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heldflesh · 7 months

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TALES OF O'FRIEL — TAMSIN OLWEN LOVEDAY.

── ( grace van dien. demi woman, she / they. ) recently seen sprawling across beer - soaked oak, hand clasped to ear in fitful whispers and sideway glances, the occasional cicada slipping past lip and taking flight at the whaler: enter TAMSIN OLWEN LOVEDAY O'FRIEL. twenty six years old & a libra, usually observed in gossamer lace, a ghost upon body; soft glow emitting from skin pulled sheer – pulsating veins and a flash of something golden, the teeth of a white rabbit drawn upon shoulders; sorry thumper, and goodby – ; love is a devotion local known within their circle as VULPINE + GNOMIC, a perpetual hum of twilight by bôa on salted mouth. something of the SEPULCHRAL + PESTILENT follows, regardless … something to do with one's very own side - quest, faux prophecies and dangers ahead; tales most befitting miscreants and visitors alike, one and the same – uncaring to lift another finger of their own , perhaps ? strange, what a FAERY can get up to. they’ve been heard waxing lyrical about a dream they had recently, a strange tale of a never - ending dance – how many eternities have we spent here together? – soles long worn to bone and dust; body nothing more but a husk of skin, exoskeletal; entertainment beneath a spider's growing web – but we're here together, aren't we? forever and ever . pay no mind to fanciful star - gazing, though: rather, mind the tangible. focus on bated breath against locks of hair, near - translucent fingers laid across shoulder – voice here, and there, nowhere – everywhere; you want to dive into this lake sooo bad, you want to swim all the way down and wrap around the seagrass and get stu– / ears impossibly long – all the better to hear you with, my dear – tufts of softened white gold, splintering from fine points, lily of the valleys dangling chain-like / and phantom wings in every passed mirror – gambling never a consequence until now; a mother's cruel laughter echoing from every budding flower, every cawing bird, every iron box clawed open in searing desperation . /

... mentioning themes of CONTROLLING MOTHERS, BODY HORROR, DEATH, GRIEF, DEPRESSION, and INSECTS, BUT LIKE GROSS. proceed with care.

with palms held out.

full name — tamsin olwen loveday o'friel.

nickname(s) — tam / tammy, if one despises their life; loveday; love ( friends, if you can call them that, and mother, if you can call her that ); owl face; first name preferred.

date of birth & age — october 4th, 1xxx, physically twenty6.

gender / pronouns — demi woman; she / her and they / them.

sexuality — demiromantic, bisexual.

typing — faery, wings MIA.

occupation — woods - wanderer; ex - dancer; hunter AND gatherer; gambler; front desk at shrike point light.

astrology — libra sun, capricorn moon, taurus ascending.

interests — hallucinogens. old - fashioned gold coins, particularly those dug up from hidden treasure chests. playing serpent. mammatus clouds. a good gamble, or an even better bet. winning. animal fur. warm beds. warm bodies.

aversions — classical dancing. uncalculated risks. lying ( even if desired ). weak constitutions. promises. anyone named "craig", no particular reason. high ledges. her mother. particularly nosy spiders.

next in queue — shadow of a doubt, sonic youth; vanished, crystal castles; pitch the baby, cocteau twins; show me your mind, sunken.

notable features — almost comically long ears; tufted at the ends, mimicking caracals & a constant, soft light emitting from them; evangeline, is that you?

general disposition — calculating to the point of desperate.

last known location — trying to convince tourists to step into faery rings at the campgrounds after being interrogated for twenty minutes about whether they can shrink down to the size of a half - chewed polly pocket and if faeries believe in, like, jesus?

scrying mirror & kindred — melisandre ( game of thrones ), rose dewitt bukater ( titanic ), lux lisbon ( the virgin suicides ), love quinn ( you ), vanessa ives ( penny dreadful ).

what lurks in the past...

were they born, or were they created? fae realm a haze beyond fingertips, limbs extending too long, too narrow; cobwebs sticking to new legs, trembling foul's - burning from inside out. a gleam to everything in view; light bouncing from leaf to leaf, sparkling upon open water; skewed from chest, lance - like. overwhelming - maddening, small eyes watching intently every human who stumbled upon their realm by accident; idiocy at their finest, curious as their bodies collapse into hysterics, never able to behold the beauty of the land before them.

she never cast doubt, a mother who would never allow it; too many eyes to keep sight of, too many eyes to be wary of. days filled of frivolous activity; dance after dance, sun and moon passing in tandem, day and night after day and night. rocketing themselves into the sky, as far as can go, vast, endless - did they have space? if she keeps going - will she be surrounded by nothing but void, but the sky all around her; come crashing down as the pressure compresses her lungs, stops her breath?

what did the other realm have, that they didn't? curiosity - not doubt - leads to their first visit - not alone, never allowed, not by mother; three of them at the slightest, pas de trois. it's hideous, it's beautiful - it's devotion; before they were - or have they always been the one and same? captivating, to be in a world not their own; to find vices only a human could have, dishonesty beyond the mirror, kept from wandering eyes and hands, but not cards.

visits become frequent - some secretive, some brash, crawling out of holes formed from bark, emerging from tree's flesh. eras change in a blink of eye - here one day, gone the next; so fickle, their short lives. unexpected friends meeting unexpected demise; but what right, would tamsin have to be sad? what is it - to be sad, melancholic? too much to do, to worry about such trivial things; too many minds susceptible to trickery, flimsy thoughts they hold so carelessly.

until she met them, light scorching eye, features engraved beneath eyelids; an intoxication never so sweet, rivaling nectar from their realm - maybe sweeter, maybe just. devotion a home, suddenly - to her, to them, together; forever, if she could. if they could - possibility just out of sight, just out of frame. but maybe not - somewhere else, where time moves different.

was she a fool? blinded by love - stricken by it as taut as grief itself; a mother like hers never trusting, never trusted - never trust. in all her wisdom; tamsin could not compare the centuries laid upon her mother's back. foolish. foolish. foolish - she never meant the harm; never meant the death sentence, lips of lover grazing fruit. lifting her into their arms - entwined in one another, feet barely dusting floor. spinning together in a silent waltz as time rolls on bye; until their skin is nothing more but dust molded husk, tamsin unable to look away, unable to pull apart; terror - laced ichor, enough for eternity.

doesn't remember leaving the realm - leaving them, there - by their lonesome; an exhibit to be watched, a reminder to be wrought. everything's new; modern, hum of technology reverberating skull, shaking spine. twenty years laid to rest; an unwavering form sitting atop rock in the woods, gaze unmoving; statuette, before bone creaks back into existence.

only to be tricked again; a mockery, lost to their own hysteria, their own grief - desperation seeping pores, clutching at narrowed frame. the dead should stay dead; even in their realm - law remains enact, balance must never waver. greed has no moral to stand upon; deals are made, gambles set - hands shaken, blinding light and sharp sulfur and a piercing scream as wing pulls self from body. and nothing. no body to raise from ground; still in the fae realm, still dancing; only spirit, only confused; memories scattered - no remnants of tamsin, or the years lost to them. nothing at all. husk meets husk; fool meets fool.

those of the realm of fae: family to friends, to those who think tamsin a fool for losing their heart so easily, for letting it slide from her palms into another; for upsetting her mother, older than most.

lost lover, loving no more: nothing more but a ghost; a clean slate free from burden and memory. it hurts to look at them - hurts to acknowledge; so tamsin doesn't - cowardly, after all sacrificed.

...comes to light in present...

it's not better now; but it's better than nothing; existing bares easier on the soul, when distracted; kept amused, kept pushing limits - a child who learns best from example. she can't rot any longer, insects a collection inside her, now; coughed up on occasion, fluttering away like nothing - mother's watchful servants, ever - gazing, ever - curious. fucking nosy. better than the fae realm - better than reminders, devotion's growing modernity cloaking old memories.

tamsin's - hard to crack; penchant for gambling, seen tucked into far - off booths, old coins shuffling between fingers, betraying the air the exudes her, collaborating with the far off, dull look in her eyes. severity no longer reaches - slapped away with a dismissive hand and a cold, humorless laugh that twists maniacal at a pin's drop. can never deny a game - or the hunt, puzzles not the only stimulant solace is found in.

everyone's useless except the shrike family, and the knowledge their library keeps; front desk an excuse to scour over maps and crumbling pages - they've got to be somewhere, don't they? somewhere, anywhere; tamsin's pried open their fair share of iron boxes, trying to find the wings she bet away; lost, given up. sacrificed. the deal a bust - why should tamsin be the only one to suffer? fingerprints never quite there - most certainly no longer, wrapped in bandages with every clasp of iron.

never a liar - forever desperate, visitors of devotion, south of tene, are subjected to tamsin's harrowing tales of heartbreak and sacrifice, no storyteller but just a girl trying to find what is hers, rightfully; years and years of scavenger hunt, level impossible; treasure maps drawn and discarded and drawn again. a quest - she insists. it's just a quest. all will be well - just heed my word, do my bidding. help me fly.

the one whose heart shall be ripped fro - : most probably a witch, or another faerie; the one tamsin lost to, who won their gamble - the game they play. probably still alive, ever - mocking, tamsin staring into their windows nightly.

devotion visitors, none the wiser: it's a tale almost as old as time; the full truth never revealed, only enough sad details to guilt a stranger into potentially perilous tasks.

...and carries into the future.

how long can she dance this dance? make fool out of fool, reap the consequence of never listening to those wiser than her - almost childish, tamsin's resolution, determination. naïve. pathetic. too many eyes on her - waiting for her eventual fall, one she does not rise from; how do you kill a faerie?

but perhaps there's an alternative route; sky regaining vibrancy, leaves returning from their dulled hues - no more bodies, no more deaths; grieving a silenced lamb, a quest to complete on her own. be her own savior, heal her own wounds.

maybe tamsin can lock the king into a checkmate; play the game better - win, for once.

enough is ENOUGH! we're sick of it!: this isn't a soap opera, get a grip! one way or another, even if the end result is less desirable. enemies, friends of their mother, those wronged by tamsin after years of trickery and mischief.

a family found: eventual friends, insecurities and trust issues and fears aside; people who care, people who tamsin will not gamble the lives of. probably.

#devotion.intro #body horror tw #death #grief #depression tw #insects tw

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imaginedisish · 2 years

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Heaven or Canto Bight (Din Djarin/Mando x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hellloooo everyone!!! Here’s the *smut* I promised...I hope y'all like it. This is my first time writing smut in a very, very long time, so please bare with me lol. With that being said, it’s extremely dirty so THIS IS 18+. I’d figure it’s worth mentioning that this fic is (obviously) inspired by Heaven or Las Vegas by The Cocteau Twins. However, the song in the *spoiler* club scene is Deceptacon by Le Tigre (but specifically the DFA Tim Goldsworthy + James Murphy remix). Also, I recognize the lack of canon continuity in this fic!! I mention Grogu but he doesn't appear, and I imply that the Razor Crest still exists. Lazy writing...I know. But I unfortunately am a very lazy person. Also, I think there may be some minor/implied BOBF spoilers, so beware. Anyway, enjoy! Requests are open!

Summary: Boba sends you and Din on a mission to Canto Bight, and things don’t exactly go as planned...as always.

Warnings: SMUT. SOOOO MUCH SMUT. THIS IS 18+ PLEASE!!! Some kinda sorta Dom!Din. He’s def a top in this one. Cursing, brief (super super tiny) implied sexual harassment, some descriptions of violence and death, angst, and once again SOOO much smut. Also, maybe some missed grammatically errors.

Word Count: 4,014

“So when we get there, can we-,”

“No.” The familiar modulated voice cuts you off immediately. Din doesn’t flinch. He keeps his eyes on the expansive collection of stars and planets extending around you. You look over to him, a smirk tugging on your lips. You can’t see it, but you’re almost certain he’s smiling underneath that helmet. You giggle a bit to yourself at the thought. You enjoyed irritating him. You enjoyed chipping away at his intense, metallic facade. By the look of Grogu, you knew he was a softy on the inside…somewhere. You intended to find it on this mission and permanently keep it out of hiding.

You were headed to Canto Bight, the party capital of the entire galaxy. Of course, you weren’t going there to gamble or cantina hop. Boba Fett was sending you and Din to take down one of the local crime lords, Rego Jakal.

“He’s killing bounty hunters,” Boba’s voice bounced off the walls of the room. “Any civilian that doesn’t pay him tribute…” He paused, “Dies. And if it’s not enough to appease Jakal, he kills them anyway.”

“What’s this got to do with me and the girl?” Din asked. You liked that he had included you. He wasn’t just thinking about himself. You were his partner after all. You tried not to get too wrapped up in the semantics of his word choice, but it was no use. You cling on to every semblance of care he shows to you. It’s idiotic, but at least you recognized that.

“He knows who you are, who we are,” Boba answers, bringing you back to reality. “He’s threatened my power,” He pauses dramatically once again, “And your lives. Specifically the girl’s.”

Now you’re definitely paying attention. You swallow harshly, quickly realizing the seriousness of the situation. You turn towards Din and watch as his hands grip tightly into fists. He catches your glance and releases his hands.

“Why her?” Din’s voice is harsh, much harsher than normal.

“She killed his smuggling, stealing son on your last mission on Kessel,” Boba stated rather matter of factly.

Din immediately turns to face you. “You did what?” He hates when you cause trouble where trouble isn’t necessary. You somehow did it on every single mission.

Your eyes frantically search for something to stare at that isn’t Din’s visor. “I had to this time, you don’t understand.”

Before Din can make another complaint, Boba begins again. “It doesn’t matter. You’re going, and you’re going to bring him back dead or alive, understood?”

And with that, you were off to Canto Bight.

Din still seemed angry at you, which upset you greatly. It seemed like things were finally starting to fall into place with you and him. He had told you his name one night a few months ago, when you were freezing together in the bunker of the Razor Crest. He held you tightly to his chest, and finally said the words you had been waiting to hear since you met him. It felt like a big moment, but none of that mattered now.

“I had to kill him, you know,” You say, glancing over at Din. Din doesn’t move.

“And why is that?” He asks. You’re not sure why he’s so pissed.

You take a deep breath. You know Din isn’t going to be happy about what you’re about to say. You’re not particularly jazzed about it either. It wasn’t an easy thing to talk about. “Well he was coming towards me, and and he said he was going to,” You pause, feeling the stinging of salt tearing around the corners of your eyes.

“Going to what, (Y/N)?” Din swivels around to face you, concern heavy in his voice. His annoyance is completely gone.

“He said he was going to make me watch him torture you, kill you, and then leave me for dead.” You take a deep breath, trying your best to evade his gaze. “I was cornered. I was out of options Din. I did want I had to do. Don’t you get that?” You’re practically shouting now. You don’t quite understand the anger that’s come over you.

His head falls into his hand, and he inhales roughly. His breathing is shallow, shocked even. “I’m sorry, cyar’ika.”

A tear falls down your cheek and you immediately wipe it away. You want to reach out and grab Din. You want him to pull you into his chest, make whatever you’re feeling go away. But a sudden beeping from the navigation system rings out loudly, bouncing off of the metallic walls of the ship. There was no time for feelings, not for bounty hunters.

“Time to land,” Din says, switching around some controls. His voice is much harder now. “We’ll get this guy. Don’t worry.”

You had never been so worried in your entire life.

————————————————-

You knew the truth about Canto Bight. You knew about the exploitation, the crime, the inequality, but you didn’t know how beautiful it was. No one told you about the white sands, or the gorgeous domed buildings, or rippling ocean tides. It was a shame a place like this could be so terrible. The way the lights from the buildings danced upon the waters felt like some indescribable heaven. It was a paradise.

Music boomed from the main casino and clubs and cantinas. It melded cacophonously in your ears. You and Din walked into the foyer of the hotel Boba had organized for you two to stay at. He said your cover would be a married couple. You didn’t entirely understand how a Mandalorian and an ex-Jedi could actually ever get married, but it worked.

And of course you secretly enjoyed the fact that it meant you’d have to be close to Din.

“We have you down for one room, a balcony suite,” The concierge says, looking up at Din.

Din shakes his head, “One r-,” You cut him off with a quick kick to his boot, trying to silently remind him of your cover. “Right, one room.”

The concierge smiles, tilting his head to the side. “It’s a romantic suite, too. Great view! Probably the best one we have.”

You can’t help but smile. It was funny that you ended up in this position, pretending to be Din’s wife, going on vacation with each other. It seemed so domestic, so warm, so soft. It was the total opposite of the life you were really leading. It was nice to play pretend, nicer than Din or even you were willing to admit. As much as you knew that you were starting to feel for Din, you still tried your best to bottle it up and throw it away. Relationships weren’t exactly easy in your line of work. Nothing was, if you were being brutally honest.

The next thing you know, Din is grabbing your upper arm, leading the way to the elevators. You must’ve missed the concierge giving him the keycard to your room. He presses the button impatiently, almost as if he was expecting the elevator to just magically open when you arrived at it. He seems anxious. You reach up to his hand that’s still clasping your bicep. You peel his protective fingers off, placing his hand in yours instead.

“Gotta make things look more believable, right?” You whisper, barely audible. Din nods in response, his rigidness slowly fading away.

He squeezes your hand tightly, completely catching you off guard. “Thanks,” He mumbles. Before you can respond, the elevator bell dings and the doors glide open. Din keeps your hand in his as he presses the button for the floor you’re on.

You watch as the elevator zooms up. The walls are made of glass, allowing you to see the entire place. It really was a romantic hotel. The massive, metallic, abstract chandelier in the center of the lobby illuminated the entire place. Each floor, aside from separate corridors, was visible from the very bottom of the lobby. The ceiling was glass and perfectly domed. You were once again shocked by how some place so bad could be so beautiful.

Din lets go of your hand as he uses the keycard to unlock the suite. The loss of contact makes your hand feel empty and light, but the beauty of the room immediately distracts you. The concierge didn’t do the view justice. The ocean was practically in your room. You head to the balcony and watch as the moon dances along the rushing current. You inhale deeply, the smell of salt filling your lungs.

Suddenly, Din is at your side. You didn’t even hear him coming. “It’s beautiful,” You say to him, looking up at his visor. He tilts his head down towards you, but doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. It’s as though he has something to say, but he doesn’t know how to say it. He breaks away from the glance and looks over at the clock on the other side of the room.

“We should head down to the nightclub. Boba said we could find Jakal there,” Din says, walking back inside. You follow behind him, stopping at your suitcase. You open it up and grab an outfit.

“I’ll get changed and we can head down,” You say back, heading into the bathroom.

After a few minutes of fidgeting with fabric, you walk out. It’s not the safest outfit, but it’s an excellent cover. Your midriff is entirely exposed. Your arms and legs are wrapped in layers of sheer, black silk. There’s not much under the silk aside from your thin top and shorts. You needed to look the part of a young couple on vacation. You needed to blend in if Din couldn’t.

Din glances in your direction and looks away before whipping his neck around to see you again.

A double take.

“M-maker,” he stutters through his helmet. You can’t decipher the tone of his voice. Self consciousness overtakes you. He must hate it, You think to yourself. It must be too much.

You take a step back towards the bathroom. “If it’s too much, I can change b-,”

“No,” Din says firmly. “You look beautiful, cyar’ika.”

Heat rises to your cheeks as the words fall from his lips. A chill runs down your spine. Beautiful. He thinks you’re beautiful.

“We should go now,” He says, his voice lower than normal. He seems to be trying to control himself after his compliment. He extends his arm out to you and you take it.

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

The club is booming with noise. The bass is shaking the floor. At this point, you’re absolutely shocked that the entire city hasn’t crashed underground yet. You’re certainly not the party type given your demanding line of work, but the music is just so good. You try to yank on Din’s arm to get him to walk out on the dance floor with you, but he pulls against your grasp. You whip your head around to face him.

“Come on, one dance,” You beg, still yanking on his arm.

He shakes his head, still resisting your pull. “You go. I’ll keep an eye on you and check the place out.”

You scoff. “I can handle myself. It’s just one dance.” And just like that, you melt away into the crowd.

The music bangs against your skull, but there’s something about it that itches your brain just the right way. You brush past sweaty bodies pulsing to the music, trying to find an open spot. After a few seconds, you decide to stop in your place and enjoy the music.

Who took the bomp? Echoed in the tightly compacted room.

You catch Din’s stare out of the corner of your eye as your hips sway from side to side. “I love this song!” You try shouting to him over the music. “Come join me!” He simply shakes his head back and forth. You roll your eyes and continue dancing.

Who took the Bomp from the Bompalompalomp?

Who took the Ram from the Ramalamadingdong?

Who took the Bomp from the Bompalompalomp?

Who took the Ram from the Ramalamadingdong?

You close your eyes and let yourself go. You’re enjoying the beat too much to realize the guy inching up closer and closer behind you. You feel a set of hips brush against your lower thigh. “Back up, dude,” You shout, clearly annoyed. He doesn’t flinch. Before you have the chance to whip your head around and properly scream in his face, you feel yourself being practically dragged across the dance floor by a pair of familiar gloved hands.

You’re magically transported to the other side of the club. Din turns you around so that your back is against his chest. “Looks like you’re getting what you wanted. No more dancing alone for you,” He says, his hands falling down to rest on your hips.

“I had that under control,” You say callously. “You don’t need to babysit me.”

Din squeezes your hips and pulls you closer to him. “Safer this way,” He says, his modulated voice overtaking your senses. It shouldn’t, but his words bring a pulsing heat to your core. You try to ignore the feeling by dancing again, but your hips are swaying against Din’s crotch. There’s literally no escaping this now.

“Thanks,” You solemnly say, realizing he was only trying to help. He doesn’t respond. You’re sure he’s smirking underneath his helmet, and that only turns you on more.

You continue dancing on him. You figure he really just wants to cement the idea that you two are a couple. Blowing your cover would not only compromise the mission, but each other’s safety. Still, you swear you could feel a sudden twitch or two, maybe even something hard, when your hips rubbed across the right place, even under all that beskar. You like that you’re teasing him, you like that you can tell you’re getting him all worked up. He grips your hips tighter, and you could swear he’s pushing your ass closer to him.

Much to your dismay, the song ends, and suddenly Din is pulling you off the floor and towards the bar. “Oh come on, that’s all you got?” You tease. But Din doesn’t answer, he keeps walking, except now towards the refreshers.

Wait a minute.

The refreshers?

“Is everything okay?” You ask, but he doesn’t respond. He forcefully pushes the door open, his hand still gripping your arm. He bends down, checking if there’s anyone in the stalls. You assume there’s no one here with you as he turns back towards the door to lock it.

“Din, what’s going on?” You question, a slight tremble present in your voice. He finally turns around to face you. You’re so close to each other that you can smell him. The scent of musk, mint and citrus fills your senses. You wanted to smell that all the time.

He clears his throat, the noise echoing through his modulator. You can tell he’s nervous, but you’re not sure why. “I can’t do this anymore,” He says. Your heart stings in your chest as your mind goes to the worst place possible.

“Do what, anymore, Din?” You ask, stepping towards him.

He steps closer, practically closing the gap between you. “I can’t watch scumbag crime lords and everyday assholes make passes at you,” He starts. “I pretend like I don’t care about you, like I don’t want you all to myself,” He says, his gloved hands reaching up to your cheek, brushing softly against your skin. “I’m sick of pretending I don’t want you every second of every day,” He pauses.

“And I want you right now.”

Suddenly the space between you is gone, and you’re grabbing tightly onto Din’s shoulders as he picks you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist. He practically throws your back against the wall, your legs still wrapped around him, his hands firmly grabbing your ass. You want his helmet off. You want to kiss him. You want him to kiss you. But you know he can’t. You force your lips into the space on his neck between his cowl and his helmet, pressing rushed, wet kisses against his warm skin.

Your core is aching for him. You don’t know how much longer you can wait. You move your hand down towards his crotch, rubbing against his erection. “Sh-shit,” He mumbles as a chill runs down your spine.

“I want you Din, please,” You beg as Din readjusts his hold on you. Your back is lifted off of the wall as Din walks over to the sink, placing you down on the cold metal basin. “Touch me,” You beg again.

His breath hitches from inside the helmet. “Tell me where you want me, cyar’ika. Use your words.” You swallow harshly, trembling under his touch.

“Wherever you want,” You whisper, barely able to form a sentence. “Use me.”

Din peels his gloves off of his fingers, immediately using them to rip away the sheer fabric of your top. The fabric falls to bits and pieces and scatters across the floor of the refresher. His hands move to your back, unclasping your bra in one swift movement. He pulls it off, finally having access to your chest. He squeezes tightly, and you moan in response. The pads of his thumbs move to your nipples, drawing light circles. You can feel your wetness pooling below you.

He removes a hand from your chest and allows it to slowly move down the side of your body. He traces his fingers along the outline of your waist, taking his time, teasing you. You needed him so unbelievably badly. He stops at the hem of your shorts, tugging on them ever so softly. It only made you want him more. Not want. Need.

“Din,” You murmur, “Keep going. Don’t stop.” Your voice is so soft, so helpless. He listens, hooking his fingers around your waist band, easily pulling them down your legs with one quick swipe. He brings two fingers down to your core, exploring around, feeling your slick.

“Maker, you’re so wet for me,” He says, spreading your wetness up and down your folds. You shudder underneath his touch as he finally settles two fingers on your clit, drawing slow circles around the bundle of nerves. “You like that, don’t you mesh’la?” You can’t speak, you can only nod your head and hum some sort of positive sound. He clearly understands it as a yes, and he quickens his pace.

You whine in response to his every touch. You were already so close. “M-more,” You stutter as he continues to press into your core. It wasn’t enough. You wanted him inside of you. You wanted him to destroy you.

Suddenly, he removes his fingers from your heat, causing a groan to escape your lips. He brings his fingers back down to you, teasing you as his slides two fingers up and down your folds. You glare into his visor as your breath stumbles around, unable to stabilize.

Without warning, he pushes the two fingers into you, his thumb attaching to your clit, rubbing quick circles. You feel so full as he pumps in and out of you. You mumble incoherent curses as he quickens his pace. You feel yourself inching closer and closer to your climax.

“You’re so tight for me,” He says, his voice cool, yet somehow heavy. “Is that what you wanted, sweet girl, my fingers?” You let his words float around and replay in your head, pushing you towards the edge.

Your walls grip his fingers. “Yes,” You respond, “Din, please don’t stop. I wanna come,” You say, tripping on your words. He speeds up, pushing into you harder and faster. You’re putty in his hands.

“Then come,” It’s not a request. It’s not an option. “Now.”

It’s a demand.

Your walls tighten and flutter around his fingers. You shut your eyes, bracing yourself for impact. “Look at me, cyar’ika. I wanna watch you come around me,” He practically snarls. You force open your eyes and stare into the visor as wave after wave of pleasure strikes against your core. You come undone around him, the feeling absolutely uncontrollable. You know there’s a cocky grin underneath that helmet.

You ride out your high as his fingers push in and out of you a few more times, slower now. He finally pulls himself out of your heat, somehow leaving you wanting more of him. You didn’t want it to be over yet.

“I want you inside of me, Din,” you whimper. You reach towards his erection, dragging your fingers against it slowly. A groan escapes his lips as you bring your hands towards his utility belt, unclasping the buckle. He forcefully grabs your wrists in response and pushes your hands above your head. Your back hits the mirror behind you, your ass hanging off the edge of the sink.

Din slides the lower half of his armor off. Your eyes widen at the sight of his throbbing cock. Your walls flutter in anticipation. He walks towards you, slowly jerking himself off. His tip touches your entrance before rubbing up and down your slit. You hear Din’s breath hitch in his throat before he shoves himself into you.

He gasps as your walls squeeze around him. “Y-you feel so perfect around me, sweet girl,” He mutters in you ear as he slides himself out of you only to push his length all the way back in again. “So tight for me,” He says, setting a fast, rhythmic, hard pace.

He brings one hand to your clit and the other to your breasts, toying with the nubs as he destroys you. Din mumbles a set of incoherent curses and praises.

“So good taking my cock just like that,” He huffs, ramming into you. He’s driving you mad. You’re practically seeing stars. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long, too long.” His words drive you closer to your climax. “I want you like this all the time.”

All the time. Not just this time.

He’s hitting the exact spot you need him in over and over again. His name slides off your lips and hangs in the air like a hymn. He feels so good inside of you, stretching you out.

You can feel his pace getting sloppy as his thumb quickens around your clit. He was close, and so were you. The indescribable fire growing in your stomach was about to explode.

“Sh-shit, you’re doing so good for me,” He stutters, breathing heavily.

You whine at the sound of his words, your hands moving down from above your head and onto his shoulders, gripping for support. “Fill me up Din,” You mewl. “Please come inside me.”

His cock twitches at the sound of your words, the movement sending you over the edge as your stomach engulfs in flames. “Fuck,” He growls as he finishes, pumping in and out of you slowly before stopping completely. He keeps himself inside of you, his cold chest pressing against your exposed breasts tightly, his arms keeping you pressed to him from along your back. You stay like that for a few minutes, coming down from whatever had just happened.

“You’re so perfect,” Din whispers, his voice sounding more soft than it normally does. You smile in response, feeling more than satisfied.

Suddenly, the handle of the refresher door jiggles. Shit, You think to yourself. You and Din are pulled back to reality. He slips out of you, leaving you empty. You groan in annoyance.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl,” He says, grabbing his pants and armor. “This won’t be the last time. We’ll finish this later.”

Not the last time. And later…

There’s a later.

You don’t care about whoever is on the other side of the door. You don’t care about the mission. None of that matters anymore. Honestly, it never did. All you care about is Din, and what he’s going to do about you next.

Was this heaven, or was it just Canto Bight?

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