🚨Warnings: 18+, fluffy smut, soft dom!matt, switch!matt, pain kink, nipple claps, oral (m&f receiving), established relationship, one night stand, Matt can smell pussy, unintentional boners, piv, virginity & whores mentioned (both are great-no one can tell you what to do with your body) I know I’m missing things idk it’s sex stuff
Authors Note: I’m ovulating can you tell 💦 most also used in a wip in my drafts so keep a look out if you see something you like. Happy Pride 🏳️🌈 I added the lesbian leg thing for Pride 😂- why does some of the text become small for no reason? Help pls - gif is @thranguil - I don’t care that this gif isn’t technically Matt it’s my favorite gif of all time & you can pry it from my cold dead hands ☺️ it’s late this is probably shit. enjoy
I see Matt as a (mostly) soft dom who occasionally likes to switch for verity. But most of all he just loves sex & is down for almost anything his current partner wants. & when I say he will try anything I mean this boy is a gross ass freak & we will leave it at that. (like an AO3 fic come to life fr 👀)
His biggest concern is always going to be pleasing his partner. He’s a freak & hella open minded so basically whatever you want. “Sure sweetheart, I’ll try anything a fifth time”
Praise! He talks you through it. PET NAMES! Sweetheart, princess, baby, my love. All whispered low against your neck with an “I love you” or “you’re taking me so well” while he fucks into you.
Anyone who says missionary is boring hasn’t met Matt Murdock. Hand placement in missionary is key for Matt. He loves to place a palm behind your head with his other under your knee during missionary. Or to ghost touches down your neck & thighs before moving to massage your ass. Sometimes he will intertwine your fingers to hold your hands above your head when you leg lock him. But on other days Matt craves to feel your fingers grip around his biceps. Squeezing harder the closer you are to cumming.
He loves to tell you how much he needs you as he’s kissing your neck & holding you close. & as much as he loves the noises you make he doesn’t just need to hear you he wants to be able to feel your heartbeat through your chest while he cradles you.
Matt try’s everything he can to increase intimacy since he can’t give you eye contact. Listening close to your heartbeat & reactions to make sure you’re enjoying yourself. Always with the extra touch’s and lots of praise. Even when it’s rough he needs you to know the sex is just an extension of his emotions for you.
He likes to lay on his side & fuck you from behind. Cuddling you with your legs intertwined together. The foreplay goes hard in this position! He keeps his thigh against your clit & his fingers twisting your nipples with his head buried in your neck. Sometimes he likes to set up a mirror for you to watch yourself like this. “Describe yourself to me”
He will never turn down a blowjob (or anything you want) but it’s not his favorite thing. Sometimes he gets uncomfortable when all the attentions on him. Not in a shy way but he just likes to know you’re feeling it with him.
He’s catholic so he’s obviously a masochist. Oh & yea he’s got a pain kink for sure. I feel like he likes nipple claps? Like yes they definitely hurt way more for him than most ppl but that’s kinda the point. Sometimes the guilt is eating him away inside & he just needs to feel pain with his pleasure.
On that last note he’s definitely a giver. He has to earn his pleasure. Matt 1000% has a you cum first rule. You probably cum at least twice before he does & potentially after as well. Matt is a munch. He eats box. All of it. All the box in Hells Kitchen been dripping down those devilish lips.
Matt originally discovered he was a munch because his heightened sense of touch made him cum too fast during penetration so he had to learn other ways of making women cum. He also discovered he absolutely loves the little noises women make with his tongue on them. Even more so knowing he was the one making them react like that. & that guys, gals & non binary pals is how Matt Murdock got addicted to the female orgasm.
Kiss it Better by Rihanna just feels like Matt’s song. You just know this boy is always apologizing (with sex & head).
He LOVES when you scratch him. Head scratches while he’s cumming are something so intimate & special to him. Your nails leaving red marks into his biceps or running down his neck. His favorite is when you scratch marks down his back that stay for later. He likes the little sting he gets throughout the day as they rub against his white dress shirt. A silent reminder of who put them there & how your pussy was gripping him tight all night long.
Matt is huge on both foreplay & aftercare. Cuddles, baths, wine, music & massages. Doesn’t matter who you are. Even the one night stands get the girlfriend treatment. (& he definitely feels the guilt into the coming days if he forgets something. Even if the woman was more than fully satisfied.)
Foreplay begins waaaayyyy before you reach the bedroom. Honestly Matt is kinda always in foreplay mode with women. His constant flirting may not always come with an intention of sex but you best believe the second he notices the change in your breath or the smell of you getting wet it all suddenly becomes very intentional.
If you’re in a long term relationship & living together he’s always trying to get it. Every night & every morning. Even in your old tshirt & the Mickey Mouse pajama pants you’ve had since high school he’s turned on.
& he’s like always hard for you. If you’re hypersexual he loves it & definitely matches your freak. (ovulation week is his favorite/least favorite week.) But if your a little more shy & less inclined to sexual behavior he try’s so soooo hard to be respectful…but he just can’t help that it’s always poking out bro.
On that note about ovulation week…he has a love hate relationship with women’s ovulation weeks. Every day of his life he encounters a woman ovulating & he can smell it. By now he’s learned tricks to tune out some senses & heighten others but he can’t help he gets turned on everyday. Maybe that’s why he’s such a whore all the time.
If you’re in a relationship & comfortable having sex he will definitely provide whatever you need during ovulation week. Matt thinks on the plus side you’re constantly horny..but if you think it’s bad for you living with his sexy ass all week it’s torture for him. Your smell is driving him crazy with how wet you are. & living together there was no escape. You are everywhere. Even in his sleep he would find himself rutting against you cause he couldn’t escape your smell.
He loves it if your lowkey also a freaky whore who’s been around the block. Cause ya know he’s like..same. But if you’re inexperienced he’s more than happy to show you the way. And if he’s your first he takes pride in that.
Matt knows someone’s first time is never something he would rush. It’s not that he cares if you’re a virgin but he understands the emotional toll a bad experience can leave. Matt has taken plenty of women’s virginity’s. Like a lot. He’s cute. He’s trustworthy. He uses his special senses to modulate his flirting/advances. He’s a womanizer at this point let’s be real. But he remembers every time. Every woman. All special & just for him. Something only he can “see”.
dex is such a freak that he makes you share a straw for your milkshakes because he thinks of it as indirect kissing. suggestive, mdni. pre relationship dex.
he’ll swat your hand away when you go to put a second straw in, or he’ll take your straw out. or, he’ll just grab your face in his big calloused hand to keep you still for him, making your lips pucker, and shove his straw in your mouth after he’s taken a good sip.
“see? there, not so hard.” it’s almost crooned condescendingly before he gives your cheek a final squeeze.
leaving him to just stare at your lips as they finally wrap around where his mouth just was, ignoring the way you glare at him. because all he could think about was that your saliva was mixing with his.
your saliva was touching his. your saliva was touching his. your mouth your mouth your mouth. he swallows his own saliva that’s pooled in his mouth at the thought.
݈݇— pairings: nerdy!roommate AU dex poindexter x roommate!freader
݈݇— summary: Your friends keep laughing it off whenever you swear your shy, roommate Dex is secretly a total catch under the oversized clothing—they just can't see it like you do and you're finally determined to confirm it for yourself.
݈݇— [18+] themes: implied stalking, perverted roommate, dex acting pathetic, ooc dex, size kink, praise kink, teasing/seduction, body worship, msub, foreplay, oral (m & f receiving), dick slaps, face-riding, mating press, dirty talk, unprotected piv(pls use protection), creampie. Porn with plot. No use of y/n.
Author's Notes: Inspired by Need To Know by Doja Cat. Another fucking self indulgent fanfic. May or may not make a part 2 depending on how this goes lol.
Dex was right in the middle of staring at the same stubborn line of code for the third damn time when the loud clatter echoed from the living room, followed immediately by your very loud, very frustrated “Oh fuck!”
His hands froze on the keyboard. He was already half out of his chair before his brain caught up—because that’s what roommates did. They checked on each other. They didn’t just sit there spiraling through every worst-case scenario while their heart tried to punch its way out of their chest. Especially not when it was you.
He should’ve knocked. He knew the rule. But the door was already cracked open, and the only rule that actually mattered in his head (the one he’d invented the day you moved in) was simple: make sure you’re okay. Even if his palms were already clammy. Even if he’d spent the last six months pretending he didn’t notice you in anything less than full-coverage pajamas.
He pushed the door open a little wider with his shoulder, glasses sliding down his nose, and the sight hit him like a truck.
You were on the floor.
Legs splayed, one knee twisted at a weird angle, that thin white cover-up clinging to your skin thanks to the humidity and doing exactly zero to hide the tiny bikini underneath.
His gaze flicked down, then up, then anywhere that wasn’t you, but it was useless. The way the bikini bottoms sat low on your hips. The cover-up slipping off one shoulder. The sunscreen is still shiny on your thigh. He felt heat crawl up the back of his neck, felt his glasses fog slightly at the edges because apparently his body had decided this was the moment to overheat.
“Are—are you okay?” The words came out gravelly, like he’d just swallowed a handful of sand. He hovered in the doorway, one hand still gripping the frame.
You looked up at him, lips parted in that sheepish little smile. “Yeah,” you said with a soft, embarrassed laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I just slipped on sunscreen like an absolute genius.”
Dex swallowed hard. He should leave. He should turn around right now and go back to his room and pretend he hadn’t seen any of this. But his feet were glued. And you were still sitting there, looking up at him with those eyes, cover-up slipping further down your arm, and every single fantasy he’d ever tried to bury came roaring back in high definition.
He took one careful step closer, then another, until he was crouched beside you. His hand hovered for a second before his fingers brushed your elbow. The skin there was warm, still a little slick from lotion, and the contact sent a jolt straight through him.
“Here—let me…” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, tried again. “C-can I help you up?”
You nodded, still wearing that small, knowing smile, and when you slipped your hand into his, Dex felt it in his ribs, his stomach, everywhere. He pulled you to your feet a little too quickly, until you were standing right there, inches away. The sheer fabric brushed against his hoodie. The smell of strawberries filled the space between you.
“You… you should probably lather up on the couch,” he managed, voice low and rough. “Sitting down to avoid…slipping.”
“That’s actually a really smart idea,” you said, laughing softly, that same knowing smile still in place as you let go of his hand. You stepped past him toward the hallway.
Dex inhaled sharply before he could stop himself. Your hair swung close and that strawberry scent hit him full force again. His eyes actually rolled back for half a second, lashes fluttering. God. He was pathetic. Completely, irreversibly pathetic.
He followed you down the hall at a careful distance, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets so you wouldn’t see them shaking, eyes locked on the floor.
“You heading to the beach today?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. He’d watched you check the weather app three separate times during dinner. He knew your plans better than his own.
You glanced back over your shoulder with a little shrug. “Nah, just the rooftop pool.”
Dex rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to look surprised. “R-right. I forgot the apartment even had a pool…”
You dropped onto the couch and gave him that sweet little “Mm-hm.”
“Well,” he said, already taking a jerky step back toward the hallway, “I’ll be in my room if you need anyth—”
“Actually…”
Your voice stopped him cold. Dex turned halfway around. You were standing by the couch, sunscreen bottle in one hand, fingers playing with the tie of your cover-up.
“Can you help me put sunscreen on?” you asked, all soft and sweet. “My back’s impossible to reach and I really don’t want to burn…”
Dex’s mouth went completely dry. Every alarm in his head went off, but his feet were already carrying him toward you anyway.
“You… you want me to—?” His voice came out cracked and embarrassingly breathy.
You tilted your head, biting your lower lip in that soft, innocent way that wiped every rational thought clean out of his skull. “Only if you’re okay with it,” you said sweetly, eyes wide and guileless. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”
Uncomfortable. Right.
He was already half-hard in his sweatpants, cock twitching at the mere idea of his hands on you. His glasses slid another inch down his nose.
“No—no, I don’t mind,” he blurted, then winced at how desperate he sounded. “I mean… yeah. Sure. Definitely.”
Your whole face lit up. “Thank you!” you chirped, bright and happy, and before he could brace himself you reached up and tugged the tie of the cover-up. It slipped right off your shoulders and you held it
Dex’s brain flatlined.
Holy shit.
New material, his mind supplied instantly, already filing every detail away for later. For when he was alone in his room tonight, door locked, hand wrapped tight around his cock, biting down on his wrist so you wouldn’t hear him falling apart through the thin wall. He was so unbelievably fucked.
You dropped the cover-up over the arm of the couch and sat down, patting the cushion beside you. “C’mere then.”
Dex nodded like a bobble head and lowered himself onto the couch on shaky legs, the cushions sinking under his weight. His hands trembled as he took the sunscreen from you and squeezed way too much into his palm. A thick white pool sat there like evidence of how badly he was failing at playing it cool.
He rubbed his palms together slowly, the wet sound loud in the quiet room, warming the lotion between his fingers. Then he scooted closer and placed his hands at the top of your back, right below the delicate knot of your bikini strings.
Fuck.
His thumbs pressed into your warm skin and he started rubbing careful circles, spreading the lotion down the smooth line of your spine. He was trying so hard to stay respectful, but his brain was already ten steps ahead—imagining taking the string with his teeth, tugging it loose, watching the strings fall away so he could finally see everything he’d been fantasizing about for months.
Dex’s breath caught. He kept his hands moving anyway, trying like hell not to let you feel how badly they were shaking.
“Mmm… your hands feel really good, Ben,” you said, low and a little breathy. You even used his first name, and it hit him like you knew exactly what it would do to him.
His whole body jolted.
“S-Sorry?” The word came out too loud and cracked right in the middle. His hands froze on your skin, palms pressed flat against your back, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his fingertips.
You let out a soft, knowing laugh and twisted on the couch. Before his brain could catch up, you swung one leg over his lap and straddled him. Your warm thighs settled around his hips, your ass pressing right down against the front of his sweatpants where he was already half-hard and completely hopeless.
Dex’s back hit the cushions hard, body stiff as a board. Every muscle locked up tight. His lotion-slick hands flew up in the air.
“Wh-what—you—I—What are you doing?”
You settled your full weight on his thighs, hands resting lightly on his shoulders, and smiled down at him with that sweet, wicked look that wiped every coherent thought from his head.
“You want to touch them, don’t you, Benjamin?” you asked softly, tilting your head. “I know you’ve wanted me for a long time. I see the way you look at me when I walk around in my sundresses. When I bend over to grab something. You think I don’t notice?”
Dex’s mouth opened, then closed. Words failed him for a second.
“I—I didn’t—fuck, okay I did, but I swear I wasn’t trying to be creepy— Jesus Christ you’re so pretty and I’m such a fucking loser but yes please—you can sit here forever—I’ll do anything—I’ll buy you all the sunscreen in the store—I’ll—fuck—”
His hands stayed hovering uselessly in the air, trembling, eyes wide and glassy behind his glasses as he stared up at you.
You giggled, clearly loving every second of his meltdown, and traced one finger slowly down his forehead, over the bridge of his nose, then across his bottom lip. Your fingertip caught on the way his mouth shook.
“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I don’t mind. I like it when you look at me like that.”
Dex’s breathing turned ragged, chest heaving under you. Every exhale fogged his glasses a little more. His cock was fully hard now, throbbing against your ass, and he was mortified and turned on beyond belief.
You slid your fingers into his brown hair, messing it up and tugged gently until his head tipped back with a shaky gasp. Then you plucked his glasses off his face and set them neatly on the couch cushion beside you.
“You’re already so hot with these on,” you murmured, brushing his hair back from his forehead, nails scraping lightly over his scalp, “but you shouldn’t hide that handsome face all the time.” You leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Can you still see me?”
Dex blinked hard. The world went soft and blurry without the lenses, but you were right there—warm, soft, and practically naked on his lap, tits inches from his mouth. His hands finally settled on your hips, thumbs brushing the edge of your bikini bottoms.
“Y-yeah,” he breathed, still panting. “I can still see you.”
“Good,” you said with another soft laugh, palms sliding down his chest, over his shoulders, feeling every tense line of him like you were marking what was yours. “Then you won’t mind taking off your hoodie right now, will you?”
Dex’s brain blue-screened, “Y-You want me to do what?”
You rocked your hips once, slow and deliberate, grinding right against the obvious bulge in his sweats. He choked on air.
“Take off your clothes, Ben.”
“R-really?”
“Really.”
His voice cracked embarrassingly high. “This is a joke, right? You’re fucking with me—”
You didn’t bother answering with words. You just stood up, reached behind your neck, and pulled the bow. The knot came undone with one easy tug. The pink bikini top slipped down and you tossed it onto the couch.
Dex’s eyes went wide and inhaled sharply. “Oh my god…”
Your breasts were right there—bare, nipples already tight from the way he was staring. He couldn’t look away. His cock throbbed hard against his sweats. His hands fisted the couch cushions so tightly his knuckles went white.
You planted your hands on your hips, completely at ease. “Do you want to get off or not?”
That snapped him out of it. Dex yanked his hoodie up and over his head in one jerky motion, then stripped off the white t-shirt underneath. He sat there shirtless, and holy shit—he was ripped. Broad shoulders, defined chest, abs flexing with every shaky breath, that sharp V-line disappearing into his low-slung sweats.
You drank him in like you’d been waiting years for this exact reveal, eyes darkening, lips parting. A slow, hungry smile curved your mouth, like you’d always known the shy, glasses-wearing roommate was secretly built like that under the hoodies. Like you’d been imagining peeling him open just as much as he’d been imagining you.
“Fuck, Dex,” you breathed, stepping between his spread thighs. “I knew you were hiding all that.”
Dex swallowed hard, throat bobbing. A tiny, shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He still couldn’t believe any of this was happening to him.
“What… what do you want me to do?”
You hummed, dragging your gaze over every cut line of his torso while you decided. “Why don’t you get on your knees and make me come? Then I’ll let you play with my breasts.”
His eyes blew wide, like a kid who just got told Christmas came early. “Really? You—you actually want me to—?”
You laughed, low and fond, cocking your hip. “Are you going to ask me that every single time? Yes, really. Taste me.”
Dex’s breath stuttered out in a shaky exhale. He slid off the couch in slow motion, knees hitting the floor with a soft thud. He knelt between your thighs, looking up at you with those big hazel eyes, glasses-less and wrecked.
“I’m just… surprised you want me to,” he mumbled, adorably earnest. “I mean… me?”
You combed your fingers through his messy hair, nails scraping his scalp, and his whole body jolted like you’d shocked him. A tinybwhimper slipped out before he could swallow it.
“Well, I really need to know what that mouth feels like,” you murmured, still petting him like he was yours.
He leaned in and caught the left tie of your bikini bottoms between his teeth (exactly the way he’d just fantasized) and tugged with a desperate little groan vibrating in his throat. The knot slipped free. He moved to the right side, teeth grazing your hip bone, pulling harder this time, eyes fluttering shut as a muffled “mmph” vibrated against your skin.
The pink bottoms fluttered to the floor.
He was inches from your bare pussy, that sweet strawberry-and-you scent flooding his lungs. He looked up at you one last time, cheeks flushed.
“Fuck… you’re so pretty,” he whispered. He looked up at you so intently, those beautiful hazel eyes blazing through the haze of his glasses-less blur.
For the second time this morning his brain is lagging—this gorgeous, confident woman gripping his hair, looking at him like he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. As if he wasn’t just some awkward, hoodie-wearing loser who’d jerked off to the image of you in his head for six straight months. It couldn’t be real, could it? He was going to wake up any second, cock in his fist, alone in his cold bed again—then he lowered his lips to your pussy and he knew it was real.
The first touch was so delicately gentle, just the soft press of his open mouth, a shaky, whimpery kiss right against your folds. A savouring hum caught in his throat the second your taste hit his tongue. The sensation tore through you like lightning, and you arched hard, knees buckling with a startled cry that made his cock twitch painfully in his sweats.
“Oh wow,” you moaned breathlessly, gripping his bare shoulder. “You’re… surprisingly really good at this.”
You tried to steady yourself on one foot as he brought your other leg up, easing it over his shoulder with trembling hands. His tongue dragged flat and worshipful from your entrance to your clit, then swirled lazy, needy circles, moaning into you the whole time that vibrated straight through your core.
“Mmmph—fuck, you taste so good,” he mumbled against you, voice muffled and desperate. “I don’t deserve this—mmh—so sweet, I’m sorry I’m so greedy but I can’t stop—”
He closed his mouth over your swollen clit and kissed it like it was the love of his life, lips sucking and smacking wetly, moving exactly like he was French-kissing your mouth. His tongue swirled in huge, sloppy circles, groaning loud and shameless right into you as he gripped your hips with those strong hands, yanking you harder against his face so he could grind his nose against your clit.
He pulled back just enough to stare up at you with those worshipful eyes before his tongue started flicking your clit in rapid, frantic little strokes. His gaze never left yours, drinking in every gasp and twitch like your pleasure was the only validation he’d ever need. His hips jerk pathetically against nothing, completely lost in the taste of you, groaning and begging between messy licks.
“Oh my, g-god. Dex—slide your tongue in again.”
You bucked hard towards his nose, a muffled cry slipping through your bitten lips as his tongue pushed deep inside you, thick and wet and pulsing like he was trying to fuck you with it. He groaned into your pussy, the vibration rolling straight to your clit, and your fingers twisted tighter in his messy hair. The second you yanked him closer, he let out the cutest, muffled little laugh against your soaked folds then drove his tongue even deeper, curling, licking, devouring like he’d die if he couldn’t taste every drop of you.
Dex pulled back just enough to drag in a shaky breath, lips glossy and swollen, spit and your slick shining down his chin.
“Please—fuck, please keep pulling my hair like that,” he begged. His hips still rolled helplessly against nothing, the fat outline of his cock straining obscenely against his sweats, a wet spot blooming darker where he was leaking for you. “I love it when you do—”
“Yeah?” You gave his hair a sharp tug, watching the way his whole body jolted like you’d electrocuted him. A wicked smile curved your lips. “You like it when I get a little rough?”
“Yes—yes, fuck, I love it,” he groaned, eyes fluttering.
“Oh, baby,” you cooed, nails scraping possessively over his scalp again. “You’re so fucking sweet when you beg. Almost makes me want to be nice to you…” You yanked harder, and his moan cracked into a needy whimper that made his thighs shake. “…but it’s way too sexy when you fall apart like this. I also like my men strong, Benjamin. Are you strong?”
“Oh fuck—”
He surged up from his knees without warning. Big hands grabbed your hips and spun you around with barely an effort. You barely had time to gasp before he lifted you and tossed you back onto the couch. Your back bounced against the cushions, and before you could even speak he was right there again, down on his knees between your spread legs.
His palms shoved your thighs up and back, folding you neatly in half until your knees pressed to your chest. Your pussy was completely open, glistening and dripping right in front of his face.
Dex dove back in like he’d lost his mind. His tongue dragged up to your clit, flicking and sucking with fresh, desperate hunger. Just when you started missing the stretch of him inside you, he pushed two thick fingers deep, thrusting slowly at first, then harder, curling them exactly where you needed them.
“Oh my god,” you moaned, head falling back. “You’re such a good boy—I don’t even have to tell you what to do.”
He was devouring you now. Every time he sucked your clit between his lips he made wet, filthy slurping sounds, humming deep and greedy in his throat.
“Mmmph—fuuuck,” he groaned right against your pussy, the vibration rolling straight through you. “You know this pussy owns me now, right? Owns my face. Owns my mouth.” His tongue lapped messily through your folds, slurping noisily at every drop, chin already shiny and dripping. “I could kneel here and lick you all fucking day. You’ve made such a mess out of me.”
He hummed louder, eyes squeezed shut in pure bliss, fingers pumping faster, curling hard against that spot that made your back arch clean off the couch and stars burst behind your eyelids.
Pleasure slammed through you hard enough to rip a loud cry from your throat. Dex’s tongue kept dragging those slow, filthy circles around your clit, savoring every twitch, while his fingers drove deep inside you in that steady, ruthless rhythm that had you trying to grind down on his face even though he had you folded in half.
And fuck, you thought with a dazed little smirk, it’s always the quiet ones who turn out to be absolute freaks.
“That’s it—own my face,” he whimpered desperately against your pussy, voice wrecked and needy. “Fucking own it. Come all over your good boy. Come all over your obedient little servant. That’s me. That’s all me.”
“Fuck—Dex, I’m coming,” you whispered urgently, as he rocked your hips against his face. “You’re going to make me come…”
Dex let out a groany laugh, eyes squeezing shut for a second like he couldn’t believe his luck. “Yes, give it to me,” he begged, lips trembling against your pussy. “Come in my mouth, flood my tongue, I’ll drink every fucking drop—”
His fingers drove deeper, faster, curling hard against that perfect spot while his tongue licked you quick and greedy, groaning low and filthy the whole time. He slurped and sucked like he was starving, humming desperately because you tasted so good he couldn’t get enough.
You cried out as the orgasm hit you, sharp and overwhelming. Your pussy clenched tight around his fingers, gushing all over his eager mouth and chin while he kept licking and sucking through every single pulse, moaning like he was coming right along with you.
“Oh fuck that’s it—that’s it, give me everything,” he mumbled between messy swallows, voice thick and grateful. “Fuck—thank you.”
When you finally started to come down, Dex pulled back just enough to press soft, reverent kisses to your inner thighs, lips trembling against your slick skin. He looked up and found you staring into the void, dazed and breathless, lips parted like you’d forgotten how to form words.
His hands itched. God, they fucking itched to slide up and cup those beautiful breasts but he didn’t dare move without permission. He was still your pathetic little servant, still on his knees, still terrified; this was all some cruel dream that would vanish if he got too greedy.
“Um… c-can I touch them now?” he asked, cheeks burning hot. “Please?”
That snapped you out of it. Your lips curved into a naughty little smile that made his cock twitch hard in his sweats. You sat up, cupped his chin, and tilted his flushed face up to you, thumb brushing the mess he’d made of his mouth.
“Of course you can, baby,” you said sweetly.
You pulled him up, swapped places, and pushed him back onto the couch. Then you opened his knees wide and swung a leg over to straddle his lap again. The heat of your bare pussy settled right over the massive bulge in his sweats and he whimpered, hips jerking up helplessly.
“How can I say no after you made me come like that?”
You took his shaking hands in yours and guided them slowly up your sides, over your ribs, until his palms were cupping your breasts. Dex gave them a tentative squeeze, thumbs brushing over your tight nipples.
You laughed softly, eyes sparkling. “You like them?”
He swallowed hard, throat working. “Yes,” he breathed, voice completely wrecked. “They’re… they’re perfect. Fuck, you’re perfect.”
His lips closed around one breast with a loud, wet, noisy suck. He moaned against your skin, eyes fluttering shut, tongue swirling as he pulled you deeper into his mouth.
You grinned, threading your fingers through his messy hair and holding him there while he made those shameless, hungry noises. Only then did you reach down between you and palm the thick, heavy outline of his cock through his sweats. Your eyes widened. A delighted little gasp slipped out as you felt exactly how big he was—rock-solid, fat, straining so hard the fabric was barely holding him in.
“Oh my word,” you murmured, giving him a slow, appreciative stroke that made his head fall back with a moan, your nipple still caught between his lips. “You just keep getting better and better, don’t you?”
Dex’s hips bucked hard into your hand, a pathetic little whine escaping around your breast because your touch was the first real one he’d felt in months.
You squeezed him again, loving the way his ripped abs flexed under your thighs. “No wonder you always walk like that…” Another stroke, thumb circling the wet spot at the tip until he gasped. “Poor baby’s been carrying this around the apartment every day and I never knew.”
Dex’s eyes locked on your hand, watching every lazy movement like it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. “Oh God—oh my God—fuck,” he gasped, hips twitching up into your palm without any control left. “Yeah—your hand feels so good—”
You gave him a firmer squeeze and his whole body jerked, those perfect abs clenching hard.
“Holy shit—uh—oh God. Fuck, you squeezing me like that—oh God—oh—” His head tipped all the way back, eyes half-lidded behind the blur of pleasure.
You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “Poor baby… already leaking all over my hand and I’ve barely touched you. Bet this feels a hell of a lot better than fucking your own fist thinking about me every night, doesn’t it?”
Dex’s whole body jolted. His eyes flew open, wide and stunned. His breath hitched while a shy, embarrassed little laugh caught in his throat as he stared at you like you’d just punched him in the chest with pure affection.
“Oh, it’s just… no one’s ever, uh, talked to me like this before,” he stammered, flashing that sheepish little smile that made your chest do something stupid. “No one’s ever said stuff like that to me. I—I’m sorry, I sound so stupid, I just—fuck, keep talking to me like that, please? God, it’s so hot I don’t know what to do with myself—”
You smiled against his ear and gave the shell a soft, wicked nibble that made his hips jerk again. “Well then,” you whispered, “has no one ever played with this fat cock the way I’m gonna?”
Dex opened his mouth to answer, but the words died the second your hand slipped under the waistband of his sweats. Your fingers wrapped around his bare, throbbing length and gave one long, slow stroke from base to tip.
“You’re so… Mm—you’re so—fuck—” His sentence crumbled. He tried to keep going, tried to tell you how no one had ever touched him like this, how he’d jerked off in the shower every single morning just so he wouldn’t walk around the apartment hard for you, but every drag of your hand wiped his brain clean. “I was gonna say—I mean—no one’s—Jesus Christ your hand is so soft—I can’t—I can’t even think when you—mmph—”
His head fell back against the couch while he kept trying anyway, lips moving, desperate to finish a single coherent thought, but every slow pump of your fist stole another piece of him. His abs clenched, thighs shaking under you, cock twitching hard in your grip as you stroked him nice and luxurious, spreading all that pre-cum until the wet sounds filled the room.
“I’ve never—no one’s ever touched me like—fuck, like that—slow—oh my god, please don’t stop, I sound so pathetic but I— I’ve dreamed about your hand—every night—and it’s so much better—I can’t—I can’t even finish a—fuck—”
You watched him with adoration in your eyes, tilting your head and shut him up with your lips, kissing him so eagerly it stole the rest of his broken sentence right out of his mouth.
You swallowed it instantly, tongue sliding past his lips like you already owned every sound he made. He tried to kiss you back, clumsy and desperate, but you took control so completely that all he could do was whimper into your mouth while you explored him with strokes of your tongue that promised exactly what that same mouth could do somewhere much lower.
“Mm—fuck—mmph—” he tried again, the words vibrating against your lips, but you just kissed him deeper, twisting your wrist on the upstroke until his whole body jerked and another moan spilled straight into your mouth.
You pulled back just enough to reach for his glasses on the cushion beside you. With gentle fingers you slid them back onto his face.
“There,” you murmured, sweet as sugar. “I think you need to see me suck this dick in high definition.”
Dex blinked hard behind the lenses, the world snapping back into sharp, perfect focus around your wicked little smile. Before he could even try to form words, you slid off his lap, dropped to your knees between his spread thighs, and settled in.
He watched, completely helpless and shaking, as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweats and boxers and dragged them down his hips in one smooth tug. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, and your fingers curled right around the base.
Dex’s hands flew up to cover his face, glasses knocked crooked. A muffled, delirious little laugh slipped out between his palms. “Fuck… I’m the luckiest man alive right now.”
You gave his cock a slow, appreciative stroke, then looked up at him with that firm, commanding glint in your eyes. “Look at me, Ben. Never take your eyes off me. Got it?”
Dex nodded so fast his glasses slipped down his nose again, eyes wide behind them, locked on your face like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.
You leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to the flushed, leaking head of his cock. Then lower. And lower. Before you smacked the heavy length against your cheek with deliberate, filthy slaps.
“God, you’re so heavy,” you teased, rubbing the thick shaft along your cheek while your eyes stayed glued to his. “How the hell do you think this is supposed to fit anywhere, huh? You’re gonna have to split me open, aren’t you?”
Dex let out a long, wrecked groan, thighs trembling on either side of you. He couldn’t look away. Not when you stuck your tongue out flat, laid his cock across it, and started smacking the shaft against the warm, wet muscle in solid, teasing taps.
He was going to die. He was actually going to die right here on the couch with his glasses on and your pretty mouth teasing the absolute hell out of him, and he’d thank you for it with his last breath.
“G-go choke on it first,” he blurted in a sudden rush of bravery, then immediately looked mortified. “I-I mean… if you want to…”
Your eyebrow snapped up, a wicked little grin spreading across your face as you nodded like you were proud of him for saying that.
Dex’s heart slammed against his ribs so hard he felt dizzy.
You leaned in closer, lips brushing the leaking tip as you looked up at him through your lashes. “Is that what you fantasize about when you jerk off in your room at night?” you purred. “Me choking on this fat cock? Gagging all pretty for you while you watch?”
Dex’s mouth fell open, hips twitching helplessly toward your face. “Y-yes—fuck, yes. Every night. Every single night—”
You didn’t let him finish.
The second the words left his lips you took the head of his cock into your mouth, and Dex gasped so hard it felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs.
It was too much. Too good. Velvety and hot and so fucking lucious that his whole spine lit up like a live wire. A strangled groan left him as pleasure streaked through every nerve ending at once. His hands flew to the couch cushions, knuckles white, because if he didn’t hold on he’d probably float straight out of his body.
You sank down slowly, taking more of him, tongue pressed flat underneath as your lips stretched tight around his thickness. Dex’s glasses fogged at the edges. His abs clenched hard, thighs shaking on either side of you.
You licked your way back up to the head, suctioning hard, then swirled your tongue over it, dipping into the slit to taste the steady leak of pre-cum like you were savoring him. Dex’s head fell back for half a second before he remembered your order and forced his eyes back down to you, chest heaving.
God. How many times had he imagined you on your knees just like this; sucking him slow and deep while you looked up at him with those pretty eyes?
Every single one of those fantasies paled. They were pathetic little shadows compared to the reality of you. The intense, electrifying heat that scorched every nerve ending as you lowered yourself again, sliding your sweet, wet mouth further down his shaft until he felt the back of your throat flutter around him. His hips jerked involuntarily, a choked “f-fuck—” ripping out of him before he could stop it.
Pleasure surged through him and he arched back sharply, the feeling so intense he nearly yanked out of your mouth. But he rode those waves, blood pounding hot through his veins as his cock throbbed with incredible bliss. You sucked him hard and sensually, lips stretched tight around him and cheeks hollowing as you milked more ecstasy from him than he'd ever felt in his life.
When you came back up you let him go with a wet pop and smiled up at him, eyes sparkling like you were enjoying the hell out of wrecking him. Your smile made his cock throb and jerk, and you chased it with your tongue and laughed, taking it back in with that delicious, silky warmth.
“Just like that—” Dex moaned, voice tight with ecstasy. He slid one hand into your hair, caressing first, then gripping the back of your neck like he needed something solid to hold onto.
“It feels so good holy shit.” he breathed as you gradually increased your pace. You wrapped both hands around the base of his cock and started stroking in time with your mouth, faster now. Dex’s head dropped back against the couch again before dragging his gaze back down. He couldn’t miss this. Not for a single second.
His hand gently cradled and guided your head, fingers weaving through your hair as the overwhelming desire to lock you in place and thrust into your mouth consumed him.
His free hand joined the first, sinking in and tightening his hold as the raw sensuality left him dizzy and breathless. He started rocking his hips slowly, testing, mesmerized by the way your eyes fluttered as you took him deeper.
But then you smiled around his cock and sucked harder. That was all it took.
Dex drove in faster, deeper, his cock slick and shiny with your spit as he thrust up your throat. You took him beautifully—until he forced just a little too far. Your throat fluttered, then clenched like a fist as you choked, the sloppy, gagging buzz shooting down his entire cock.
He froze for a second, glasses slipping down his nose, panic and lust warring on his face.
“S-sorry—fuck, that’s so hot, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry but don’t stop—please don’t stop—” He was panting, glasses fogged, hips still rocking again and again, savoring the way your throat squeezed every time you gagged softly around him. He couldn’t help it even while apologizing.
You just hummed around him like you owned every inch, eyes watering but never breaking that locked-in stare, taking him even deeper on the next thrust, letting him fuck your throat raw.
He was going to come. God dammit, he was going to explode like a firework in your mouth any second now.
But nope. You pulled off with a wet, filthy pop, lips shiny and puffy, a shiny string of spit still linking you to his throbbing tip like a naughty little bridge.
“W-why’d you stop?” he blurted, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “Did I—did I do something wrong? Fuck, I’m sorry, I got carried away, I just— I was so close.”
You shook your head, flashing that wicked little grin as you crawled straight up his body and swung a leg over, straddling his lap like you were claiming the throne. One hand cupped those full, heavy, aching balls, rolling them nice and slow while you dragged your soaked pussy along the underside of his cock, slicking him up marking your territory.
“I’m not wasting a single drop of this,” you whispered, all husky and low, thumb stroking that crazy-sensitive spot right behind his balls. “You’re spilling every bit inside me.”
Dex looked like his brain had officially powered off. “I-inside you? Holy shit—aren’t you scared you might—?”
You chuckled and ground down harder, sliding all over him like you owned the ride. “Got any condoms stashed somewhere, cutie?” you asked, all innocent and sweet while your hips kept rolling.
Dex just gaped, fish-mouthed and speechless. “....no.”
You let out a bright, delighted little laugh and climbed off his lap, “Guess we’re doing this raw then, huh?” You flopped onto your back on the couch, hair fanning out across the cushions, and hooked your knees up high, feet planted on the edge.
With zero shame, you reached down and spread yourself open for him, two fingers parting your slick, puffy folds so he could see everything. Your little hole clenched visibly under his stare, shiny and dripping from how much you’d enjoyed choking on him.
“Look at what you did to me, Benjamin,” you purred. “See how fucking wet I am? It’s because of you. My poor little pussy’s been clenching around nothing the whole time I was sucking you off, just thinking about how you’re finally gonna stuff me full.”
Dex made a strangled noise, eyes glued to the way your fingers teased your entrance, dipping just the tip of one inside before pulling back to circle your clit. You were so ready and glistening and open for him it hurt.
“Mmm, you like the view, don’t you?” you teased, tilting your hips up a little more so he could see even deeper. “Look how this little hole keeps fluttering. It’s so empty, Dex. Been waiting months for this fat cock to stretch it open. You gonna give it to me? Gonna give me all that cum you’ve been saving for me every night? Or are you just gonna sit there staring like a cute little pervert while I play with myself?”
Dex’s glasses slipped down his nose again, “No, I’m going to give you anything you want.”
You just grinned wider, “Then come here and take what’s yours, nerd.”
He scrambled between your spread thighs like a man on a mission and a panic attack at the same time, knees sinking into the couch cushions. His hands shook as he gripped the backs of your thighs, lining himself up. The fat head of his cock nudged against your slick entrance and he actually whimpered at how hot and wet you felt.
“Okay, okay. Look, I’ll just… m-maybe, maybe you should be on top, you know?” he blurted. “S-so you’re, um… yeah, so y-you can, like, control it? I don’t wanna hurt—”
You laughed softly, reaching up to tug him closer by the back of his neck. “It’s fine, Dex.”
“I don’t—I don’t wanna squish you—” he tried again, eyes wide behind his glasses, cock throbbing against your pussy like it had a mind of its own.
The head slipped inside you, stretching you open in one smooth glide. Dex’s eyes dropped to where your bodies met and he forgot how to breathe entirely. You threw your head back and moaned as your pussy parted for him, taking every thick inch until he was buried to the hilt, heavy balls pressed against your ass.
“Oh shit,” he groaned, voice wrecked. “I’m inside you—you feel so fucking good.”
He pulled back slowly, and your pussy clenched around him like it didn’t want to let him go. Then he drove back in until his tip met a dead end, stretching you open all over again. You grabbed his right wrist and slapped his big palm straight onto your breast. His fingers squeezed hard on instinct. At the same time you caught his left hand and pressed his thumb against your bottom lip.
The second he felt the wet heat of your mouth close around it, Dex’s eyes flew open wide behind his glasses. You sucked on his thumb like it was his cock, matching every thrust, moaning around it shamelessly.
“Jesus Christ,” he whimpered, voice cracking. “You’re—fuck, look at you. I’m not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that, baby. I swear I’m trying but you feel too good and you’re sucking on my thumb and I—oh my god—”
You just smiled around his thumb and sucked harder, never breaking eye contact, letting him feel exactly how much you wanted every desperate, awkward, perfect inch of him.
Dex couldn’t stop staring down between your bodies. His thick cock was sliding in and out of your pussy in these dragging strokes, shiny and glistening with how wet you were. Every time he pulled back he could see the way your folds stretched around him, clinging tight, and every time he pushed back in he watched himself disappear inside you until his hips met yours. He was completely obsessed with the sight, breathing hard through his mouth like he’d never seen anything so hot in his life.
Without thinking he slid his hand down from your breast and pressed the heel of his palm firmly against your lower stomach, right above where he was buried deep. The sudden pressure made everything feel impossibly tighter. You whined loud around his thumb, the sound vibrating against his skin as your pussy fluttered hard around his cock.
“Fuck—did that feel good?” he panted, eyes still glued to the spot where you were joined, pressing down a little harder as he thrusts.
As if guided by that lust alone, he began to thrust into a deep, forceful rhythm, his rigid cock stretching you each time. You moaned hummingly with each stroke, feeling the power of his hips as they slapped against you, imagining the strong muscles of his thighs flexing and straining to drive his cock into you deeper and harder every time. He crashed against you, his short breaths matching his pace, his moans of pleasure spiking as senseless words spilled from his lips.
You pulled his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop, grabbed his wrist again, and swapped it for the two fingers he'd buried inside you earlier, sucking it until your cheeks hollow.
Dex’s rhythm faltered for half a second, then slammed back in even harder.
“Holy shit I don't think I can’t take it,” he panted, voice cracking high and desperate. “I can’t take it. Ugh, you have to come soon. You have to come soon. Oh, fuck—”
He was panting and groaning as he thrust and bucked, hips snapping forward like he was chasing something he couldn’t quite catch. His eyes brightened with this wild, pleasure-pain look you’d never seen before; glassy, almost frantic, like he was right on the razor’s edge and hanging on by a thread. His glasses were crooked, hair sticking to his forehead, mouth open on every broken moan.
“I’m so close— I’m so fucking close but I need you to come first, please, I need to feel you coming on my cock before I fill you up, I can’t— I can’t hold it— fuck, please come for me—”
He was so close. You could feel it in the way his cock swelled even thicker inside you, the way his thrusts turned sloppy and urgent. He needed your release, your surrender, and he would detonate the second you gave it to him.
You reached up, grabbed his face with both hands, and pulled him down so your foreheads touched. “You can take it—keep going,” you gasped, voice shaky but firm. “Put your mouth on my neck, baby—right now.”
He obeyed instantly like the good, desperate boy he was. A quiet, “o-okay—yeah, fuck, okay” tumbled out of him as he dipped his head. You gasped and swallowed hard, tilting your chin back to give him more room, your whole body shaking with the force of every thrust. One of your hands slid between your bodies so you could rub tight, frantic circles over your clit, chasing that last spark.
Dex’s lips found your throat first, kissing the throbbing pulse there, then his tongue dragged up the side of your neck in one long, wet stripe. When it danced along the shell of your earlobe you shivered hard, a full-body tremble that made your pussy clench around him. And when he dipped the tip of his tongue right inside your ear you sobbed.
“F-fuck, I love it when you moan like that.” he whimpered against your ear.
You grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged, forcing his mouth back to your neck while your fingers kept rubbing faster. “Say dirty things to me, Dex,” you panted, voice husky. “Tell me how good I feel. Tell me what you’re gonna do when you come inside me. Don’t stop talking.”
“Yeah—fuck, I’m trying,” Dex panted against your skin, hips snapping forward in these desperate little thrusts. “If I talk to you, you’ll come, right? Yeah? I want that. I want you to come so fucking bad—”
You nodded hard. “Yes—fuck, yes! Just say all the nasty shit you say to yourself when you jerk off thinking about me.”
“Fuck, listen to you,” he groaned, suddenly finding his rhythm. “Sucking my cock earlier like you wanted to steal my soul, choking on it like a greedy little whore, and now you’re begging me to pump you full?” He slammed into you hard. “You want this fat load in your pussy that bad?” Another brutal thrust. “After months of prancing around in those tiny dresses, bending over right in front of me just to watch me lose my goddamn mind?” Slam.
“God, you’re such a dirty fucking slut for your nerdy roommate’s cock, aren’t you?” He licked into your ear, hips pounding harder. “That’s it—rub that clit faster, baby. I’m gonna flood this sloppy little cunt until it’s dripping down your thighs. Come on my cock—come on, come on—”
“Oh fuck—Dex!” Your whole body seized in a convulsive orgasm, pussy clamping down around him, milking his cock as you screamed against his shoulder.
He cried out and flooded into you, bucking and thrusting as your pussy drained him. Slick with sweat you writhed together, your voices echoing through the room, your cries and moans mingling as you milked him, drained him, sucked every drop of cum from his pulsing cock as he emptied himself into you completely.
His rhythm finally gave out and he melted into you, still shuddering deep inside while the last of his cum spilled free. Every twitch was met with your walls hugging him tight, like they were determined to wring him dry and keep him forever—the same way you’d just been completely his. Both of you panting hard, bodies flushed and shiny with sweat, you lay there pressed together, still connected, floating in that beautiful, ageless after-sex haze.
You were heaving, chest rising and falling under him. “Holy shit…”
Dex lifted up on shaky arms, glasses crooked, hair a sweaty mess, and gazed down at you like you’d personally hung the moon. His hazel eyes were soft and dazed and so full of wonder it made your chest ache. He leaned in slowly, lips parting like he was about to kiss you for real this time—
—and then the unmistakable sound of a key sliding into the front door lock echoed through the apartment.
Both of you froze.
“Shit—shitshitshit—” Dex whisper-yelled, scrambling off you so fast he nearly fell off the couch. While you both snatched up whatever clothes you could reach.
“My room—now!” You hissed, dragging Dex who is clutching his sweats and hoodie like a lifeline as you yanked behind you as fast as your shaky legs would go. Your room was closest and didn’t face the front door—thank god.
You barely made it inside, slamming the door behind you just as the living room lights flicked on. Dex pressed himself flat against the wall right behind the door, stark naked, cock still half-hard and glistening, one hand clamped over his mouth so he wouldn’t breathe too loud.
You snatched your short silk robe off the chair and threw it on, barely tying it before—
Knock knock knock.
“Hey, what’s taking you so long?” your roommate called through the door, voice bright and clueless. “We’re all waiting for you at the pool!”
You cleared your throat, trying to sound normal and failing spectacularly. “Sorry! Couldn’t find my swimwear. I’ll be there in a sec!”
Dex’s eyes were huge behind his glasses. He looked like he was one second from passing out.
You heard her footsteps start to retreat...then stop, “Uh… your bikini top is literally on the couch out here.”
“Oh really?” you called back, somehow managing to sound breezy even though you were standing there in nothing but a barely-tied silk robe with your very naked, very well-fucked roommate hiding behind the door. “I must’ve dropped it. I’ll grab it soon! You should go ahead, I won’t be long!”
You heard your roommate laugh under her breath, something that sounded suspiciously like "okay weirdo.” before her footsteps finally padded away down the hall. The front door clicked shut behind her.
Dex let out a huge, shaky breath, shoulders sagging like the weight of the entire universe had just lifted off him.
“You… you should go,” he mumbled, voice all hoarse and uncertain as he rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re waiting for you at the pool and I— I don’t wanna get them suspicious of you or anything…”
You didn’t answer with words.
Instead, you walked straight up to him, rose onto your highest tiptoes, and pressed your body flush against his. The thin silk robe did almost nothing to separate your skin from his.
You cupped his face with both hands and kissed him once—soft and sweet, tasting the leftover desperation on his lips. Then again, a little slower. And a third time, lingering like you were promising more.
When you finally pulled back just enough to speak, your lips still brushed his.
“I won’t be long,” you whispered, smiling up at him with that same sweet, knowing look that always made his stomach flip.
thinking about lowk nerd!rafe who's such a freaking weirdo he barely has friends. his violent tendeciences grip him by the neck as does his mouth which never has anything good to say. he's smart. too smart for his own good. but he's a bitch in the worst way --- he's never wrong, nothing's ever his fault. he's uncouth, manipulative, and obviously untouched.
so when he's kissing up your neck, curious hands wandering up to your tits to prod and squeeze...promising you all the answers if you let him make you come. only if you let him have a taste. you ask him if he's ever even touched a girl before. if he knows how. he shakes his head and demands you teach him. nothing if not audacious.
he treats your body like one of his textbooks he studies so meticulously. the way your back arches when he fingers curl inside of you amuses him. he eyes your every inch as your toes clench and your head tosses back and then, because he's always eager to learn --- "hm...what else can i make you do?"
SYNOPSIS ─•❥ AKA things I find really attractive trend w/ dex (credit to @dexdiaries for the idea!!)
WARNING(S) & A/N─•❥ Like one paragraph that’s freaky. Guys this is my first time writing for dex sorry if it’s rly inaccurate.
When he’s sensitive.
Some may say that Dex is a little insane but he’s just sensitive. He just feels too much too fast. Nothing wrong with that. As soon as he likes you, he becomes obsessed with you and he falls in love with you, in his own way. #hefellfirstandharder. He wouldn’t ask you to be his girlfriend, he figures it’s implied. He’s not great with words but he’ll try. “You’re very special to me.” he’ll say, choked up — the words are sweet but they sound more like a confession of love or a proposal of some sort. When you smile in response to his words, he’ll take it as “Yes, Dex, I love you too. I’m all yours.”
Actions speak louder than words.
As previously mentioned, he’s not great with words. He gets quiet when you compliment because his mind is too busy buzzing to come up with a solid thought to form into verbal language. So instead he’ll nuzzle into you, holding in his famous too-tight-grip and shaky hands. When you’re having a bad day or, god forbid, he does something to upset you. Reassurance isn’t a strong suit. But he’ll shower you with gifts, things you might not have even mentioned wanting but he knew. He always knows. He can’t talk you off a ledge but he can and will pull you down and kiss your worries away.
Adores quality time.
He can’t breathe without you. Literally. Okay, not literally but damn near. Dex wants to be wherever you are, whenever you’re there. Midnight bathroom trip? He’ll let you escape his grasp in bed but his feet are treading after you. Grocery run? He’ll push the cart and stare down anyone that looks at you too long in the aisles. Doctor's appointment? He’ll drive.
Likes to keep you close.
Wanna hear a secret? Dex has this silly fear that you’ll leave…so he takes the option away! If he feels like you’re at all upset with his he’s practically smothering you with physical affection. He is so not above dropping down to his knees and begging for forgiveness. When you’re sleeping in the same bed, he’s holding you a little too tight. He hates a closed door, closed doors prevent intimacy and closeness. There’s nothing to hide anyhow.
Fucks you like he wants to live inside you
Now Dex does a good job at keeping his composure. For the most part. But when clothes are off and your skin is bare for him…he’s not himself. Or maybe that’s when he’s the most himself. When he can slip a finger or two inside you and curl them just to hear you gasp, or when it’s his tongue — warm and greedy for your slick release to take you over. But when he finally slips inside you, all bets are off. He’ll hold you down, stare into your eyes and fuck you like a desprete slut. He likes the trust it takes to get you like this, so willing for him, he likes the magic that is the press of your body against him. The feeling of clenching around him while he makes you come again and again and again. Cries a little the first time he’s in it. He’s just so overwhelmed by how good it feels.
18+ cw: breeding kink (mentions of impregnation & pregnancy – both matt and reader want kids here), dom!matt, oral!f receiving, doggy, mating press, light bondage, choking, biting, use of “good girl” “my wife” during sex, slight dacryphilia, possessive behavior, classic daredevil guilt, allusions to religious devotion, fluff
summary: some dreams have always felt beyond reach for matt, including having a family of his own. but post-party, three drinks in—turns out all he had to do was ask. (wc: 7.5k)
note: foggy and marci are married and have a kid here! also matt holds a baby in this one, so obv it’s totally self-indulgent : )
A/N: HAPPY FATHER'S DAY to the dilfest lawyer on earth!!! i started this completely intending for it to be just filth but my nine year delusionship with this man means everything i write about him WILL grow feelings
The bustling warmth of Foggy’s apartment hits you the moment you step in the door. Every inch of the space is alive with the sound of chatting adults and shrieking children, not to mention the same incongruously happy verse of “We Did It!”—the Bluetooth speaker cutting out the Dora playlist over and over. Bright balloons cling to the backs of chairs, paper plates and half-eaten cupcakes cluttering every surface. To put it simply, it’s utter domestic chaos.
So obviously, it’s hard not to smile.
“Wow,” Matt says beside you, his lips twitching upward faintly as his head tilts to take in the scene. “This place is alive.”
“Alive,” you snort, swatting him gently on the arm as you guide him through the threshold. “It’s a full-on circus. Foggy must be in hell.”
“Can confirm,” Foggy interjects. He’s appeared behind you as if summoned by the mere mention of his name. There’s a smear of frosting on his button-down, and there’s a crazy light in his eyes you haven’t seen since college. “Thank God, cavalry’s here. I was this close to drinking Scotch out a sippy cup.”
You laugh, leaning in to hug him as Matt claps him on the shoulder. “Happy birthday to the big guy!” you grin as Foggy pulls back. “Officially one! How’s it feel?”
“Haven’t heard, huh? We’re auctioning him off later,” Foggy deadpans, though the affection peeks through. “Which reminds me—mind if I pawn off your husband for a bit?” He turns to Matt, gesturing toward the kitchen where a battalion of Nelson women’s engaged mid-conversation, holding plastic cups and talking animatedly. “Dude, do me a solid and work your lawyerly magic on the aunties, please. They’ve been talking about SNTs all afternoon and frankly, I cannot feign interest anymore.”
“Oh, Fog, I don’t know if I’m the guy for that—” Matt starts, but Foggy’s already steering him toward the fray. “You’re exactly the guy, go make them cry with one of your blind crusader stories. Right this way, ladies,” Foggy urges, as Matt’s protests are drowned out, swallowed by the chattering mass of Nelson aunts.
You stay back, still laughing, and duck toward the table of snacks. From the few remaining drinks, you grab a can of Yoo-Hoo and your finger along its sweaty condensation—until the sharp wail of the baby cuts through the din.
You turn.
Across the room, the birthday boy’s squirming in his frazzled aunt’s arms, flushed and clearly seconds away from a full-blown meltdown. Without thinking, you slip over to them (Yoo-Hoo forgotten), holding out your hands with a soft, “Here, let me.”
Teddy comes to you easily, his weight settling against your hip as he lets out one last cursory wail before quieting. His chubby fists tangle in the fabric of your dress, his head falling against your chest as his breathing hitches. You rock him gently, murmuring soft nonsense under your breath until his cries subside entirely. It doesn’t take long before he’s calm, little body relaxing against yours as he smacks his lips softly, his stubby fingers patting at your collarbone.
Across the room, the Nelson women chatter on around Matt.
“You poor dear,” one of them coos, clutching his elbow, “how’s work? Foggy says the firm’s doing very well. You boys must be rolling in clients.”
“It’s steady,” Matt says mildly, “we’ve been lucky.”
“And her?” someone else asks. “That sweet girl of yours still hasn’t run away screaming?”
A small smile curves his mouth. “Still here, thankfully.” A chuckle goes around the circle.
“Oh honey,” Foggy’s mom cuts in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “So, when do you think you’ll have one of your own?”
Matt raises his eyebrows, amused and a little cornered.
One of the great-aunts is squinting across the room. “Hmph, looks like she’s halfway there already.”
He tilts his head slightly, tuning in—adjusting the direction of his senses—then stops. His heart stutters. The space between you—the constant hum of your heartbeat, the soft lilt of your voice as you soothe the baby—it’s all amplified in his head, pulling his attention like a magnet.
“Must be nice,” another jokes. “You can always tell who’s gonna be a good mom. Poor Foggy looked like he was going to pass out.”
Matt smiles faintly, his usual charm just barely masking how his throat has tightened. “Ah, she’s good with kids. Always has been,” he says, deliberately keeping his tone light.
The mention of children is a trap he’s navigated before, typically with casual deflections that fall back on vague hopes of someday. But this time, the words are harder to shake off, and when one of the aunties has so pointed it out—the way you’re holding Foggy’s baby, calm and radiant and perfectly at ease—it feels less hypothetical and more, well, inevitable.
“Well, you’re doing well for yourselves now,” one of the women says, her tone pointed but kind. “Don’t wait too long. You’ve got a good thing going—and if you ask me, you could use one of those little ones running around.”
“We’ve got some time,” Matt laughs offhandedly. “Haven’t really sat down and talked it through in depth. Maybe soon.”
Mercifully, the conversation shifts, but Matt’s distracted now. Every word buzzes in the background as he hones in on the sound of you: the soft rise and fall of your breathing, your voice swaying upward as you coo at Teddy, the faint rustle of fabric as you shift your weight to keep him secure on your hip.
Before he knows what’s happening, you’ve made your way across the room to him, oblivious to the swirl of tension beneath his skin as you’re saying something lighthearted about how “it’s about time Uncle Matty took a turn.” He doesn’t even have time to protest before the toddler’s being nestled against him, pudgy fingers pawing at his tie.
“Careful,” he says, a little alarmed. “I could drop him.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Couns,” you say breezily, smoothing a hand over Matt’s arm. “You’ve done this before. Plus he’s pretty sturdy, you know. Babies are tougher than they look.”
Matt falls silent, holding the baby cautiously, keeping completely still so that not even his breathing will disturb the delicate balance of the moment. Teddy squirms briefly before miraculously—horrifyingly—settling into his chest, and Matt’s heartbeat jumps, but the baby’s doesn’t. There’s just the faintness against his sternum, the rise and fall of milky breath; he can feel the pulse in his tiny wrist. The echo of a hiccup in his ribs. He finds himself cataloguing every flicker of life beneath the fragile skin.
It’s overwhelming.
“Matt,” you say softly, “you okay?”
He nods, handing Teddy back to you a little too quickly. “Yeah. It’s just—he’s warm.”
“He didn’t pee on you, did he?”
“No—no,” Matt chuckles faintly. “Not that kind of warm.”
You lift a brow at him, but say nothing more. The baby yawns, then burrows into you again. Matt can hear everything. The low, involuntary sound you make when the baby nestles just right under your chin. The shift in your skin temperature: your whole body warmer than usual. And that scent—he’d missed it before, but God here it is, subtle but unmistakable under the usual fare of your perfume. Sweet earth, clean sweat, and something deeper, headier. His heightened senses tell him what his mind has tried to ignore; it makes his chest tighten and imagination run rampant. He tries to shake away the thought, wresting his focus from the way you smell so right, so perfect, but it’s hurtling like a tidal wave.
By the time you’re on the train ride home, the realization has planted itself in the hollow of his chest, refusing to be moved. You sit beside him, scrolling idly through your phone, humming some barely-there melody under your breath.
He’s silent the whole time, thoughts turning over in endless waves.
It’s already dark outside when you arrive at the apartment. Matt’s still unusually quiet, his mind somewhere else entirely. You shrug off your coat by the door and toss it onto the hook with a bit of flair. Trying to fill the silence, you busy yourself with telling him about the Nelson family dog—a story you picked up about the ratty little mop of a thing getting passed around from household to household like a fuzzy hot potato.
“It’s probably because it’s so ugly,” you grumble lightly, shooting him a grin as you kick your shoes off toward the mat. “Swear, if you could just see it, it really is so ugly it’s insane.”
Matt is usually one to tease, grinning back in that sly, devil-may-care way, but tonight he doesn’t even give you a huff of amusement. Your brows draw together in concern: could someone have said something earlier? He wasn’t one to let offhanded comments get to him, but there had been exceptions… Or maybe the party was too much? Its noise and chaos and endless stimulation, well— you could see this silence as an aftermath.
“Matt?” you finally ask, your tone gentle as you cross the small space to him. He hasn’t moved from where he’s standing near the door, barely out of his coat. “Are you okay? You’ve been so quiet since we left. Did something happen at the party?”
The longer he stays silent, the more determined you become to shake an answer out of him. Whatever storm is brewing in his mind, you’ll be damned if he keeps it locked away, as he tends to do. It triggers your instinct to soothe. Or at the very least, poke fun at it to take the edge off. “C’mon, don’t leave me hanging here. Whose ass do I have to beat? Was it Uncle Tommy? Was it something I–”
“Sweetheart,” Matt cuts through your ridiculous coaxing. Though his tone is steady with concerted effort, there’s a flush creeping up the column of his neck, coloring the edge of his ears.
You step back half a pace, blinking. “What?”
“It’s nothing. Please.”
“Doesn’t seem like nothing. Matt, tell me what’s going on with you.” In truth, you greatly dislike all this unceremonious pushing and goading, but the last time he’d gone quiet like this it turned out he’d been hiding a broken rib and a tender side from late night patrol. You frown, stepping closer. “Are you hurt?”
“No, no, I’m not. Honestly.” The shift is almost imperceptible, but you notice the way his body tenses further, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. He drags a hand through his hair, sighing deeply, “Forget it.”
“Forget it?!” you gasp dramatically, clutching your chest. That at least earns you the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips, but he smothers it so fast you wonder if it was a figment of your imagination. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” You wag a halfhearted finger at him. “You absolutely do not get to brood like that then ‘forget it’ me! You’re going to tell me, Matthew”—the way you enunciate his name is pointed—“because you at least owe it to me to tell me if you’re hurt, or I swear to God I’m—”
“Fine,” he snaps, putting an end to your mock dramatics. The tension in him pulls tight enough that the words tumble out unguarded. “Let’s have a baby.”
You blink.
The air around you seems to still, as if the apartment itself is holding its breath, having followed his bidding for silence. “What?”
“I want a baby with you,” he confesses slowly, sounding pained. It sounds almost like loathing, the derision with which he views how badly he means it.
You laugh before you can stop it, strangled and half-scandalized. “Matt, Jesus! What the hell…”
But your startled amusement is already tapering off as it clicks into place. Oh. His quietness, his strange mood during the ride home—it was now making perfect sense. Earlier, you were utterly at ease with Teddy, and maybe he’d been, too. The situation now glaringly obvious, your heart starts to race and Matt’s expression darkens when he picks up on it, his lips twitching with that slow, devilish smile you know all too well.
“Oh,” you begin, blinking up at him as you straighten.
That smile. Christ.
“Yes, oh,” he says, already closing the distance between you. “I mean it.”
His hand finds your waist, pulling you closer to him with deliberate pressure.
“Let’s make one,” he murmurs. “Right now.”
Your heart hammering violently in your chest, you tip your head back slightly to meet the wine-dark mirrors of his glasses. In the reflection, all you can see is yourself. His next step seals the last inch of space between you, and when his mouth finds yours, whatever resistance you had left dissolves like sugar on the tongue.
His kiss is needy, and you feel his every hot exhale fanning your cheeks as a hand slips to your waist—guiding you, pushing you back, back until your spine hits the wall. His other hand curls around your nape gently, cushioning the press of your head against the panel. You gasp into him, grabbing at the tense muscles of his shoulders through his shirt. He’s so close, pressing so close now that you can feel the heated hardness through his slacks. Well, he seems to not mind. If anything, he wants you to feel it, grinding himself against your stomach.
“Somebody’s eager,” you tease playfully, never mind that you’re growing lightheaded from the delicious burn of his stubble scratching your face. “Christ, this is a lot of intensity for a lady who just inhaled too many cupcakes. Mmf, ow!”
His teeth catch your bottom lip, nipping at it lightly before letting it free.
“Not now, honey,” he rasps against your mouth. You know it well enough to be a warning, but you don’t know if it’s more terrifying or thrilling. The hand at your waist slips upward, finding the curve of your breast over the flimsy material of your dress. Your face grows embarrassingly hot, and Matt’s breath hitches, groping you a little harder, more possessively, and the thought crosses his mind: the sensation of your tits rounding out for him, growing swollen, heavy with milk… Fuck, the thought makes his cock jerk hard in his pants, and the guttural moan that tears from his chest seems to surprise even him.
Fuck, Matt, get it together.
Shaking his head, he dips down to the crook of your neck, inhaling deep. You smell so damn good—milky and earthy and uniquely you—it’s a shame you’re oblivious to it. What you aren’t oblivious to, though, is the way he’s trembling slightly. From restraint or the desperate undercurrent of his desire, you can’t tell.
“Is this really you?” you ask, breathless now, trying to wriggle just enough to make him loosen his grip. This isn’t like him—not Matt the charming husband, the overzealous lawyer. But you do recognize him. This voice, it belongs to the man who comes home late at night beaten within an inch of his life, collapsing on the floor as you scramble for the medkit. But that part of him has been quieter, gentler lately, less frequent with the overly suicidal excursions—a promise he’d offered you when he asked you to marry him.
And yet here he is now, returned with that fire reignited, directed solely at you.
“You smell so good I can’t think straight,” Matt murmurs, his nose dragging along your throat, pausing to press a hot, deliberate kiss behind your ear. “You wanna know something?”
You nod, the unbearable heat trickling between your thighs.
“You were holding him,” he begins, voice rasping like he can barely get the words out, “and all I could think about was my baby. Our baby. You’re ovulating right now, and Christ, sweetheart—I can smell it on you.”
That stops your breath cold. You’re reeling, your internal voice screaming for decorum, coolness, anything that might save face—but it’s impossible to, not when hot nerves are zinging traitorously through your body at his words. Not when his hands are on you, hot as brands. Not when he’s put words to the question you’d been hoping he’d bring up again for the past year.
It’s so embarrassing how easily he unravels you. Case in point–
His hand cups your sex through your soaked underwear, pressing the heel of his palm into you hard.
“Matt—!” It’s more of a plea than anything else, but you barely manage to say anything else before his hands slide down your weakened thighs, broad palms curling under them, and he lifts you effortlessly. He hikes you up further against the wall, grinding his hips into you and fuck, you can feel him pulsing—he’s like iron, a fact you’re darkly aware of even through the unconscionably selfish layers of his clothes hiding his hardness from view. The sheer force of his want makes you gasp, hands to his chest as if to push him away—though you clearly have no intention of doing so.
But seemingly, he does.
He pulls back from the kiss, and for the first time all night, you catch a flicker of hesitation cross his face. A crack in the mask of breathless certainty, the very same that had carried you across the room and into his arms just minutes ago.
“Are you sure you want this?”
You almost laugh. He’s asking you? When he’s the one tearing you out of your clothes, talking filth? “Are you?”
“I… Well–” The vibrations of his voice tickle your collarbone as Matt rests his head against your shoulder, unceremoniously snapped from the trance of his arousal. Visibly, achingly, he’s searching for words that won’t come. You take it upon yourself to help him out.
“I am.” It’s unsatisfactory; his silence tells you this. For a moment there’s only his measured breathing. But you know what he’s not saying, and he doesn’t have to tell you. It’s there again—the old voice in his head, convincing him he doesn’t deserve any of this, much less the privilege of asking for anything more. The quickly vining doubt in him dictates it: allowing himself this is the most selfish thing he can do.
You cup his face in your hands so he can’t turn away from you.
“Matt, I know what you’re thinking,” you say gently. “I want this, alright?”
For a split second, you wonder what it’ll take to pull him back from his misery. You swallow, rubbing the sides of your thumbs along his cheeks soothingly. “I want it. Not in spite of your life; because of it. Yes, you bleed and lie and you flake out and… keep going on these fucking suicide missions and yes, yes they scare the shit out of me… But even if I’m scared, I believe you’ll come home, because you always do; that’s who you are. You keep getting back up even if the world’s given you so much reason to be unkind to it.”
Wordlessly, you reach up and remove his glasses gingerly, tossing them toward the table. They land somewhere with a dull clatter. In the half-light of the living room, you can only make out parts of him, the cut of his cheekbone, the impressionistic slopes of definition on his face. This must be just a fraction of how he sees you, defined solely by blunt form and sensation.
“And that’s why I’m here, too. It’s just my choice as it is yours.” You press your forehead to his, finding him scorching against your clammy skin, before pulling back again. “Your night patrols, all that… If you believe that people deserve all the chances they can get, that there’s always a future for them no matter what came before, then have faith that it includes you, Matt. Everything you fight for is why I believe we could do this. What’s ahead could be dangerous, but what if it’s worth it a—what’s that word you like?” Your lips quirk slightly. “A thousandfold more. We can still bring good into the world, in all the ways we can, can’t we?”
Have faith that it includes you, Matt.
He closes his eyes. He does want it, all of it, more than anything in the world and he’s being the greediest man in the world right now, taking and taking and you’re letting him. Have faith that it includes you.
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Well, it is. It’s no question if it’s with you.” You pause for a bit, before leaning back in, eyebrows wiggling playfully. “And you know, I haven’t refilled my prescription… So if we do this, it’s real. So ask me again.”
An incredulous, lighthearted scoff finally breaks through him. “Unbelievable. Are you sure you’re not the lawyer between us, sweetheart? That was one hell of an argument,” he says, chuckling boyishly through the pecks you’ve started to nip on his cheeks. “Fine. Last chance—are you sure about this?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Ha, ha, Mr. Murdock. Please. As if you believe in last chances.”
He grins, can’t help it, can’t hide it; it’s crooked and a little desperate. But it’s impossible to skirt around it, your body betraying every rational thought. “Yes,” you whisper, your legs wrapping around his waist, arms sliding around his neck to pull him closer. “Yes, I want this. I want you.”
The words have barely left your mouth before Matt presses his hips into yours again, his groan muffled against your neck. The conversation has quelled the worst of his fears—but not the hunger. If anything, your unshakeable trust in him has unleashed something deeper within, darker and older than guilt. Something he can’t say aloud.
But God knows it. And he knows it.
The knowledge threatens to unmake him: he could fill you now, right now with your heated body primed and the timing perfect, let nature take its course. Your cunt is soft and warm and open, ripe and ready for him. And fuck, it hits him like a train.
Fucking you full to knock you up, marking you with proof of your unwavering faith—
The thought makes his cock ache so hard it’s a mercy he’s still clothed.
Conversely you’re a mess, dress bunched up and panties soaked, and your heart is beating so hard you’re sure it’s deafening him. Matt locks your thighs over his forearms and carries you down the hall in steady steps, kiss never breaking until your back finally hits the bed. He’s over you in seconds, broad and solid and trembling with restraint that’s quickly breaking.
He looms above you, working deftly on the buttons of his shirt with one hand, the other braced beside you on the mattress to keep you where he wants you. His lips—rosy and pouted, kiss-swollen—curl into a knowing half-smirk.
“You have no idea,” his voice is rich with the thickness of his lust, “the way you taste and smell right now. If you could feel what I feel standing this close to you, you’d lose your mind.”
The shirt finally slips free, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Your eyes trail over his chest, marked by two long scars like uneven wings taking flight. Then his broad shoulders, the planes and valleys of muscle. Oh, Christ. He leans down, his hands already finding the material of your dress.
“Up,” he coaxes, warm but unyielding. You obey instinctively, helpless to raise your arms up and shimmy a little so he can peel the dress up and toss it aside in one smooth motion. His lips descend to your collarbone, stubble grazing the sensitive skin there as he kisses you with maddening patience. Every sensation of his tickling, hot breath sends sparks rushing through your veins, but it isn’t nearly enough. You squirm, desperate for more, but he’s already working his way down—kisses tracing paths between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, until he reaches the waistband of your panties.
Nose nudging against the soaked fabric, Matt inhales deep, a shameless groan rumbling from his chest as his hands grip your thighs, keeping them spread. “Fuck,” he murmurs, “you’re dripping for me, honey. Been like this since the train home, haven’t you?”
You flush but don’t deny it. The damp feel of the delicate lace between your thighs is proof enough. He chuckles softly at your silence, a finger twisting under the waistband to peel the damp fabric down, sliding it off the smooth skin of your legs to toss it aside. And suddenly, the room seems to be completely saturated by your arousal, steeping into every inch of air he pulls into his lungs.
Still, Matt doesn’t seem to be in any rush. His lips return to your inner thighs, tracing sultry kisses to burning flesh. Thighs pressed to his ears, the sound of your arteries reverberates like a drumline inside his skull. Femoral, uterine, iliac —he can name every one he hears. A symphony thrumming for him, hot and rhythmic. He kisses the spot where it sings beneath your skin.
(What an asshole, you’re thinking, knowing his every peck is deliberate; every drag of his tongue is just close enough to where you need him that it makes you squeal with frustration.)
“Matt,” you snip, tugging at his locks to guide him where you want him. “Stop teasing and just fuck me already!”
He pulls back from between your legs, lips curved into a cocky grin. “Be patient,” he chides, shaking his head like you’re a child spoiled rotten. “I gotta take care of you first, don’t I?”
You open your mouth to argue, but he isn’t done.
“I heard, it’ll take better if you come first,” he says evenly, using that court voice, the one he uses to explain the facts of a case and win over the jury without fail. “So… I’m gonna make you come again…” a kiss on the inner side of your knee, “…and again….” on your inner thigh, “…and again…” on your pubic mound, “…until your body has no choice but to take me.”
The filthy promise pulls you taut as his nose bumps against your clit. “Oh? And just where did you hear this news from, Counselor– Oh Christ–!” You gasp, hands tightening in his hair as his tongue darts out, tasting you lightly before pulling back just long enough to smirk at how you tremble under him.
“See?” Matt says, voice positively dripping with smugness. “You’re already so wet, sweetheart. Let me handle it, alright?”
And then he buries himself between your thighs, his tongue delving into your folds with ravenous precision. Fuck, he could die happy right then, the sour-sweet taste of your slickness robust and vividly ripe on his tongue, incomparable to its scent he’d only enjoyed since before that point. You cry out, your head falling back to the mattress as he pulls you higher with every stroke of his tongue, every flick and flat press against your clit, mouth working generously to kiss your needy cunt open.
Determined to see you come undone, he dives his rough fingers into you, his tongue maintaining pressure upon your clit. Your walls clench at the sensation of being breached, nerves going haywire with excitement as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. When you call out his name, he brushes at that sensitive spot, conditioning you by the whimpers and cries falling out of your mouth. Training you like an animal to associate the heightened pleasure with his name, though really he has no need to. No one has ever touched you with such precise devotion as him.
Your heels dig into his back, hips canting to demand more. Matt grunts against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your entire body, and you can feel the mattress dipping slightly as he ruts against it, his own desperation spilling over.
“Matty—fuck—” you pant, hands clutching at the sheets. He only growls in response, his free hand curling against your legs to hold you in place, barring any attempt at escape. He’s eating you like a man starved, shamelessly groaning and fucking the mattress at your taste—and with the pressure in your stomach threatening to snap, you fold and unfold, instinctively trying to get away.
But Matt, all-knowing and bent on denying you the privilege of holding back, presses down harder inside you, rubbing while he sucks at your clit. You curse uncontrollably and the white-hot high finally, finally washes over you violently, downwards, down then up with your thighs clamped around his head, clenching around his thick, thrusting fingers. Matt refuses to slow down or let up, working you through every spasm until you’re left a panting, boneless mess beneath him.
“Christ,” you mutter weakly, when you can get it together enough to speak. The world’s still spinning around you, folded inwards to just the sight of him sitting back on his heels. His mouth and jaw are obscenely glistening with your wetness. Matt, sensing your hitched breath, correctly infers that you’re staring shamelessly at him, and at the bulge that’s tented angrily between his legs.
Smug little shit that he is, he brings his hand up to his mouth. The pretty-pink petals of his lips purse around his fingers as he revels in your taste. Matt hums his praise low in his throat, but you don’t get to enjoy the show as much as you want. The mattress shifts, and his hands close tight around your waist, turning you over onto your arms and knees.
Bent over for him, the anticipation is electric, your body still oversensitive from your high. But you can’t help it, that errant need to reassert yourself.
“Jesus, finally,” you muse, smirking above your shoulder. “I was starting to think you were all talk, Counselor.”
That earns a snap.
You hear the leathery rasp of his belt sliding through the loops of his pants, a sound that makes your toes curl.
“Watch your mouth,” he says, pushing your head forward. He leans down to press a hard, claiming kiss to your shoulder blade. The cold metal of the belt buckle kisses your wrists a moment later, and he binds them behind your back in a practiced knot, giving the binding a perfunctory tug to test its hold.
Oh. Fuck.
Every inch of your arched posture has you laid bare for him in surrender. Your shoulders are sunken into the mattress, having lost the arms to brace yourself with. Ever the gentleman, he holds you steady with a firm grip while the other hand touches between your thighs, trailing all the way to your wet slit. He inhales sharply at the mess waiting for him, your arousal clinging sticky up to his knuckles.
Matt huffs a laugh under his breath.
“So fucking ready for me,” he murmurs.
Fisting his cock, he gives it a few rough tugs, precum slicking over his palm as he aligns his hips behind you, pushing forward. You feel the fat, hot head of his cock notch between your folds, and your cunt clenches on instinct, greedy for the stretch about to come. But Matt’s cruel with his patience, and his pace is leisurely slow.
One of his hands finds the knot of your bound wrists and tightens his grip, using the tension to anchor himself.
He’s soaking in every detail. How your heat radiates off every cell of your skin; the fertile slick seeping out of you, perfuming the air so thickly he can taste it on his tongue. He can hear your heartbeat in your cunt, veins rushing with blood and fuck, he wants to ruin it, claim you with a violence that will leave no doubt in your body, least not in your womb. But even completely soaked, he knows your body needs time to adjust to him.
You whimper, pushing back to take control, but Matt holds you rooted in place. “Ah,” he tuts, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “You’re not getting it that easy, sweetheart. Patience, remember?”
“I literally just fucking came!”
He grits his teeth. The blunt crest of his cock presses into you, splitting you open and it knocks any trace of defiance from your mouth, bordering on too much but your pussy’s welcoming it, spasming around the overwhelming sensation as he fills you to the hilt.
“Oh fuck—” you gasp, “you’re so deep, Matt– Matt—”
“Yeah?” Voice almost cracking as he draws his hips back, only to thrust forward again with a punishing roll that has you keening. “I told you. So fucking tight. Jesus. Your pussy’s just pulling me in.”
Your body jolts with every thrust, each one driving deeper, testing the limits of what you can take. Every time he slams in, your cunt makes a wet humiliating sound and then the hand gripping your wrists slides up, pushing between your shoulder blades to shove you down hard into the mattress as his movements pick up. Fucking you in earnest, his cock drilling into your heat with a brutal, single-minded rhythm that has you whimpering, crying out his name.
“Listen to how wet you are,” he snarls, grabbing the round swell of your ass, “you want it as bad as I do. You smelled so fucking good all day, d’you know how hard it was for me? It was torture. So good with that baby— Gonna let me give you one? Make you mine? Do you want that, honey?”
“Yes–fuck–yes,” you’re panting, thighs trembling as the coil in your stomach tightens and tightens, “want it so bad, Matt, don’t stop–”
“Oh, I’m not stopping,” Matt growls, his chest pressing flush against your back. His breath is hot and wet in your ear. “How many kids do you want, honey? I’ll give you as many as you’ll let me. I’ll put one in you right now. Not gonna stop til I fill you up.”
The shift in angle forces a sob from you as he sinks even deeper, his cock grinding up deeper than before, hitting that unbearable bundle of nerves with a dense pressure that makes your vision blur at the edges. Your arms are still trapped between your bodies, they’re numb and aching but it feels so so good, getting fucked by your husband with abandon. Matt doesn’t falter; he’s fully over you, pinning you down with his full weight as his mouth finds the curve of your shoulder, teeth scraping the tender skin before biting down hard.
You cry out, pain-blinded. The sharpness slices clean through you and with the overwhelming heat, the stretch of him inside you—there it is, you come undone with a fractured sob, violent and searing. Your bound hands writhe uselessly, the bite on your shoulder singing as your vision whites out. Your ears ring, barely registering Matt’s voice swimming in and out of focus, calling you Good girl good girl… his hand petting your head, stroking your hair as your body shakes for him.
Then he’s pushing himself upright again, pulling out and rising to his knees behind you. His praises are still trailing out of him in soft whispers. One hand reaches for the belt at your wrists, tugging—your spine pulled upright by the motion. You whimper a breathy protest as your limbs stretch from disuse.
“You’re doing so well for me,” he praises, voice buttery and low. He sounds so sweet it makes your bruised core flutter, even now. His hands work at the leather binding behind you and finally, mercifully, you’re freed. But your body’s limp, shaking from the aftermath, and without the belt holding you up, you collapse forward like a puppet with its strings cut.
Matt chuckles. “Easy, baby.”
He eases you over onto your back carefully, slipping a pillow under your spine to support your sore back. He’s pressing kisses all over your cheeks— and his cock, still swollen and slick with your release, twitches at the salt clinging to his mouth. You’ve been crying.
“Poor thing,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle along your jaw. “So sweet for me. Is my girl tired?”
You can barely say anything; you nod shakily. Your arms are tingling from the blood finally returning.
“And does she want to stop, hm?” A kiss to your cheek. “Does my sweet girl want to stop?”
You manage a small shake of your head.
A rough, pleased sound rumbles from his chest. “Good. That’s what I thought.”
The pins and needles in your arms are buzzing unpleasantly, but your cunt clenches at his voice anyway. You whine pitifully, and of course he hears.
“One more, alright, honey? Will you give me one more?”
Then he’s shifting, settling himself between your legs again. His hands wrap under your knees–thumbs pressing into the tender divots beneath the joints—and he presses them forward, toward your shoulders. Folded in half, you gasp at the stretch. Completely open beneath him, pinned by nothing but his weight, you shiver under the totality of his presence over you.
“This,” he murmurs, brushing a hand over your lower belly, “this is where our baby’s gonna grow, sweetheart. Right here.”
The blunt head of his cock nudges at your entrance and you’re so wet it slides through the mess of your arousal, teasing but not entering, just enough to make you sob.
“Matt—please—”
“Shh,” he soothes, lining himself up, pressing in. “There we go. So good for me, you’re taking it so well.”
This angle—God, it’s worse than before; better than it. Deeper, impossibly so, hitting places inside you you’ve never felt before, spots that send your nerves screaming. You sob helplessly as your body struggles to accommodate him, every thrust dragging against your walls, each ridge and vein of his cock felt completely.
“C’mon,” he pants as his movements pick up the pace, thrusts growing fast and erratic. “Gimme this one, sweetheart. Just one more for me, I promise.”
The bed protests beneath you, the frame rattling against the wall. The wet slap of skin fills the room, and just as you start to feel that sharpness creeping up again, something stupid occurs to you: you’re loud. Your screams, the creak of the bed, the sound of your cunt around him– the neighbors—
You turn your head, trying to muffle yourself against your arm.
Matt growls, yanking your arm down and at the same time, he pulls out nearly all the way—only to slam back in with bruising force, hard enough to knock all the breath from your lungs. You can’t stop the scream of his name torn from your throat.
“Matt— please, the neighbors—”
“No,” he snarls. “I’m your husband. I get to fuck you as loud as I want. You want this?”
You nod frantically, too breathless to answer.
His hand finds your throat, grasping firmly around the delicate column. He feels the hammer of your pulse against his palm, heavy and turbulent like a rushing flood. He tightens his grip just enough to feel it catch beneath his thumb. To him, it seems unmistakably perverse—this power to still you if he wanted. And yet your trust is entire, your faith in him unshaken.
“Then let them hear,” he says. “Let them hear what I do to my wife. Let them know how good I’m fucking her.”
A generous god, a present one. That’s what you’ve made him.
“Say my name,” he demands, voice rough, “want to feel it in your throat.”
“Matthew,” you choke out, completely helpless to his touch. Matthew, Matthew, Matthew…
It’s slipping. That darker thing inside him rising, coaxed loose by the mess of needy wetness where you’re connected. It wants to claim you and mark you, become His peer, one worthy of your devotion.
Have faith that it includes you, Matt.
He licks the salt from your neck. “Can feel how close you are.”
His hand leaves your throat and presses flat against your stomach, right above where his cock punches deep. The pressure of his cock bulging under his palm sends another wave through your body. The feeling at the pit of your gut’s starting to rapidly swell, acute and compounding by the second as he fucks you with the whole length of his cock.
“Feel that?” he rasps, pressing down harder. “That’s where m’gonna fill you. Right into your womb. And if it doesn’t take this time— I’ll fucking make sure it does the next. You won’t even have to lift a finger.”
Then his hand drops lower, to your cunt, gathering your creamy slick with his thumb to rub the swollen nub of your clit with.
“Come for me, sweetheart,” he says, the words strangled. “Come while I fuck my baby into you.”
You look down where you’re connected, where his cock sinks in and out of you, coated in slick and so much need and you break. Your walls seize around his length, body convulsing as your climax tears through you. You cry out, legs twitching and nails raking across the sheets. Above you, Matt groans with a guttural, broken sound. His hips drive forward once, twice—the head of his cock kissing the ripe seal of your womb, and then he’s coming, thick and hot, filling you with so much it leaks around his cock even as he keeps pumping deep as he can go. His sweat’s dripping onto you as he holds you tightly, arms trembling with the effort of staying upright. You twitch beneath him, aftershocks rolling still and he collapses onto you, pulsing with the last desperate pulses of cum from his cock.
Your body’s completely pliant, legs trembling even when he finally stills.
“Let gravity help,” he says, easing out gently. He slips the pillow from beneath your back and tucks it under your hips, before slumping beside you. You giggle weakly, nuzzling into his neck. Your sweet husband’s back, placing soft lingering kisses all over your face as his chest heaves from the earlier exertion.
“So,” you start, the haze starting to set, “can you really tell?”
“...Yes,” Matt admits. His voice is husky, warm with affection. “You smell different. And you’re warmer, just a little–”
“Smell different?! Do I stink or something?”
He laughs into your hair, arm pulling you in tight. “Sweetheart, I think we’ve established well enough that you smell absolutely beguiling to me.”
You roll your eyes, your finger tracing absent shapes on his chest. Heart, triangle, star. He hums at each one.
Smiley face. That earns a chuckle.
“Anyway, you weren’t half bad with Teddy either,” you muse thoughtfully. “I think you’d make an amazing dad.”
You opt not to tease him about the blush creeping up his cheeks.
“Matt.” You clear your throat. “You know, I really do want it, but… I just want you to know that I’m happy, even just now. And I’m not stupid, I know you could…,” you try not to say die, “...well, the worst could happen. Even then, I’d still want this life with you, whatever I can get. When we got married, I knew that would come with it, and– And if we do have a kid, if the future holds that for us, then it won’t just be us. We have Foggy and Karen and Marci, and my family, too. Takes a village and all that, y’know?”
You pause to catch your breath, Matt nodding you on.
“Point is, we’ll never be left alone, no matter what. I know that’s something you worry about a lot. So if– if something ever did happen to you…” You force yourself to say it, “we’d survive. We can keep living. But between surviving with you and without you, I’ll always choose with. So I’m asking you to let yourself have this. If you really want it. Just promise me you’ll be more careful.”
Have faith that it includes you.
He’s silent for a moment, his hand stroking gently at the slope of your arm.
“I promise,” he says at last, “I really do want it.”
He knows you know the rest. That’s all he can say, pressing a kiss to your temple. Thank you isn’t nearly enough, but it buzzes in his pulse anyway. Smiling faintly into your hair, he lets it stretch just long enough… Before the gravity of the moment slips from his shoulders, not all the way but just enough to let in that familiar, crooked grin.
“Oh, but you know, honey,” he murmurs, lips on your cheek, “you’re not pregnant yet.”
The laugh bubbles from your throat, and he can feel the sound against his skin.
“That was just round one.” His hand slides down to grip your thigh, and he feels you shiver. Perfect. “Let’s get to work then, Counselor.”
being Dex’s pretty princess, his chosen prize from his turn to the good side.
Ben had noticed you a few weeks prior in a cafe, already fixating on you just because of the smell of your perfume. watching you fiddle with the hair tie on your wrist, a slight indent on your skin from the pressure of it being there so long.
you turn around once you get your drink, a strawberry ry dragonfruit lemonade. hmm, a sweet tooth. his thoughts are already running rampant.
he’s already taking notes of your preferences, subconsciously obsessing over you without even realizing. your eyes meet his for a quick second, his possessive gaze turning nervous in seconds.
Dex’s breath hitches as your eyes gleam, the corner of your lips turning up in a way that makes his heart stutter.
Dex sees you again when he’s following you taking a walk outside of his usual path. His curious eyes follow you inside of a bar, watching how you sit on a bench and rest your head on your hands. He can see the way the weight on your shoulder seems to dissipate with every drink, every exhale forced out with a sigh.
for awhile he contemplates going in, starting a conversation with you, opening up the idea of a real friendship instead of just stalking you.
his thought process is annoyingly, interrupted when someone comes behind you, a bit too close for comfort, resting a hand on the small of your back. his pace picks up as his hands clench into fists, already inside the bar before the guy can even say some fuckass pick up line.
“you’re too close.” the guy balks for a second, not expecting the lady he’d seen drinking alone to have company.
“woah, i didn’t know man” he trails off with a slight tremor in his voice, unease creeping into his skin as Dex analyzes him. Remembering every part of his face so he can take care of him later.
A hand on his arm calms him though, looking down to see your wide eyed playful gaze. “it’s okay, he was just leaving.”
for a second, Dex thinks you’re talking about him. it’s not until your hand tightens around his arm as he moves away that he gets the hint.
finally alone, you smile and fully turn to him. a breathless “hi” leaves your lips, nerves firing up millions as you finally meet the man haunting your bedroom and your every step.
he stays silent for a bit, surprised that he finally gets to meet you, even more surprised that you seem to be showing interest in him. it’s only when you quirk an eyebrow at his silence that he remembers how to speak. “ oh fuck-hi, I’m Ben.”
what are the chances that dex whimpers? but only when he gets really deep. it’s just loud enough for you pay attention. he doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care. either way, it’s a whimper. he’s staring deep into your eyes, panting over you like a mad man. whimpering. as he spills into you.
he takes sleeping next to you very seriously. not necessarily in a sexual way, but rather in the knowledge that you are there with him, completely unguarded.
for most of his life, people have threaded carefully around him. he's observant, he knows when people have thought the sentences out in their heads three times before saying them.
it was the same when he was a kid after his parents died and he was sent to the orphanage, and it was the same after he killed his coach, the same when the fbi started to investigate him, and the same when he was being held prisioner by guards who shivered at the sight of bullseye.
you never hesitated, though. not when you met him, and not right now.
the window is open, much to dex's dismay. the soft summer night air slips through the window and makes the white curtain sway.
your breath comes out in short and relaxed puffs. dex watches you for hours. he's not much of a sleeper himself, but you are. and you love sleeping on him.
your head is rested over his bare chest, with a few strands of your hair falling over his skin. they tickle him in a way that reminds him that you're real.
it flatters him to a point that makes him feel almost cocky. sleeping on him means letting your guard down. it means you trust him with your life. it means that you won't go anywhere and that, at least for the night, dex has earned himself another day by your side.
hi people!!! its been a little while. I've been having my best time traveling around with my best friend, and I finally caught some time to write little bits. this was written on my phone, so I apologize for any mistakes.
content.ᐟ 18+, pathetic!dex, unprotected p in v, first time, crying, praise, pet names (baby/babygirl)
dex poindexter, bullseye, who cums within 30 seconds of being inside you.
he can't shake the thought that it feels a bit too good when your hand strokes his flushed cock lightly a few times before he inches himself in, but he couldn't bring himself to tell you that he was already close. what was he supposed to say? "i feel like i might cum from looking at you, can we take a break?" he decided to save himself the embarrassment.
so when your pussy is fluttering around his pretty pink tip, he has to clench his eyes shut and bite his lip, before burying himself to the hilt quickly. he swears he's never felt anything like your velvety heat, so warm, wet, and tight— fuck. his head falls down to your bare chest and he actually pants, cursing under his breath and not daring to move.
the soft moans and breathless whispers of his name that fall from your lips when he's fully buried inside you isn't helping either. the way your nails card through his damp hair and scratch at his scalp makes his balls tighten up, he literally has to pull his head away from your grasp so he doesn't blow his load right there. poor boy feels so bad :(
"dex?" you ask in that soft raspy tone that always manages to give him a painful hard-on. even as he's distancing himself as much as he can from you without actually pulling out, you're reaching for him, small soft hands grasping at his biceps, pulling him back into your chest.
you figure he just needs a bit of encouragement, maybe he's scared of hurting you? "feels s'good baby..." you praise him breathlessly. his dick twitches violently inside your gummy walls at that, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, like he's hiding from your impossibly soft gaze.
"m'sorry babygirl, i just- jus' need a minute..." he speaks lowly, words muffled by your neck. it sounds more whimpery than he meant it to be.
you catch on quickly after that, you then notice his trembling and heavy breathing, you have to hold back a giggle, such a big brooding guy like him all gooey under your touch and words. he has a big need to please you, but it's not his fault your pussy just feels too good!
you let a small smirk grow on your face, "oh, dexie," you coo, rubbing his back. "am i that good?" you huff a small, teasing laugh, kissing the top of his head.
he whines at the sound of your voice, and just how pathetic he feels. "just- don't talk —fuck— i'm sorry-" he shakes his head, it physically hurts him to tell you to be quiet, but if you don't, he knows he'll embarrass himself :(
you feel dex's eyes blinking against your skin, and the tears falling down his cheeks. you bring your hand to grip the hair on the back of his head, pulling him from the crook of your neck. he has big, glossy eyes staring at you with so much embarrassment.
you soften impossibly at that, "dex, baby, s'okay" you coo at him, peppering reverent kisses all over his flushed face, swiping away his tears. he leans into the contact, closing his eyes and letting you kiss all over his face. "i- i don't wanna disappoint you–" he hiccups, glancing down at where the two of you are connected, and instantly regretting it.
before you can reassure him once again, you feel him buck his hips into yours, and a sudden, warm sensation. "oh– fuuuck–" he chokes out a low groan, burying his face into your neck again. he's crying harder, fingers gripping into your shoulders hard enough to bruise as he fucks into you in shallow thrusts, moaning softly.
you lay there in almost shock, still rubbing his back tenderly as he fills you up with his warm release. "did you just–" you stutter out, letting a small, suprised grin grow on your face.
he's not so amused though, shaking like a leaf and sobbing apologies into your skin. "ohgod–" "m'so sorry, baby" "fuck– i'm so stupid" he's beating himself up, making a big deal out of cumming too soon. he collapses on top of you, not wanting there to be any space between the two of you.
"dex." you stop his spiraling firmly, squeezing his bicep and getting him to look up at you. he looks humiliated, pitifully glancing away from your gaze when you begin to speak. "i don't mind, okay?" you make him nod at that, carding your finger through his damp, blonde hair. "lets go again, yeah?"
he'd bring up the idea of you hitting him in the middle of you riding him. well, its really more like him begging you to hit him. "baby- please." "i'll be good, i'll be so good..." "just one slap-- or choke me! just once!"
and once you finally give in to his incessant pleading, and land a sharp slap over his cheek, he moans whorishly. you can't exactly say you're surprised (it is dex, afterall) but you didn't expect him to get so turned on, his dick twitching violently inside of you.
"harder" he sounds wrecked, his voice cracking and his head still turned to the side from the force of the slap. "wh- harder?" you try your best not to question it too much. your palm hits his red and flushed cheek harder than before, and while he throws his head back in ecstasy, it's still not enough for him. never enough for him.
he silently takes your hand in his, impossibly gently, and leads it up to wrap around his throat. you can feel his adam's apple bobbing under your palm, and the way his hand tightens around yours.
he makes you choke him, until his face is red and his head is dizzy, while you're still bouncing on his cock. "s'good" he manages to talk although he's literally strangling himself with your hand. he feels fuzzy, and he can feel his vision starting to go blurry. that only spurs him on.
you can tell he's close with the way his hips buck up into yours, and all you can do is watch him in a daze.
when he finally does cum, he's letting his jaw go slack, unable to take in a breath or speak. he spills inside you, pulsing rhythmically. you're the one to finally pull your hand away, watching as he takes in a deep breath, coughing. "thank y'baby" he manages a small, genuine smile. he's well aware he's sick, he's aware he could've passed out.
you already know he's going to make you do this every time you two have sex. who are you to deny him?
Loser!Dex who thought he would be a virgin forever, he didn’t have a problem with it; until he met you. He was scared that if you ever wanted to initiate sex with him he would be clueless! so he started to learn how to please a woman. He would watch porn after every date you two had, so when you had brought him back to your house after dinner and you guys were in the elevator. He was a shaking mess- you asked him if he was okay but all he could think about was if the videos would pay off..
fem! reader, mdni. 802 words. cw: he turns the AC off so he can make her sweat more, dex using his weight to keep reader in a position, pinv sex, sweat sweat sweat, hints of multiple climaxes, general filth
around this time of year with temperatures soaring like they are, your means of cooling down around the apartment had grown used and abused — fans and AC tired from their continuous and rather extensive use.
with them being on almost all hours through the day, there was only one time where dex would cut their power; a time where no one ever should do such thing.
it's not when you leave the apartment, or when you take a shower, but rather when you fuck — well, when he fucks you.
it's a control element, you believe. if there was a variable that could possibly be controlled, dex will find a way. even if it meant something as outlandish as your temperature.
dex is particular about what he likes, about what he doesn't. though when it came to you, he found that the lines would blur for what he typically permits. there wasn't one person he'd let touch him with such sweaty mitts, but with you, it was as if he'd actively seek it out.
and that's why when it would get to temperatures like these, he'd do whatever he deems necessary in order to feel your body sweat against his.
the position he's got you in is close, far too close in heatwave like this. it's as if it's to encourage the sweat production that needs no such aid: sticky back against the sheets, knees hiked up as close to your chest as you can muster. though with dex on top, arms hooked under those said bent knees of yours, he's keeping you pinned — position pushing you in on yourself almost.
there's almost no escaping it, especially not when his thighs trap you in; the upper area above either knee wedging underneath each cheek of your ass.
a moderate sheen of sweat layers between you, like it's the butter slapped on two slices of bread. it's teetering the scales into something uncomfortable, the stickiness on your skin. with the more each of your bodies produce, the more you slip with every motion and the more evident it becomes as to why he's gripping onto you so tight.
dex keeps his forehead pressed into yours below, the position an effort to keep you put exactly where you are. but with him so close, you fail to acknowledge the veins bulging up the lengths of his throat, the flatness in his dampened hair, the red spreading across his chest — all of which things you love to see on the regular, only now with him obstructing your view, and with eyes as tightly clamped closed as they are, you cannot appreciate the sights you would otherwise swoon over.
you're a mess, rather literally: hairline sodden with sweat, crevices behind your knees and elbows dripping as he coaxes you through yet another climax. fucking you through your fourth, maybe fifth orgasm.
the motion in his hips dips ever so slightly, not enough for it to be a considerable difference, but enough to allow you a moment to catch your breath.
"I can't, I'm too— I'm too hot," you pant, throat dry. your nails hook and dig into his beefy shoulder blades, crescent moon shapes forming on the surface of his sweaty, reddened skin. "it's too—"
"much. I know."
he stills inside you for a moment, balls pushing up against the lower of your cunt. he pauses, reducing movement to nothing, like he was struggling to restrain himself, battling the own control he has over himself. he couldn't come yet, not when he has you so perfectly and rather pathetically fucked out.
dex keeps his cock plugged deep in your cunt, the crown of his dick lodged in that pocket of tissue beside your cervix. he adjusts himself, only slightly, and lifts his forehead from yours, pulling it away so he can slot into the crook of your neck.
"I need one more," he breathes against the side of your throat, voice hot and he sears a litter of kisses into your dampened, salty skin.
he tests you with another pump, the motion slow and steady as he almost, nearly, entirely pulls out. and with that slight movement of his dragging cock, your trapped juices and arousal trickles out your pussy and down your ass; a milky string spilling from your cunt and into a pool on the sheets below.
that experimental thrust grows into a gradually systematic pattern, each wind getting closer and closer, deeper and deeper somehow. the sticky, stinky sweat is uncomfortable, but he's never known himself to be in such a turned on headspace.
you're the only person he wants to be coated in fluids from. there was something about knowing that the way you felt was a direct response from what he, himself, made you feel. and if thats not love, what is?
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turnnoffyourmind
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