𓆩♡𓆪Angel𓆩♡𓆪

“…there it is,” he murmurs.

your shyness makes you hesitant to ask for affection, which means dex learns to read you instead. he’ll notice you hovering nearby while pretending to look at something else, the tiny glances you keep stealing at him, the way your fingers fidget with your sleeves. without a word, he’ll open one arm. you shuffle over almost immediately, resting against his side. “…better?” he asks. you nod into his shoulder. “mhm.”

he finds your tendency to hide behind him endearing. crowded streets, loud environments, unfamiliar people - you’ll unconsciously drift until you’re standing just behind his shoulder. after a while, he starts shifting slightly to make room without even thinking about it.

because you’re so reserved, every little sign of affection from you means everything to him. if you reach for his hand first, if you lean your head on his shoulder without being prompted, if you quietly mumble, “I missed you,” when he comes home - it stays with him for days. he doesn’t react in the moment, but later that night he’ll pull you just a little closer while the two of you lie in bed, silently replaying those moments in his mind.

your shyness means you’re constantly apologizing for taking up space. dex hates it. every time you murmur, “sorry,” for something insignificant, he gently interrupts. “don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong.” eventually he starts placing a finger beneath your chin whenever you apologize unnecessarily, making you look at him until you smile instead.

dex has spent most of his life hiding every genuine emotion he has. you wear yours all over your face without realizing it. he knows exactly when you’re excited because your eyes brighten before you even smile. he knows when you’re anxious because you start twisting your rings. he knows when you’re trying not to cry because your lips press together just a little tighter.

“I can hear you thinking.” he says.

“…how do you know?”

“because I know you.”

one of the first things dex notices is that you instinctively make yourself smaller. when a waiter accidentally gets your order wrong, you smile and say it’s fine. when someone interrupts you, you simply stop talking. it bothers him more than he’d ever admit. after watching it happen one too many times, he starts speaking before you can. “she ordered the tea, not coffee.” his voice is calm, almost detached.

you glance up at him, surprised. afterward, you mumble, "dex, you didn’t have to.”

he looks at you for a second. “I wanted to.”

he loves when you hide your face in his chest after he compliments you. at first he thinks you’re embarrassed. then he realizes you’re smiling too much to look at him. from then on, he starts whispering compliments just to feel you curl into him. “you’re beautiful.” you let out the tiniest groan, face disappearing into his jacket. he rests his chin on your head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

there are times when your quiet nature worries him. after everything he’s experienced, silence can make his thoughts spiral. if you spend too long lost in your own head, he’ll glance over more often than he’d like to admit. “you okay?” he’ll ask. every single time you smile softly and answer, “just thinking.” only then does the tension leave his shoulders.

he never tries to change your personality. if anything, he protects it. he knows the world constantly expects louder, bolder people, but he likes that you’re soft. likes that your words are carefully chosen instead of rushed. likes that your kindness isn’t performative. one night, when you apologize for “being too quiet,” he looks at you for a long moment before gently taking your hand. his fingers intertwine with yours. “it’s one of my favorite things about you.”

you’re soft in every way he isn’t. where his voice is blunt, yours is hesitant. where his gaze is intense, yours is quick to drop. when strangers make eye contact, you smile politely. dex studies them until they look away first. the funny part is that you balance each other perfectly. people approach you because you seem approachable. they leave you alone because they eventually notice who’s standing beside you.

“you deserve so much better, sweetheart,” john whispered to you as he sheathed his cock into the tight heat of your pussy. his movements were slow and careful, inching into you and stretching you open as softly as he could. “so much better than boys your age, hm?”

you mewled softly, back arching off of the bed at the way john pushed into you. the leaking head of his cock pressed up against the base of your cervix, heavy balls resting against the plush curve of your arse when he bottomed out. he moaned breathlessly, stilling himself as you adjusted to his size.

“yeah, those boys don’t treat you right, do they?” price whispered, slowly pulling out. then; “they don’t treat this pretty pussy right, either.” he thrusted back in, heavier this time.

you moaned, your nails scraping down the fatty, muscled ridges of his back. he groaned in return, continuing to spear you open on his cock, arms either side of your head and caging you closer to him.

he was so deep inside you, and he knew it. he knew it because he took his time between thrusts to circle his hips, grinding himself against you. the thick thatch of dark hair at the base of his cock rubbed up against your clit, forcing high-pitched moans from your mouth, including a breathy: “john, oh my god, please!”

“yeah, baby? s’that feel good?” john asked you, hips smacking against yours, the bed creaking quietly beneath you both. he leaned down to kiss you— wet tongue smoothing against yours, swollen lips smearing spit and cum— and moaned into your mouth, your cunt squeezing tight around his girth. he couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “yeah, that does feel good, doesn’t it? feels so good.”

you whined, nodding deliriously. your body was trembling beneath him, coated in sweat, bare skin sticking to the sheets. your hands clawed at him, your dad’s best friend, pulling him closer to you as your orgasm built.

john was still talking to you. still talking you through it like the gentleman he was.

“look at you, my good girl. taking me so well— yeah, pretty baby, i’m so proud of you— i am, i am, m’so proud of you, taking it all like a good girl,” john praised, cockhead hitting up against the plug of your womb, your wet cunt fluttering around him. he hummed, pleased, his own orgasm nearing. “good girl, sweetheart. you’re getting what you deserve now, aren’t you?”

your brows pinched. what did he mean by that?

“you’re getting what you deserve,” john repeated, practically purring it into your ear. “what you deserve. gettin’ fucked like a good girl, yeah? gettin’ stretched open on a big, fat cock. gettin’ to come as many times as you want— you deserve this, don’t you?”

you whimpered, orgasm building in the bottom of your tummy.

“say it, baby.”

“i deserve it,” you moaned, and john smiled triumphantly above you, grinding his cock against your g-spot repeatedly.

he continued to do this until you came— careening over the edge of pleasure and coming all over john’s cock. you moaned loudly, chanting his name as you gripped hold of his shoulders, shuddering as your high wracked through you.

john cooed at you. “good girl, that’s it.”

your orgasm was long and drawn out— the best you’d ever had. your entire body tingled, legs still twitching, your clit throbbing. now, he fucked your cunt hard and deep, his orgasm nearing.

when he did come, he did so with a growl of your name, his head flopping down into the crook of your neck, muttering; “fuck, there we go, there we go— take all my cum, sweetheart. take it all ‘cause you’re my good girl.”