Masterlist / The Rockford Portfolio / Strawberry Shortcake / Wildest Dreams /AO3 A Vancouverite named Emily and her iphone moved to Toronto... then moved back. I used to post my photography here, but now I obsess over an old man. Born in the 1900s 🫰🏻.
Modern AU with Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader (complete)
Summary: Din Djarin, retired mob enforcer, falls in love, but worries his past could put his future (you) in danger.
A/N: First time writer, please be gentle 🥹 This is a modern AU where Din is a former enforcer for the Fett family, and the world building and relationship development between Din and Reader takes place over many chapters. Some Star Wars names thrown in for fun, but there aren't meant to be any serious parallels to canon. Thank you for reading and hope you enjoy my brain rot for everyone’s favourite tin man 🥰
Series warnings: Chapters with smut denoted with 🚑, chapters with angst denoted with ❤️🩹, fluff throughout. Individual instalment warnings are included in each post.
Ch. 1 (The Coffeeshop)
Ch. 2 (The Bookstore)
Ch. 3 (The Drycleaner)
Ch. 4 (The First Date)
Ch. 5 (The Courtship)
Ch. 6 (The Courtship, Din's POV) ❤️🩹
Ch. 7 (The Third Date) ❤️🩹
Ch. 8 (The Cab) ❤️🩹
Ch. 9 (The Dam Breaks) 🚑
Ch. 10 (The Afterglow) 🚑
Ch. 11 (The Poker Game) (a summary)
Ch. 11 Addendum (After The Poker Game) 🚑
Ch. 12 (The Workout) 🚑
Ch. 13 (The Birthday)
Ch. 14 (The Subway) 🚑
Ch. 15 (The BBQ) 🚑
Ch. 16 (The Matchup) 🚑
Ch. 17 (The Preparations) 🚑
Ch. 18 (The Threat) 🚑 ❤️🩹 Inspo
Ch. 19 (The Betrayal) 🚑 ❤️🩹
Ch. 20 (The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 1)❤️🩹
Ch. 21 (The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 2)🚑 ❤️🩹
A/N: Just a smutty little drabble, no plot! I normally hold myself to a rule not to write Pbois if I haven't watched them, but as a thank you 🎁 to @kokoluwie for making this amazing gifset, I had to break it 🥰 Thank you for fulfilling my request and all your amazing gifs and edits from the Behemoth! trailer - we all benefit from your talent!! xoxox
Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls), established relationship, fingering, nicknames.
Dividers by @saradika-graphics ty😘😘
As soon as the front door closes behind him, Alex breaks from your heated, messy kiss and whispers your favourite words,
“Let me play you, darling.”
Giggling, you toe off your shoes and extend your hand to place onto top of his large palm, already upturned and reaching for you.
Both grinning dopily at one another, Alex raises your arm and spins you gracefully, much like you’ve seen him do with his cello and its endpin – a playful performance trick that never fails to awe the audience. His smooth, gentle handling of your body always has the same effect on you; by the time Alex finishes your turns, you’re in the living room, naked, all your clothes having mysteriously fallen off.
Cupping your face, Alex resumes kissing you; the press of his lips fervent, the dig of his calloused fingers firm, the pulse of his tongue against yours a testament to his restraint. You smile against his perfect lips, letting him chase yours as you turn away from him, resuming the desired position.
“What would you like to play tonight, my love? Bach? Beethoven?” you close your eyes, voice dreamy.
Alex presses himself close and hooks his chin over your shoulder, eyes darkening at the sight of the curves of your body, open and bare for him and him only; you feel him hardening against your backside. “Maybe just the fundamentals tonight,” he murmurs, hands sliding into place – one palming the swells of your breasts, the other snaking past your belly, “a musician is only as good as his foundation.”
You loll your head back against Alex’s hard chest – he makes you feel so cherished and venerated when he holds you like this, holding you like he does his most beloved instrument. Alex had once explained to you why the relationship between cello and cellist is the most intimate in all the symphony,
She sits between my legs, shielded and well protected, but the hold I have on her is precious. I cannot be overbearing or ever try to restrain her, confine her; I can only cradle her just right, just enough, so that she balances, safe – only then does she trust me, and only then, can she sing.
He loves you with that same gentle, thoughtful heart, and for that you love him with all of yours.
“An étude, then?” you barely have time to chirp your quip before Alex begins to play pizzicato with your body, strumming through the waves and dips of your dripping pussy with his strong, practiced fingers. He plays you from memory, knowing the map and tension of your body by heart – confidently and consistently, he plucks every note,
C string
G string
D string
A string
Sliding the rough pads of his fingertips through your folds, he expertly manipulates your pleasure so that you sing for him – a response to your lover’s call.
You cry out as Alex turns you into an instrument for his genius, showing off and alternating the same techniques that have made him a world class violoncellist: fingers dancing along your slit, he switches between stroke lengths - long and smooth, short and detached - so seamlessly, it makes you dizzy; anchoring his thumb, he rocks over your swollen clit with just the right pressure for your entire body to vibrate in ecstasy; sliding one, then two thick fingers into you, he drags, controlled, along the hug of your warm walls, coaxing from you his favourite song.
Far from being idle, the hand on your chest is equally as skillful, shifting between your breasts - toying, pulling and releasing its fistful of flesh to a hypnotic rhythm; nimble fingers arpeggiate, roll, and snap your sensitive nipples – pulling your perky peaks harshly upwards and releasing them to the twang of your gasps and melodic moans. Reaching your arms back to grab onto Alex’s neck, you fist the soft curls at its nape and arch, exaggerating the bounce of your tits – the sight is so lascivious, Alex has to bite a moan into your shoulder.
“Alex! Oh my god! Yes, please, please…”
“Please what, my darling?” a smirk is kissed into your skin, soothing the sting of his canines. Both of Alex’s hands slow and you whimper a soft, pathetic plea when you feel him withdraw from your cunt. He hums a sweet little harmony in your ear as he tortuously draws the back of his fingers through your slick like he would a bow over the strings of his instrument - purposeful, intentional. Chuckling at the way you jump when he knuckles over your sensitive clit, Alex asks you again, tone soothing and indulgent, “Yes?”
“Please, let me come, my love,” you barely recognize your own voice, it’s so airy and light, like you’re not even here.
Alex answers before you even finish saying the words, his desire to bring you to your climax overriding his patience. Without ceremony, he plunges his fingers back into your sopping hole and begins to thrust - fiery, impassioned, furioso. When you body starts to shudder from its impending crescendo, Alex bands his arm across your chest to hold you upright, rasping hot against your neck, “I’ve got you, darling.”
Continuing to piston in and out of your squelching cunt, his thumb circles your clit to an increasingly upbeat tempo, allegretto progressing to allegro; through your half-lidded eyes, you see Alex in your peripheral, his eyes closed, breathing laboured, soft curls bouncing wildly against his forehead. He’s lost now, lost to your pleasure the way you’ve seen him lost to the music, when he plays so passionately his arm becomes an extension of the bow. It occurs to you that tonight, it’s you who’s become an extension of him, his talent, his love.
The thought snaps the tightly strung wires in your lower belly and you come sharply, singing the high note that Alex wills from you. Slumping against his protective hold, you let Alex pull you down onto the couch and into his arms, cuddling you through your high with soft and tender kisses to your brow. When you finally return to yourself, you lift onto your knees and meet Alex’s mouth with a long, grateful kiss. Eyes full of love and mischief, your hand trails down his broad body to find the bulge in his pants waiting for your eager touch; smiling, you murmur against his lips, “My turn to play.”
OH DAMN... EMILY 😳 Girl... I was not expecting THAT. He actually played her like a cello??? I need a moment after all that 🥵
This was hot and poetic at the same time. I was literally reading while some intense imaginary cello music was playing in my head, like.. DAMN 🫠
Also this?
She sits between my legs, shielded and well protected, but the hold I have on her is precious. I cannot be overbearing or ever try to restrain her, confine her; I can only cradle her just right, just enough, so that she balances, safe – only then does she trust me, and only then, can she sing.
I LOVE THAT
This was amazing! And you wrote all that in only 1k words?? Gosh, what a talent 💋 thank you for sharing this incredible piece of writing ❤️❤️
He is, first and foremost, a musician 🫠🫠😩 And secondly, a slut?
Very happy to have been inspired by the gift of that trailer and all your amazing gifs and edits 🥹🥹🥰🥰 Thank you for reading and for being you, darling!! xoxox
3 part mini-series / Merge Mansion x The Mentalist crossover AU (Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader x Agent Marcus Pike) (complete)
Series Summary: Your detective boyfriend agrees to share you with his friend in the FBI.
Series Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Literally Threesome PWP. Don't look at me please. Individual warnings on each instalment.
AU Setup
Part 1: Before He Leaves
Part 2: After He Lands
Part 3: Until Next Time new!
A/N: Sooooo... this (crack) crossover was born from this runaway thought I had where Tim and Marcus know each other in a law enforcement capacity. I wrote this intending for it to be our The Rockford Portfolio couple, but also not?? I think of it as an alternative universe version of them - I’m not 100% convinced that Tim in our main collection would be down with sharing his Shutterbug, but I wanted to convey that same level of trust and devotion in this version of the couple. Though if you wanted to, you can imagine that it's them 😌😌🥰😘
A/N: Just a smutty little drabble, no plot! I normally hold myself to a rule not to write Pbois if I haven't watched them, but as a thank you 🎁 to @kokoluwie for making this amazing gifset, I had to break it 🥰 Thank you for fulfilling my request and all your amazing gifs and edits from the Behemoth! trailer - we all benefit from your talent!! xoxox
Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls), established relationship, fingering, nicknames.
Dividers by @saradika-graphics ty😘😘
As soon as the front door closes behind him, Alex breaks from your heated, messy kiss and whispers your favourite words,
“Let me play you, darling.”
Giggling, you toe off your shoes and extend your hand to place onto top of his large palm, already upturned and reaching for you.
Both grinning dopily at one another, Alex raises your arm and spins you gracefully, much like you’ve seen him do with his cello and its endpin – a playful performance trick that never fails to awe the audience. His smooth, gentle handling of your body always has the same effect on you; by the time Alex finishes your turns, you’re in the living room, naked, all your clothes having mysteriously fallen away.
Cupping your face, Alex resumes kissing you; the press of his lips fervent, the dig of his calloused fingers firm, the pulse of his tongue against yours a testament to his restraint. You smile against his perfect lips, letting him chase yours as you turn away from him, resuming the desired position.
“What would you like to play tonight, my love? Bach? Beethoven?” you close your eyes, voice dreamy.
Alex presses himself close and hooks his chin over your shoulder, eyes darkening at the sight of the curves of your body, open and bare for him and him only; you feel him hardening against your backside. “Maybe just the fundamentals tonight,” he murmurs, hands sliding into place – one palming the swells of your breasts, the other snaking past your belly, “a musician is only as good as his foundation.”
You loll your head back against Alex’s hard chest – he makes you feel so cherished and venerated when he holds you like this, holding you like he does his most beloved instrument. Alex had once explained to you why the relationship between cello and cellist is the most intimate in all the symphony,
She sits between my legs, shielded and well protected, but the hold I have on her is precious. I cannot be overbearing or ever try to restrain her, confine her; I can only cradle her just right, just enough, so that she balances, safe – only then does she trust me, and only then, can she sing.
He loves you with that same gentle, thoughtful heart, and for that you love him with all of yours.
“An étude, then?” you barely have time to chirp your quip before Alex begins to play pizzicato with your body, strumming through the waves and dips of your dripping pussy with his strong, practiced fingers. He plays you from memory, knowing the map and tension of your body by heart – confidently and consistently, he plucks every note,
C string
G string
D string
A string
Sliding the rough pads of his fingertips through your folds, he expertly manipulates your pleasure so that you sing for him – a response to your lover’s call.
You cry out as Alex turns you into an instrument for his genius, showing off and alternating the same techniques that have made him a world class violoncellist: fingers dancing along your slit, he switches between stroke lengths - long and smooth, short and detached - so seamlessly, it makes you dizzy; anchoring his thumb, he rocks over your swollen clit with just the right pressure for your entire body to vibrate in ecstasy; sliding one, then two thick fingers into you, he drags, controlled, along the hug of your warm walls, coaxing from you his favourite song.
Far from being idle, the hand on your chest is equally as skillful, shifting between your breasts - toying, pulling and releasing its fistful of flesh to a hypnotic rhythm; nimble fingers arpeggiate, roll, and snap your sensitive nipples – pulling your perky peaks harshly upwards and releasing them to the twang of your gasps and melodic moans. Reaching your arms back to grab onto Alex’s neck, you fist the soft curls at its nape and arch, exaggerating the bounce of your tits – the sight is so lascivious, Alex has to bite a moan into your shoulder.
“Alex! Oh my god! Yes, please, please…”
“Please what, my darling?” a smirk is kissed into your skin, soothing the sting of his canines. Both of Alex’s hands slow and you whimper a soft, pathetic plea when you feel him withdraw from your cunt. He hums a sweet little harmony in your ear as he tortuously draws the back of his fingers through your slick like he would a bow over the strings of his instrument - purposeful, intentional. Chuckling at the way you jump when he knuckles over your sensitive clit, Alex asks you again, tone soothing and indulgent, “Yes?”
“Please, let me come, my love,” you barely recognize your own voice, it’s so airy and light, like you’re not even here.
Alex answers before you even finish saying the words, his desire to bring you to your climax overriding his patience. Without ceremony, he plunges his fingers back into your sopping hole and begins to thrust - fiery, impassioned, furioso. When you body starts to shudder from its impending crescendo, Alex bands his arm across your chest to hold you upright, rasping hot against your neck, “I’ve got you, darling.”
Continuing to piston in and out of your squelching cunt, his thumb circles your clit to an increasingly upbeat tempo, allegretto progressing to allegro; through your half-lidded eyes, you see Alex in your peripheral, his eyes closed, breathing laboured, soft curls bouncing wildly against his forehead. He’s lost now, lost to your pleasure the way you’ve seen him lost to the music, when he plays so passionately his arm becomes an extension of the bow. It occurs to you that tonight, it’s you who’s become an extension of him, his talent, his love.
The thought snaps the tightly strung wires in your lower belly and you come sharply, singing the high note that Alex wills from you. Slumping against his protective hold, you let Alex pull you down onto the couch and into his arms, cuddling you through your high with soft and tender kisses to your brow. When you finally return to yourself, you lift onto your knees and meet Alex’s mouth with a long, grateful kiss. Eyes full of love and mischief, your hand trails down his broad body to find the bulge in his pants waiting for your eager touch; smiling, you murmur against his lips, “My turn to play.”
I confess I’ve been thinking of nothing else except Alex Serian playing me like a cello since the trailer 🫠🫠🫠🫣🥵 thank you thank you for reading, love!! I’m so glad you enjoyed 🥹
The Detective and The Agent (Part 1: Before He Leaves)
6.1K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader x Agent Marcus Pike
Summary: Meeting Tim’s friend and past colleague, Agent Marcus Pike, unlocks a previously hidden fantasy.
A/N: Eek! My first sharing fic, I’m so nervous! This is a crack/spin-off Merge Mansion x The Mentalist crossover AU story born from this comment; it stars our Detective and his Shutterbug (with the same intense love and devotion) but isn’t part of the main The Rockford Portfolio AU (I mean unless you want it to be 😏). I get the feeling that Tim from our main AU would have a hard time sharing his beloved girl, even with someone he trusts and respects as much as Agent Pike - so I like to consider this an alternate universe version of our couple; no need to read the main series to read this!
Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). MFM Threesome, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected PiV (we assume previously discussed), established relationship, pet names as usual (Tim calls reader: Shutterbug, baby, gorgeous; Marcus calls her: pretty girl, hunny), aftercare. A wee bit of possessive!Tim 😮💨
I have to stop editing this or I might accidentally give Marcus three arms or something - please excuse my mistakes! Part II will be coming!
Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist
You’re in danger of swallowing your tongue right alongside this dumpling.
When your detective boyfriend invited you to join him and his FBI Agent friend for dim sum, you had been more excited about cheung fun and har gow than you had meeting Tim’s friend who’s in town for a case. But now that you’ve met the sweet, handsome Agent Pike, you think you might have to rethink your commitment to today's xiao long bao.
The two law enforcement officers regale you with stories from when they met on a joint LAPD-FBI task force many years ago and the cases they’ve helped each other with as friends since. It’s clear that there’s a deep mutual respect between the two men and that they enjoy the each other’s company immensely. You haven’t seen Tim laugh and smile this much with anyone other than… well, you – slightly awestruck and with no small measure of amusement, you watch your normally gruff boyfriend give in to a rip roaring good time with his once colleague.
And it’s no wonder – Marcus is charming, open, and without a drop of pretentiousness to him even though Tim insists he’s one of the most respected minds at the Bureau. Marcus’ enthusiasm for your favourite dim sum restaurant is second only to Tim’s – unwilling to dampen their boyish excitement, you give up on the impossible task of trying to curtail their order and let the two officers of the law order way, way too much food. The sight of both men’s eyes widening and mouths watering as each new plate is dropped off or steam basket opened nearly dissolves you into a never-ending fit of giggles - you can’t stop smiling wide at the two of them together.
As adorably gluttonous as Marcus and Tim both are, neither of them forgets about you – proclaiming “Ladies, first,” they take turns chivalrously serving you from each newly arrived dish before piling their own plates high. With wonder, you marvel at how Marcus’ seemingly insatiable appetite manages to keep up with the voraciousness of Tim’s.
He’s just so much like Tim… yet different; softer, more boyish, sentimental.
When Tim pulls out his detective’s notepad and flips through to get Marcus’ thoughts on something, you think your brain might short circuit. Your brilliant, more than competent detective looking for help from another law enforcement officer? Willingly soliciting another’s advice on his own area of expertise? This might be when you start to rub your thighs together under the table.
Stopping when you realize what you’re doing, the physical sensation is replaced by an unexpected thought: What might Marcus’ handsome clean-shaven face feel like against your inner thighs and how would it differ from the burn of Tim’s scruff that you love so much?
Watching both men point and run their thick fingers over Tim’s case notes, talking animatedly and thoughtfully while feeding off each other’s ideas and enthusiasm for police work, your mouth goes dry and then very, very wet – to keep yourself from openly drooling, you stuff siu mai after siu mai into your mouth.
Long after you say goodbye to Marcus and tell him sincerely how lovely it was to meet him, the warmth of his hug lingers and you find yourself distracted all day. What is going on with you?! You don’t usually fantasize about men that aren’t Tim, and even when you do, it’s usually some celebrity or idea of a celebrity, not some real-life person you’ve actually met. And it’s not as if you’re unhappy with Tim – far from it; Tim satisfies your every need and in more ways that you could have ever imagined. It’s not that you’re attracted to Marcus and want him instead of Tim… you want him with Tim, you realize.
Not unfamiliar with threesome porn and reading ‘sharing’ smut, you’ve always confidently filed away the idea of being fucked by two men at the same time as one of those things that was titillating in media or fiction, but not something you wanted to experience in real life. Now you aren’t quite so sure.
---
You’re still out of sorts by the time you’re snuggled into bed with Tim at the end of the night. He’s sitting up, reading glasses still on and deep into his book while you fuss with your covers endlessly. Finally, you give up and climb into his lap, ducking under the beefy arms holding up his book so that you can straddle and hug your tree truck of a boyfriend. Sighing heavily against his chest, you feel Tim drop his arms behind you to put his book down, fingers softly caressing your back to encourage you to say what you need to say.
“Tim… have you ever thought about…?” You can’t bring yourself to voice your thoughts out loud, hiding your face in Tim’s shoulder.
“What is it, Shutterbug? Is it what’s been distracting you all day?”
Leaning back, you give your intuitive detective a little anxious nod and he cradles your head soothingly in his paw, rubbing calming circles to your temple with his thumb.
“Have you ever thought about having a threesome?” You chew your bottom lip nervously so the words are nearly all mumbled together, “Like, would you ever consider sharing me in bed with another man?”
“Is this because of Marcus?”
You look at Tim panic stricken; you didn’t realize that you had been so obvious. Although, you suppose, your boyfriend has one of the most brilliant minds you’ve ever encountered and he loves and knows you like no one else. Still - you’re afraid he’s upset with you.
“Yes… but it’s not what you think. I’m yours, Tim, and only yours - I never want anyone else except you. But, Marcus… you and him are so alike? It really blew me away when I saw the two of you together today. I just… I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to have two of you at the same time.”
“Shutterbug, I’ll be honest. I don’t want to share you…”
Nodding, you had expected as much – and far from being disappointed, you’re grateful that Tim isn’t put off by your confession and is being honest with his own feelings.
“… but I could. If that was something you really wanted.”
Eyes widening in surprise, you would have never expected this. Tim’s a little surprise at his reaction as well, if he’s being honest. If someone else had approached him to bring up the idea of his girlfriend having sex with another man, that person would have been sent straight to the hospital. But the way that you’re looking at him, so shy and bashful about your dirty fantasy - describing it as having more of him… well, the image of your blissed out face while being pleasured in front of him isn’t as unwelcoming as he thought it would be.
“How about this, baby? You think about it some more, and I’ll think about it some more… and if it’s something we’re both willing to try… I’ll ask Marcus when he’s in town until.”
You had thought about it some more. In fact, for the week following dim sum, it was all you could think about.
So, Detective Rockford had called Agent Pike and what he said to his friend, you’ll never know – only that according to Tim, Marcus hadn’t needed much convincing at all.
Now you’re in your bathroom, knowing that on the other side of the door Detective Tim Rockford and Agent Marcus Pike are waiting for you, ready to indulge in your dirtiest fantasy - one that you didn’t even know you harboured until you’d seen the two handsome men together and been so struck by their similarities. Taking a few deep breaths to calm your nerves, you check your hair and outfit one last time before opening the door.
Upon walking into your bedroom, nearly all the air leaves your lungs and you feel your panties dampen at the scene that greets you - the men are waiting, each having taken off their suit jackets but still very much in their professional wear, eyes ready and trained on you. Tim, sitting on the edge of your shared bed, has removed his tie and discarded it somewhere out of sight, his crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest. He’s still wearing his leather gun holster.
Marcus is standing off to the side next to the bed, tie still on but loosened and his shirt sleeves have been rolled up to reveal the thick veins of his strong forearms.
The two of them look resolute and intimidating - staring at little ole you as you step forward wearing your silk robe. It strikes you once again - so alike, but different.
“Are you feeling shy, gorgeous?”
You nod at Tim’s question, biting your lip.
“Come here, baby.”
Two sets of hungry eyes follow you as you step between your boyfriend’s legs. Tim looks up at you, the unspoken question clear in his adoring look, Are you okay? We can stop if you want. Gosh, you love him. You know nothing bad can ever happen if he’s with you.
You answer by fiddling with the tie of your robe and letting it fall open to reveal the white lace lingerie set you chose specifically for tonight: white and virginal - perfect for being defiled by two, big towering men.
“Holy shit.”
Turning your head to grin at Marcus’ words, you shrug off your robe and let the silky material pool at your feet before returning your attention to your boyfriend’s lustful gaze.
“What do you need, Shutterbug?”
“Please kiss me, Tim.”
Never one to deny you anything (not even this), Tim acquiesces, firmly brushing your lips with his own over and over before taking your lower lip in between his teeth and nibbling gently so that you relax, easily placating you by expertly working your mouth the way only he knows how.
Pulling back from Tim’s plush pout, you extend your graceful arm and reach out for the other man, “You too, please, Marcus.”
The clean-shaven agent eagerly steps towards you, cupping your face in his big hands before pressing his lips lightly to yours.
Oh.
It’s been so long since you’ve kissed anyone but Tim that you had forgotten other lips existed. Where Tim is pressing and hungry, Marcus is exploring, featherlight. The feeling of a face pressed to yours that isn’t rough with facial hair is novel, but welcomed; especially when you feel the familiar scratch of Tim’s whiskers scraping down your neck as he mouths his way to your bare shoulder.
Opening up to let Marcus in, your moans needy and throaty when his licks behind your teeth and his tongue strokes yours with a burning hot desire – heartbeat picking up, you pant, ready to beg for more. Tim’s hot breath on your skin simultaneously warms and sends shivers throughout your entire body, every dart of his tongue shooting a sizzling tingle straight between your legs. The men's combined touch is making you lightheaded, dizzy with want.
To bring yourself back to the moment, you reach out to cradle their heads - Tim with your right hand, Marcus in your left. Massaging and scratching, you smile at the slight differences you feel beneath your fingertips: Tim’s curls are longer, a little wiry from his pepper of greys, where Marcus’ chestnut locks are silker, but cut to a more school boy length. Threading your fingers through their hair and drawing synchronized patterns on the scalps of both men, your chest swells with pride at the appreciative groans from Tim at your shoulder and Marcus in your mouth.
Tim’s hands snake around your front to grope you breasts over the delicate lace, pinching and pulling on your already hardened nipples while kissing down your spine - “Fuck, baby, that feels so good,” you sigh. Marcus takes in your heady look of bliss and chuckles; trailing his hands from your face down to your shoulders, he nips lovingly at your jaw while pushing the straps of your bra off your shoulders.
You giggle as the falling satin bands tickle your arm and Marcus nuzzles your throat with his strong nose, “You’re so soft, hunny.”
“Thank you, Marcus… tell me what you like?” you breathe, basking in the dual attention of his mouth and Tim’s hands that are still kneading and worshipping your tits.
“This neck,” the agent leans down to kiss that sweet spot that only your detective has ever been able to find; your knees buckle a little, but Tim keeps you upright in his firm hold.
“These hips,” Marcus skates his fingertips over the thin band of your panties – so sensitive all over, your hips buck at his whisper touch and you arch forward, pushing your chest further into Tim’s bear paw hands. Tim rewards you by roughly pulling down the cups of your flimsy bra so that he can continue to touch you without the lace barrier. Tim's actions don’t go unnoticed by Marcus whose eyes flick down to your newly uncovered breasts.
He licks his lips, “These tits.”
Against the nape of your neck, you feel Tim growl; smiling, you tut, “Play nice, Detective.” At your words, Tim relents and drops his hands down to your ass, squeezing and palming the soft rounds possessively.
“Go on, Agent,” you coo.
Emboldened by the sweet way his professional title rolls off your tongue, Marcus reaches behind with one hand and unclasps your bra, waiting for it to drop to the floor before he lowers his mouth to your chest and takes one of your supple breasts into his mouth.
“Ngghhhh!” you cry out, the foreign sensation of a new mouth swirling and sucking on your aching peaks has you positively gushing. Marcus’ soft lips mouth teasingly at your nipples as his hand massages and rubs at the other breast in the same playful manner - so different from Tim who always worships your tits with a fervent need. Feeling the soft grunt of your detective, you turn your head to moan directly into Tim’s mouth when he captures your lips again in a searing kiss, his tongue chasing after yours while his hot hands start to slide your sticky panties over your hips – Detective Rockford chuckles upon realizing just how soaked the garment is, hardly needing any assistance from his busy hands to unceremoniously drop to the ground.
Now naked and sandwiched between two fully clothed men, you shudder and gasp with arousal; you’re so wet already - practically shaking with need and they’ve hardly touched you. Both men let you undo their pants as they continue to worship and pant into your skin - massaging and groping, nipping and lapping so that you feel them both everywhere. Your lips are swollen and plump, kiss bitten and shiny from the coordinated efforts of your detective and agent - and still, you whine for more. Somehow managing to free both their cocks, you smile dreamily to yourself as you find them equally hard and willing, heads already glossy and weeping with precum.
Taking them each in hand, you swirl your thumbs over their bulbous heads before stroking them in tandem with your soft hands, feeling both men harden further beneath your gentle palms. Even here Tim and Marcus are again so similar, yet different. Tim’s familiar length is thick and girthy, you know its thick veins and ridges intimately; Marcus is just as pretty, a little less thick, but slightly longer and curving ever so slightly to the right. The heft of him feels welcoming and reminds you of the weight of Tim’s cock when he sits on your tongue. You can’t look away from the way your fingers barely wrap around the thickness of their smooth members, the suddenly dawning reality of taking both men tonight intimidating you and turning your mouth into a drooling mess at the same time. The detective and the agent are equally sensitive to your touch, groaning into your skin and pressing their open mouths against your delicate flesh so hard you can feel the sting of their canines – Tim behind your ear, Marcus at the base of your neck.
“Please,” you plead, for what - you don’t even know. The men laugh softly in unison.
“Please what, Shutterbug? Use your words, baby.”
“I need more, please,” you whimper, needy and bratty.
“She’s so polite,” smirks Marcus.
“Always such a good girl,” agrees Tim as he shifts back onto the mattress towards the headboard, gently guiding you with him. When he’s sitting kingly at the head of the bed, he commands in a low voice that sends a shiver up your spine, “Help undress me, baby.”
You jump at the request, greedily grabbing and tugging to relieve Tim of his clothes as quickly as possible. Tim chuckles indulgently at your eagerness - his shirt, pants, boxers and socks you throw somewhere on the floor, but his leather gun holster you lean over him to carefully hang on its place on your bedpost. You squeal when your detective uses this opportunity to playfully suck and tug at your nipples with his teeth when they dangle tantalizingly near his face. Mouth full, Tim murmurs, “Can’t help myself, sorry gorgeous.” He’s not sorry at all – neither are you.
From the corner of your eye, you see Marcus undress, folding his clothes neatly over a chair - once more you’re stuck by the younger agent’s likeness to Tim. Marcus’ chest is broad and wide, just like your detective’s, and a similar strength and power ripples below the surface of his smooth skin – though he bares less evidence of being marked by the darker aspects of police work than Tim, you nonetheless spy a few scars that make your heart tighten. Bullet wound? Knife injury? You want to kiss his every long-healed hurt the way you have with your detective’s. Marcus’ arms are a little less burly than Tim’s, but they’re thick and strong, exuding that same sense of security and safety – and the mouthwatering sight of the winding veins in his forearms popping as Marcus braces his hands on the bed looks awfully familiar. The very thought of tracing every ridge and bump of his arms with your tongue and biting down on the younger man’s wrists makes you weak.
Taking control the way he can see you need, Tim wraps one of his own muscular arms around you and tucks you against his side, smiling wickedly as he reaches down to part your legs so that you’re on display for his friend, “Fuck, Shutterbug, you’re already so wet for us?”
Doe-eyed, you nod dumbly at your boyfriend, not the least bit ashamed at how your pussy is leaking all over the sheets.
Marcus crawls up the bed to plant his wide body between your thighs, licking his lips at the sight of your glistening cunt – you pulse at the hunger in his eyes. Seeing his friend’s face so close to your heat, Tim tilts your face to his with two of his thick fingers, possessively claiming your mouth; he parts your lips easily with the tip of his smooth muscle and licks in, furiously tangling with your tongue. You moan unabashedly to reassure him that no matter what happens next, it’s the prowess of his talented tongue that will always own you.
When you feel the snap of air that Marcus blows over your cunt, you gasp into Tim’s mouth and reach for his cock to brace yourself. Pussy tingling with anticipating, you have only a moment to wrap your fingers around the detective’s throbbing cock before the FBI agent dives in, tongue first.
The younger agent is eager and enthusiastic, slurping and drinking from you like a man parched. Where Tim normally takes his time, traversing his preferred paths of your pussy slow and sensual, and relishing in building you up with every purposeful lick, Marcus is all over the place – his scruff-free jaw rubs the inside of your thighs warm as he explores and marks ever dip and crest like it’s newly discovered land, which for him, it is. Marcus’ tongue, nose, lips and tongue work in league to enthusiastically reveal all your sweetest secrets; the combination of the loud squelches from his spirited tongue slapping against your cunt and the hungry noises that Agent Pike hums into your sopping wet folds is almost too much – you can't help but send wave after of wave of fresh slick flowing onto his face. Lolling your head back against your detective’s shoulder, you whinny and writhe from near oversensitivity - your body’s reaction to someone who’s not Tim eating you out so well is to run.
Bolstering his strong hold on you, Tim kisses down your neck to keep you grounded, calming your racing heart by massaging and petting your tits with his familiar affection – like clockwork, his touch settles you and your body follows to safety, finally able to give yourself over to the magic of Marcus' mouth. Grateful, you smile adoringly at your perfect detective, stroking his cock in appreciation, lazily and with indulgence.
“How does she taste, Pike?”
“So fucking sweet. Like honey,” Marcus mumbles into your cunt, the vibrations of his liquid gold baritone coupled with the skill of his tongue make you whine and squirm once more, but this time you’re chasing the mind numbing sensation.
“How is he doing, baby?” Tim nudges your earlobe with his strong nose, sucking a mark to the sweet spot of your neck.
“So good-” you cry, eyes closing.
“Open your eyes, Shutterbug. Tell our friend from the FBI how he’s doing,” Tim’s voice is low and authoritative; you can’t disobey. You don’t want to disobey.
You open your eyes and the immediate sight of Marcus' face half hidden in your pussy and his soft, puppy dog eyes looking up eagerly for your praise has you bucking into his face, “Fuck! Oh Fu- Marcus, you’re making me feel so good! Your mou- your mouth!! My pussy loves it – oh goddddd I’m so fucking wet. Please fuck me with your tongue, Agent.”
Marcus chuckles a near identical laugh to the one that Tim rumbles against your neck.
“Give my girl what she wants, Marcus. Don’t hold back. She can take it, can’t you, baby?”
“Yes!” Your answer to your boyfriend is nearly screamed as Marcus dives back in with vigour – his muscular tongue prods your needy hole while his nose nudges your clit to a hypnotic tempo he sets.
“Keep your eyes on Marcus, baby.”
Panting for breath and barely able to hold in your mewling whimpers, you lower your gaze - Marcus’ eyes are now closed, his mouth a wide seal cloaking your cunt; each inhale and exhale through his nose shudders against your sensitive nub, growing more and more insistent as he tongue fucks you with fury. The younger man's soft waves bounce against his head as he continues his vigorous efforts and when you reach down to tug against his short curls, the resulting hum the agent sends spasming through you core pushes you over the edge. Back arched and stretched, you scream, babbling an incoherent string of expletives and endearments as you come. Tim takes a one of your heaving breasts into his mouth, sucking and nipping you through your high and you appreciatively pump his rock-hard cock all while grinding against Marcus’ still working mouth.
“So pretty when she comes,” Marcus grins when he reemerges, clean-shaven face shiny with your release, shifting to plant soft, butterfly kisses up your apex and over your stomach before rising on his knees.
“The prettiest,” agrees Detective Rockford as he lifts your pliant and pleasure wracked body so that you can meet his friend’s mouth. Marcus gathers and coddles you in his arms, your blissed out face is greeted by Agent Pike’s self-satisfied grin of pride, his eyes blown wide from his own desire as he kisses you rough and ready – your mouth fills with your own taste and you let out a desperate little purr, empty hole clenching and begging to be filled with something girthier than the agent’s tongue. As you and Marcus make out, you briefly register Tim leaving your hand and his meaty paws handling your lithe body to maneuver you onto all fours – a firm hand between your shoulder blades presses down so that your ass arches up.
“You’re mine to fuck first, Shutterbug,” Tim growls, the deepness of his voice reminding everyone of one of the previously established rules of your rendezvous as he strokes his own aching length nice and slow, “Why don’t you show Agent Pike what your sweet mouth can do, baby?”
You nod dreamily, lowering yourself onto your elbows and wiggling your ass in the air, beckoning Tim to ruin you. As Marcus sits back to collect, you angle his cock towards your face, biting back a smile as you admire his glory. He’s swollen and angry by now, the immediate differences between him and Tim no longer so stark – but man oh man is he sensitive; Marcus’ leaking dick is practically jumping in your hand, itching to enter your mouth. You press a happy kiss to the reddened tip, causing the younger man to jolt forward with a groan – he meets the flat of your tongue and you tease him with a few more kitten licks before your mouth falls open into an O-shape when Tim enters you from behind.
Always needing a moment to get used to the fullness of your detective, you use this opportunity feed the agent into your mouth, closing your lips gently around him and humming as you lightly flick the head of his cock with your tongue. Marcus doesn’t seem to mind the agonizing slow pace with which you blow him, his own strong hand coming to the back of your head and petting you encouragingly as he grunts and breathes heavily in pleasure.
It’s only when Tim starts to move, hips thrusting deep and bottoming out with every stroke, that you start to suck and bob Marcus’ cock in earnest. Tim grabs your hips hard, another possessive reminder of who you’ll always belong to as he drives into your cunt – the wet slap, slap, slap of his skin against yours, lascivious music to your ears. Your walls hug him tight and possessive back, and Tim’s fingers dig deeper into your softness in response – mine, I love what’s mine. Unable to keep yourself from moaning and drooling, your hot, wet mouth is sending Marcus to the moon – he looks down to watch his friend’s pretty girl take his cock down her throat and when you wink up at him, he involuntarily bucks into your mouth. You sputter and gag, dropping Marcus’ weight from your lips as you wipe your mouth and inhale a much-needed breath of air.
“You okay, baby?” Tim’s bark is surprisingly tender - despite the heated way he’s currently rutting into you, his priority is always your comfort over his or Marcus’ pleasure. But when you look back over your shoulder at your detective, nodding with your glazed over eyes and cock drunk giggle on your lips, Tim’s rhythm nearly falters, “Seen you suck cock better than that, gorgeous. Come on, show Marcus what you got.”
Filled with a need to make Tim proud, you turn back to Marcus’ cock and swallow him whole. Holding him to the very back of your throat and tickling his balls with your delicate fingers, you take a moment to drink in the strangled moans emanating from the agent before working his length with renewed enthusiasm - helped along by Tim’s hard thrusts rocking your pliant body.
Smack.
Tim’s hand meets the swell of your ass with a force that sends you tumbling forward onto Marcus’ cock. You gasp around the agent’s length and clench down on your boyfriend when you hear the younger man whimpering above you at the heaven of your mouth.
“Pretty girl - fuck!” groans Marcus. He looks down and nearly comes, first to the dazed-out expression of bliss on your face as you continue to stuff your mouth full of him, then past the smooth curve of your spine to where your ass is bouncing and rippling from the force of his friend’s thrusts – he’s never been so turned on in his life and he starts grinding towards your face.
You’re pinned between the two men now, barely doing any of the work as they ricochet your open body between them - grunting out dirty words of praise to you, about you:
Feel so fucking perfect, baby – so fucking tight.
Look so fucking hot, hunny - you have such a good mouth.
Wish you could see all this cream, Pike – she’s leaking down her legs.
Pretty girl looks so good, stuffed full of two dicks like this.
She’s like a vice gripping my cock – she’s going to come soon, I can feel it.
Can’t wait until it’s my turn in that sweet pussy.
Their dirty words and the way they talk to each other as if you’re not even there, like you’re just an object for them to use to get off, propels you towards your second orgasm shamefully quick. Knowing your body as well as he does, Tim reaches down to your now pulsating clit and swipes one, two, three expert circles before you’re coming with an ungodly wail. As you shudder and shake, Tim continues to pound into you while Marcus takes his cock, released from your slobbering mouth when you came, and continues to slap it against your cheek and plush lips. You look up at him blissfully, eyes brightened like stars and lay your tongue out flat so he can rub and feel its softness against his angry cock.
Tenderly, Marcus uses his calloused thumbs to clean up your face, praising how good you did for him.
“Thank you, Agent,” you coo back, still floating from the intensity of your orgasm, you barely feel it when Tim withdraws; once again, your body is putty, made only for the two men to do with you what they wish. Marcus gently pulls you up and lays another deep and heady kiss to your swollen lips before helping you lay back down. You come to a rest between Tim’s legs, head resting on the apex of his thigh as his hand comes down to stroke your hair.
“Thank you, Detective,” you gaze up at your boyfriend lovingly, for the orgasm, for tonight, for everything. Your words of devotion and gratitude unsaid, but not unheard.
Legs being spread again, you look down to see the younger man positioning himself at your core, dick throbbing and ready. Marcus knows he won’t last long, but he can’t end the evening without knowing the feeling of your warm, wet cunt; he slides in without resistance, you’ve been primed to take him since you saw him standing next to your bed earlier this evening. Every drag of his cock along your tight pussy walls feels like heaven to the agent; he sets a grueling pace - desperate to tap as many of your most divine and intimate parts as he can before he explodes.
The agent’s frantic movements push your body purposefully towards your detective’s perfect cock until it’s only natural for you to open your mouth and suck him down, eager to show your devotion to the man you love by milking him dry.
“You’re a lucky man, Rockford,” pants Marcus, driving deep into your pussy, chasing his own high.
“Don’t I fucking know it, Pike,” Tim’s tone is authoritative and imposing, but the look with which he looks down upon you using the motion of Marcus’ every punishing thrust to bob along his cock, is one of pure worship.
The love you see in Tim’s expression is enough to send you barreling towards another orgasm.
“You should see what she looks like wearing my gun holster. Maybe next time.”
Next time?! You howl around Tim’s cock from your sudden, unexpected explosion at his words.
The look of total and complete surrendered pleasure on your face sends Tim to the edge at the exact same time that Marcus feels the pinch from the angelic clench of your pussy.
“Where do you want us, baby?”
You don’t even need to give it a second thought - popping off Tim’s cock you whine, “All over - on my stomach, my tits! I want you both to mark me. Please.”
The two men hurriedly leave your warm holes and fist themselves furiously, shooting ropes of milky white cum all over your now spent and limp body. You grin at the filthy feel of their spend painting and mixing on your hot skin, running your fingers though the evidence of their depravity before popping them in your mouth. Basking in the reverent stares of your not-quite-identical twin lovers, you make a show of licking your fingers clean, this your last act of filth on this perfect night of fantasy.
Tim wraps his protective arms around you, holding you close and safe as the two of you watch as Marcus gets dressed.
“Pretty girl, I don’t want to leave, but I have to get back to the hotel and pack if I want to make my flight,” he says, not without regret. Cradling your face affectionately, Marcus leans down to lay a soft kiss to the apple of your cheek, his soft eyes filled with a silent Thank you.
You bring a tired hand up to cup Marcus’ smooth face and gently run your thumb over his jaw, “Thank you for everything, Agent.” You smile sleepily at him through your glassy eyes, fussing over him warmly, “Be safe, Marcus. Text Tim when you land so we know you got in safe.”
Tim extends his free arm to shake the younger man’s hand, “Good to see you as always, Pike. Let me know the next time you’re in town. We’ll have dim sum.”
“Right, dim sum,” smirks Marcus, heartily shaking his friend’s hand.
Just before he leaves, Marcus turns to take one final look at you and Tim and regrets it almost immediately. Still in Tim’s arms, you lay resting against his chest as he peppers your lips with tender butterfly kisses, cooing sweet nothings in your ear too quiet for Marcus to hear. Your legs remain slightly splayed open and he can see your pretty pussy still glistening with arousal from the doorway. Your naked body is shiny with his and Tim’s combined spend and you’re softly massaging one of your breasts, rubbing their cum into your soft skin.
It's intimate and sensual and Marcus knows that if he doesn’t go now, he’ll be hard again in no time. He catches Tim’s eye and gives his friend one final nod - upon receiving the same respectful gesture in return, Marcus closes the door and leaves.
---
“How you are feeling, Shutterbug?”
You let the warmth of the bath that Tim ran for you wash gently over your shoulders, sinking lower into the tub before answering, “I feel good, Tim. Thank you, thank you for doing that for me.”
Tim leans over to kiss your forehead from his seat next to the tub, “Anything for you, baby.”
You smile at the loving gesture and close your eyes, body sore in the most satisfying way you could have ever imagined.
“Is this something you want to do again?”
Opening your eyes, you look deep in your detective’s eyes, trying to understand what he might be feeling right now. Finding no insecurity, resentment or displeasure, only tenderness and genuine curiosity, you shake your head sleepily, “No, I don’t think so. I don’t want anyone else in our bed, Tim. Just you. My threesome fantasy has been fulfilled beyond my wildest imagination – you were perfect.”
“No, Shutterbug – you were perfect. It was really something else seeing you like that. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would,” Tim admits honestly.
“Like how? Coming hard again and again?” you tease, “You see that all the time all on your own, Detective Rockford.”
Tim’s low chuckle echoes off the walls of the steamy bathroom. Your hand reaches out of the tub lazily, finding Tim’s and gently threading your graceful fingers through his much rougher ones, “I only ever need you, Tim. I love you so much.”
“I love you more, gorgeous.”
You sigh, perfectly content, happy. How did you ever get so lucky?
“What about the next time Marcus comes to town?” Your eyes snap open to see Tim smirking indulgently at you.
You can’t help but stare disbelieving at your boyfriend – you search his eyes again to gauge if he’s messing with you. He’s not – Detective Tim Rockford is never anything but sincere with you; it’s one of the reasons why you always feel so safe with him, loved by him, cherished. Heart fluttering, you grin, that mischievous look that Tim can never resist lighting up your whole face, “Well… we’ll see. I do love dim sum.”
Leaning in to give you a series of soft, heart melting kisses, Tim grins back against your plush and waiting lips, murmuring, “You and your dim sum.”
8.4K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader
Summary: Din comes out of retirement for an unsanctioned boxing match.
Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Poe is Poe, light violence (non-graphic), boxing match physicality described (by someone who doesn't really know anything about boxing), some machismo and testosterone fueled talk, allusion to thigh riding, semi public sex, established relationship, oral (m receiving), light face fucking, unprotected PiV, recorded sex, panty gag, dirty talk, pet names as usual (pretty bird, baby, sweetheart, etc.), degradation (slut/whore; affectionate), Paz and Din each give reader a little boost/lift once, reader wears a dress.
A/N: Oof! The word count on this one really got away from me - mainly cause it got dirty as heck at the end 🫥 Hope the tension between the clans comes through even though this primarily devolved into filth🤞🏻 And if anyone is wondering, my hc for Al's attack command is "Dracarys" 🤭🤭 Dividers by the awesome @saradika-graphics 🥰
Series Masterlist
(I think this is my favourite chapter I've written 🥹 It used to be The Drycleaner, now I think it's this one.)
“Pretty bird, everything will be okay.”
It seems like unretiring is all the rage these days. First, with the amount of time Din’s been spending working with the Mandos to help contain the recent unrest, you basically consider him to have unofficially unretired. And now this: an unsanctioned boxing match. You could kill Poe.
There had been a commotion brewing outside Mando’s when you approached with Al earlier this afternoon. From a few blocks away, you saw two men facing off, speaking aggressively - the tension in their body language evident even from a distance. Flanking each man were several others, posed to jump in if the confrontation went beyond words. Once closer, you realized that one of the men having words was Poe and the people standing behind him were Paz and Din - the faces of all three men furrowed and serious.
Remembering what Paz had once said about how he and Din used to have to bail out Poe’s big mouth, you wonder if that’s what’s happening now.
When Din sees you, he takes out his phone and sends off a quick text: Go inside please, pretty bird.
You nod when you see the message and head straight for the side door entrance to Din’s place; you’ve almost got your key in the lock when you hear someone speak out, “Nice to see you again, sweetheart.”
You’re not sure where he came from, but you recognize the slimy sneer of one Gorga Hutt right away. He’s walking towards you without any heed to the situation playing out only a few meters away; from the corner of your eye you see Din turn, ready to come and intervene, but you’ve got this. You’ve just come from Peli’s and listened sympathetically as she ranted about the recent attack of vandalism on her shop, you were not in any mood to tolerate men who enjoyed attempting to intimidate a woman. Whispering the trained command into your dog’s ear, you hold on tight to the leash as Alfredo goes absolutely bonkers, snarling and snapping his jaws while growling viciously. The effect is instantaneous – Al’s booming barks silence whatever is happening between the men in front of the gym, and Gorga quickly rejoins them, forced to walk backwards as you advance, holding taut the leash that’s being pulled by your attacking dog. When you step to Din’s side, you pull up and lean down to pet Al’s head, whispering the stop command he so perfectly learned; and just like that, Al stops barking and sits, the only noises from him are happy pants as he absorbs your praise and ear scratches.
Wordlessly, you give Din a kiss on the cheek and turn to go upstairs to the apartment like you had originally planned. As you get to the front door you hear:
“If only Mando’s boxers had that kind of attack in the ring.”
“Fuck you.”
Poe’s incredulous response is the last thing you hear before the door closes behind you. Upstairs, heart still pounding, you focus on getting Al fresh water and giving him soothing pets to help him calm down. The attack command was one that you had worked hard on with your trainer, but you rarely use it (if ever), because of the stress it puts the dog under.
Din enters the apartment half an hour later to find you and Al snugging on the sofa, your face buried in the soft neck scruff of your dog while he rests his snoozy head on yours.
“Hey pretty bird, you and Al okay?”
“Mhhmmmm,” you mumble, face full of fur. You feel the couch dip near your head as Din sits down and then you feel his big rough hands start to gently stroke your hair; you’re positive Al is getting the same treatment. When you look up, you’re stunned to see that Din has the beginnings of a swollen lip and a little cut near the upper left corner of his mouth.
“Din!” you immediately sit up and scramble into his lap to check the rest of him over.
“I’m okay, baby, don’t worry. This,” he points to his lip, “is friendly fire. Courtesy of an overexcited Poe.”
“Geez Louise,” you shake your head, “but it ended with fists, whatever was going on downstairs?”
Sighing, Din leans back and presses the heel of his palms to his eyes, “As it often does when Poe gets feisty.”
Apparently, when Poe had pulled up to the gym today, he had spotted two lower-level Hutt family members milling around on the same block, seemingly doing nothing. Tensions running high from the recent incidents of mischief, Poe had accused them of having less than innocent motives for hanging out where they were. The shouting match escalated to where a few Mandos had come out from the gym to see what was happening and a few Hutts had driven up to back up their brethren.
Then, apparently, Poe had been likened to a chihuahua whose only useful purpose was to “use his yap” to summon his guard dogs, which had set off a string of verbal diatribes where Poe, defending his little chihuahua honour, had disparaged the physical prowess and effectiveness of the Hutt family’s own “dogs” and the lackluster success of their business ventures. Being Poe, he needled in on the Hutt’s inability to produce any serious contenders on the boxing circuit recently, a known sore spot for the Hutts. This led to a proverbial pissing contest where Hutt and Mando’s past and current fighters were compared, more insults were thrown, eventually escalating until the Hutts decided that they would very much like to demonstrate some of these fighting skills that they were being accused of lacking.
You had shown up and left right before things had gotten physical.
A short fisticuffs then ensued where the main challenge for Din and Paz had been holding Poe back and making sure he didn’t get beat; an errant swing from Poe when Din had pulled him away to avoid an incoming punch was responsible for Din’s swollen lip.
By now, you’ve retrieved a little bag of ice and are holding it up to Din’s lip as he tells you how it all ended. While still struggling in Paz’s arms, Poe had spit out a challenge: any fighter from Mando’s gym could take on the Hutt’s best fighter, weight class or fight experience be damned. Gorga had sneered, ‘Any?’ before proposing a bout between the Hutt’s current top fighter and Din, knowing that it’s been years since Din fought professionally. Caught up in his own pride and that of the Fetts and Mando’s, Poe had shook on it.
You’re in shock. You don’t even know anything about the other fighter, but you can’t imagine it’s fair to pit someone who’s in the prime of their career against someone who hasn’t seen the inside of a competitive ring for years, no matter how good of a fighter they are.
“How are you so calm about this?” you’re already filled with anxiety and worry. Din takes the bag of ice from you and sets it aside, raising your hand to his lip, he gives your knuckles a few ginger kisses.
“Pretty bird, everything will be okay. It’s a fight. It’s nothing I haven’t done before. I’ll train, I’ll fight, I’ll win. Sure, it might be harder or different than it used to be, but I’ll train harder, fight harder, win harder. My body knows how to do this.”
That’s true, you suppose. Din’s in excellent shape, it’s not like his body’s been languid and idle; he’s not starting from square one, he just has to remind his body what it needs to do to win. “Okay,” you breathe, “so we train.” Din smiles and repeats back to you, “We train.”
And train he does. Over the next several weeks, Din’s regimen is strict - his daytime work at the gym is replaced with physical training: cardio for endurance, weights for strength, sparring with each and every boxer at Mando’s to keep his technique on its toes. He’s given some reprieve from any nighttime security duties so he can get the rest his body needs, and for this you’re infinitely grateful.
Sadly, you have to stop baking sweet treats for the gym, but instead, spend your time in the kitchen making high protein and carb-based meals to help Din bulk up and stay lean. You bemoan whenever a little bit of his soft tummy disappears. You and Al practically move in during this time so that Din stay focused, but mainly so you can take care of him; you suspected that with all the training and prep for the match, Din would neglect proper self care at the end of his tiring day. After a long day of training, you make sure he takes long soothing baths to relax and soothe his overworked muscles, and not just short showers to get cleaned quickly. When you start to notice that Din’s daytime showers are leaving his hair dry from the constant shampooing, you bring over your expensive salon-quality hair care products and condition his locks and massage in hair masks all while he lays in the steaming water, eyes closed with his head on your chest. After you dry him off, Din grinning the entire time you very meticulously rub him down, you’ll wrap the towel low on his hips and shoo him to the bedroom with instructions to lay facedown on the bed.
Lathering him up in massage oil, you push and pull at the long lines of his muscles, working out the tension and kneading his knots, victorious when you feel him melt under your firm and loving touch. You work your nimble fingers down the strong, corded muscles of his arms and the broad expanse of his back, paying extra attention to where his smooth skin dimples at the base of his spine.
You work diligently and attentively as you straddle his bare ass, and though your intentions are altruistic, inevitably, Din will feel your wetness even through the slippery oil you’ve massaged over his backside. That’s when he’ll catch you off guard - flipping you over and pinning you beneath him with the weight of his body within the cage of his strong arms.
Some nights you’ll let him win, allowing him to smirk, “Your turn, pretty bird,” before giving him access to your body and letting him pull the most delicious orgasm from you with his talented mouth and fingers. As a follow-up, he rails you face down into his mattress, leaving you crying and drooling as you come, fluttering around his cock before he paints your walls white.
Other nights, you’ll gently scold him before slowly rolling him back onto his front and climb back on top of him, continuing to massage his overworked body with your hands - pressing and warming his muscles under your skilled fingers as you grind yourself down on the back of his thigh until you come. Then, and only then, will you let him roll onto his back, just so he can watch you sink your dripping wet cunt down onto his weeping cock and ride him until you both see stars.
The night of the fight finally arrives and you think you and Poe are more nervous than anyone else. It’s not that you doubt Din’s skill or fighting prowess, you’re just anxious knowing there’s some Hutt in the building whose sole goal tonight is to beat the shit out of your boyfriend. You’re in the back hallways of the venue where you first met Greef and Jimmy many months ago, but this time you’re the one who led people down the hall to meet the group. Bea and Lala are here with you tonight, to cheer on Din of course, but mainly as your emotional support; they know how much this matchup has been stressing you out. Thankfully, as you watch Greef and Din laughing with Jimmy and Paz, and all the Mandos getting hyped for the fight, you find yourself getting swept up in their enthusiasm.
When the time comes for you to go to your seats, you sidle up to Din and gentle pull him away from the group so you can have a little privacy.
“I’m proud of you, baby,” you whisper, lifting up on your tip toes while you pull him down with gentle hands around his neck.
Pressing his forehead to yours, Din closes his eyes, reveling in this moment of calm with you before what is certain to be a night of chaos, “Thank you, pretty bird. Couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
“You’re gonna do great, Din. You’re my killer.” Your lips ghost his and Din sucks in your breath, pulling you closer with his wrapped hands spread wide across your lower back, “… and when you win…”
“You gonna give me a prize, sweetheart?” Din smiles against your mouth.
You nod into his mouth, “… I’ll let you take your prize right in this locker room here.” The two of you both glance at the door next to you before reuniting your lips for a deep, searing kiss that manages to simultaneously reassure and ignite an electrical current within you.
“Hey! Save that for after the fight!” yells Greef. You and Din break apart with a chuckle and you leave him with a “Good luck, killer! I love you!” blowing him a kiss before taking off down the hall with your friends and Paz.
---
The roar of the crowd is deafening. Despite this being an unsanctioned match, spectators have showed up in droves - drawn in by Din’s celebrated fight history, the underlying clan rivalry, or both.
When Din and the contingent from Mando’s make their ring entrance, the noise level crescendos; you hold on tight to Bea and Lala’s hands and catch Paz’s eye with your own, shining bright with pride as you cheer loud. Somehow Din discerns your voice over the clamour and as he passes your row looking calm and formidable, he finds you and his eyes soften just long enough to throw you a wink before settling back into a steely glare. Jimmy, on the other hand, follows behind Greef all pumping fists and testosterone fueled howls. He hypes up the crowd even more, reaching in to fist bump you and the girls before accepting a hair tousle from Paz’s long reaching arm.
The crowd remains loud but slightly more subdued for the entrance of Din’s opponent, Rotta Hutt. He’s young, around Jimmy’s age, but way bigger than both Jimmy and Din. He’s Din’s height if not taller, with most of his heft on display as a wall of muscle in the upper half of his body. His arms are tree trunks. His face is impassive but you spy a small curl of a sneer framed by his clean-shaven jaw; all of this topped with a mop of blond hair swept over the front of a high forehead. He looks… sturdy and you can’t help but recoil a little in your seat when you recognize the same sluggish look that you find is common among the Hutts that you’ve met. Lala and Bea both make faces that clearly indicate where their loyalties lie. Paz points out Rotta’s coach who’s walking close behind the boxer, hands on the boy’s shoulders, whispering in his ear, “That’s Ziro Hutt. He’s a piece of shit. Guarantee you he’s telling Rotta to fight dirty and pull some illegal moves on our boy since it’s an unsanctioned fight.”
You look at Paz with alarm, but he’s grinning, “Don’t worry, Lil’ Lady. Din’s got that punk’s number.”
As the fighters go to their respective corners for last-minute pep talks, your gaze shifts over to the crowd on the other side of the ring where you see a continent of Hutts that includes Gorga and his usual lackies. They’re amped and you can feel a sinister charge to the energy emanating from that side of the room.
The fighters and their coaches meet in the middle of the ring with the referee as is customary before the coaches retreat back to their corners for the start of the match, but before that happens, all hell breaks loose. You see Din’s face curl into a snarl before he lunges for Ziro, shoving the slimy man right in his chest with a force that knocks him into the ground; Rotta attempts to retaliate with a punch to Din’s head, and then it’s just a flurry of bodies: the ref trying to get in between, Greef pulling Din off Rotta, Ziro somehow getting up and mixing right back in. The Hutts on the other side of the ring are up on their feet, jeering, some even advancing towards the ring. Paz is on his feet and you see the rest of the Mandos do the same from their seats peppered throughout the stands.
The ref directs everyone back to their corners; you see Greef wrangling Din, turning him to face his corner stool before giving him a little shove in that direction. You don’t know what happened but you know Din must have been provoked; he can’t start the fight in this uncontrolled rage, it won’t fare well if he’s not in a calm, focused mindset. You make your way ringside and reach up, finger tips brushing gently on Din’s arm.
What you didn’t know is that right before the ref was about to send the coaches back to their corners, Ziro had sneered to Din, “When you lose, how about that pretty girl of yours come spend the night with a fighter that isn’t past his prime? Someone who has some stamina?”
Din was still seeing red that that asshole even mentioned you, seething with adrenaline fuelled protectiveness. And possessiveness. His chest is still rising with each heavy breath, agitation rolling over his entire body in waves; he’s barely registering Greef’s words about calming down, when he feels a soft warmth on his arm. He looks down and it’s you. You with your soft smile and pretty eyes, exuding calm and sweetness. Instantly, his breathing evens and his heartrate slows.
“Hey pretty bird, things are getting crazy,” he gives you a little lopsided smile, as if the two of you are the only people in this building, your presence drowning out all the outside noise for him.
You laugh and Din feels his muscles release some tension just at the sound; it’s too awkward for him to lean down and kiss you, but you reach up with both hands and grab on to his wrists, bringing his gloves down so you can lift up and kiss them. A good luck smooch to each, leaving a lipstick imprint of your perfect lips on each. Din grins at you.
“Now when you hit that idiot, it’ll be from the both of us,” you chuckle, and again, it’s like there’s no one else here – just you and Din alone in this yelling crowd, eyes and ears only for each other, “Din, don’t let them get in your head, they don’t want you thinking straight cause they know you’re smarter than all the Hutt braincells combined. Focus and save your energy, killer.”
“You got it, pretty bird,” he flashes you a devastatingly handsome smile, the one that makes your stomach drop every time and tonight’s no exception, you mouth “Love you” before walking backwards to your seat, never breaking eye contact with your man as he mouths it back.
By the time the ref calls the fighters back to the centre of the ring to touch gloves, Din’s back to his steely cool self, focused and calm - ready to take on the world. He looks so fucking good, the lights shining off his broad shoulders, the strong lines of his muscles flexing and pulsating with each breath. You mourn the loss of his soft stomach, but suppose if you have to live with this harder trunk of an upper body, you will. You sigh and Bea leans over to tell you that you’re drooling a little – you giggle out loud.
The ref announces, rather than requests, that it will be a “nice clean fight”; Din and Rotta touch gloves and with a ding the fight starts.
For the first few rounds, you’re learning Rotta’s fighting style and you know Din is doing the same, getting a feel for the younger man’s style, ticks and weaknesses. Rotta’s light on his feet for someone so big, but Din is faster. Though Din is older and the frame that he has to move is just as large, his experience in the ring has his muscles well trained, his moves executed by memory alone. Din anticipates where Rotta will be before Rotta even knows, and his body just follows.
It’s clear by the third round that Rotta favours a right hook, which Din finds easy enough to deflect and more than once is able to combine this knowledge with the Mando roll to devastating effect. You cheer loudly when you watch Din extend his long right arm in a precisely landed cross punch, retracting it lightning fast with grace as Rotta staggers backwards.
Where Rotta is a threat is his sheer power - pound for pound, punch for punch, he’s Din’s match. His size and bulk have the potential to inflict real damage, if Din wasn’t the overall better fighter – Din’s experience and technique are too well honed; Rotta is consistently caught off guard by Din’s moves, and his own in response are amateurish and predictable. And he’s getting tired - the Mando Roll is making quick work of him. Poe was right – the Hutt's best boxer couldn’t hold a candle to a Mando’s boxer, certainly not this one.
By the time the 8th round starts, Rotta is getting frustrated, and as Paz predicted, has started fighting dirty. He’s pushing and shoving Din into the ropes and attempting to hold him, anything to stall the fight and prevent Din from getting in the combinations that would surely finish him off. When Rotta barrels head first into Din’s chest, wrapping his arms around Din’s torso and starts to punch his lower back, you’re on your feet and screaming for the foul call before the ref even blows his whistle. You’re seething - that dirty cheat!! Rushing over to where Din is drinking from his water bottle, you reach up and touch his leg to get his attention. He grins immediately upon seeing you, calming your heart a little.
“You look like you’re going to kill someone, pretty bird,” laughs Din, his voice once again drowning out all the external noise so that it’s just you and him again.
“That neanderthal is going to get it from me if he doesn’t stop with all his dirty shit,” you hiss, though your eyes remain all adoring for Din. Even when sweaty from head to toe, the impressive cut of his body still takes your breath away. Fuck, he’s hot.
“Sounds like I'd be doing him a kindness by knocking him out, then,” grins Din, and the two of you smile at each other dopily, sharing in your little jokes while the crowd around you gets more and more riled up.
“I wish I could reach you,” you lament, pouting.
“Let me help,” Paz has appeared right behind you, no doubt to provide some encouragement for his friend. With your permission, he crouches and wraps his arm around your calves, and after you’ve steadied your hand on his shoulder, he boosts and deposits you so you’re sitting on the edge of the ring. You don’t know how much time you have before the match starts again; wasting no time, you reach through the ropes and grab Din’s face, pulling him towards you so you can kiss him through the slit. The kiss is hard, heady and messy, but it’s exactly what you and Din both need. “Put him out of his misery, killer!” you shout back as you jump down, sending Din a wink before leaving him, Paz and Greef to talk shop.
When the fight resumes, Din quickly finds that he’s had enough. The younger boxer isn’t stopping with the illegal moves, starting to throw elbows and attempting to kick. Clearly on the advice of his uncle, Rotta has foolishly decided that if he can’t win fairly, then he will do everything he can to frustrate Din, be it by stalling the fight, attacking him illegally, or messing up Din’s focus like his uncle did at the start of the match. No doubt hoping Din will finally make a mistake and open himself up to a late attack.
After Din gets in two quick jabs that Rotta isn’t fast enough to evade, Rotta staggers back, eyes unfocused, and when he shifts forward again, he spits out, “Your girl is real pretty.”
Din ignores him and hits Rotta square in the jaw with a blinding cross.
Swaying to the side, Rotta doesn’t know when to quit, “She’d look even prettier with my cock in her mou-”
You think you actually hear the sound that Din’s upper cut makes when his glove hits Rotta's chin. The crowd silent as the crushing power of Din’s fist reverberates through the layers between it and his opponent's jaw, the unmistakable sound of bone being crushed rings through the venue.
It’s only with the resounding thud of Rotta’s body hitting the floor of the ring that the crowd reawakens, screaming at an ear-splitting volume - some for the loser to get up, and others in victory. Din looks animalistic, still bouncing on his feet and panting, as if waiting for Rotta to get up. Rotta is not getting up.
After Din is declared the winner of the fight, arm raised high by the ref while still towering over the unconscious body of his opponent laying at his feet, he’s smartly ushered off to the locker room by Greef and Paz. Not that Din's the type to gloat and boast in an unsportsmanlike manner (Poe doing enough of that all on his own at the moment), but the mood in the arena is incendiary at the moment, clearly you’re not the only one that thinks getting out of here is a good idea. That doesn’t stop Din from reaching into your row as he goes by and pulling you in hard by the waist for a bruising victory kiss. In his arms for only a few moments before he has to go, Din lifts you off your feet – his own little trophy to show off as you gaze down at him in adoration, mouthing, “I’m proud of you.”
You and the girls chat excitedly with Bo and Mayfeld as you practically skip back down the back hallway towards where some of the other Mandos and people from the gym are celebrating. Leaving your friends in the capable hands of the Mandos, you sidle past Jimmy who’s standing guard and give him a cheeky grin before you push open the door to the locker room where Din’s currently showering.
When Din steps out of the shower, he’s only mildly surprised to find you there, sitting casually with your legs up on a bench, back against the lockers, strolling through your phone like it was the most natural thing in the world for you to be in a men’s locker room.
Looking up, you feel your heart nearly stop at the sight before you: Din’s looking at you with a devilishly handsome smile, hair still wet from the shower, which he’s lazily toweling off. Another towel hangs loosely over his hips, leaving his massive chest uncovered; droplets of water clinging to the bare expanse of his torso and glisten like tiny diamonds. His arms, loose after his fight, still look powerful even when relaxed, thick muscles corded under his smooth skin. He’s a fucking snack.
You want to climb him like a tree and sink your teeth into his skin; it's not an imagined ache that has you suddenly desperate to feel any and all the muscles in his arms, chest, legs, flex against your pussy while you ride them until you cry.
Spacing out with what must be a look of pure lust written all over your face, you start when Din’s deep baritone cuts through your horny thoughts, “What are you doing here, pretty bird?”
Beckoning him over to you with a curl of your finger, you smile coyly, and when he’s within arm’s length reach, you hand him your phone, “Come collect your prize, killer.”
Looking at you, then back to your phone with a confused expression on his face, Din cocks an eyebrow at you quizzically.
You plant your legs on either side of the bench and reach up and grab onto Din’s hips, guiding him towards you so he’s stands in front of you, similarly straddling the bench. Looking up at him with an innocent doe-eyed expression, you coo, “Let’s make a video, daddy.”
Din’s eyes widen; the two of you had discussed making a sex tape before, but made no concrete plans on when you would film one - apparently, you want to memorialize him claiming his prize for winning the fight. Testosterone and adrenaline still coursing through his veins, Din puffs his chest out, ready to perform.
He opens up the camera app of your phone and swipes to video mode, framing your pretty face on the screen as you smile up at him, he strokes your chin with his free hand, “Ready, pretty bird?”
You nod - when you hear the bloop of the video starting, you dip your chin down to capture Din’s thumb in your mouth and start to suck, eyes never breaking from the camera.
“Such a good girl, here to reward your daddy.”
You smile with your lips wrapped around his thumb as you pull off Din’s towel, his cock already at half mast, bobbing out towards your face. Din removes his thumb from your mouth and brushes your jaw with his fingers, as if to say go on.
Reaching out, you give Din’s length a few experimental strokes in your small grip before bringing him to your lips, gifting his tip a few shy kitten licks.
“Fuck, baby.”
Flattening your tongue, you run it along the underside of his cock from base to tip, lathering him up with your spit; pumping him a few more times you purr to the camera, “May I please suck your cock, Din?”
Din’s groan thunders through his chest, “Show me what you’ve got, pretty bird.”
Your mouth envelope over Din’s cock, taking as much of him as you can to the back your throat, bobbing your head slowly, giving his head a little extra lick when his tip rests between your pretty lips. Feeling him swell and harden in your mouth, you apply a little more pressure, suck him a little harder, a little bit faster, both of your hands working the base of him that you can’t fit in your mouth.
“Look so pretty with your mouth stuffed with my cock, sweetheart.”
You look past the camera and into Din’s eyes, lustful and blown, and decide to really give him a show. Eyes back on the camera, you smile around Din’s dick and place your hands on his thighs to brace yourself before you start to work him down your throat. Once he's hit the back of your throat, when you have to force yourself to push past the resistance, you gag, and you immediately feel Din’s hand fly to the back of your head, as if to provide you some reassurance or to hold you steady. You appreciate both. Forcing yourself to breath through your nose, you relax your throat and push yourself further down on Din’s throbbing cock, spurned on by Din’s moans echoing off the walls of the empty room. When you finally feel the hairs at his base tickle your nose, you open your eyes and find Din staring at the screen of your camera, looking absolutely wrecked. One hand cups and plays with his balls as you give a small hum of satisfaction, proud of taking him all the way; the combination sensation causes Din’s dick to twitch in your throat and you have to pull off, coughing, spit spilling out of your mouth.
Din pets your hair and looks at you with obsidian dark eyes, “One more time, little slut. Wanna feel my cock right here,” and he reaches down to wrap his hand gently around the middle of your neck.
“Can you be good for daddy?”
Not trusting your voice, you nod, but Din wants more for the camera.
“Need my pretty whore to use her words.”
“Yes, daddy. I can be good for you,” you breathe, as you open up your mouth and stick your tongue out as an invitation.
“Goddamit. You’re going to be the death of me, pretty girl,” Din taps his fat head on your tongue before feeding it slowly to you. Once again, you use Din’s legs for stability, hugging the back of his thighs as you relax and work his length further down your throat. A little easier this time having already opened up for him, you keep your eyes on the camera as you try to even your breathing, coaxing his dick deeper and deeper. When he’s all the way down, Din runs his thumb gently over the column of your throat, and chokes, “Took me so deep, baby. So fucking good for me.”
Eyes watery with tears already running down your cheeks, you can only blink up at him in a daze.
“Can I fuck you a little, bunny?” Din asks so softly. Such a distinct contrast from the lewdness of having his cock shoved down your throat, you feel his tone hit right in your core where your arousal is already starting to leak; you blink quickly to give your permission.
At first, Din is slow to thrust even a little down your throat, careful not push too much or too harshly should it hurt you; when you blink at him and let the tears rolling down your face tell him that you can take more, he holds you head firm and speeds up a little. The ensuing gulg gulg gulg noises your throat makes bounce off the walls and light up your insides - you start to roll your hips and grind your pussy down on the bench for some semblance of friction.
When Din notices, he pulls out and leaves you gasping and continuing to rub yourself down on your seat. Using the hand not holding the still recording phone to help wipe away your tears and spit, he chuckles, “Does my pretty slut need something between those legs of hers?”
Fresh faced and eyes bright, you’re positively strumming for Din’s touch by now. You lean back on your elbows, bite your lower lips and whimper. That’s apparently enough for Din, as he sits down on the bench, murmuring to himself and the camera, “What do we have up here, little bun?” He pushes up your skirt and takes an upskirt shot of your soaked through black panties, “Looks like my little cumslut is all wet.”
He smirks as he reaches and rubs his thumb over your clit through the fabric, causing you to gasp, “Daddy!”
“I wonder if you’re just as wet under these lacy panties?” He hooks the gusset of your underwear to the side, revealing your glistening cunt and gives a low whistle, “So fucking pretty. Who are you so wet for, baby?”
“You!” you whine, wanting more. Needing more.
“Who? Is this for that other fighter?”
“No! Daddy!”
“Is it for those guys across the ring that couldn’t keep their eyes off of you?”
“Well since you asked so nice, sweetheart,” Din inhales sharply as he backs up on the bench and leans down to bring himself face to face with your dripping seam. He hands you your phone and smirks, “Gonna need both my hands for this.”
You train the lens onto Din and frame his handsome face in the shot so that everything below the tip of his nose is hidden by your lower body; making sure you’re capturing the moment, Din gives you a wink before diving into your cunt. He eats you like a feral animal who doesn’t know where his next meal is coming from. Licking, sniping, and mouthing at every wave and dip of your core, then pushing your legs up by the back of your thighs so he can press even deeper into you. You cry out and moan with abandon, your hands too occupied with holding the camera and yourself upright to stifle the noise.
“Fuck, yes, Din – fuck I love your mouth,” your screams dancing over the wet sounds coming from between your legs. Din dips his tongue into your tight hole, fucking you with his smooth muscle while his nose bounces off your clit over and over until it’s hard and swollen. The band beneath your belly is starting to tighten, and all the blood in your body rushes to your bottom half so you can’t hold yourself up anymore – you lay down and use all the focus and strength you have left to hold the camera steady with both hands between the valley of your breast. You watch Din’s now dried curls bounce on the screen as he continues to tongue fuck you into another stratosphere.
Your never ending chat of Daddy, daddy, daddy, is broken only by the high-pitched cry you let loose when Din replaces his tongue with two of his thick fingers without warning, you hiss, “Din!” Half scolding, half in ecstasy.
“Sorry, baby,” he mumbles, but you can feel him grin against your pussy; the vibration of his words shoot straight to your chest and you feel a fresh wave of slick wash down your inner thighs and Din’s wrist.
“Fucking soak me, pretty bird,” Din commands before sucking your clit into his mouth. The sounds Din is pulling from you are obscene and downright pornographic, you sing obscenities and his name so loud they almost drown out the squelching sounds of his fingers punishing your cunt.
All it takes is for you to look down at the screen of the phone still grasp tight in your hands, take in the vigor with which Din is eating you out, his dark eyes on you as he swirls his tongue over your clit and you’re gone - arching your back off the bench and screaming, “Daddy!” as you gush all over his face. Din continues to finger fuck you through your high, the camera held in your shaky hands capturing the soft butterfly kisses he plants all over your lower stomach while praising you, “Did so good for me, pretty girl. My perfect little slut.”
Sighing a heavy exhale of contentment, you let Din pull you up and kiss you messily, his mouth and scruff shiny with your release. You giggle as you taste yourself on him, putting the phone down so you can cup his face in your hands, helping him clean up even as you make more mess with your hungry open mouth kisses.
“Uh, uh,” Din tuts as he pulls away, pointing at the phone, “pick that up, bunny. We’re not done yet.”
You do as he instructs and pick up the still recording phone and point it at Din, now standing stark naked and holding his hand out to you. “Hang on a sec, killer,” you smirk as you pan the camera over his nude form, your mouth watering as you rake the lens over his broad frame, his bulging biceps and his taut flexed legs. You can't help but zoom in on your favourite parts of his body: his big paw hands where his fingers are currently curling with a twinge of impatience, the little hollow dip at the base of his neck that pulsates when he swallows deeply, like he’s doing now, and his cock, throbbing and angry.
“You done, pretty bird?” Din asks with an edge. Swinging your leg over the bench, you take Din’s hand and gasp when he spins you around quickly, pressing you flush against his back before walking you forwards with your dress bunched up around your waist and his hardness pressed against your ass.
“Liked what you saw, bunny?” he whispers against your ear, crowding you up against the sink and using his hand to lift your elbow so you’re pointing the phone at the reflection of the two of you in the mirror.
“Yes, Din,” you whisper, leaning back to kiss the underside of his chin.
Din drags the zipper of your dress slowly down your back so that the sleeves of your dress fall down your arms, tugging down the front and revealing your matching black bra to the camera. “I like what I see too,” Din murmurs, as he unclasps your bra and pulls the straps down to meet your fallen sleeves, your tits falling out, nipples already hard and pointing at your reflection. Kissing down the back of your neck, all the way down your spine, Din pulls down your panties and helps you step out of them. When he stands back up, it’s to place the soaked lace next to the sink in front of you, before positioning you, the rest of your clothes still half on, so that you’re bending over the sink, hands braced against the front, your back arched and ass sticking out for him.
You wiggle it a little and whine, “Need your cock, Din.”
He gives you a harsh spank that’s harder than you expected, causing you to yelp as the smack echos into the shower stalls, “Daddy!”
“Get used to it, pretty bird. Daddy’s going to get rough with you now.”
Eyes widening and meeting Din’s in the mirror, you smile and lick your lips, “What’s got you all hot and bothered, killer?”
“Some assholes thought about having you tonight. Talked like they might have a chance with you. Want you to walk out of this locker room with my cum dripping down your legs so everyone knows who you belong to.”
“I’m yours, Din, everyone knows tha-” you’re cut off, breath stolen away when Din sheaths himself into you without warning, bottoming out in one smooth motion. He doesn’t give you a moment to get used to him, just starts immediately fucking into you, driving his cock into your tight hole over and over, punching the deepest parts of you that only he can reach as he pushes all the air out of your lungs. You close your eyes and whimper.
“Eyes open and looking in the mirror, baby. Who’s that pretty slut?”
“Me. Oh Din, fuck, I’m your pretty slut.” You make sure your phone still has the entire mirror in view and that it captures the way he’s thrusting into you, every snap of hips jolting your forward so your tits bounce and your mouth is forced into an open ‘O’.
“That’s right. All mine. And what do you want, pretty girl?”
“Ngh—”
“Words, baby. Not gonna give it to you until I hear you say it,” Din lays another heavy spank to your ass, watching your cheek ripple under his hand as he keeps up his grueling pace.
“Uh – fuck, Din. I- I-, I need you to fuck me, daddy. Fuck me so hard I feel you tomorrow. Take me hard against this sink like a dirty whore. Please, please, daddy, please. Uhhhhhhhh, Din, fuck me pleas-“
“Are you my prize? Is my prize for winning tonight getting to fuck a little whore in the locker room as hard as she can take it?” Smack, smack, smack, your ass reddening as it continues to take the double punishment of Din’s pelvis rutting into you and the blows from his hard hands.
“Harder.”
“Then get louder, little whore. Want everyone in this building to hear you.”
You let loose a whine from the very back of your throat as he snaps back into you with a force that nearly knocks the phone out of your hand. Recovering so that you don’t lose a minute of this lascivious footage, you lean and brace your free hand against the mirror while grinding your ass back, meeting every one of Din’s thrusts.
With the way Din is fucking you - hard and unrelenting, there’s a small part of you that isn’t sure if you can take it, but the sticky mess between your legs says otherwise; you want to please him so much, so you take, take, take, and scream out for more, “Daddy, daddy, fuck! Your cock feels so good, no one fucks me like you!”
“My. Little. Slut.”
“The only whore who take my cock this good.”
“Daddy’s going to wreck this pretty pussy.”
Din knows how much you love his dirty talk, but it’s dirtier than usual tonight. Not fully immune to the aggression and macho bullshit that always permeates the atmosphere of these fights, tonight Din’s possessiveness has an edge, his roughness has bite. Din’s degradation shoots straight to your cunt and your walls flutter around him as you scream in pleasure.
“Changed my mind. Your pretty slut noises are mine too,” Din grabs your panties from where he left them next to the sink and stuffs them in your mouth; you whine a muffled sound like a wounded animal as he keeps the lacy fabric from falling out with his fingers, hooking down the corner of your mouth.
“Pretty little whore with her panties down her throat. Good for cock and nothing else,” Din grunts right into your ear, loud enough for the camera to pick up as well.
“Mmmfffmmmm,” you cry, mouth full and unable to articulate anything as Din drags his fingers down from your mouth, giving your neck a little squeeze when he grazes his hand near the bottom of your throat.
“This throat is mine.”
His hands travel down further until they reach your breasts; he grabs and gropes you roughly before pinching on your nipples, rolling and tugging harshly, “These tits are mine.” Your screams stifled as your eyes roll to the back of your head, you tip your head back to arch into his touch, leading Din to chuckle darkly.
“Always wanting more, my little bunny?” He drives into you even harder when you nod vigorously, eyes glassed over, cock drunk.
Din’s hands drags down your abdomen and cups your pussy. “This pussy is mine,” he growls as he starts playing with your clit. You’re about to black out, your whole body is vibrating, nearing overstimulation – every one of Din’s dirty words nearly taking you out.
“And she comes when I say so,” Din orders with authority into your ear. You look at the screen of your phone that you’ve somehow managed to continue to hold upright, still filming, and stare through hazy eyes at the you in the mirror on the screen: blissed out, tits out and bouncing in time to every hard thrust of Din’s cock, mouth stuffed with your wet panties and crying out against the fabric. You plead to the Din in the mirror with your eyes.
“Come on my cock, baby,” comes the command you’ve been waiting for, and you positively wail as your walls contract and clench down hard around Din’s dick. His arms wrap around your breasts to hold you upright, and you shudder to his stuttering thrusts, held tight and limp against Din’s chest as he pumps his spend into you - not sure how you manage to hold on to your phone as you capture every last moment of shaky footage.
Finally having the mind to press the red button to stop the recording, you place you phone down by the sink and let yourself melt back into Din, letting him pull your lacy gag out of your mouth. He holds you close and presses soft kisses into your check, neck and lips, whispering how good you did for him, how perfect you feel around his cock, how sweet you are to let him fuck you this way. You close your eyes and let him praise you and hold your boneless body.
Soft pledges of love and devotion are shared as Din cleans the two of you up with the towel he was using before, and as you right your lingerie and dress. After Din gets dressed and packs up his gym bag, you share one last tender kiss before walking hand and hand to leave the locker room so you can join your friends for the after party at the bar across the street.
You open the door and slyly peek out, expecting to see Jimmy, but instead, you’re met by Greef wearing a pained expression on his face.
“Hey,” says Din, amused.
“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” deadpans Greef, “I’ve had to rotate every Mando off this door, none of them able to stand it for more than a few minutes. You’re paying for everyone’s group therapy, boss.”
You giggle, feeling the heat creep up to your cheeks as you turn and hide in Din’s chest; Din is laughing as Greef walks off in a huff, and calls out, “Take it out of my winnings, Karga!”
Looking up at Din, you crinkle your nose, embarrassed, “Do you think we were really that loud?”
Din chuckles, “Maybe? I guess we’ll never know. Oh wait,” he playfully grabs your waist causing you to squeal, “we could watch the video later and find out.”
The idea of watching your sex tape together has a fresh wave of arousal pooling in your still drenched panties and you squeeze you legs together; your actions don’t escape Din’s attention, and he whispers low in your ear, “Let’s get through the after party first, then we’ll go home and do… what do the kids call it? Right, Netflix and chill.”
You roll your eyes jokingly, “Alright, old man,” already expecting the playful swat on your bum. Squeaking and grinning, you slip your hand back into its rightful place in Dins and tug, almost shyly, "What are we waiting for then, killer?"
I love how this chapter ended in pure filth. Best way to end a chapter 🙂↕️
My competency kink really stood out here cuz there’s nothing more attractive than a man being an expert in his field, especially when he’s getting all physical and in shape.
If it doesn’t happen in this series I need to see more of him beating people up 🙂↕️ for science
Omigod, you're right - this really devolved 😅😅🥵😩😩😩🤣 I can admit this chapter really got away from me 🤣🤣 (no wonder the Mandos needed therapy after 🤣)
Ok but seriously I'm so glad you like this chapter because I had the best time writing it - Din is so soft for his Pretty Bird, but in this chapter we see him in action in this world that's super macho and gritty, where violence is the universal language. It was fun to write him a little darker and possessive 🥵🥵🥵 Thanks again for reading baby!! No pressure ever to share your thoughts, but I must tell you that I love hearing them - they make my day!! xoxox
A/N: Just a smutty little drabble, no plot! I normally hold myself to a rule not to write Pbois if I haven't watched them, but as a thank you 🎁 to @kokoluwie for making this amazing gifset, I had to break it 🥰 Thank you for fulfilling my request and all your amazing gifs and edits from the Behemoth! trailer - we all benefit from your talent!! xoxox
Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls), established relationship, fingering, nicknames.
Dividers by @saradika-graphics ty😘😘
As soon as the front door closes behind him, Alex breaks from your heated, messy kiss and whispers your favourite words,
“Let me play you, darling.”
Giggling, you toe off your shoes and extend your hand to place onto top of his large palm, already upturned and reaching for you.
Both grinning dopily at one another, Alex raises your arm and spins you gracefully, much like you’ve seen him do with his cello and its endpin – a playful performance trick that never fails to awe the audience. His smooth, gentle handling of your body always has the same effect on you; by the time Alex finishes your turns, you’re in the living room, naked, all your clothes having mysteriously fallen away.
Cupping your face, Alex resumes kissing you; the press of his lips fervent, the dig of his calloused fingers firm, the pulse of his tongue against yours a testament to his restraint. You smile against his perfect lips, letting him chase yours as you turn away from him, resuming the desired position.
“What would you like to play tonight, my love? Bach? Beethoven?” you close your eyes, voice dreamy.
Alex presses himself close and hooks his chin over your shoulder, eyes darkening at the sight of the curves of your body, open and bare for him and him only; you feel him hardening against your backside. “Maybe just the fundamentals tonight,” he murmurs, hands sliding into place – one palming the swells of your breasts, the other snaking past your belly, “a musician is only as good as his foundation.”
You loll your head back against Alex’s hard chest – he makes you feel so cherished and venerated when he holds you like this, holding you like he does his most beloved instrument. Alex had once explained to you why the relationship between cello and cellist is the most intimate in all the symphony,
She sits between my legs, shielded and well protected, but the hold I have on her is precious. I cannot be overbearing or ever try to restrain her, confine her; I can only cradle her just right, just enough, so that she balances, safe – only then does she trust me, and only then, can she sing.
He loves you with that same gentle, thoughtful heart, and for that you love him with all of yours.
“An étude, then?” you barely have time to chirp your quip before Alex begins to play pizzicato with your body, strumming through the waves and dips of your dripping pussy with his strong, practiced fingers. He plays you from memory, knowing the map and tension of your body by heart – confidently and consistently, he plucks every note,
C string
G string
D string
A string
Sliding the rough pads of his fingertips through your folds, he expertly manipulates your pleasure so that you sing for him – a response to your lover’s call.
You cry out as Alex turns you into an instrument for his genius, showing off and alternating the same techniques that have made him a world class violoncellist: fingers dancing along your slit, he switches between stroke lengths - long and smooth, short and detached - so seamlessly, it makes you dizzy; anchoring his thumb, he rocks over your swollen clit with just the right pressure for your entire body to vibrate in ecstasy; sliding one, then two thick fingers into you, he drags, controlled, along the hug of your warm walls, coaxing from you his favourite song.
Far from being idle, the hand on your chest is equally as skillful, shifting between your breasts - toying, pulling and releasing its fistful of flesh to a hypnotic rhythm; nimble fingers arpeggiate, roll, and snap your sensitive nipples – pulling your perky peaks harshly upwards and releasing them to the twang of your gasps and melodic moans. Reaching your arms back to grab onto Alex’s neck, you fist the soft curls at its nape and arch, exaggerating the bounce of your tits – the sight is so lascivious, Alex has to bite a moan into your shoulder.
“Alex! Oh my god! Yes, please, please…”
“Please what, my darling?” a smirk is kissed into your skin, soothing the sting of his canines. Both of Alex’s hands slow and you whimper a soft, pathetic plea when you feel him withdraw from your cunt. He hums a sweet little harmony in your ear as he tortuously draws the back of his fingers through your slick like he would a bow over the strings of his instrument - purposeful, intentional. Chuckling at the way you jump when he knuckles over your sensitive clit, Alex asks you again, tone soothing and indulgent, “Yes?”
“Please, let me come, my love,” you barely recognize your own voice, it’s so airy and light, like you’re not even here.
Alex answers before you even finish saying the words, his desire to bring you to your climax overriding his patience. Without ceremony, he plunges his fingers back into your sopping hole and begins to thrust - fiery, impassioned, furioso. When you body starts to shudder from its impending crescendo, Alex bands his arm across your chest to hold you upright, rasping hot against your neck, “I’ve got you, darling.”
Continuing to piston in and out of your squelching cunt, his thumb circles your clit to an increasingly upbeat tempo, allegretto progressing to allegro; through your half-lidded eyes, you see Alex in your peripheral, his eyes closed, breathing laboured, soft curls bouncing wildly against his forehead. He’s lost now, lost to your pleasure the way you’ve seen him lost to the music, when he plays so passionately his arm becomes an extension of the bow. It occurs to you that tonight, it’s you who’s become an extension of him, his talent, his love.
The thought snaps the tightly strung wires in your lower belly and you come sharply, singing the high note that Alex wills from you. Slumping against his protective hold, you let Alex pull you down onto the couch and into his arms, cuddling you through your high with soft and tender kisses to your brow. When you finally return to yourself, you lift onto your knees and meet Alex’s mouth with a long, grateful kiss. Eyes full of love and mischief, your hand trails down his broad body to find the bulge in his pants waiting for your eager touch; smiling, you murmur against his lips, “My turn to play.”
Thank you, V!!! We are all in a collective daydream about this man 😩😩
I kept thinking about the scenes where he’s playing the cello so passionately, almost trance-like and I believe in my heart of hearts Alex Serian would apply that same dedication and focus to foreplay 🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️😁😁😁 (lock me up please! 😂😂😂)
Thank you for reading, my sweet darling!!! I appreciate you so much!! xoxoxox
