A skilled bounty hunter whose identity is based on never showing his face. Power. Restraint. Conflict. With him it's always complicated and intense, it feels gooood, it hurts. Dare I say, Din could have been made for intimate fanfiction. I've tracked down some "kinky" or dark smut fics because deep and dark just seems to suit him also, no? Most fics listed here are Din x female reader except where marked - that's what I could find. I note (variations on or deviations from this pairing), [why the fic made the cut if it's not obvious] and [if the author tagged as dddne - dead dove do not eat - explained here].
A Close Call cowboykylo69 on ao3 [rough sex]
Beg @amanitacowboy [edging]
Beyond My Skin, Deep In My Bones @djarins-wife [breeding kink, rough sex, spanking]
Bleed For Me series @saradika (mand’alor!vampire!din x f reader)
Beskar Doll series JustAGalWhoWrites on ao3 (brat tamer! Din x f reader)
Best Kept Secret Chapter Six: Torment series @lincolndjarin "din djarin is a little shit, helmet stays on" (bodyguard! Din x f reader)
Close Quarters cptnbvcks on ao3 (dom! Din x f reader)
Colosseum Capers @beefrobeefcal (Din x Dieter Bravo x f reader)
Darkness Trilogy series @queenofslowburn (demon! Din x witch! reader)
Despoliation Of The Flesh series @djarinmuse (possessed! Din) [dddne]
Din's Kitten @honeybunnyale ["darkish! fic"]
Deep Into The Wilderness mandoinevarro on ao3 [sex pollen]
Fifteen series @whocaresstillthelouvre (Din x cam girl reader au)
Grip mandoandyodito on ao3 [dry humping, wet dream]
Heresy @kewwrites (demon! Din x f reader) [dddne]
How To Touch @petalsinblood ["Din has nipple piercings"]
Hyperspace Nights series @jedijesi (rough Din! x f reader)
In A Perfect World, You Love Me @theidiotwhowritesthings [forced drug, hallucinations]
In The Dead Of Night @kedsandtubesocks (creature cowboy! Din x f reader)
Interlude: Burn in My Bloodstream @prolix-yuy (Din x f reader, Din x Xi'an)
Ignite @withmyloveasyourgarden [sex pollen]
Kinktober Day 2: Din Djarin - deep throating, rope play with Din Djarin @paulyenvol6
Kinktober Day 3: dark!din djarin x fem!reader @darkuselesssomebody [sex pollen, dddne]
Kinktober Day 11: Din Djarin October 11 – punishment, spanking with Din Djarin @paulyenvol6
Kinktober 14 – somnophilia with Din Djarin @paulyenvol6
Kinktober Day 23: Din Djarin October 23 – boot licking, cock worship with Din Djarin @paulyenvol6
Leading Blindly @pascalispretty (virgin! Din x sex worker f reader)
Limitless | D.D. @honeybunnyale ["t.w. : Dark fic, Smut (with a robot that looks like Dinny Din Din >:)), Breeding Kink, Angst, Din and reader are both insane for each other"]
Like A Moth To The Flame series @the-scandalorian (monster! Din x f reader)
Mand'alor Cabur nautilicious on ao3 (Din x Boba Fett)
Mandalorian's Mercy // bonus content: din's poc series @silver-pieces (alpha!Din x omega!cis!woman!reader)
Mutual @the-scandalorian (sex worker!Din x f reader)
Prisoner - Part 1 @almostempty (Din x f bounty hunter reader)
Quarry series AK_Vintage on ao3 (Din x f prisoner reader)
Riduur in Training @absurdthirst [sexual grooming, training]
Rule Maker, Rule Breaker mandoinevarro on ao3 [bondage, face fucking, etc.]
Rough Day series no-droids on ao3 ["Summary: When you woke up this morning, you didn’t really think it would be a 'fixing Mando’s knife wound and then giving him a handjob' kind of day"]
Secrets @absurdthirst (virgin! Din x f reader)
Shadows @burntheedges (monster! Din x f reader)
Sorgan Girls Are Easy- Solo Din Djarin murder-wife-deactivated20250628
Silent Genesis @sp00kymulderr [light choking]
Take Me To Church series on ao3 @frannyzooey is reworking to republish on Tumblr ["set in a brothel in the 1800s in the Wild West", Threesome F/F/M]
Take Your Time @ghostofaboy (Din x Cobb Vanth)
That Time Again @orcasoul [fluff but periods]
The Apostate Ch 1 series murder-wife-deactivated20250628 (fallen angel! Din, later chapters x ofc)
The Might Of The Realm @604to647 [bath sex]
The Way To A Great Wide Somewhere @myownwholewildworld (beast! Din x f reader)
The Throne @absurdthirst [pregnancy kink, breeding kink]
The Visitor Part 1 @whocaresstillthelouvre (husband din x omc! Jedi Kalel x f reader)
The Storm @frannyzooey (Ezra x Frankie Morales x Din Djarin x f!reader)
This Is The Tea @yespolkadotkitty [sex pollen]
Tight @frannyzooey [“'I don’t want you to wear anything but this when you sleep in my bed, okay?'”]
Told Before and Told Again @kiwisbell [sex pollen, "fuck or die"]
Torment series @djarinmuse ["They are both trapped and their captor has dark plans for them"]
Unexpectedly Mated @absurdthirst (alpha!Din x f!omega!Reader) [knotting]
Unfettered @the-scandalorian [sex pollen, use of restraints, "sex-pollened!Mando gets scary"]
Unrestrained @the-scandalorian [sex pollen, alternate version of Unfettered - if the chains broke]
Untitled or response to ask "A din that hasnt seen tits since he was 25, let alone TOUCHED THEM" @here-briefly
Untitled or "inspired by time for a haircut, king" @djarinmuse [masturbation] (Din x GN reader)
Welcome Home | D.D. @honeybunnyale ["Dark-fic!...Jealous, Possessive, implied crazy Din"]
Whispers In The Dark 2.0 series @kewwrites (dark! Din x f reader) [dddne]
You Were Marked series @handspunyarns (Din x *reverse age gap* *plus-sized* *fem* *afab* O/C) [dddne]
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
I listened to My Din YT Playlist while making this and had the best time.
Disclaimer: I haven't read all of these yet, I'm just feeling the vibes. Thank you to the authors - I tried to tag only once but Tumblr's not cooperating - if you'd rather not have your work mentioned please let me know. Din won't mind ;-P
Summary - You start using Dieter’s trailer to pump when your breast milk comes in. It drives Dieter wild.
A/N - this is my entry for @time-for-my-weekly-spanking #2026kinkychallenge. I chose Dieter Bravo and lactation kink. Dieter is a little dark in this one so please heed the warnings before you read.
Warnings - Dub-con (reader initially resists and is not in a good frame of mind but does enjoy herself), lactation kink, obsessive/slightly stalkerish behaviour, pregnancy, lots of bodily fluids, infidelity, lots of smut. Let me know if I forgot anything.
“Oh shit, Jesus, sorry!”
Dieter stood frozen to the spot as you hastily tried to detach the breast pump without spraying milk everywhere while simultaneously trying to cover up your exposed breast.
“I’m so sorry Dieter, Carl said it would be ok to come in and pump in here, he said you would be on set for a few more hours!”
You were too flustered to notice the way he was hungrily staring at your chest. The way he licked his lips. It took him a moment to snap out of his reverie. He didn’t want you to stop.
“No, no, it’s fine honestly, there was an issue with one of the cameras, they cut while they get it fixed. Why, erm, why don’t you stay in here until you’re finished.”
You chanced a look at him, tears in your eyes. You really had been having a shitty morning and the ache in your breasts was really starting to get to you.
“Dieter, I couldn’t kick you out of your own trailer.”
“It’s fine, really,” he told you, “I’ll just head over to the catering tent and pick us up some food while you finish up yeah?”
“Are you sure?”
He gives you that charming lopsided grin of his, “I’m sure, I’ll be back in 20.”
You smile at him shyly and nod. “Ok, thank you Dieter.”
His gaze drops back to your now covered chest for a moment before he leaves, hoping you didn’t notice the growing tent at his crotch. He heads over towards the catering tent, making a quick pitstop at the mens room, pulling a more than willing production assistant into the cubicle for a frantic fuck to relieve the aching in his cock. He comes almost embarrassingly quickly, your big, beautiful, leaking boobs at the forefront of his mind as he empties himself over the ass of Cassie, he thinks her name is. Or maybe Clara?
He mutters a thanks to her as he tucks himself away and slinks out to go and grab some food, his mind still back in his trailer. He’d already fucked you. Years ago. Before you got that big shiny rock on your finger and got yourself knocked up. It’d had been a quick desperate fuck between takes during filming for the second Cliff Beasts. You’d been a lowly production assistant then, just starting out in your career and he was already a big star. He hadn’t taken advantage of you, oh no. You’d wanted it as much as he had. But it was never anything serious. Nothing with Dieter ever was.
He’d worked with you since. Loads of times. But Dieter never went back. As with all of his dalliances it had quickly been put out of his mind and you had always been professional, even friendly with him whenever you’d worked together. And when you started working on his latest venture, as an assistant director now, shiny wedding band on your finger he thought you’d put on weight and decided it looked good on you. Just a passing thought. Nothing more. Even when you started to show as your pregnancy progressed he didn’t give you a second thought. But fuck, seeing your tits today had wakened something in him. Watching the little spurts of milk into the pump. Fuck he was getting hard again. He needs to have you again. Needs to suck on those tits, taste that milk.
He fills a couple of plates with a variety of food from the catering tables, knowing there are rules about what pregnant women can eat but having absolutely no idea what they are. He hurries back to his trailer and knocks this time, waiting for your ok to enter.
When he does you’re just packing away your pump, your chest sadly fully covered again.
“Here, I brought you some food.”
You smile at him shyly, clearly still embarrassed about what happened. “Thanks Dieter, but I should let you have your trailer back, I’ve already taken enough advantage of you.”
“Nonsense,” he says gently guiding you back to your seat on the sofa and placing the plates next to you. “Wasn’t sure what you’re allowed to eat so I just got a selection.”
Your smile is more relaxed now. “Thank you Dieter, that’s so kind of you. I really am sorry about before, I promise it won’t happen again.”
“You, um, you have to do this often?” he asks, waving at the bag containing your pump.
You nod, “yeah at least once a day, though its hard to find somewhere private to do it.”
“I didn’t think you started making milk til after the baby arrived?” he asks, trying to keep the conversation going while he mulls over the best way to get you in his lap and your tits in his mouth.
You nod your head as you pick a sandwich off the plate, “mmm, it’s quite common for it to start before, though not always to this level. Had to get permission off the doctor to express but it hurts so much if I don’t.”
He pouts sympathetically at you, “well you’re always welcome to use my trailer, whenever you need.”
You hastily finishing chewing your mouthful of sandwich and swallow, “Dieter, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask, I offered and I’m happy to help.”
Tears fill your eyes, and you launch yourself at him, wrapping him in a tight hug and sobbing thanks into his ears. “You’re so kind Dieter, thank you so much.” The feel of your ripe, full titties pressing into his chest has him coming in his boxers. It’s all he can do to stop himself from moaning. Instead he just pats you on the back and starts thinking about how he can turn this to his advantage.
The next day he’s already hard when you timidly knock on his trailer door. Thankfully his costume is loose enough around his groin to hide his boner. The joy of a historical drama. He thinks the Romans might have been on to something with these comfy togas. He smiles at you and lets you in. Makes small talk for a few minutes before excusing himself, “I’ll leave you to it, just drop me a text when you’re done and I’ll bring some food for you.”
“Oh Dieter you don’t have to do that,” you tell him with a genuine smile. You’re enjoying his attention and it makes him leak.
“Nonsense, I was reading up on it, breastfeeding expends a lot of calories, you need to keep your strength up,” he tells you with a wink.
You can’t stop the giggle that escapes you, you can’t believe how sweet he’s being. The thought of Dieter reading up on breastfeeding is hilarious to you. You relent and nod your head, “you’re right, thank you Dieter, that’s so kind.”
He gives you that lopsided smile and departs as you settle yourself on the sofa. He’s more prepared this time, heading straight to meet his arranged hook up in the make up trailer. Jessie has big, plush breasts that he can pretend are yours as he buries his face in them while he buries his cock in her sopping pussy,
He leaves her as she’s wiping his cum off her thighs, making his way to the catering tent to plate you up some food. Back at his trailer he hands you the plate, stacked high with meat and cheese, “google said high protein food while you’re producing breast milk,” and a bowl of fruit for afterwards, for the vitamins. He sits too close to you while you eat and asks you questions. Questions you never thought you’d hear out of Dieter Bravo’s mouth. He seems so genuinely curious and he’s been so kind and supportive that you don’t hesitate to answer, telling him “no, it doesn’t hurt to pump but they get really sore if they get too full,” “I’m freezing all the milk for when the baby arrives,” “it’s normal to get a little leakage before giving birth but my milk has come in early.”
You even let him touch your belly to feel the baby kick. You’re so enthralled by how gently he caresses you, how excited he gets every time he feels the baby move that you fail to notice the hunger in his eyes as he stares at your belly and tits, the way his cock twitches under his toga at having you in his hands. When he hits on you, you just laugh it off, thinking he’s just being his usual silly self. You never for a second take him seriously. Dieter can and does fuck anyone he wants, there’s no way he’d seriously consider fucking a pregnant woman who’s the size of a house when there’s a bevy of young guys and gals just gagging to fuck him. Still, you revel in his attention, lapping up his compliments.
This goes on for days. Him fucking his way through the crew before coming back to you in his trailer. Every day ends with his hands on your swollen belly while he tries to think of a way to sneak of bottle of milk out of your bag. He’s desperate to taste it. He knows it will be so sweet.
He starts keeping tabs on you outside of your little visits as well. He’s not stalking you. Just keeping a friendly eye out. Making sure you’re ok. It’s on one of these ‘not spying’ occasions while he’s lurking outside one of the production trailers that he overhears you sobbing to one of your friends.
“He won’t even touch me anymore and I’m so horny!” Your little sobs and hiccups are enough to break his heart.
“What, he won’t? Did he say why?”
“Said it feels weird, that the baby can hear us and it makes him…unable to perform.”
“Well that’s dumb. It’s not like the baby has any clue what they’re hearing, or will even remember it.”
“It’s probably just an excuse, look at me, I’m the size of a whale. I wouldn’t want to sleep with me either,” you wail.
“You’re not the size of a whale. And you’re fucking glowing, pregnancy looks good on you.”
He hears you sniffle. “You know I read somewhere that men are statistically more likely to cheat when their partner is pregnant. What if he’s already found someone else?”
“I’m sure he hasn’t honey, men are just a bit stupid when it comes to pregnancy, try talking to him again, I’m sure he’ll come round.”
Dieter has always known your husband was an idiot. One of those big studio hotshots who had always looked down his nose at him, as if it wasn’t Dieter’s face, Dieter’s art that had paid for that big fancy office he worked in. But now, knowing that he was refusing to tend to your needs when you were hurting and so ripe for the plucking? It made Dieter’s blood boil.
So when that schmuck started turning up on set, ‘to make sure things were running to schedule,’ and your little visits to Dieter’s trailer got put on hold, it was all Dieter could do not to punch the smug bastard square in the face.
You’d been gentle in letting Dieter down, “I’m not sure Brad would like it, me using your trailer to pump. I’ll just do it in the ladies room.”
“That doesn’t seem like it would be hygienic or comfortable, surely he wants what’s best for you and the baby, right? Especially now that you’re so close to your due date.”
And he sees it, the little hesitation, like it’s the first time you’ve considered the fact that his not prioritising you was an asshole move, especially in your condition. You brush it off but Dieter can see he’s planted a seed in you. Now he just needs to find a way to capitalise.
He’s convinced himself that, as he’s already been inside you once before, you sleeping with him wouldn’t really be cheating. He just needs to convince you of the same. And especially if your dickhead of a husband isn’t tending to your needs then it makes sense to outsource that task to someone more willing.
But he’s not sure how he will ever convince you. He tries to set your husband up, telling some of the girls in the ensemble that sleeping with Brad is going to help their career. In reality he’s nowhere near important enough to impact on casting decisions, but he works at the studio and wears a fancy suit and walks around with an entirely unjustified sense of authority that they buy it easily enough. And rumours spread so quickly on a film set, if anything happens you know it will get back to you in a matter of hours. And they’re young and beautiful and sinfully tempting, but Brad shoots them down and dismisses them without a second thought. Which pisses Dieter off even more, because who the hell does he think he is, pissing all over the dreams of two lovely young women? Dieter fucks them both silly to cheer them up. But it’s still your face in his mind when he sprays both their faces with his spend.
In the end Dieter resigns himself that it’s never going to happen. He’s horny and depressed, and gets more difficult on set, refusing to go to hair and make up, lounging in his trailer in his boxers and fuzzy green robe, dreaming of you.
When he gets a knock on the door he yells out, “I already told you, I’m not acting today, my muse has left me, I can’t perform today, leave me alone!”
It’s then he hears a small, wobbly, “Dieter,” through the door. It’s you. And you sound so sad. He rushes to let you in. You’re crying when he lets you in, he wraps an arm around you and guides you to the sofa.
“Hey, tell me what’s wrong, are you ok? The baby?”
You take a shaky breath, “I’m ok really, I’m sorry to come here like this, I just didn’t know where else to go and I hate crying in public and I’m just being silly really, I can leave if it’s a problem.”
You’re talking a mile a minute and Dieter can’t get a word in edgeways. Not that he’s complaining. You’re here. It’s just the two of you and you being sad is honestly good news for him. Emotional women are so…pliable.
“Tell me what happened.”
“My pump broke.”
“Oh,” Dieter’s eyes light up as his gaze drops to your chest. You don’t notice, your eyes fixed on your hands as you wring them in your lap. You’re so embarrassed but Dieter has been so kind to you and you’re so upset and you just want someone to comfort you.
“I spoke to Brad about it, he said that I could just wait and go and pick up a new one after work and I told him I was so sore and and he asked what I expected him to do about it. And we got in a fight. I’m sorry Dieter, I’m such a mess, the hormones are driving me crazy and my boobs are so sore.”
“Shhh now, it’s ok, you did the right thing to come here.” He pulls you into his arms and holds you close, stroking up your arm. He’s already hard.
“He makes me feel like such a burden sometimes, I feel like I’m in this all by myself.”
“You’re not honey, you have me don’t you?’ he teases. You chuckle into his chest and take a big deep breath. You honestly never expected your go to confident to be Dieter fucking Bravo. But he’s showed up more for you in the last few weeks than your own husband.
He shifts and his chest presses more firmly into yours and he feels you wince in his arms.
“Oh honey, that’s no good, can’t have you walking around in so much pain.”
“It’s ok. Will just have to do like Brad says and go and buy a new pump after work.”
“Honey, you can’t wait that long, you’re hurting. Now, lets see what we can do right now hmm,” Dieter says as he slides off the sofa onto his knees. “Let me help you.” He gently parts your legs and settles between them.
A soft, “Dieter,” slips from your mouth. It’s a warning without any fangs, you’re not sure this should be happening but you’re so sore and you just want some relief. The thought of going another 5 hours in agony, not to mention the embarrassing damp spots you can already feel soaking through your bra and dress is horrifying.
So you don’t stop him when he slides the straps of your dress down. Or when he pushes the top of it down under your boobs. You feel slightly self conscious at the ugly maternity bra you have on and reach up your arms to cover your chest, whimpering in pain when your arm grazes your tender breast.
“Oh honey, none of that now, let me take care of you.” He reaches behind you to undo your bra and once again you don’t stop him. The prospect of relief the only thought in your mind.
And when your bra is carelessly tossed aside and Dieter is staring at your chest in wonder, you thighs automatically clench, tightening around Dieter’s hips..
Magnificent. Even better than his wildest dreams. Your engorged breasts are so fucking beautiful. He wants to ravage you. But he knows you’re sore, that you need him to be gentle. And he can be. For you. For now.
He leans in and gently licks around one puffy nipple and the little whimper you let out is so pathetic it makes him pull back, but that makes you whine. And that makes Dieter’s cock leak.
He leans back in, maintaining eye contact the whole time and wraps your sensitive nipple in his mouth. He gives it another gentle little lick and then starts to suckle. He’s oh so gentle with you and it makes your needy, neglected pussy clench.
He groans into your tit as the milk starts to flow, and you throw your head back, moaning in relief as the pressures starts to ease, the vibrations from his noises oddly soothing.
And it’s ok you think, as Dieter’s huge hand comes into play, scooping up the weight of your breast and tenderly massaging you. It’s not cheating. Its not sexual, its medical. Hell, Brad had yelled at you to figure something out yourself as you left his office in tears after your fight. He can’t get mad at you for doing just that. He could have offered to do this for you, you gave him every opportunity.
Having settled it in your mind you relax into it, your hand coming up to cradle Dexter’s blissed out face. His eyes are closed and he looks so serene as his lips work at your nipple, milk dribbling into his scruffy beard as your thumb strokes at his cheek. He hums and grunts into your flesh as he sucks and sucks and sucks.
“You’re such a good boy Dieter,” you murmur, leaning down to give his forehead a soft kiss. He whines as his hips buck and you feel your panties dampen. No, that’s not what this is. You fight to keep a hold of yourself. But his mouth feels so good on you and it’s been so long since you’ve been touched and your body wants this. Needs this.
Dieter finally pulls away, sloppily slurping up the milk that’s spilled over your breast. He presses hot, open mouthed kisses over your chest, each punctuated with a word, “perfect,” kiss, “fucking,” kiss, “tittles,” kiss.
“Ow Dieter,” you cry as he takes your sore boob into his mouth, no gentleness this time. His eyes are open, pupils blown with lust as he drinks from you. Both your tits are now engulfed in his hands and you’re a mess, milk all over your chest, soaking into your dress. And he looks feral. His hand abandons your chest as his tongue swirls around your nipple to sneak behind you and roughly pushes your crotch forward so your clothed seam makes contact with his belly. And now the pain is fully subsidising and you feel your clit pulse with every needy suck. You’re completely breathless, still not even really sure how you ended up here. But your body is crying out for a release and you don’t even notice as your hips start to gently grind against his torso.
But Dieter does. And he’s going insane. Finally getting his mouth on you. Gorging himself on your sweet milk. He does’t want to move, doesn’t want to startle you lest you realise how shamelessly you’re rutting against him. You’re nearly there he can tell. And he needs it. That’s his window of opportunity and he’s not going to waste it. With his other hand he starts to softly strum at your nipple with his thumb as he continues to massage and squeeze. He pushes himself harder against your core and gently grazes the nipple in his mouth with his teeth.
It’s like a bomb detonates in your pelvis. It’s been months since you last had an orgasm, your husband too much of a prude since you started showing and your belly making it to too hard to reach yourself. Your head flies backwards, forcing more of your tit into Dieters mouth, you don’t even register his muffled grunt. Your pelvis continues rocking of it’s own accord. You moan and groan and your body slumps backwards onto the sofa, too lost in the pleasure of your peak to notice the way Dieter yanks you forward by your hips, the way he’s pushing your panties aside. The little praising grumbles that fall from his mouth about how pretty you look when you come as he lines himself up at your entrance.
It isn’t until he starts pressing inside that your mind snaps back to reality.
“No, Dieter! Ugh,’ you grunt as he buries himself completely, greedy hands tight at your hips.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuvk,” he moans, hastily gathering your knees in the crook of his elbows and ploughing into you again and again.
“Fucking, grippy little cunt, needed to be back inside her.”
“Oh fuck Dieter, no! We can’t.”
“We can baby, we already are. She needs this, feel how good she’s taking me, she’s desperate baby, let her have this.”
“Fuck, Dieter, ohhhhhh, fuck! Oh shit! Dieter!”
His thrusts are relentless, pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in, aiming upwards to have the head of his steely hard cock brushing your g spot with every intrusion, your lower legs bouncing in his arms with every movement.
“Tell me how good it feels baby, c’mon.” You moan as you feel that heat coiling in your belly. “C’mon baby tell me.”
You’re so close, you feel it building and building and then nothing. He pushes deep and stops his thrusts, grinding into you with little pulses instead, you feel his heavy balls tickling your backside with each gentle roll. It’s not enough and you feel your high fizzling out. You can’t stop the tears of disappointment.
“Tell me what you want baby, you want me to stop hmm? Want me to pull out and walk away?”
The thought of it is devastating. And he knows it. You sob, “please Dieter, make me come, feels so good.”
“You need it don’t you baby?”
“Yes, yes I need it Dieter please!”
“Yeah, whose cock is making you feel good?”
“Yours Dieter, yours, please!”
“That’s right baby, Dieter’s taking care of you,” he growls and resumes his merciless pace. You feel his thick girth splitting you open and you wish you could see it but your belly is too big. You’re breathless and moaning and Dieter is still talking.
“Hmm good girl, being so good for me. Letting me suck those perfect titties, fucking made to be in my mouth. And this tight fucking pussy, Jesus baby, been dreaming about this.”
You surrender to it. Just lie back and take everything he gives you. You focus on how good your body feels, the pleasure that is building again. And he’s right. You do need it. You needed this so badly. And it’s Brad’s fault. If he’d kept you satisfied you would have been able to resist. If he’d helped when you asked you would never have come to Dieter in the first place.
The wet thwack of skin on skin, your combined moans as Dieter pounds relentlessly into you must be audible from outside the trailer. As it must be visible the way it sways in time with his thrusting. But it’s not unusual for Dieter’s trailer. As long as no one sees you leave it should be fine. You’re way past surrender. You give yourself permission to enjoy it.
“Fuck Dieter, you feel so good.”
“Oh fuck baby, yeah, tell me.”
“You’re so big Dieter, I feel so full. Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
“Fuck baby, you’re such a good girl.”
He leans forward, arching over your belly to give you an uncoordinated kiss. It’s messy as hell, but you get a good taste of your milk on his tongue and a good amount of it smeared over your chin from his beard. It’s delicious. You’re an absolute mess of bodily fluids, top half covered in milk and tears and saliva, bottom half smeared in the mixture of slick and Dieter’s pre-cum that slides out of your stretched hole.
He pulls back up, pulling one of your legs up to rest on his shoulder. With his hand now free he lifts your dress up over your big belly. The sight of it drives him wild. Releasing something primal within him. Even though it’s not his baby, seeing you like this makes him want to drag you back to his cave and fight anyone who dares try to take you from him. He rests his warm palm over the swell of your tummy, so delicate in contrast with the way he is destroying your pussy. And that does it. You go careening off the edge like a little lemming off a mountain. Your pussy clenches and pulses and Dieter has to fight not to lose it immediately. He knows how bad you need this and he promised to take care of you. He keeps fucking you, prolonging your high while desperate for his own. You give him the sweetest moans and gasps he’s ever heard, your gorgeous chest heaving, and still leaking, as you suck in lungfuls of air, in time with your pussy sucking in his cock. It’s the best fuck of his life. And he has plenty to compare it to.
He brings his thumb down to your clit, your body jerks in overstimulation and he smirks. He’s fucking ruined you. He’s so proud of himself. He rips himself from your juicy cunt leaving you whining at the sudden loss. He appeases you by shoving 3 of his fat fingers into you while still circling your clit. With his other hand he strokes himself, aiming himself carefully and exploding over where you’re nestling another mans baby inside you.
The thick streaks of warm cum splattering over your pregnant belly combined with the brutal fingering he’s giving you breaks you apart once more.
“Mmmmm yeah baby, just like that, good girl,” he praises as you wail. Louder than you think you ever have before. He works you through you third orgasm, more gentle now.
You flop on the sofa, your body exhausted and boneless. You’re panting through your recovery, your heart racing, your body unaccustomed to such a work out these days.
And when you come back to your senses Dieter’s hands are back on you. One on each side of your belly, thumbs gently stroking your skin, his eyes fixated on where he painted you in his cum. And he looks so soft and sweet. The wild man that just railed you into next week has retreated, satiated and appeased.
And it makes you melt. It shouldn’t. You should be angry. You should be disgusted. With yourself and him. But all you feel is satisfied and exhausted. Your tits don’t hurt anymore. Your pussy is no longer aching with want, instead aching from the gratifying stretch of his cock. You feel the best you have in months.
So when Dieter leans down to kiss over the white streaks decorating your skin, you sigh dreamily and run your fingers through his soft curls. He groans at the contact and it makes you chuckle. He kisses his way back to your tits, scooping his cum up as he goes, He wraps his lips back around a nipple and gently sucks, drawing yet another moan from you. Making your pussy clench, again.
And then he’s moving again, up to your lips, shoving his tongue into your mouth along with the witches brew of his cum and your milk. And you take it eagerly, letting him sloppily fuck your mouth with his tongue.
He finally pulls back and helps you to your feet. Your body feels like it doesn’t work anymore and you stumble. He catches you and steadies you and walks you over to the full length mirror. You take yourself in. Completely wrecked. You look positively debauched. Your face tear streaked, your dress bunched around your middle, your leaking breasts and marked up belly on full display, your slick glistening on the inside of your thighs.
“Mmm, beautiful,” Dieter murmurs behind you, his fingers now rubbing the remnants of his cum into your skin as he kisses up your neck. He spins you and backs you up against the mirror to kiss you properly. “Can’t send you back out there like this baby, you want to take a shower with me?” he asks, the hope evident in his voice.
And what else can you do. You definitely can’t go back to work like this. “Sure.”
He grins dopily at you, “amazing!”
Predictably, he fucks you again in the shower. Your back pressed against the wall, one of your legs held in the crook of his arm while he mouths greedily at your tits. It’s slow and sensual and you come twice more, pulsing around his cock in delicious little waves. And he pushes deep to unload himself inside you this time and pulls off your breast with a loud belch, his tummy rounded and full, almost a mockery of your own.
He sneaks you out of his trailer, making sure the coast is clear before ushering you out and back to the production trailer. And it’s not until Brad stops by an hour or so later with a new pump, a bunch of flowers and an apology that the guilt sets in.
“I’m so sorry honey. I was being a jerk. I got you two pumps actually, so you can leave one here and have one at home. Can you forgive me?”
“Of course,” you tell him with a shaky smile, pulling him into a hug even as you feel Dieter’s cum leaking out of you. You’re a terrible person. And when he promises you a ‘special’ evening with a waggle of his eyebrows you feel sick to your stomach.
The guilt is eating you alive. But it doesn’t stop you faking a headache later on to stop your husbands advances. It doesn’t stop you putting the brand new pump in your desk drawer unopened the next day. It doesn’t stop you seeking Dieter out. It doesn’t stop you taking his outstretched hand and following him back to his trailer. It doesn’t stop you undressing and climbing into his lap. It doesn’t stop you impaling yourself on his cock and riding him into oblivion while he suckles. Because really, this is still all Brad’s fault.
Synopsis : He is a devoted husband in every sense of the word. But when it comes to you, his pretty wife, there’s one thing he simply can’t get enough of.
Clint Flood (Freaky Tales)
Clint had always been a man of few words. He never needed them, not when his actions spoke louder, not when he could show you exactly how much he adored you with the way he touched you, worshiped you. And God, did he worship you.
You barely had time to register the way he pulled you into bed, hands gripping your thighs, parting them with a desperation that made your breath hitch. Clint had that look in his eyes, the one that said he was about to ruin you and the one that made your body tremble before he even laid a finger on you.
"Been thinkin’ about this all damn day." He muttered, voice rough with hunger as he pressed kisses up your inner thigh. His scruff scratched against your skin, sending shivers up your spine.
Your fingers threaded through his messy hair as he settled between your legs, inhaling deeply, like the scent of you alone was enough to drive him mad. His large hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer to his mouth and before you could say anything, his tongue was on you, slow, deliberate and savoring. "Clint…" You gasped but he only groaned in response, the vibrations making your thighs twitch around his head.
"You know better than to talk, sweetheart." He murmured against you, his tongue flicking over your clit in a way that made your breath stutter. "Just let me take care of you."
And he did.
Clint was relentless, devouring you with an obsession that left you weak. He licked, sucked and nipped, memorized every little sound you made, every little movement of your hips. He wanted you shaking, coming undone on his tongue, over and over, until you were too blissed-out to do anything but whimper his name. His grip on your thighs tightened when you tried to move away, too overwhelmed by the pleasure but he wasn’t letting you go, not yet. "Stay still, baby." He murmured, voice thick with need. "Ain't done with you."
Your back arched as his tongue worked you over again, teasing, torturing, until you were gasping, pulling at his hair, your body trembling under him. He ate you like a man starved, like he’d never get enough of you because he wouldn’t. And when you finally shattered, thighs clamping around his head, your body shaking with the force of your release, Clint only groaned in satisfaction, licking up every last drop of you like it was his lifeline.
As you lay there, boneless, breathless, he kissed his way back up your body, his lips brushing over your heated skin, smirking against your cheek. "Still with me, pretty girl?" He teased, his voice full of pride. You could barely form words, still floating in the haze he’d left you in. But Clint? He was already thinking about the next time because once would never be enough. Not when it came to you.
Dave York (The Equalizer 2)
Dave York had many obsessions, precision, control and more. The satisfaction of a perfectly executed plan. But none of them compared to you. And more specifically, the way you tasted. It was the one thing that shattered his discipline, made him reckless and made him a goddamn fiend.
Tonight was no different.
You barely had time to process before Dave had you spread out on the bed, your silk nightgown pushed up to your waist, his broad shoulders wedged between your thighs. He wasn’t even pretending to take his time, he needed this, needed you.
The first swipe of his tongue was slow, deliberate, a groan rumbling deep in his chest as he tasted you. “Fuck.” He muttered against your skin, his grip tightening on your thighs. “How do you get sweeter every time?”
Your fingers tangled in his hair as he devoured you, licking into you like a man starved. The heat of his mouth, the flick of his tongue, the way his scruff rubbed against your sensitive skin, it was too much. “D-Dave.” Your voice was already shaking, your thighs trembling around his head but that only seemed to spur him on.
He growled, a deep, needy sound, and wrapped his arms around your thighs, locking you in place. “Not done yet, sweetheart.” As if you had any say in the matter. He feasted on you, tongue circling your clit before sucking it into his mouth, making your back arch off the bed. You whimpered, thighs trying to snap shut but his grip was bruising, his strength impossible to fight.
“That’s it.” He murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your swollen cunt. “Give me everything, baby.”
Your body obeyed, hips rolling against his face, chasing the high he always pulled from you. And when you finally broke, when pleasure crashed over you so violently your entire body trembled, Dave didn’t stop, didn’t let you go.
You tried to push at his shoulders, whimpering from overstimulation but he just laughed, pressing his tongue flat against your clit again. “Who told you we were done?” He murmured against your soaked heat. “I’ll stop when I’m finished.” And you knew, there was no stopping him now. You were his and he was going to ruin you.
Dieter Bravo (The Bubble)
Dieter had many vices.
Drugs? Sure. Booze? Of course. Attention? Absolutely.
But nothing compared to his addiction to you. Specifically, your pussy.
It was almost ridiculous how often he had his face between your legs. You could be doing anything, reading, scrolling through your phone, even talking to him about something completely mundane and suddenly, Dieter would get that look in his eyes. That lazy hungry gaze.
Like now.
You were sitting on the couch, dressed in nothing but one of his old t-shirts, scrolling through your emails. You barely noticed Dieter shifting beside you, draping himself over your lap, nuzzling against your thighs like a cat begging for attention. It was when he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh that you finally glanced down.
“D…” You sighed, already knowing where this was going. “I’m busy.”
Dieter hummed, completely ignoring you, nosing the fabric of your shirt up so he could kiss higher, closer. “You can’t really be that busy.” He murmured against your skin. “Not too busy for me, right, sweetheart?”
“You literally ate me out this morning.” You arched a brow.
“And? That was hours ago.” Dieter grinned, nipping at your thigh. You sighed but the anticipation was already pooling low in your stomach. Because you knew Dieter wasn’t going to give up. He never did.
With a content hum, he hooked his arms around your thighs and pulled, dragging you down until you were half-sprawled against the couch. You let out a soft yelp as he pushed your legs apart, settling between them like a man ready to worship at the altar of his favorite religion. “I love this pretty little pussy.” He murmured, eyes dark as he ran his fingers along your already damp folds. “I swear baby, I could die between these thighs and be the happiest man alive.”
“You’re insane.” You let out a breathless laugh.
Dieter smirked. “I’m just a man who knows what he likes.” And with that, he dove in. His mouth was hot, tongue slow and deliberate as he licked a long, teasing stripe up your slit before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking.
“Fuck, Dieter…” Your head fell back against the couch. He groaned against you, like he was savoring the taste, like he’d been starving for this. Because he was. He never rushed. Never got bored. Never stopped until you were a shaking, whimpering mess underneath him.
And tonight? He was taking his time.
Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)
It was late aboard the Razor Crest, the hum of hyperspace a soft backdrop to the warmth cocooning you within your shared bunk. The dim glow of the overhead lights bathed the cramped space in shadows but none of it mattered, not when you were beneath him.
Din had you sprawled out on the thin mattress, his beskar discarded, his helmet resting on the shelf beside him. His dark eyes were fixed on you, hungry and full of devotion, as he pressed kisses along the inside of your thigh. His gravelly voice, thick with need, sent shivers through your already trembling body. "You're shaking, cyar’ika." He murmured, lips ghosting over your sensitive skin. "And I haven't even started yet."
Your fingers curled into the sheets as you whimpered, your body betraying you. The sheer intensity of his gaze, like you were the only thing in the galaxy that mattered, left you breathless. "Din, please." You whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.
A low chuckle vibrated against your thigh. "So needy." He murmured, dragging his tongue over your skin, slow and teasing. "You know I love it when you beg."
You gasped as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, trapping you beneath his unyielding strength. And then he devoured you. His mouth was hot and relentless, tongue swirling, lips sealing over you with an insatiable hunger that left you writhing beneath him. You cried out, arching against him but his grip tightened, holding you down and forcing you to take it.
"You taste so fucking good, my riduur." He groaned against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. Your fingers flew to his hair, tugging, desperate for something to ground yourself. But Din only growled, doubling down, lapping you up like a man starved. His obsession with this, with you, bordered on madness. And you were helpless against it. Utterly and completely at his mercy.
Ezra (The Prospect)
Ezra has always been an indulgent man. The kind to savor his pleasures, to take his time. And when it comes to you? He’s downright ravenous.
It starts with a kiss.
It always does.
A slow, lazy thing, Ezra’s lips pressing soft and warm against yours as he pulls you into his lap. His hands, calloused and sure, trace the curve of your spine, skimming lower, gripping just enough to make you sigh against his mouth. "You’re too good to me, sugar." He murmurs, his breath ghosting over your jaw as his lips move lower. "Ain’t right, how lucky I got."
"And what did I do to deserve such praise?" You smile, threading your fingers through his hair.
Ezra hums, dragging his lips down the column of your throat. "Exist." And then he’s gone. Down, down, lower, his hands gripping your hips as he lays you back against the bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight, his broad shoulders parting your thighs as he settles between them.
And God help you, because you know what’s coming. Ezra is obsessed with your pussy. And he’s about to prove it.
He starts slow. Dragging his mouth along the inside of your thigh, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin there. Savoring, worshiping and teasing. "You’re soft everywhere, sugar." He murmurs, voice thick with hunger. "But this? Right here?" His thumb presses against your slick heat, parting you, and he groans. "This is my favorite part."
Your breath catches as he dips his head, his tongue flicking out to taste.
And then Ezra moans like he’s the one being pleasured, like he’s just been given the most decadent meal in the universe. His good hand grips your thigh, holding you open, keeping you spread and vulnerable for his mouth. He licks deep, dragging his tongue through your folds before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking.
You jolt, your hands flying to his hair, thighs trembling around his head.
"Ezra!"
"That’s it." He rasps, pulling back just enough to press a wet kiss against your swollen bud. "Say my name, sugar." He licks again, slower this time, his tongue curling just right and you keen.
"God, Ezra!"
He groans against you, the vibrations sparking pleasure up your spine. His grip tightens, fingers digging into your flesh as he devours you, his mouth moving in slow, deliberate strokes, building you up, winding you tight. And then he flicks his tongue, fast and sharp, before sucking hard.
And you break. Pleasure crashes over you in waves, your body arching, thighs clamping around his head as you cry out his name. But Ezra doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. He keeps going, keeps licking, keeps sucking, dragging out every last tremor, every last pulse of pleasure until you’re shaking beneath him, gasping, whimpering. Only then does he finally pull away, his lips glistening, his eyes dark and blown with hunger.
"You taste like heaven, sugar." He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your trembling thigh. "Think I might need another bite."
And then he dives back in.
And you?
You’re gone.
Francisco Morales (Triple Frontier)
Frankie wasn’t ashamed of it. Hell, he’d scream it from the rooftops if he could. He was obsessed with his wife’s pussy. It was his, after all.
And right now, he was devouring it like a man starved. His broad shoulders were wedged between your thighs, his scruffy beard scratching against your inner thighs as his tongue worked you over, slow and deliberate, savoring the way you squirmed beneath him. Your back was arched, your fingers tugging at his curls, your breath ragged as you tried and failed to keep up with his relentless pace.
“F-Frankie!” Your voice hitched as his tongue flicked against your clit, his arms tightening around your thighs, locking you in place.
“That’s it, baby.” He groaned, his voice gravelly, deep, vibrating against your soaked cunt. “Let me hear you.” You whimpered, legs trembling around his head, but he just held you tighter, lapped at you harder, his tongue dipping deep, tasting everything you had to give him.
“Always so sweet, honey. Always so perfect.” You shuddered, your body tensing, that familiar heat building, rising, coiling tight.
And then Frankie sucked your clit between his lips, his tongue swirling, flicking, pushing you over the edge. Your cry filled the room as you came undone, your thighs clamping around his head, your entire body shaking beneath him.
But Frankie wasn’t done, not yet. “One more, baby.” His voice was thick with hunger, his hands spreading you open again, his tongue diving back in before you could even catch your breath.
And the only thing you could do was take it like a good little girl.
Harry Castillo (The Materialists)
The penthouse was dimly lit, the glow from the city skyline casting soft shadows across the bedroom. Outside, the world was still alive, cars honking, sirens wailing, people laughing in distant bars but here, none of that mattered.
Here, it was just you and Harry.
And Harry was hungry. His hands were possessive, large palms gliding over your bare thighs as he spread you open beneath him. The warmth of his breath tickled your skin, sending a delicious shiver up your spine. “Look at you.” He murmured, eyes dark with need as he settled between your legs. “My perfect little wife.” His lips pressed to the inside of your knee, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses up your inner thigh. Every inch he covered made your heartbeat hammer against your ribs, your breath catching when his nose brushed against where you needed him most.
“Harry…” You whispered, already trembling beneath his touch.
His lips curved against your skin. He loved this, loved how eager, needy and utterly wrecked you became under his hands. He had barely touched you and yet you were already coming undone for him. “You know I can’t help myself.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to the softest part of your thigh. “Not when you taste so fucking sweet.”
And then, he devoured you. His tongue was hot, skilled, and utterly merciless as he dragged it through your slick heat. You arched off the bed, a cry spilling from your lips as your fingers shot down to grip his hair, holding on as he took his time tasting you.
Harry groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core. He loved this. Loved the way your thighs tried to clamp around his head, the way you whimpered and gasped his name with every flick of his tongue. His strong arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you spread for him as he feasted. Every slow, deliberate lap of his tongue had you trembling, your body coiling tighter and tighter with unbearable pleasure.
“Oh, god! Harry…” You gasped, hips bucking against his mouth. “I…I'm gonna…”
“Go on.” He growled against you, tongue pressing deep, voice husky with obsession. “Give it to me.”
And you did. Your body shattered, pleasure ripping through you so violently that you couldn’t even scream, just a silent, breathless cry as your vision whited out. But Harry wasn’t done. Even as you trembled beneath him, legs twitching, breath shaky, he kept going.
“Too much…” You whimpered, trying to pull away, but his grip tightened on your thighs, pinning you down.
“Uh-uh, sweetheart.” He rasped, looking up at you with hungry, darkened eyes. “I’m not done yet.” And then he dove back in, tongue relentless, dragging you into another devastating wave of pleasure.
You were his. His beautiful, perfect little wife. And he was going to worship you all night long.
Jack “Whiskey” Daniels (Kingsman)
Jack “Whiskey” Daniels prided himself on many things, his skill as an agent, his precision with a lasso, his ability to hold his liquor better than most men. But above all else, there was one thing he cherished, one thing he could never get enough of: you.
More specifically, the sweet little prize between your thighs.
And tonight? Tonight was no different.
You were sprawled across the bed, your body trembling beneath him, your breath coming in ragged little gasps. The silk sheets beneath you were already wrinkled, your fingers tangled in them as you tried to keep yourself together. But Jack had other plans. “Oh, honey.” He drawled against your soaked folds, his voice thick with amusement and hunger. “Ain’t no use runnin’ from me.” Your thighs jerked as his tongue dragged through your slick folds, his hands gripping the plush flesh to keep you still. He’d been down here for what felt like hours, working you over with that devastating mouth of his, taking his time like he had nowhere else in the world to be.
And for Jack, that was true. He had you all to himself, and he wasn’t going anywhere.
“J-Jack…” You whimpered, your voice wrecked and needy, barely a breath.
His cock throbbed at the sound, at the way you begged so prettily for him without even realizing it. He nuzzled against your swollen clit, letting his scruff drag against the sensitive skin before wrapping his lips around it and sucking.
You cried out, arching off the bed, your hands flying to his hair as your thighs instinctively tried to clamp around his head. But he was stronger and faster, he pinned your legs open with ease, spreading you wide for him. “Uh-uh, darlin’.” He murmured, looking up at you with dark, hazy eyes. “You know better than that. Let me see you.”
Your chest heaved as you met his gaze, your body quaking beneath him. He looked downright ravenous, his mouth and chin glistening with your slick, his pupils blown wide with hunger. “Prettiest damn thing I ever laid eyes on.” He muttered before diving right back in. His tongue worked you over, alternating between slow, teasing licks and deep, relentless strokes that had you seeing stars. He devoured you, like he was a man starved and you were the only meal he ever needed.
Your stomach tightened, pleasure coiling low, your muscles locking up as you felt yourself hurtling toward the edge. “Come on, sugar.” Jack murmured against you, his voice vibrating through your core. “Give me another one. Know you got it in ya.”
And oh, you did.
With one last flick of his tongue, you shattered. Your body seized, pleasure ripping through you as you sobbed his name, your vision going white-hot as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Jack groaned against you, his grip tightening, holding you steady as he licked you through every last aftershock, determined to prolong your bliss for as long as he could. Only when your body finally sagged against the bed, spent and trembling, did he pull away. His lips were wet, his beard glistening, but that smirk was firmly in place as he crawled up your body, pressing his hard, aching length against your thigh.
“Think you got another one in ya, sweet thing?” He murmured, nipping at your jaw as one of his hands trailed between your legs, his fingers teasing your overstimulated clit. You whimpered, your entire body shuddering as a fresh wave of need coursed through you.
Jack grinned.
“That’s my girl.”
Javi Guttierez (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent)
Javi Gutierrez had always been a devoted man. To his work, to his friends, to the things he loved. But nothing held his devotion quite like you did. Especially when he had you like this. Sprawled out on the bed, limbs trembling, thighs spread wide for him as he buried his face between them like a man starved.
He wasn’t even pretending to pace himself tonight. From the moment he laid you down, he had been relentless, tongue hot and wet as it flicked over your clit, his lips sealing around the swollen bud just to suck, pulling desperate whimpers from your throat. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you still even as your body tried to escape the pleasure he forced upon you. You were shaking. Shaking beneath him, body writhing against the sheets, fingers tangled in his thick curls, tugging, pulling, pushing. Not that he ever listened to your weak attempts to get away. If anything, your resistance only spurred him on.
He groaned into your soaked heat, the vibration sending another shockwave through your already overstimulated body. “Tan dulce, mi amor.” He murmured, voice muffled as he licked a long, slow stripe up your slit before sealing his lips around you once more. “I could stay here forever.”
“Javi…” You whined, thighs trembling in his grasp.
But the plea was cut off by a sharp gasp as he slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, his mouth never ceasing its delicious assault. His free hand splayed over your stomach, feeling the way your muscles tensed beneath his touch. “Give me one more.” He coaxed, voice thick with arousal, tongue circling your clit in slow, deliberate movements. “One more, cariño, I know you can.”
You didn’t stand a chance against him. Against his tongue, his fingers, the overwhelming hunger he had for you. And when you finally shattered, crying out his name, Javi moaned like he was the one coming undone, lapping up every bit of your pleasure as if he could drink you in. Even as you lay there, panting, skin glistening with sweat, body too spent to move, he still wasn’t satisfied. Because you were his favorite meal.
And Javi Gutierrez never left a plate unfinished.
Javier Peña (Narcos)
Nights with your husband had always felt like a dream, heavy with warmth, golden with affection. But tonight, something different simmered beneath the surface. Javier had been watching you all day. From the way your sundress clung to your curves as you folded laundry, to the delicate stretch of your legs on the couch as you flipped through a magazine, lost in your world. He looked at you like a starving man, slow, focused and reverent.
And now you were lying in bed, bathed in the soft lamplight of your shared room. A breath caught in your throat as he hovered above you, still fully clothed, yet somehow already unraveled by you. “Javi…” You whispered, fingers curling around the front of his shirt.
“Shh, baby.” He murmured, kissing the center of your chest with quiet, burning reverence. “Let me take care of you.”
You swallowed, heart racing, as he trailed kisses lower, slow and deliberate, fingertips skimming down your sides as if he were learning your body all over again. “You’re always so good to me.” He whispered, his voice rough and low. “Always so damn beautiful. You have no idea what you do to me.”
Your breath hitched as he settled between your thighs, warm palms spreading them gently but firmly, like he couldn’t wait another second to worship you properly. And when his mouth met your skin, it wasn’t rushed. No, it was worshipful, slow, focused and obsessed. You gripped the sheets, legs trembling as he groaned into you like he was the one being undone. As if the taste of you was the only thing he ever wanted, the only thing he craved.
“Javi, oh my god!” You gasped, your voice catching as your body arched beneath him.
He didn’t stop. Not when your fingers tangled in his hair. Not when your legs threatened to close around his shoulders. And especially not when you were trembling beneath him, so sensitive you could barely breathe. He pulled back just long enough to kiss your inner thigh and look up at you with that devilish proud smirk of his. “You shaking, baby?” He teased, breath hot against your skin. “I’m not done with you yet.”
And when he kissed you again, slow and deep, you realized Javier Peña wasn’t just obsessed with you. He was starving for you. And he wasn’t stopping until you melted completely in his hands.
Joel Miller (The Last of Us)
Even after all these years, after all the ash, blood and grief the world had dumped at your feet, Joel Miller still looked at you like you were the last good thing left on Earth.
And tonight, he touched you like it too.
The house in Jackson was quiet, the walls still and the fireplace crackling low in the distance. Joel had returned home from patrol just hours earlier, his hands rough and cold from the snow, his body tense, his eyes tired. But the second he walked through the door and saw you curled up on the couch in nothing but one of his old flannels, your thighs peeking out and lips glossy from your nightly tea, something shifted in him. That dark intensity in his gaze sharpened, zeroing in on you like you were a meal he hadn’t had in days.
And truthfully?
He hadn’t. Not the way he needed to.
Which is exactly how you ended up like this, legs trembling around his broad shoulders, your fingers tangled in his salt-and-pepper curls as he buried his face between your thighs like a starving man at his last supper. “J-Joel…” You gasped, back arching off the bed as he moaned against your soaked heat, his tongue lapping up everything you gave him like it was nectar, his hands gripping your thighs tight, holding you open and in place.
“Shhh, darlin’.” He murmured against your skin, voice rough and low, vibrating right through your core. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘til you’re shakin’ for me. You know that.”
He always said that. Every damn time.
And you always did.
Joel was obsessive in the way he worshiped you, taking his time, learning every inch of your body, every twitch, every gasp, every whispered plea. His beard scraped against the tender skin of your inner thighs and you felt it when he smiled, smug and greedy, like he could feel your pleasure in his own chest. He shifted slightly, dragging his tongue slow and deliberate, before sucking that sensitive spot in a way that made your whole body jolt.
“I-I can’t!” Your breath hitched.
“You can, baby.” He growled, tightening his grip, his voice wrecked with hunger. “Gonna come for me. Gonna soak my fuckin’ face like a good girl, huh?” You cried out, the coil inside you snapping, unraveling as your body shook beneath him, just like he wanted. Just like he always wanted.
Joel didn’t let up. He never did. He kept going until your thighs trembled and your lungs burned from how hard you were panting. It was only when your legs started to twitch from overstimulation that he finally pulled back, mouth wet and beard slick with you, eyes dark and blown wide. He looked like a man possessed. And you looked like a goddess completely wrecked. He kissed your inner thigh reverently, gently now, almost as if apologizing for how fiercely he’d devoured you.
Then he crawled up your body, slow and deliberate until his face was hovering above yours, eyes searching yours with that same intense affection that always managed to shatter you a little. “Don’t ever get tired of that.” He rasped, pressing his lips to yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “Could do that every damn day ‘til the day I die.”
“You say that like you haven’t already been trying.” You let out a soft, breathless laugh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.
“Damn right I am.” Joel grinned against your neck, pressing a kiss to your pulse.
Marcus Acacius (Gladiator II)
To the empire, you were his sweet delicate wife. A vision of beauty, grace and modesty, always draped in soft linen, eyes lowered in public and your voice rarely raised above a gentle whisper. The senators adored you and the noblewomen envied you.
But Marcus Acacius, Rome’s most brutal and revered general, knew the truth. He knew how you trembled in your shared bed. He knew how your soft moans sounded at midnight. He knew how you tasted when you were soaked and aching just for him.
And gods, he was addicted.
The lanterns burned low. The white marble walls of your bedchamber glowed gold in the candlelight, casting shadows that danced across their silken sheets. You sat at your vanity, brushing your hair, clad only in a thin white shift that clung to every curve. Marcus stood behind you, freshly bathed from the private spring, his broad body wrapped in a loose robe. His eyes devoured you through the mirror.
So soft. So sweet. So his.
You caught his gaze and smiled, shy and knowing. He stepped closer, large hands landing gently on your shoulders. You stilled as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.
“Lie down.”
Your breath hitched and obeyed. Marcus was slow with you. Reverent, like a man kneeling before his goddess. He pulled the thin shift over your head, letting it slip to the floor. You lay back on the cool linen sheets, your body already warm from anticipation.
He knelt between your thighs, his hands parting them with care but no hesitation. His eyes were dark with hunger. His voice, low and rough. “You don’t know what you do to me, carissima.”
You whimpered softly as his thumbs stroked your inner thighs, lips ghosting lower, breath hot on your already wet folds. Marcus kissed the inside of your knee. Then lower. Then lower still. Until his mouth found your aching dripping cunt. You cried out softly, hips jerking. But his arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place as his tongue slid through your folds with slow, deliberate strokes. Your fingers gripped the sheets.
“Marcus…”
“Shhh.” His voice was muffled, buried between your legs. “Let me taste my wife.” He licked you like a man starved, like you were the only thing he ever wanted. And maybe you were. He didn’t rush. He worshiped. He kissed, sucked and flicked his tongue over your clit until your moans filled the room, your legs trembling against his shoulders.
“You’re shaking.” He murmured against you, voice dripping with satisfaction. “You feel how wet you are for me?”
You nodded frantically, hips lifting and chasing his mouth.
“Tell me.” He growled.
“You… you make me feel so good, Marcus. I…gods, I can’t!”
“Oh, but you will.”
He grinned, lips slick with you and dove back in with even more hunger. His tongue flicked faster now, fingers spreading you open, licking deep until you were writhing, panting, with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Your thighs shook violently and then you finally broke. You came hard, gasping his name like a sacred vow.
But Marcus didn’t stop. He lapped up every drop, sucking your clit until you sobbed from the pleasure, your voice hoarse from moaning out his name. “I love how you taste.” He whispered, dragging his tongue up slowly. “I’ll never get enough of you.”
And in that moment, as you lay boneless and quivering beneath your general, your husband, you knew the truth: Marcus Acacius may have conquered nations. But you were the only thing he would ever worship. And he worshipped you well into the night.
Marcus Moreno (We Can Be Heroes)
Marcus Moreno is a patient man. A disciplined man. A man of control. But when it comes to you? All that restraint shatters. Because he’s obsessed with you. With the way you fall apart beneath him. With the way your breath hitches when his lips graze your skin.
But most of all?
With the way you taste. It always starts the same way. A simple kiss, slow and lingering. Then another. And another. Until he’s got you spread out beneath him, his mouth trailing lower and lower. Until he’s right where he wants to be.
You whimper when he kisses the inside of your thigh, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “Marcus.” You sigh, fingers threading through his dark curls. “Please…”
He shushes you, eyes dark with hunger. “Patience, sweetheart.” Then, with a slow sinful smirk, he devours you. He loves this, loves how your thighs tremble around his head and loves how your back arches, how you cry out his name like a prayer. He lives for this. For the way you come undone, legs shaking, body writhing, completely at his mercy. And he’s not stopping. Not until you’re gasping. Not until you’re clenching your fingers in his hair, babbling, pleading and begging. Not until you’re so overstimulated that you have tears in your eyes.
Only then when you’re thoroughly wrecked and limp beneath him, does he finally lift his head, his lips glistening, his expression utterly feral. And when he leans up, pressing a slow, deep kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
He grins against your mouth. “Such a good girl.” He murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction. “Think you can give me another?” And despite the way your body still trembles you still nod.
Because Marcus Moreno?
He’s not done with you yet.
Marcus Pike (The Mentalist)
The soft glow of golden evening light spilled through the bedroom windows, casting warm lazy rays across the sheets that were still tousled from your earlier nap. The quiet hum of the city below faded into the background as your husband, Marcus Pike, leaned in the doorway, watching you stretch slowly across the bed like you were the most beautiful piece of art he’d ever laid eyes on.
His tie was already loosened, jacket tossed over the back of a chair, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. And that look on his face, soft and reverent, made your breath hitch.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked with a small, teasing smile.
“Like what?” Marcus stepped forward, slow and deliberate, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Like I’m about to be worshipped.”
He leaned down, bracing one knee on the edge of the bed as he brushed his knuckles gently along your cheek. “Maybe because you are.”
Your heart thudded at the low, husky tone of his voice, full of something tender, something hungry, something devoted. He kissed you then, slowly and deeply, like he had all the time in the world. The kind of kiss that melted your bones, made your skin tingle and reminded you just how safe and loved you were in his arms.
“Marcus…” You whispered, fingers curling into his shirt.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes serious but warm. “You know I could spend the rest of my life just appreciating you. Every inch. Every sigh. Every little sound you make when I touch you.” You’d been married long enough to know he meant every word. Marcus didn’t rush through intimacy, he savored it, savored you.
He was gentle but firm as he coaxed you to lie back against the pillows, his hands skimming down your sides as he took his time, memorizing every reaction you gave him. He kissed a trail down your body, murmuring soft words of praise, of adoration. His lips were warm, his stubble brushing over sensitive skin and every motion felt like worship. You gasped when he kissed your inner thigh, his breath warm and slow as he rested there, holding you like you were the center of his world.
“You always take care of me.” He murmured, pressing a reverent kiss just below your navel. “Let me take care of you tonight.” And you let him. You let him pour his love into you, every kiss and touch whispering the truth, that Marcus Pike loved his wife with every fiber of his being and that there was nowhere else he’d rather be than wrapped around you, worshiping you like you were his whole world.
And to him, you were.
Max Philips (Bloodsucking Bastards)
Marriage can change a man. At least, that’s what everyone told Max. He heard the horror stories, how the passion faded, how the excitement dulled, how men started avoiding their wives instead of worshiping them.
What a joke.
Because Max?
Max Phillips was obsessed with his wife. You were his pretty little thing, his perfect girl, his everything. And there was one part of you he loved the most.
It started like every other morning. You were barely awake, your body soft and warm against the sheets, wearing one of Max’s old t-shirts and nothing else.
Perfect.
His favorite way to wake up.
Max slid beneath the covers before you even registered what was happening. His hands pried your thighs apart, his breath hot against your skin.
"Max." You mumbled sleepily, shifting slightly. "What are you…?"
And then his tongue was on you. You gasped, your fingers clenching in the sheets as pleasure rocked through your half-asleep body. Max groaned against your heat, lapping at you like a man starving. He never got tired of this. The taste of you, the scent of you, the way your thighs tremble every time he sucked on that perfect little clit. It was everything. And Max was never satisfied.
By the time he was done with you, you were wrecked. Your body was trembling, your thighs still twitching from the aftershocks. You lay there, panting, eyes dazed as you tried to process what just happened. Max wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning down at you like the smug bastard he was. "Morning, sweetheart." He murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction.
"You’re insane." You groaned, throwing an arm over your face.
Max chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss against your still-sensitive core, just to watch you jerk from overstimulation. "You married me, baby." He reminded you, voice husky.
And as he slid two fingers inside you, grinning at your whimper. "You knew what you were getting into."
Maxwell Lord (Wonder Woman 1984)
Maxwell Lord was a man obsessed. To the world, he was a tycoon, a businessman, a man who commanded respect and wielded power like a weapon. But behind the closed doors of his penthouse, stripped of the expensive suits and the cutthroat deals, he was just a man desperate for you. And he had no shame in showing it. His mouth was already on you, hot and eager, his grip firm on your thighs as he spread you apart. The silk sheets crumpled beneath your trembling hands, your back arching at the first slow, deliberate drag of his tongue.
"Max…"
He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core. "You know better than to say my name like that, mi amor." He murmured, his voice a dark promise against your heat. "Not unless you want me to keep you here all night." His tongue flicked again, teasing, coaxing, tasting.
You did want that. You always wanted it. Your husband was relentless, worshiping you with a devotion that bordered on madness. It wasn’t enough for him to simply touch you, to make love to you, no, he had to devour you, to drown himself in you until he couldn’t breathe. And right now, he was starving. His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you in place as his mouth worked you over, slow and indulgent, like he had all the time in the world. He loved doing this to you. Loved feeling you unravel beneath him, loved the way you gasped and writhed and whimpered his name like a prayer.
"You taste so sweet, cariño." He groaned, his voice thick with need. "So perfect for me." Your fingers tangled in his golden hair, hips lifting, desperate for more. But Max was in control and he wasn’t going to let you rush him. Not when he could keep you on the edge for as long as he wanted. Not when making you fall apart was his favorite thing in the world.
Lucien De Leon (The Uninvited)
The estate was quiet now. The party had ended hours ago, leaving only the soft hum of cicadas and the occasional creak of floorboards beneath your bare feet. Moonlight spilled through the wide windows of your bedroom, casting silver shadows across the expensive linen sheets, catching in your hair like a halo. You were already in bed, curled beneath the silk covers, a book forgotten on your lap. But your mind wasn’t on the pages.
It was on him.
You heard him before you saw him, his measured steps down the hallway, the soft clink of his belt being undone, the rustle of his jacket as he shrugged it off. When the door opened, your eyes lifted and there he was.
Lucien.
His shirt was half-unbuttoned, his dark hair tousled from his hands, always tugging when he was stressed or when he was thinking about you, which lately, seemed like all the time. "Still awake?" He murmured, voice low and rough with something darker.
"Couldn’t sleep." You shifted onto your back, watching as he stepped into the moonlight, eyes raking over your form like you were a goddamn miracle.
Lucien crossed the room in slow, measured strides. You could feel the heat radiating off his body before he even touched you. “I saw you tonight.” He murmured as he knelt beside the bed, his hand reaching to slowly push the sheets down. “The way you looked in that dress, smiling, talking to everyone, pretending like I wasn’t five seconds from dragging you out of that ballroom.”
“You didn’t say much at the party.” You shivered under his stare, the heat in his voice licking over your skin.
He tilted his head, his hands already trailing up your thighs, gentle and reverent. “Didn’t trust myself to.” His fingers curled beneath the hem of your nightgown, pushing it up. “You drive me fucking insane, mi amor. All night, I could barely think. All I wanted was to get you alone.”
“Lucien…” You gasped as his mouth brushed against your inner thigh, soft slow kisses that made your toes curl.
His eyes flicked up, wild and tender all at once. “I married the most beautiful woman in this world.” He whispered. “And I will never stop worshipping her.” And with that, he buried his face between your thighs. The first stroke of his tongue was slow precise, like he was savoring you, like this wasn’t something rushed or expected. It was an offering. A ritual.
Your fingers tangled into his hair instinctively, back arching as he sucked gently on your clit, tongue circling with maddening patience. Lucien groaned against you, like he was starving, like this was what he craved most in the world.
He loved this. Loved how your thighs trembled around his face, how your hips bucked helplessly, how you whimpered his name like a prayer. He gripped your thighs tighter, pressing you down as you started to squirm, overwhelmed by the waves of heat crashing through your belly. "You always taste so fucking sweet.” He growled, voice muffled. “My pretty little wife… this is mine."
“Lucien…” Your voice was breathless, shaking, your body already close.
But he didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down, flicking his tongue faster, rougher, his hands locking you in place as he devoured you like a man possessed. You were shaking now, legs trembling uncontrollably, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of it. You came with a cry, your entire body clenching as the world shattered into stars.
But Lucien didn’t stop. Even as you begged, soft stuttering, “too much” falling from your lips, he kept licking, moaning like he was the one being pleasured, like your shaking body beneath him only fueled his obsession.
“I’ll stop when I’ve had enough.” He murmured darkly, kissing your overstimulated folds, then licking slow and deep again. “But I’ll never get enough of you.” And you believed him. Because Lucien De Leon didn’t just love you, he worshipped you. Every inch. Every tremble. Every shattered breath.
And tonight, like always, he would ruin you, slowly, thoroughly and completely. And you’d let him.
Every. Damn. Time.
Oberyn Martell (Game of Throne)
The warm Dornish night wrapped around the palace of Sunspear like a silken embrace, the air thick with the scent of citrus and salt from the nearby sea. The moon hung high, casting silver light through the open balcony doors, the soft billowing of sheer curtains whispering against the stone. But inside the grand bedchamber, there was only heat.
Oberyn Martell lay between your thighs, eyes dark with hunger, lips curled into a lazy, sinful smile as he pressed a teasing kiss to the inside of your knee. His large hands held your legs open with ease, fingers tracing idle patterns against your flushed skin. "Look at you." He murmured, his voice like honeyed wine, deep and thick with desire. "So beautiful like this, my love. Spread out before me like a feast meant only for my lips."
You shivered beneath his touch, your breath hitching as he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your thigh, dangerously close to where you needed him most. Your fingers tangled in the silk sheets, a desperate whimper escaping your lips as he deliberately avoided the place where you ached for him. "Oberyn." You gasped, hips shifting in silent pleas.
He hummed in amusement, his nose brushing against your inner thigh as he nipped at the sensitive skin, dragging his teeth along it before soothing the mark with his tongue. "Patience, sweet wife." He chided, though his own restraint was hanging by a thread. "I plan to savor you tonight."
And savor you he did.
His mouth descended upon you, his tongue flicking against your most sensitive spot with slow, deliberate strokes. The first contact sent a jolt of pleasure through your spine, your back arching off the bed as a breathless cry fell from your lips.
Oberyn groaned at the taste of you, gripping your thighs tighter as he buried himself deeper, drinking in every sound you made as if it were the sweetest melody. He licked, kissed, and sucked with expert precision, his tongue swirling in lazy circles before dipping lower, teasing, devouring.
Your fingers found their way into his dark curls, tugging desperately as the coil of pleasure within you tightened with every stroke of his tongue. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure crashing through your body.
"Oberyn, gods, please!" Your plea was met with a low chuckle but he didn't stop. If anything, he doubled his efforts, his hands pressing your hips down to keep you from writhing away from the overwhelming pleasure. He wanted you shaking beneath him, wanted to hear his name fall from your lips like a prayer, wanted to ruin you with nothing but his mouth.
And when you finally shattered, when your body trembled and arched and you cried out his name like it was the only thing you knew, Oberyn didn’t stop. He licked you through it, drawing out every last tremor until you were boneless beneath him, your body twitching with aftershocks.
Only then did he pull away, his lips glistening with evidence of his devotion as he crawled up your body, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. "Perfect." He murmured, voice thick with pride and desire. "But I am not yet done with you, my love." And with that, the night stretched on, filled with whispered praises, gasping breaths, and the relentless worship of a man utterly devoted to his beautiful wife.
Pero Tovar (The Great Wall)
The evening crept in quietly, the golden light fading behind the hills and casting a soft glow through the cabin windows. The fire crackled gently in the hearth, and the cozy warmth of their little home wrapped around them like a thick quilt. Pero had been watching you for a while, admiring the way your hair spilled over your shoulders as you finished the last few rows of his sweater. His heart, often guarded and rough around the edges, softened completely in your presence.
And now, he couldn’t resist you any longer. He set the knitted sweater aside carefully, eyes smoldering with a kind of hunger that only you could inspire. "Lie back for me, cariño." He murmured, voice low and deep with promise.
“Now?” You blinked up at him, lips parting slightly as a soft, knowing smile played on your mouth.
He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “Now…” He repeated, his fingers already slipping under the hem of your dress, coaxing you gently to lie back across your bed.
You complied as you sank into the pillows. Pero wasted no time, kissing a path down your stomach, worshipping your body with every press of his lips. He loved how soft you were, how you trembled when his stubble grazed your inner thighs, how you sighed his name like a prayer. “Relax, mi vida.” He whispered, spreading your legs with reverent care. “Let me take care of you.” And he did, thoroughly.
His strong arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you steady as he indulged in the sweet taste of the woman who made a hardened soldier like him feel utterly undone. Every flick of his tongue was precise, every kiss intentional and it wasn’t long before your breathing grew shallow, your hips subtly lifting to meet his mouth.
“Pero, oh gods…Pero, I… I can’t…” You tangled your fingers in his hair, gasping as waves of pleasure built and rolled through you.
But he didn’t stop. He was lost in you. Obsessed with how you responded to his touch, the way your thighs trembled against his cheeks, how your voice shook when you whimpered his name. He was a man on a mission. And his mission was to worship every inch of his pretty wife until you were trembling beneath him, completely undone and thoroughly loved.
And when you finally reached that peak, body quivering, hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your cries, Pero held you gently through every wave, his own name echoing in your voice like a song. When you collapsed back into the pillows, boneless and breathless, Pero kissed the inside of your knee, then your hip, then your belly before crawling up beside you and wrapping you tightly in his arms.
You were still catching your breath when you turned to him, flushed and glowing. “You’re insatiable.” You whispered with a sleepy smile.
“Only for you, mi amor. Always for you.” Pero chuckled, brushing a damp strand of your from your face.
Reed Richards (Fantastic 4)
Reed had always been a man of intellect, of science, of logic. But when it came to you? All reason was lost. It wasn’t just love, it was obsession. An insatiable hunger that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with the way your body trembled beneath him when he had his head buried between your thighs.
Tonight was no different. Your fingers tangled into his salt and pepper curls, back arching as his wicked mouth latched onto the sensitive bundle of nerves that had you gasping out his name.
“Reed, fuck!”
He groaned against you, his large hands pinning down your trembling thighs, refusing to let you squirm away from his torturous pace. “You taste so fucking sweet.” He murmured, dragging his tongue in a slow languid motion, savoring you like you were the finest thing he had ever had.
And to him? You were.
His brilliant mind, capable of unraveling the universe’s deepest mysteries, was reduced to one singular thought, his neverending devotion to you. His pretty little wife. His obsession. His addiction. “More.” His voice was hoarse, desperate, his grip tightening around your hips. “Give me more, sweetheart.”
As if you had any choice. He devoured you whole, until your body shuddered, until your breath hitched and your nails raked against his scalp. And yet, even as you came undone beneath him, he wasn’t done with you. Not even close.
Reed pulled back only for a moment, darkened eyes drinking in the sight of you, flushed and wrecked, completely at his mercy. “I hope you don’t think I’m finished, darling.” His lips curled into a smirk, glossy with your slick. “We’ve barely even started.” And with that, he dove right back in.
Tim Rockford (Merge Mansion)
Tim Rockford had a problem. A serious, all-consuming, mind-numbing problem and it was you. More specifically, your pussy. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t get enough. It didn’t matter how many times he had you, he was always aching for more. Always desperate to taste you, to bury himself between your thighs and ruin you in ways that made you sob his name.
And tonight was no different.
You had barely crawled into bed when Tim was already reaching for you, big hands sliding up your thighs, warm and insistent. "Tim." You murmured, blinking sleepily as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh. "What are you…"
"You know what, sweetheart." He muttered against your skin.
A small gasp left your lips when he nipped at the soft flesh, dragging his mouth higher, closer to where you were already warm and aching for him. "You don’t have to." You breathed, even as your legs parted without hesitation.
"Yeah, I do." Tim huffed a low, wicked laugh. Because it wasn’t a choice, not anymore. Not when you were already so soft, so wet for him, just from a few teasing kisses. Not when the scent of you had him damn near losing his mind. He didn’t waste time, didn’t tease and didn’t make you beg for it. No, he devoured you, spreading you open with his fingers and dragging his tongue through your slick folds like a man starved.
"Oh, my God!" Your hands flew to his hair, fingers curling against his scalp as your back arched off the bed.
Tim groaned into you, lapping at your swollen, sensitive clit, slow and purposeful. He could feel you trembling already, thighs twitching against his shoulders, but he wasn’t stopping. Not until he had you sobbing for him. Not until you were shaking and soaking his face, pulling at his hair, begging him for something you couldn’t even put into words.
"You taste so fucking sweet, baby." He murmured, his voice thick with hunger. "Could stay here all night." And he meant it because Tim Rockford had a problem. And he had no fucking plans to fix it.
Maxwell Lord he's so... cunt? Cutie Cunt? Like almost drag queen cunt. I actually enjoy watching that performance, just so over the top, cunt, dark comedy mood to me. Almost Like Death Becomes Her over the top and I enjoy that aspect.
Oberyn is cunty as fuck. Just dripping cunt. A walking, talking cunt.
Joel and Clint give me sweet yet hardened men / father figure type. Cunt? Hhmm... Father figure cunty? Do whatever it takes to save their family cunt? These two may be low on the cunt o spectrum. But high on the protective father figure..
You know, Ted is a little cunty too. He did slap a man twice consecutively and stood on it. He stood on business. Stand on business cunt.
Dieter yeah cunty as fuck too. Those tik tok dances? Super cunt. Almost cool cunt. Like live and let live cunty.
Silva is cunt for sure. Just let him walk around naked.. I think he'd be okay with that.
