#haunted!mando

Slave I is quiet as it takes off from Gideon’s light cruiser. No one speaks to the Mandalorian - what could they say?

We’re sorry you lost your son, but it's for the best.

We’re sorry you lost your creed, but it’s for the best.

We’re sorry you have nothing but an unwanted prize, an unwanted duty, but it’s for the best.

No, they couldn’t say that. So they say nothing and Mando says nothing back - brooding in suffocating silence - broken.

Mando just tells Boba to drop him off in Sorgan, he’ll find his own transportation after that - he’ll figure out how to get off the backwater planet himself, if he ever does.

Boba doesn’t object, he thinks to himself: Sorgan, what could possibly be there for a bounty hunter, for the new Mandalore?

But Boba doesn’t know about you.

They reach the planet in the late afternoon, on the cusp of evening as the sun goes golden. It reminds Mando of you, how you stood in the sun and glowed with your own radiance, giving the burning ball of gas and stardust a run for its money.

Everything reminds him of you, though.

Mando doesn’t say a word as he exits the ship, no final words to any of them. He lets the ship take off behind him, he wonders where they’re headed for a brief moment before the small krill village comes into view.

His eyes dart from one thing to the next - the calm, reflective blue of the lakes, the villagers harvesting, the children playing, you, you, you.

Where are you?

A woman looks up from her work in the water, Mando recognizes her face but she’s not you. It’s almost painful how much she isn’t, her face isn’t yours and Mando feels like he can’t breathe.

Omera.

“Hello.” She seems surprised but cheerful nonetheless. Mando nods at her.

“W-What are you doing here- I mean, welcome, but-” Mando would chuckle at how caught off guard she is but he knows he’s intimidating.

Bigger armour, beskar spear, jetpack, Darksaber. He knows he’s terrifying, he knows how broken he looks, like the helmet doesn’t fit right on his head anymore, like she and everyone else can see right through him.

Mando speaks your name and he sees the brief moment that Omera furrows her brows - confusion consuming her - before she straightens out her face again, concealing whatever it was she was just thinking. Fuck, he already knows.

He already knows you’re not here, she doesn’t even have to tell him.

Mando’s shoulders visibly sag, helmet looking around the village helplessly, like a lost loth cat.

You fucking- you fucking hunter, unstoppable force, you. Of course you didn’t listen to him.

Of course you didn’t fucking stay here like he pleaded you to, didn’t let your arm heal properly and now Mando’s suddenly picturing you dead in a ditch on some backwater planet due to infection with the life drained out of you, no color to your skin, dead where no one knows your name, your warmth. Dead.

“When?”

Omera stammers, maybe feigning confusion.

“When did she leave?” He demands.

“N-Not long after you. Maybe a week.”

Mando boils hot and putrid. He can feel his body vibrating, shaking with it. He clenches his fists aimlessly.

He could barely keep the kid in one place, could barely get him to sit still, to listen to him. How could he have expected you to listen to him - he didn’t really know you.

Despite- despite what he may have thought in private.

Voices unfamiliar echo in the helmet, pathetic, pathetic, die, failure, reverberate and bounce around like someone’s punched him in the head. Maybe he has a concussion from those Dark Troopers, when they tried to bash in his skull.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking, coming back here. He’s embarrassed. He knows it’s pathetic, he knows.

Why would you have stayed here? He knew you wouldn’t, deep down he knew, he must have.

//

You couldn’t stay in Sorgan.

No matter how nice it was to spend your days by the water, surrounded by children and new friends, you didn’t belong there, you had more work to do and you couldn’t afford a vacation.

You don’t know if Mando actually expected you to listen to him, expected you to stay in one place for who knows how long, just waiting. But you couldn’t.

You have too much to do.

So you left when the week was up, just like you promised yourself.

You hopped on a transport near the cantina and found yourself on an unfamiliar planet with a familiar task - find the suppliers, then their supply, and reroute it to more deserving communities.

The first load you intercepted when you got back into the job, a heap of credits from some corrupt senator, was sent straight back to where you came from - Sorgan. You hope they don’t realize it was from you, you don’t see why they would but you just hope they don’t think you’re taking pity on them or anything. You just know they deserve the credits, as simple as that.

Maybe they could buy more droids to help with the harvesting, or nanny droids, or med droids, anything to help out.

You still smile when you think of Winta, Omera, all those kids. Even as you walk through disgusting cities, filled with vile men, you miss them. The memory of them keeps you warm.

Hopping from planet to planet is something you’re used to, something you’re familiar with. There was something unsettling about taking it easy in Sorgan. Maybe it would have been more durable had Mando and the kid stuck around but…

But they didn’t. So you can’t dwell on that too much.

You think about him. Not nearly as much as the first time you parted ways, no. You thought about him more.

You thought of the child as well. You thought of the both of them, you missed them more than you missed Sorgan, you missed them more than you missed swimming in Coruscant, more than you missed your parents, more than you missed anything.

Somehow, Mando had become the most familiar thing in your life, the only thing you felt like you knew and knew you right back. He fucked you over. You aren’t used to this, you can’t function like this.

You can’t stand up straight when your core has gone soft, you can’t fight and shoot when your arms are weak with the memory of him holding you.

Trying to forget about him was futile. It only made it worse - made the dreams, the nightmares, worse. Your body refused to let go of him, refused to forget the imprint he made on you, in you, like fucking memory foam.

People say time heals, maybe it does. As the months pass, as you find other people to take to bed, other senators, imperials, bounty hunters to kill, you grow apart from Mando. And you’re okay with that.

He was an accident, a bump in the road. You were never meant to meet him, to cross paths with a feared warrior like him.

He’s the type of person you run away from, and you did try to run. But he runs faster.

//

“Mando!” Karga greets as the feared bounty hunter, Mandalore, walks into the lonely cantina.

No one looks at him, they avert their eyes as he stalks towards the Guild leader.

The Mandalorian had become ruthless.

Warm or cold, he used to ask. Now there are no questions, he just takes.

Karga didn’t know how to react, what to say when Mando started bringing in all the bounties cold, taking the credits and demanding more work. It’s been going on for months now.

Karga knows he lost the child, knows he gave him up and became the unwilling ruler of his planet, knows he broke his creed. Karga knows the Mandalorian has nothing.

So Karga doesn’t say anything, no one says anything to Mando anymore, he’s too powerful. Ruthless.

Dead or alive, the pucks would read with unimaginable amounts of credits listed underneath. Mando always chose death, never even thinking about keeping them alive. It was a waste of breath, a waste of precious air on his ship. So he always chose death, it was more convenient.

He thinks you would have chosen death for these lowlife fucks as well. So he kills them and thinks of you.

Mando has been feeling… different. To say the least.

Wrong. He feels wrong.

Like something’s not right in his head anymore. Maybe he did get a concussion, maybe it didn’t heal properly. Maybe his skull cracked open when those Dark Troopers tried to kill him and something leaked onto his consciousness because the voices never stop.

They never stop, they’re never quiet and they’re mean, abusive. They make him ruthless, they make him kill. That’s what Mando tells himself.

Hunt. Hunt until you’re buried underground, Din. Hunt until you fucking die, until the soles of your feet are burning and your arms break in two. Kill them all, Din.

It never stops. The only thing that calms them is the killings. Their words turn sweet and kiss at his skin, kiss at his bruises and cuts and gashes and wounds.

Sometimes the voices sound like you even though he’s not sure what you even sound like anymore. It’s been months since he’s heard your real voice and he knows you never sounded so malicious, so evil.

But the voices purr like you did. They purr and they crawl up his spine like tentacles and pull him under until he’s drowning in you, remembering the sweet clutch of your perfect little pussy. They mimic you, a dizzying, inhuman copy of you that he barely recognizes. But it’s enough.

You’re s-so good, Mando - they’ll make you say, late at night when he needs you, needs something, anything to lose himself in. You’re so big, so strong- fuck you’re gonna make me cum.

He thinks about what it would be like to hear you say his name, the voices comply almost immediately.

So good, Din, you’re so- you’re so good at killing.

It’s so easy, with your voice. He’d do anything you want, and they know that. They use you, twist you, manipulate your voice till it's distorted and broken and fucked up and he cums all over himself before they’re yelling at him again. Yelling to kill.

Killing is the only thing that calms them.

So Mando keeps killing, and Karga keeps paying. Keeps giving him more pucks with nothing but nervous laughter, weary glances and little small talk. He used to indulge the bounty hunter in small talk, tried to make him comfortable, make him feel welcome. But the Mandalore will never be welcome. Not anywhere, not anymore.

//

You’ve been hearing whispers in the streets.

Whispers amongst the vendors, the junkies, the bounty and con men. Everyone was talking about it, it seemed; the whispers followed you from planet to planet. Talk of a new leader.

Whispers of a new Mandalore.

You don’t quite know what it means, what a Mandalore even is. But it makes you think of him.

You wonder if it’s him, if the Mando you once knew is now the ruler of the haunted planet.

It couldn’t be. That doesn’t sound like him, besides, he’s taking care of the child. So you push it to the back of your mind; an easy task here in Taris.

The air is smoggy, tainted yellow from years of pollution, destruction and decay. It’s hard to breathe here, and that makes it harder to think about him. You’re thankful for that.

You work on your speeder. Covered in grease and grime as you screw in another bolt, making sure it’s in place this time. You had gotten a new one after your last one was abandoned on Sriluur.

Stars, that must be over a year ago now. A year.

A year since you met- Nevermind. A year since nothing. A year since no one.

It doesn’t matter.

You wipe the sweat that threatens to bead down your forehead, no doubt smearing more oil on your face. Maybe you should clean up before you head to the cantina to find this week's Imps.

A hair tickles at the back of your neck and it makes you flinch. A distant clattering sound rings out through the alleyway, like someone’s watching you. Or was; there’s no one there when you turn around.

Yeah, you’ll just go clean up before you head out.

The whispers follow you on the street. They're making you paranoid, like they’re not the only thing following you. You’re jumpy, on edge. You’re never like this and you fucking hate it. Your hand hovers too close to your blaster and you’re making yourself nervous.

The catina is quiet, like you expected. The four men you had been tracking all over the city for the past week conglomerate together, just like you knew they would. There’s another lone patron at the counter, speaking with the bartender and that seems to be everyone. No one notices you as you creep through the shadows.

You take a seat further away from them, planning out your next move.

It’s always the same with you. You sit farther away, take your aim underneath the table, shooting one of them through the stomach, groin, chest - wherever you happen to hit.

Then the rest of them get up, heading for you, or running for the door.

You shoot first, always. Red flesh glows underneath the table as the man topples over, shot through the belly. He’ll bleed out, you’re familiar with this by now. You move on to the other men who are standing up to fight you. No runners today it seems.

You stand as well, approaching them and fighting quick. It’s always quick, they never last long, these men are easy.

You bash one of their heads against the bar counter, watching him crumble to the floor before you’re moving on to the next guy. Twirling around him, you twist his arm painfully behind his back before shooting him through the shoulder, through his heart and out the other side. Easy.

The last man runs. But you’re too fast. You reach for a dagger in your boot, launching it quickly at the getaway, nailing him perfectly in the back of the skull. He falls to the ground with a heavy deadweight.

Looking around the bar, the patron at the counter’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head but the bartender shakes his head, cleaning a glass. The cantina is eerily quiet again as you retrieve your dagger from the man’s skull, dark liquid spurting out of the new slit.

You bend down to your knees, fiddling through the deadman’s jacket looking for- got it.

Coordinates. A new shipment of medical drugs, just outside of town, the piece of paper reads. You should be able to reach it by nightfall if you make it to your speeder quick enough.

You hear footsteps behind you, you assume it's the bartender asking you to leave after that little show you just put on. You tuck the crumpled paper into the pocket of your own jacket and stand, coming to face-

It couldn’t be him. No.

This man, this Mandalorian is bigger, wider. He’s fucking menacing, standing only five feet away from you as your heart thumps wild with adrenaline, fresh kills and him.

He’s huge, terrifying like a silent monolith standing straighter than you’ve ever seen him stand. The beskar somehow fits him better now, or he fits it better, filled it out with rippling muscle and flesh

He looks like a proper mercenary with his beskar spear, jetpack and… and some sort of sword, saber maybe. It lays holstered by his side, long and dark. It’s scary. It’s been months since you’ve seen him, but-

It can’t be him.

It can’t be him but the way the helmet is trained on you is familiar, warm on the outside but cool in the center like a poorly thawed piece of meat.

You’re reminded of how you once knew him- or, once knew a Mandalorian like him. There’s something uncanny about the bounty hunter standing in front of you. It can’t be-

“Mando?”

The Mandalorian remains still and says nothing, reaching for something in his pocket. You flinch too easily, your hand so ready to fire on your blaster. It can’t be him, it can’t be him.

He holds out a puck to you, both watching as it illuminates blue with your new mugshot and your name written in red. You scoff.

“What? Is that supposed to be me?” You laugh, honestly finding it funny but nonetheless, you’re nervous.

Nervous because it’s been a while since a bounty hunter’s caught up to you, it’s been a while since you’ve had to take one down. Nervous because you can’t seem to grasp if it’s him or not.

Would he have really kept your puck this entire time? Even after it went dead all those months ago? Even after he found you in Nevarro? And spending two weeks in Sorgan together? When he left you and you left Sorgan? Fuck, is he mad?

Is he mad that you left and that’s why he’s come after you?

You can picture him, back in Sorgan, fuming - dead set on finding you after so sternly telling you to stay.

Whatever, you don’t care if he’s mad at you, why should you? He left first.

The Mandalorian pockets the puck back into his pants but when he looks back up - you’re gone.

You fucking run. You bolt out of the cantina, down the densely populated streets of Taris and towards your speeder. How is this happening? This is the exact same scenario you were in when you first met him on Sriluur. You can’t believe you’re running from the Mandalorian, again.

Is this a game to him? Is he pranking you or something? Does he think it’s funny to taunt you like this? A bounty who’s already on the run for her life?

You slow down your pace before you come to a stroll, looking around you, searching the crowd you’ve just ran through but you see nothing. No distantly familiar glimmering beskar, nothing.

Did you already lose him? No, he definitely has eyes on you somewhere, if it really is Mando, he never loses a bounty.

Calmly, you go back the way you came from, even if it’s the opposite direction of your speeder. You look for him now.

The streets are busy, the city is loud but it's quiet to you. You try to listen for the clank of his armour, the heavy weight to his steps, his quiet yet quick feet. But you hear nothing.

Nothing except those whispers again.

Mandalore. He’s here, he’s here. The Mandalore is here, he’s here, girl.

You spin around, trying to pin point who exactly is whispering so fucking loudly but its no one. No one’s there, no one is whispering to each other, no one is even speaking. Everyone whizzes past you, shoving you out of the way and you feel like you could drown all of a sudden.

He is here.

A hand wraps tightly around your wrist, hauling you out of the crowd and slamming you face first into a concrete wall. It scrapes at your cheek as both of your hands are pinned behind your back, large body pressing up against your backside.

You kick and squirm and try to buck the person off of you but it’s no use, they’re strong and already have you contorted painfully, both wrists secured in only one of their hands.

“Hey, fuck off-”

“Don’t make me break you again.” That voice. You’d know that voice anywhere.

That voice which reminds you of when he broke you - when Mando dislocated your arm a year ago now.

Mando.

You go soft in his hold, trying to turn around but he’s got you pinned between him and the wall, your cheek probably scraped up and bleeding at this point.

Cold metal secures around your wrists and you gasp as he closes the binders on you.

“Mando-”

He pulls you by the cuffs, hauling you off of the wall before he’s pushing you in front of him and down the alleyway.

“Walk.” He orders.

You look over your shoulder at him and you nearly lose your breath. It’s really him. You’d smile at him if you weren’t so fucking confused as to why he’s got you cuffed right now.

Mando shoves at you again and you stumble forward, so you decide to just go with it. Maybe he’ll talk eventually.

He manhandles you around the city, letting you walk aimlessly in a straight line, all sense of direction lost to you until he’s grabbing you by the elbow and steering you in another direction, shoving you forwards again.

Mando doesn’t speak to you. He doesn’t say anything, just shoves you forward and sideways until you get where you’re going. His ship.

But it’s not the Razor Crest. You don’t even realize it’s his ship until the ramp is lowering for both of you to enter.

This ship is… sleeker, smaller than the Crest was. But this one’s wider, more dangerous looking, sharp edges and all. Just like him.

It’s dark, pitch black, chrome and shiny obsidian, invisible in the dark of space, reflecting the lights from millions of stars. This ship is scary in it’s own way - it’s unfamiliar.

As you approach it, you realize it’s an Imperial ship - a gauntlet fighter - and your breath catches in your throat. Mando was always paranoid that the Empire hadn’t quite disappeared, that they still lurked in the shadows. Maybe he was right.

Either way, he seems to have accepted it - along with their money.

You walk up the ramp with him right behind you, still directing your movements. It makes sweat prickle at the back of your neck. You look for the little green baby, wondering where he’s hiding in the new ship.

“Where’s the kid?” You ask, trying not to sound as scared as you feel when you see no trace of a child.

No toys, no floating pod, nothing.

“Grogu.” What did he just call you?

“What-”

“His name, is Grogu.” He says slowly, like he’s trying to breathe in between each word.

Fuck, of course he had a name. You feel stupid as Mando rummages around with things in the small hull of the ship.

“R-Right, of course. Where is-”

“With his kind.” He speaks shortly, voice and words clipped, like each one is a knife in his back, twisting deeper and deeper the more he speaks about the Child.

You had only known the child for a few weeks but Mando’s confession makes your stomach drop. The kid- Grogu, is gone. You couldn’t have imagined Mando parting with the little rascal, even after a few weeks, he was so protective over him.

“Mando, I’m so sorry.” You turn to face him awkwardly, your arms still bound together painfully behind your back.

Mando neither looks at you or acknowledges what you said, as if you hadn’t said anything at all. You feel awkward around him now, you don’t know how to act when he’s being so cold.  Minutes pass before he says anything.

“Where’s Winta?” He asks, almost mockingly.

You roll your eyes, you’d never thought you’d see the day when a Mandalorian was being petty.

“In Sorgan?” You’re not sure what sort of answer he was looking for but Mando hums something, as if considering your words.

“You gave up on her.” He states like it's the truth.

Mando still hasn’t looked at you. You’re fuming, blood rushing through your ears with adrenaline you can barely hear him. How dare he speak to you this way, after he left you there on that backwater skughole.

“She didn’t need me, Mando. She has a mother, a peaceful life in that village.” You spit at him, your words cutting through the air.

“So you abandon her? The community?”

“Hey, I didn’t abandon anyone-”

His hand finds your throat and he throws you against the wall of the ship, dangerously close to the carbon freezer. Your stomach drops.

Your hands dig painfully into the hard material of the ship, cuffs digging uncomfortably into your flesh and you cry out as he pushes against you harder, digging into you with his body made of steel.

Mando’s fingers find your pressure points and skim the flesh there, daring you to speak, daring to press in harder so darkness eclipses your vision. He’s dangerous like this, quietly seething, barely contained. What happened to him?

“You don’t know the things I’ve had to do,” He says, voice quivering with restraint, hand squeezing your windpipe and you gasp for air against his grip.

“Okayokay! I-I’m sorry.” You croak, voice gone hoarse already.

Mando scoffs, maybe he laughs at you, you can’t tell. You can barely hear anything but the pounding of your heart high in your throat and in your ears like you’ll pop.

“Stupid girl,” He grits, pressing you harder into the wall and you try to push him off but its no use, he’s gotten too strong.

He could break you like this, you think he might.

Something clicks in the back of your mind, something like instincts or anxiety or training but you knee him in the crotch, kicking his legs down and curving away from his helmet which crashes into the wall, where your head just was.

Mando crumbles and you back away from him, unsure of what you’re even doing - instigating a fight with a fucking Mandalorian.

Mandalore, the whispers are back and they tickle at your neck, the hairs near your ear. You shiver as Mando rises and turns to face you.

Mandalore.

He whips the saber from his holster and it glows black like a nightmare in the palm of his hand. You realize now that it’s his. He owns it. It looks important, you wonder why, or how, he got it.

“What are you doing?” He asks you, angry and stalking you in the tight haul of his ship, saber all too ready to kill. Maker, when did he get so terrifying?

When he lost his son, gained an empire.

“You can’t fight me, you can’t win.” You back away from him, coming yet again to another wall. This ship is smaller than the Crest, there’s nowhere for you to hide.

“I don’t, I don’t want to fight-”

“You know I'll hurt you.” He practically purrs and you whimper pathetically as he comes to stand in front of you, nearly - but not quite - pressing you into the wall again, vibrating sword dangerously close to your leg.

You’re panting, practically begging for it and you have no idea how he does this to you. Have you always been this easy? Maybe for him, maybe just for Mando.

He’s familiar in an odd way now, where you once knew him but not this version of him, not the version of him in front of you now but your body can’t make the distinction like your mind can.

Your mind screams danger, paints him red like a target, an enemy but your body still remembers the way he touched you, how soft he was in Sorgan, how slow he fucked you. This man in front of you would not fuck you slow - he’d take what he wanted - and you wouldn’t hate that.

You know he sees the way your chest heaves with lust laden breaths, your body going lax at the mere idea of him. Mando hums, holstering the saber and chest bumping yours as he comes to the grand realization.

“Is that it, ad’ika? You want me to break you? Again?” You can’t discern whether he’s threatening or promising you and your brain misses the foreign nickname before the words are tumbling from your lips.

“Yes.”

Mando hums again, hand coming up to your neck, cradling where your jaw meets your throat - squeezing and massaging your jugular and he watches how your eyes flutter so prettily.

“You’re addicted to me, aren’t you, stupid girl?” He squeezes slightly tighter and a moan, a cry slips through your lips quietly but it’s like fucking music to Mando’s ears.

You always make the prettiest sounds.

“Yes.” You admit again.

There’s no denying it, ever since you encountered the Mandalorian, you never forgot him. How he shines, how he walks, talks, fights, protects, fucks. You could never forget that, like he carved himself into your guts like an ulcer, making a permanent home inside of you, feel him whenever you move.

He’s infected you, you think. How else could you have become so weak for him, so powerless so quickly.

“Addicted to your Mandalore.” He growls around a chuckle and fuck-

It is him.

“You’re… you’re the-”

He tilts your head upwards so you meet his gaze from somewhere behind the pitch black of his visor.

“Yes.” He answers simpy.

The whispers, all the talk in the streets, the rumours, the tales, it was all about him. He's a-

A king. Mando is a king.

You stare up at him, fleshy mouth, perfect lips agape as you try to comprehend this. A king. A fucking king. You want to ask how, how this happened but you can’t process a thing, not when he’s looking at you like this.

Like he knows you, the voices whisper.

You’re too beautiful, Mando thinks. Too beautiful to be this stupid - to disobey him and leave Sorgan when he very specifically made it a point to tell you to stay. You make him angry sometimes, with your one track mind, needing to be good for something, someone.

“Why did you leave?” He asks, silently fuming as he tries to remain calm against the voices telling him to kill. But you see the way his chest heaves, feel how his hand twitches at your throat.

“I… I don’t know.”

“I told you to stay.” He almost sounds sad, if he wasn’t being so fucking threatening, puffing himself in intimdating like the mudhorn bull of his new signet.

“I know, Mando I’m-”

“You’re what? Sorry?” He scoffs and your heart sinks, plummets. He tilts the helmet at you, as if he were looking down at a child.

“Y-Yes.” Voice small, you quietly plead with him to believe you, eyes big and shiny as you look for his somewhere in the darkness.

He huffs again, condescending, amused.

“You’re only sorry you got caught.”

Mando’s hand smooths down your neck till it reaches your shoulder - he pushes you down to your knees till you’re kneeling before him like the king he’s now become. You nearly lose your balance with your hands still cuffed, your face leaning into his crotch where his cock strains against his pants.

How could you forget how big you make him, how hard.

“Go on, then. Tell me you’re sorry.” He rasps, hands fumbling down to his holster belt, clicking it open and letting fall at your knees with a loud clatter. You wince.

“I’m sorry.” Your mouth waters as he undoes his pants.

His movements are frantic, he breathes heavy as he reaches into his pants and grasps his cock, stroking himself a few times before he lets it slip out of his pants.

Gorgeous tanned skin, dark contrasting curls at the absolute base that run upwards like a dark stream until his armour shields it from your prying, selfish eyes. He’s thick, already so hard for you and your stomach lurches with anticipation.

You’re panting, you never thought you could need someone in your mouth this bad. “I’m sorry.” You repeat. You mean it, at least, you think you do.

“Again.”

Mando strokes his fat cock in front of your face and you can’t help but lean into him, the warmth radiating from his body pulling you in like the warm tide of the ocean - powerful, all consuming, all the while threatening to drown you.

You need to taste him, you’re desperate for it.

“I’m sor-mfph,”

He shoves his cock into your mouth - the entire length until he’s prodding at the back of your throat, making you gag on him.

Your eyes close in bliss and Mando leans into you, the weight of his heavy cock resting on your tongue and it sends you back until your head hits the wall.

One hand shooting out to steady himself against the wall, his other hand finds itself on your head, in your hair, gripping tight as he sets a pace, fucking himself into your molten, fleshy, pliant fucking perfect mouth.

“Fuck-” he groans, voice gone so low and baritone and raspy that you barely make out the word, it just comes out a garbled mess as he rolls his hips towards your face.

His cock reaches the depth of your throat with each thrust and you’re moaning around his length, your own thighs squeezing together to try and satiate the rapidly burning fire in your groin. You try and wiggle your tongue around him, you try to make it better for him but his hand in your hair tightens, gripping you and trying to hold you still.

“L-Let me do what I need to do, girl.” You moan around him, trying to nod your head but he groans in unison with you.

Your jaw aches already, he’s so fucking wide, so big and you realize now you’ve never had him like this before, never took him in your mouth, never saw him this upclose.

Cock shiny with your spit, working your mouth and tongue wide open so he can go as far in as he’ll fit - even then, you think he’s making himself fit. Your mouth fits just over half way before he’s poking into your throat and you gag on him a little, lubing him up with gobs of more spit.

You can feel him pulsing against your tongue, impossibly hard like he could cum any second but he gives you no indication that he’s close. If anything, you think he’s relentless, you can’t imagine the state you’ll be in when he’s done with you.

Mando is babbling above you, you can’t make anything out, you can’t understand him - you don’t even know if he’s speaking Basic. It sounds like another language, you try to pull away from him but you have nowhere to go, pinned between his relentless thrusts and the wall with your hands tied behind your back.

You look up at him through thick lashes, coated in fresh tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. Your lips are swollen, cheeks hollowed yet they bulge with the size of him, just like your throat - perfect girl, you’ve always been a perfect girl, even when you don’t listen.

“Y-Your, your mouth is perfect, sweet girl - you’re alway so sweet to me, aren’t you?”

You whine your assent, desperately squeezing your thighs together at his praise, his sickeningly sweet praise that always manages to send you over the edge. Your mouth aches, your whole fucking face aches but you think you’d keep letting him fuck you- use you like this if it meant he’d say nice things to you. Again and again and again.

His helmet tilts at you as he leans back, watching the way his hips send his cock in and out of your throat, the slick, wet fucking messy drag of your cock-swollen lips againt the sensitive silky skin of his dick.

Mando watches himself fuck you, just like that, watches how you take him, all of him, like a champ with no complaints, completely satisfied with just keeping you like this. He wonders how long he could do this for, how long you’d let him fuck your mouth. Until you fell asleep? Until you got hungry? Until you beg him to fuck your pussy instead? Would you beg him to fuck your ass?

Until Mando notices the way your thighs squeeze and rub together - of course he notices. Poor girl. Poor little thing. She needs you.

Mando pulls himself from your mouth with a disgustingly wet squelch. You gasp for air, the desperate need for oxygen making you nearly choke on your own spit in the process. You nearly collapse against the wall behind you but Mando’s hauling you up with his hands underneath your armpits, leaning all of your weight on him as he expertly unclicks your cuffs.

As your hands go free, you collapse into him, face nearly tucked into the crook of his neck, where cowl meets helmet but you look up at him with cock-drunk, wet and shiny, big wide eyes. He can’t believe he’s fucked you dumb already. Perfect girl, he’s only just begun.

He coos at you, quiet and calm now. His demeanour has nearly done a 180 and it leaves you breathless, confused. Mando holds you so tightly, almost protectively to his body and you let yourself go limp against his iron frame, he holds you now against him and the wall.

One hand around your shoulders, cradling you, the other comes up to your face. He cups your cheek, running the pad of his leather thumb along your swollen bottom lip, admiring the flesh that blood courses through. You’re so alive. Alive with the need for him. His cock pulses at that.

Your eyes are fixated on the T of his visor - it doesn’t look as dark as it usually does - like if you squint hard enough you could see the contours of his face emerge from nothingness. But maybe he’s just fucked you delirious already.

You kiss at his thumb, not a thought in your head as you aimlessly search for the man behind the beskar.

“Bite.” He says, voice firm again. Without thought, your lips and teeth secure themselves on the seam of his glove, you know this all too well by now.

Mando pulls his hand free of his glove while you let it fall from your mouth and onto the floor. His hand follows suit, travelling down down down your body until he’s wedging himself between your pants and skin, then underneath your underwear and finding the pool of slick you’ve been uncomfortably nursing since he pinned you against a concrete wall in the city.

You’re fucking wet, soaked. You look up at him with fluttering, lust heavy eyes as he swirls the pads of two fingers along the seam of your sex, never parting your lips, just collecting whatevers seeped past them.

“Liked getting your mouth fucked?” Mando asks stupidly, his own brain beginning to short circuit. He can hardly believe you just let him do that to you, let alone that you enjoyed it, maybe wanted him even more. Regardless, you’re about to get more.

You nod your head, helpless to form a sentence as you lose yourself in his useless ministrations, where he ignores your clit or your hole, just playing with your glossy cyprine as you squirm against him, desperately grabbing onto his cowl for purchase.

“Y-Yeah- fuck.” You say quietly, voice gone all weak.

He spreads your lips, dragging his gun calloused fingers along the more inner parts of you and swirling around your fluttering opening, no doubt feeling the wave of arousal that seeps out of you again. Mando groans, his hold on you tightening.

Fierce warrior, look at yourself, it’s taken nothing more than his cock in your mouth to break you, erase your training, your instincts and mold you to his will. Such a good girl, the voices creep in the back of his head, echoing vile words about you.

The voices blend into his own, you swear you can almost hear the echo of multiple voices as he begins to tell you what a good girl you are, always been such a good girl for me you fucking hunter, dangerous girl with a bounty on her head. You always listen to me, only to me-

Mando lets two fingers creep into your cunt and your eyes flutter closed as you cry out for him. Finally - sweet fucking bliss as he splits you on his fingers. Mando’s having none of it.

His hand retracts itself from your pants almost as quickly as they entered. Mando taps your cheek, a light slap before he’s gripping your chin. “Eyes open.”

You nod your head with such vigor you fear whiplash.

You whine when his fingers don’t immediately find themselves back inside your suffering pussy. Instead, he leads you elsewhere on the new ship but you couldn’t dare look where you’re going, couldn’t dare take your eyes off of him.

It’s like he’s glowing. As he carries you across the hull you think he’s gotten stronger, to carry the weight of you like this. You temporarily remember back in Sorgan how he would make a sparse comment about his back every now and then, but this version of him is impossibly stronger it seems. You feel like he could break you in two - you feel like he could have done that before but now, now you fear he could do it with so much as just a look in your direction, with so much as a sigh in feigned exertion.

You squeak suddenly when doors open up with a hydraulic hiss, the doors sliding open to reveal his sleeping quarters. It’s bigger than his old cot on the Razor Crest, enough to fit two people but not much bigger than that.

It’s dark too, there’s light coming from somewhere, where exactly, you couldn’t say but he glows in the darkness, like it was made for him as it kisses and highlights the high points of his beskar, his wet cock, shiny with you. The darkness lets you see enough of him, like it knows you’re desperate for it, teasing you with little glances.

He drops you down onto the mattress and you scramble to sit up on your knees, desperate to see his every move.

“Take off your clothes.” He orders, standing at the foot of the bed and taking his cock back into his palm and stroking it as he waits for you to do as you’re told.

You don’t know when you became so compliant, so weak minded, so fucking desperate to be good for him but it’s hard to question or even think about what he’s asking of you when he stands there, filling out the beskar armour better than he ever has, thick length in hand and waiting for you to undress for him.

You kick your boots off, shimmy off your pants, underwear. Throw your shirt onto the floor by his feet and unclasp your bra. You make quick time of it, it’s impressive.

Mando lets go of his cock and undoes the intricate workings of his boots, then followed by the cuirass on his thighs. He’s undressing… You have half a mind to say anything- to stop him but your tongue is tied tight. You cannot speak, you cannot stop what is already in motion.

Next goes the vembrace and the one remaining glove, both tanned and scarred hands now bare to you and you want to kiss them all over. He unhooks both shoulder pieces and they fall to the floor noisily like the rest of his armour.

Last is his large breastplate; his chest puffs out as he unhooks it, biceps bulging underneath his long sleeve under guard and your mouth waters as he moves for you. The cowl falls around him like it was silk as the breastplate collapses underneath its own weight, joining the rest of beskar.

His neck is thick, beautiful, tanned like his hands and you can see it move with each breath, with each swallow.

He’s the Mandalore. He’s so big, huge, powerful. And yet he stands before you, hands reaching upwards for his helmet and you cower away, covering your own face with your hands, trying to preserve his creed yourself. But Mando grabs one of your wrists, yanking your hands away from your face.

Your eyes are screwed shut, Mando thinks it’s cute.

“I said, eyes open.” He commands again and you recline at his tone, moving higher up on his bed to put some space between the two of you.

And you do keep your eyes open - you don't think you could close them for the life of you. You can’t believe he trusts you enough with this, enough to show his face to you. It feels wrong, taboo, it feels… underwhelming, like it’s the wrong place, the wrong time.

Why now? Why after not seeing you for months, after becoming Mandalore, losing his son, hunting you down again after months and months on end of no contact with each other? He chooses now?

Mando stands at his full height at the edge of his bed, hands returning to the helmet and pulling it off before letting it crash to the ground, loudest of all.

Is it because he trusts you?

“This isn’t about you.” He states, as if reading your mind. Oh.

“O-OKay,” You stutter, unsure of what he means by that.

His bare hand finds its way to your ankle, thumb tracing circles around the bone as you stutter stupidly, mind racing.

This isn’t about trust. Mando just doesn’t care anymore, he stopped caring a long while ago: when Mayfeld saw his face and it felt… odd. Not good, but not bad either. When his son saw it, when Grogu touched his face. When the rest of the crew said nothing as he put on the now meaningless helmet, wielding the greatest weapon that belongs to his people.

It meant nothing, it always meant nothing, right?

Nothing of his is sacred, all is lost now. He has nothing to hide anymore, especially… especially not from you, he supposes.

“But-” the word slips out of your mouth before you can help it and Mando’s growling-

“Stop fucking talking.” He spits before he’s pulling your naked form down the bed by your ankle.

You squeak pathetically as he manhandles you, coming to lean over your body, covering you with his own and then- Maker, and then his lips are on yours.

Mando’s kissing you and your eyes are wide open as his tongue glides right through your lips, parted with desperate, honest shock.

Mando’s kissing you. He’s kissing you and you think you can see him like this and fuck, you can’t close your eyes as you kiss him back.

It’s dark, so dark that you might not actually be seeing him but you sort of can. You can see his face, of this you’re sure but it’s messy, scribbled with darkness and frantic movements. It’s so dark that your brain convinces you there’s a face there, his face, but maybe it’s another love-drunk illusion.

A beautiful illusion.

You see him. Pouty lips, swollen like your own, no doubt, thick moustache tickling your upper lip, a proud, large nose, deep eyes and messy eyebrows. He’s perfect. How could a human be so perfect and contained underneath all that beskar for thirty or whatever years. He’s so beautiful you could cry- maybe you are.

Sobbing into his wet mouth, that would be so pathetic.

Your tongue dances along his own and he groans into your mouth, like he’s frustrated, like he’s trying to strangle you with the wet muscle and you wonder if he’s ever kissed anyone before. You wonder if you’re the first.

“Take my shirt off.” He grumbles against your lips and you’re quick to comply.

You pull his shirt from his body and he lets you peel it away, throwing it across the room with the rest of your clothes.

Your hands fly along the wide expanse of his rippling back and you moan as he rolls his hips into yours, you forgot you were stark naked underneath him for a moment - his cock slips through your silky folds, coating himself in your slick and you helplessly arch into him as his chest becomes bare to you.

Skin against skin, you feel Mando for the first time as he keeps lewdly making out with you.

Your hands are unstoppable, grabbing, groping, scratching all along his body, you feel new bumps and old lines, you feel the geography of him and you yearn to see it in the daylight, with your own eyes instead of painting a mental image of him in your head with nothing but your other senses. It’s jagged and fucked up but it’s still new and him.

Mando’s head is elsewhere. One hand going down your body, he quickly jams two thick fingers inside your pussy without warning and you scream, you fucking yell at the intrusion, hips rutting away from him. Luckily, he’s got you dripping already so it doesn’t take much for your cunt to accept the thick digits.

“Fuck-” You rasp, voice hoarse and strained as he fucks you open aggressively on his fingers, his mouth trying to swallow down every pretty sound that escapes your lips.

You’re beautiful, already spread thin underneath him, chest and belly rolling with every desperate breath your body takes. You’re hot to the touch, you’re burning and he’s nothing but gasoline to an already volatile fire.

His fingers dig into you, they squirm around inside and find all the fleshy, rigged parts of you that have you panting, have you fucking wrecked.

It’s too much, he’s digging too deep, too hard and you feel a pressure forming in your belly as he scissors his fingers against something. His fingers curl upwards, hitting something hidden and you feel your stomach clench.

“Mando- wait, I-”

Mando shushes you, he’s quieting you with soft, disgusting praise of you can take it. I know you can, you’re a big girl.

Fuck. What is he doing to you? You’ve never felt pressure like this before. It keeps growing and growing and you think you’re going to-

He doesn’t stop. A sweat breaks out on his hairline, you can taste it in his kiss, on his salty warm flesh as he engulfs you. Your thighs shake like cracking tectonic plates and he keeps pushing, keeps fucking you and something gives-

Mando feels you pushing him out of your sweet cavern, hot, wet and gushing all over his hand and thighs - you fucking soak yourself with a rough, throat shattering cry. You arch into his body like you’ve been snapped in two, your hands and nails lodged into his back to find some sense of stability amongst the whirlwind of your orgasm that he’s ripped from your body, leaving you winded and broken.

You can feel it dripping from you, wet, unlike the sort of sticky gloss you’re used to. Did he just… did he just make you fucking squirt-

His mouth latches itself onto your wet, drippy cunt and you convulse, hips grinding against his face and his nose knocks against your clit, mouth enveloping the wettest, widest parts of you and you cry before you have time to process what the fuck just happened.

You try to push him away, try to close your knees around his head like your body can’t decide if you need more of him or anything but. But Mando doesn’t stop.

His mouth is perfect. It’s too much, it’s not enough, you can’t take it. You need more. You can’t think straight, what is he doing to you? To your body?

“T-Too much, please…” You whine, unsure of what you’re even saying, your voice feels not your own, you can't feel the way your brain processes the words, the way your vocal cords are supposed to vibrate with use. You’re numb.

You look down where his head is, a dark shadow of messy curls lost between your thighs and he can feel the way you clench as you both make eye contact. Dark, glowering eyes, they pierce you and you gasp. You swear there’s a glimmer, a silvery shine that leaves something unsaid.

Mando pulls away from you with a broad stripe of his tongue up the entire length of you. Your mouth drops open, hanging agape at how lewd it is.

His mouth is shiny, dripping with you, it coats his lips, mustache, chin and the stubble that grows there. Mando smirks at you. He’s fucking evil.

“Tastes so fucking good,” He growls, voice gone so low you whine again.

He lowers his head back down to your folds, nudging your clit purposefully this time with his nose. Your hips automatically cant upwards towards his face. He chuckles, you cry.

“I knew you’d be sweet.” And he goes back in.

Mando takes his time. He eats you lazily, luxuriously like how he fucked you on Sorgan so many months ago.

You’re not sure how long he’s been at it, time blends together in a mess of orgasm, cries, sobs, body shakes and more ograsms. You don’t know how many he’s managed to pull from you but you feel strung out, drunk off your pleasure as his tongue explores your sex at his own pace.

He’s made you squirt like three times - you’ve never done that before, never gushed like that. Not for yourself, not for anyone. You feel completely spent, sated as he holds your pleasure weak thighs open wide so he can devour you.

You don’t know how he hasn’t given up, gotten bored of licking into you but he hasn’t.

He’s selfish, greedy, taking what he wants and your whines, whimpers for him to stop are useless, futile. He doesn’t stop and all you can do is lay back and take it until he decides he’s done. It’s marvelous.

Eventually he does pull away, sucking his own fingers into his mouth lewdly and moaning at the taste of you on his tongue. You can breathe again, you’re granted air for a moment and you look up at him above you with pleasure struck eyes, all shiny and wet with thousands of tears.

“Such a pretty girl, look at you.” He marvels, hand caressing the side of your face and you instinctively lean into it, kissing his palm.

His cock slips through your folds, once, twice before he’s flipping you over onto your belly and gliding into you like it’s the easiest fucking thing in the world, like it’s nothing.

Your pussy squelches with it as he gives you each fat inch of his length and you whimper so quietly compared to how he had you screaming earlier.

You’re full with him and he keeps giving you more, keeps pushing in until he hits the deepest part of you, all the way in your womb - you have nothing left to keep from him anymore. He’s completely destroyed you, fucked you open on his fingers and taken what he wanted. You’ve given him everything. You wonder if he knows that.

Mando groans when he hits the walls of you, hips making contact with your ass and he watches the way your flesh jiggles, how you bounce with the velocity of him. He lowers himself until he’s parallel with you, body encapsulating your own, his chest warm on your back as his cock strokes downwards into you and you scream, burying your face into his pillow and you’re overwhelmed with him. He’s in all of your senses.

“You’re mine.” He growls against the shell of your ear, hips rolling in time with his wicked tongue, sending his cock drilling into you abusively.

Your pussy sucks him in noisily, wet and loud and juicy as he fucks you mean, hard like he’s trying to pound you into the mattress. No matter how many times he made you cum, made you gush all wet on him, you’re tight - fucking strangling his cock just like he remembers, like he needed.

“Perfect- tight little pussy,” He mumbles, babbling as he ruts into you with fervour.

You sob at his words, ass and body bouncing as you take his cock over and over again. Mando is relentless and you’re obsessed - you’re obsessed with him. Obsessed with the way he fucks you.

It was always good, the last two times, the only two times, have been more than good, it was enough to put anyone else to shame, enough to ruin you for anyone else, but this is different - this is everything. He’s everything.

“Mando- shit, y-you’re fucking big.”

He chuckles above you, hand groping your waist, feeling the way you mold to his touch, to his cock, he watches himself fuck you. The way his cock drags in and out, the way you swallow him, how your cunt parts, lets him in so desperately, how you paint him in your essence. He’s slicked up and shiny with it. How your ass sits there all pretty, tight little asshole fluttering in time with your cunt. Perfect girl.

Mando cracks his hand across the fleshiest parts of you, watching how your body responds to him, how you curl away from his touch but your pussy squeezes him so tight. You liked that. So he spanks you again, watching your hands twitch and fist at the pillows, watches you drool onto his sheets.

She’s perfect, a perfect little slut, perfect for us, the voices echo and Mando moans, dick twitching and chest curling inwards around your own back like you’re in some sort of disgusting, dirty dance together.

Mando flips you over and smothers you with his mouth. He tastes like you as he shoves his tongue deep in your mouth, desperate to own every part of you as his cock goes back to ruining your pussy. You’re his, you’re his, you’re his.

His lips travel down your body until he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking, biting hard. He bites you so fucking hard, bites you all over as his lips travel across your chest, your collarbones, your neck, bittting nibblng, marking you in him. Mando leaves marks everywhere.

Fingers on your hips, on your ribs, backside, on your ass. You’re marked everywhere with him. Your hands fly into his hair and pull at the roots - ripping, pulling at him.

“Mine.” He repeats, spits at you like it’s a threat and you don’t care anymore.

You nod your head whispering yours, yours, yours, yours over and over again until you don’t know any other words, any phrases, your own name. You don’t know anything anymore, not like how you know him.

“Say my name, mesh’la, say my name all pretty the way you do.” Mando nearly pleads, lips brushing against your own.

“Mand-”

“No. M-My name. Say my name.” He corrects, hips slowing down and you whine, arms going around his back and clinging to him, begging him to keep fucking you.

“I- I don’t know your-”

“Yes, you do.”

Voices surround you, echoing somewhere amongst the darkness and you cling to Mando tighter, ankles locking around his ass and pushing his cock deeper into you. You both moan, voices cracking in unison.

“I don’t-”

Din. The voices whisper.

When he begins to hear them too, he keeps fucking you, picking up his pace and so do the voices. They chant in time with his thrusts, they chant his name like he’s a king.

He is a king.

“Listen.” He tells you, whispering against your face, lips ghosting the skin.

Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din…

You hear them. You can hear them say his name and your eyes go wide in the dark. Even Mando- Din, can see how they shine so big, like fucking moons caught in the eclipsing light of the sun.

“D-Din..” You test, weary. The name breaks around a moan and you feel tears spill from your eyes as he hoists one leg up on his shoulder and pushing the other into your breast, folding you in half.

You chant his name like it’s salvation and holy shit, he doesn't know how he did that but it breaks him and he thinks he’s crying a bit so he fucks you harder for it

“Din, fuck Din, that’s-”

His hand flies down to your throat, squeezing it tight and you choke on your words and he fucks you harder.

“That’s it, just- fuck that’s good, baby.” He tells you while choking you out.

Your face is shiny with tears, you’re wet and sticky all over. He did this to you, this is all his doing.

You’re so powerful, Din. Look how powerful you are.

He starts to speak in that language you don’t recognize again. He rambles and chokes you and his hips piston upwards and you can feel him poking around in your stomach, you can feel him in your throat. You’re done for.

“M’gonna cum-” You mumble, words barely intelligible from the hand around your throat and cock in your tummy.

“No,” He grunts, voice thick with exertion, with power. “Not yet.”

You whine, body going haywire like you’ve been electrocuted and you’re not sure you can hold it in when he fucks you like he’s possessed.

Din grows aggressive, his thrusts brutal and he pulls and yanks at your body, like he’s trying to drown you in an ocean of pleasure, sink you deep with him amongst the black sheets until you can’t breathe anymore.

His hand on your throat finally lets up and you gasp for air, pussy fluttering like your pretty lungs and Din growls, squeezing your face, your cheeks roughly with his hand before it comes down onto your cheek - slapping you.

It’s rough, violent like this and your pussy chokes him while the sweet sting in your cheek goes straight to your cunt. You manage a sort of strangled scream before your orgasm is torn from you, your fourth or fifth or sixth of the night, you can’t fucking remember anymore. It rips through you like a tree being torn from the earth - larger than life, brutal and messy.

Din breaks you down. You pulse and sob around him and you go limp on the bedsheets and he keeps fucking you as you soak his cock. Your knees are spread wide, thighs pressed against your chest and he keeps fucking you.

He’s lost control. He lost everything - he loved, got too comfortable and it made him weak and lost everything because of it. He lost control.

But he feels it again. Feels some semblance of control, familiarity when he’s drilling into your pussy like this. He feels control when you spasm and clench around him, crying his name like he’s your only salvation, your only hope. He is. He wants to be the only thing you need because you… he thinks you’re the only thing he needs. You and your sweet little pussy.

“Y-You’re never leaving, you’ll never run away again, won’t let you.”

You don’t know if you answer him, you mumble something, maybe just little noises that he continuously punches out of you but you can’t say no to him, you can’t fight him anymore.

“Fucking tie you up if I have to.”

You cry at that. He growls, something dark and possessive. “Know you’d like that- want that.”

You just wanna be used, be useless, told what to do. I know you, I know you, pretty girl.

And you go along with it, crying Yeah, yes Din- fuck. I don’t wanna be in control anymore.

You don’t care about it anymore, he’s too much, too much pain, too much pleasure and you don’t care. He has all of you.

He could have said anything, promised you anything, asked for anything and you’d agree. Din has you wrapped his finger - cock drunk and delirious on him, you’d give him anything he wants.

He knows that now.

“I know you’re tired, tired of everything.” You nod your head weakly, crying.

“Tired of running, tired of being in control.”

“Yes.” You whisper, voice caught on a moan and a hitch of your breath, his cock punching the oxygen out of you.

Din hums his assent. “Give up then.” He sneers, near evil and you moan, back arching into his chest even more, even though he’s got you all spread out underneath him, you still convulse.

“You’re just- just made for me, made for me to fuck. That’s all you are.”

You nod your head, brain going numb and blank and stupid except for yes Din, yes Din, fucking yes.

“Whenever I want, c-can do whatever I want to you and you’ll let me, won’t you, girl?”

Yes Din.

“So easy, you’re so easy, so easy for me. I know you wanna give up.”

He’s barely coherent, a babbling, mumbling mess of basic and that unknown language but you let him spew his filth, you let him fuck you into his mattress, into oblivion. You just fucking take it over and over again and all you know is him, Din, Mando, the Mandalorian, The Mandalore. He’s all you know now. He’s all you have. Maybe you’re all he has.

“Give up. Admit you need someone to take care of you.”

I do, Din. I need it.

“Admit it. Admit you need me.”

You cry. Tears spilling down your cheeks and you heave, broken from the inside out.

You claw at his back, scraping and scratching, trying to latch yourself onto him like a leech, trying to take something from him like he’s taken from you but you don’t know that you already have. You already broke him long ago.

“Din-”

“Tell me- fuck, just say it.” He moans your name, you clench around his length.

“Need- need you. Always…. Always needed you.”

“Then let go.” He moans your name, you clench around his length.

“M’cumming again-”

The Mandalore groans, burying his face in your sweat damp neck. You gush around him with a strangled cry like a dying animal. It's ugly and pained but it only fuels him, sends Din over the edge himself.

He fills you with his seed. He ruts it deep, deep inside of you, as deep as it’ll go and you can feel him plugging you full of it. You can feel it in your stomach, your throat. You taste it on your tongue.

It’s over, and you both lay there panting, regaining some form of consciousness. You’re slippery against each other and you cling to him like you’re still drowning. He clings back.

You were expecting otherwise from Mando, now Din - you welcome the change in his demeanour.

Din. You're still not used to that. You like it though, you like the way it sounds, you like how it makes sense.

It's quiet for the first time all night.

You’re not sure if you fall asleep, or if Din falls asleep, or if you even sleep at all. All you know is that it’s dark and his heart is beating into yours and his body is heavy and his curls are damp and you’re running your fingers through them.

You’ve never been so close to him. Never been allowed such a privilege. You feel calm for the first time in a long time, it's almost unsettling - especially knowing that your tracking fob is beeping somewhere in his long pocket, long forgotten.

Can't run away this time, pretty girl.

“Stay with me.” Din says so suddenly you nearly yelp, voice all quiet and raspy like he hasn’t spoken in hours. Maybe he hasn’t.

Your face, your entire body is wet with tears, sweat, cum. You don’t know what’s what anymore, you’re not sure you’re even breathing properly.

“Stay with me and we can take down the Empire together.”

He feels your heart beat harder against his at his proposition, it makes him hopeful, makes the voices swell. He hope you don't hear them.

You remain silent, not sure if he’s just giving you empty promises but it's not your fault he knows your weak spot, knows exactly how to tempt you.

So you say okay, Din.

“Stay with me and I’ll fuck you however you want- I’ll never stop fucking you just please,” his hands grip your body hard, pulling you into him.

Din buries his face in your breasts, mouth open and wet, he leaves a trail of spit and bite marks in his wake, “Please just stay this time.”

He’s desperate.

You’ve never heard his voice so small, so rough, so fucking spent like this and you wonder what happened to him after he left you. You wonder what happened to him after Sorgan.

“I will, Din. I’ll stay this time.” You say instead.

--------------Not on the Path.--------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------Pretender.-----------------------

--She doesn’t want you. --------------------------------------------------

----------------------------To have us. She doesn’t want you to be king.------------------------

“I don’t want to be king.”

His whisper woke you but you stayed still, kept your breathing even...was he talking to you? Who, if not you?

-----------------------------------------------------She will leave.------

----She will try to take us. --------------------------------

------------------------------No promises to break for her. No vows. Leave her. -----------------

“No.” He pushed something away, it clattered across the bedside table, and then he wrapped long arms around you, pressing his face into your back.

He felt feverish.

Maybe it was just a bad dream.

-------------Leave her. ------------------------------------------------

“No.” He said more firmly as he woke up and found you were already gone. His hand stayed on your side of the bed, “I won’t leave her.”

-Or. ------------------------------------------

-----Give her to us. ---------------------------------------------

---------------------Yes. ---------------------------------

------------------------We would keep her then. -----

------------------------------------------- Keep her so she never leaves.

“She won’t leave.” Din looked down at the handle of the saber in his hand.

“Hm?” You perked your head up.

He was just standing there, in the room, staring at the saber, and when he looked up at you his eyes were strangely blank.

“It won’t leave.” He said.

Your brow furrowed.

He didn’t say it the first time.

He blinked, looking sluggish, and then looked at you as though he was not sure what you were or why you were there.

You stilled.

You...you felt….

Scared.

You had never felt scared around him.

You kept your eyes on his face.

The face.

The face that he had struggled with showing you.

You had not had long to look at it but you had drank it in so greedily, memorized it and it was….

He looked…

Hollow.

You took a step back and it made the floor creak. His head snapped to you. Eyes...blank. No. Worse than blank.

Were they….

Glowing?

“D-din?”

You took another step back and you realized he did not see you, did not hear you….

With jerky movements he put on the helmet.

Panic started flooding your stomach.

“Din?” Your voice was sharp. Fear. It was pungent. Like blood.

The Dark Saber lit up in his hand.

“DIN!”

________________________________________________________

Red.

Why was it red?

What was red?

Why?

He shook his head slowly.

His head was a fog.

He…

He took off the helmet.

Why am I in such a….

His heart stilled.

Fog.

Red.

Red everywhere.

A handprint of red sliding down the helmet. He looked down--- red sliding down the beskar, splashing on the chestplate, another handprint on the pauldron smothering the mudhorn signet.

“No….” He whispered.

But in his head the fog curled around his brain.

---------------------------------------------------------Yes.---------

He looked down at his gloves. Red.

Red.

The Dark Saber sitting there, clean, pristine, almost…. Was it….

Laughing?

He shook his head.

But …. What was….

Din.

He looked up. Looked everywhere. Where were you?

Din.

He called your name and it echoed in the room.

Then his chest knotted and he looked down at the saber.

Din…..

Stay with me.

___________________________________________________________

A/N: Haunted Din slaps.

I'm thinking it would do to credit the (dischord?) peeps? I saw this on @captin-kate-komics but she credits @kyberpistol and @keldabekush with the idea. Thanks!

We do not Beta read we edit after we post.

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