back to reality, already sensing the end of this stagnant conversation. With the polite flair of an aristocrat, you bid him farewell. 

“You can just call me Childe!” he calls after you. “There’s no need for ‘sir.’”

Without turning around, you add, “Very well then, Sir Childe.”

He releases an amused breath at such a blatant jab and watches as you depart, your figure shrinking against the backdrop of the pastel sky.

And thus the first few threads overlap wildly, stringing together patterns that spell out impending doom. 

ii. the crossroads at which fraying strings intercept.

Like a shoddy cat’s cradle, you’ve found yourself in quite the tangle. The strings of fate interweave in an undesirable pattern, showing an event that has not yet graced you with its presence. Somehow you’ve caught the eye of that strange Fatui and while you’re certain it’s a direct result of your incompetence when it comes to settling debt something is still amiss. Whether it’s your failure to repay countless loans or he’s simply bored with nothing to do, there is one consistent thing that manages to keep you patiently waiting for another dreadfully inevitable meeting.

He’ll always find you even when you wish to remain undiscovered.

Childe, as he prefers to be called, lives up to his alias. Playful and teasing, he’s caught you on the streets of Liyue Harbor more than once, easily falling into step beside you as he ponders the weather or where you’re currently heading. You’ll deny him the pleasantries, getting straight to the point whenever he tries to wring a conversation out of you. You’ve told him plenty of times before that the two of you are not friends. He helped you once and you repaid his favor in full; therefore your relationship should not bear any fruit. And even when it does it falls from the tree at once, spattering in rotten disarray. 

Even now, as he grins at you with that bothersome hint of mischief in his gaze, your Pyro Vision is begging to incinerate him where he stands. As your luck would have it, you are currently in the middle of the marketplace and such a crime cannot be committed for the public eye to see. Instead you stand there with the elegance of a porcelain statue, an empty basket gripped tightly in your hands. The familiar sensation of the woven basket grounds you even when he places his hand upon your shoulder, searching for a reaction you refuse to give.

“Never pinned you as the sweet type,” he says, applying just a little pressure. 

“And I never pinned you as the stalker type.” Your smile is thin—hardly filled with the same amusement that’s twinkling in those subdued eyes of his—and it takes all of your restraint to remain poised. 

“Hah. You’ve got me there, sweetheart. Guilty as charged.” Withdrawing his hand, he glances sidelong at the fruit stall you were trying to peruse moments ago. He has the gall to pick up an apple as if the two of you are on a mere shopping date—as if your errands hold no significance other than pure entertainment for this bothersome individual. “Before you sign my death certificate and give me a free cremation, walk with me.”

Not a suggestion. A demand veiled within the softness in his tone.

“Sir Childe,” you murmur, plucking the apple from his hands just as he flicks a shiny coin at the stall’s owner, “I’ve got things that need tending to and you are not included in my afternoon plans. So I would appreciate it if you could leave me alone for the time being.”

“Oh?” His stare is sharp and predatory as it cuts through you, observing the way you sink your teeth into the apple—more so to spite him than to quell your hunger. His chuckle irritates you, but you hide your displeasure behind a sturdy façade. “I’m offended you won’t even spare me a fraction of your time.”

“A minute spent with you feels like an eternity of suffering in Diyu.”

“Ouch. That’s a little cold, wouldn’t you agree? Surely there’s some warmth in there. You do possess a Pyro Vision, after all.”

“Hilarious.” You fix him with a disappointed frown, already kicking yourself for your next action. “Very well. I’ll walk with you if it manages to get you off of my back for the rest of the day.”

“Great! I knew you’d come around.”

It doesn’t feel like a proper choice, but you don’t have time to mull it over as he redirects your path. Sighing, you focus on the half-eaten apple in your hand while he talks about the upcoming Rite of Descension. From the sound of it, he seems curious about the entire tradition, going so far as to compliment Liyue and its unique flair for events.

“I’m excited, too,” you mutter, but it’s almost sinful that your opinions match. “There’s a lot of preparation to be done. I’m sure everyone’s working hard.”

“That’s to be expected. It is a big event, you know.” His intonation changes on that last sentence, but you overlook it in your objective to ignore it. “That reminds me. I never got your name.”

“It’s Mei.”

“Is that so? That’s a lovely name.”

“Please stop with the flattery,” you say in the sweetest voice you can muster. “You do realize compliments will get you nowhere with me.”

“It was worth a try.”

“If you’d be willing to sate my curiosity, could you tell me why you wanted to take this walk? It couldn’t have been for sightseeing.”

Childe inclines his head towards the sky, eyeing the fluffy clouds that move to block out the sun. And then his gaze settles on you again and his eyes are filled with a new emotion: hope. It’s weird to see such a feeling on his face and you take a step away from him as a result.

“I was wondering, dear Mei, if you could possibly accompany me for dinner. One evening. Just the two of us. I promise I’ll leave you alone after this. As you may already know, my job can get quite busy.” He taps his mask when he says that, his eyes darkening as the sun finally cowers behind the clouds. “How about it?”

“One dinner...” It sounds so tempting and that’s why you shake your head. Too good to be true, which is a saying you’ve heard many times, and Childe fits it perfectly. “I’m sorry, but I’m also very busy because of the Rite. I don’t think I can make time for you.”

“But you did now.”

“I suppose so, but I can’t wedge you into my schedule whenever you want.”

“I’ll be paying.”

Your breath hitches. “You... Hold on.”

You’re eyeing the basket with uncertainty, firmly against the idea of a dinner date with Childe. But he’s going to pay; you won’t have to waste any of your minimal savings for the sake of seeming respectful. It’s practically a free meal and if he’s going through all of the trouble to invite you... What’s stopping you from accepting and ordering half of the menu in the gluttonous pursuit of running his funds dry?

“Okay. Fine.” Those words burn your tongue when you speak them, having surrendered to him once again. “One meal. After that, you’ll stop stalking me and I’ll move on with my life.”

“Of course. It’s the least I can do for my favorite healer. As a parting gift, why not—“

You’re already grabbing his arm to soothe whatever ache has befallen it. You surmise it’s better to comply rather than object. Until that dinner ends, you should act wise when you’re with him. Childe doesn’t complain as you heal his surface injuries, but he does tense up as your hand moves to cure the other invisible areas on his chest and shoulders.

Eventually you pull away, satisfied. “Perhaps I should start charging you.”

He chuckles humorlessly, spying the engagement ring that kisses your finger. “We’ll see about that, sweetheart.”

No matter how annoying he can be, you’re relieved he’s finally going to put an end to this strange relationship you’ve cultivated over the course of two weeks. And all you have to do is suffer through one dinner. A free dinner, might you add.

Still, there is an underlying regret that bites at your intuition. Like a candle that burns precariously, you snuff it before it can erupt in a full-fledged conflagration. 

iii. the twisted pattern of a cat’s cradle, now mired in cyan misfortune. 

Time passes, as does the Rite of Descension, and you’re left with no sign of Childe. It makes you wonder if he up and died, having grown so overworked with his Fatui job that it killed him. You suppose that would be an ideal finale to this situation, but there’s still an uncomfortable stagnation in the air. It’s not surprising, especially since the events from a week ago have had such a massive impact on Liyue. The harbor has become somber and tense with the untimely passing of Rex Lapis and the locals have grown restless with suspicion. Everyone’s wondering who could possibly be responsible for such a heinous crime.

In the back of your head, you think about Childe and the strength he displayed when he beat down that Ruin Guard. Could he be powerful enough to bring death to your nation’s Archon? It’s a disturbing thought that should leave you with a fresh bout of terror and yet you consider it with the same amount of neutrality you’ve been feeling since Rex Lapis’s corpse fell out of the sky.

It’s a tragedy, of course, but your emotions are misplaced. There are lots of reasons to mourn your Archon’s death. Those who fear for the future of Liyue and its economic prosperity will grasp onto the idea that their Archon remains with them internally. As if he’s locked up within their hearts like a poor canary. But Rex Lapis’s passing also brings about hope for a new era—one that might show vast improvement in comparison to the past. You doubt such a grand change will happen within a few years, but it does feel nice to dissolve into a state of wishful thinking.

You’re tapping at the intricate ring on your finger, holding it up against the late afternoon sun. It winks as the light refracts within the polished crystal. Briefly, you ponder its monetary value. You’re certain that you could get a decent amount for it, but it still wouldn’t be nearly enough to settle your debt with the bank. Your mood sours when you think about it, the mere implication of debt clinging onto your figure like strands of ivy.

You release a wistful sigh as you move away from the wall, fully intent on taking the route home. Childe didn’t show his face today either. Perhaps he truly has died. That idea sticks with you as you pass the various stalls littering either side of the cobbled walkway. You maneuver around a group of teenagers, all of whom talk amongst themselves eagerly. And just when you’re on your way up the steps, you sense the uncanny presence of Childe.

Maybe it’s his stare that you feel—something so sharp it pries deep into your very soul to search for the flaws you’ve buried. Or perhaps it’s the way he’s already behind you, ready to tap your shoulder or grab your wrist to catch you off guard. At once, you whirl on the stairs, covering your Pyro Vision with your hand. Unfortunately, he’s standing on the step below you, very much alive and well with an odd expression.

It’s impossible to decipher the emotions—or lack thereof—on his face.

“Sir Childe.”

“Mei.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you. If I’m being honest, I thought you died.”

A smirk breaks through the plaster of his mask. “And leave you after I invited you to dinner? Unimaginable.”

Rolling your eyes, you fold your arms across your chest. “Let’s get on with it then. I assume you’ve already chosen the restaurant?”

“Of course.”

There are lots of thoughts going through your mind as you follow him, but one remains the loudest. He’s too quiet—too tame for your liking. Although you can’t truly determine the legitimacy of your observations because you don’t know Childe as well as one might think. On the surface, he seems valiant enough: an attractive gentleman with a youthful face. But under all of that charm and sparkle lies dark secrets, unsavory relationships, and an unsatisfied thirst for something dangerous.

This is all purely speculation, but it is interesting to imagine all sorts of tales about Childe’s hidden dark side—if such a thing even exists within him. And the more you spin such gruesome tales, the more tangled your cat’s cradle becomes. Strings overlap in the pursuit of purification, mixing colors according to the color wheel and dyeing every new strand in beautiful hues. If one were to attempt to untangle the mass of yarn that connects you and Childe, they would fail within the first few minutes.

Even a bond as crooked as this one can bloom, entrapping one in its messy cat’s cradle.

The restaurant is definitely expensive. You can tell from the people who are sat within it, dining so primly in their luxurious attire. The interior design is minimalistic, yet striking to an opulent degree. You’re so wrapped up in admiring everything that you fail to comprehend Childe as he pilots you in the direction of your table, guided onwards by the hostess. She sets two decorative menus on the neatly set table before making herself scarce.

And thus begins your dinner with Childe.

You’re sat across from him, the both of you making eye contact before opening up your own menus and taking a few moments to read over the contents. Every dish has you salivating; if you could try everything you would. If there’s one thing pleasant about this predicament, it’s that he’s got the money for frivolous spending. While you read over each item and its price, tallying up an imaginary total, Childe sets his menu down. His hands are steepled as he stares at you, picking out your intense contemplation.

“I do love dinners like these,” he says and you raise your brow, the only indication that he should elaborate. “You can learn so much about a person just from spending an hour or two at a restaurant with them. From their food preferences to the type of drink they’re fond of, there are all sorts of things for you to discover.”

“I see.” Your eyes skim a particular seafood dish and you wonder if you’d be able to finish the entire thing. “Interesting...”

“Everything comes to light during a nice dinner. Table etiquette, drunk gossip, and even dirty secrets.” When you don’t look up from your menu, Childe chuckles. “I noticed you were waiting for me at our usual spot.”

“I wasn’t,” you snap, flustered. “And it’s not ‘our spot.’ Don’t call it that.”

“You really are too cold.” Feigning hurt, his lips tug into a childish pout. “And here I am, treating you to such a lavish meal.”

“I’m thankful, if that’s what you were hoping to hear.”

“Hm. Perhaps.” He leans back in his chair when you finally fold the menu, setting it down on the table. He’s looking at your engagement ring for what feels like the nth time since you first met. “About that ring—you mentioned you were engaged. How long?”

“About a year and a half, I’d say. Why?”

“Just curious. You seem rather young to be married.”

“You’re awfully inquisitive tonight, aren’t you?”

“Isn’t it natural to ask questions when you’re on a date?” Your hesitation brings light to his azure eyes. “Furthermore, the least you could do is entertain my questions. I won’t pry...unless you want me to. If that’s the case, I’m sure we can arrange something.”

Unamused, you tap at the table, searching for a waiter.

“Was your lover a nice person?”

“Of course.” And then your head snaps in his direction, bewilderment staining your once straight face. “Excuse me? I think I heard you wrong.”

“Oh?”

“You used the wrong tense.”

“The wrong tense?” He blinks back at you, owlish. “Did I?”

“Yes, you did,” you insist, now overcome with an impatience so intense it could tear you in half. You don’t have time for his pointless games. “You said ‘was’ when it should be ‘is.’”

“Ah.” He leans forward in his seat, losing all of his nonchalance. “Hah. I see.”

“I beg your pardon, Sir Childe?”

“You know, Mei, I can’t help but feel curious. You’re an enigma of sorts.” His brow furrows and then he shakes his head. “Well, not exactly. An enigma is meant to perplex you. So what does that make you?”

“I’m not sure. Please enlighten me.”

“An open book.”

“All right...”

“I was wondering what a lady was doing in such a desolate part of Liyue, in those decrepit ruins. It’s not wise to venture into unknown territory by yourself, especially if you aren’t strong enough to fend off enemies.” A knowing grin splits his lips apart, stunning you into frozen silence, and he swipes up the menu to hide such a haunting expression. “And then I started to think about other possibilities.”

Somehow you manage to find your voice. “Other...possibilities?”

“Maybe you’re visiting someone in the countryside or you simply got lost. Maybe you’re an explorer who enjoys living on the edge.” Childe lifts his eyes from the menu. “Maybe you weren’t alone.”

“You...are speaking pure nonsense. What does this have to do with my lover?”

“Of course! The lover. How could I forget? Or rather, why should I forget?”

“Huh?”

“I thought it was very crafty.” His voice lowers ominously. “It would be easy to hurry along the decomposition process when you possess a Dendro Vision.”

“Dendro? Decomposition? S-Sir Childe, are you sure you’re feeling well?”

“Are you feeling well?” The question is turned on you in an instant and you aren’t prepared to hear his next sentence. “After all, you killed a person.”

“That is a very heavy accusation.” Your pupils flit around the restaurant, frantic. “Where’s the waiter? I’d like to order now...”

“Is it?”

You glare at him. “Are you implying that I’m a murderer? You’re disgusting.”

“I’ve heard worse, my dear Mei.” His fingers drum along the menu, spider-like and ravenous. Your heart rate spikes out of control just as a cold sweat engulfs you. “Ah, but that’s not your real name. It’s (Name), isn’t it? You’re in a bit of a bind at the Northland Bank. Something about unpaid debt... That can’t be good.”

You bite your tongue so hard it breaks the thick muscle, bringing with it the metallic tang of blood. “My financial life has nothing to do with you, so please stay out of it.”

“You’re always saying ‘please.’ Did your lover say that to you when you left them for dead? When you took their Vision and watched as they battled that Ruin Guard?” His smile is toothy and far sharper than any blade you’ve come across. The menu finds the surface of the table once more. “I wonder just how hard they begged. You could’ve healed them, too, but that’s not good enough for you. A living spouse is worth nothing when you can’t inherit their funds in order to save yourself from debt. But a dead spouse can give you everything you need in order to avoid those pesky debt collectors.”

“That’s just vile. I would never stoop that low. I’m not a criminal.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“Obviously! You have no proof to back up any of your outlandish claims! It’s offensive you’d even think I’d do something so—“

“A person without a Vision doesn’t stand a chance against a Ruin Guard—unless they choose cowardice and run—but someone with a Vision could easily defeat one of those rust buckets. If we’re assuming your lover is a strong fighter, where does that leave you, the weak, little wife who only has her healing abilities and Dendro Vision to keep her safe?”

“That’s not—“

“Was it jealousy? Greed? To be honest, I don’t really care. But the Millelith will and they’ll want to arrest someone. Who do you think they’ll look for when they can’t find any suspects or a clear motive? What will they think when I show them your suspicious deposits? Surely your debt didn’t take care of itself in one night and yet the receipts tell me everything I need to know.”

You’re on the verge of snapping, glowering at your lap as you try to think of a suitable scapegoat. This is insanity in the rawest form: sick, twisted madness that keeps you glued to your seat. You’d make a scene if you could, but your table arrangement is positioned in the center of the room. From all sides, you’re going to lose and it’s a miracle the chatter in the room drowns out your own incriminating conversation. You can’t keep spinning your cat’s cradle anymore; the strings have withered away due to the dreadful truth.

“Like you’re any better,” you mutter bitterly. “You’re Fatui.”

“I suppose that’s something we have in common.” His hand covers yours, hiding the way it trembles like a tree in an unforgiving storm. “Cheer up. I’m not going to throw you to the wolves anytime soon. We’re on a date, after all.”

“How did you know?”

“I did a little exploring after you left and found a certain someone. You really are decorative with that Vision of yours.”

Your memories rush you at once. That sunny afternoon where you took your lover to those ruins—the very place you had been eyeing for months. You’d kept track of every creature and machine that passed through that area, calculating varying levels of difficulty and in the end you chose the Ruin Guard. It wasn’t much of a challenge to get your lover to hand over their Vision. Trust is known to be a double-edged sword and you wield only the finest of blades.

“You sat back and enjoyed the show.” Childe verbalizes your thoughts like a mind reader. “And when your lover was no longer of this world, you took the liberty of hiding them in a lovely grave of overgrown flowers and weeds. I must say, that’s quite impressive. Even I thought you were just a cute healer at first.”

Clenching your teeth, you finally break, tearing down the final pattern of your cat’s cradle. “It wasn’t just for money. I hate marriage, especially if it’s arranged. It’s annoying to be tied down against your will.” You’re toying with the dull Pyro Vision around your neck, a show of meekness. “I might have felt something for them if we fell in love naturally, but that was too much to hope for.”

Childe smiles as he takes all of this in, welcoming knowledge he’s already privy to.

Your voice softens to a barely audible whisper as you confirm the truth. “I let that Ruin Guard kill them. Without a Vision, they didn’t have much fighting spirit and I wasn’t going to heal them. I took their Vision because I hate mine. It’s useless to me. Plants might keep me alive with oxygen, but they aren’t going to give me strength. Even if I can’t wield Pyro, it looks better than this silly Dendro Vision.”

Your true colors are bathed in shades of ugly pessimism—of hatred and lies—and Childe feeds on such delectable negativity.

“What an entertaining turn of events!”

“So what are you going to do? Turn me in after this dinner? String me up because of all these crimes?”

“Would you like that?”

Your frown answers his question. Under all of your manufactured regret, you want to survive and live a new life—one that’s free of debt and arranged marriages. You want nothing more than to live a life full of adventure and peril. You want to be strong enough to take down multiple Ruin Guards. You want to be appreciated within the affluent circles in Liyue.

More than anything, you want a second chance. Yet the man before you holds your fate in his hands as if it’s a dying goldfish, mending those threads with his wickedness.

“You’re lucky you’ve caught me in a good mood,” Childe, after much deliberation, finally says. “Let’s make a deal.”

“A deal with the Fatui? Get lost.”

“If that’s how you truly feel, you wouldn’t mind a visit with the Millelith.”

“Get on with it.”

“That’s my girly.” You cringe at the new pet name and he chooses to overlook your uneasiness. “As for our arrangement... I’ll keep your little secret under lock and key if you do a small favor for me.”

“And that small favor would entail?”

“Fall in love with me.”

Despite the situation, you laugh. “I’ll die before I do that.”

“That’s too bad.” He removes his hand from yours, allowing it to hover over the utensils. An empty threat that means nothing when he has a Hydro Vision. “I was hoping you’d say yes. I wouldn’t want to subject you to a life of imprisonment, but if you wish to be difficult I have no problem spreading your secret.”

“No one will believe you. You’re a Fatui rat.”

“And you’re a rat with zero credibility. They might not believe me, but they’ll believe a dead person. In case you haven’t noticed, darling, corpses can’t lie and cheat. I hold every card the Millelith would need in order to convict you.”

An arrogant scoff escapes your dry throat.

“Rather than falling in love with me, why not be mine instead? Let’s skip all of the romance. I’ll tie up every loose end and you’ll never have to worry about the repercussions that come with your secrets.”

From the kitchen, a waiter finally emerges, his eyes tracking the table you and Childe are sitting at. You spot him from your peripheral. 

“So what will it be? You’d better make a decision quickly. Our waiter will be here any moment now.”

Filled to the brim with a foul sickness and desperately twisting cyan threads in an attempt to repair your cat’s cradle, you know it’s not fair. You aren’t given the luxury of a choice. You’re forced to adapt to the aftermath of your downfall. To come to terms with the abomination that is your cat’s cradle.

Childe’s victorious smirk melts into a benevolent smile as he adds, “Might I remind you that you have everything to lose. Choose wisely, darling.”