Spider-Man: Brand New Day becomes much more wholesome when you remember that Jon and Tom filmed each others’ auditions for Frank Castle and Peter Parker. They both helped each other get into Marvel, now they’re in the same movie as the characters they auditioned for.
Summary: Dex was tired of seeing how you were with Matt and took matters into his own hands.
Word Count: 1,693
Content Warnings/tags: Explicit sexual content, 18+ mdni, fem!reader, piv, dom! Dex, Poindexter x Reader, Dark Romance, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Jealousy, Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Multiple Rounds, Praise Kink, Degradation, Overstimulation, Oral Fixation, fully consensual, lmk if i missed anything!
Notes: kinda ooc dex but whatever
Dex’s broad palm clamped over your mouth, muffling the filthy sounds of your moans so Matt wouldn’t come back and spoil all the fun. His cock was buried to the hilt, your walls fluttering and clenching around him while you stared up with wide, glassy eyes. His gaze stayed locked on where his thick cock stretched you open, sliding in and out of your wet, noisy cunt. He’d wanted this so for so long but was either too injured or Matt never left the two of you alone long enough.
Dex couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it started. All he remembered was how fucking sweet you were. Over the past week, taking care of Dex had become part of your routine. After Karen tried shooting him, Matt had made you promise to keep an eye on him until he had healed enough to be left alone. More importantly, he trusted you to make sure Dex didn’t disappear until he was able to stand on his own two feet. You had agreed without hesitation. As far as you were concerned, this was a favor towards your beloved friend and helping people had always come as naturally to you as breathing.
Every morning you changed his bandages with careful hands, cleaned the wound, gave him his medication, and spoon fed him food since Matt made sure his hands were able to grab anything. You fussed over him whenever he tried sitting up or moving to much by himself too hard, gently guiding his back on the bed again despite the irritated looks he sent your way. You never seemed bothered by how quiet he was or how little he knew how to respond to kindness. You simply gave him a quick glance, adjusted his pillows, handed him a glass of water, and carried on as though caring for him was the easiest thing in the world.
Dex had never experienced anything quite like it.
At first, he convinced himself he only tolerated your attention because it made recovering easier. Then the days passed, and he found himself waiting for the sound of your footsteps in the hallway, watching the clock until you came back into the room, noticing every absent-minded brush of your fingers against his arm whenever you checked his temperature or changed another bandage. Somewhere along the way, your kindness stopped feeling temporary. It became something he craved. Something he began believing belonged to him and only him.
Then Matt would stop by.
Usually he came just to check up on you making sure Dex didn’t try anything before asking how Dex was recovering, but sometimes he arrived with fresh bruises or split knuckles of his own. Without thinking, you would guide Matt into the kitchen, sit him down, and fuss over him with the exact same gentle patience. You cleaned the cuts on his face, pressed ice against forming bruises, scolded him for getting hurt again, and gave him soft smile. Dex never got a smile from you. How come Matt got one and not him?
Dex hated it.
He hated how naturally your attention shifted away from him. Hated the way Matt accepted your care like it was normal, like he had every right to it. Most of all, he hated realizing that the tenderness he had spent days quietly hoarding in his mind had never been his to begin with. It wasn’t special. You were simply just taking care of him.
By the end of the week, Dex’s injuries had healed enough that Matt finally agreed it was time to let him go. He knew Dex still carried the need to balance the scales, to prove to himself that he wasn’t beyond redemption by doing one undeniably good deed. Matt couldn’t ignore that hope, no matter how fragile it was.
That chance came when an assassin broke into Governor McCaffrey’s home. Dex responded before anyone else could, killing the would-be assassin moments before he could carry out the attack. To everyone else, it was the act of a hero. To Matt, it was enough to believe Dex deserved another chance. So he let him walk away, unaware that the very first place Dex would go was your apartment.
Dex stood on the other side looking just uncomfortable enough to sell the lie, one hand pressed carefully against his side as he quietly claimed he’d reopened his wound. Concern washed over your face almost instantly. Without a second thought, you stepped aside and hurried him inside, already asking where it hurt and telling him to sit down before he made it worse.
You didn’t even consider the possibility that he was lying to you. You were too sweet for that. And Dex, selfish as he was, didn’t feel even the slightest bit guilty for taking advantage of it. All he could think about was having your hands on him again, your full attention fixed entirely on him, exactly where he believed it belonged.
Dex’s eyes swept across the apartment lingering on the empty living room before they settled back on you. His gaze drifted toward the front door as he quietly asked where Matt was. You absentmindedly told him he’d just left, only a minute or two ago. Close enough that he was probably still somewhere outside the building, but far enough that he was no longer there. A small, almost imperceptible wave of relief settled over Dex before his attention returned entirely to you.
…
You couldn’t even remember how he got you into this position, on your bed, legs spread wide, begging him to go harder.
“D-Dex, please,” you whimpered, eyes rolling back.
Everything felt filthy. His hands kept slipping on your sweaty hips, the wet slap of skin on skin only half-hidden under the sheets.
“Harder, Dex—fuck—right there,” you pushed your hips up to meet every rough thrust while his fingers worked your clit.
“Say it again,” he growled against your ear, biting the lobe when your nails dug into his ass and dragged him deeper. “Fuck, sweetheart, you feel perfect. So goddamn tight.”
Your walls fluttered at the praise, shocked that a supposedly injured man could talk and move like this. He felt every squeeze and laughed under his breath, still covering most of your sounds with his hand. Then he shifted, leaned in close, and finally pulled his palm away so he could brush the damp hair off your face.
“Give me a little smile…” he ordered, eyes dark and blown.
His rhythm turned slow and cruel, pulling out inch by inch so you felt every ridge, then slamming back in hard. Your tits bounced with the force. Your tongue lolled out as you gasped for the air he’d been denying you. Dex’s fingers gently pushed the edges of your lips up giving him a lopsided smile. He smiled and panted fucking you even harder. You locked your legs around his waist and let the sounds out. Dex moved his hand and stuck his fingers in your mouth making you suck them.
“Look at you. Completely wrecked. Naughty little thing letting me back inside and ruining you. What happens if Matt walks back in?”
He sank his teeth into your shoulder just as he hit your sweet spot and you cried out.
“You’re not even trying to stay quiet. You want to get caught, don’t you? You know he can hear you from wherever the hell he is..” You couldn’t form a real answer. All you felt was the relentless drive of his cock, deeper than anything you’d taken before.
“N-no,” you managed, eyes squeezed shut while he squeezed your cheeks.
“I don’t Dex—I’m-oh—”
Your fists twisted in the sheets when he found that spot again and white flashed behind your eyes. He lowly chuckled at how easily you submitted, watching your pussy swallow him.
“Pretty little cunt wrapped around me”
He spread your lips with two fingers and sucked in a breath at the white cream already coating his cock. He snapped his hips harder when you just clung to his arm, panting. He dropped his head and sucked hard on your tits while your hands flew to his hair.
“Tell me how good it feels. Please..”
Your thighs burned from how hard he kept pushing into you. He didn’t ease up, just demanded more.
“So good, Dex! Too much—your cock’s too much—inside, please, I want—”
“You want me to fill you up?”
You nodded, too far gone to think straight. Dex bit down on your skin, cock already twitching. He shoved your legs wider, driving deeper with longer, heavier strokes. You sobbed into your pillow. Every hard snap of his hips shoved you up the bed. You thought he was done when his abs locked and he groaned, pumping thick ropes of cum deep inside you. You clenched around him on instinct. He stayed buried, kissing you hard, fist tangled in your hair while both of you moaned into each other’s mouths.
“Dex…” you breathed, twitching from the overstimulation.
He smiled at how ruined you sounded. But one taste wasn’t enough. The image of you walking around taking care of Matt instead of him had something feral clawing at him. Before you could even try to push him off, he flipped you onto your stomach, yanked your ass up against his hips, and pressed your face into the pillows.
“Dex!” you gasped as the head of his still hard cock nudged your messy entrance.
“Just a little more for me please..”
The edge in his voice was darker now. He rubbed the tip through your folds, then sank in easy because you were still soaked and open. Both of you hissed.
“I’m not finished.”
His hand shoved the back of your head down until breathing got hard, and the way your walls fluttered tighter only made him meaner.
“Going to make you forget about him m’kay?”
He didn’t give you time to question him. He just drove into you harder than before, chasing the exact picture he wanted you ruined on your sheets, drooling and crying into the pillow. Dex was going to keep fucking you to oblivion so the only name on your mind was his.
“Going to make you mine..”
He’d gone completely feral, and nothing was stopping him.
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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.
remember the end of season 2 when Frank's sniping ninjas off that rooftop and Matt's dramatic bitch ass doesn't have his mask/cowl on? yeah
(ok i KNOW Frank clocked that Matt was Daredevil in the courtroom, it's one of my favorite little moments from this entire immaculate series, but i made this to make my dad laugh when he first watched season 2. and it still make me chuckle. so)
