dex who manhandles his girl without even realising. he's just so strong. and sometimes it's way easier for him to move then ask her to move (she never complains or says anything abt it 🤭)
okay, i did a little weird thing with this! the request sounds os! dexter coded so it’s original sin dexter getting older (original dexter) and being more conscious of his manhandling kink.
original sin! dexter who’s in his early twenties and doesn’t really know how to mange social interactions, let alone interact with his new sweet girlfriend. awkward, finicky, too cautious with his words, afraid they’ll sound cold when he doesn’t mean them to. so when you’re standing at the counter, blocking the drawer he needs, he doesn’t bother with words at all.
a hand lands on your waist. he shifts you aside, simple and thoughtless, the quickest way to get what he needs before he’s late. then he feels your stare burning a hole through the side of his face. he pauses, puzzled, until he closes the drawer and realizes his other hand is still resting on your hip. the moment connects; embarrassment straightens his posture.
“sorry, it’s just faster,” he gives a forced, flash of a half smile.
“it’s fine,” you answer, lips tugging upwards a little. you lean in and give him a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. “have a good day at work.”
he nods, pretending to move on, but his mind replays the touch—how natural it felt, how easily you’d moved under his hand.
original! dexter who’s now going into his late thirties and can’t bothered to hide his temper when his secrets are piling up and you’re needy for his attention. so when he’s frustrated, not with you— never with you, but with how many lies he has to keep up with he decides on a quiet night. one where you stay quiet and allow him to handle you however unless you really need to speak.
you’re on your back, legs wrapped against his hips as he pounds his dick in you from on top. he’s lost in it all; his anger, annoyance but also the sweet sounds you keep making and the smell of your new perfume. but he’s still slightly annoyed by you sliding up the sheets from his heavy thrust, in hopes of keeping you steady he tries to dig his fingers into your hips but you still move.
and, he’s tired of it. so tired, he groans as he sits up from the crock of your neck to fix your position. he doesn’t say anything directly, just pulls out and moves further down the bed enough to flip you over himself. he drags your arm across your body, rolling you until you’re on your side—then grips your hips, hauling you onto your stomach and up onto your knees in one firm motion.
once you’re bent over, he slips himself back in and begins thrusting again but you’re pulsing on him now. he knows you’re going to come. he leans toward, grabs the back of your neck and tugs your head out of pillows. “you’re gonna tell me when you’re about to come,” he growls through his teeth. you nod profusely, but with your head out the pillows, he notices your whining is higher in pitch than before.
“answer,” he groans, his hips quickly picking up speed.