There was nothing better than a cloudy afternoon in your apartment, the world outside muted and grey, while inside you had warmth, comfort, and the company of your boyfriend with a movie humming faintly in the backgroundāsomething neither of you were really watching anymoreāas you're sitting on the sofa, legs open, perfectly at ease, happy and relaxed, letting him doā¦
Well, that strange thing heās been obsessed with for weeks now.
He's on his knees between your thighs, shoulders tense with effort, face buried right where the heat radiates from you. He hadnāt even touched your bare skin yet, just pressing his mouth to the thin cotton stretched over you. Your panties, damp from the earlier teasing were soaked through now, clinging to your feverish skin. His tongue moves against the barrier testing and pushing, little slow strokes that make you twitch because of the ticklish sensation that travels up your core to every place under your skin.
Then, as if something snapped loose in him, the licks came faster, so sloppy, as though he couldnāt believe you are letting him do it, as though he was scared you will take it away if he doesn't devour you every second.
At first, he seemed awkwardly harmless when he askedāshy, almost tripping over his own words. Typical Dex.
Up until then, your relationship hadnāt crossed the line of kisses and hesitant touches, so when he finally deigned to ask you that, your smile spread without you meaning it to. It wasnāt that you were shyāyou knew eventually youād ask him yourselfābut there was something disarming about the way he rushed to get the words out, as if the idea had been gnawing at him for too long to keep inside.
The weight slipped off your shoulders in the moment he said it, he saved you from being the one to break that invisible wall first. Just a quiet, offhand question slipped between laughs during a silly conversation full of intimacy.
You could still hear his voice in your head, low and a little rushed, which made you think that if he said it too clearly it might sound like too much. And yet the request had been simple enough, almost innocent, if not for the heat behind it.
That way, he wouldnāt have to keep sneaking around, wouldnāt have to āborrowā your panties the way he had been doingāthinking you hadnāt noticed or that his little secret was safe.
The truth was that you had noticed. Of course you had, and the thought of him alone with something that belonged to you, so desperate enough to do that, all of it was too tempting to just stare at him as if he was a weirdo, that's not how you are, you're hyperaware of the fact you enjoy your awkward freak and you can't bring yourself to judge such act covered in worship.
āDex,ā you murmur, fingers curling into his hair, tugging just enough to make him look at you, āyou know you can take them off, right? At this point youāve kind of already eaten them.ā The words slip out with a breathless giggle, the fabric clinging to you sticky and soaked from his persistence.
He doesnāt stop right away. He presses his mouth harder, trying to drink through the thin barrier, and there's a desperate noise vibrating against you when you finally tug him back, his lips are swollen, slick with spit and the product of your satisfaction.
āYeah I know,ā he says, voice a little muffled. He swallows hard before admitting, ābut I donāt really know that,ā his breath hitches, his cheeks flushing deeper, and he shifts like heās embarrassed by the confession but canāt help himself.
āI likeā¦ I like how they taste like this, I also want to try more, but you'd probably be disappointed,ā that last part comes with a breathy, nervous laugh that has you smiling.
He presses his mouth back to the soaked spot, dragging his tongue slowly over it until your breath stutters in your chest. The pressure isnāt nearly enough, not with the fabric still in the way, but watching him try to rut against nothing while he licks and sucks greedily has your whole body burning. Heās a mess somehowāhips jerking, shoulders tight with restraint, mouth working like he thinks if he just tries harder heāll get to the sweetness beneath.
āYou could never disappoint me,ā you murmur, encouraging. āBesides, you already know some tricks,ā
The small compliment makes him finally look up at you, pupils blown wide, lashes trembling with every desperate blink. His lips shine, wet and swollen, and he looks undone just from this. You giggle when he just stares at you like you just said something that he will never forget.
āNot that lookā¦ā you tease, laughter breaking the tension for a heartbeat.
He answers with a quick, clumsy lick against the damp fabric just where your clit is swollen beneath the material, like a puppy desperate to please, earning another little sound from your throat.
āAlright,ā you exhale, your thighs twitching, the teasing burning into frustration, āthis is too much. Iām gonna teach you Dexāso you can do it good and please me properlyābecause youāre making me go crazy here.ā
Your words make him shiver, his hands tightening on your thighs like heās bracing for a lesson heās been waiting his whole life to take.
āAre you sure?ā his voice makes your chest tighten, makes your pulse race in sync with the steady throb between your legs. You give him the smallest nod, and itās all he needs. His face lights up, so grateful it nearly breaks you. āOkayā¦ okay, thank you,ā he whispers.
The way he looks at you makes your stomach flip, he always looks at you like you're something divine and painfully sacred that he still can't believe is by his side.
You canāt wait to show him what heās capable of, to coax out that potential heās so desperate to prove. With a quick hand, you hook your thumb into the band pressing against your swollen heat and peel your panties aside, just enough to expose the slick ache heās been tormenting himself over all this time.
The moment your cunt glistens in the dim light, his breath catches audibly. His eyes go wide, pupils swallowing the pretty hazel, lips parting like heās about to pray. He stares at the way you shine for him, mesmerized, a wet sigh escaping from you as the cool air kisses your bare skin. His gaze flickers up to your face, only to fall again, drawn helplessly back down.
āNow,ā you say softly, steadying his focus, guiding his hunger with a fingertip pointing where you want him. Your swollen clit, just a little below it, āstart here with your tongue, yeah? Just a slow lick, baby.ā
āMhm,ā he nods quickly almost trembling with the weight of your instruction, leaning in with both of his hands gripping your thighs.
He obeys instantly, no hesitation at all. His tongue drags up your folds with a shaky gasp, slow just like you told him. The sound of itāhis raw need bleeding into every movementāmakes you shiver. By the time his tongue slides up to touch your clit, your whole body is already leaning into him, greedy for more. His hands clutch your thighs like heās terrified youāll push him away, knuckles straining white.
āGood boy,ā you murmur, your voice dropping lower, syrupy-sweet with approval. The effect is immediateāhe has to take a moment to whine, then lick his lips to continue.
āJust like that,ā you guide, and he follows before you even finish speaking, desperate to earn more of your approval. His tongue circles your clit in quick little swirls, messy but effective, each one sending sparks dancing through your belly.
Then he slides lower again, down to where youāre dripping, where your body pulses and clenches with every teasing touch. He pushes the tip of his tongue inside, shallow, but still enough to make your breath catch, to make your thighs tighten reflexively. He doesnāt linger longāonly to taste a little bit of what's inside, enough to make you gaspābefore moving back up to your clit, the rhythm is not overwhelming but it is intoxicating. Every pass feels better than the last, his tongue applying the right pressure, dragging the sweetest ticklish ache out of you until your lips part in a bitten-back moan.
Heās learning you on instinct alone, desperate, eager, and itās already making you dizzy.
āDex,ā you gasp, tightening your grip on his hair āPlease start sucking, your lips... Use your lips,ā twitching and panting feeling pathetic, but no more than him because he nods so quickly, closing his lips around your clit making a little pout that makes you close your eyes and moan.
His muffled mhmm vibrates right against your clit, and the sound alone makes your legs tremble. His mouth doesnāt leave you, not even for a secondāheās latched on now, fully addicted, tongue moving in frantic little circles that border on sloppy but feel like heaven. Every desperate flick drags another wave of heat out of you, and when he sucksālips pulling tight around your swollen nubāyour cunt clenches against nothing, aching, your body trying to grasp at something that isnāt there.
The pressure is relentless, his tongue alternating between circling and pressing, abusing that bundle of raw nerves that has your hips rocking helplessly against his mouth. The broken moan that rips out of you only spurs him on, he groans louder, shamelessly, the sound spilling directly into your skin, feeding off your reaction.
Heās lost in itālost in your taste, in the tug of your fingers in his hair, in the way you guide each quick movement like youāre conducting him. You donāt even have to look down to know whatās happening to him; you can feel it in the tremor of his shoulders, in the tiny twitch of his body pressed so close to your legs. Heās rutting against the air, straining for friction he canāt have, so turned on itās almost painful, but he refuses to pull away from you.
The sight aloneāhis mouth worshipping you while his own body trembles with needāmakes the burn inside you coil tighter, ready to snap.
Your free hand drifts down, resting on your lower belly, fingertips grazing your mound. His eyes flicker to the movement, wide and intent, but his mouth never falters against you. Then, suddenly, his grip shiftsāhe releases your thighs, and the absence of that bruising hold makes you whimper at the loss. Before you can even complain, his hands are sliding higher, thumbs pressing delicately to either side of your labia.
The breath catches in your throat when he parts you open, spreading the slick skin. He pulls back just enough to look, his mouth hovering, his eyes locked on you, on your most intimate part he needs to see. Adoration softens every line of his face, and the way he drinks in the sight makes you tremble.
āWhat are you doing? Don't do thatā¦ keep going,ā you whine, the petulance in your own voice making heat rush to your cheeks, shame curling under the desire. You sound like a begging spoiled child.
He licks his lips, eyes flashing up to yours, caught between guilty and awestruck. āSorry. I just wanted to see,ā there's a very awkward pause, ā...wow.ā The last whisper is reverent, ragged, and before you can scold him again, his mouth is back on you.
This time he starts lower, licking and sucking at your entrance, his thumbs still holding you open so he can taste every drop. You shudder at the hot, sloppy attention, gasping when he drags his tongue back up and catches your clit again between his lips. The combination makes you arch, your back bowing against the sofa, hips rolling forward to feed him more.
Obscene wet sounds echoing between you as he works. Your body pushes into his mouth again and again, giving in completely while he laps and sucks like heāll never get enough.
Nothing stops until the pressure inside you finally snaps. Your body seizes against his mouth, your cunt pulsing around his tongue just as you told him to fuck you with it. He doesāshoving it as deep as he can, sloppy and relentless, his nose rubbing against your clit, smelling your natural scent that makes him leak inside his pants. The combination has you crying out, thighs trembling around his head, heat spilling over his tongue as he drinks down every second of your release.
It takes everything in you to push him back, gasping, overstimulated, your body still twitching from aftershocks. He resists for a moment, groaning into your folds like heād happily drown there, but when you tug his hair firmly, he pulls back. Thin threads of saliva and your slick joining his lips to your cunt, he stares up at you like youāre his vice, his drug.
āWaitāplease, please, again, again,ā he whines with his pretty voice breaking, his face still close enough that his breath fans over your flesh.
You shift on the sofa to glance down at him properly. Heās still moving his hips against nothing, rutting air like a desperate animal. He must be so hard it aches, but he doesnāt reach for himself, doesnāt even think toāhis whole world is focused between your thighs. The sight makes you chuckle, a giddy little sound of satisfaction, because youāve never seen him look so undone.
āYes,ā you breathe, stroking his hair, rewarding him. āYes, you can do it again.ā
The joy that breaks across his face is pure, grabbing your panties, tugging them back over your swollen cunt, covering you again. And he dives in again, pressing his mouth to the damp fabric like itās his altar, licking and sucking through the soaked cotton as if he canāt bear to let you go bare for too long.
āWeirdo,ā you purr while stroking his hair and he starts giving little kisses to your puffy cunt, loving how the soaked fabric feels against his lips.
āDonāt be mean,ā he mumbles against you, words muffled by the constant, sloppy way his mouth keeps working over the damp fabric. The vibration of his voice only makes your thighs twitch tighter around his head.
āIām notā¦ā you coo, tilting your head, watching him like heās the sweetest, dirtiest thing youāve ever owned. Then, with a sly grin, you drop the bait. āYou knowā¦ if you come just from this, Iād let you keep them. You could lick them whenever you want.ā
You wink at him, voice dripping with tease, and the effect is instantaneous. He almost chokes on his own breath, groaning into you, eyes squeezing shut as though the promise alone might undo him. His hand jerks downward, clutching himself hard through his jeans, desperate for some kind of hold to keep from blowing too soon.
The sight of himāmouth glued to your cunt, nose pressed into the damp cotton, one hand trembling as it grips himself like a lifelineāmakes your chest tighten with wicked delight. Heās so close, you can feel it in every frantic lick, every needy sound he pours into you.
You know it, he can definitely reach that edge, and after all, he deserves it for learning too fast.
dd n punisher characters with a hypersexual/overly hormonal reader? of course if you're not comfortable with this type of stuff you don't have to write <3
characters used į° .į matt murdock / frank castle / foggy nelson / karen page / elektra / ben poindexter / billy russo / dinah madani / james wesley / muse
āļøµ MATT MURDOCK. šÆ
matt pretends to be unbothered by how forward you are, but he absolutely notices every suggestive comment, every lingering touch, every flirtation. it always gets under his skin more than he lets on. heāll smile that smug little half-smile, tilt his head like heās trying to read you, and say something like, āyou really donāt hold back, do you?ā ā but itās always a little breathless.
heās always listening. you think youāre being sneaky when you touch yourself in the other room, but matt hears everything. every breath, every rustle of sheets, every quiet whimper. it drives him insane. heāll usually let you keep going for a while (just to hear it). eventually heāll show up in the doorway, arms crossed: āhaving fun?ā and the moment you smile at him, itās over.
he likes the chase. you being constantly turned on doesnāt bother him, but he enjoys making you wait. youāll try to crawl into his lap when heās doing paperwork or patching himself up, but heāll smirk and say, āyou want something?ā like he doesnāt already know.
he has rules, but youāre the exception. matt tries to set boundaries. āno distractions before patrol.ā ānot while weāre in public.ā ānot when iām bleeding.ā yet, somehow, your lips on his neck or your hand creeping under his shirt makes him forget every one of them. youāll hear him groan out, āyouāre gonna be the death of me.ā while pulling you closer.
you fluster him more than heāll admit. youāve whispered things to him in church before. at nelson & murdock while foggyās in the other room. across a dinner table while he's pretending to focus. every time, you catch the faint pink in his cheeks, the way he adjusts his posture like heās suddenly uncomfortable in his skin. āyouāre incorrigible.ā heāll mutter. and then heāll kiss you like heās punishing you for it.
sometimes, when youāre being especially over-the-top ā dropping innuendos in public, texting him filthy things while heās in court ā heāll give you that warning tone. quiet, dangerous, voice low and right at your ear.
when youāre feeling particularly needy, heās infuriatingly good at switching the roles. āoh, now you want my attention?ā heāll murmur, catching your wrists as you crawl into his lap. āyou seemed just fine earlier.ā he knows exactly how to drag it out until youāre the one begging, and when he does finally give in, itās intense, focused, and a little overwhelming in the best way.
aftercare means a lot to him, even if youāre the one instigating all the time. heāll kiss your shoulder, your knuckles, the top of your head. heāll ask, āyou okay?ā even if youāre giggling and glowing. āagain? insatiable.ā
on a heavier note, sometimes your intensity stirs something deeper in him. his own guilt, his conflict between pleasure and penance. there are moments when heāll gently pull back, not to reject you, but to steady himself.
sometimes he worries heās not enough. he knows youāre intense, that your needs donāt exactly quiet down. even though heās more than capable of keeping up, there are nights where he wonders if he can keep satisfying you.
āļøµ FRANK CASTLE. šÆ
notices everything. every suggestive glance, every teasing touch, every time you slide up beside him wearing next to nothing. he wonāt always react ā not right away ā but youāll catch the slight tilt of his head, the shift in his breathing. heās got that stillness that says donāt push me unless you mean it. and you always mean it.
heās not one for words, especially not when it comes to sex. so when youāre being flirty, constantly on him, slipping innuendos into everyday conversation, he mostly just hums or raises a brow. when he does speak, itās in that rough voice ā something like, āyou keep talkinā like that, youāre gonna find out how far iāll take it.ā
he holds back for a while. youāre always testing the line, always touching, always turning things suggestive. he plays it cool at first, lets you push and push. once he gives in, he doesnāt hold back. itās intense, fast, physical ā he grabs, lifts, pins. after heās quiet again. catching his breath. wiping his hand down his face like youāve just unraveled him.
tries not to act like he cares about how much you want him, but the truth is it gets to him. you wanting him like that, so openly, so often; it gets to him. thereās something healing in it, something anchoring. sometimes when youāre curled up next to him afterward, heāll press a kiss to your forehead and murmur, āyouāre trouble.ā
he doesnāt judge. never once makes you feel like youāre too much. your neediness, your teasing, your constant desire doesnāt scare him, doesnāt annoy him. if anything, it pulls him in. youāre real, alive, shameless about what you want. frankās been in the dark too long not to be drawn to that kind of light.
he tries to ignore you when heās focused, but you are relentless. sitting in his lap while heās working on something. whispering, āwanna take a break?ā with your fingers ghosting over his chest. he doesnāt look at you at first ā keeps his hands busy ā but his jaw tenses and his breath slows, like heās trying to pray his way through it. āiām tryinā to get this done.ā heāll rasp. you smirk, āiām trying to get you done.ā
he doesnāt like being teased when heās busy, so when you push him too far, pressing against him while heās fixing something or whispering filthy things in his ear when heās trying to clean a gun - - heāll give you a warning. just a look. if you ignore it? he shuts the whole world out and shows you exactly what happens when you donāt listen.
when youāre being dramatic about needing him, heāll act annoyed, but deep down it kills him in the sweetest way. āfrank,ā youāll whine from across the room, āiām bored and horny and youāre ignoring me.ā and heāll sigh like youāre exhausting ā but then walk over and manhandle you into his arms without a word. picks you up and lays you out like heās been waiting for you to ask.
he worships your body in private. all that heat and teasing you throw at him gets returned in full once heās got you alone. he takes his time, holds you still, tells you exactly what heās going to do in that deep, steady voice. āyou want this?ā heāll ask, even though he already knows.
but heās also so soft after. runs his thumb along your cheekbone like heās checking youāre real. presses a kiss to your shoulder, your forehead, the curve of your hip.
āļøµ FOGGY NELSON. šÆ
he is constantly flustered. like. constantly. youāll say something absolutely filthy with a straight face while heās drinking his morning coffee and heāll choke every time. stammering, red in the face, eyes wide. āyou ā you canāt just say that while iām holding hot liquid!ā
he brags to matt. not in detail (heās respectful, okay), but he definitely walks around with that post-you glow, hair messy, tie a little crooked, sipping coffee like heās untouchable. matt raises a brow. foggy just shrugs. āwhat can i say? iām being thoroughly appreciated.ā ā casually mentions to karen that he āhad a very energetic weekendā while sipping his fourth cup of coffee.
he pretends to be shocked, but he loves it. he lives for it. heāll say things like āyou are so inappropriateā while his hand is already on your waist, pulling you closer. heās not fooling anyone, not with that little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
he loves making you feel good. your neediness doesnāt put him off, heās just thrilled to be the one you want. he takes his time with you. he listens. and when youāre breathless under him, gripping the sheets and begging for more? he looks at you like you hung the stars.
you make him feel like a king. youāre bold about it. you want him, loudly and often, and foggy melts. literally melts. āyou want me that bad?ā he asks, half in disbelief, half smug. and when you say yes without hesitation? he gets that cocky little glint in his eyes.
you make him nervous in the best way. like, this is a guy who can argue a courtroom into submission, but the second you lean in at the office and whisper something filthy in his ear, he loses all ability to function.
public teasing turns him into a mess. you run your hand along his thigh under the table, whisper dirty things while youāre walking beside him, and heās just trying to not combust. ācan you not?ā he hisses through a grin, but thereās no real protest. heās into it.
he calls you a menace all the time. lovingly. half-scold, half-swoon.
he tries to retaliate. heāll flirt back. maybe even whisper something filthy of his own, thinking heās got you now. you double down. he immediately regrets it in the best way. āokay, okay, you win,ā he laughs, hands up. āyouāre dangerous.ā
heās an aftercare king. gets you water, fluffs your pillow, runs a bath. holds you close while you both come down. if you so much as hint at being ready for another round heāll fake-complain (āyouāre trying to kill me!ā) while already kissing down your neck.
when he tries to keep up with you, itās adorable. youāll say something filthy and heāll try to match you with a slick comeback; but the timingās off, or he blushes halfway through, and it just ends up being the cutest thing youāve ever heard.
heās a cuddler with no shame. after youāve exhausted him (and letās be honest, you do), heās all tangled limbs and sleepy kisses. āyouāre insane,ā he mumbles, burying his face in your shoulder. āi love it. donāt stop.ā his voice is warm, a little hoarse, completely smitten.
he canāt keep secrets. not real ones. if heās been thinking about you all day, heāll tell you. āyou left me like that this morning and expected me to go to work like a functioning adult?ā he texts you during court. you send back a selfie in something slightly obscene. he slams his phone face-down on the desk and mutters āiām in hellā with a dazed smile.
āno more sending suggestive photos while iām at lunch with mattās priest friend.ā
he loves you exactly the way you are. loud, needy, bold, inappropriate ā he eats it up.
āļøµ KAREN PAGE. šÆ
she tries to be professional. sheāll be typing up a story, dead focused, and then you saunter in, leaning over her chair, whispering something that should absolutely be illegal. her jaw tenses, her eyes stay on the screen. āiām working.ā but sheās already shifting in her seat, biting her lip.
she has a secret mouth. when she wants to, sheāll say something so filthy it stuns you into silence. usually in a whisper. close to your ear. āyou gonna beg for it, or just keep looking at me like that?ā and then she just waits. calm. still. eyes on you, daring you to do something about it.
you flirt like itās breathing, kiss like itās urgent, touch like you need her; it leaves her reeling. sheāll try to keep her cool but youāll catch the way she exhales a little too hard, or stares at your mouth a second too long.
she teases right back. once sheās comfortable with you, youāre in trouble. sheāll wait until youāre the one trying to focus, then lean in and say something devastating in that soft, matter-of-fact voice. āif you keep looking at me like that, weāre not making it to dinner.ā and then just walk away. smirking.
but you also unravel her. sheās used to bottling things up, being composed. youāre all touch and need and hunger and affection. it pulls something raw out of her. when youāre whispering her name, clawing at her shirt, telling her how good she makes you feel, she loses her edge.
sheās fiercely attentive. your hypersexuality doesnāt scare her, doesnāt make her pull away. if anything it makes her want to understand you better. know your needs, meet them fully, love you through it. sheāll read you like a book ā figure out exactly what makes you tick ā and then use it.
she absolutely uses your energy to distract you. when she wants your attention, sheāll give you that look, chin tilted, eyes sharp, and say something devastating in a calm voice. āget over here.ā and suddenly youāre the one undone, aching and obedient.
she knows when youāre trying to seduce her and lets you. sheāll play along like sheās unfazed, arms crossed, head tilted. āyou think youāre being subtle?ā sheāll say while youāre practically crawling into her lap. but the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth? the way her eyes darken just a little? yeah, youāve already won.
she does not shy away from intimacy. your neediness doesnāt embarrass her, it draws her in. sheās not here to shame you or play coy. she wants to be wanted like that. to be touched like she matters. when she gets overwhelmed, she clings. yeah, youāre the hypersexual one ā but when she finally lets go, she gets wrapped up in it too. hands in your hair, lips on your throat, whispering your name like itās the only thing that matters.
she absolutely teases you in public. sheāll press up behind you at the grocery store, whisper something obscene with the most innocent look on her face, then walk off like nothing happened. youāre the one standing there stunned, clutching a box of cereal like it just said something inappropriate.
gets handsy when sheās tired. maybe itās after a long day, maybe itās when sheās half-asleep on the couch, but her hands start wandering, slow and lazy and full of intention.
āļøµ ELEKTRA. šÆ
absolutely thinks itās amusing. from the start, she watches you with that signature, smug little smile every time you throw yourself at her like a live wire. her eyes are dark, hungry, like sheās daring you to want her more.
she matches your energy with terrifying ease. you flirt to fluster ā she flirts to destroy. you say something filthy and she just smiles, leans in, and whispers something ten times worse in your ear while touching you exactly where it counts.
you donāt scare her. she welcomes all of it. feeds off of it. where others might pull away, elektra leans into it. and when you beg? her grin gets sharp.
she teases you to the edge of madness. sheāll touch you under the table during dinner, drag her nails over your thighs when youāre trying to focus, kiss your jaw and say, āyouāll behave, wonāt you?ā in public ā knowing damn well you wonāt. she wants you to break. thatās the game. taunts you when youāre needy. youāll whine, cling, kiss her like youāre begging for something, and sheāll laugh ā low and wicked. āyouāll have to earn it.ā sheāll purr, dragging her fingers down your back.
she owns the aftermath. after youāve lost your mind on her, desperate and clinging, she turns soft. unexpectedly so. hands gentle, voice low, fingers brushing your hair back as she says, ālook at you. i do love how pretty you are when you fall apart.ā
she lives for your attention. she wonāt admit it, at least not easily, but the way youāre always reaching for her, needing her, dragging her in like youāre starving for her? it feeds something in her. reminds her sheās wanted.
she doesnāt believe in moderation. so you being constantly touchy, constantly turned on? she meets it with equal force. doesnāt ask why you want her again, just laughs, low and cruel, āon your knees, then.ā like itās the most obvious answer in the world.
she gets mean when sheās turned on. in that smirking, dominant, slightly dangerous way. āwhatās the matter, sweetheart?ā sheāll say when youāre writhing under her, voice honey-sweet and mocking. āthis is what you wanted, isnāt it? all that beggingā¦ā
she tests how far youāll go. sheāll push you in public, press a hand between your thighs under the table, kiss your neck just a little too long, and ask in your ear, āgoing to behave, or make a scene?ā and when you shiver, grip her wrist, beg for more ā thatās when she grins like the devil. āthatās what i thought.ā
watches you like prey. doesnāt matter how many times youāve kissed, or how many times youāve begged her to take you apart, she always looks at you like sheās deciding where to sink her teeth next. you flirt with her in front of someone else? challenge her in that low voice? sheāll take you home and ruin you.
when you come onto her in a bad mood she melts. she could be fresh off a mission, furious, bloodied, but you crawling into her lap and saying, ālet me helpā? she softens instantly. not in a weak way, in a worshipful way. like your desire grounds her.
āļøµ BEN POINDEXTER. šÆ
at first, he doesnāt know what to do with you. you flirt like itās breathing, kiss him like itās urgent, touch him in casual greedy little ways that short-circuit his brain. he tries to act normal, tries to hold himself together, but you catch him clenching his jaw, fingers twitching, chest rising a little too fast.
he gets obsessed fast. the second he realizes how much you want him ā how openly, constantly, shamelessly ā you flip some hidden switch in him. he wants more. needs it. suddenly heās tracking your every move, memorizing the way you kiss him, the way you look at him like heās the only thing on your mind.
he follows instructions like theyāre oxygen. āsit.ā āstay still.ā āhands behind your back.ā you say it, and he does it. instantly. without blinking. itās instinct at this point ā his body reacting before his mind catches up. the second he obeys, heās looking up at you, waiting for approval, wide-eyed and aching for your praise.
heās dangerous when you rile him up too far. you flirt too much, grind against him when heās trying to behave, whisper something filthy in his ear when youāre supposed to be focused, and he snaps. drags you somewhere private, presses you against the wall, and just takes. itās quiet, intense, almost reverent. āyou drive me crazy.ā he groans, forehead to yours.
he doesnāt know how to handle being needed. you tell him you want him ā again and again and again ā and it undoes him. makes him shaky. makes him cling. sometimes after youāve worn each other out, he just holds you too tight and buries his face in your neck. like heās afraid if he lets go, itāll all disappear.
he gets flustered in the cutest, darkest way. you say something explicit and he freezes ā eyes dark, jaw clenched, pulse ticking in his neck. he doesnāt laugh it off or blush. he stares. silently. like heās deciding how many rules heās willing to break right now. spoiler: itās all of them.
heās so good at ruining you in return. the minute you start pushing him he gives it back, tenfold. pins your wrists. makes you beg. says nothing for most of it, just stares at you like youāre the most perfect thing heās ever seen. when you come undone he whispers, ālook at youā¦ look at what you let me do.ā
your neediness makes him feel safe. he doesnāt always say it. but knowing you want him that much? that openly? it quiets the noise. the guilt. the rage. he touches you like youāre salvation. holds you after like youāre the only thing keeping him on the edge of sanity. you are.
he spirals when you tease him and then act innocent. youāll straddle his lap, whisper something obscene, kiss his neck, then just walk away like it didnāt happen. dex sits there, frozen, jaw clenched, staring at the wall like heās trying not to snap a pencil in half. by the time he finds you again, heās feral. āyou think this is a game?ā
he thrives when you lose control. the moment your composure cracks ā the moment you beg, or whimper, or grab at him like you canāt take it anymore ā his whole demeanor shifts. his lips curl into this possessive little smirk.
he's insatiable once youāve broken the seal. if heās gone too long without touching you he gets ravenous. rough, shaky hands. kisses that donāt stop. taking you again and again, like heās trying to make up for all the hours he went without you.
he doesnāt know how to take it when you praise him. he stares at you like he doesnāt know how to absorb it. like part of him doesnāt believe he deserves that softness. but he needs it. and when you say it again, gentler this time, he kisses you like heāll die without it. he adores being praised. when you tell him heās good, or strong, or perfect, his whole body trembles, just a little. his breath catches. itās like heās hearing it for the first time, every time, and it shakes him to his core. āyou like that, donāt you?ā youāll tease. and heāll look at you with this raw, desperate expression. āsay it again,ā heāll whisper, voice hoarse, āplease.ā
he gets needy in the best way. the more you touch him, the more you praise him, the more desperate he becomes. the man who usually has all the control suddenly becomes weak for you. heās a mess when you praise him during sex. when you tell him heās good in bed, that heās making you feel good ā thatās when he absolutely falls apart. his hands go slack, his body goes rigid, and heāll mumble, ādonāt stop.ā over and over. every word that spills from your mouth is like a drug, and itās ruining him in the best way possible.
he loves when you take control. push him down. tell him not to move. give him orders like you expect them to be followed ā because he wants to follow them. he wants to earn your touch, your words, your love. when he gets it heās panting, melting, gripping the sheets like itās the only thing keeping him from floating away.
his obedience isnāt about power ā itās about love. he doesnāt kneel for you because heās weak. he kneels because he trusts you. because he knows that when you give him orders, youāll also give him affection. and that means everything to him.
āļøµ BILLY RUSSO. šÆ
tries to be cocky about it at first. smirking while you straddle him, talking shit like, āgonna take what you want, baby?ā but the second you actually do ā grab his wrists, grind down, whisper ābe good for meā ā his whole body shudders. the smirk fades. his jaw clenches. and heās whispering, āfuckā¦ okay. okay.ā
he gets jealous of your attention. not just who you give it to ā but when you withhold it. you tease him, flirt then walk away, or spend more time on your phone than in his lap, and heās immediately pressing up behind you, voice low: āwhat, you done using me already?ā
you catch him off guard constantly. dragging him into the nearest room, climbing into his lap during meetings, whispering something unholy while heās trying to concentrate. and he plays it cool, sure ā but the way he grips the edge of the table or clenches his jaw? oh, heās losing it.
he becomes so obedient under the right pressure. you tell him stay still and he does. every muscle tight, breathing uneven, eyes locked on you like heās waiting for his next instruction. he looks cocky, but that tension in his body? thatās need. he wants your praise. needs your permission.
he thrives off your desire. knowing you want him all the time, that youāre always thinking about him ā it makes him feel powerful. desired. worshipped. heāll tease you for it āāyou really canāt keep your hands off me, huh?ā
but the more you want him, the more needy he becomes. it stops being a game and starts being obsession. now heās the one touching you constantly, dragging you into bed at all hours, whispering, ājust one more time, baby. canāt stop thinking about you.ā
heāll let you use him. no ego, no fight ā just ātell me what to do.ā if youāre extra desperate, pulling at his clothes and grinding on him like youāll lose your mind without it, he lets you take it. lets you pull his belt loose and ride him breathless. hands on your thighs, eyes locked on you like youāre holy.
he melts for praise but tries to hide it. you call him good and he lets out this shaky breath, head dropping back, hands fisting the sheets. āfuck,ā he whispers, like heās embarrassed at how much it affects him. you tease him for how much he likes it. ālook at you,ā youāll purr, dragging your nails down his chest, āmr. billy russo. ceo. soldier. killer. begging for my approval.ā and he groans. because yeah. he is. and when you call him your pretty boy, your sweet thing, your favourite toy ā he thrives. eats it up. all of it. he follows instructions so, so well. you train him without even meaning to. tell him how to touch you. when to stay still. where to put his hands. he gets desperate for your praise. heāll push himself to the edge trying to make you feel good, looking up at you like a starved thing. āyou feel good?ā he pants.
he wants you to ruin him. not physically ā emotionally. he wants you to strip him down. take all the masks off. make him yours in a way no one else ever has. when you say, āmine,ā and grip his chin so he has to look at you? his body goes limp. he nods, quiet, obedient.
heās competitive about keeping up. you want it again? again? oh, heās rising to the challenge. he wonāt back down ā wonāt let you think for one second he canāt handle it. but by round five, heās on his back, breathless, hair damp, muttering, ājesus christā what are you trying to do to me?ā
he starts scheduling around your sex drive. literally moves meetings, delays calls, closes his office door and texts you a simple: now. and when you show up already knowing what he wants? he just leans back in his chair, unbuttons his shirt, and smirks ā āi knew you couldnāt resist.ā
but the second you get needy? oh, he crumbles. you press up against him, whine a little, tell him how bad you want him ā and suddenly the smug faƧade shatters. heās flustered, hands already on your hips, murmuring, āyeah? tell me what you need, baby. iāll give you everything.ā
he keeps things on him just in case. backup condoms. lube in his desk drawer. a change of clothes. because he knows you ā knows youāre unpredictable, insatiable, always two seconds from crawling into his lap and making him lose every ounce of professionalism he has left.
he talks a big game but loses it so fast. heāll say shit like āyou gonna ride me like you mean it?ā or āhope you can handle what youāre asking forāā and then you do, and suddenly heās gasping, clutching at you, swearing under his breath like his whole bodyās going haywire.
your appetite breaks his composure. you get him worked up in public, and suddenly mr. smooth-talker is stammering. distracted. flustered. heāll pull you aside, grab your face, and growl, āyou need to stop or iām gonna fuck you in the nearest locked room.ā (spoiler: you donāt stop.)
āļøµ DINAH MADANI. šÆ
slow mornings where you canāt keep your hands off her while sheās brushing her teeth, trying to read case files, trying to drink her coffee ā she doesnāt stop you, just mutters āinsatiableā with a smirk. late nights on the couch with your legs tangled over hers, your fingers tracing the scar on her side, whispering everything you want to do to her ā she listens quietly, then pulls you into her lap.
you call her detective when you're being flirty ā she pretends to be annoyed, but the flush in her cheeks always gives her away.
sheās the calm to your fire, but when she snaps, when she lets go ā you learn that sheās been holding back so much more than you thought. your need for touch grounds her; sometimes itās the only thing that pulls her out of her head after a long day.
sheās not overly verbal during sex, but you are ā and she loves it. loves how uninhibited you are, how you make her feel wanted in a thousand ways. sometimes she doesnāt say anything at all ā just looks at you with that heavy gaze, hands on your hips, and you know exactly what she needs.
you send her texts during work: i need you, thinking about your hands, wear that button-down tonight ā she leaves you on read, but always shows up exactly how you want.
sheās the type to make you wait. edge you for hours just because youāve been too much all day and she wants to remind you whoās in control.
she sets boundaries with you early on ā not because she wants distance, but because she knows your appetite could swallow her whole if she let its āyou donāt get to touch me just because youāre needy,ā she says, low and measured, her hand firm on your wrist ā but she never pushes you away, not really.
she gives you rules. no touching without asking. no teasing when sheās on the phone. and god help you if you break them ā she doesnāt yell, she disciplines. when you push too far, she doesnāt lose her temper ā she goes cold, calculated. ātake your hands off me. now. you donāt get me when youāre acting like a brat.ā she uses your hypersexuality to train you ā gets in your head, turns your hunger into obedience.
you test her constantly, and she lets you ā up to a point. then itās āknees. now.ā and youāre on the floor before your brain can catch up. she loves that you want her all the time ā but she makes sure you need her on her terms, not yours.
āļøµ JAMES WESLEY. šÆ
heās amused by how needy you are ā not mocking, just indulgent. āinsatiable little thing, arenāt you?ā he says without looking up from his glass. he doesnāt initiate in public, but you can feel it in his stare across the room ā the promise of what heāll do to you later if you donāt behave.
he makes you ask. always. āuse your words.ā and if you whine or pout? āthatās not asking. thatās begging. i havenāt decided if you deserve it yet.ā his discipline is precise ā never cruel, always controlled. he doesnāt punish out of anger, but out of principle.
you learn very quickly not to touch him without permission. not because he doesnāt want you to ā but because he enjoys denying you just enough to keep you desperate.
āif you canāt sit still through dinner without thinking about my hands, maybe you donāt need dessert tonight. or tomorrow.ā
he knows your body like a weapon ā keeps you right on the edge with barely a touch, just his voice, just the way he looks at you when youāre squirming in his lap. he buys you luxury ā lingerie youāre not allowed to wear unless he puts it on you, jewelry that marks you as his, bruises that match your diamonds.
thereās a cold satisfaction in how he makes you obey. āno talking back.ā if you try to argue he silences you with a kiss, a firm grip on your jaw, āiāll speak when i want. youāll listen.ā he loves the way you bend to his will.
when youāre on your knees, obedient and desperate, he takes his time with you, savoring the control he has over your every move, over the way you look at him like heās the only thing that matters. he loves when youāre desperate, when you canāt hide how much you crave him. ābeg for it,ā heāll say, casually, and the way you do makes him smile with that dangerous satisfaction.
in those rare moments when he decides youāve earned it, heāll show a sliver of tenderness. a brush of his fingers on your cheek, a gentle word in your ear ā itās the only time you get a glimpse of the softer side he hides behind his icy control.
he doesnāt let you forget whoās in charge. if you slip up, if you get too demanding or bratty, heāll pull back with a simple āthatās not how this works. try again.ā he holds back just enough to make sure youāre always wanting more. when he finally gives you what you crave, itās a slow, calculated act ā drawing you to the brink, then pulling you back again, just to see how much youāll beg.
āyouāre not getting anything until you prove you can behave.ā ā you have to be good for him to get what you want.
āļøµ MUSE. šÆ
he calls you his favourite canvas, but he never means it metaphorically. his fingers drag across your skin like brushes, like heās trying to paint need into your bones. he doesnāt understand restraint ā when you want him, it feeds something primal in him. āsay it again,ā he demands, breathless and too close.
blood on his hands, paint under his nails, and you pulling at his shirt like youāre starving ā he doesnāt care what time it is or what mess he left behind, not when youāre looking at him like that. he laughs when you get desperate, but itās not mocking ā itās delighted. ālook at you,ā he purrs, āso hungry. like a little beast. i could make something beautiful out of that.ā
he marks you in more than bruises ā red smudges from pigment he wonāt name, his fingerprints staining your thighs, your back, your neck ā like heās signing you. he gets obsessed with patterns ā the way your body responds to certain touches, sounds, pressure ā like heās studying a new medium. āarch your back. no ā slower. let me see the shape of it.ā
he doesnāt like being told no. not because heās cruel, but because he canāt comprehend being denied something he craves. your desire fuels his delusions of devotion. when you touch him, it drives him manic ā like being wanted back is a concept he canāt entirely believe, and he spirals into reverence or obsession. sometimes both.
he doesnāt knock when he enters ā he appears, silently, suddenly, like inspiration itself. and when you look at him with need in your eyes, he exhales like heās relieved. āoh good. youāre ready for me.ā he doesnāt understand why you crave him so often ā but he adores it. treats it like proof. like you were made for him. like your desire validates the madness in his head.
he feeds on your desperation ā physically, mentally, artistically. your need becomes his muse, your body the altar he builds madness on. when he ties you up, itās not just for control ā itās a frame. your body, trembling and aching, becomes the exhibit. āstay still. youāre art now. donāt ruin it.ā
heās rough, but never careless. every bruise is intentional. every handprint, every bite ā a signature. he gets frustrated when you wear something that hides his marks.
after, when youāre ruined and trembling and boneless, he presses his forehead to yours, whispering in rapid, breathless phrases: āmy perfect, filthy little thing.ā
and then he sketches. right there, with you still shaking, sprawled over his lap ā he sketches the aftermath. the glow. the way you fell apart.
Tags: Dom/sub dynamics - GN reader - Dom Matt - Sub reader - Sadism - Power imbalance - Smut - Lot of mean things written as headcanons.
ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ His control by sensory overload
It's not a shocking new that Matt knows every flinch, every twitch of breath, every helpless sound you make when he plays with youāand heāll use it against you with precision so cruel it borders on artistry. He drags you right to the edge of breaking, the tremor in your thighs, the arch of your spine, the way your chest stutters with little pathetic gaspsāhe reads it all and keeps it inside his mind until it's time to use it.
Heāll hold you there until your face is soaked, until those tears blur your lashes and your skin shivers so hard itās like your body is begging for mercy in place of words.
And right when your nerves start to dull, when your body dares to begin adapting to the unbearable heat of his attention, he pulls back just to snatch away that relief, to remind you that release isnāt yours to have. Itās his to grantāor withhold.
Thatās what makes him smile, all dimples and teeth, the smile that tells you heās savoring your frustration more than he ever would enjoy your pleasure. He delights in the way you shake, when your voice breaks, when you beg for more while hating him for the way he denies it like an hypocrite.
To him, your suffering is sweeter, more intoxicating, than any orgasm he could ever wring out of you.
ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ Lack of discipline takes to painful consequences
With him, the rules are mercilessly simpleāmove when you shouldnāt, speak when youāre not spoken to, gasp too loud while heās working you open, even breathe wrong when heās focused between your legs, and everything stops. No matter how good you feel, no matter how much heās enjoying the way you fall apart, heāll cut it off cold.
Discipline is more important than pleasure, he wants obedience first, and heāll make sure you never forget it.
Thatās why sometimesājust sometimesāhe reaches for a belt you never thought he owned. He wonāt raise his voice, wonāt look angry for you. Heāll fold the leather in his hands with that terrifying patience, then order you to bend, and the first lash will land hot across your back, then your ass, then the soft give of your thighs, the leather snapping so sharply you canāt bite back the cry.
When he aims between your legs, dangerously closer to where you're throbbing, at the tender inside of your thighs, the sting borders on unbearable, only designed to make you flinch and understand what you shouldn't do.
He makes you count every strike, your voice shaking, tears going down and if you lose track, stumble over a number, he just starts again from one, calm as ever, like he has all the time in the world to break you down until you learn the lesson properly. By the time heās satisfied, your skin is burning, raw, alive with paināhe has that pleased look on his face, that controlled calm that makes the punishment cut deeper than the belt ever could.
ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ Slaps on the cheeks of a pretty face
He isnāt shy about itāhis hand cracks across your cheek mid-thrust, hard enough to sting, not enough to bruise. For him itās not about pain, Matt likes it because it is about shock, about the way it snaps you out of your daze and throws you right back under his control. He does it to see the tears spring fresh, to hear the way your breath stutters as if youāve just been reminded who owns your body.
Every slap is a reminder that you donāt get to drift, you donāt get to forget, youāre here to take what he gives you.
Sometimes he saves it for when youāre on your knees. Youāll be working your mouth over him, lips stretched around the thick weight of him, when his hand suddenly lands against your cheek. The raw sting makes you jolt, and before you can recover, his fingers thread into your hair and shove you down deeper, forcing his cock further into your throat while your skin still burns from his hand.
The mix of shock and suffocation is exactly what he wantsāyour mouth full, your eyes watering and your voice gone.
When heās frustrated, he gets meaner with it. Heāll pull out just to slap the heavy head of his cock against your cheek, leaving wet smears across your skin like heās marking territory. Then he taps it against your tongue, a mocking little gesture before pushing past your lips again. Your mouth is his to use and your face is his to strike.
ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ Forced to swallow everything he gives
Heāll grip your jaw in one strong hand, thumb digging into your cheek until your lips part, until youāre forced to open up for him like something to be used. He doesnāt rushāhe leans over you, adoring the way your heart beats faster with pure need, before letting spit gather in his mouth and fall onto your tongue.
The string breaking across your lips, the wet heat pooling where he wants it. Then he waitsāhe makes you hold it, his palm still clamping your jaw tightāuntil he gives the order. Only when he tilts his head in approval, that subtle nod, you swallow.
And he listens closely to the way your throat works around it, smug satisfaction painted all over his face.
When heās in a good mood, all playful and meanāhe doesnāt even aim for your mouth. He lets it drip lazily down your face, onto your chin, across your chest, the mess running sticky and warm until youāre painted in it. He smears it in with his thumb, rubs it across your lips, pushes it down your throat with his cock sometimes if he feels like it. He murmurs that youāre beautiful like this, prettier ruined and wet, covered in what he gives you.
And unfortunately you love itāyou prove it every time you wait, obedient and trembling, mouth open, not daring to swallow until he decides youāre allowed.
ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ No mercy in his rhythm
When heās in that mood, thereās nothing gentle in him. His rhythm is merciless, hips snapping into yours with bruising force, every thrust landing heavy, like a punishment. He doesnāt care if youāre gasping, if your body is straining to keep upāheās not chasing your pleasure, heās using you to wring out his own. Your wrists are pinned above your head, his fingers bruising into your skin, his weight pressing you down so hard into the sheets you can hardly breathe.
Sometimes he shoves your face into the mattress, muffling your cries, whispering in your ear that the way you fall apart because of him is humiliating and he feels nothing but pity for you.
He doesnāt stop when youāre trembling, doesnāt slow when your body begs for a break under himāif anything, it pushes him harder. He uses you until heās finished, until heās spilling into you, grinding deep as if he wants to carve the reminder of him into your body.
And when itās āoverā, he barely gives you time to catch your breath before heās on you again, flipping you over, dragging your hips back, shoving inside your sore, overstretched body with no warning. You whimper, protest, begābut heās already gone again, chasing his next release, using you all over until youāre nothing but sweat, tears, and the bruises he leaves behind.
ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ His mockery and constant degradation
He likes to whisper cruel little things in your ear, feeding you the kind of words that make your stomach twist with humiliation and heat, using pet names in a way you know it's everything but sweet, his full of poison.
āYou let me use you like this, do you even want it, sweetheart?ā He times it perfectlyāeach word whispered right when youāre weakest, right when you canāt hold back the noise spilling out of you. And when you moan too loud, when your voice cracks like youāve lost every ounce of control, he laughs. A cruel, delighted laugh that tells you he makes your shame his sick pleasure.
āGreedy,ā he purrs, grinding harder, making you take every inch while you writhe under him. āCanāt get enough, can you?ā His hand comes down sharp across your cheek, the sting making your eyes water, his smirk widening as you whimper.
Try to protest, even gasp out a shaky no, and his fingers close around your throat, enough to remind you who decides when you speak, who controls every desperate sound you make. His grip tightens when you squirm, loosens only when he wants to hear you choke out your submission.
Every sound you let out will be used against you. Heāll press his lips to your ear again, mockingly soft this time: āYou love this. My little toy. Say it.ā And he wonāt stop until youāre the one repeating it back to him, ruined and trembling, confessing your own degradation while he grins into your skin.
ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ Beliefs used in the wrong way
Sometimes he drags you into something even darker, pulling faith down into the sheets with you. Heāll press the cold beads of a rosary into your skin as he fucks you, dragging them over your throat, your chest, your hipsābranding you with devotion twisted into punishment.
Every thrust feels like a blasphemy and a benediction all at once. He tells you to pray, voice low and commanding, ordering you to choke out between broken moans. The cadence of your prayers stumbles, ruined by the rhythm of his body slamming into yours, and he only smiles, moans at that twisted feeling, whispering that Godās listening. He'll worry about the guilt later.
He mixes devotion with degradation until youāre dizzy, unsure if youāre being blessed or condemned. One moment heās calling you holy, sacred, whispering like youāre some offering heās chosen.
The next, heās snarling that youāre a sinner, that your body was made to be ruined and used. His crucifix might dangle and smack against your skin as he holds you down, his breath hot in your ear as he asks if you feel absolved, if you feel cleansed while he fucks you raw. And by the end, you donāt know if youāre praying for forgiveness, for mercy, or for more.
ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ Humiliating releases
Heāll drag you right to the edge, teetering on the brink until youāre shaking, incoherent, voice lost in desperate whines and half-formed pleas. Heāll let you hover there, quivering, heart racing, until your body is raw with needāand then heāll push you into release in the most degrading way he can imagine.
Maybe he shoves you onto his thigh, forcing you to ride him like a trembling, desperate mess while he has that cruel smirk, laughing at the way your hips flail, the way you're a mess that can't reach the needed release by yourself.
Sometimes, he doesnāt even touch you that much. Heāll slap your thighs, maybe moan in your ear while he touches himself, mocking your desperation, call you filthy and greedy until your body betrays you, trembling and spilling by the smallest touch. He loves the way you canāt control yourself, how your body folds into the humiliation he orchestrates.
Everything is for him, a trophy of obedience, proof that even in shame, youāre utterly his. By the time he lets you catch your breath, youāre raw, wet, and exposedācompletely undone, and heās already smiling at how easy it was to ruin you, again.
ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ć ¤ His silence weighs more than anything
The most terrifying part of him isnāt the words, because sometimes there are none. No warnings, no teasing whispersāonly the iron grip in your hair, and the relentless, rough thrusts that leave your body hurting and your eyes watering. He doesnāt need to speak, because every pull, every slap, every dragging motion across your skin says it all.
The way he pins you, uses you, forces your hips to meet his, presses you into the mattress like youāre nothing, proves that he owns you without ever opening his mouth.
Your body reacts before your mind even catches up, flinching at the sting, shuddering under the pressure, quivering with overstimulation. And that silenceāitās heavier than any words could be. It makes you realize, horrifyingly, that his control doesnāt rely on commands or insults. He doesnāt need to tell you youāre his, since you can feel it in every bruised curve, every aching nerve, every gasp that leaves you breathless.
The silence itself is a weapon he knows perfectly well how to use, worse than any slap or degradation he could deliver.
š£ Notes: We decided to make this request the second part of Firsts just for that anon craving inexperienced Dex, I hope you enjoy it sweetie.
Tags: Sub Dex - GN reader - First time blowjob - Premature orgasm - Come eating - Overstimulation - Make out session
The couch again, always the couch. His apartment is completeāthereās a bed, a whole room, a place you could both actually stretch outābut somehow it never matters. Somehow you always end up here, crammed into the cushions, swallowed by the soft material like itās the only place the two of you belong.
And it's ironic, because now that you both have become more intimate, his bed is no longer a place to spend time with you.
Day after day after that first, reckless kissing session, the bed has become useless. Every time you come over, no matter how much you try to aim for anywhere else, the end point is always the same.
Itās muscle memory now, you barely get to sit down before heās on youācrawling, clumsy, desperate. He kisses you like heās starved, mouth pressed to yours with no patience, no hesitation, nothing soft about what he's doing. His body wedges between your legs as though he canāt stand the idea of not touching you, not feeling the heat of you right up against him.
Other times he just drags you into his lap, clutching at you like he did that first night, keeping you locked there like a possession while you both practice.
Itās been weeks since that first kiss, since that sloppy, embarrassing mess where his mouth bruised yours and his pride cracked open under the weight of how bad he was and you making fun of him like the good friend you are. Heād left you both raw-lipped and laughing, though he hadnāt laughed muchātoo mortified, too frustrated at himself, and then you had offered to help again, to fix him.
In other words, to train him.
Since then, itās been practice, relentless, weeks of it. Heās still not good at it and he has to be perfect because there's still too much tongue, teeth scraping where they shouldnāt, biting your lip until it bleeds.
Sometimes he misses entirely when he goes in so eager, ends up with blood on his mouth and shame in his eyes. But heās better now, hungrier.
He learns fast, and he learns with a kind of hunger that makes your head spin. Every mistake is full of want, every bruise, every sting, every little slip of his mouth feels like proof of how badly he craves you, how much heās willing to break himself just to taste you properly.
Heās been thinking about your mouth constantly, always on his head when heās supposed to be focused on work, when duty demands discipline and attention and still, there it isāyour mouth, soft and warm in his memory, distracting him worse than any weapon ever could.
When he bathes, itās the same, the steam clings to him, but his mind drifts back to the press of your lips, the way you taste, the wet sounds burned into him. Even when he eats, when food is right in front of him, nothing satisfies him because nothing compares to your taste. His jaw moves, his throat swallows, but his mind wonāt leave your mouth behind, it gnaws at him, a craving that grows sharper every single day and unfortunately to top it all off, his eyes betray him.
Tonight, you catch it again, that slip. The way his stare stays in your mouth is too long, so heavy and filled with something more than casual thought.
Heās not subtle and it's not like he's trying to be. His gaze clings, imagining, replaying, begging in silence for something else, you already have an idea of what it could be.
But stillāhe kisses you like heās desperate, since it feels nice. His mouth moves against yours fast and messy, like heās terrified of losing you if he slows down for even a second. His hands clutch at your shirt, knuckles white, tugging you closer until the fabric strains. His body trembles beneath your weight, the shiver running straight down into his hips where he grinds against you without even realizing it.
The sound he makes when you lick into his mouth is obscene. A needy whine that slips out of him to mix with yours that he chases, tongue pressing to yours like heāll die if he canāt have more. His cheeks are already hot, flushed pink under the low light, sweat gathering at his hairline.
And when your hand finally leaves his chest, sliding lowerāover his stomach, dipping towards the beltāhe flinches, that little twitch that is a betrayal of nerves. His breath stutters like the idea alone is too much for him. And it's not because he wants to stop you. God, never that, but because he has no idea what to do with himself if you actually touch him there.
You grin against his lips, lips slick with spit and swollen from how hard heās been kissing you. āWhatāare you shy now?ā
His head tips back a little, hazel eyes finding yours. Theyāre already drowned in black, pupils blown wide until thereās barely any color left. His mouth opens, closes, and finally he mutters, voice unsteady: āStop with that. Itās just that, wellāā
You cut in, already guessing, already smiling too wide. āDonāt tell me no oneās ever gone down on you?ā
The silence stretches, thick and humiliating. His lashes lower, his lips part, and thenāsoft, broken, muffled against your chest where he's hiding āā...No.ā
Your laugh cuts sharp and delighted through the air. It makes him groan, because of course youād tease him, of course you wouldnāt let him live this down just like you didn't let the first kiss situation go. His hands fist harder into your shirt like he wants to crawl inside you and hide.
āJesus, Dex,ā you murmur between giggles, dragging the words out just to watch him squirm. āThe hell did that single past date do with you?ā
āDefinitely not this,ā he says defensive. His cheeks burn red as the words leave him, like he instantly regrets saying them out loud. āAnd none of your business, by the way.ā
You're unbothered by his little outburst. āAh, okay, okay. Lucky me again, then.ā
You press against him, palms flat to his chest. He gives easily under the pressure, almost relaxing himself.
He looks startled, caught off guard by how fast you flipped the moment on him. His legs open more without him meaning them to, thighs splayed wide. His hands stay on your hips, uselessly āfingers twitching like he doesnāt know if he should be shoving you off or grabbing hold of you to keep you there.
You donāt give him the chance to decide, your mouth is already on his throat, tasting the sweat gathering there, biting gently just to feel the inhale it drags out of him. Then lowerāhis collarbone, his shoulder, his neck, the frantic beat of his pulse beneath your lips.
You tug his shirt up as you go, mouth trailing down over skin that twitches at every touch. His chest jerks under you, muscles tense, nipples pebbling under the brush of your breath. Heās flushed all the way down, freckles scattered across soft, pale skin stretched over the build of muscle he doesnāt know how to use right now.
Then lower stillāhis stomach, tight under the heat of your mouth, the faint tremor of his abs betraying how badly heās trying to hold still. Your lips drag over the thin trail of hair leading down into his jeans, and the sound that claws its way out of his throat is a choked little whimper.
He wants to scream, you can see it in the way his head tips back against the couch, in the way his teeth sink into his lip to keep the sound caged. His body betrays him anyway, jerking under your mouth, thighs twitching open wider, begging without words.
āWaitāwhat are youāā His voice cracks halfway through the question. You glance up, just in time to catch the look on his faceāhorror and arousal together and he canāt decide if he should bolt or beg you to keep going. Your fingers toy with his zipper and for some ridiculous reason he actually thought you were about to take him in your mouth with his jeans still on.
You huff out a laugh, shaking your head at him. āRelax. Youāre gonna like it... You're as hard as a rock for me to leave you like this.ā
And instead of relaxing like you said, he blurts out the dumbest thing he could possibly say in this moment.
āI didnāt shave.ā
You pause, fingers stilled against the metal teeth of his zipper because your brain needs a second to process how the fuck thatās relevant in this moment.
Slowly, your brows lift as you meet his wide-eyed stare.
āSo?ā you shoot back, incredulous. āWhatādo you want me to shave you myself? Why does it matter?ā
Heās dead serious, absolutely stone-faced, even though his cheeks are burning scarlet. āNoāit doesnāt, orāI donāt know.ā He stammers, words tripping over themselves like heās trying to make sense of his own panic. āIāve never done this, so. Just letting you know, because you never know.ā
His voice cracks again on the last word, his jaw clenched like heās giving you an official report instead of confessing heās nervous about the state of his hair down there.
āRight, thank you, the proposal still stands though.ā
The second you tug him free, itās overwhelmingāhis cock already stiff, flushed a raw shade of red, twitching in the air like itās been waiting for this moment longer than he has. Heās painfully hard, hissing because of the cold air of the room, and you just sit there for a moment, staring. Your lips part, tongue wetting them unconsciously, and you hold the stare too longālong enough for it to turn uncomfortable, for him to squirm under the weight of it.
His thighs are tense, muscles jumping as if heās fighting the urge to close them, but he canātāheās spread open and helpless, your eyes locked onto him like youāre taking inventory of every shade, every twitch, every vein. And thereās already a creamy dropāfat, clear, spilling from the slit, sliding down over the swollen flushed head. Embarrassing, really, how little it took to get him like this.
Instead of taking him inside your mouth as quickly as you need to, you drag your thumb right over the tip, pressing into the slick mess and smearing it across the crown. The reaction is instantāhis stomach jerks, his mouth drops open, and a strangled tiny noise tumbles out before he can bite it back. You watch his face twist, caught between shame and raw pleasure, sadly he doesnāt know which one to surrender to.
āDamn Dex,ā you sound mean and there's no regrets, rolling the slick between your fingers just to make him twitch. āYouāre so easy.ā
Then you lean down, and the heat of your mouth closes over him. The first taste hits immediatelyābitter, salty, a heaviness that coats your tongue and clings stubbornly. He chokes on his own spit at the contact, the wet warm of your mouth wrapping around the swollen head. His head knocks back against the couch with a dull thud, his throat straining as a noise breaks out of him.
He whines at how you suck him slow, dragging your tongue under the ridge, tasting everything, swallowing his taste and the sounds he canāt hold back. His thighs shiver beside your face, the muscles trembling as if theyāll snap shut at any second, but youāve got him right where you want him, spread open and leaking.
āW-Waitā¦ā His voice cracks on the word, nothing but panic and need braided together. His hand flies down, fisting in your hair in a grip like he canāt decide if heās supposed to yank you off him or shove you down further.
You only hum around him, the sound vibrating down his length as you sink lower. The head presses heavy against your tongue, then past it, and you let your spit slip free, spilling down your chin, dripping over his shaft. Sloppy, wet enough to make obscene sounds fill the place.
His breath comes in ragged little gasps, each one broken off and heās forgetting how to breathe properly. His chest rises too fast, heaving under the strain of trying to keep control. He canāt keep his eyes steadyāevery time he glances down and catches the sight of your lips stretched wide around his cock, he jerks away, staring at the ceiling, the wall, anywhere else, as if pretending it isnāt happening will save him from the way it feels.
When you finally free him, itās with an obscenely wet pop that echoes, string of spit connecting your lips to the glistening head. You lick them slowly, savoring the salt he left on them. āHmm, you taste so good.ā
Your finger taps against his slit, rubbing lightly, smearing the fresh precum across his sensitive tip. He twitches hard, his hips pushing out of the couch. āYouāre so hydrated, congratulations,ā you tease, dragging the words out, mocking the mess under your finger. āHow much water do you drink?ā
He sobs at your question, he doesn't even know if he should answer or you're only doing it to make him throb.
āSāShut upā
The way his cock leaks makes you wonder if he already came. The sticky mess coats your finger, so wet it drips down the side of his shaft to pool at the hair on his base. Heās humiliating himself without even meaning to, making a spectacle of how easily he unravels.
āStop itāā he chokes, his voice breaks apart into something desperate, almost a sob. āPlease do that againā¦ā
The plea rips out of him raw, pathetic and he doesnāt care how it sounds. His grip on your hair tightens, shaking, and his whole body trembles as if the idea of you putting your mouth back on him might kill him but not having it will be worse.
It doesnāt take long. Of course it doesnāt. Heās sensitive, too inexperienced, his nerves stretched thin as wires. His whole body, the shock running through his legs, his chest, his throat. His hips buck hard into your mouth before he even realizes heās moving, chasing the slick heat of your tongue with no control left in him.
The sound that breaks out of him is absurdāhalf sob, half curse, and heās gone, spilling down your throat in uncontrollable pulses. Itās too much, too fast, hitting the back of your tongue before he can even gasp for air.
You swallow what you can, grateful, greedy, but you let some slip back out on purpose, let it dribble past your lips. When you pull off him, thereās a wet line of spit and come clinging to the corner of your mouth, and you smear it away lazily with the back of your hand, just to watch him stare at it. His expression is pricelessāhorrified yet so fascinated at the fact you swallowed it all.
āAlready? Thatās it?ā Your voice comes cruel, perfectly mocking. āDidnāt even last a minute, Dex. Poor, sensitive thing.ā
He groans and covers his face with both hands, palms pressing hard against his burning cheeks. He thinks he can hide from you like that, block out the shame radiating off him. But you donāt let him recover, not even close.
Your hand wraps around him again, stroking the length thatās still twitching, slick with spit and come. His raw cock jerks helplessly in your grip, and you take him back into your mouth anyway.
āHold onāā His voice cracks again, higher this time, utterly desperate. āPlease, pleaseāā
Heās begging, but you ignore him. You suck mercilessly, cheeks hollowing, tongue dragging over the head until heās thrashing in tiny, frantic movements. Your other hand grips his thigh, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and when his hips try to squirm away you slam your palm down flat on his stomach, pinning him to the couch. Heās trapped under you, forced to take every wet drag of your mouth.
The noises spilling from him now are frantic, humiliatingāwhimpers that trip over themselves, breaking into almost-whines when you keep flicking your tongue across the swollen head, tasting his milky pleasure. His stomach clenches when you manage to swallow him whole, your nose touching soaked curls at the base and you close your eyes, everything in your head is Dex, Dex, Dex... His taste, his smell, the weight of him on your tongue, the way he leaks, and his hands fist at the cushions like heās trying to tear them apart.
You release his twitching length to start spreading wet kisses all over the warm skin of his cock, leaving a special one right on his frenulum that makes him hiss and look down at you with puppy eyes that make you hungry, letting his cock touch your cheeks, rub it against your nose, making a sweet mess all over your face yourself only to make it worse for him.
āToo much, huh?ā you murmur against him, pulling back just long enough to spit directly on his tip. It dribbles down the length, mixing with whatās already there, gluing him shiny and wet. You lap it up immediately, messier this time.
He nods frantically, looking so adorable in his ruināeyes glassy, wet at the corners like heās seconds away from crying. His face is flushed a violent red, mouth working uselessly as he babbles. You canāt even tell if heās saying āpleaseā or āstopā or both, words blurring together into noise. He tries to curl in on himself, trembling, but you keep him open, keep him helpless, and keep your mouth working until heās nothing but broken sounds.
You donāt stop, not when his voice breaks, not when his thighs try to close, not even when his hands claw uselessly at your shoulders. You keep your tongue flicking, circling, punishing. Every sound that falls out of him is weakerālittle sobbing gasps that hitch and stutter like his lungs donāt know how to keep up.
His body jerks helplessly with each pass of your mouth, every lick making him arch his back. It doesnāt take long before he cracks again, just pathetic. The second orgasm tears through him raw and painful, leaving him collapsing against the cushions with a strangled cry.
It is less than the first timeāthin spurts, almost nothingābut still, you catch it all, hold it inside your mouth like itās something precious.
When you finally pull off him, your lips curve into a sticky smile. You wipe the wetness from your mouth with the back of your hand, casual, before crawling up over his shaking body to straddle him again.
He blinks up at you, fuzzy and confused, pupils blown wide, cheeks streaked pink with sweat and humiliation. You tap his cheek lightly, coaxing his eyes to focus and he parts his lips like heās about to ask something, but you donāt give him the chance.
You kiss him hard, pressing your mouth against his and he goes still for a second, then melts when the taste hits him. His own taste, his eyes squeeze shut as you force it onto his tongue, every drop, every bitter-salty trace youāve been holding back. You donāt let him escape, sealing your mouth over his until he has no choice but to take it.
When you pull away itās obscene, licking his lips with your tongue. Thin lines of spit and come still connect your lips, glistening in the low light until they snap and dribble down your chin. You pause, catching your breath, only to realizeāhe hasnāt swallowed.
Heās just sitting there, glassy-eyed, his mouth full, staring at you like heās waiting, like a dog waiting for his owner's command, and your chest flutters at the sight to then nod once, subtle, and watch as he obeysāhis throat working in a slow gulp, swallowing down everything youāve given him. His face twists as he tastes it properly, your spit mixing with the tang of himself, he doesnāt complain, it is just something new to himself.
āThatās a good boy,ā you purr, voice thick with satisfaction, pressing your forehead against his damp one. His breath shudders out of him all at once, like youāve just given him permission to exist again.
āThank youā¦ā The words come out in the smallest whisper, soft and sweet and it's pure gratitude slipping from his swollen mouth as his hands finally work again, sliding up to rest on your waist.
The smile on your face is inevitable, tilting his chin up just enough to see his face. His lips are raw, his eyes glassy, his whole expression dazed and reverent. āSoāfirst blowjob, and you already look like you got fucked in the ass. No offense.ā You pause looking how he rolls his eyes. āWhatās gonna happen when I do it again?ā
A low groan comes out of his mouth, his body tensing under you as the words land. His cheeks flame a deeper red, and instead of answering, he buries his face into your neck. You feel the hot rush of his breath, then the soft scrape of teeth as he nips at your skin, playful, almost shy.
{nsfw, mdni} every devious way i think matt would react to hearing you moan āgodā or āoh my godā in bed
inspired by the s3e02 āthank god for youā āhe didnāt help you, I didā exchange and how bratty and god complex-y it was AHHHHHHH.
shutting you up with a hard kiss
tightening his grip behind your knee, coaxing your legs open just a little bit more. driving into you just a little bit deeper, murmuring āitās actually āmatthewāā into your neck, smile tugging on his lips. ātry that out insteadā
when heās fucking you from behind, heād jerk you up to your knees, your back flush against him. heād hold one side of your face to look at him, his other hand torturing your clit with slow, lazy grazes as he traces his name into your skin: m-a-t-tā¦
or maybe every time you let a strangled āoh my godā slip, heād slow his hips ā a slow, torturous cycle of teasing thatās had you on the edge for hours.
and every time you moan his name heād reward you: grabbing your hips to fuck you up and down his cock faster. pinning your hands into the mattress, your fingers intertwined, as he rolls his hips ā the sloppy, hard, lewd sounds of skin filling the air. eagerly lapping at your pussy ātil youāre running down his chin and wetting his lips, when he pulls you into a deep, almost desperate kiss, begging you to āsay it again, say my name againā
and times when heās impatient and horny, heād just chuckle and shake his head, lips against yours as he mockingly warns ādonāt take the lords name in vainā
Omg, yearning frank?? Ughh my heart! I can totally see him continuing to dance around Matt's territorial side with the quips, not realizing he's inadvertently catching feelings until he sees the hickeys on your neck- The outfit that Matt picked out that day for you to wear purposely displaying them. And you don't know what got Frank so pissed off out of nowhere as he storms off, but Matt seems pleased to come just around the corner suddenly, smug smile and all as you two carry on with your outing. I love drama lol
your evil genius brain YES
also frank gifting you a simple necklace or bracelet or scarf or anything just in the hope that he might be able to see you in something of āhisā one of these days ughh
matt murdock so obsessed with kissing during sex that he dirty talks you with his lips brushing or pressed to yours, and you can literally taste every groan and swear and sweet nothing oh GOD
I just saw your nsfw headcannons for Matt. Loved btw! i was wondering if youād be down to write about frank purposefully doing shit like flirting w reader just to make Matt mad
letās goooo absolutely well twist my arm!
frank isnāt one to waste time barking up the wrong tree. he wouldnāt flirt with you purely to spite matt ā itād just be an amusing perk.
but the truth is, he likes talking to you, being around you. drives himself a little bit mad wondering what your relationship with matt even looks like. especially if you didnāt know that your boyfriend is the devil of hellās kitchen yet. in which case, frank would love making matt sweat a little. he would never lie to you like that.
āoh man,ā frank would whistle low. āthatās some shiner you got there, murdock. you oughta press charges.ā āive been begging him to take it easy on the boxing but he never listens,ā youād joke, but you canāt keep the concern from edging into your voice. āsāalright murdock. some of us just arenāt meant to be fighters and thatās okay.ā youād notice the way matts jaw ticks and how his fingers flex around his cane. something is happening between the two but youāre lost.
and then franks handing you a crumpled receipt ā his number scrawled across the back. ājust in case you ever need a walk home or uh, someone who can actually win a fight.ā
like that, heād be walking away leaving you confused and more than a little annoyed. mattās blind for christs sake.
but all matt would be able to think about is how frank was pacing the pavement for nearly ten minutes, waiting to ārun intoā you two. and the way his heartbeat went haywire as you took the crumpled paper from him, fingertips brushing against his.
Adrian Chase who has no concept of the line when it comes to PDA.Ā
From the moment you give him permission to touch you, his hands will never leave your skin. It doesn't matter who's nearby, or if you're in the middle of a conversation, he needs to be touching you. He needs to feel your fingers interlaced with his, or loop his arm around your waist so you can lean your weight against him, or let his head rest against your shoulder even if it's not ideal with your height difference.Ā
And he can't take his eyes off of you for a minute, his loving gaze fixed to your face and scanning your features and breathing you in like the work of art that you are. He needs to pick the seat next to yours so he can drag your chair a little closer and feel the warmth you radiate wash over him. And you can't expect him not to kiss you, not when your lips are the sweetest thing he's ever tasted, and the only thing that quiets his busy mind when his thoughts are racing.Ā
And that's how halfway through every night out or briefing with the 11th street kids you end up with Adrian's tongue down your throat and one hand skirting higher up your thigh while the other tries to tug you into his lap so he can feel all of you against him. The rest of the gang are used to it now, and honestly this is better than watching him pout at you with sad, pleading eyes if you ever try and stop him clinging to you.Ā
Adrian needs to keep you close so that you, and everyone nearby, knows he's all yours.Ā
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If you liked this check out my Adrian Chase Master List and let me know if you want more ā¤ļø
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I don't know what Freddie Stroma is putting in his cereal but he looks even better in the second season than he did the first and I've fully accepted and now love the new hair
I love you're writing btw!! I'm trying to post some pics myself and you give me hella inspiration!
Allow me to be sad and pathetic, but Frank with an s/o who takes lots of photos or candid photos, but when looking back Frank realizes there are little to no photos of them. Their valways jumping at the opportunity to take photos of Frank but by the looks of itnobody bothers to take photos of her. He'd definitely invest in one of those small 35 mm camera to take photos of his girl because she deserves the same amount of love put into the photos she takes of him.
thank you so much for the kind words!! so glad that you are sharing your work āŗļø
also, i love this idea very much.
he's in a hurry one morning when he catches sight of the photograph on her wooden bedside table. it's in a vintage frame by the looks of it - probably something she'd picked out at the antique market a couple of blocks away - and it's of him and their cat Gus. it isn't a flattering picture by any means - it's a close-up of his side profile and features the nose that's been broken too many times to count. his beard is patchy in some areas, but he's holding onto Gus for dear life, and he actually looks... content. he's not sure how she managed it, but she's captured something he rarely ever sees in himself, and for what feels like the billionth time that morning - he finds himself in unadulterated awe of her.
when he gets home from site that night - exhausted and entirely ready for bed - he takes a moment to note the amount of photographs in the apartment that feature him, or the cats, but never her, and he is immediately perturbed. she is the single most important person in his life, and what has he got to show for it? when he falls into bed beside her, he presses his lips to her temple and mumbles, "i'm gonna be better, sweetheart." and bless her - she's half asleep, so she just nods and murmurs something to the effect of - sounds good, frankie. 'm glad you're home.
it takes him about a month to find the perfect camera. the one he really wanted was on sale for pennies on eBay, but the thought of putting any personal information into an online database turned him off completely, so he started the search anew. he had been about to give up entirely in favour of a much easier alternative (best buy), but fate had smiled upon him the day he walked into the pawn shop on the corner of 41st and 47th. he had originally been on the hunt for a better newer police scanner when he spotted the 35mm pentax in the front window.
"how much for the camera in the display case?" he'd asked.
the old man shrugged in a way that made frank doubtful he'd get much of a deal out of the transaction. "i can give it to you for fifty."
frank scowled; it was twice what he would have paid online. "I gotta be your most frequent customer, al. 'sat really the best you can do?"
the old man threw up his arms in exasperation. "look frank - its not like they're lining up around the block." he chewed over the silence a moment and then sighed in defeat. "i'll let you take it for forty."
"how generous of you, al," he mumbled before sliding two twenties across the counter. "i'll see you soon."
"not soon enough!" the old man shouted after him.
and purchasing it is one thing - but then he has to learn how to use the damn thing, and after a couple of weeks, and some back and forth trips to the drug store to have the film developed, he's ready to test it out on his muse.
he takes his first picture of her on steel pier in atlantic city. she's leant over the wooden railing, and watching the sun sink low over the atlantic ocean, and it's one of those moments he knows he'll remember for the rest of his days. he adds it to the scant collection of other memories he keeps close to his heart.
"what's with the museum piece?"
her knowing smirk makes his cheeks warm, and he shrugs. "our place is filled with pictures of me and the boys, but there are none of you... or us," he takes her hand in his and presses his lips to the back of it. "that ends today, sweetheart."
and, true to his word, when he gets the film back, one of the only pictures that turned out the way he wanted, was of her on the pier.
he comes home from the site a little later than usual one evening, with a small 4x6 wooden frame he'd crafted himself, using materials he'd scrounged for and proudly displays the picture of her on his own bedside table. he definitely needs more practice finessing his photography skills, but he knows he's on the right track.
"look baby," he murmurs against the crown of her head when she joins him between the covers later on. "we match, now."
pairing. frank castle x female! reader.
an. hello!!!! pls reblog & comment if u like !!! love u
warnings. 18+. female receiving penetration, spit play (!!in mouth!!), detailed descriptions of violence, use of the word sir, references to somnophilia (but not actually happening), mouth covering? with hand. frankās a big meany who loves you.
synopsis. frankās antsy after a night shift, especially when his buddies were talking smack about how heās leaving you in bed all alone.
