//hi i know this is the pot calling the kettle black but.
"matt murdock who fucks you so hard and makes you cum" "matt murdock who is a sex god" IM TIRED OF IT. BRING BACK YEARNING.
matt murdock who does not believe in soulmates until he meets you.
matt murdock who learns you, who memorizes you-- your favorite foods, your hatred of certain textures, the last color you painted your nails, the things that make you tick, the way your breathing changes when you've had a long day.
matt murdock who finds himself distracted when he hasn't heard from you, wondering if you're doing okay.
matt murdock who sends flowers to your office, just because.
matt murdock who goes from bachelor with only beer in his fridge to keeping the pantry fully stocked with snacks for whenever you get hungry.
matt murdock who feels his skin start to burn when you give him the gentlest of touches-- a caress of his arm, a hand on his shoulder. it drives him crazy.
matt murdock who is intoxicated by the mere sound of your voice, learning all the different tones you take in various situations, the way your voice softens when talking to anyone you deem a baby (cats, dogs, kids, drunk foggy), or the way it hardens when you're dealing with someone you find annoying (clients, assholes at the bar, etc)
matt murdock who gets drunk with his best friend one night and leaves you 27 voicemails, ranging from twenty seconds long to fourteen minutes, all rambling about how much he loves you.
matt murdock who spends months trying to hint that he likes you, buying you lunch, asking if you need anything, always pouring your coffee just the way you like it, asking if the book you finished was good and letting you ramble about it for twenty minutes.
matt murdock who has the biggest, fattest, most disgusting crush on you.
matt murdock who blushes whenever you enter the room.
matt murdock who yearns. yearns for you.
and yeah, also, he fucks. of course. get yourself someone who can do both. get yourself someone who makes you cry from overstimulation AND spends hours kissing literally every inch of your skin because he can and he wants to.
get yourself someone like matt murdock, who can only be described as head over heels in love with you.
getting takeout with dex is so annoying. he takes forever to decide on a place because of how rarely it happens. he likes cooking, so getting him to agree to a night of greasy food and fizzy drinks is already a task in itself. once that’s decided, he wants to be chivalrous and pick the food up. save a couple dollars on delivery, all that beautiful, responsible man nonsense— which goes down the drain when he’s met with a pout and the cartoon style slow blinking of his girl’s fluffy lashes. don’t you wanna cuddle on the couch while we wait? so now he’s on the couch, face full of tits, her arms and legs wrapped around him, keeping him locked and distracted so that he doesn’t move until the doorbell dings. that’s when their position shifts to his advantage. he can get up and reach the door first. he doesn’t like it when she answers the door for delivery men, doesn’t like how they gawk and make small talk over a minimal transaction. hell, he doesn’t even like when they say her name to confirm they have the right location. it allows the world to experience his princess in bite sized pieces, which isn’t fair. she’s all his.
he hates eating in the living room, hates the crumbs on the couch and the coffee table. takeout night usually ends with him wiping down the furniture and vacuuming the rug. another reason why it’s… annoying. the best part is watching his eyes get heavier and heavier when he finally settles back down. his belly full, his girlfriend tucked against his side, his hand down the back of her shorts, gripping and toying. the reward always end up being worth the aggravations.
summary: you hated him and you hated what he had done but that didn't even stop you from doing what you wanted deep down
word counter and tw: (1,9k) smut, age-gap, injuries
The room was in semi-darkness, lit only by the orange light of a streetlamp filtering through the broken window. The air smelled of dried blood, sweat, and that faint metallic scent Dex always left in his wake.
You were sitting on the wooden chair, legs crossed and arms pressed tightly against your chest, as if trying to contain the rage eating you alive. In front of you, on the makeshift bed, lay Dex.
Asleep. Vulnerable. And that only made you angrier.
His bare torso rose and fell slowly with each breath. He had fresh bruises everywhere, shades of purple and black marking his ribs, shoulders, and abdomen. A deep cut crossed his left eyebrow, still crusted with a bit of dried blood. His face, which was usually disturbingly attractive, now looked beaten and swollen… but it was still him.
The man who had killed Foggy. The man who had nearly destroyed your brother. The man Matt, in a damn stupid act of heroism, had decided to save.
Your hands clenched into fists on your thighs. You remembered the exact moment you found out about Foggy’s death. Foggy was family, and Dex had erased him like he was nothing. Since then, every problem, every sleepless night, every time Matt came back injured… everything had Benjamin Poindexter’s name on it.
Matt had brought him here, to one of the hideouts only the two of you knew about.
“I can’t let him die,” your brother had said with that damn voice full of guilt and responsibility. You hadn’t answered him, only looked at him with so much hatred that Matt almost stepped back. And now here you were. Watching him. Because Matt had asked you to while he went out to get supplies.
Dex stirred slightly on the bed, letting out a low groan of pain even in his sleep. The movement made the sheet slide further down his hips. Despite the hatred, your eyes lingered there a few seconds too long.
You hated him even more for that.
Suddenly, Dex’s eyes snapped open, not slowly or confused, but instantly, like a predator that never fully lowers its guard. His dilated pupils focused on you immediately. For a second he said nothing, just stared at you with that disturbing intensity that defined him. Then a slow, pained smile formed on his split lips.
“Murdock…” his voice came out hoarse and broken. “What a nice way to wake up.”
You froze. You hadn’t expected him to wake up so quickly.
Dex tried to sit up a little, but the pain made him hiss and lie back down. Still, he didn’t stop looking at you. His eyes traveled down your body for a moment before returning to your face.
“You’re still here… watching me while I sleep.” He let out a low laugh that ended in a cough. “Are you thinking about killing me? Go ahead. It would be… poetic. Daredevil’s adoptive little sister avenging the fat guy.”
The hatred burned in your throat.
“Foggy had a name,” you spat with venom. “And you killed him like he was just another target. Like he meant nothing.”
Dex stared at you in silence for a few seconds. His expression changed. He wasn’t smiling anymore.
“I’ve killed a lot of people,” he said coldly. “He was just one more.”
You stood up from the chair so fast it fell to the floor with a loud clatter. In two steps you were beside the bed, looking down at him with trembling fists.
“You’re a plague. Everything that’s gone wrong in our lives has your fucking name on it. If it weren’t for Matt, I would’ve let you bleed out.”
Dex held your gaze. His eyes shone with something dark, almost excited.
“So why don’t you do it now?” he whispered, almost defiantly. “I’m hurt. Unarmed. It’d be easy for you.”
He stayed quiet for a second, then added in a lower voice.
“Or… is it that deep down you don’t want me to die?”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Your hand moved before you could think twice. You grabbed a fistful of his blond hair and yanked his head back violently, forcing him to look up at you. Dex let out a rough grunt of pain, but his eyes locked onto yours with that damn intensity that drove you crazy.
“I’m not leaving things like this,” you hissed through your teeth, your face inches from his. “As soon as my brother takes his eyes off you… I’m going to take care of you myself. I’m going to make you pay for every tear. I’m going to destroy you, Poindexter.”
Dex breathed heavily, lips parted and a crooked smile on his face despite the pain from his split eyebrow. His gaze dropped to your mouth for a second before returning to your eyes.
“You’ve never killed anyone in your life…” he murmured in a deep, mocking voice. “Do you really think you can kill me, princess?”
You tightened your grip on his hair, pulling even harder until he hissed.
“You could be the first,” you replied with pure hatred. “And I’d enjoy it.”
The silence was electric.
Suddenly, Dex pushed himself up, ignoring the pain of his wounds, and crashed his mouth against yours with brutal force. It was a furious kiss, full of rage and something much darker. His lips were split and tasted like blood, but that didn’t stop you. For a second, you responded with the same violence, biting his lower lip hard.
Then you reacted.
You pulled away sharply and slapped him across the face with such force that his head snapped to the side. The sound echoed in the room.
“Son of a bitch!” you growled, breathing hard.
Dex let out a low, dark laugh, his lip now bleeding even more. He looked at you again, eyes bright with excitement and madness.
And he kissed you again.
This time it was you who pulled him in. You grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him with even more fury, as if you wanted to punish him with your mouth. Dex moaned against your lips. One hand slid to your waist and pulled you against him hard, even though his body protested from the wounds. The kiss was dirty, desperate, full of teeth and resentment. Your hatred mixed with something you refused to name, something hot and sick that made you wet between your legs.
When you pulled away again, panting, your foreheads stayed pressed together. You looked into his eyes, breathing ragged.
“I hate you,” you whispered against his mouth.
Dex smiled with that disturbing smile that defined him, running his thumb across your lower lip.
“Good,” he answered hoarsely. “Then use me to take it all out…”
You hated him. You hated him because your body responded before your mind did.
You shoved him hard against the mattress. Dex grunted in pain as his bruised back hit the bed, but the sick smile never left his face. You climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. You could already feel him hard beneath the thin sheet.
“Shut up,” you growled, yanking your shirt off with rough movements and throwing it to the floor.
Your hands were shaking with rage and something more you didn’t want to admit. Dex looked at your breasts with shameless hunger, his hands sliding up your ribs to squeeze them hard, almost brutally. His thumbs brushed over your already hardened nipples.
“You say you hate me… but look at you,” he murmured mockingly. “You’re already soaked, aren’t you?”
“Shut up,” you repeated, weaker this time.
You leaned down and kissed him violently, biting his wounded lip until it bled again. Dex moaned into your mouth and thrust his hips upward, rubbing his erection against you. With a quick movement you unbuttoned his pants and freed him. He was rock hard, thick, and already leaking at the tip.
You impatiently stripped off the rest of your clothes and positioned yourself over him. You rubbed his tip against your soaked entrance. Dex clenched his jaw, his hands digging into your hips with force.
You sank down hard.
A rough moan escaped you as you felt him stretch you open completely. He was big and filled you too much. You stayed still for a second, breathing heavily, refusing to move.
Dex looked at you with narrowed eyes, that crooked smile still on his lips.
“You gonna stay there pretending you feel nothing?” he taunted, voice broken with pleasure. “I can feel how tight you’re squeezing me…”
“Shut up,” you growled, starting to move.
You began riding him hard, with rage. Every downward thrust was brutal, punishing him, using him. Your hands braced on his bruised torso, digging your nails into his bruises on purpose. Dex groaned in pain and pleasure, but never looked away from you.
“Just like that… fuck,” he panted. “Harder, princess. Take it all out on me.”
You increased the pace, moving your hips with fury. The wet sound of your skin slapping against his filled the room along with his groans and your ragged breathing. You tried to keep the look of hatred on your face, tried not to moan… but it was impossible.
Every time you sank all the way down, a treacherous moan escaped you. Dex noticed immediately.
“There it is…” he whispered with dark satisfaction. “You can’t pretend with me. Your pussy is gripping me like it wants to swallow me whole.”
Dex slid one hand up and grabbed your throat, squeezing just enough to make you feel dominated, even though you were on top. With his other hand he pressed his thumb against your clit and started rubbing it in fast circles.
Your body tensed. A louder moan escaped you.
“I hate you…” you gasped, but your hips started moving more desperately, chasing more friction.
“I know,” he replied with a sadistic smile, not stopping his movements. “And yet you’re going to cum on my cock like a desperate little slut.”
That infuriated and aroused you at the same time. You started riding him faster, deeper, almost violently. Your moans could no longer be contained. Every time you came down, he thrust up, slamming hard into that spot that made you see stars.
“Dex… fuck…” his name slipped out without you meaning it to.
He let out a rough, victorious laugh.
“Say it again.”
You didn’t want to, but the orgasm was approaching too fast. Your movements became erratic, your thighs shaking. Dex kept rubbing your clit mercilessly, squeezing your neck.
“I’m not… I’m not going to…” you tried to lie, but your body betrayed you completely.
You came hard, moaning loudly, clenching around him as waves of pleasure tore through you. Your nails dug into his chest, leaving red marks.
Dex cursed under his breath, mesmerized by the look of pleasure on your face. He fucked you faster through your orgasm, prolonging it until it almost hurt, until your moans turned broken and pleading.
When you started to come down, he suddenly flipped you over, getting on top despite the pain of his wounds. He spread your legs roughly and thrust back in with one deep stroke.
“Now it’s my turn,” he growled against your ear. “And you’re going to cum again… even if you keep saying you hate me.”
summary | Your ex-boyfriend, Matt Murdock, breaks no-contact when he needs someone to patch him up. But are things really over between you?
warnings | exes to maybe-lovers, goofy/sarcastic reader, hurt/comfort, banter, Catholicism, injury and blood, ambiguous ending that leans hopeful, matt is shirtless, whale sharks
wc | 3.8k
MATT'S LIVING ROOM SWIMS IN SHADES OF BLUE.
You glance sidelong at the electronic billboard posted outside his windows. “The aquarium’s got a new whale shark exhibit,” you tell him.
The ad shows a whale shark — surprise surprise — swimming up to greet smiling guests. In bold white letters, the ad reads: Come Meet the Gentle Giant
You frown.
“Do you think they only have one?” you ask, then immediately feel like a moron when you remember Matt can’t see the billboard. “It says gentle gi-ant,” you explain, “not gi-ants.”
Matt’s response is a pained groan.
He’s lying flat on the couch. Shirtless, bruised, bloody — classic Matt.
You’re kneeling in front of the couch, an open first-aid kit at your side. You’ve got a needle pinched between your fingers, threading it with what is definitely not medical-grade thread.
Eventually Matt chokes out real words.
“Whale sharks are solitary creatures,” he says. “They only gather to eat.”
Hmph.
You don’t like the way he answered. Casual. Or as close to casual as someone can get while fighting for breath. Like this isn’t weird. Like a whole year hadn’t passed since the last time you were in a room together. Like you’re still his girlfriend, entitled to a serious response to every “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”-esque question.
“Well that’s sad,” you say.
Matt shakes his head. Pretty stupid since every movement seems to cost him, but it’s clear he means to comfort you. “They prefer it that way. Besides,” he winces, “is it the aquarium down on Surf? The building’s too small. Even if they tried, they probably couldn’t get a permit for more than one.”
“Then maybe they shouldn’t have any.”
“Even if whale sharks prefer to be alone?”
Your traitorous eyes flick up from the needle to his lips. No one prefers to be alone, you almost tell him.
But that’s too vulnerable. Too close to an admission.
Instead, you say, “Even if.”
A flash as the billboard changes. New colors bathe the living room: bright red and bleach white. You don’t have to look to know what ad is on display.
The emergency room wait time for Metro-General.
Ironic.
If it was up to you, that’s where Matt would be right now. In a real hospital, getting real medical treatment.
But that’s an old argument, and vigilantes are stupid by nature. “Why would I need a doctor?” asks a dying vigilante. “This random civilian has seen Grey’s Anatomy, right? That’s basically an M.D. crash course. Someone, quick! Give them a sewing kit before my intestines meet a Brooklyn sidewalk.”
With the needle readied, you chew your bottom lip and consider Matt’s injuries. His muscled torso is a sweaty mess of slashing cuts. The worst cut steals your attention, a straight line from the top of his hipbone to a little past his belly button. Looking at it turns your stomach. It’s one of the wounds that reminds you the human body is nothing more than a meat sack.
You swallow bile — swallow fear — and reach for one of the hand towels beside the first-aid kit.
Gently — very, VERY gently — you dab the towel against his bloody wound.
Matt writhes, arching off the cushions.
“Sorrysorrysorry!” You hardly recognize your own voice. You’re too focused on Matt, his clenched teeth stifling a groan, fists curling at his sides.
Apologies don’t cure pain.
Distraction might.
“Have I ever told you how much I hate that billboard? I mean, don’t get me wrong! I miss penthouse living every day. But you know what I don’t miss? Falling asleep on the couch and waking up to the lights of a hemorrhoid cream ad burning into my retinas.”
True. You do hate the billboard, and you do miss Matt’s apartment.
Your current apartment is a shoebox that Foggy helped you score two days post-breakup. To call it a hellscape would be too kind. The lights are all faulty, a massive roach has squatter’s rights under your white refrigerator, and you’re one hundred percent certain that Frank Castle lives down the hall.
You’ve been careful to keep that last bit hush-hush. If Foggy or Karen were to find out that you share a mailroom with the Punisher, they’d definitely tell Matt.
Not that Matt would care.
…
…
…
Okay, fine. Matt would care. About everything.
He’d go on for hours about the risk of electrical fire, how roaches carry E. coli, that your landlord’s violating New York State law by refusing to install a carbon monoxide detector, and oh, yeah, a convicted murderer might knock on your door any day now for a cup of sugar!
Just thinking about it makes your chest hurt. The depth of Matt’s care.
And Matt — sweet, loving, woeful Matt — makes it all worse by saying, “I offered to buy curtains.”
He had.
Countless times.
Once again chewing your bottom lip, you toss the towel aside. You’d cleaned enough blood to see what Meredith Grey would’ve called subcutaneous tissue. Or maybe she wouldn’t have. Maybe it’s something else. Grey’s Anatomy, after all, is not an MD crash course.
Either way, the raw mess of his stomach proves what was already obvious: this cut is deeeeeeeeeep.
“Sure you don’t want any pain killers?” you ask him. “I’ve got Midol in my bag.”
He shakes his head once.
You scoff. “You know you don’t earn tough guy points for taking it raw, right?”
Matt laughs at your poor phrasing; though “laugh” might not be the best word for it. It’s more of an exhale turned cough turned sound of agony, but whatever. You take it as a win! If Matt wants to feel the pain of being a human embroidery project, so be it. At least you managed to distract him for a second, make him chuckle-cough over something silly.
“Hold your breath,” you tell him.
His brows knit with confusion. Soon as he starts to ask why, you shove the needle through the edge of the ruined flesh above his hipbone. His question becomes an exclamation that is very un-Catholic.
“That’ll be seven Hail Marys, Murdock.”
A vein pulses at his temple. “Feels more like a Psalm 88 kind of moment.”
“Is that a joke?” You settle into the old rhythm of stitching him up. Needle in, out, pull the thread, repeat. “You know altar boy humor goes over my head.”
“I was never an altar boy,” he reminds you.
You tut. “How ableist.”
“Not because I’m blind.” Amusement flickers through agony, reminding you that pain is second nature to Matt. You’ve only finished one stitch, yet already he can mask a wince when the needle pops through flesh. “I was a nervous kid,” he explains, “especially in front of crowds. My hands used to shake so much the pastor thought I’d drop the candles and set the altar on fire.”
“What a headline,” you say. “Local Blind Boy Burns Parish: God’s Judgment or Innocent Mistake?”
He chuckle-coughs.
You ask him, “Couldn’t you have carried the wine?”
“You mean the body of Christ?”
Your eyeroll is affectionate. “The wine.”
Transubstantiation is one of those things you’ve always filed under Complete Malarkey. How does random bread and crushed grapes become the body and blood of Jesus Christ? By invoking the Holy Spirit? Is that not a form of witchcraft? And why is it cannibalism to eat each other, but not the Son of God?
Catholics are, in your opinion, an awfully confusing people.
Matt’s no exception. A devout lover of God — yet a glimpse up from stitching reveals his mouth curving into a small smile. He’s always liked your sacrilege. It amuses him. Gives him reason to challenge his faith.
“If the pastor was too nervous to let me hold a candle,” he says, “you can bet he wasn’t eager to hand me the blood of our Savior.”
“If only he could see you now,” you say. “Well not now, but in court. I’ve seen you and Foggy tackle plenty of cases in jam-packed courtrooms, and not once have you ever set a judge on fire or spilled Jesus down their moo moo.”
“You mean the judicial robes they work decades to earn?”
“Whatever. Hey, while we’re on the subject, how come they did away with those powdery wigs?”
“A barrister’s wig?”
“Do you get paid by Big Law to make sure I use their terminology right?”
“I do,” he says, “and you’re cutting into my paycheck.”
You laugh.
A comfortable silence settles.
Matt’s stomach remains tense under your fingertips. But his breaths come easier now — a steady rise and fall that breeds comfort inside you. It’s easy to lose yourself in the rhythm. Needle in, out, pull the thread, repeat.
The room around you glows pale purple. It’s easy to lose the present in the past, you realize. Your mind flips through old memories like songs in a jukebox, lingering on a favorite.
You and Matt used to dance in this room. You both had two left feet and spent more time tripping over abandoned takeout containers than actually dancing, but what did that matter? You were always giggling. Matt was always smiling.
The steady weight of his hands on your lower back had been the closest you ever came to finding proof of religion. Because someone like Matt couldn’t be the result of some random assimilation of atoms. Perfection at his level required divine planning. The sweetness of spirit mixed with the miracle of light. A pure heart placed inside his chest by the sure hand of God.
But despite what the Bible tells you, God is not an expert craftsman.
Matt is proof of this, too.
When silence stretches into discomfort, you glance up.
Matt’s dead.
Okay — okay, okay! — not dead since he’s still breathing. But he looks dead, eyes shut and lips parted enough to go full cadaver.
You snap, “Eyes open, Murdock.”
“Why?” His quick response eases your nerves, even if he doesn’t obey your command. “Want to see if I can tell how many fingers you’re holding up?”
“You probably have a concussion.” Not to mention a bloodborne illness or two. When’s the last time he got tested for hepatitis? “The last thing I need is for you to fall asleep and never wake up again.”
You’re pulling the thread through his wound when you notice the smirk in his voice.
“Would you miss me?” he asks.
You hesitate.
Of course.
Of course you’d miss him.
“Foggy will start ditching me for Thursday brunch if I let you die,” you tell him. “Do you know how many waffles your life would cost me?”
Matt opens his eyes. He blinks like his eyelids weigh a thousand pounds. Like they might shut again at any moment.
He keeps them open.
“Three,” he says.
“Waffles?” you ask.
“Fingers,” he chuckle-coughs. “That’s how many you’re holding up. Three.”
Amusement bubbles in your chest, rushing up your throat like a Mentos dropped into a bottle of Coke. You try to stifle it, but a lone giggle slips out.
“I’m not holding up any fingers, idiot.”
He huffs softly. “Talk about ableism.”
You’re offended, perplexed, giggling even more now. “That was so not ableist!”
“Since when did me insulting you become me insulting the entire blind community? And I’m not even calling you an idiot because you’re blind! I’m calling you an idiot because you’re an idiot.”
“Ouch. So you really think so low of me?”
“I just said so, didn’t I?”
His head tilts where it lay on the armrest. “Remember when I graduated summa cum laude from Columbia University?” he asks.
“Remember how you currently look like the victim of a violent anthropomorphic lawnmower?” You smile when he chuckle-coughs. “Yeah, not a thing that happens to smart people, Matty.”
The world stutters for a beat. Or maybe that’s only your pulse, jolting at your embarrassing slip-up.
Matty. You almost curse yourself; what was your tongue thinking?
Matt accepts defeat with a humble “Fair enough” that doubles as your path of least resistance. He’s always been good at withholding salt from a wound, giving you time to stew in self-loathing.
You have no doubt he can still hear your heart thumping stupidly against your ribs.
This isn’t easy. Being here. Seeing him. Pretending your breakup isn’t as much a third party in this room as the billboard’s glaring lights.
You’ve already stitched three-quarters of his wound. You should finish your work in silence. Then leave before he can make this anymore difficult, remind you of some reason to stay.
And yet.
“What’s Psalm 88, anyway?”
Matt likes this question.
“You dated a Catholic for two years,” he says, “and you don’t know Psalm 88?”
“Sorry, I hadn’t realized reading the Bible was a prerequisite for sucking your—”
Ever a child of God, Matt cuts you off — his voice an octave too high — with a sudden urge to recite.
“Lord, I am overwhelmed with troubles and my life is slipping toward death. You have put me in the lowest pit, in the darkest depths. You have taken from me my closest friend—” his voice wavers here “—and made me repulsive to them. Why, Lord, do you reject me? From my youth I have suffered. Your wrath has swept over me. Your terrors have destroyed me. They surround me like a flood, engulfing me completely. Darkness,” he says, “is my closest friend.”
You say nothing.
Needle in—
You think about how pain has always been second nature to Matt.
—out—
You think about the breakup.
—pull thread—
The breakup you’d initiated.
—repeat.
“NOT TO TOOT MY OWN HORN, but that is going to be one fine scar.”
Half an hour has passed since you finished stitching Matt up. If you were wise, you would’ve excused yourself the moment you closed the first-aid kit. But excuses are easy to come by, and even easier to make yourself believe.
I’ll stay a little longer, you keep telling yourself. Just to make sure he’s okay.
At some point the two of you switched places. You’re on the couch now, legs folded underneath you. Matt stands in front of you, testing his body for breaks and sprains — stretching an arm, rolling his neck.
At your comment, he pauses his self-assessment to run his fingertips over the stitches. You track the movement, a slow sweep from hipbone to belly button.
“Some of your best work.”
The praise straightens your posture.
The curve of his lips becomes devilish. “I’m surprised,” he adds. “I thought you’d be rusty.”
“Your faith in me is astounding, Murdock.”
“My faith in you is boundless,” he shoots back. “But it’s been a while since you last played nurse.”
With theatrical flair, you say, “An artist never forgets how to paint.”
“Even if they swore they’d never touch a brush again?”
Levity drops from the air like a butterfly hitting a bug zapper.
He hadn’t meant for it to come out that way. Not resentful, but…hurt. You know this because you know Matt, and he’d sooner walk into traffic than make you feel guilty for your choices.
Some relationships are like a winter storm. Rarely do we take the first snowflake to mean danger. Some people even find them beautiful — like noticing the quirks and habits of the one we love. But snowflakes pile up. They become inconvenient. Isolating. And, in some cases, they become dangerous, too.
Sometimes the only way to stay safe is to evacuate.
Matt will never blame you for evacuating.
With a soft sniff, he turns his head toward the windows. Too quiet, he asks, "What advertisement is showing?"
The billboard shines with a dark image, car keys lying next to an empty whiskey glass. "Think twice," you read aloud, "don't drink and drive."
Matt nods. "Good message."
You nod. "Indubitably."
Matt keeps facing the windows, but your own focus has already shifted back to him. He looks sad. Confused. Like he’s trying hard to hide both emotions, yet failing miserably.
A flash as the billboard changes. White light illuminates Matt’s profile — bruised, bloody, beautiful as ever.
As if he knows the ad has changed — as if he can hear it somewhere, electrical pulses whispering secrets only to him — he asks, “How about now?”
You don’t answer. You don’t know.
You can’t look away from him long enough to find out.
“I would’ve bought curtains,” he mumbles, and you don’t know what he’s talking about. Then it hits you. Your confession about the billboard, how you always hated it. “If you would’ve told me the light bothered you, I…” He swallows. Calls upon shaky confidence, betraying that what he says next lives somewhere between truth and wishful thinking. “I would’ve fixed it.”
Your eyes start to burn.
He would’ve tried, you know. He would’ve tried.
You find yourself rising off the couch. Taking a step — two, three — to close the gap between you. Matt looks away from the windows and you swear he can see you. He does, in that peculiar way of his. Through soundwaves bouncing off your skin. The smell of your shampoo. The rhythm of your heartbeat.
“I know,” you say.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.
“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”
“Back then. Why didn’t you tell me back then? It would’ve been an easy fix.”
Your laugh is half-sob. “No, Matt–”
He reaches up to cup your cheek. “Yes,” he whispers.
It takes Herculean effort not to lean into his touch. You manage, but don’t pull away from him, either.
“Fine. You’re right. Curtains would be an easy fix. Get on Amazon and they’ll be here in ten seconds. But what about the bigger issues? The lies? The secrets? You trying to get yourself killed?”
He winces. “I’m not dead yet,” he tries to argue.
“Yet,” you say. “Key word, Matty.”
An awful key word. One that had been haunting you for far longer than the year you two had been apart.
You had never wanted to leave Matt. And if you’re being honest, you hadn’t even left because of the lying and the secrets — though they were factors. When it came down to it, you’d left because Matt was on a suicide mission. Because you wouldn’t survive watching him die.
Only now — with the warmth of his hand on your cheek — can you see the flawed logic in your breakup plan.
Sure, leaving Matt ensured you won’t be front row for his death. That it won’t be you holding pressure to wounds that can’t be stitched, crying “Lord, why do you reject him? Your perfect soldier, your pure-hearted boy?”
But that doesn’t free you from pain.
You’ll feel Matt’s death as a ripple effect through Foggy and Karen. You'll feel it inside of you, when his last breath severs the invisible string connecting you to him and him to you.
Distance will not spare you.
You will feel it.
It will hurt.
And will all this distance make it hurt worse? you wonder. Until tonight you hadn’t realized how unsteady you stood on your decision to leave. A single phone call had been all it took to undo three-hundred sixty-five days of progress. So much time spent assuring everyone you had made the right decision. That you’re happier without Matt. So much time — each second a tally toward a life free from pain, now useless as sand in an hourglass, so easy to flip.
You’re not happier without Matt.
You’re not happy, period.
The heat coming off his palm is too much. Does he have a fever? Probably. Is fever a normal response to getting sliced up like salmon on a Hibachi line? You have no clue. You'll Google it if you ever remember how to form thoughts not centered on the flecks of gold in Matt's eyes.
He speaks.
“I’m sorry I called tonight. I know I shouldn’t have. I know when you—” He can’t make himself say it. So he drags a hand through his hair. Pulls easier words from a bucket labeled: Half-truths. "I know you wanted to get away from all this. From me. And it was wrong of me to drag you back into it, but..." A chuckle-cough. "Whenever something happens...when I'm stressed, or hurt, or...or happy, I..."
His thumb traces your lower lip. Lovingly. Mournfully.
"You're still the only one I want around.”
You're bawling. You hate yourself for it, and you hate him for causing it. You sob and laugh and tell him, "You're a goddamn idiot, Matty."
He smiles at you. "I know."
"It was never you I wanted to get away from."
He hesitates. "I know."
You hate him for that, too. But what else could he have said? You both know nothing can erase the true problem. The Achilles' heel to an otherwise perfect relationship.
Daredevil.
God, you think, how is it possible to hate the mask but love the man behind it?
It's simple, though. You don't hate Daredevil. Can't. He'll be the death of Matt Murdock, but that doesn't make him any less the salvation of Hell's Kitchen.
You sigh. Does that justify it, then? Does some PEMDAS bullshit make it okay that Matt suffers so long as his suffering saves others?
You don't think so.
But you know Matt holds a different opinion.
A stupid opinion, but.
"I wish things were different," you tell him. No jokes. "Maybe we could drop Daredevil off at the shelter. Y'know, like a stray dog who won't stop digging in our trash."
Okay, fine. Some jokes.
Matt chuckles. “I don’t think the shelter will take him.”
“Can’t say I blame them.”
You don’t know when you grabbed Matt’s other hand, the one not touching your face. You only know that you’re playing with his fingers, trying to keep more tears from escaping. He hadn’t coughed when he chuckled this time. Does that mean he’s feeling better? You hope so — and hope not, too.
You're not ready to go back to your shoebox apartment. You don't want to crawl into bed alone. Spend all night wondering if walking out Matt's door a second time makes it permanent. What are you supposed to do? Go back to getting all your Matt-related info via Thursday brunch with Foggy? Search for scraps of him in your texts with Karen?
No.
You're not sure you can survive that, either.
But what does that leave?
"Let me buy you dinner."
Your pulse jolts. “Matt…”
"Nothing romantic," he promises. Though the way his thumb continues brushing your bottom lip feels opposite of that. "And it doesn't have to change anything. Tomorrow we can go back to our normal lives, pretend none of this ever happened. But tonight...how about pizza? We can call it repayment for you saving my life."
You should say no.
You smile despite yourself. "Fine, but I get to pick the toppings."
A flash as the billboard changes. Shades of blue wash over you both.
Even without Matt’s enhanced senses, you swear you hear joy spark to life in his veins.
"I wouldn't have it any other way.”
A/N | if you've read this far, i am in love with you and i've already booked our flight to Vegas. booked the Elvis impersonator, too. do you have any allergies i should know about? i love you.
seriously, thank you so much for reading! comments and reblogs much appreciated :)
Summary: Matt gets hot and bothered when you start touching his scars.
Warnings/Tags: 18+, MDNI, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), biblically accurate whiny Matt, scratching, scars, no choking but Matt puts his hand on your throat to feel you moan, mentions of past violence, sorta overstimulation.
"What happened here?"
Matt dragged his hand down your naked thigh, and a shudder overwhelmed his already overstimulated body as your fingers absentmindedly danced across his slick shoulders. He slowly raised his attention from where it had strayed between your knees, and his swollen lips parted with a shaky exhale.
"What?"
You cocked your head, and your warm cheeks pulled tight with a smile as you traced the same line again.
"Your scar," you said, idly stroking the skin. "I've never noticed this one before." He could hear your eyes shift back to his face. "What happened?"
A breathy chuckle left his mouth, and he hung his head, a lock of damp hair sweeping past his flushed cheek.
"It's hard to remember," he admitted, skimming his lips over the inside of your knee. "They've all started to blur together at this point."
You pressed your lips together in amusement, and your hands shifted to tickle his delt, tracing the silver lines littering the flexing muscle as he shifted above you.
"I like looking at them," you murmured as his mouth wandered back to your knees, the sound of your drumming pulse drowning out most of your audible sentiment. "I like looking at you."
"I like looking at you, too," Matt murmured, a smile splitting across his busy lips at your following giggle. His eyes flicked in the direction of your face, and he raised a brow. "Can I continue now?" he asked, already beginning to trail kisses down the inside seam of your thigh. You hummed in confirmation, but your hands continued to wander.
The warmth of your scent overwhelmed his senses as Matt lowered his face between your parted legs. Heat radiated from your parted folds, and the resounding sound of your hammering pulse had his eyes rolling back into his head. He took you by the ankles when your legs threatened to close, grounding himself as his thoughts grew hazy. Your body twitched with anticipation, and your breath hitched as his lips skimmed your slick skin. The sheets shifted beneath you as your shoulder drew together.
And yet, despite gripping your thighs as they quivered with pleasure, despite smelling your arousal as it flooded your slit, despite listening to the high-pitched noises as they freely left your parted lips, and despite sensing all other clear signs of your obvious, mind melting pleasure, you still managed to ask, "And this one?"
He blinked, and the sound of your steady voice had his working mouth pausing.
"What?"
A full laugh rumbled through your body, and he listened to the friction of skin against fabric as you relaxed back deep within the ruffled sheets. You brushed your thumb over a thick, raised piece of healed skin stretching from the tip of his bicep down to the junction of his elbow.
"This scar, Matt," you said, the sensation of your fingers sending goosebumps erupting across his upper body. "How'd you get this one?"
Matt's face contorted out of confusion—brows rubbing one another and nose wrinkling—and audible evidence of his perplexity escaped from his throat as he opened his slick mouth.
"You're still talking about the scars?" he asked, and the heat of your cheeks moved as you nodded. "Really?"
"Afraid so," you teased, and you must have noticed his face falter because you quickly added, "I'm curious!"
"But why now?" Matt asked. "I'm sort of in the middle of trying to do something with you, and you—" he began, frustration apparent as he shifted, "—and all you want to do is... is—what?" he asked, shadow swallowing you as he buried his anchoring hand into the sheets besides your head. "Listen to me talk about all the times I've been stabbed?"
It was difficult to differentiate between the beat of his own irritation-fueled, escalating pulse and the excitement of yours. One of your wandering hands smothered itself over his heart and the other cupped his heaving side, and the effect of your hot palms on his skin was immediate and obvious; his jaw fell open, his eyes practically crossed, and his entire body jolted under the touch of your nimble fingertips as you played his protruding abs like the strings on a guitar.
Matt couldn't hold back the strangled mewl that fell from his numb mouth as his dick twitched against the smooth skin of your belly.
"I thought you liked it when I touched you, Matthew," you murmured, and he grit his teeth at the clear amusement in your voice. "Do you want me to stop?"
"No," he said quickly before snapping his jaw shut and hanging his head. "Don't."
"Then tell me about this one," you said, and he felt the tip of your finger encircle a prominent scar on his lower ribs. A whine left his throat at the sensation, and he struggled to keep his answer steady.
"Bullet," Mat bit. "'Just grazed me. I—" he began, but the words fell out of his wide open mouth as you palmed his twitching pec. "I can't remember who shot it."
He felt your hand wander from his side, and you repositioned your arms to rest over his shoulder, your fingers continuing to explore the expanse of his quaking back.
"You've got a lot over here," you murmured as he managed to slowly lower himself to his elbows. His hips moved at their own accord, smothering his dick between his own quivering stomach and yours. Matt had to bury his face in the crook of your neck to muffle his groans as you poked and prodded at his back. "You should watch your back more often."
"I'll keep that in mind," he grunted only for his entire body to seize as you dipped two fingers into the cavern of muscle that trailed along his spine. You hummed and followed the wide scar all the way down to his lower back which arched into your touch. His hips twitched out of instinct, and Matt moaned as his dick pulsed.
"What happened here?"
"Jesus, woman," he whined, fisting the sheets beside your face. "Knife—no—hook," he said, swallowing. "It was—uh—Japanese mobsters—the Yakuza."
"Did they catch you by surprise?" you asked, and his breath hitched as you dug your fingers into the superficial skin. "'Seems like it was deep."
"It was," Matt wheezed, audibly out of breath. "It was very," he murmured, and thrusted his hips against your stomach, desperate for friction, "very deep."
Your fingers danced over the healed-over skin, gently massaging the growing ache in his tense muscles.
"Do any of them still hurt?"
He huffed into your neck, and his jaw felt like it was permanently hinged open.
"That one does sometimes," he murmured into your skin, lips wet with his own saliva and your slick, "but it's better when you—" he tried, and his back arched like a cat's into your palm, his dick bobbing against his stomach "—when you touch it like that."
"Maybe I should touch you more often," you said, and his eyes rolled back into his head as your hands flattened out across his lower back and sunk his hips into yours. The tip of his dick ground into your folds under the pressure of your hands, pushing roughly against your slit for somewhere to go before clipping your hole and slipping inside in one swift motion.
Matt's entire body shuddered, already overstimulated as he wetly moaned your name in your neck. You hummed, and your smile brushed the shell of his ear. "It seems like you enjoy it when I touch you, Matthew."
No longer able to think clearly with the horny haze fogging up his mind, Matt's hips moved on their own accord. His own slick, trembling skin slapped against your composed hips, and his cock chased its own high while the rest of his body found overwhelming stimulation from your prodding fingers. Every swipe, smother, and stroke of your hands had his body jerking and twitching like a man possessed.
Matt desperately mouthed at your pulse, and he swallowed around the pound of your heartbeat to muffle his whines when the signs of your whittling composure flooded his senses; your breathing had grown erratic, the rise and fall of your hips threatened to fall out of time with his own rhythm, and the most wonderful sounds vibrated the box deep in your throat.
"Matt," you gasped as his hand reached up to rest around your throat. A strangled cry left his wide open mouth as your vocal cords hummed like electrical wire beneath his palm, the signs of your need overwhelming his system. Your hands grasped his shoulders to ground yourself as his pace began to falter. His mouth moved against your neck, but he couldn't form words. "Oh, Jesus, Matthew."
The noises fell freely from his mouth as he felt your slick legs lock around his tilted hips, and your hands desperately clawed at his back for something to hang onto. Matt's entire body convulsed as your nails dug themselves deep into his middle back and dragged themselves all the way back up to his shoulders. And as your body seized around his, the pressure inflaming the burn of the long scratches marring his back, for a moment, Matt swore he saw God. His hips chased the internal pleasure as a hot, white, overstimulated shock overwhelmed him, and his dick jerked within your mutual release.
It sounded like he was underwater, and only the thunderous, slowing pulse of your heartbeat broke through his waterlogged ears. His whine was muffled as he slowly pulled his hips from yours, his core quivering and his thighs trembling, and he lazily reached up to wipe the mess of drool from his lips as he raised his head.
One of your hands cupped his jaw, and your thumb smeared the remaining spit on his lips.
"What's this one from?"
Matt hummed as your voice broke through the obstruction in his ears, and he leaned into your palm as your thumb passed over his top lip to follow the ridge of an old scar. An exhausted chuckle ripped through his spent lungs.
"You really are somethin' else," he grumbled, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. You grinned against him and lazily threw your arms around his neck, brushing the fresh marks lingering in his skin.
"I think you might've given me some new scars," he murmured, rolling his shoulders back. Goosebumps erupted across his body as you tickled the fresh area of sensitivity.
[MDNI, nudity, bullseye out of context, touching, barely proof read, violence] [not my gif idk the owner]
Only you could touch him like this.
Others just touched him to hurt him.
You stood in front of him, his shirt off after a shower. Your left hand grazed the side of his rib cage and moved to his abs. They were so big that they jutted out of his stomach. You loved that you could see them under his shirt sometimes. Your right hand went to his pec, another strong muscle, and you gently ran your nails down it.
Dex really took care of himself. At first he would work out just to stay in shape and be strong enough to win in a fight but after how much he noticed you staring, he kept up his work outs for you.
Your left hand moved up to feel his massive shoulder, giving him a slight massage. He watched you as your hand moved lower over his bulging biceps and then lower to those huge hands. Hands that were normally used to hurt and kill were only used for pleasure on you. His fingers moved to intertwine with yours, bringing them up to his mouth and placing kisses on your fingers.
"You promise you'll be careful tonight?" you asked while looking at him from under your lashes. Dex continued to kiss each of your fingers and smiled down at you.
"Always, I'm always careful for you" he said leaving a kiss on your forhead.
Most of the time Dex would only come home with a few deep cuts and some bruises but he was always taking a chance. Every time a punch would make his head buzz he would fill with rage, sometimes blacking out while brutally killing everyone around him. It would sometimes get to him especially knowing you would be upset when he came home with fresh bruises. But he knew only one person could touch him to make him feel good, and that person was you.
summary: You spent months trying to catch the person breaking into your apartment. The last thing you expected was waking up face to face with him.
pairings: benjamin “dex” poindexter x afab!reader
warnings: 17k words. mature themes. dubcon. voyeurism. unprotected p in v. stalking. home invasion. invasion of privacy. hidden cameras. fingering. panty stealing. masturbation mention. power imbalance. unhealthy relationship dynamics. firearm. praise kink. degradation. dirty talk. clothed grinding. hair pulling. clitoral stimulation. nipple play. breast play. multiple sex positions. internal ejaculation. creampie. breeding implications. read responsibly.
note: this fic took me a while to write it and also stressed me out. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!
Dex looks back at the months before he ever knew you existed, and he can’t believe how everything changed. He used to maintain his schedule, but now his entire life revolves around what you do. He didn’t plan to follow your path home or learn your daily habits when he first saw you. It started out as a random coincidence on a Tuesday night, yet it turned into a fixation he couldn’t stop. Now he spends his evenings watching your windows from the shadows across the street, and he remembers every single detail of the moment his small little world got disrupted. It happened late at night at the local supermarket while you stood in the brightly lit produce section. You were inspecting the fruit display when you already had two large pineapples resting in your basket.
Dex stepped up right beside you to check the pile for himself because he needed something to do with his hands. He watched your face as you turned another pineapple around to check the surface, and he wanted to speak up before he could hold himself back. He wanted to see how you would react to being interrupted. You moved your hair out of your way, but you didn’t look up until he initiated the conversation. He picked up a fruit of his own and turned it in his hand before he spoke. “That’s plenty of pineapples for a girl like you,” Dex said as he rolled the rough texture under his palm. You stopped what you’re doing while heat flooded your face because you knew what people thought about that specific fruit.
Your shoulders tensed up while you clutched the handle of your basket tightly to hide your sudden discomfort. Dex sensed the immediate change in your posture, and he realized what his words implied. “Oh, god. No, no,” Dex muttered while he held his hands up to show he wasn’t trying to be crude. “That’s not what I mean at all,” he added before you could walk away from the display. “I have a big family,” you lied as you tossed the third pineapple into your basket and tried to look confident. He could see right through the deception because your nervous blinking gave everything away. “Sure, pineapple girl,” Dex replied with a chuckle before he turned on his heel and left you alone with the fruits.
You thought the strange encounter was over, but he waited outside the glass doors until you finished paying for your groceries. He kept his distance on the dark sidewalk as you walked towards your apartment building, which was only a short distance from the store. He trailed behind you on the dark streets, and he carefully watched how you walked. You reached the front entrance and unlocked the door before you stepped inside without checking behind you. He watched from across the road until a single light flipped on in a third-floor window, and he confirmed his initial suspicion. There was no big family waiting inside that apartment because you lived by yourself. Living alone without checking your surroundings isn’t safe at all.
What if a different person found you instead of him? Someone else might easily have bad intentions if they followed you to your door. Dex wouldn’t do anything actually to hurt you, though. He constantly tells himself he only wants to watch over you. He believes he’s doing you a massive favor by making sure nobody else can get close. You’re unaware of how vulnerable you are every single night. Dex cared about you enough to learn every detail of your life. He knows you have an old laptop you only ever use for writing. He didn’t know who you were writing about at first, but he looked it up later. He learned that you write stories about characters in movies or on television.
The internet showed him that whatever you do in your free time is called fanfiction. Dex only found out about your hobby because he cared enough to pick the lock of your apartment while you were out. He found the same key for your door online, so he could come back whenever he wanted. He also cared enough to install multiple cameras from different angles inside your apartment. You won’t ever find them because they’re well hidden in places you barely ever look at or touch. The only place lacking a camera right now is your bathroom. He knows he’s a huge hypocrite for putting a camera in your bedroom without putting one in the shower too. He prefers to draw a weird line right there so he doesn’t feel like a creep.
He wants to watch you sleep or type on your bed rather than cross that one boundary. It makes him feel like a protector instead of a bad guy. Dex rarely follows you around the streets when you actually leave your home. He does it sometimes, but doing it in person is a lot more tiring. Trailing behind you in public has way too much risk compared to breaking in. He much prefers watching over the camera screens when he relaxes comfortably at his own place. He finally started reading some of the stories you wrote by opening your laptop while he stood right inside your bedroom. Dex already figured out the fanfiction part earlier, yet he didn’t realize you were writing pure smut until he actually clicked on the specific documents.
He never expected a girl like you to write something so dirty and he couldn’t even imagine doing half the things he read, but you somehow brought them into reality. What only drove him to jerk off in the first place was when he found out your hidden drafts on that old laptop. Finding those files made him start digging your dirty panties out of your laundry basket whenever he visits your empty apartment. He uses the unwashed fabric to jerk off to the scenes you wrote while he takes a spot on the edge of your bed. He imagined it was you and him doing it while he read a draft where the characters were fucking over a table.
He easily pictured bending you over your own table to make you read your own words out loud while his cock thrusts inside your cunt. Dex swears he always brings the garments right back to their spot in the hamper so you never notice they went missing. He was never sloppy when he did those kinds of things in your apartment. He never actually took your clothes home because he made sure they were strictly for one-time use. He would find a pair of dirty panties, and he always put them right back in the same spot after he finished. He never left any evidence behind that could prove he was inside your bedroom while you were gone. He knew your schedule well, so he knew how much time he had to finish his business before you came back.
He never let himself get distracted enough to make a careless mistake. Dex likes to think he’s a good guy at the end of the day. He might admit he’s a little perverted, but he’s just a normal guy. What else was he supposed to do when he read those things on your screen? His cock got hard as soon as he pictured you doing those acts so that he couldn’t ignore it. He couldn’t just take care of it right then and there. He convinced himself it was natural for a man to react that way to such graphic writing. He didn’t feel guilty because he believed anyone else in his position would do the same thing. He even went into your bathroom to clean himself up whenever he had extra time. He memorized how everything originally looked before he ever touched your things, so he remembered where every item belonged.
Dex’s condition actually helped his case during these visits because he couldn’t physically rest until everything in the room looked the way he’d left it. He would adjust the laundry basket or wipe down the sink until the apartment was spotless again. He made sure the entire place looked untouched so you would never suspect a single thing. He left your home as he found it every time. What he doesn’t know is that you aren’t stupid or clueless at all. You felt it for weeks, and maybe even months. You get a strange feeling that someone has been inside your apartment while you were gone. You always feel like someone is watching you, but proving it is hard. Trying to confirm your suspicions never works out because every single item is where you left it.
Sometimes the whole apartment smells different when you walk through the front door. There are times you smell a trace of an unknown laundry detergent on your bedsheets, or you notice a different cologne in the bedroom. The place smells like a man when you come back home. You start taking photos of your rooms before you leave. Your camera roll fills up with pictures of your bookshelf, desk, and kitchen counter. Then you compare them on your phone once you get back home, but every object matches the photos, so it only makes you feel crazier. You didn’t tell your friends about the situation since nobody would ever take you seriously. They would blame it on your stress or point out how burnt out you are.
Your obsession with horror movies and documentaries would become their excuse for your fear if you ever told them, so you prefer to hide the truth. It bothers you too much that you wonder if you are mentally unwell, especially those nights when you wake up from interrupted sleep because you feel somebody is standing right beside your bed, yet the room is always empty when you look around. Your paranoia led you to change little things on purpose to test your sanity. Leaving your laptop directly on the bed instead of your desk is your first attempt at setting a trap, but nothing happened. You try turning a random book upside down on the shelf. Sometimes you even leave a cabinet door slightly open in the kitchen before walking out of the place.
Everything is the way you usually leave it every time you return home. It scares you more than you’ll ever admit. A normal person breaking in would never bother cleaning up after themselves, or at least they would get sloppy enough. You decide to do something about the situation to cope with it. That’s why you start writing a new story about your experience. It’s obvious a stalker must check their victim’s gadgets too. The plot revolves around a stalker character and a woman who knows somebody is watching her but can’t prove a single thing, which is basically just your situation. Typing it out helps you manage your anxiety at first. You use the story as a test to see if anyone is actually looking through your laptop.
What you don’t realize is that Dex is actually reading those drafts. He sees every single word you type about him, but simply writing about the situation doesn’t rattle him. It pushes you to try something more direct, where you type out a new scene in which the victim leaves a sticky note beside her laptop. The note contains three simple words asking who the stalker is. You write that draft late at night, and you have absolutely no idea he knows what you are doing because he watches you type through the hidden cameras inside your bedroom. You tell yourself to wait for the morning to actually write it on the paper, and you stand by your word when you grab a sticky note from your desk the second you wake up.
You write the same question and leave a simple ‘Who are you?’ right beside your closed laptop so your room matches the draft before you leave for the day. You expect to feel a sense of control over the situation, yet your stomach drops the moment you lock your front door. The anxiety follows you everywhere you go and makes it difficult to focus on anything else because you only want to get back home to check your desk. You expect to find a clear answer waiting for you, but everything looks the same when you step inside. There is nothing different, and not even a single item is out of place. It leaves you feeling disappointed after seeing the paper resting there without anything written on it besides your own handwriting.
The scene ends where you left it, without a single letter edited in your document, too. You desperately want him to react, and the lack of proof frustrates you more than you would ever admit. It makes you wonder if you are losing your mind over nothing. That frustration only pushes you to try harder, so you write another scene showing how the victim feels like she is going crazy from the silence. You write that the character leaves a new message claiming ‘I know you’re here.’ before you put a second real note right beside your laptop. You refuse to move the paper or write anything new since you put that on your desk, and you force yourself to wait for him to make a move. You spend three days checking that same spot every single morning and night without getting a single reaction.
The agonizing wait only makes you more bothered by every little sound in your apartment until you decide to escalate the situation after waiting two more exhausting days. You write about the victim leaving a cup on the kitchen counter to catch her stalker, and you put a sticky note underneath a mug in your actual kitchen right after you finish typing. What you do in real life becomes a reflection of what you write on your laptop. You ask a simple question on the paper and put, ‘Are you reading this?’ to test if he actually reads your screen. You spend your entire time outside your home distracted, as you constantly wonder if this attempt will finally work. Maybe it’s fate that your instincts are telling you something because there are finally changes when you push your front door open later that night.
The mug is positioned where you left it, so nothing seems obvious at first glance. The sticky note waits hidden at the bottom, and you almost throw the paper away in defeat until you notice the mug is facing the wrong direction. You realize that the small detail has to be an intentional answer. The handle originally pointing toward the refrigerator now points directly at the sink. Nobody else would ever spot such a small difference, but you only notice it because you took a photo to compare against the counter. Your hands shake while you hold your phone up close to the cup. You don’t call the police or tell your friends about the update regardless of how you feel. You immediately run to your room to finish the draft you’re working on instead.
You type out how the stalker visited the apartment and moved the mug so the victim finally gets her proof. A sick thrill takes over you after finally confirming a real person was actually inside your personal space. That adrenaline makes you write another update where the victim becomes much bolder about the whole situation. She stops asking whether somebody is there because she already knows the undeniable truth. You refuse to let that rush of adrenaline die down, so you quickly plan your next move. The chapter ends with her wanting to know what the stalker wants from her. You stick a new note directly onto the center of your laptop screen asking, ‘What do you want from me?’ right before you leave your apartment the following morning.
It brings a personal risk, but you crave the closure it might bring. The note is where you left it when you finally returned hours later. You pull it off the screen, and your heart races while you flip the paper over. You trace your trembling fingers over the letters because his only response is a handwritten ‘Keep writing, sweetheart.’ on the back. The reality of the situation slaps you in the face while you stare down at his handwriting. Who actually does something like this? What kind of sick freak thinks this is a game? You are so pissed that your fingers dig into the edge of the desk. You grab a marker to write a message telling the stalker to fuck off. You leave the paper on your desk and threaten to call the police if he ever comes back.
“Just leave me alone,” you mutter to the empty room. That was your boiling point to stop writing more drafts to entertain a sicko. You shut your laptop hard enough that it makes a loud sound against your desk, and you almost throw the machine across the room. Dex watches you through the live feed on his monitor with a small smirk on his face. He leans back in his chair because he loves seeing you get all fired up, yet he avoids your apartment for the next few days to give you space rather than backing away out of fear. He wants you to deal with your own anger. The silence he gives you almost makes you believe your threat scared him away. Are you safe? Did he actually listen to you? It feels like you can breathe again, but you should have known a guy this obsessed would never easily give up.
You should have known he would pull some tricks on you, like leaving a rose right on your kitchen counter. How the fuck did he even get inside again? You grab the flower and then throw it into the trash without a second thought. Dex watches you destroy his gift through the screen before he rubs a hand over his face in frustration. He can’t understand why you would do that, but he also loves pushing your buttons. Did you not like the flower he picked? Who wouldn’t like roses? It was the first flower he bought to test the waters since it was always a classic choice. He is a persistent guy, so he leaves more bouquets despite your refusal to acknowledge them. He knows it pisses you off, and he thrives on it even when every single one ends up in the garbage the second you find them.
He switches to tulips the next time he visits your place, but you don’t even try to smell them. Flowers are not cheap in this economy, yet he is willing to buy different kinds of flowers as gifts for you, only to see how mad you can get. His next choice is peonies because he hopes to figure out what will make you smile, or maybe he wants to see you snap again. What does he expect you to do? Thank him for stalking you? Write him a love letter? Those gifts might feel less threatening, but they invade your personal space. The way you ignore every delivery starts working, though, because it drives him crazy. He might be getting frustrated by you, but your fear starts to turn into pure annoyance. You hate yourself for starting to expect flowers waiting for you after a few weeks, and that makes you angry because he acts like a boyfriend instead of a stalker with crazy tendencies.
Why is he playing house with you? It makes your stomach churn that you have to check around out of habit to see what kind of flower he brought inside. You know what he’s doing, and he’s fucked to think he can train you to act like a pet waiting for a treat from its owner, but this time you refuse to let it happen. You are not dumb enough to ignore the break-ins, and you are tired of his shit. He’s wearing down your patience to the point where you’re considering hiring someone to replace the locks. You pay good money so that you can feel safe again, but replacing them does absolutely nothing. Dex picks the door in seconds, like he always does, before he leaves another bouquet on your kitchen table the next afternoon.
How is he doing this? Is your privacy a joke to him? Him picking the new lock pisses you off way more than the flowers do. He has no boundaries at all, and he wants you to know it. “You have got to be kidding me,” you groan out loud while tossing the fresh flowers into the trash. You start leaving hostile written messages scattered around the apartment knowing he will read them. You want him to know how much you despise his actions. You put notes on the fridge or the bathroom mirror out of spite to tell him how much you hate his presence. Dex collects every piece of paper you leave behind like he enjoys making you angry. He never leaves a written response to any of your notes because he wants to see how far your frustration will push you.
His responses come through actions instead, like leaving a basket of groceries on your counter or dropping off a new book you wanted. Does he think he is taking care of you? Is he treating you like a pet? You reach your breaking point when you open the fridge to find a new carton of milk he bought for you. The audacity makes you want to move away and live somewhere else. “Stop hiding like a coward!” you shout at the ceiling before grabbing a marker from the counter. You write a message telling him to show his face if he plans to continue entering your home because you are done playing his stupid game. Dex watches you slap the paper onto the fridge, and he smiles knowing you finally gave him the invitation he wanted.
His only response to your angry message is a short note left right on your bathroom mirror. It says ‘See you soon’ without any other explanation. You spend the next few weeks waiting for him to make a move. The first week is hell because every noise outside your apartment makes you think tonight is finally the night. You spend hours staring at the ceiling while wondering if he’s standing right outside your door. Your mind goes right back to how easily he got inside before every time you try to find some comfort, everything might be over. You even start looking inside your closet or pulling back the shower curtain every time you come home. How long can someone continue living like this before they finally lose it?
Nothing happens yet, but somehow that makes everything worse because it feels like you’re just waiting for him to show up. The lack of effort from him makes the anticipation worse. The paranoia drains your energy until you can barely hold your eyes open during the second week. You stop checking the door every few minutes because you’re too tired to continue doing it. All you could do was get through the day, then come home to an apartment that’s constantly messing with your head. That exhaustion lets your guard down when the third week passes without any new flowers or rearranged groceries. You convince yourself the note was just another way to scare you. Maybe he got bored and found someone else to mess with.
You actually think he gave up after you didn’t find any sign that someone got inside again. You slowly start to believe you’re alone again, so you don’t bother checking every corner of your bedroom before climbing into bed. You don’t even remember falling asleep because the next thing you know you’re staring up at your ceiling again when something wakes you up in the middle of the night. You don’t think anything of it at first because you’ve been waking up like this almost every night. Nothing bad ever happens when you wake up like this, so why would tonight be any different? You only wait there for a few seconds before pushing yourself up against the headboard to rub your eyes because all you want is to look around the room before going back to sleep.
Everything seems normal at first glance until you notice somebody sitting right at the edge of your bed. This can’t actually be happening right now. You instinctively yank the blanket up closer around yourself while staring at the intruder who somehow got past your door again. How the fuck did he get inside? It takes a few seconds for your brain to process who it is. The guy isn’t some random stranger because you recognize him from the supermarket. You shouldn’t even remember that awkward conversation about pineapples, yet everything suddenly makes sense. Everything leads back to him, and you try to process how long he has been waiting there watching you sleep. Dex doesn’t move closer to you or try to touch you.
He looks comfortable, as if being in your bedroom in the middle of the night were the most normal thing in the world. He doesn’t move from where he is to let you process the situation before he speaks. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says calmly while he looks right at you. He notices the fear on your face before he tells you that he genuinely believes those words should reassure you. Those promises mean nothing coming from a man like him. You don’t find his reassurance comforting in the slightest bit because he already crossed every possible boundary long before he appeared in your bedroom. There isn’t a single part of this that is okay. What kind of logic makes him think those words are enough, after everything he’s already been through?
The audacity of his calmness sparks anger right beneath your fear. He already broke into your home to watch you sleep, so there is no excuse for this. “Get the fuck out of my apartment,” you demand while trying to steady your shaking voice as you point toward the bedroom door. You expect him to apologize for sneaking in, but he acts like this entire situation is normal. Dex ignores your order from the edge of the bed. “I’m one of the good guys,” he says calmly while watching your reaction. You let out a breath because you can’t believe a single word coming from a man who spent months stalking you. “Good guys don’t break into houses to watch people sleep,” you snap back at him while gripping the blanket.
The lack of guilt on his face makes you want to punch him since he honestly thinks he did nothing wrong. “Your intentions don’t matter after everything you already did, so prove it instead of expecting blind trust,” you say while maintaining your distance from him. Dex nods before reaching toward the waistband of his pants. You tense up because you genuinely think he’s finally about to attack you. He slowly pulls out the gun he brought with him instead. You expect him to aim it, but he places the firearm on the mattress right between the two of you. He gently nudges the pistol toward you so it sits closer to your hands. You stare at the object while trying to figure out his actual plan.
“Take it,” he says while he checks your face for a reaction. “If you really think I’m here to hurt you, then you should have something to stop me,” he explains while leaving his hands visible. He rests his palms against his thighs, so you know he isn’t grabbing anything else. This action is meant to reassure you, but it only reminds you that you have no idea what he is thinking. You hesitate to grab the pistol because every instinct tells you this is a bad idea. What if he just wants an excuse to hurt you? You eventually reach out to snatch the gun off the sheets before you can change your mind. You grip the handle tightly and point the barrel directly at his forehead without even thinking about it.
You expect him to dodge or hold his hands up in defense. Dex doesn’t flinch or argue with you at all. He doesn’t try to take the gun back either. You can feel the sweat forming on your palms while you hold the weapon up. He sits on the bed while you aim the firearm in his direction with shaking hands. You wait for him to do something while resting your finger right next to the trigger. The room is silent while Dex slowly scoots closer across the mattress instead of backing away from the gun. “Stop moving,” you warn him while tightening your grip on the pistol. He ignores your warning without acting aggressively at all. He moves forward until the barrel is only a few inches from his face. You push yourself harder against the headboard to get away from him.
He leans forward until his forehead touches the metal. He looks you straight in the eye without blinking. This gesture isn’t a bluff or some kind of challenge to him. Dex genuinely believes he’s proving he never intended to hurt you. You are dealing with someone whose mind works nothing like everyone else’s. “Shut the fuck up,” you warn him while pushing the barrel against his forehead. Dex doesn’t flinch away from the metal. “You’re not going to shoot me,” he says, and watches your expression. He talks like you hold a toy instead of a loaded gun. “You spent months leaving notes to make me show up,” he explains before pointing at the weapon. He believes those papers were an open invitation. “You wanted this as badly as I did,” he adds without a hint of fear.
You shake your head to shut down his twisted logic. “I wanted to know if I was going fucking crazy,” you snap back at him and push the gun harder against his skin. You insist you only left those messages to prove someone was breaking in. “I never wanted some creep inside my apartment,” you tell him while your chest heaves with every breath. Dex doesn’t look convinced by your anger. “We’ve been communicating for months already,” he argues like you two were exchanging friendly letters. He views the situation as a normal relationship instead of an invasion of your privacy. He ignores the weapon to bring up private details nobody else should know. “You’re a good writer,” he says, and looks into your eyes.
“Don’t bring that shit up,” you warn him while your finger twitches over the trigger. “I opened every document on that laptop because I wanted to know you,” he confesses while watching your face. You think he lies to get inside your head. “Even the drafts you never posted,” he adds before quoting a line from a scene where a character begs to be fucked on a desk. You never posted any of those drafts online, yet he knew the exact lines, so you realized he had really gone through your computer. Dex doesn’t stop there because he wants you to know what he does in your bedroom. “I read those stories way before you started leaving me notes,” he reveals while a smirk forms on his lips. He casually mentions how much he enjoyed reading your dirty drafts whenever he broke into your place.
You stare at him as you try to process the invasion of your privacy. “I didn’t expect you to write things like that,” he says before chuckling at your reaction. The way he talks about your personal files makes you feel exposed. “You have such a dirty mind,” he says without any shame. Dex finally lifts his hand from his thigh and reaches forward to touch your face. He brings his hand up to the back of your head while his thumb gently rubs your cheek. He slowly runs his fingers through your hair like he is trying to calm you down. You let the gun fall onto the mattress so you can place both hands against his chest to push him away. His body doesn’t move an inch when you shove him backward.
You try to push him a second time, but he ignores your effort. Your frustration boils over so you punch his chest before your hands grab handfuls of his shirt. “Get off me right now,” you demand while glaring up at him. Dex caresses your hair without acting bothered by your anger. “You can punch me all you want,” he says before he looks down at your hands. He tilts his head because he feels the anger radiating off your body. “I really don’t want to hurt you,” Dex promises while looking right into your eyes. You don’t believe a single word coming out of his mouth. He notices your doubt, so he tries to explain himself again. “I have no intention of harming you,” he insists while his voice sounds calm.
You want to scream because stalking is already a crime. “I never left any threats around the apartment,” he points out before defending his actions. He acts like unlocking your door is no big deal. He even reminds you of the times he fixed things around the apartment without asking for a thank-you. “I only ever left you flowers or groceries instead of anything dangerous,” he reminds you while his fingers massage your scalp. You know he is right about the gifts, but having a stranger inside your home is terrifying enough. You refuse to let him play the good guy. “You broke into my house,” you remind him while tightening your grip on his shirt. He nods slowly because he understands why you are so angry.
He knows you never asked for this situation, but he genuinely believes he is doing the right thing. You want to wipe that understanding look off his face so you insult him. “You’re just a lonely fucking loser,” you spit at him while hoping to finally piss him off. You try to find the cruelest thing to say. “You have no life so you have to stalk mine,” you add while watching for a reaction. Dex doesn’t look angry or offended by your words at all. He expects you to hate him so he accepts the insults without arguing back. He doesn’t think you should be grateful for his presence. “I know you hate me right now,” he replies while his hand continues stroking the back of your head. His voice sounds way too sincere for a home invader.
“But I just want to protect you from everyone else,” he explains like that justifies all his actions. His twisted reasoning baffles you. “What if some other guy found those stories on your laptop?” Dex asks before he scoffs at the thought. He shakes his head while imagining a different scenario. “Another guy would just force himself on you after reading all that,” he tells you while his fingers move softly against your scalp. He expects you to thank him for reading your computer. “You’re sick in the head,” you tell him because his reasoning is insane. Dex chuckles again while he stares down at your hands holding his shirt. He tilts his chin down to look at the space between your bodies.
“If I’m so sick, then why am I stopping you from calling the cops?” he asks without raising his voice at all. You look at your arms and realize he isn’t restraining you at all. “I’m not even holding you here by force,” he points out while his hands rest gently against your face and head. You hate to admit his trick actually works on you. He acts like you have full control over the situation, only to mess with your head. You know he could easily hurt you right now if he actually wanted to do it. “You think I believe that bullshit?” you ask him while your hands grip his shirt tighter. What kind of idiot would trust a man who breaks into homes because they think they’re protecting you? He’s playing a twisted game to see what you’ll do.
His claim that you can call the cops is obviously a lie. You know damn well he would run away, or you would end up dead long before the police ever arrived. He wants you to believe you hold all the power, but you know how dangerous he really is. “I promise you’re safe with me,” he whispers while his fingers move softly through your hair. The way he repeats he won’t hurt you messes with your head. He holds his other hand on your face as his thumb rubs your lower lip. You hate how your body reacts to him because you instinctively part your mouth without even meaning to. You end up breathing through your mouth the second your lips open under his thumb. “You have nothing to fear from me,” he tells you again like it’s the absolute truth.
The way he touches you makes your brain forget how messed up this whole thing is. It feels disturbing to experience something like this in reality. There are times you read books or watch movies about obsessed guys, but you never expected a stalker to actually show up in your bedroom. You always thought you would fight back or scream if this ever happened, yet here you are just letting him touch your face without doing a single thing to stop him, and it makes you feel pathetic. Dex watches your face carefully before he speaks again. “You call me lonely, but you’re exactly the same,” he points out while looking right into your eyes. He knows you spend all your time alone so you don’t have anyone else to take care of you.
He thinks you need him just because you don’t go out with friends every weekend. The pure arrogance in his voice makes you want to slap him. “I can take care of myself just fine,” you argue back before trying to turn your face away. He moves his hand with you to maintain his grip on your jaw. “You shouldn’t have to do it all by yourself,” he replies before he finally tests the waters. He slips his thumb past your parted lips to rest it directly against your tongue. You let out a muffled sound against his finger because you didn’t expect him to actually do that. His thumb tastes a little salty right on your tongue. You try to back away, but his fingers tighten in your hair to stop you from escaping, and you glare at him.
“I want to take care of you,” he adds while watching your chest rise with another deep breath. Dex uses his thumb inside your mouth and pushes it down on your tongue. The pad of his finger scrapes against your teeth before resting deep inside. You try to use your hands on his shirt to shove him away again. You want to scream at him to get out, but you can’t even form a word. He simply leans over you and uses his body weight to press you against the headboard. His chest pushes against your arms while his thumb stops you from speaking. “I really want to take care of you,” he whispers right to your face. He acts like having his fingers deep in your mouth is an ordinary part of the conversation. “You never let anyone else do it,” he adds as he watches your chest rise.
He looks you straight in the eye while you struggle to breathe around his hand. You try to swallow around his thumb, but the action makes your throat tighten uncomfortably. A muffled sound slips out before you can bite it back. You glare up at him with hatred right in your eye and want to look disgusted, but your body betrays your anger. The warmth of his hand on your face feels entirely too good, so your eyelids flutter shut for a second while a breath hitches in your chest. The involuntary reaction happens before you can even stop it. You open your eyes again to find him staring down at you. He watches your pupils dilate with a satisfied smirk on his face. You want to punch him for making you feel like this, and you hate that you just gave him what he wants.
He notices every reaction you try to hide from him, and he sees the exact moment your anger turns into something else. “Fuck,” Dex mutters under his breath as he takes in your expression. He sounds genuinely amazed by the way you react to him. “Look at you,” he whispers before a smirk forms on his face. He knows what he is doing to you, yet he points out how fast you gave up fighting him despite how much you claim to hate his guts. His arrogant tone makes you want to wipe that smirk away. You try to bite his thumb to erase that look off his face. Dex easily slides his finger deeper before your teeth can actually catch him. He pushes his thumb down harder on your tongue to force your mouth open again while his other hand grips your hair more firmly to tilt your head back.
The way he effortlessly pins you down against the headboard makes your stomach drop, and you feel fear with an unwanted thrill. You start to question whether you actually enjoy what he is doing to you right now. You wonder if you are really dumb enough to fold for a guy who broke into your apartment. A part of you wants to know if his gentle actions prove he won’t actually hurt you. Your brain struggles to process all these confusing thoughts at once. You should be fighting for your life, but your body wants more of his attention, and that’s when you realize you are leaning into his touch instead of pulling away. You look down and see how your hands are tangled in his shirt, and you’re no longer pushing him away from your body at all.
You clutch the fabric of his shirt while his hand rests firmly in your hair. Dex leans down until his lips almost brush against your ear. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers directly against your neck. He promises he will walk away forever if you just say the word. You know he would never actually let you go, and he wants you to admit you want this just as much as he does. He turns his head until his mouth grazes along your jawline. He slowly pulls his thumb out of your mouth to leave a wet string of saliva behind, and you let out a whine when he does that. He wipes his damp thumb on your top before his hand drops down to grab your waist tightly. “Tell me to quit leaving things and watching you,” he begs, like he actually needs your permission to leave.
He waits for your answer while his chest is inches away from yours. You don’t say a single word while your hand moves up from his shirt. You slide your fingers to the back of his head to gently caress his hair. You look at him and realize you don’t want him to leave even though you know he is crazy for doing all of those things in the first place, but having him right here feels better than being alone. Your hand moves from his hair down to his shoulder instead of bringing him into a kiss against the headboard. You push against his chest just enough to create some space between your bodies. You don’t tell him to stop or leave the apartment, but you finally make him back off. “Go get my laptop from the desk,” you tell him while pointing across the room.
Dex looks confused for a second because he clearly didn’t expect you to say that. He stands up anyway before walking over to grab the laptop. You crawl forward to sit right in the middle of the mattress while he has his back turned. You want him to realize you are not just going to roll over for him like he expects you to. He walks back over to the bed and hands the device over to you. You flip the screen open and log in before pushing it right back into his chest. “Open your favorite one,” you instruct him while watching his face. You know he has a preference after spending so much time snooping through your files. You want to see what kind of things he enjoys reading the most. “Read it out loud to me,” you tell him while pointing at the screen.
You challenge him directly to see if he can actually handle the words he claims to enjoy. You want to hear his voice saying those sentences. “Read the part you liked the most,” you add, so he has to make the choice himself. Dex actually hesitates for a second and gets flustered by your words. He just had you pinned against the headboard, but now he suddenly looks caught off guard. He tries to look at the screen instead of looking at your face. His fingers hesitate over the keyboard while he stares blankly at the folders. He just sits there in silence without clicking on a single file. You watch him struggle to type the title into the search bar. “Are you actually shy right now?” you ask him while leaning slightly closer to his face. You cannot believe the guy who broke into your house is suddenly struggling to speak.
You let out a short laugh because the role reversal is almost funny. “You had absolutely no problem sneaking into my apartment and watching me,” you point out while he refuses to look up. You remind him that he crossed every single boundary long before today. You make sure he realizes how stupid his hesitation looks. “You already read all of them behind my back,” you remind him while waiting for a reaction. You know he spent hours staring at your laptop while you were gone. “It’s pathetic you’re suddenly embarrassed to read them out loud,” you add while watching him swallow. He scoffs at your insult, but he finally starts typing the title of the story. He clicks the document open before scrolling down the page to find the specific paragraph.
He reads the words on the screen silently to himself for a few seconds. “Why do I even need to read this out loud?” Dex asks while focusing his eyes on the text. He tries to act unaffected while sitting right across from you. “It’s not like you’re actually going to let me fuck you like this,” he adds while pointing at the screen. He is obviously trying to provoke you so he can take control again. You might fall a little right into his game without even thinking about it. “I didn’t tell you we wouldn’t,” you answer back while looking right into his eyes. You don’t give him a clear yes-or-no, but the vague reply works perfectly. Dex smirks a little bit before he clicks the cursor at the top of the paragraph. He clears his throat and prepares to read your filthy words back to you.
Dex clears his throat before he glances up at you. He places the laptop onto the sheets right beside him so he can view the screen. He looks back down at the document as he prepares to read your words out loud. “He pushes her legs open to get a good look at her cunt,” Dex starts reading directly from your laptop. He sounds casual while saying filthy sentences. You stare at him because you can’t believe he actually said that without any shame. Hearing your own words spoken out loud makes your stomach drop. He reaches his free hand forward to grab your knee right after he finishes the line. You watch him push your legs apart while his eyes scan the next paragraph. Dex drops his eyes back to the screen while his hand grips your thigh.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he says while quoting the dialogue from the character. He uses a deeper voice so it sounds like he’s genuinely saying it to you. His hand sneaks up your leg before he rests his palm right between your thighs. You try to squeeze your legs shut, but his arm blocks you from moving. You part your lips when his knuckles brush against your sleep shorts. “His eyes can’t look away from between her legs,” Dex reads next while he looks right at your crotch. He looks where his hand cups right over your cunt. “Open wider for me,” Dex demands while pushing your knee further to the side. He doesn’t look at the laptop to say that part because he wants you to obey him right now.
You hate how easily your body listens, so you let your legs fall further apart. Dex smirks while watching you expose yourself to him. He drags his thumb right over the seam of your shorts to tease you. He looks satisfied before he glances back at the screen. “She begs him to touch her while her hips buck up against him,” he reads aloud as he moves closer to you. You try to close your legs, but he forces your knee back down. “Mm- stop it,” you complain while trying to grab his wrist. He easily dodges your hand before he pushes his palm firmly against your crotch. You try to squirm away on the mattress, but his grip on your thigh holds you where he wants you. He knows you want this even if you try to fight him off.
“I haven’t even read the best part yet,” he replies while his eyes look over the next few lines. He uses the heel of his hand to grind right against your cunt through the thin fabric of your sleep shorts. “Nngh-” you gasp out as he finds the right spot. He applies more pressure while rotating his hand around your cunt. You realize he plans to use your own story to turn you on while he touches you just like this. “You’ll take it so well for me,” Dex reads aloud while his palm rubs against your sleep shorts. He looks back at the screen before he continues reading the next paragraph. “He guides his thick cock right against her cunt and drags the head through all her wetness,” he quotes as he pushes his hand harder against your crotch.
You hate how good it feels against your body. “He teases her by sliding it up and down her folds without putting it inside, yet,” he finishes the sentence while staring right at your face. Your legs part then close involuntarily because he grinds the heel of his hand over your clit. “You’re dripping for me,” he adds while his hand rests right between your thighs. You know what you wrote on that laptop. You know you never typed that specific line he just said. “You just made that part up,” you accuse him while trying to control your breathing. You glare at him because he just twisted your own words. “Maybe I did,” he answers back with a smug look on his face. He clearly enjoys seeing you get so defensive about it.
“It fits the situation,” he argues back before he pushes his palm firmer against your crotch. The unexpected pressure makes you grab a handful of his shirt. “I can already feel the dampness soaking right through your clothes,” he tells you with a smirk. You honestly have no idea if he’s bluffing or telling the truth. He continues reading the filthy scene to tease you. “He pulls her hips backward so he gets a clear view of her wet cunt before he lines his cock up,” he reads aloud while watching your reaction. You try to look away, but his eyes follow your every movement. “He pushes the tip right against her cunt and slowly slides his entire length inside,” he recites while grinding the heel of his hand against your shorts.
You feel worked up by his touch, and making him read the story out loud was supposed to give you the upper hand. You wanted to make him embarrassed, but the plan backfired since he’s the one touching you. He clearly enjoys having control over you right now. He scrolls down the document to skip to the part he loved the most in what you wrote. “He forces her onto all fours so he can finally take her from behind,” Dex recites while his thumb finds your clit through the fabric. You gasp out loud when he circles the sensitive spot. “His hands grab her hips tightly to hold her in place on the mattress,” he continues reading as he grinds his palm right over your center. “He pulls his cock almost all the way out before slamming it back deep into her cunt,” he quotes aloud before pushing down harder against your shorts.
He watches your hips buck slightly upward to meet his palm. “He fucks her from behind without giving her a single second to recover,” he reads next while he moves his palm faster against your shorts. You try to squeeze your thighs shut, but his arm blocks your legs from closing. “He shoves his cock inside her cunt repeatedly until she screams for him to fuck her harder,” he finishes the paragraph while his thumb circles your clit. You hate that he knows how to get you so worked up. “Nn- your reading voice fucking sucks,” you insult him to hide how good he makes you feel. You try to sound annoyed, but your body betrays your words. He just chuckles at your pathetic attempt to insult him while he continues to torture you with his hand.
“Then why are you grinding right against my hand?” he asks as you involuntarily push your hips up into his palm. You realize he’s right since your body reacts to every single movement he makes. “Hah- shut up,” you gasp out when his thumb pushes down harder. He loves watching you lose your mind over his fingers. “Mm-” you complain instead of giving him a real answer. Your hands grip the bedsheets instead of actually shoving him off. “Do you want me to stop reading now?” he questions while his hand continues working between your legs. He knows you won’t tell him to stop because you want him to touch you. “Did you finally prove your point?” he asks to remind you that your little plan failed.
You reach forward to push the laptop screen down so he finally stops reading your writing. “Shut up, and do something,” you demand while glaring up at him from the mattress. Dex looks at the closed laptop before he grabs it off the sheets. He leaves his spot on the bed to place the device safely on the floor. “You want me to take your clothes off?” he asks as he turns back around to face you. He sounds almost surprised by your unexpected change in attitude. “Why don’t you do it yourself?” you challenge him before you scoot right to the edge of the mattress. You lift both of your arms in the air and wait for him to make a move. He lets out a short chuckle while looking down at your raised arms.
“Are you really going to make me work for it?” he questions before he takes a step closer to your legs. You know he wants you, so you make him prove it. He clearly enjoys the new challenge. “Is it too hard for you to just do it?” you ask sarcastically while holding your arms up high. Dex scoffs at your attitude before his hands grip the bottom hem of your top. He pulls the fabric over your head and then tosses it somewhere across the dark room. It feels absurd to ask the guy who stalks you to undress you, yet you don’t even try to cover up. You aren’t wearing a bra since you just woke up from catching him staring at you earlier, so your breasts are exposed to him. He looks at your chest before he instinctively reaches a hand out to touch you.
You lean away from him so his fingers grasp nothing but air. You drop your hands down to his belt, but you stop trying to undo the buckle when he tries to touch you again. “Fuck- sorry,” Dex mutters while he pulls his hand back fast. He clearly didn’t expect you to avoid his touch so fast. “I just wanted a feel,” he tries to explain himself while looking down at your exposed body. He sounds a little desperate as he looks you over. You can see how much your body distracts him right now. “They look really good,” he adds while his attention refuses to leave your chest. You roll your eyes at his pathetic excuse before you grab the front of his pants. You pull him closer by the waistband so he stands right between your parted knees.
“I know I look good,” you reply with a scoff as your fingers struggle with his belt. You enjoy watching him lose his composure. He usually takes whatever he wants, but right now he just stands there with his hands at his sides. “That’s why you stalked my apartment,” you point out before you go back to working on his zipper. Dex watches you fumble with his pants before he grabs the bottom of his own shirt to pull it over his head. “Yeah, maybe you’re just a stupid good-looking girl who is about to get into bed with her stalker,” he argues back as he throws his shirt onto the floor. He watches you take way too much time trying to unbutton his pants. He eventually slaps your hands away so he can do it himself.
“Let me do it,” he mutters before he quickly undoes the belt and shoves his jeans down his legs. He steps heavily out of the denim without bothering to take off his boots and kicks the fabric aside while he leaves his boxers in place. You just sit there on the edge of the bed and stare up at his body. He actually looks incredibly good standing there in front of you. You wonder why a guy like him would ever choose to be a stalker. He could easily find a normal girl to fuck him instead of breaking into apartments at night. It’s a very stupid idea to sit here half-undressed, but your gut tells you he isn’t going to hurt you. You never planned to let things go this far tonight, but your thoughts scatter when his hands grab the waistband of your sleep shorts along with your panties.
“You’re staring at me,” Dex points out as his thumbs slip under the elastic band. You look up at his face to find him watching you. The corners of his mouth turn upward into a smirk. “No- I’m not,” you lie while shaking your head to make up a random excuse. Your face heats up because he caught you checking him out. “I was just thinking about something else,” you add while trying to look away from his stomach. Dex makes a sound of agreement before he nods like he believes your lie. “I want to take these off,” he tells you while his thumbs hook under the elastic. You give him a small nod, and he starts sliding the fabric down. You lift your hips off the bed to help him push the clothes past your waist. Dex takes a step backward between your knees as he drags the shorts and panties down to your ankles.
He grabs the garments before tossing them somewhere across the bedroom. He holds your knees and pushes your thighs apart to get a better look at you. He takes a breath while his eyes stare directly between your legs. He licks his lips like he is hungry for what he sees. “I honestly don’t know what to do first,” Dex admits while his hands rest firmly on your knees. He traces his thumbs over your kneecaps. “I don’t know if I want to use my mouth or just-” He cuts himself off while looking back up at your face. His eyes trail downward when you try to close your legs, but he firmly prevents you from moving. “You’d better figure it out fast before I change my mind,” you scoff at him while shifting slightly on the mattress.
You feel vulnerable, but you refuse to let him know it bothers you. “I might just kick you out then file a restraining order,” you warn him with a small chuckle. Dex shakes his head right away while his hands slide up your thighs. “There’s no need to do that,” he replies as he steps closer to your open legs. You cross your arms over your chest when another thought crosses your mind. “Do you even have a condom?” you ask him since you expect some basic protection. Dex stops moving entirely as a confused look takes over his face. “What?” he questions before leaning forward until his mouth hovers right next to your ear. He wants to make sure you hear him clearly. You feel his chest brush against your crossed arms.
“I’m not using a condom with you,” he whispers right next to your ear. He sounds offended that you even asked. “I want to feel every part of you,” he adds while you feel his warm breath brush over your neck. You lean your head back to give him an annoyed look. “What if you aren’t clean?” you ask him while dropping your arms to rest your hands on the mattress. You take something to prevent pregnancy, but you worry about everything else. “I don’t want to catch anything,” you tell him directly as you glare up at his face. Dex looks offended by your assumption. He lets go of your thighs and places his hands firmly on your hips instead. “Do you seriously think I have time to sleep around with anyone else?” he asks with an insulted tone.
He glares back at you to show how much the question bothers him. He wants you to realize how devoted he is. “I don’t even look in another woman’s direction,” he defends himself while his fingers dig into your waist. He hates the idea of you picturing him with another girl. “You’re the only person I want,” he reminds you as he uses his hands to drag your hips against his thighs. You roll your eyes at his words before you look him up and down. You notice he is wearing his shoes even though he is standing there in nothing but his underwear. You let out a small chuckle while looking back up at his face. “You want to do all these things to me, but you have your shoes on?” you ask him with a teasing tone. You point out how funny he looks standing in your bedroom with his shoes on.
“Are you really going to fuck me in just your boxers and your shoes?” you add to mock him a little more. Dex looks down at his feet before he lets out a short scoff. “I didn’t even realize,” he admits as he steps back from your knees. He bends down to remove his boots before he kicks them across the floor. He stands back up to face you again. You reach forward to grab the elastic waistband of his boxers. You use the fabric to pull him right back between your parted knees. You drag the material down just enough so you can see the base of his cock. You want to see if he understands the clear hint you are giving him. Dex watches your hands for a second before his own fingers take over the job. He shoves your hands away so he can strip the underwear off.
He kicks the fabric aside until he stands naked in front of you. You stare at his hard cock while he steps even closer to the mattress. He doesn’t give you any time to speak before his hands grab your shoulders. Dex pushes you backward so you lie down on the mattress. You were sitting right on the edge, so your legs ended up dangling off the bed. He steps into the open space between your thighs. Your legs naturally fall to rest against his sides while he stands over you. He takes up all the space right between your parted knees as he looks down at your exposed body. “You look so fucking good like this,” he tells you while checking your reaction. He watches your chest rise and fall before his eyes drop lower to get a perfect view of your cunt.
Dex brings one hand up to gently touch your thigh. His fingers trail slowly up your leg before moving across your stomach. He continues the path upward to drag his hand over your breast. You wonder if he can feel your racing heartbeat under his palm. His hand feels incredibly hot against your body. You take a deep breath when his fingers travel up your shoulder to caress your neck. You watch his eyes track every single movement of his hand over your chest. It makes your stomach drop because he looks captivated by you. You want to ask him to hurry up, but your throat feels dry. He finally cups your cheek while his thumb rubs right over your cheekbone. His other hand reaches down to wrap firmly around his cock.
He guides the head right against your wet folds to coat himself in your slick. He rubs his length back and forth across your wet cunt. “Fuck- feels nice,” Dex mutters out as he feels the dampness between your legs. He pushes the broad tip right against your cunt to tease you a little more. You lift your hips upward because you desperately want him inside. “Nngh- j-just- put it in,” you whine back while your hands grab the bedsheets tightly. Dex pushes the head of his cock inside you while his hand caresses your cheek. His thumb brushes your face as he slowly slides deeper. He thrusts into your cunt very carefully, like he fears he might hurt you. You lie directly against the mattress without any pillows beneath your head.
He finally pushes all the way in before he closes his eyes. “Shit,” he grunts as he buries himself deep inside your body. Your toes curl when his thick cock fills you out. You bend your knees to wrap your legs securely around his waist. He drops his free hand down to hold your hip firmly. Dex slowly slides out and then pushes right back into your cunt. He watches your chest bounce every time he moves inside you. “You look so good taking me,” he tells you while staring down at your body. “Ah- hah- just go deeper,” you whine, but he refuses to thrust faster. He wants to watch your body react so he doesn’t speed up at all. He takes his time sliding in and out of your wet folds. You reach up with one hand to hold the wrist he has near your face.
Your other hand drops down to rest directly over your stomach. You grind your hips upward right when he pushes deep inside you. “Nngh- such a loser,” you insult him while pushing back against his cock. You clench your cunt tightly around him. “Mmph- yeah?” Dex questions as his jaw clenches. You can tell your degrading words affect him more than he wants to admit. You squeeze your cunt around him again just to mess with his head. His nails dig right into your hip. Dex moves his hand away from your cheek so he can reach the back of your head. He tangles his fingers into your hair to hold your head down on the mattress. “But you love having this loser inside you,” he reminds you while his hand tightens on your hair.
The look in his eyes proves he dropped the gentle act. “Hngh- god-” you gasp out when he thrusts much harder into your cunt. He stops worrying about hurting you and just starts fucking you how he wants to. You scratch your nails across his wrist to stop him from going so deep. “Nn- don’t do it so hard,” you complain while your heels plant firmly against his back. Dex hums in agreement to trick you, but he immediately does the exact opposite. He pulls his cock out until only the tip rests inside your cunt before he thrusts his entire length back inside you. He knows he acts like an asshole right now, yet he refuses to stop. His fingers tangle more firmly through your hair because he just needs something to hold onto while he fucks you.
“Mm- s-stop being so rough,” you gasp out as your eyes roll back. Dex ignores your demand since he likes feeling your cunt clench around him. He moves his hand away from your hip so he can reach up to grope your breast. He thinks about how long he waited to finally touch you. Having you right here feels better than he ever imagined. He pinches your nipple right between his fingers to make you squirm under him. Dex feels satisfied as he finally touches the person he stalked for months. He knows he crossed every boundary to get here, but he honestly doesn’t regret a single thing. He used only to watch you walk around this bedroom through the hidden cameras he planted behind your furniture.
Now he gets to see everything right in front of his own eyes while he pushes his cock in and out of your cunt. Having you respond to him is what he wanted. “Fucking creep- ahhn- you’re so messed up,” you degrade him while your other hand rests directly over your stomach. Dex knows you only say those insults because you feel stupid for sleeping with your stalker. “You think I care what you call me when you wrap your legs around me like this?” Dex asks while he feels your toes curl against his lower back. He knows you are conflicted about this situation, but your body tells him what you actually want. You part your mouth to gasp when he hits that specific spot deep inside you. He knows what kind of pace gets you going.
The degrading names you use only make him want to go harder. Your nails naturally dig harder into his arm the deeper he goes. “Hah- shut up- mmph!” you whine back while scratching your fingers over your stomach. He chuckles at your pathetic attempt to insult him because your moans give you away. The way you react to him actually mesmerizes him enough to make him slow his pace down. Slowing his pace gives him time to take in every detail of your face, as he wants to memorize how you look when he takes you. Seeing you take him so well satisfies him even while he thinks it is funny how you try to act tough. You notice his head tilting downward to watch his cock slide in and out of your entrance.
He wonders if you enjoy looking at the sight of your bodies moving together just as much as he does. You see his eyes move from your stomach right back up to your chest. He thinks you look perfect like this and wants to burn this exact image into his memory. Staring openly at the breast he gropes makes him consider using his mouth on you instead before he watches your other breast bounce with every single movement he makes. Knowing he has your full attention pleases him because he genuinely enjoys making you feel so flustered. You notice him looking right at your face next, yet you fail to figure out what goes on inside his head. “Nngh- what are you looking at?” you ask because his constant staring bothers you.
You hate how he always studies you without explaining himself. You want him to speak up instead of being so quiet. Dex ignores your question and stops moving his cock inside you. He keeps staring right into your eyes while he slides his hands from the back of your head to your shoulders. He pulls you up from the mattress until you sit upright on the edge of the bed. Your legs are already wrapped around his waist while you naturally reach out to grab his shoulders for balance. “Hold onto me,” Dex commands before he slides his hands down your sides. He places his hands on your waist to hold you in place. He starts pushing his cock in and out of your cunt again. You hold his shoulders tightly so you don’t fall backward while he fucks you.
“Nngh- why can’t we just do it in one position?” you complain about him moving you around too much. Dex ignores your whining before he leans forward to bury his face into your neck. He lets his mouth touch your collarbone while his hands hold your waist firmly. He pushes his cock deep into your cunt as he brings his lips right next to your ear. “I just want to create every position you wrote,” Dex whispers directly into your ear while he shoves his cock inside you. Your cunt squeezes tight around his cock right after he says those words. Hearing his plan brings a rush of pleasure to your body. You think about what position comes next to fucking you while sitting like this. You wonder if he plans to flip you over the bed to fuck you on your stomach.
Dex bites down on your shoulder before he grunts against your neck to hide a whimper. He pulls his cock almost all the way out before shoving it back in. He likes the way your body responds to his twisted ideas. “Do you like that?” Dex asks as he feels your cunt clench around him. He wants to know if you enjoy the idea of having him in all those different positions. “Hah- s-shut- fuck-” you gasp out while your back arches. You hate how his crazy obsession actually turns you on. He chuckles softly at your denial because your actions contradict your words. He lets you dig your nails into his shoulder while his hands squeeze your waist tighter. Dex kisses your collarbone while he shoves his cock inside you.
He gets too caught up in the pleasure to filter his thoughts. He loves having you right here instead of just watching you through a monitor. “Mhm... You look so much better than the scre-” Dex stutters against your neck before he forces his mouth shut. He almost exposed the hidden cameras he planted around your home. He bites his bottom lip to stop himself from ruining the moment with a stupid mistake. You place both hands on his chest to shove him away from your neck so you can look at his face. “Ahhn- what were you going to say?” you ask while narrowing your eyes at him. You know he hides things from you. Dex slows his movements down so he can think of a lie while his hands caress your waist.
“Come on- it’s nothing,” Dex replies as he gives you a sloppy excuse to brush off your question. “I just meant you look better than I imagined,” he adds to cover his tracks. You want to question him more, but he refuses to give you the chance to speak. Dex leans forward again to bury his face against your chest this time. He takes your nipple into his mouth to suck on it hard. “Hah- wait-” you gasp out as his teeth bite down. He takes one hand off your ribs to slide it down between your bodies. He finds your clit before he starts rubbing it with his thumb. He uses it to his advantage to make you forget what he just said to you. Your hands move up from his chest to grab his hair while he works your clit.
He rubs his thumb over the sensitive spot as he continues moving in and out of your cunt. “Oh god- nngh- right there,” you whine out while your hips buck upward against his hand. Dex swirls his tongue over your nipple before he grazes his teeth over the tip. He moves his mouth away about an inch to kiss your breast before he goes right back to sucking hard on the peak. He thinks about how long he craved this exact taste while the soft whimpers you make only encourage him to bite down harder. He wants to leave a mark you will feel for days. Dex moves his face over to give the other side the same attention. You grip his hair firmly before you lean your head down to nuzzle your face right into his sweaty hair. “Mm- you really like it there,” you whisper while your hips buck up against his hand.
He feels right at home against your body, and having your hands all over him feels better than anything else. He knows he would never change a single thing if he could go back to the moment he first saw you at the supermarket. His therapist used to tell him his moral compass was never broken, but he just needed someone to guide him. He realizes now you are that person, but he never expected things to get this far. He was only supposed to watch you from a distance without making contact, and he never wanted you to find out he was stalking you. You were just too smart for him to hide from you. You played a clever game to expose him, and he fell right into it. His thumb slows down over your clit because he gets distracted by your breast.
He wonders if you notice how easily you affect everything he does, even with the way you arch into his touch. You can feel his cock twitching deep inside your cunt, and the feeling makes your breath hitch. The bed creaks loudly underneath you every time he shoves his cock in and out of you. “Ahhn- right there- fuck-” you moan out as the heat builds up between your bodies, and sweat drips down your chest. Everything he does pushes you closer to your limit, especially with how he moves fast before he goes slow. Dex grunts from the sensation while he continues to use his thumb to circle and rub your clit. It makes your toes curl while you struggle to catch your breath. “Hah- god- right there-” you whine while your cunt squeezes around his cock. Your nails dig into his scalp as the pleasure builds up because you want him to push you over the edge instead of just teasing you.
He sucks harder on your nipple, and you tilt your head back when his cock finds your g-spot. “Hah- god- I’m getting so close,” you pant out while your hips buck upward. Dex finally moves his mouth away from your breast so he can watch your reaction. You bury your face right into his chest because you refuse to let him look at you. You turn into a moaning mess against him as the pleasure brings you right to the edge. He hates it whenever you try to hide from him when he wants to see every single expression you make. “Nn- please,” you whine directly against his collarbone. He loves hearing you beg for him. He removes his hand from your clit before he uses that same hand to push your body away from his chest.
He pushes you back just enough to see your face properly. “Stop hiding from me,” Dex commands as he forces you to look at him. His hand moves up to the back of your head to tilt it backward while his other hand slides from your waist down to your hip. He enjoys the feeling of holding you in place while he fucks you when you look exactly how he always pictured you. You can’t help but part your mouth when you moan before you close your eyes, and you can feel your clit pulsing without his touch. Your cunt clenches around his cock while he watches your expression carefully before a smirk forms on his lips. He knows how to push you over the edge, and he loves knowing he causes this kind of reaction in you.
He leans down a little closer to your face to spit right into your open mouth. “Mm- hah-” you gasp out in surprise as the spit lands on your tongue. You open your eyes in surprise since you never expected him to do something like that. Your face heats up with embarrassment even though you actually enjoy what he did. His spit inside your mouth makes your cunt clench hard around his cock to the point he slows his pace down before he stops moving his hips entirely when you start cumming. His cock throbs inside you, and you tremble against him. He holds your hair and your hip firmly to brace himself. Dex closes his eyes while his mouth parts, but he quickly bites down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from being too loud. “Ahhhnn- fuck- Dex-” you whine out as you finish around his cock.
“I know,” Dex whispers while his hand moves to caress your back. He takes his hands off your hip and head before he unwraps your legs from his waist. He steps back to slide his cock out of your body. He wonders if you have any idea how much he loves the mess he makes out of you. He watches how puffy your cunt looks right after you finish, and he stares at how your clit pulses while your cum trails down your skin. You feel glad he backed away because your chest heaves as you catch your breath. You suddenly remember he hasn’t cum yet, but he grabs your arms before you can bring it up to force you to stand up. He turns you around to face the bed before he pushes you down onto your stomach. You react quickly by crawling forward until you get on all fours so your legs finally make it onto the mattress.
“Hah- what are you doing?” you complain while he climbs onto the bed right behind you. You hate how he always catches you off guard. His unpredictable behavior frustrates you to no end. “Shh- I told you we’d do another position from what you wrote,” Dex replies as he places a pillow under your stomach. He grabs a second pillow to put it directly beneath your face. You look over your shoulder with a pissed expression, but you look forward to what he plans to do next. “I haven’t cum, yet,” Dex states while his hand finds its way to your hip. His other hand reaches down to guide his cock right against your cunt. He easily slides inside you because you are so slippery from your own cum. “You don’t want to give me blue balls, right?” he asks while looking down at your back. His tone sounds more like a warning than a genuine question. He knows how much you crave his attention.
“Nngh- wait- I’m too s-sensi-” you try to say before his actions cut your words off. He shoves all the way in without any warning while his guiding hand moves up to hold your waist. “Ahhn- I just came- Dex,” you whine out while trying to adjust to his size. Your words tick him off enough to make him drag his cock out to the tip before he slams back in whole. “Well, I didn’t,” Dex grunts while he hits you deep inside. You stop looking over your shoulder to let your face hover inches above the pillow. You don’t care if your eyes close or if your mouth hangs open while he fucks you relentlessly. “I know I could finish in your mouth,” Dex says as he continues thrusting behind you.
Your hands grip the bedsheets while your toes curl against the mattress. “Mmph- then why didn’t you?” you ask him between breaths.
Dex shoves his cock deeper into your cunt before he leans his chest over your back. He uses his body weight to push your torso down against the stomach pillow. “There is nothing comparable to this,” he answers while he fucks you harder. You know he plans to take a lot more from you until you tire out. You aren’t against the idea because you actually look forward to it. Experiencing this kind of thing usually only happens when you read other people’s writing or your own stories. You never expected you’d end up getting fucked in so many different ways tonight. It feels like a win since it all happens right here in your bed. Your body manages to take every inch of him while the deep friction makes you gasp into the sheets.
His weight presses heavily against your back. The firm pressure holds you down and securely pins you to the mattress. Your face rests against the top pillow while your stomach pushes into the second one as his cock goes in and out of you. “Mmmff- hah- oh god-” your moans get muffled into the sheets from the way his body pins you down. Dex places one hand on your hip while his other hand reaches around to grab your side. You hear the loud sound of flesh slapping together whenever he thrusts his hips forward. You can also feel his balls hitting against your ass with every single movement he makes. It feels degrading to take him like this, but the sensation of his cock sliding over your cunt only turns you on more.
You find it embarrassing to admit how much you enjoy every dirty thing he does to you. “God, you feel amazing,” Dex grunts while he buries himself as deep as he can go. He knows how to use his heavy pressure to get the hardest reactions out of you. He leans his head down so his lips brush right against your shoulder blade. Dex eventually gets careless, and he realizes that the moment he opens his mouth to brag about what he saw on his monitors. “That guy from last month couldn’t even hit your spot like I do when he f-fucked you-” Dex stutters before he forces himself to shut up. He realizes he almost exposed his hidden cameras again, so he punishes himself for his sloppy mistake by biting down hard on your back.
“Ahhn- god- right there,” you whine out as the feeling of his teeth makes your cunt squeeze around his cock. Dex loves the way your cunt takes him, so he just lets himself continue fucking you into the mattress while he leaves bite marks all over your shoulder. You don’t even care about his confession because you are too exhausted to process what he says. He gives you back a few more bites before he stops leaning his weight over you. He raises himself to kneel right behind you. He grabs your hips to pull them higher so your lower back arches while your ass sticks up in the air. He raises his hand up before he slaps your ass roughly. The loud smack of flesh echoes through the room right before his fingers dig firmly back into your hip.
“Mm! Y-yes,” you gasp out while your nails scratch at the bedsheets. Dex groans loud enough for you to hear as he matches his fast pace with your needy sounds. He knows he can last for hours since he waited so long for this exact moment. Dex moves his free hand to your ass to squeeze it. Your chest rests against the bed while the side of your face lies on the pillow. You try to push your upper body off the mattress to get on all fours again. Your arms shake instantly when you try to lift your weight up. You feel too weak to hold yourself up, so you fall right back down to where you started. Dex chuckles loudly at your pathetic attempt to move. “Aww, poor girl can’t even support her own weight,” he mocks you while rubbing his hand over your ass cheek.
You let out a frustrated huff into the pillow since you hate it when he makes fun of you. He slides his hand under your stomach to help you out. “Bring yourself up,” Dex commands as he lifts your torso away from the bed. You try again with his help until you manage to get on your knees. He moves you all the way back so your back rests directly against his chest. He wraps his arm securely around your waist to hold you upright. You reach your hands out to hold onto his forearm for balance. “Good girl,” Dex praises you awkwardly because he never usually says things like that. He pushes his cock into your cunt to test how this new position feels. “Does this feel okay for you?” Dex asks while he thrusts his hips slowly behind you.
You want to adjust a little bit so you look towards the top of the bed. “Mm- let’s move closer to the headboard,” you suggest while leaning back against him. He nods before he takes his cock out of your cunt. He uses his free hand to remove your fingers from his arm. He guides you forward, so you both scoot across the mattress on your knees. It only takes a few short movements until your hands find their way to the headboard. You lean forward to rest your chest against the pillows stacked against the wood. Dex whistles at the sight of you bent over the headboard. He loves how you arch your back for him to fuck.
He raises his hand to slap your ass hard enough to leave a loud smack in the room. “Ah!- Dex,” you yelp out while your fingers curl around it. He grabs your hips firmly before he slides his cock right back inside your cunt. He starts thrusting deep into you again while you adjust to his size. “Too many interruptions tonight,” Dex whispers right near your ear as if he wants to taunt you. He knows he causes all the delays, but he loves acting like an asshole to annoy you. You clench your cunt tight around his cock on purpose to stop him from thrusting. You hate his arrogant attitude right now. “Ahhn- so are you telling me I’m an interruption?” you ask while looking over your shoulder to glare at him. The way your cunt squeezes makes it hard for him to move his hips.
“Fuck- wait- ngh,” Dex groans behind you as the tight squeeze makes his cock throb deep inside you. He easily folds because he knows he needs to play nice with you. You are literally offering him what he wants tonight. Anyone else would have pulled the trigger of that gun you held against his forehead earlier. He knows he is lucky you decided to fuck him instead of shooting him. He struggles to catch his breath while his cock pulses inside you. He hates losing control, but he hates the idea of you stopping even more. He doesn’t know how to process his emotions properly, so he struggles to find the right words to say. “I’m sorry- just stop doing that,” Dex whispers awkwardly while his fingers squeeze your hips.
He never apologizes to anyone, but he acts desperate to continue fucking you. “Nngh- please let me move,” he begs you while resting his forehead against your back. He tries to convince you to stop squeezing so he can reach his orgasm. He knows he sounds pathetic, but he only wishes that you would let him have it his way. You listen to his clumsy apology for a moment before you stop clenching his cock purposely. You grind your ass back against him to let him know he earned your mercy. You push your body directly into his crotch to make him take the hint. “Mm- you better behave then,” you warn him as you let him slide all the way in. Dex takes a deep breath before he starts moving his hips slowly behind you.
His hands squeeze your hips to balance you against the headboard. “Fuck- you feel so good,” Dex grunts out while he pushes deep into your cunt. The slow pace feels amazing as he hits every sensitive spot inside you. You let your eyes close while your fingers wrap securely around the wood. He eventually speeds up his thrusts once he realizes you aren’t going to stop him again. He slides his cock almost out before he shoves it back inside your cunt. “Ahhhnn- right there,” you moan loudly into the pillows while your back arches for him. Dex watches the way your spine curves while he fucks you from behind. He loves the way your body responds to everything he does. “God- you take it so well,” he groans out while his thumbs rub over your hip.
He makes sure to hit your g-spot with every single thrust so you forget about his cocky words. You bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from being too loud in the room. He just continues fucking you until your legs start trembling against the mattress. Dex closes his eyes while his hips move in a careless manner behind you. He pushes his cock deep into your cunt before he grinds his hips against your ass. He pulls out to the tip to take a few seconds to breathe. He shoves back inside you when you expect it the least. “Fuck- you take me so perfectly,” Dex whispers out while he forces himself inside you. He doesn’t know the exact right words to say, but he wants to give you a genuine compliment. “You are so good to me,” he grunts as he slides against your g-spot with every thrust.
He stops moving for a few seconds every time he buries his cock deep inside your body. You grind your ass back against him to help him out because you want him to continue. “Hah- don’t stop- nn,” you whine out to urge him forward. Dex feels the way you push back against him while his cock pulses inside your cunt. He connects your needy movements to how close you are to another orgasm. He loves seeing you get so desperate for his cock when you’re right on the edge. You look over your shoulder to see what he does behind you. You find his head tilted back as he shuts his eyes tightly. You actually think he looks gorgeous like this even though you hate admitting it. You let go of the headboard with your right hand so you can reach backward.
You try to find his arm while he starts thrusting his hips again. Your fingers brush against his forearm to get his attention. “Mm- Dex,” you gasp out while your hand slides down his wrist. Dex opens his eyes the moment he feels your fingers touch his arm. He leans closer to your back so he can place his hand right beside yours. He easily intertwines his fingers with yours before he brings your hand forward to secure it against the headboard. “Shit- wait,” Dex curses loudly because that simple touch pushes him right over the edge. He thrusts his hips much faster while he fucks you without any mercy. “Fuck- I’m going to-” he whispers directly against your ear as his pace gets rougher. You feel his cock burying deep inside you every time he thrusts his hips forward.
You realize you can’t hold back your own orgasm when he moves this fast. “Ah!- y-yes- fuck,” you stutter out while you brace yourself against the wood. Dex shoves into you a few more times before he finishes deep inside your cunt. “God-” he grunts out as he unloads his cum right into you. Your body reacts to his climax like a switch flips in your brain to make your walls squeeze tight around his cock. You feel sensitive from the overstimulation, while the warm feeling of being filled makes you melt into the mattress. It feels stupid to let him finish inside you, but you refuse to stop him since it feels too good. He moves his chest away from your back to stand up straight on his knees before he lets go of your hand to hold your hip.
Both of his hands grab your hips to hold you in place while he slowly thrusts back inside you. He watches the way both of your cum coats his cock with every slow movement to see the mess he made. He never misses anyway, so seeing his load deep inside your cunt makes him feel proud. He loves watching how messy he left you tonight. Dex looks down at your body to check on you while his hips push forward. You are slumped against the stacked pillows with your arms hugging them tightly. Your ass arches up in the air for him, but your face buries into the fabric. “How do you feel?” Dex asks you while he rubs his thumbs over your hip bones. You feel too exhausted to form a proper sentence, so you shake your head at his question.
He raises his eyebrow at your silent response before he decides to ask you again. “Are you going to answer me?” he asks as he slowly drags his cock out of your body. You let out a long breath when you feel him leave your cunt empty. “Tired,” you mumble into the pillows. He chuckles at your honest answer because he knows he wore you out tonight. Dex looks over at the clock on your nightstand before he moves away from your back. He crawls up the mattress to sit right beside your head so he can lean back against the headboard. “Lie down flat,” Dex tells you while he helps guide your body onto your stomach. You follow his instructions so you can rest your body while hugging the pillow under your face.
He puts his hand right on your lower back to caress you slowly. He feels the sweat under his palm from how hard you worked tonight. You have your arms wrapped tight around the soft fabric because you feel exhausted. “Mm- it feels so late,” you whine into the pillow even though you never checked the time. Dex agrees with you before he moves his hand up from your back to reach your head. He gently caresses your head to comfort you. “It’s 4:23 in the morning,” he casually tells you while he continues petting you. You have no idea how long you actually had sex with him tonight. It feels like a lifetime has passed since he first pinned you to the mattress. You don’t even know what time you originally woke up to find him watching you sleep.
He probably stood in the dark corner for hours before he made his presence known. The terrifying thought should bother you, but his gentle touches make you feel stupidly safe instead. You realize you have no clue how long he has actually been inside your house. You adjust your head so you can turn your face towards his direction. Your cheek rests against the pillow now so you aren’t hiding your face from him anymore. You look up at him while he sits there looking comfortable in your bed. “You look like you plan to stick around,” you point out sarcastically as you narrow your eyes at him. He acts like he owns the place right after he finishes fucking you. He looks way too relaxed for a guy who broke in just a few hours ago.
You hate how easy he makes this look. Dex scoffs at your comment before he takes his hand away from your head. He reaches down to slap your ass hard to punish your attitude. “Ah!- hey,” you gasp out while he squeezes your ass cheek right after he slaps you. You glare at him because he acts so smug about having you right where he wants you. He clearly enjoys seeing how irritated you get when he treats you like his property. “Yeah, well, maybe I will just move in here,” Dex jokes back, but he actually means every single word. You probably assume he will leave when the sun comes up, but here he is, thinking about how easy it would be to watch you up close if he lived with you. He knows it will be so simple to insert himself into your life now that you have just had sex with him. He smirks down at your tired body and has no idea that he thinks about never letting you go.
