I just want to write a fanfic where DEX and BUCKY are fighting over Me UGGGGHHHH...... WHY IS IT SO HARD TO THINK OF A PLOT. I literally could go Regency, Cowboys, Vampires, Medieval, CEO but zero, zip, nada -_-
...maybe i should listen to my playlist, since all my fanfics are song inspired 😭😭
݈݇— pairings: nerdy!roommate AU dex poindexter x roommate!freader
݈݇— summary: Your friends keep laughing it off whenever you swear your shy, roommate Dex is secretly a total catch under the oversized clothing—they just can't see it like you do and you're finally determined to confirm it for yourself.
݈݇— [18+] themes: implied stalking, perverted roommate, dex acting pathetic, ooc dex, size kink, praise kink, teasing/seduction, body worship, msub, foreplay, oral (m & f receiving), dick slaps, face-riding, mating press, dirty talk, unprotected piv(pls use protection), creampie. Porn with plot. No use of y/n.
Author's Notes: Inspired by Need To Know by Doja Cat. Another fucking self indulgent fanfic. May or may not make a part 2 depending on how this goes lol.
Dex was right in the middle of staring at the same stubborn line of code for the third damn time when the loud clatter echoed from the living room, followed immediately by your very loud, very frustrated “Oh fuck!”
His hands froze on the keyboard. He was already half out of his chair before his brain caught up—because that’s what roommates did. They checked on each other. They didn’t just sit there spiraling through every worst-case scenario while their heart tried to punch its way out of their chest. Especially not when it was you.
He should’ve knocked. He knew the rule. But the door was already cracked open, and the only rule that actually mattered in his head (the one he’d invented the day you moved in) was simple: make sure you’re okay. Even if his palms were already clammy. Even if he’d spent the last six months pretending he didn’t notice you in anything less than full-coverage pajamas.
He pushed the door open a little wider with his shoulder, glasses sliding down his nose, and the sight hit him like a truck.
You were on the floor.
Legs splayed, one knee twisted at a weird angle, that thin white cover-up clinging to your skin thanks to the humidity and doing exactly zero to hide the tiny bikini underneath.
His gaze flicked down, then up, then anywhere that wasn’t you, but it was useless. The way the bikini bottoms sat low on your hips. The cover-up slipping off one shoulder. The sunscreen is still shiny on your thigh. He felt heat crawl up the back of his neck, felt his glasses fog slightly at the edges because apparently his body had decided this was the moment to overheat.
“Are—are you okay?” The words came out gravelly, like he’d just swallowed a handful of sand. He hovered in the doorway, one hand still gripping the frame.
You looked up at him, lips parted in that sheepish little smile. “Yeah,” you said with a soft, embarrassed laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I just slipped on sunscreen like an absolute genius.”
Dex swallowed hard. He should leave. He should turn around right now and go back to his room and pretend he hadn’t seen any of this. But his feet were glued. And you were still sitting there, looking up at him with those eyes, cover-up slipping further down your arm, and every single fantasy he’d ever tried to bury came roaring back in high definition.
He took one careful step closer, then another, until he was crouched beside you. His hand hovered for a second before his fingers brushed your elbow. The skin there was warm, still a little slick from lotion, and the contact sent a jolt straight through him.
“Here—let me…” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, tried again. “C-can I help you up?”
You nodded, still wearing that small, knowing smile, and when you slipped your hand into his, Dex felt it in his ribs, his stomach, everywhere. He pulled you to your feet a little too quickly, until you were standing right there, inches away. The sheer fabric brushed against his hoodie. The smell of strawberries filled the space between you.
“You… you should probably lather up on the couch,” he managed, voice low and rough. “Sitting down to avoid…slipping.”
“That’s actually a really smart idea,” you said, laughing softly, that same knowing smile still in place as you let go of his hand. You stepped past him toward the hallway.
Dex inhaled sharply before he could stop himself. Your hair swung close and that strawberry scent hit him full force again. His eyes actually rolled back for half a second, lashes fluttering. God. He was pathetic. Completely, irreversibly pathetic.
He followed you down the hall at a careful distance, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets so you wouldn’t see them shaking, eyes locked on the floor.
“You heading to the beach today?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. He’d watched you check the weather app three separate times during dinner. He knew your plans better than his own.
You glanced back over your shoulder with a little shrug. “Nah, just the rooftop pool.”
Dex rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to look surprised. “R-right. I forgot the apartment even had a pool…”
You dropped onto the couch and gave him that sweet little “Mm-hm.”
“Well,” he said, already taking a jerky step back toward the hallway, “I’ll be in my room if you need anyth—”
“Actually…”
Your voice stopped him cold. Dex turned halfway around. You were standing by the couch, sunscreen bottle in one hand, fingers playing with the tie of your cover-up.
“Can you help me put sunscreen on?” you asked, all soft and sweet. “My back’s impossible to reach and I really don’t want to burn…”
Dex’s mouth went completely dry. Every alarm in his head went off, but his feet were already carrying him toward you anyway.
“You… you want me to—?” His voice came out cracked and embarrassingly breathy.
You tilted your head, biting your lower lip in that soft, innocent way that wiped every rational thought clean out of his skull. “Only if you’re okay with it,” you said sweetly, eyes wide and guileless. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”
Uncomfortable. Right.
He was already half-hard in his sweatpants, cock twitching at the mere idea of his hands on you. His glasses slid another inch down his nose.
“No—no, I don’t mind,” he blurted, then winced at how desperate he sounded. “I mean… yeah. Sure. Definitely.”
Your whole face lit up. “Thank you!” you chirped, bright and happy, and before he could brace himself you reached up and tugged the tie of the cover-up. It slipped right off your shoulders and you held it
Dex’s brain flatlined.
Holy shit.
New material, his mind supplied instantly, already filing every detail away for later. For when he was alone in his room tonight, door locked, hand wrapped tight around his cock, biting down on his wrist so you wouldn’t hear him falling apart through the thin wall. He was so unbelievably fucked.
You dropped the cover-up over the arm of the couch and sat down, patting the cushion beside you. “C’mere then.”
Dex nodded like a bobble head and lowered himself onto the couch on shaky legs, the cushions sinking under his weight. His hands trembled as he took the sunscreen from you and squeezed way too much into his palm. A thick white pool sat there like evidence of how badly he was failing at playing it cool.
He rubbed his palms together slowly, the wet sound loud in the quiet room, warming the lotion between his fingers. Then he scooted closer and placed his hands at the top of your back, right below the delicate knot of your bikini strings.
Fuck.
His thumbs pressed into your warm skin and he started rubbing careful circles, spreading the lotion down the smooth line of your spine. He was trying so hard to stay respectful, but his brain was already ten steps ahead—imagining taking the string with his teeth, tugging it loose, watching the strings fall away so he could finally see everything he’d been fantasizing about for months.
Dex’s breath caught. He kept his hands moving anyway, trying like hell not to let you feel how badly they were shaking.
“Mmm… your hands feel really good, Ben,” you said, low and a little breathy. You even used his first name, and it hit him like you knew exactly what it would do to him.
His whole body jolted.
“S-Sorry?” The word came out too loud and cracked right in the middle. His hands froze on your skin, palms pressed flat against your back, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his fingertips.
You let out a soft, knowing laugh and twisted on the couch. Before his brain could catch up, you swung one leg over his lap and straddled him. Your warm thighs settled around his hips, your ass pressing right down against the front of his sweatpants where he was already half-hard and completely hopeless.
Dex’s back hit the cushions hard, body stiff as a board. Every muscle locked up tight. His lotion-slick hands flew up in the air.
“Wh-what—you—I—What are you doing?”
You settled your full weight on his thighs, hands resting lightly on his shoulders, and smiled down at him with that sweet, wicked look that wiped every coherent thought from his head.
“You want to touch them, don’t you, Benjamin?” you asked softly, tilting your head. “I know you’ve wanted me for a long time. I see the way you look at me when I walk around in my sundresses. When I bend over to grab something. You think I don’t notice?”
Dex’s mouth opened, then closed. Words failed him for a second.
“I—I didn’t—fuck, okay I did, but I swear I wasn’t trying to be creepy— Jesus Christ you’re so pretty and I’m such a fucking loser but yes please—you can sit here forever—I’ll do anything—I’ll buy you all the sunscreen in the store—I’ll—fuck—”
His hands stayed hovering uselessly in the air, trembling, eyes wide and glassy behind his glasses as he stared up at you.
You giggled, clearly loving every second of his meltdown, and traced one finger slowly down his forehead, over the bridge of his nose, then across his bottom lip. Your fingertip caught on the way his mouth shook.
“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I don’t mind. I like it when you look at me like that.”
Dex’s breathing turned ragged, chest heaving under you. Every exhale fogged his glasses a little more. His cock was fully hard now, throbbing against your ass, and he was mortified and turned on beyond belief.
You slid your fingers into his brown hair, messing it up and tugged gently until his head tipped back with a shaky gasp. Then you plucked his glasses off his face and set them neatly on the couch cushion beside you.
“You’re already so hot with these on,” you murmured, brushing his hair back from his forehead, nails scraping lightly over his scalp, “but you shouldn’t hide that handsome face all the time.” You leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Can you still see me?”
Dex blinked hard. The world went soft and blurry without the lenses, but you were right there—warm, soft, and practically naked on his lap, tits inches from his mouth. His hands finally settled on your hips, thumbs brushing the edge of your bikini bottoms.
“Y-yeah,” he breathed, still panting. “I can still see you.”
“Good,” you said with another soft laugh, palms sliding down his chest, over his shoulders, feeling every tense line of him like you were marking what was yours. “Then you won’t mind taking off your hoodie right now, will you?”
Dex’s brain blue-screened, “Y-You want me to do what?”
You rocked your hips once, slow and deliberate, grinding right against the obvious bulge in his sweats. He choked on air.
“Take off your clothes, Ben.”
“R-really?”
“Really.”
His voice cracked embarrassingly high. “This is a joke, right? You’re fucking with me—”
You didn’t bother answering with words. You just stood up, reached behind your neck, and pulled the bow. The knot came undone with one easy tug. The pink bikini top slipped down and you tossed it onto the couch.
Dex’s eyes went wide and inhaled sharply. “Oh my god…”
Your breasts were right there—bare, nipples already tight from the way he was staring. He couldn’t look away. His cock throbbed hard against his sweats. His hands fisted the couch cushions so tightly his knuckles went white.
You planted your hands on your hips, completely at ease. “Do you want to get off or not?”
That snapped him out of it. Dex yanked his hoodie up and over his head in one jerky motion, then stripped off the white t-shirt underneath. He sat there shirtless, and holy shit—he was ripped. Broad shoulders, defined chest, abs flexing with every shaky breath, that sharp V-line disappearing into his low-slung sweats.
You drank him in like you’d been waiting years for this exact reveal, eyes darkening, lips parting. A slow, hungry smile curved your mouth, like you’d always known the shy, glasses-wearing roommate was secretly built like that under the hoodies. Like you’d been imagining peeling him open just as much as he’d been imagining you.
“Fuck, Dex,” you breathed, stepping between his spread thighs. “I knew you were hiding all that.”
Dex swallowed hard, throat bobbing. A tiny, shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He still couldn’t believe any of this was happening to him.
“What… what do you want me to do?”
You hummed, dragging your gaze over every cut line of his torso while you decided. “Why don’t you get on your knees and make me come? Then I’ll let you play with my breasts.”
His eyes blew wide, like a kid who just got told Christmas came early. “Really? You—you actually want me to—?”
You laughed, low and fond, cocking your hip. “Are you going to ask me that every single time? Yes, really. Taste me.”
Dex’s breath stuttered out in a shaky exhale. He slid off the couch in slow motion, knees hitting the floor with a soft thud. He knelt between your thighs, looking up at you with those big hazel eyes, glasses-less and wrecked.
“I’m just… surprised you want me to,” he mumbled, adorably earnest. “I mean… me?”
You combed your fingers through his messy hair, nails scraping his scalp, and his whole body jolted like you’d shocked him. A tinybwhimper slipped out before he could swallow it.
“Well, I really need to know what that mouth feels like,” you murmured, still petting him like he was yours.
He leaned in and caught the left tie of your bikini bottoms between his teeth (exactly the way he’d just fantasized) and tugged with a desperate little groan vibrating in his throat. The knot slipped free. He moved to the right side, teeth grazing your hip bone, pulling harder this time, eyes fluttering shut as a muffled “mmph” vibrated against your skin.
The pink bottoms fluttered to the floor.
He was inches from your bare pussy, that sweet strawberry-and-you scent flooding his lungs. He looked up at you one last time, cheeks flushed.
“Fuck… you’re so pretty,” he whispered. He looked up at you so intently, those beautiful hazel eyes blazing through the haze of his glasses-less blur.
For the second time this morning his brain is lagging—this gorgeous, confident woman gripping his hair, looking at him like he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. As if he wasn’t just some awkward, hoodie-wearing loser who’d jerked off to the image of you in his head for six straight months. It couldn’t be real, could it? He was going to wake up any second, cock in his fist, alone in his cold bed again—then he lowered his lips to your pussy and he knew it was real.
The first touch was so delicately gentle, just the soft press of his open mouth, a shaky, whimpery kiss right against your folds. A savouring hum caught in his throat the second your taste hit his tongue. The sensation tore through you like lightning, and you arched hard, knees buckling with a startled cry that made his cock twitch painfully in his sweats.
“Oh wow,” you moaned breathlessly, gripping his bare shoulder. “You’re… surprisingly really good at this.”
You tried to steady yourself on one foot as he brought your other leg up, easing it over his shoulder with trembling hands. His tongue dragged flat and worshipful from your entrance to your clit, then swirled lazy, needy circles, moaning into you the whole time that vibrated straight through your core.
“Mmmph—fuck, you taste so good,” he mumbled against you, voice muffled and desperate. “I don’t deserve this—mmh—so sweet, I’m sorry I’m so greedy but I can’t stop—”
He closed his mouth over your swollen clit and kissed it like it was the love of his life, lips sucking and smacking wetly, moving exactly like he was French-kissing your mouth. His tongue swirled in huge, sloppy circles, groaning loud and shameless right into you as he gripped your hips with those strong hands, yanking you harder against his face so he could grind his nose against your clit.
He pulled back just enough to stare up at you with those worshipful eyes before his tongue started flicking your clit in rapid, frantic little strokes. His gaze never left yours, drinking in every gasp and twitch like your pleasure was the only validation he’d ever need. His hips jerk pathetically against nothing, completely lost in the taste of you, groaning and begging between messy licks.
“Oh my, g-god. Dex—slide your tongue in again.”
You bucked hard towards his nose, a muffled cry slipping through your bitten lips as his tongue pushed deep inside you, thick and wet and pulsing like he was trying to fuck you with it. He groaned into your pussy, the vibration rolling straight to your clit, and your fingers twisted tighter in his messy hair. The second you yanked him closer, he let out the cutest, muffled little laugh against your soaked folds then drove his tongue even deeper, curling, licking, devouring like he’d die if he couldn’t taste every drop of you.
Dex pulled back just enough to drag in a shaky breath, lips glossy and swollen, spit and your slick shining down his chin.
“Please—fuck, please keep pulling my hair like that,” he begged. His hips still rolled helplessly against nothing, the fat outline of his cock straining obscenely against his sweats, a wet spot blooming darker where he was leaking for you. “I love it when you do—”
“Yeah?” You gave his hair a sharp tug, watching the way his whole body jolted like you’d electrocuted him. A wicked smile curved your lips. “You like it when I get a little rough?”
“Yes—yes, fuck, I love it,” he groaned, eyes fluttering.
“Oh, baby,” you cooed, nails scraping possessively over his scalp again. “You’re so fucking sweet when you beg. Almost makes me want to be nice to you…” You yanked harder, and his moan cracked into a needy whimper that made his thighs shake. “…but it’s way too sexy when you fall apart like this. I also like my men strong, Benjamin. Are you strong?”
“Oh fuck—”
He surged up from his knees without warning. Big hands grabbed your hips and spun you around with barely an effort. You barely had time to gasp before he lifted you and tossed you back onto the couch. Your back bounced against the cushions, and before you could even speak he was right there again, down on his knees between your spread legs.
His palms shoved your thighs up and back, folding you neatly in half until your knees pressed to your chest. Your pussy was completely open, glistening and dripping right in front of his face.
Dex dove back in like he’d lost his mind. His tongue dragged up to your clit, flicking and sucking with fresh, desperate hunger. Just when you started missing the stretch of him inside you, he pushed two thick fingers deep, thrusting slowly at first, then harder, curling them exactly where you needed them.
“Oh my god,” you moaned, head falling back. “You’re such a good boy—I don’t even have to tell you what to do.”
He was devouring you now. Every time he sucked your clit between his lips he made wet, filthy slurping sounds, humming deep and greedy in his throat.
“Mmmph—fuuuck,” he groaned right against your pussy, the vibration rolling straight through you. “You know this pussy owns me now, right? Owns my face. Owns my mouth.” His tongue lapped messily through your folds, slurping noisily at every drop, chin already shiny and dripping. “I could kneel here and lick you all fucking day. You’ve made such a mess out of me.”
He hummed louder, eyes squeezed shut in pure bliss, fingers pumping faster, curling hard against that spot that made your back arch clean off the couch and stars burst behind your eyelids.
Pleasure slammed through you hard enough to rip a loud cry from your throat. Dex’s tongue kept dragging those slow, filthy circles around your clit, savoring every twitch, while his fingers drove deep inside you in that steady, ruthless rhythm that had you trying to grind down on his face even though he had you folded in half.
And fuck, you thought with a dazed little smirk, it’s always the quiet ones who turn out to be absolute freaks.
“That’s it—own my face,” he whimpered desperately against your pussy, voice wrecked and needy. “Fucking own it. Come all over your good boy. Come all over your obedient little servant. That’s me. That’s all me.”
“Fuck—Dex, I’m coming,” you whispered urgently, as he rocked your hips against his face. “You’re going to make me come…”
Dex let out a groany laugh, eyes squeezing shut for a second like he couldn’t believe his luck. “Yes, give it to me,” he begged, lips trembling against your pussy. “Come in my mouth, flood my tongue, I’ll drink every fucking drop—”
His fingers drove deeper, faster, curling hard against that perfect spot while his tongue licked you quick and greedy, groaning low and filthy the whole time. He slurped and sucked like he was starving, humming desperately because you tasted so good he couldn’t get enough.
You cried out as the orgasm hit you, sharp and overwhelming. Your pussy clenched tight around his fingers, gushing all over his eager mouth and chin while he kept licking and sucking through every single pulse, moaning like he was coming right along with you.
“Oh fuck that’s it—that’s it, give me everything,” he mumbled between messy swallows, voice thick and grateful. “Fuck—thank you.”
When you finally started to come down, Dex pulled back just enough to press soft, reverent kisses to your inner thighs, lips trembling against your slick skin. He looked up and found you staring into the void, dazed and breathless, lips parted like you’d forgotten how to form words.
His hands itched. God, they fucking itched to slide up and cup those beautiful breasts but he didn’t dare move without permission. He was still your pathetic little servant, still on his knees, still terrified; this was all some cruel dream that would vanish if he got too greedy.
“Um… c-can I touch them now?” he asked, cheeks burning hot. “Please?”
That snapped you out of it. Your lips curved into a naughty little smile that made his cock twitch hard in his sweats. You sat up, cupped his chin, and tilted his flushed face up to you, thumb brushing the mess he’d made of his mouth.
“Of course you can, baby,” you said sweetly.
You pulled him up, swapped places, and pushed him back onto the couch. Then you opened his knees wide and swung a leg over to straddle his lap again. The heat of your bare pussy settled right over the massive bulge in his sweats and he whimpered, hips jerking up helplessly.
“How can I say no after you made me come like that?”
You took his shaking hands in yours and guided them slowly up your sides, over your ribs, until his palms were cupping your breasts. Dex gave them a tentative squeeze, thumbs brushing over your tight nipples.
You laughed softly, eyes sparkling. “You like them?”
He swallowed hard, throat working. “Yes,” he breathed, voice completely wrecked. “They’re… they’re perfect. Fuck, you’re perfect.”
His lips closed around one breast with a loud, wet, noisy suck. He moaned against your skin, eyes fluttering shut, tongue swirling as he pulled you deeper into his mouth.
You grinned, threading your fingers through his messy hair and holding him there while he made those shameless, hungry noises. Only then did you reach down between you and palm the thick, heavy outline of his cock through his sweats. Your eyes widened. A delighted little gasp slipped out as you felt exactly how big he was—rock-solid, fat, straining so hard the fabric was barely holding him in.
“Oh my word,” you murmured, giving him a slow, appreciative stroke that made his head fall back with a moan, your nipple still caught between his lips. “You just keep getting better and better, don’t you?”
Dex’s hips bucked hard into your hand, a pathetic little whine escaping around your breast because your touch was the first real one he’d felt in months.
You squeezed him again, loving the way his ripped abs flexed under your thighs. “No wonder you always walk like that…” Another stroke, thumb circling the wet spot at the tip until he gasped. “Poor baby’s been carrying this around the apartment every day and I never knew.”
Dex’s eyes locked on your hand, watching every lazy movement like it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. “Oh God—oh my God—fuck,” he gasped, hips twitching up into your palm without any control left. “Yeah—your hand feels so good—”
You gave him a firmer squeeze and his whole body jerked, those perfect abs clenching hard.
“Holy shit—uh—oh God. Fuck, you squeezing me like that—oh God—oh—” His head tipped all the way back, eyes half-lidded behind the blur of pleasure.
You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “Poor baby… already leaking all over my hand and I’ve barely touched you. Bet this feels a hell of a lot better than fucking your own fist thinking about me every night, doesn’t it?”
Dex’s whole body jolted. His eyes flew open, wide and stunned. His breath hitched while a shy, embarrassed little laugh caught in his throat as he stared at you like you’d just punched him in the chest with pure affection.
“Oh, it’s just… no one’s ever, uh, talked to me like this before,” he stammered, flashing that sheepish little smile that made your chest do something stupid. “No one’s ever said stuff like that to me. I—I’m sorry, I sound so stupid, I just—fuck, keep talking to me like that, please? God, it’s so hot I don’t know what to do with myself—”
You smiled against his ear and gave the shell a soft, wicked nibble that made his hips jerk again. “Well then,” you whispered, “has no one ever played with this fat cock the way I’m gonna?”
Dex opened his mouth to answer, but the words died the second your hand slipped under the waistband of his sweats. Your fingers wrapped around his bare, throbbing length and gave one long, slow stroke from base to tip.
“You’re so… Mm—you’re so—fuck—” His sentence crumbled. He tried to keep going, tried to tell you how no one had ever touched him like this, how he’d jerked off in the shower every single morning just so he wouldn’t walk around the apartment hard for you, but every drag of your hand wiped his brain clean. “I was gonna say—I mean—no one’s—Jesus Christ your hand is so soft—I can’t—I can’t even think when you—mmph—”
His head fell back against the couch while he kept trying anyway, lips moving, desperate to finish a single coherent thought, but every slow pump of your fist stole another piece of him. His abs clenched, thighs shaking under you, cock twitching hard in your grip as you stroked him nice and luxurious, spreading all that pre-cum until the wet sounds filled the room.
“I’ve never—no one’s ever touched me like—fuck, like that—slow—oh my god, please don’t stop, I sound so pathetic but I— I’ve dreamed about your hand—every night—and it’s so much better—I can’t—I can’t even finish a—fuck—”
You watched him with adoration in your eyes, tilting your head and shut him up with your lips, kissing him so eagerly it stole the rest of his broken sentence right out of his mouth.
You swallowed it instantly, tongue sliding past his lips like you already owned every sound he made. He tried to kiss you back, clumsy and desperate, but you took control so completely that all he could do was whimper into your mouth while you explored him with strokes of your tongue that promised exactly what that same mouth could do somewhere much lower.
“Mm—fuck—mmph—” he tried again, the words vibrating against your lips, but you just kissed him deeper, twisting your wrist on the upstroke until his whole body jerked and another moan spilled straight into your mouth.
You pulled back just enough to reach for his glasses on the cushion beside you. With gentle fingers you slid them back onto his face.
“There,” you murmured, sweet as sugar. “I think you need to see me suck this dick in high definition.”
Dex blinked hard behind the lenses, the world snapping back into sharp, perfect focus around your wicked little smile. Before he could even try to form words, you slid off his lap, dropped to your knees between his spread thighs, and settled in.
He watched, completely helpless and shaking, as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweats and boxers and dragged them down his hips in one smooth tug. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, and your fingers curled right around the base.
Dex’s hands flew up to cover his face, glasses knocked crooked. A muffled, delirious little laugh slipped out between his palms. “Fuck… I’m the luckiest man alive right now.”
You gave his cock a slow, appreciative stroke, then looked up at him with that firm, commanding glint in your eyes. “Look at me, Ben. Never take your eyes off me. Got it?”
Dex nodded so fast his glasses slipped down his nose again, eyes wide behind them, locked on your face like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.
You leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to the flushed, leaking head of his cock. Then lower. And lower. Before you smacked the heavy length against your cheek with deliberate, filthy slaps.
“God, you’re so heavy,” you teased, rubbing the thick shaft along your cheek while your eyes stayed glued to his. “How the hell do you think this is supposed to fit anywhere, huh? You’re gonna have to split me open, aren’t you?”
Dex let out a long, wrecked groan, thighs trembling on either side of you. He couldn’t look away. Not when you stuck your tongue out flat, laid his cock across it, and started smacking the shaft against the warm, wet muscle in solid, teasing taps.
He was going to die. He was actually going to die right here on the couch with his glasses on and your pretty mouth teasing the absolute hell out of him, and he’d thank you for it with his last breath.
“G-go choke on it first,” he blurted in a sudden rush of bravery, then immediately looked mortified. “I-I mean… if you want to…”
Your eyebrow snapped up, a wicked little grin spreading across your face as you nodded like you were proud of him for saying that.
Dex’s heart slammed against his ribs so hard he felt dizzy.
You leaned in closer, lips brushing the leaking tip as you looked up at him through your lashes. “Is that what you fantasize about when you jerk off in your room at night?” you purred. “Me choking on this fat cock? Gagging all pretty for you while you watch?”
Dex’s mouth fell open, hips twitching helplessly toward your face. “Y-yes—fuck, yes. Every night. Every single night—”
You didn’t let him finish.
The second the words left his lips you took the head of his cock into your mouth, and Dex gasped so hard it felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs.
It was too much. Too good. Velvety and hot and so fucking lucious that his whole spine lit up like a live wire. A strangled groan left him as pleasure streaked through every nerve ending at once. His hands flew to the couch cushions, knuckles white, because if he didn’t hold on he’d probably float straight out of his body.
You sank down slowly, taking more of him, tongue pressed flat underneath as your lips stretched tight around his thickness. Dex’s glasses fogged at the edges. His abs clenched hard, thighs shaking on either side of you.
You licked your way back up to the head, suctioning hard, then swirled your tongue over it, dipping into the slit to taste the steady leak of pre-cum like you were savoring him. Dex’s head fell back for half a second before he remembered your order and forced his eyes back down to you, chest heaving.
God. How many times had he imagined you on your knees just like this; sucking him slow and deep while you looked up at him with those pretty eyes?
Every single one of those fantasies paled. They were pathetic little shadows compared to the reality of you. The intense, electrifying heat that scorched every nerve ending as you lowered yourself again, sliding your sweet, wet mouth further down his shaft until he felt the back of your throat flutter around him. His hips jerked involuntarily, a choked “f-fuck—” ripping out of him before he could stop it.
Pleasure surged through him and he arched back sharply, the feeling so intense he nearly yanked out of your mouth. But he rode those waves, blood pounding hot through his veins as his cock throbbed with incredible bliss. You sucked him hard and sensually, lips stretched tight around him and cheeks hollowing as you milked more ecstasy from him than he'd ever felt in his life.
When you came back up you let him go with a wet pop and smiled up at him, eyes sparkling like you were enjoying the hell out of wrecking him. Your smile made his cock throb and jerk, and you chased it with your tongue and laughed, taking it back in with that delicious, silky warmth.
“Just like that—” Dex moaned, voice tight with ecstasy. He slid one hand into your hair, caressing first, then gripping the back of your neck like he needed something solid to hold onto.
“It feels so good holy shit.” he breathed as you gradually increased your pace. You wrapped both hands around the base of his cock and started stroking in time with your mouth, faster now. Dex’s head dropped back against the couch again before dragging his gaze back down. He couldn’t miss this. Not for a single second.
His hand gently cradled and guided your head, fingers weaving through your hair as the overwhelming desire to lock you in place and thrust into your mouth consumed him.
His free hand joined the first, sinking in and tightening his hold as the raw sensuality left him dizzy and breathless. He started rocking his hips slowly, testing, mesmerized by the way your eyes fluttered as you took him deeper.
But then you smiled around his cock and sucked harder. That was all it took.
Dex drove in faster, deeper, his cock slick and shiny with your spit as he thrust up your throat. You took him beautifully—until he forced just a little too far. Your throat fluttered, then clenched like a fist as you choked, the sloppy, gagging buzz shooting down his entire cock.
He froze for a second, glasses slipping down his nose, panic and lust warring on his face.
“S-sorry—fuck, that’s so hot, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry but don’t stop—please don’t stop—” He was panting, glasses fogged, hips still rocking again and again, savoring the way your throat squeezed every time you gagged softly around him. He couldn’t help it even while apologizing.
You just hummed around him like you owned every inch, eyes watering but never breaking that locked-in stare, taking him even deeper on the next thrust, letting him fuck your throat raw.
He was going to come. God dammit, he was going to explode like a firework in your mouth any second now.
But nope. You pulled off with a wet, filthy pop, lips shiny and puffy, a shiny string of spit still linking you to his throbbing tip like a naughty little bridge.
“W-why’d you stop?” he blurted, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “Did I—did I do something wrong? Fuck, I’m sorry, I got carried away, I just— I was so close.”
You shook your head, flashing that wicked little grin as you crawled straight up his body and swung a leg over, straddling his lap like you were claiming the throne. One hand cupped those full, heavy, aching balls, rolling them nice and slow while you dragged your soaked pussy along the underside of his cock, slicking him up marking your territory.
“I’m not wasting a single drop of this,” you whispered, all husky and low, thumb stroking that crazy-sensitive spot right behind his balls. “You’re spilling every bit inside me.”
Dex looked like his brain had officially powered off. “I-inside you? Holy shit—aren’t you scared you might—?”
You chuckled and ground down harder, sliding all over him like you owned the ride. “Got any condoms stashed somewhere, cutie?” you asked, all innocent and sweet while your hips kept rolling.
Dex just gaped, fish-mouthed and speechless. “....no.”
You let out a bright, delighted little laugh and climbed off his lap, “Guess we’re doing this raw then, huh?” You flopped onto your back on the couch, hair fanning out across the cushions, and hooked your knees up high, feet planted on the edge.
With zero shame, you reached down and spread yourself open for him, two fingers parting your slick, puffy folds so he could see everything. Your little hole clenched visibly under his stare, shiny and dripping from how much you’d enjoyed choking on him.
“Look at what you did to me, Benjamin,” you purred. “See how fucking wet I am? It’s because of you. My poor little pussy’s been clenching around nothing the whole time I was sucking you off, just thinking about how you’re finally gonna stuff me full.”
Dex made a strangled noise, eyes glued to the way your fingers teased your entrance, dipping just the tip of one inside before pulling back to circle your clit. You were so ready and glistening and open for him it hurt.
“Mmm, you like the view, don’t you?” you teased, tilting your hips up a little more so he could see even deeper. “Look how this little hole keeps fluttering. It’s so empty, Dex. Been waiting months for this fat cock to stretch it open. You gonna give it to me? Gonna give me all that cum you’ve been saving for me every night? Or are you just gonna sit there staring like a cute little pervert while I play with myself?”
Dex’s glasses slipped down his nose again, “No, I’m going to give you anything you want.”
You just grinned wider, “Then come here and take what’s yours, nerd.”
He scrambled between your spread thighs like a man on a mission and a panic attack at the same time, knees sinking into the couch cushions. His hands shook as he gripped the backs of your thighs, lining himself up. The fat head of his cock nudged against your slick entrance and he actually whimpered at how hot and wet you felt.
“Okay, okay. Look, I’ll just… m-maybe, maybe you should be on top, you know?” he blurted. “S-so you’re, um… yeah, so y-you can, like, control it? I don’t wanna hurt—”
You laughed softly, reaching up to tug him closer by the back of his neck. “It’s fine, Dex.”
“I don’t—I don’t wanna squish you—” he tried again, eyes wide behind his glasses, cock throbbing against your pussy like it had a mind of its own.
The head slipped inside you, stretching you open in one smooth glide. Dex’s eyes dropped to where your bodies met and he forgot how to breathe entirely. You threw your head back and moaned as your pussy parted for him, taking every thick inch until he was buried to the hilt, heavy balls pressed against your ass.
“Oh shit,” he groaned, voice wrecked. “I’m inside you—you feel so fucking good.”
He pulled back slowly, and your pussy clenched around him like it didn’t want to let him go. Then he drove back in until his tip met a dead end, stretching you open all over again. You grabbed his right wrist and slapped his big palm straight onto your breast. His fingers squeezed hard on instinct. At the same time you caught his left hand and pressed his thumb against your bottom lip.
The second he felt the wet heat of your mouth close around it, Dex’s eyes flew open wide behind his glasses. You sucked on his thumb like it was his cock, matching every thrust, moaning around it shamelessly.
“Jesus Christ,” he whimpered, voice cracking. “You’re—fuck, look at you. I’m not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that, baby. I swear I’m trying but you feel too good and you’re sucking on my thumb and I—oh my god—”
You just smiled around his thumb and sucked harder, never breaking eye contact, letting him feel exactly how much you wanted every desperate, awkward, perfect inch of him.
Dex couldn’t stop staring down between your bodies. His thick cock was sliding in and out of your pussy in these dragging strokes, shiny and glistening with how wet you were. Every time he pulled back he could see the way your folds stretched around him, clinging tight, and every time he pushed back in he watched himself disappear inside you until his hips met yours. He was completely obsessed with the sight, breathing hard through his mouth like he’d never seen anything so hot in his life.
Without thinking he slid his hand down from your breast and pressed the heel of his palm firmly against your lower stomach, right above where he was buried deep. The sudden pressure made everything feel impossibly tighter. You whined loud around his thumb, the sound vibrating against his skin as your pussy fluttered hard around his cock.
“Fuck—did that feel good?” he panted, eyes still glued to the spot where you were joined, pressing down a little harder as he thrusts.
As if guided by that lust alone, he began to thrust into a deep, forceful rhythm, his rigid cock stretching you each time. You moaned hummingly with each stroke, feeling the power of his hips as they slapped against you, imagining the strong muscles of his thighs flexing and straining to drive his cock into you deeper and harder every time. He crashed against you, his short breaths matching his pace, his moans of pleasure spiking as senseless words spilled from his lips.
You pulled his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop, grabbed his wrist again, and swapped it for the two fingers he'd buried inside you earlier, sucking it until your cheeks hollow.
Dex’s rhythm faltered for half a second, then slammed back in even harder.
“Holy shit I don't think I can’t take it,” he panted, voice cracking high and desperate. “I can’t take it. Ugh, you have to come soon. You have to come soon. Oh, fuck—”
He was panting and groaning as he thrust and bucked, hips snapping forward like he was chasing something he couldn’t quite catch. His eyes brightened with this wild, pleasure-pain look you’d never seen before; glassy, almost frantic, like he was right on the razor’s edge and hanging on by a thread. His glasses were crooked, hair sticking to his forehead, mouth open on every broken moan.
“I’m so close— I’m so fucking close but I need you to come first, please, I need to feel you coming on my cock before I fill you up, I can’t— I can’t hold it— fuck, please come for me—”
He was so close. You could feel it in the way his cock swelled even thicker inside you, the way his thrusts turned sloppy and urgent. He needed your release, your surrender, and he would detonate the second you gave it to him.
You reached up, grabbed his face with both hands, and pulled him down so your foreheads touched. “You can take it—keep going,” you gasped, voice shaky but firm. “Put your mouth on my neck, baby—right now.”
He obeyed instantly like the good, desperate boy he was. A quiet, “o-okay—yeah, fuck, okay” tumbled out of him as he dipped his head. You gasped and swallowed hard, tilting your chin back to give him more room, your whole body shaking with the force of every thrust. One of your hands slid between your bodies so you could rub tight, frantic circles over your clit, chasing that last spark.
Dex’s lips found your throat first, kissing the throbbing pulse there, then his tongue dragged up the side of your neck in one long, wet stripe. When it danced along the shell of your earlobe you shivered hard, a full-body tremble that made your pussy clench around him. And when he dipped the tip of his tongue right inside your ear you sobbed.
“F-fuck, I love it when you moan like that.” he whimpered against your ear.
You grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged, forcing his mouth back to your neck while your fingers kept rubbing faster. “Say dirty things to me, Dex,” you panted, voice husky. “Tell me how good I feel. Tell me what you’re gonna do when you come inside me. Don’t stop talking.”
“Yeah—fuck, I’m trying,” Dex panted against your skin, hips snapping forward in these desperate little thrusts. “If I talk to you, you’ll come, right? Yeah? I want that. I want you to come so fucking bad—”
You nodded hard. “Yes—fuck, yes! Just say all the nasty shit you say to yourself when you jerk off thinking about me.”
“Fuck, listen to you,” he groaned, suddenly finding his rhythm. “Sucking my cock earlier like you wanted to steal my soul, choking on it like a greedy little whore, and now you’re begging me to pump you full?” He slammed into you hard. “You want this fat load in your pussy that bad?” Another brutal thrust. “After months of prancing around in those tiny dresses, bending over right in front of me just to watch me lose my goddamn mind?” Slam.
“God, you’re such a dirty fucking slut for your nerdy roommate’s cock, aren’t you?” He licked into your ear, hips pounding harder. “That’s it—rub that clit faster, baby. I’m gonna flood this sloppy little cunt until it’s dripping down your thighs. Come on my cock—come on, come on—”
“Oh fuck—Dex!” Your whole body seized in a convulsive orgasm, pussy clamping down around him, milking his cock as you screamed against his shoulder.
He cried out and flooded into you, bucking and thrusting as your pussy drained him. Slick with sweat you writhed together, your voices echoing through the room, your cries and moans mingling as you milked him, drained him, sucked every drop of cum from his pulsing cock as he emptied himself into you completely.
His rhythm finally gave out and he melted into you, still shuddering deep inside while the last of his cum spilled free. Every twitch was met with your walls hugging him tight, like they were determined to wring him dry and keep him forever—the same way you’d just been completely his. Both of you panting hard, bodies flushed and shiny with sweat, you lay there pressed together, still connected, floating in that beautiful, ageless after-sex haze.
You were heaving, chest rising and falling under him. “Holy shit…”
Dex lifted up on shaky arms, glasses crooked, hair a sweaty mess, and gazed down at you like you’d personally hung the moon. His hazel eyes were soft and dazed and so full of wonder it made your chest ache. He leaned in slowly, lips parting like he was about to kiss you for real this time—
—and then the unmistakable sound of a key sliding into the front door lock echoed through the apartment.
Both of you froze.
“Shit—shitshitshit—” Dex whisper-yelled, scrambling off you so fast he nearly fell off the couch. While you both snatched up whatever clothes you could reach.
“My room—now!” You hissed, dragging Dex who is clutching his sweats and hoodie like a lifeline as you yanked behind you as fast as your shaky legs would go. Your room was closest and didn’t face the front door—thank god.
You barely made it inside, slamming the door behind you just as the living room lights flicked on. Dex pressed himself flat against the wall right behind the door, stark naked, cock still half-hard and glistening, one hand clamped over his mouth so he wouldn’t breathe too loud.
You snatched your short silk robe off the chair and threw it on, barely tying it before—
Knock knock knock.
“Hey, what’s taking you so long?” your roommate called through the door, voice bright and clueless. “We’re all waiting for you at the pool!”
You cleared your throat, trying to sound normal and failing spectacularly. “Sorry! Couldn’t find my swimwear. I’ll be there in a sec!”
Dex’s eyes were huge behind his glasses. He looked like he was one second from passing out.
You heard her footsteps start to retreat...then stop, “Uh… your bikini top is literally on the couch out here.”
“Oh really?” you called back, somehow managing to sound breezy even though you were standing there in nothing but a barely-tied silk robe with your very naked, very well-fucked roommate hiding behind the door. “I must’ve dropped it. I’ll grab it soon! You should go ahead, I won’t be long!”
You heard your roommate laugh under her breath, something that sounded suspiciously like "okay weirdo.” before her footsteps finally padded away down the hall. The front door clicked shut behind her.
Dex let out a huge, shaky breath, shoulders sagging like the weight of the entire universe had just lifted off him.
“You… you should go,” he mumbled, voice all hoarse and uncertain as he rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re waiting for you at the pool and I— I don’t wanna get them suspicious of you or anything…”
You didn’t answer with words.
Instead, you walked straight up to him, rose onto your highest tiptoes, and pressed your body flush against his. The thin silk robe did almost nothing to separate your skin from his.
You cupped his face with both hands and kissed him once—soft and sweet, tasting the leftover desperation on his lips. Then again, a little slower. And a third time, lingering like you were promising more.
When you finally pulled back just enough to speak, your lips still brushed his.
“I won’t be long,” you whispered, smiling up at him with that same sweet, knowing look that always made his stomach flip.
݈݇— pairs: fbi!dex poindexter x super-soldier!female reader.
݈݇— context: You found Dex waiting in the dark in your apartment, coiled tight on your couch like a man one breath away from snapping. The stress of Fisk’s games and his own fractured head was eating him alive. He didn’t know where you’d been. He only knew you’d disappeared on him again.
݈݇— [18+] themes: Dex being in the silver lining between 'just Dex' and 'Bullseye'. Emotional Manipulation/Gaslighting Elements. Quickie? Rough Consensual Sex. Biting/Marking, Dirty Talk, Spanking, Choking (with his forearm), Hairpulling, Manhandling, Size Kink, Pain Mixed with Pleasure, Degredation (slut, dirty girl, naughty girl, fucktoy, cockwarmer), Oral Fixation/Finger Sucking, Unprotected piv (protection first), Creampie, Against the wall, On the counter, No aftercare.
Author's Note: This is a seperate post for my fanfic My Drug Is My Baby. This is PURELY self-indulgent because I would let Poindexter do this to me 😭
You turned the key in the lock and stepped into your apartment, the hallway light spilling across the floor behind you. The lights were already on inside. You knew who it was before you even saw him.
Dex was sitting on your couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight like he was trying not to grip something and break it. The second you closed the door, his head snapped up. His face was dark, his jaw was locked, his eyes shadowed. He’d clearly been waiting for hours.
You set your bag down by the door and tilted your head, keeping your voice soft on him. “What are you doing in my apartment?”
Dex just stared at you, the tension rolling off him. “You’ve been ignoring my texts and my calls.”
You blinked, as if the words actually surprised you, “I was busy…” then let out a small, tired sigh as you shrugged off your jacket.
“Are you?”
“I thought you needed space,” you shrugged, hanging the jacket on the hook with careful movements. “You’ve been so distant with me lately.”
Dex’s jaw flexed. He pushed up from the couch, taking a step toward you, eyes searching your face like he was trying to find the lie.
“I’ve been distant?” he repeated, the frustration bleeding through. “You disappear for days, you don’t answer me, leaving me alone—and I’m the one who’s distant?”
You met his gaze steadily, keeping your expression open and concerned, even as your pulse hammered in your ears.
“I’m sorry,” you said, voice still soft. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. I just… thought you needed some time.”
You stepped closer, close enough to smell his cologne, close enough to see the panic flickering behind the anger in his eyes.
You slid your arms around his waist, slow and easy until your hands settled against his lower back, fingers splaying gently over the fabric of his shirt as you pressed yourself against him.
“Are you okay?” you asked softly, tilting your head up to look at him. Your voice was all concerned, “You look like you haven’t slept.”
Dex’s body went rigid under your touch. For a second he let you hold him, then his hands closed around your wrists and he gently but firmly took your arms off him, stepping back half a pace.
You took a silent inhale through your nose, chaining down the sudden spike of rage that flared hot behind your ribs. Your smile didn’t even flicker.
“I’m really stressed,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “…about everything.”
You nodded slowly, keeping your voice gentle and understanding.
“I can see that,” you said, tilting your head like you were really seeing him. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”
Dex looked you in the eyes then, searching hard, turning the question over and over in his head. You could see the storm behind them; the stress, the paranoia, the chaos he was barely holding back. His gaze dropped to your mouth for half a second before snapping back up.
You stepped even closer, voice remaining soft and inviting.
“Do you want to take it out on me?”
You can see in his eyes that he’s hesitating. The silence stretched, heavy and electric, while his jaw worked and his gaze dropped to your mouth again before flicking back up to your eyes.
You stepped right into his space, closing the half-pace he’d put between you. You slid one hand up to cup the side of his neck, thumb brushing the tense line of his jaw. Your next words came out softer, but the permission in them was steel.
“You have my permission to use me. You know I’m not gonna shatter. I’m right here, and I’m yours.”
His breath hitched, and the hesitation burned clean away. His hands finally snapped—one clamping around your wrist hard enough to bruise as he slammed your back against the nearest wall, rattling the picture frame beside your head.
He claimed your mouth hard and deep, teeth grazing, tongue stroking with unrestrained urgency. One strong hand shoved up beneath your shirt, rough and heated, gripping you like he’d never let go. When he finally pulled back for air, forehead pressed tight to yours, his eyes were dark, wild, and full of barely leashed desire.
“You disappear on me again and I swear to God—”
“Stop talking. Just feel better,” you cut in, pulse racing.
Before you could even catch your breath he spun you around, slamming you face-first into the wall. Your cheek scraped against the cool paint as he shoved your chest flush to it and yanked your hips back, forcing your ass out toward him. One big hand fisted in your hair right at the roots, wrenching your head back hard enough to arch your spine.
“Hands on the wall,” he growled against your ear, voice gravelly and mean. “Don’t you fucking move them.”
You barely had time to obey before he shoved your pants and underwear down in one rough yank, not even bothering to get them all the way down—just enough to bare you. His belt buckle clinked, then his zipper rasped and freed himself, stroking it hard right there until he’s thick and heavy and already leaking.
He spat down on his dick as he kicked your legs wider with his boot, before you could even brace yourself, he shoved into you in one savage thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
Just the brutal stretch of him splitting you open, bottoming out so deep your vision whited out for a second, your nails scraped uselessly down the wall, desperate for anything to hold onto while your body tried to remember how to breathe around the burn.
You cried out but he didn’t give you a second to adjust. His hips snapped forward again, pinning you harder against the cold plaster like you were just another bullseye he needed to destroy.
“You dirty fucking girl. You wanna know what I do to bad girls like you, hm?” he growled against your ear, vicious from the stress that had been eating him alive all night—his work, the impulses in his head, the way the city kept slipping through his fingers, “Oh, I bet you would.”
You’d meant it when you said it earlier; for him to use you, that you can take it—and he was proving you right. He fucked you like he hated you, like every punishing slam was payback for the night that had gone to hell. Hard, relentless, hips slapping into your ass that echoed through the dim apartment. The sound of skin on skin was louder than your gasping moans.
Every drag had that perfect, brutal angle across your walls, forcing your toes to curl against the floor. Your cheek pressed to the wall, breath fogging the paint, while his hand fisted tight in your hair to keep you exactly where he wanted you. No escape. No mercy. Just the wet, rhythmic thud-thud-thud of his cock driving into you like he could fuck the frustration out of his system and straight into yours.
“You just wanted to be treated like a naughty fucking girl, don’t you?” Slam. “Is that what you are, huh?” Slam. “Are you just my pretty little slut who loves being disrespected?”
And fuck, you were letting him—arching back into every vicious snap of his hips, whimpering, “Yes—Don’t stop—please—I can take it,” because you knew exactly how much he needed this, how much he needed you as his good little outlet.
His hand fisted tighter in your hair, yanking your head back so sharply your scalp stung and your throat arched, completely exposed. Dex’s teeth sank into the side of your neck like he needed to taste your pulse, the bite deep leaving a mark close to breaking skin, and before you could even gasp he’d already slid his thick forearm across your throat, locking you flush against his chest, his cock never stopping.
This wasn’t the Dex you knew. He’d been rough with you before. He had hard hands, filthy words, the kind of sex that left bruises you wore like trophies—but never like this.
Your body betrayed you on pure instinct—hands flying up to claw at the thick forearm cutting off your air as you whimpered, desperate for something to hold onto while the pressure on your windpipe made your head swim and your pussy clench tighter around him.
Dex ripped your hands off his arm harshly, slamming them back against the wall hard enough to sting.
“What the fuck did I say?” he growled right against your ear, voice shredded with that dangerous edge you only heard when he was barely hanging on. “Hands on the fucking wall. Don’t make me tell you twice, baby. You wanted this—” A low, gravelly chuckle vibrated against your spine, “That’s right, you’re fucked now.”
He didn’t wait for you to obey. One big hand clamped both of yours flat to the wall above your head, pinning you there while his other arm stayed locked across your throat, squeezing tighter as he drove into you even harder.
The new angle forced him even deeper, every thrust grinding against that spot that made your knees buckle. His teeth found your shoulder again, sinking in harder this time, the sharp bloom of pain mixing with the overwhelming fullness until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
Your moans spilled out needy and high-pitched, broken on every savage pounding of his hips. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open, you were nothing but sensation—his chest burning hot against your back, his breath ragged and feral in your ear.
“Fuuuuck,” you dragged out, the word shattered and breathy, sounding like pure desperation even while he split you apart.
Dex let out a dark, mocking laugh, “Oh, listen to you—squealing like a desperate little fucktoy that just discovered what a real man feels like.” His voice dropped lower, meaner, the words punctuated by another punishing thrust. “What’s the matter?” Thrust. “All that serum in your veins and you still can’t handle a proper pounding without turning into a whimpering mess? Super soldier my ass. One good fuck and you’re already brainless for me.”
Your high-pitched moan cracked again on the next thrust and something in that wrecked little whine hit Dex like a goddamn gut punch. That sound? He’d never heard it from you. Never heard you sound so gone, so helplessly desperate for him.
His rhythm stuttered for half a second, hips jerking unevenly as his cock throbbed hard and dangerously deep inside you. Fuck. For the first time tonight, the man who prided himself on perfect control felt it slipping—because of you. Because you were clenching around him like it was made to ruin him right back.
“Jesus Christ,” he hissed through gritted teeth, the words strained with dark, surprised amusement even as his chest heaved against your back. His forehead dropped to your shoulder for a beat, breath hot and ragged. “You’re trying to make me come already, you greedy little slut?”
He roughly yanked his cock out of you completely, leaving your walls fluttering and clenching around nothing but slick, aching emptiness.
The sudden loss punched a desperate whimper out of you; your knees buckled hard, thighs trembling as you dripped down your own legs. But Dex was already shoving you harder against the wall with his chest, one big hand still pinning your wrists high above your head while the other fisted his glistening cock like he was pissed at it for almost betraying him.
His breath was hot and uneven against the bite marks on your neck, heart hammering so hard you could feel it through his ribs.
“Not yet,” he growled, half to you, half to himself, stroking himself slow and mean just to take the edge off. “You don’t get to sound like that and end this quickly. I’m not done using you—on the counter. Now.”
His hand clamped around the nape of your neck and he yanked you backward, manhandling you across the room with that same feral urgency that had been building since the second you told him to take it all out on you. Your pants were still tangled around one ankle, dragging behind you, but Dex didn’t give a single fuck. He shoved you toward the kitchen counter, landing a couple of sharp smacks on your ass that made you stumble forward with a gasp.
“Hop up. Ass on the edge and spread your legs.”
You scrambled up onto the cold granite, the shock of it against your overheated skin making you shiver as you finally kicked your underwear and pants the rest of the way off to the floor. Your thighs were already trembling as you spread them obscenely wide for him, pussy dripping and clenching around nothing, aching to be filled again while his eyes drank in every exposed inch that belonged to him. The second your ass hit the counter he was on you—stepping between your thighs, one hand gripping your hip bruisingly while the other lined up his thick cock. He slammed back inside you.
God, he’d never fucked you like this before. If only you’d known, you would’ve begged him to take it out on you ages ago.
Every thrust dragged a fresh, needy high-pitched moan out of you, your mouth hanging open, eyes fluttering shut as he railed you right there on the counter like you were nothing but a toy for him to use.
“Fuuuck—look at you,” Dex groaned, dark laughter threading through the words as sweat dripped down his temple. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide with pure hunger. “You’re just my pretty little cockwarmer, aren’t you? All that strength and you’re still fucking mine.”
He drove into you harder, grinding his hips against your clit on every thrust, chasing the high he’d nearly lost earlier. His rhythm turned sloppier, every brutal snap of his hips burning the night’s bullshit clean away until there was nothing left but you.
Without warning he shoved two thick fingers past your lips.
“Suck,” he demanded.
You moaned around them instantly, sucking greedily as your tongue swirled and your cheeks hollowed, imagining it was his thick cock instead. Dex’s eyes fluttered for a second, a raw groan tearing from his throat as he watched your lips stretch around his fingers. Fuck, he thought, desperate to burn that image into his memory forever. His super-soldier drooling and whimpering so prettily while staring up at him as he wrecked her was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. You were supposed to be his outlet, but goddamn, you were unraveling him right back.
He hissed sharply, thrusting his fingers deeper in time with his cock, fucking both your holes like he couldn’t get enough.
He shoved your shirt and bra up roughly, exposing your breasts. His free hand palmed them greedily before pinching one nipple hard, then he leaned down and sank his teeth into the soft, full swell of one. The bite was deep, possessive, guaranteed to leave a dark mark. He sucked hard on the stinging flesh, tongue soothing the bite right after like he couldn’t decide whether to hurt you or worship you—all while his cock kept ruining you and his fingers stayed buried in your eager, sucking mouth.
Your eyes stung as hot tears slipped free, rolling down your cheeks. Broken, whiny cries vibrated around his digits, they barely sounded like yourself.
“Fuck… it feels so good,” you sobbed around his fingers, shattered and completely gone. “Mmmm—fuck, it feels so good—”
You felt like you were floating, every brutal thrust was shooting pure liquid ecstasy through your veins. This wasn’t just sex—this was the best goddamn trip of your life. Your body was built for war, but right now it was built for this: getting absolutely destroyed by Benjamin Poindexter while your mind melted into sparkling, brainless puddles.
Your walls clenched hard around him, fluttering and squeezing like your pussy was trying to pull him even deeper, you wanted him to stay there. Every roll of his hips jolted through you so hard your back arched clean off the counter. Your legs shook violently around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as you tried to drag him impossibly closer, tears still streaming.
“Ugh—You’re gonna make me fucking come—” Dex’s hips stuttered hard, turning fast and erratic as he lost every last shred of control.
The stress that had been eating him alive all night finally eased, burned away in the tight, wet heat of you. One hand used the soft, full swell of your breast as a brutal grip, fingers digging in deep enough to bruise while he yanked your body toward him with every savage thrust.
His face was beautifully contorted in pure ecstasy—brows furrowed tight, eyes half-lidded and glassy, mouth hanging wide open as guttural groans and curses spilled out. He tilted his head all the way back, exposing the strong line of his throat, completely lost in the feeling of your muscles squeezing around him like they never wanted to let go.
“Shit—fuck, I’m gonna come,” he growled, voice cracking. “Take my fucking cum, baby—gonna load this greedy little pussy full until it’s leaking out of you—fuck—take it, take it.”
Dex’s hips slammed forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he came hard with a loud dragging groan that echoed through the kitchen. His whole body locked up tight, cock pulsing violently inside you as thick, hot ropes of cum flooded deep into you—so much and so deep you could already feel it leaking out around where he stretched you wide. He kept grinding through it, hips jerking in short thrusts like he was trying to push every last drop as far inside you as it would go, claiming you from the inside out.
You were falling apart under him—tears streaming down your flushed cheeks, body jolting and shaking with every twitch of his cock. You felt used in the most perfect way, full of him, owned by him, still trembling from how hard he’d used you. Your head was floating, body buzzing like you’d mainlined pure serotonin, every nerve singing Dex, Dex, Dex.
Dex stayed buried in deep for a while, grinding slow and lazy making sure every drop stayed. His chest heaved against yours, sweat slicking your skin together, the kitchen filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing.
Then he pulled out, his cock still half-hard and shiny with both of you, bobbing heavy between his thighs as it twitched one last time.
He looked wrecked. Beautifully, gloriously wrecked.
For a second neither of you moved. You stayed sprawled on the counter, thighs spread, his cum slowly dripping out of your well-used hole, chest still rising and falling like you’d just run a marathon. Dex’s eyes dragged over the mess he’d made of you; bite marks, bruises, tears still clinging to your lashes, and then they locked onto yours.
You stared at each other.
His dark gaze was wide, he couldn’t quite believe he allowed himself to give in to chaos like that.
What the fuck was that? Was the thought written all over his face—the stress that had been choking him all night? Completely evaporated. Replaced by something new and a little terrifying: how perfectly you’d taken everything he threw at you.
You stared right back, still floating on that delirious high, a dazed little smile tugging at your lips. Your body felt like liquid, every inch of you marked and claimed and satisfied in a way you’d never felt before. He’d used you exactly like you asked him to… and he didn’t disappoint.
You swallowed, voice still hoarse and raspy from all the moaning and the way he’d had you choking on his forearm.
“Are you feeling better?”
He blinked slowly, chest still rising and falling hard, then gave a small, exhausted nod.
“Yeah… I’m fine.”
“Good…” you murmured, the word soft and sweet as you let your head tip back against the counter for a second. Then, with a lazy little grin, you glanced down at the floor. “Can you pass me those?”
He handed them over without a word, and you took them, sliding off the counter on shaky legs and tugging them up just enough to cover yourself. You looked up at him, eyes sparkling with that same hazy mischief.
“I’ll be in the shower waiting for you,” you said, teasingly as you turned toward the hallway. “After you clean up the counter, obviously.”
Dex’s brows lifted, a subtle smirk pulling at his mouth as he watched you saunter away like you hadn’t just been railed within an inch of your life.
You didn’t wait for an answer. You just left him there, the kitchen smelling like sex and the promise of round two already humming under your skin.
݈݇— pairs: ddba!dex poindexter x super-soldier!female reader.
݈݇— themes: FLASHBACK CHAPTER (Yearner/Awkward Dex, Mutual Pining, Flirting). Morally gray FMC, Age-gap, Obsessive/Possessive Love, Dark Romance & Toxic Codependency, Emotional Manipulation, Invasion of privacy/Stalking, Identity & Moral Corruption, Control vs Chaos, Graphic Violence & Gore, Explicit Sexual Content, Gun Violence, Murderous Intent/Murder (Julie, Tammy Hattley(FBI).), Mentions of blood, Savior Complex, Post-Prison Dex, Home Invasion, Bonnie and Clyde? No use of Y/N, reader will be portrayed as physically fit (literally a super-soldier), apart from that no other physical adjectives are included...i hope.
Author’s Note: I wanted to focus on the flashback here and the progression to wards their downward spiral, so I seperated the smut. A short break from the heavy stuff, I love some mutual pining and flirting so enjoy lol.
Part II - Masterlist
FLASHBACK
Dex hated these things.
Work dinners to be quite specific because of forced socializing, it involves the fake laughter and small talk he cannot relate to most of the time. He usually found an excuse; paperwork, a migraine, anything to skip them.
But someone had casually mentioned you’d be there.
So he had showed up late that night, pushing open the heavy wooden door of the upscale bar the team had rented out. The rowdy conversation and clinking glasses hit him first before his eyes eventually found you across the room like they always did.
You had been sitting near the middle of a long table, laughing at something one of the analysts had said, your head tilted slightly, that effortless confidence radiating off you even in casual work clothes. You looked up and your eyes locked.
Dex had to swallow that electric pull that had been there since the first time he saw you walk into the bullpen.
Someone clapped him on the shoulder, breaking the moment.
“Poindexter! You actually showed up!” Agent Nadeem grinned, steering him toward the table. “We were taking bets you’d bail again.”
Dex had allowed himself to be guided, barely hearing the teasing. His eyes kept finding their way back to you as he was pulled into the seat directly across from you where the long table had suddenly felt too narrow.
“What finally dragged you out, man?” someone else had joked.
Dex didn’t answer. His gaze strayed towards you again and was extremely disappointed when you were now talking to another female agent.
Dex had been stalking watching you for weeks now.
He knew you went to the gym at 5:00 a.m. Monday to Thursday. He knew you took the long route home so you could stop in the alley behind your building and leave food for the stray cats that lived under the dumpster. He had watched you crouch down in the dark, talking softly to them like they were old friends. If not cats, you gave the local homeless food.
It was ridiculous how much those tiny details lived rent-free in his head.
Dex swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the glass someone had placed in front of him.
He was so fucked.
It wasn’t just about needing a new moral compass. This was physical. Visceral. He had wanted to get you alone. He had wanted to hear more of your voice without the noise of the others around you. He had needed to know everything—what made you laugh, what made you angry, what you looked like when you let your guard down completely.
Why? He didn’t know. He just knew it’s an itch that won’t stop.
Someone at the table had turned to you with a grin, “So, you really don’t get drunk? Like ever?”
You shook your head, smiling a little. “Nope. The alcohol burns off too fast.”
The guy groaned dramatically. “Aw, that sucks.”
Dex saw his opening.
“So what does that mean for you at these things?” he had asked, the question directed at you. “You just… watch the rest of us make fools of ourselves?”
“Pretty much,” you replied, lips curving. “It’s entertaining.”
“Good to know,” he smirked, eyes firmly stuck on yours. “I’ll try not to give you too much material tonight.”
You tilted your head slightly, assessing him intently.
“You don’t look the type to get drunk, Agent Poindexter,” you said, carrying a teasing edge to it. “You seem like someone who keeps everything… very controlled.”
Dex was about to hit back when a tipsy younger agent had leaned across the table with a sloppy grin.
“How about an arm wrestle? Come on, super soldier vs regular guy. I wanna see if I have a chance.”
You had laughed, a bright and easy one as your attention had shifted away from him completely while you rolled up your sleeve, still smiling.
Dex’s fingers had tightened around his glass until the knuckles went white. He wanted to ask you a hundred questions. He wanted to know what you were thinking when you looked at him like that.
Instead he had to watch as you let the agent win the first round, pretending to struggle before pinning his arm with a grin. How the agent had adjusted his grip on your hand like he was trying to make it last.
Oh he didn’t like that.
He wanted to break the guy’s wrist.
He could already picture it; the way the idiot’s face would twist in shock and pain. How satisfying it would be to reach across the table, grab that hand that was now touching yours.
The fantasy had played out so vividly in his head that he didn’t even hear the coworker next to him trying to talk to him.
“—right Poindexter? Hey—You good, man?”
Dex blinked, forcing his eyes away from you. He set the glass down a little too hard.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Just gonna step out a bit—air’s too thick in here.”
He pushed back from the table before anyone could say anything else and headed for the back door, the cool night air had hit him like a slap the moment he stepped into the alley. He wiped his face with his hand, controlling his breath, trying to shove the violent images out of his head.
He didn’t know how long he stood there—maybe ten minutes or even twenty—when the back door creaked open again.
You had stepped out, letting the door swing shut behind you. The alley light caught the side of your face as you looked at him, a small smile playing on your lips.
“Getting too rowdy for you in there, Agent Poindexter?”
Dex straightened up too fast, heart kicking hard against his ribs. His mouth went dry and he didn’t know what to say. He never knew what to say when alone with you.
“I—uh, needed a minute,” he managed, voice coming out rougher than he wanted. His eyes kept drifting to the way the small smile still lingering on your lips. “You… winning arm wrestles now?”
You leaned against the wall a few feet away, arms loosely crossed, looking far too comfortable in the dark with him.
“I heard he was going through something, I had to give him a win. He looked like he needed it.” You shrugged, and tilted your head again, “You okay? You looked like you were somewhere else back there.”
Dex swallowed. He wanted to tell you the truth; how he wishes he could be thoughtful like that. That he’d been watching you for weeks. That he couldn’t stop thinking about you.
Instead he had shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets so you wouldn’t see them flex.
“I’m fine.”
You nodded slowly, the small smile fading dimmer. When he didn’t say anything else, you glanced toward the door and pointed at it with your thumb.
“That’s good—um…I guess I’ll go back inside…”
You turned to leave.
Dex’s chest had tightened. Before he could stop himself, he took a hesitant step forward.
“Hey, wait—”
You paused, looking back at him over your shoulder.
He rubbed his jaw, suddenly feeling exposed under the dim alley light. The words had felt clumsy and wrong in his mouth, but they had found their way out anyway.
“I—I attended because of you.”
Dex felt his ears burn. He had never said anything like that out loud before. He didn’t even know how to follow it up. He just stood there, heart pounding, staring at you like you held every answer he’d ever needed.
He forced himself to keep looking at you, even though every instinct screamed at him to look away, to retreat back into the safety of silence and control.
“I heard you were coming,” he added, quieter and a little bit embarrassed. “Sooo I came.”
You blinked, then a bright grin had lit up your whole face making him lose his breath. You actually had tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, looking almost shy for a second.
“You came because of me?” you asked, as if you couldn’t quite believe it.
Dex’s throat felt tight. He nodded once, awkward and stiff, “...Yeah.”
You bit your lip, still smiling, eyes sparkling in the low light, “Why?”
Dex blinked, caught off guard.
“W-why?” He let out a nervous little huff, rubbing the back of his neck. “I—I thought saying it would be pretty obvious…?”
You shook your head slowly, that playful grin still tugging at your lips.
“Yeah, I know but…” you trailed off, stepping just a little closer. “I just want to hear it come from you.”
Dex’s brain had short-circuited even more. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling heat crawl up his face.
“I… I don’t know,” he admitted, shrugging. “I just… wanted to see you. Outside of work. I can’t stop thinking about you and I—fuck, I don’t know what I’m doing. I just knew if you were here, I had to be here too.”
Your eyes had an admiring sparkle in them now while you laughed softly.
“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” you murmured.
Dex froze. His ears went even brighter red.
You smiled wider, a little shy now too, and glanced down at the ground for a moment before meeting his eyes again.
“I’m glad you came.” you said softly.
It was just the two of you, standing close enough that he could smell your perfume and the faint trace of the shampoo you used, hearts beating too fast for people who were supposed to be professionals.
Dex swallowed hard.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I am too.”
You bit your lip, then reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You held it out to him, screen already unlocked.
“Here,” you said, “Put your number in.”
Dex stared at the phone before his fingers brushed yours when he took it, and the contact had sent a small jolt up his arm. He typed his number in carefully, thumbs moving slower than usual, afraid of messing it up or giving you the wrong number. When he handed it back, your fingers touched again.
You saved it and sent him a message before looking up at him with a small, almost nervous smile.
“Now you can stop showing up to things just because you heard I’d be there,” you teased gently. “You can just… text me.”
He nodded once, ears still burning.
“So… if I text you,” he said, almost hesitant, “you’ll answer?”
You smiled, soft and warm under the alley light. “Yeah, Dex. I’ll answer.”
He nodded once, then again, like he was committing it to memory. “Good. That’s… good.”
He hadn’t texted you since that night.
—
Now on a different week, Dex had sat at the far end of the conference table, spine straight, fingers drumming a silent rhythm against the polished wood. It was another inter-agency briefing and every time the door had opened his eyes snapped toward it like a damn magnet.
Because you were supposed to be there, and apart from orbiting you from afar the whole week, he hadn’t really seen you face to face.
He had typed and deleted seventeen different texts. Seventeen. All a different variations of “how’s your day been?” So he had sent nothing.
He was pathetic.
The had door swung open.
The Assistant Director stepped in first, barking something about staying on schedule, but Dex’s eyes locked on you instantly. You had been right behind the AD, balancing a heavy tray loaded with drinks alongside another junior agent who looked like he was about to drop his. Your sleeves were rolled up to your elbows, a tiny focused crease between your brows as you concentrated on not spilling anything.
You looked… great. Professional and effortless and was completely unaware of how hard Dex was staring.
The AD started making his way around the table, pointing you toward the far side while he took the near side. Regular-sized coffees were set down in front of each person; black, no frills, the usual office sludge. Quiet thank-yous and polite nods followed in your wake.
Dex’s fingers drummed once against his thigh under the table. He had tried to look anywhere else but failed miserably.
Then you reached him.
Without a word you had leaned in and set something much larger in front of him. The cup was huge—extra-large, condensation already beading on the sides, a thick straw poking out and a swirl of whipped cream on top. The sweet, unmistakable scent of banana had hit him like a truck.
You straightened up, speaking in a volume that only he heard.
“The rookie dropped one cup of coffee but you can have my milkshake,” you murmured, the corner of your mouth twitching like you were fighting a smile. “It's banana. Hope that’s okay.”
Dex stared at the cup. Everyone else had boring little coffees and he had a goddamn giant banana milkshake. Heat crawled up the back of his neck until his ears burned because now the other agents gave him looks and side-eyes.
You had lingered for half a second longer than necessary, eyes flicking to his face, checking his reaction, then gave him the tiniest nod before moving on to the next agent like it was nothing.
Dex’s hand closed around the cup. He lifted it slowly, and took a cautious sip. Sweet banana flavor had flooded his tongue.
He glanced up.
You were on the other side of the room now, setting down another coffee, but your eyes flicked back to him for just a heartbeat. When they met him across the table you pressed your lips together maybe to fight a grin and looked away fast.
Dex felt the corner of his own mouth twitch. He took another slow sip, letting the sweetness sit on his tongue while the meeting started around him.
You’d singled him out in front of everyone, in the most ridiculous, thoughtful way possible, and now he was sitting here with a massive banana milkshake.
Dex hadn’t heard a single word of what the meeting was about. His leg bounced under the table the whole time, eyes drifting to you every few seconds, physically incapable of looking anywhere else.
You were taking notes, sometimes nodding, the picture of professional focus—except for the one time you caught him staring and your pen faltered writing for half a second. That tiny slip made his stomach lurch harder than any bullet he’d ever dodged.
His phone burned inside his pocket and his hands finally fished for it, sliding the phone out under the table, thumbs moving before he could overthink it.
Fuck it.
Dex: Are you trying to kill me? You just gave me a diabetes bomb.
Dex: It’s waaaay too sweet. who even drinks this shit?
He had set the phone face-down on his thigh and forced his eyes back to the projector like he gave a shit. Ten seconds later it buzzed. He didn’t even try to play it cool—he flipped it over immediately.
You: I just figured you needed something sweet to match that sparkling personality…
You: and don’t lie 👀
You: caught you sipping like it was the best thing you’ve ever tasted lol
Dex bit the inside of his cheek to keep the smile off his face. He typed back one-handed, still pretending to take notes with the other.
Dex: It’s disgusting
Dex: Sparkling personality? most people just say i’m an asshole.
You: most people are right.
You: that’s why you drank it half way now…so either you secretly love banana milkshakes or you’re trying to impress me. which is it?
Dex: I'm just saying if you’re gonna play favorites, at least warn a guy so I don’t look like a simp in front of twenty agents.
You: too late. you already looked like a shrimp. who attended a work dinner because of me again? 🤔
You: simp**
Dex stared at the screen, before wiping his face along with the smile that was fighting for its way out.
Dex: Shrimp?
Dex: So now I'm a shrimp? That's a new low. tiny, pink, and easy to peel. You really know how to flatter a guy
You: shut up it was supposed to be simp you know what i meant asshole🖕🏻
Dex looked up from his phone, unable to resist. There you were… casually scratching your eyebrow with your middle finger aimed straight at him like a sniper.
Dex: Wow real mature…the eyebrow itch? Really?
You: oh please, it’s a classic for a reason. worked on you didn’t it, shrimp?
You: next time i’ll just flip you off in hd so you don’t miss it, poindexter 😘
From there it snowballed.
He had gotten comfortable and eventually Dex had started asking you things he’d never asked anyone. Small normal things at first, trying to gauge who you’ll react to it. Then came the deeper ones. What you did when your thoughts got too loud. How you stayed grounded after everything you’d been through. Whether you ever felt like you didn’t belong anywhere.
You answered every single one and each reply felt like a lifeline. Dex would read your messages over and over, thumb tracing the screen, a strange warmth spreading through his chest. For the first time in years his rituals had felt less necessary. You were becoming his compass without even realizing it.
He was high on it. Addicted to the way you made his world feel easier.
But then you were gone on missions…
Long ones that took you out of the city for weeks at a time with no contact, no advice, no validation. Dex spiraled quietly. He’d checked his phone obsessively. He’d drove past your building more times than he’d admit. The negative voices came back louder than ever. The rituals grew stricter.
He told himself it was fine. You’d come back. You always came back.
But when you had finally returned, he spotted you in the hallway outside the briefing rooms.
You looked tired and distant. You bumped into him lightly as you passed, barely glancing up.
“Hey,” you said, half-hearted, already moving on.
Dex’s panic sensors lit up like a siren. His stomach dropped. Had he done something wrong? Had he texted too much? Had he come on too strong? Was the constant need for validation pushing you away? Those thoughts clawed at him.
He followed you immideately without thinking, footsteps quick down the corridor. When you turned a corner he pulled out his phone and called you, heart hammering.
You had answered on the third ring, voice tired but surprised, “What is it, Dex?”
He swallowed hard, stopping in the middle of the hallway, free hand curled and trembling at his side.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, the words rushing out nervously, “You… you seemed off just now. If I messed up or made you uncomfortable, tell me. I’ll fix it—just please… I don’t want to—I can't stop talking to you.”
Silence.
A few seconds pass, you rounded the corner again, phone still pressed to your ear. For a second you just looked at him from the far end of the hallway, eyes soft but a little exasperated. You shook your head slowly, like he was missing the most obvious thing in mankind.
Then you hung up.
You slipped the phone into your pocket and started walking toward him with purpose. Dex’s heart pounded harder with every step you took. He just stood there, frozen, waiting for whatever blow was coming.
You stopped right in front of him, close enough that he could smell your shampoo again. You tilted your head, looking up at him with that same half-amused, half-tired expression.
“Do you really have no idea,” you asked slowly, “or are you just playing dumb?”
Dex’s mouth opened, then closed. He had no idea what to say. His brain had gone completely blank the moment you invaded his space.
“So you just like talking to me? That's it?” You let out a small, soft laugh and shook your head again, “Dex… do you even see me as a woman or just a friend when you need advice?”
The hallway felt like it tilted.
Dex couldn’t speak.
His ears roared and his hands felt clammy at his sides. He had wanted to say yes—yes, of course he saw you as a woman, as the only woman—but the words stuck somewhere deep in his throat, choking him.
You waited and the silence stretched. Then your eyes widened, realization dawning.
“Oh my god—” You let out a breathless little chuckle, the sound surprised and self-deprecating. “Oh my god. You don’t. It's the age thing isn’t it?”
You pressed a hand to your forehead, squeezing your eyes shut for a second and laughing again, softer this time, because you couldn’t believe your own stupidity.
“Oh my god, I am so stupid—forget I asked.”
You shook your head, cheeks warm, and turned away before he could say anything. You quickly rounded the corner toward the elevator bank, boots clicking fast on the tile like you needed to put distance between you and whatever just happened.
Dex had stood there frozen for a few seconds, heart slamming against his ribs before he came back to his senses and followed, his suit jacket flapping against his hurried strides.
He couldn’t let you walk away like that.
You had already reached the elevator, jabbing the call button aggressively, still shaking your head at yourself.
The doors slid open. You stepped inside.
Dex stopped the doors with his shoulder and slipped through at the last second, the doors closing behind him with a soft ding.
The elevator lurched downward.
For one suspended heartbeat, it was just the two of you in that tiny metal box, eyes locked, the air so thick it felt like he could taste it. His chest rose and fell hard. Yours did too.
He crossed the space in one stride, big hands cupping both sides of your face, and his lips crashed into yours like he’d been deprived of intimacy for years. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that stole the air from your lungs, tongue sliding in to taste you like he’d been dreaming about it every single night.
You gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the sound, groaning roughly in his throat, pressing you back against the cool metal wall with his whole body. His hips pinned you there, one thick thigh shoving between your legs until the seam of your pants dragged right where you needed it most. The handrail dug into your lower back but you barely felt it. You only felt him, solid and burning underneath your palms.
One hand dropped to your waist, gripping harder, pulling you even closer while the other slid into your hair, tugging just right so your head tilted while he kissed you deeper, slower for a second, savoring, then needier again.
Your knees actually buckled. He caught you, thigh pressing up firmer between your legs, the friction making your breath hitch into a soft, needy moan that went straight to his head. His free hand skimmed down your side, over your hip, then back up under the hem of your shirt just enough for his fingertips to brush bare skin, scorching hot.
All those months of sneaky glances, late-night texts, him overthinking every little thing… it had poured out of him. Every roll of his hips, every desperate lick into your mouth, every shaky exhale said the same thing: I’ve wanted you. I’ve wanted you so fucking bad.
You clutched at his jacket collar, yanking him impossibly closer, nipping at his lip, sucking on his tongue, grinding down against his thigh because you couldn’t stop yourself. He tasted like coffee and mint, and the little broken sounds he kept making were going to ruin you—
The elevator dinged again.
The doors hadn’t opened yet, but Dex could already hear the low chatter of people waiting in the hall. Dex tore his mouth away with a sharp, ragged inhale, lips glossy and swollen, eyes dark and glazed. You looked just as wrecked; eyes wide and dazed. For a split second you just stared at each other, chests heaving, the air still crackling between you.
Then the doors slid open.
Dex stepped back just enough to look decent, jaw tight, but he didn’t go far. He didn’t even bother wiping off your kiss, he wanted to keep the taste of you on his lips as long as possible.
His hand dropped to your side, hidden between your bodies, and his pinky hooked firmly around yours. You both faced forward, pretending to watch the floor numbers while agents and staff piled in, laughing about the bar.
No one noticed the way his thumb brushed slow circles over the back of your hand. No one saw how his lips were still wet from yours. And no one could possibly know that your legs were still shaking and your pulse was hammering so hard you could feel it between your thighs.
But he knew.
—
Dex had warned you that he hadn’t been in a relationship for a long time. He had been honest about the way it ended—badly, he said, without offering any further details, his eyes distant as though the memory still lived somewhere just beneath his skin. You had known, even then, that there were pieces of him shadowed in ways you couldn’t yet see.
You sensed the fractures, the internal storms he carried, yet they stood in such sharp contradiction to the man who showed up for you every single day. He was charming in the gentlest sense, attentive without ever making it feel performative, the kind of boyfriend who remembered how you took your coffee and the exact way you liked the pillow tucked beneath your head at night. Almost too good to be true.
You could have looked him up. The files were there, waiting in some classified corner of the system if you truly wanted to peel back the layers. But you hadn’t. You wanted it to come from him, in his own time, when he was ready to trust you with the parts of himself he kept locked away.
Still, the questions lingered between you—those careful, hypothetical ones he would slip into conversations like tests he didn’t quite know how to phrase. He would ask them softly, almost offhand, and then watch your face with an intensity that made your heart ache. Whatever answer you gave, he seemed to burn it into memory, as though he were memorizing the exact shape of your mercy.
The night he took you to the rooftop of the old field office to teach you how to throw a proper curveball was the night everything shifted.
You threw the ball again. It went wide and terrible, but Dex only laughed softly and retrieved it. When he returned, he didn’t step back into position right away. He stood close, turning the baseball slowly in his hands, eyes on the worn seams as though they held some secret.
You turned to face him fully then, the city lights catching the sharp lines of his face and softening them. You had watched him in that moment in time for a long moment, heart aching with the quiet certainty that this was the real Dex—The one you were falling for so deeply it frightened you.
“Dex,” you had said softly, “you keep asking me these hypothetical questions… about what I would do if someone needed a moral compass to function. About what if they weren’t wired the same way other people are.” Your voice had barely carried above the wind. “Are those question about you?”
Dex looked at you for what felt like forever, the city lights catching in his eyes, and for the first time you saw the depth of the fear he kept so carefully hidden—the fear that if he told you the truth, you would finally see the cracks and walk away.
“Yeah,” he had said. “It’s about me.”
You searched his face, the subtle vulnerability there pulling at every part of you that had already chosen him.
“I feel quite lost,” you had admitted. “Lost in how to be what you need when I don’t fully understand what’s broken inside you.”
Dex had looked down at the baseball still turning slowly between his fingers before meeting your eyes again. In a quiet, plain voice he admitted that Dr. Mercer had once told him he needed a North Star. Without it, the noise in his head became too loud, the impulses too strong. And for the past few months, you had been that person for him.
“I’ve become quite attached to you… like—like a—”
“—a barnacle?” you had finished for him, the word slipping out softly.
Dex had been caught off guard. He let out a short, awkward laugh. He nodded once, wiping a hand across his jaw before his gaze returned to yours.
“Yeah… like a barnacle of some kind,” he said quietly.
He glanced away for a moment, toward the dark edge of the rooftop, and muttered under his breath, half to himself, “Christ, I really am just latching on and hoping you don’t scrape me off.”
Your soft laughter rang gently in his ears, warm and tender against the quiet night wind. You stepped closer, reaching up to brush your fingers lightly along his jaw where he had just wiped his hand.
“Don’t worry,” you had replied, reassuringly. “I won’t ever scrape you off.”
But then the missions started pulling you away again. They grew longer and longer, stretching into weeks that sometimes bled into months with no real explanation. The agency framed each assignment as urgent, non-negotiable, the kind only you could handle, and you had never been given much of a choice in the matter. You simply and hesitantly packed your bags, kissed Dex goodbye, and went where they sent you, telling yourself it was the price of the life you had chosen.
Every time you returned, Dex felt a little further away. The man who had stood behind you on that rooftop, became harder to reach, as though each absence had carved away another piece of the fragile trust you had built together.
Especially after the assassination attempt on Wilson Fisk and Dex got himself in a whole lot of mess.
You had been gone nearly three months on a mission; had been halfway across the world, following orders you couldn’t refuse. To him, it began to feel like you were choosing the work over him, that you abandoned him. Choosing duty over the one person who had come to rely on you as his North Star.
What he didn’t know or rather, what even you didn’t fully understand—was that the timing of those long deployments was never truly random. The assignments that kept pulling you away for weeks and months at a time had been arranged with careful precision, removing you from the equation again and again while you remained unaware of the invisible hand guiding it all.
× × × ×
When Dex had sat in that mandated FBI psychology session and was asked about support systems, you had listened through the tiny device you had planted in his jacket, heart pounding, waiting for your name to fall from his lips. It didn’t.
And it hurt.
It hurt in a way that went deeper than any bruise or broken bone ever could, a sharp, twisting pain that lodged itself right behind your ribs and refused to leave.
You had known you might hear something that would cut you. You had known it the moment you slipped the bug into place, fingers trembling with the weight of what you were doing. But you had done it anyway, because some part of you still believed you were that person for him.
Instead you learned he had already begun turning his attention elsewhere.
The realization burned through you like acid, slow and searing, eating away at the fragile belief you had held onto so tightly.
Your ego bled.
You had been his anchor for months. You had given him every piece of yourself you could spare, had stood beside him through it all, only to discover you were no longer enough.
You crushed the listening device in your fist, the small plastic and wiring cracking under the pressure of your strength until it was nothing but twisted metal and shattered circuits. The sharp edges bit into your palm, drawing a thin line of blood, but you barely felt it. You only stared at the ruined thing, chest tight, breath shallow.
You wanted to see how this would turn out for him.
You wanted to watch every single consequence unfold, no matter how ugly.
—
One night, when Dex finally came home to his place, you were already there.
You’d let yourself in with the spare key he’d given you. You were standing in his kitchen “cooking” when really just stirring a pot of nothing while your mind raced.
Earlier, while waiting for him, you had opened the wrong closet looking for a shirt. Tucked deep behind a stack of his old tactical gear, folded with almost obsessive care, you had found the Daredevil suit. The billy clubs resting beside it. The sight had stopped you cold, fingers hovering over the material as a sickening wave of realization washed through you.
Just how much was he keeping from you?
The second you heard the front door open, you turned, forcing your voice to sound casual.
“Where have you been?” you asked even when you knew the answer already.
Dex paused in the doorway, keys still in his hand, coat half-off. For a split second his face went completely blank, like he’d genuinely forgotten what night it was, what time it was, what lie he was supposed to tell.
You waited for him to lie to your face.
“I got pizza on the way home,” he said, lifting the box like it was proof.
You stared at the box for a second, then back at him.
“Pizza?” You tilted your head, keeping your voice light but pointed. “Okay… is that all?”
Dex’s shoulders tensed. His jaw flexed once, clearly he was trying to hold something back. He set the box down on the counter a little harder than necessary.
“Yeah, that’s all,” he said, a defensive edge creeping into his tone. “Why? You think I’m lying or something?”
You didn’t raise your voice, “I didn’t call you a liar, Dex.”
He let out a short, frustrated breath, rubbing the back of his neck, “Then why are you asking if ‘that is all’?” he shot back, eyes narrowing. “What, you don’t believe me now?”
You set the spoon down slowly, turning to face him fully.
“Why are you so defensive?” you asked, calm and even. “I could’ve meant ‘is that all?’ as in no drinks, no dessert? Why’re you jumping straight there?”
Dex stared at you, the silence stretching between you like a live wire. His fingers flexed at his sides, the defensive mask cracking just enough for you to see the panic underneath.
You held his gaze, letting the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable before you released a bitter chuckle, shaking your head like you were almost amused by how ridiculous this all was.
“You know what? Never mind.” You turned and chucked the empty pot in the sink like a sad little prop. “I’m gonna go. I already lost my appetite waiting for you anyway.”
You gave him one last small, sweet smile and picked up your bag from the counter.
“Enjoy the pizza, Dex.”
Dex’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
You didn’t wait for him to find them.
—
You left your phone on silent and buried it under a pillow so you wouldn’t have to see his name light up the screen over and over again like he had any right to demand your attention right now.
You sat on the floor of your apartment that night, back against the couch, headphones in, listening to music that matched what you felt inside.
If he likes his new North Star so much, he can shove her down his throat.
The thought was vicious and satisfying for half a second. Then your inner voice in your head started whispering all at once, louder and louder, overlapping until they drowned out everything else.
You’re really going to let that redheaded nothing replace you?
You’re just going to let her have him? After you bled for him? After you chose him?
You’re the one who taught him how to need someone… and now he’s using it on her.
After everything you’ve done for him? After you held him together when no one else could?
The voices overlapped, faster and meaner, until they were screaming inside your skull. Your hands shook as you gripped the phone tighter, nails digging into the case.
Then, all at once, everything went quiet.
The noise in your head died down to a single, cold whisper that cut through the chaos like a blade.
Kill her.
You blinked slowly, staring at the wall across from you.
—
Doctor Voss leaned back in her chair, “Hang on... have you ever thought about what might be good for him might not be good for you?”
You stared at her, the words landing like a bad joke. She really didn't get it.
“No,” you said slowly, forcing your voice even, “I don't think you understood. Let me repeat myself agai—”
Voss lifted a hand, gentle but firm. “I do understand. You're telling me your boyfriend is stalking his ex-coworker. How exactly do you know that?”
A sharp little laugh escaped you before you could stop it. You crossed your arms, nails digging into your own sleeves. “The way he acts around me. The micro-shifts. I notice everything.”
Voss's eyes narrowed, kind but too perceptive. “You're only telling me half the truth.”
The smirk on your face felt brittle. “Fine. I followed him—or stalked him, whatever you want to call it. He's my boyfriend. I have the right to know what the hell is taking up all his attention.”
“Jealousy is poison to a relationship,” Voss said carefully. “You've told me you know his past. You know him better than most—”
“I want him to stop.” Your jaw tightened so hard you felt the muscle twitch under your eye. Your gaze dropped to the sad little succulent on her coffee table, pathetic and fake in its pot. Safe to look at. Safer than looking at her.
“You're angry,” Voss said softly. “And you've been bottling it up for a while now, haven't you? On top of your work stressors, going on operations.”
You lifted your eyes and pinned her with the same flat, deadly stare you used to give targets back in your Smashers days. The serum hummed under your veins, sharpening every micro-twitch in her face: the slight flare of her nostrils, the way her fingers tightened around her pen. She was scared of you.
You looked away.
Having sat there pretending to be stable was necessary. Otherwise you’d show Dex the version of you that you’d kept chained down so perfectly: The one that was tired of waiting for him to come back to his senses. You’d show him exactly how lethal you could be. But you weren’t ready for that reveal yet.
Voss exhaled slowly, choosing her words like she was walking through broken glass. “There are other men out there, you know. Men who wouldn’t need this much… managing.”
The sentence hung in the air.
In your head you heard your own voice laughing.
Other men?
You didn’t want other men.
You wanted him.
You smiled at Voss, small and polite, the kind of smile that hid teeth, “Yeah,” you said softly. “I know there are other men.”
Doctor Voss leaned forward a little, her expression shifting from gentle concern to more serious. She set her notepad aside like she didn’t need the buffer anymore.
“Is it okay if I speak to you as if you’re my friend?,” she said carefully, and waited for you to nod, “I have to be honest here. The stalking and the way you’re monitoring his every move—it’s not healthy for either of you, and it’s clearly messing with your head. You’re spiraling. You’re losing sleep. You’re starting to sound like you’re trying to control him instead of being with him.”
She paused, letting the words settle.
“You deserve someone who doesn’t turn you into this version of yourself—someone who doesn’t make you feel like you have to stalk or bug or fix him just to feel secure. Maybe it’s time to consider breaking up with Dex. Give yourself some space. Some peace.”
What if this version is your true self?
You let out a soft, almost amused breath, tilting your head like you were actually considering it.
“I’ll think about it,” you said sweetly, the lie sliding off your tongue like honey.
Voss nodded, but the worry in her eyes didn’t fade, “I hope you do. Because right now… this isn’t love. This dynamic… it’s consuming you. And from what you’ve told me, it’s not sustainable.”
You glanced at the clock on the wall, the hands moving with indifferent precision. “I have somewhere to be,” you said, rising smoothly from the chair. “I’ll book another session… maybe next week?”
You didn’t wait for her reply. You stood and left the office without looking back.
You never made that other session.
—
You waited against a parked car and when you saw her turn the corner from her jog, you took the steps up making sure you looked harried and worried, phone in your hand like you’d been trying to call someone.
When she slowed and took the steps up towards you, you locked eyes with her.
“Excuse me, do you live here?” you asked politely. “I’m so sorry to bother you—I’m Mrs. Delgado’s granddaughter on the fourth floor? She’s not answering the buzzer or her phone and I’m getting really worried. Could you let me in? I just need to check on her.”
You’d done your homework. You knew exactly who lived on her floor and which apartment you could claim.
Julie’s face softened immediately, possibly remembering the old woman mentioning having a grandchildren in passing conversation.
“Of course, honey. Come on up.”
She let you in. You rode the elevator together, making small talk about how busy life gets and how important it is to check on family. When you reached her floor, Julie even gave you a gentle smile and said, “You should visit your Nana more often. She misses you a lot.”
You smiled back, sweet as sugar. “Yeah. I will.”
Julie turned toward her door… and paused. It was already cracked open. She frowned.
“That’s weird. Did the landlord let someone in?” She pushed the door wider and stepped inside. “Hello?”
You were right behind her, hand already sliding toward the gun tucked at your waist, timing perfect, heart racing with cold purpose. But before you could even cross the threshold, Julie dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
A single muffled shot and her body crumpled to the floor.
You spun fast, pressing your back flat against the wall outside the door, gun half-drawn, breath caught in your throat.
Someone had beaten you to it.
—
You had sat in your car back at your apartment, hands on the steering wheel. Eyes fixed on nothing through the windshield.
Then it hit so suddenly.
A hearty laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep within your chest. Your shoulders started shaking. The laugh grew louder and wild, until you were doubled over the steering wheel, laughing so hard tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.
You laughed for a full minute straight, head tipped back against the seat, the sound partly relieved that you didn’t have to kill an innocent person.
She was gone.
Just like that.
The relief was so intense it made you feel almost giddy. You could’ve kissed a stranger right then. You could’ve tap danced in the middle of the fucking street.
You didn’t have to do it. You didn’t have to cross that line. Someone else had pulled the trigger and handed you the cleanest gift you could’ve asked for.
The laugh finally tapered off into shaky breaths. You wiped the tears from your eyes with the heel of your hand, still grinning like a maniac in the dark car.
“Oh fuck,” you whispered, voice hoarse.
Your phone lit up on the passenger seat, vibrating against the leather.
Work.
You stared at the screen for half a second, then answered, still riding the high.
“Sergeant.”
The voice on the other end was clipped and urgent. “Report to base within twelve hours for a Classified extraction op. Coordinates and briefing packets are already on your secure line. Wheels up at oh-four-hundred tomorrow.”
You closed your eyes, the manic smile slowly fading from your lips as reality settled back in.
“What? You can't send me to another—No.” you said, the word falling heavy and final.
There was a brief, stunned pause on the line.
“This is non-negotiable,” the officer replied, tone sharpening. “You’ve been specifically requested for this one.”
You let out a slow breath, fingers tightening around the phone until the plastic creaked.
“No,” you repeated, quieter this time but no less resolute. “I can’t. You’re going to have to find someone else.”
—
You turned the key in the lock and stepped into your apartment, the hallway light spilling across the floor behind you. The lights were already on inside. You knew who it was before you even saw him.
Dex was sitting on your couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight like he was trying not to grip something and break it. The second you closed the door, his head snapped up. His face was dark, his jaw was locked, his eyes shadowed. He’d clearly been waiting for hours.
A certain someone probably didn’t answer his text.
You set your bag down by the door and tilted your head, keeping your voice soft on him. “What are you doing in my apartment?”
Dex just stared at you, the tension rolling off him. “You’ve been ignoring my texts and my calls.”
You blinked, as if the words actually surprised you, “I was busy…” then let out a small, tired sigh as you shrugged off your jacket.
“Are you?”
“I thought you needed space,” you shrugged, hanging the jacket on the hook with careful movements. “You’ve been so distant with me lately.”
Dex’s jaw flexed. He pushed up from the couch, taking a step toward you, eyes searching your face like he was trying to find the lie.
“I’ve been distant?” he repeated, the frustration bleeding through. “You disappear for days, you don’t answer me, leaving me alone—and I’m the one who’s distant?”
You met his gaze steadily, keeping your expression open and concerned, even as your pulse hammered in your ears.
“I’m sorry,” you said, voice still soft. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. I just… thought you needed some time.”
You stepped closer, close enough to smell his cologne, close enough to see the panic flickering behind the anger in his eyes.
You slid your arms around his waist, slow and easy until your hands settled against his lower back, fingers splaying gently over the fabric of his shirt as you pressed yourself against him.
“Are you okay?” you asked softly, tilting your head up to look at him. Your voice was all concern, “You look like you haven’t slept.”
Dex’s body went rigid under your touch. For a second he let you hold him, then his hands closed around your wrists and he gently but firmly took your arms off him, stepping back half a pace.
You took a silent inhale through your nose, chaining down the sudden spike of rage that flared hot behind your ribs. Your smile didn’t even flicker.
“I’m really stressed,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “...about everything.”
You nodded slowly, keeping your voice gentle and understanding.
“I can see that,” you said, tilting your head like you were really seeing him. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”
Dex looked you in the eyes then, searching, like he was turning the question over in his head, weighing every possible answer. You could see the thoughts flickering behind them: the stress, the paranoia, the chaos he was trying so hard to keep locked down. His gaze dropped to your mouth for half a second before snapping back up.
“Do you want to take it out on me?” you’d asked.
You wanted him to say yes. You wanted him to use you, to lose every bit of that rigid control on you and only you.
And he didn’t disappoint. (click here for the detailed smut)
× × × ×
Present
You dragged the densely packed baseball bat lazily behind you as you walked down the long hallway, the heavy metal scraping softly against the polished hardwood with every step. The sound was almost soothing while you hummed ‘Agora Hills’ under your breath.
You passed a side table and casually tipped over an ugly crystal vase with the tip of the bat. It shattered beautifully on the floor, pieces scattering like diamonds.
You didn’t even pause and just stepped over it.
You strutted into the massive open living room like you owned the place, plopped down on the expensive cushion sectional couch, and swung your boots up onto the coffee table with a thud. The bat rested across your lap, heavy and comforting. You leaned back, arms spread along the back of the couch, and let out a content little sigh before removing your earbuds.
“It must be nice…”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Tammy Hattley appeared in the wide archway, gun raised in a steady two-handed grip, wearing silk pajamas and a look of pure shock.
“Who’s there?” she demanded.
You glanced over, lifted your hand, and wiggled your fingers with a lazy smile.
“Hello, Tammy,” you said sweetly, imitating Dex’s tone. “Sorry for the unexpected visit. You can put the gun down.”
Tammy’s eyes narrowed, but she slowly lowered the weapon, though she kept it in her hand, “What are you doing here? This is a home invasion Sergeant!”
You stood up slowly, stretching like a cat waking from a nap, the bat dangling casually from your right hand. Tammy’s gun came back up immediately.
You turned toward her fully, still smiling that maniacal little smile.
“Just wanted to see how your life was going,” you said conversationally, gesturing around at the opulent room. “Glad you’re doing well. Big house. Nice pajamas. Aren’t you going to ask me how I’m doing? It’s kind of rude.”
Tammy’s jaw tightened.
“Get off my property,” she said coldly. “Now.”
“I will, don’t worry,” you reassured lightly. “Put the gun down, geeze.”
You raised both hands in a lazy surrender, the heavy bat still gripped casually in your right one like it weighed nothing.
“You had an intruder sent by Bullseye to kill you,” you continued, tone conversational. “I stopped them.”
You pointed with your left hand toward the shattered vase on the floor.
Tammy’s eyes flicked down to the broken glass for half a second which was a stupid, instinctive mistake.
The bat whistled through the air in a controlled arc and connected with the side of her leg. You held back a lot but the impact still made a solid, meaty thud that dropped her to one knee with a sharp gasp of pain. The gun clattered to the floor.
You kicked the gun away with the side of your boot, sending it skidding across the floor. Your eyes flicked down to Tammy’s leg and you made a genuine “eugh” face, nose wrinkling.
“Gross.”
You looked back at her, tilting your head.
“You’re Poindexter’s old boss, right?”
You reached out with the tip of the bat and gently pushed her forehead, forcing her to look up at you. Your smile widened, sweet and unhinged.
“You wasted a lot of my efforts on my good guy, you bitch.”
Tammy stared at you, pain and fury twisting her features. “Why are you doing this?” she hissed through gritted teeth.
You blinked, tilting your head like the question genuinely surprised you. “Oh, uh—I guess…we’re just riding on our enemies now—mind if I play a song? I love listening to music while I work. Also a big fan of Deadpool.”
You pulled out your phone, scrolling casually while she watched you like you’d lost your mind. The first notes of Bad Romance started playing. You winced.
“Oops. Wrong song.”
You skipped it to Careless Whisper you bobbed your head to the rhythm, smiling wider as the sax kicked in.
“I’ll give you a heads up,” you said cheerfully, twirling the bat a few times. “Run away or hide from us. You have until the end of the song.”
Tammy’s eyes widened in pure panic. She scrambled backward on her hands and good knee, dragging her injured leg, gasping through the pain as she tried to crawl away from you. The silk pajamas slipped against the polished floor, making her movements clumsy and desperate.
You just leaned back against the back of the couch, bat resting across your lap, singing along like you were watching a mildly entertaining show.
“Oh you’re never gonna dance again Tammy, you got guilty feet.”
Tammy made it halfway across the living room, breathing hard, eyes darting toward the hallway like she might actually have a chance.
Then she froze.
Dex stepped out from the shadowed archway behind her, twirling a small dagger in his hands. The blade caught the low light, flashing as he played with it like it was a toy.
Tammy’s head snapped up. She saw him and let out a choked sound, trying to crawl faster past him toward the stairs.
Dex didn’t move to stop her.
He just let her drag herself right by his boots, eyes flicking down to watch her struggle for a second before he looked back at you with a small, amused smirk.
“She’s not joking,” he said almost bored, still flipping the dagger in lazy circles. “You should probably crawl faster.”
You watched her disappear to hide somewhere, the saxophone wailing through your phone speakers. A dreamy little hum left your lips as you reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a small notepad and a pen. Still swaying gently side to side like a maniac to the rhythm of the song, you flipped it open to a page filled with several names written in neat, careful handwriting.
With a slow, satisfied smile you drew a thick, deliberate line straight through the name.
Tammy Hattley.
You tilted your head, admiring your handiwork as you kept swaying, humming softly along with the music.
Dex watched you for a long moment, shaking his head with a smirk playing on his lips. He twirled the dagger once more before sliding it into his belt, eyes never leaving you.
“Out of every goddamn song in the world you could’ve picked while we’re in the middle of this, you go with that?”
“Why? You feeling old hearing a song from your era?” you clapped back, voice sweet and mocking as you glanced at him over the pad.
Dex let out a scoff at how quick you retorted.
“My era?” he repeated lazily. “I was born the year that song was released, smartass.”
“Hmm… hence why it’s a song from your…?” You waited, eyes sparkling with mischief, clearly baiting him to finish the sentence.
Dex just stared at you with a completely unimpressed look, one eyebrow raised, saying nothing.
You grinned wider.
“…era!! Wow,” you finished for him dramatically, dragging out the word with fake surprise.
Dex’s unimpressed stare didn’t waver for a second. He let out another short, dry scoff and crossed his arms and tilted his head, eyes narrowing at you like you’d personally offended him.
“Radiohead is more my era or Nirvana or Savage Garden. That’s the shit that actually hit when I was old enough to remember it… ”
A soft laugh bubbled out of you, bright and genuine. You slipped the notepad back into your jacket and crossed the room to him. You stopped right in front of him, looking up at his face with that same playful glint in your eyes.
“You’re cute when you get defensive about your music,” you murmured, voice warm with teasing affection. “I’m just messing with you.”
You rose onto your tiptoes, one hand resting lightly on his chest, and pressed a quick, soft peck to his lips.
“I’m going to go find Tammy,” you whispered against his mouth. You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, a wicked little smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Feel free to join the child’s game if you want, but it’s literally no fun with your insane aim.”
Then you turned away, humming again as you headed down the hallway after her, bat still swinging with the tricks Dex taught you.
“Hey Tammy!” you called out cheerfully, voice echoing through the house. “Your ass better be hiding!”
݈݇— pairings: 1800soutlaw!bucky x modern!freader
݈݇— themes: HISTORICAL/WESTERN AU, TIME TRAVEL, Fish-Out-Of-Water, Captor/Captive Dynamic, Marriage for Protection, Opposites attract (Brooding Outlaw x Chaotic Smartass), Enemies-To-Lovers, Slow Burn, Forced Proximity, Emotional Walls, Comedy, Angst (Emotional Damage), Eventual Smut.
Author's Note: Inspired by Taylor Swift's song Invisible String lmao...Say thank you Taylor!! Also FMC will obviously sound like a gen z lmfao. She is a weirdo.
Outside, the hurricane was already throwing a tantrum, the wind howling against the tall windows like it wanted in. The TV mounted in the corner flickered between emergency alerts and some grainy local news anchor warning everyone to get home.
“Mandatory evacuation for zones—”
The power surged, lights buzzing overhead. You were glued to your laptop, notes scattered like fallen leaves across the table, highlighter bleeding orange across another dead-end article. No death certificate. No family Bible. Nothing much for a two thousand word essay. And your professor had the audacity to assign him as the focus of your entire 1840s Western seminar paper.
James Buchanan Barnes. 1817–?
“This is bullcrap,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes. Everyone else had already fled the building. Even the librarian had vanished somewhere after a half-hearted “We’re closing early because of the storm.” You were the only one left, stubborn and desperate for something—a letter, a newspaper scrap, anything to bring this ghost to life.
You shoved your chair back and wandered deeper into the stacks. The history section back here was dim, shelves leaning like tired tired cowboys. Your fingers brushed over dusty spines, hunting for anything on frontier settlements or territorial life. Thunder rolled hard enough to shake the floor. The lights flickered once… twice…
A thick journal suddenly tumbled from the shelf beside you, landing at your feet with a heavy thud.
You jumped and looked around nervously, “Ghosts aren’t real, ghosts aren’t real—”
Another thunderclap startled you before you crouched and picked it up. The cover was dark worn leather. You hadn’t even brushed against it. You swallowed, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.
“It's the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, come inside, it's fun inside—” you sang out of tune to distract yourself from the fear. Still, you flipped it open.
Yellowed pages, old entries, hand-drawn maps. You turned another page and your eyes landed on a handwritten letter tucked between two entries.
The ink was faded but clear enough. It was addressed to no one…
You read the last few lines out loud without thinking, voice barely above a whisper: “My love… should these words ever find your eyes someday. May you come back to my side.”
“...Wooow. This isn’t helpful at all,” you muttered, frustration bubbling up. “I need facts, not some love letter—”
Suddenly, everything went black. A total, suffocating blackout. The emergency signs glowed for half a second, then died. It was pitch black and you really hope that the librarian didn’t actually leave.
“Hello?! Ma’am? Are you still—”
The wind outside roared like the hurricane had finally broken through the walls. You clutched the book tighter, the letter still open in your hands, now glowing.
“Okay… it’s just the storm. You’re fine—M-I-C-K-E-Y!!”
It felt the floor drop out from under you. Or maybe the whole world did. The air thickened, shifting from rain and paper to dry dust, pine, and woodsmoke. Your stomach flipped hard like you’d missed a step. Colors swirled behind your eyes—
You hit a surface hard.
Pain flared through your knees and palms as dirt and rocks scraped your skin. The world spun violently. You tried to push yourself up, but everything went black.
—
You groaned, eyelids fluttering open against the bright mountain sun. Your head throbbed like you’d face-planted after one too many espresso shots during finals week. For a second you just lay there in the dirt, blinking.
Then it all hit.
You shot upright, hands flying over your body—patting your arms, your waist, your legs, checking for missing limbs.
“Holy shit,” you wheezed, “Where the hell—”
Everything looked… wrong and unfamiliar. You dusted your pleated skirt and tucked your top back in when you noticed your bag lying a few meters away like it had been yeeted with you. You scrambled over on shaky legs and ripped it open.
Phone. You need your phone right now. Fingers trembling, you pulled it out and tapped your best friend’s name.
“Come on, come on—” No bars. Not even a single pathetic signal dot. Just that mocking “No Service” on top of the screen. You held it up anyway, spinning in a circle like an idiot. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! how is there no signal in the middle of a freaking—?!”
A sharp crack split the air. Dirt exploded near your feet as someone was shooting at you. You screamed and dropped flat, heart slamming against your ribs. Another shot whistled past, way too close.
Hoofbeats thundered closer. You peeked up just enough to see a white horse, moving fast down the narrow path like he owned the whole damn mountain. He reigned in hard a few yards away, dust swirling around him as he swung down, revolver still smoking in his hand.
He didn’t look friendly. At all.
I’m dreaming right? This has to be a dream.
You pushed yourself up on shaky legs, brushing dirt off your stupid outfit of the day. “Okay, what the fuck, dude?! You just shot at me?! You could’ve killed me! Drop the whole cosplay act right now, that is not funny!”
“That was a warning shot.” He holstered the revolver but kept his hand near it, watching you closely. “You’re trespassin’ on our territory, miss. Most folks got the sense to stay off this trail. Ya one of them Pinkerton spies? Or just plain stupid?”
Your mouth fell open, “Pinkerton—Bro. I don’t know what convention this is but can you drop the accent and the guns and tell me how to get back to civilization? Like, help me call an Uber. Or—or at least point a road with cell service.”
His eyes dragged slowly up and down your body—taking in the outfit that definitely wasn’t from around here (it showed too much legs), the weird bag, the glowing rectangle in your hand. He tilted his head, expression judgmental.
“You’re creeping me out, dude.” you said, voice pitching higher. “I’m gonna get out of here, okay? If you wanna keep up the act, that’s fine, you do you. I’m not about this weird mountain roleplay shit.”
You lunged for your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. The cowboy’s hand moved lightning-fast, hands on the revolver.
“Stay put.” he growled, dead serious.
“NO! YOU CREEP.”
A full-on scream ripped out of you as you tore down the rocky/root filled path, sneakers slipping on loose stones, bag banging against your hip.
“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” Your hand fumbled inside the bag for the pepper spray you kept for city nights. “Come on, where are you—”
Hoofbeats pounded fast behind you and it’s getting closer. You risked a glance back. The cowboy was already back in the saddle, leaning low, rope uncoiling in his hands.
“Don’t you dare—!” you yelled, but it was too late. The lasso whistled through the air and dropped over your shoulders, snapping tight around your arms and waist. Your feet flew out from under you and you hit the dirt hard, skidding a few feet as the horse slowed.
You wheezed, clawing for the pepper spray that had tumbled out of reach. “Let me go, you psycho! I’m gonna report you!”
The cowboy dismounted and walked over, rope still in hand. He looked equal parts irritated and mocking. “To who? President John Tyler?”
“John Tyler—No… what? Trump is the president.”
“Tramp? Well that’s a stupid name.”
Before you could snap back, he flipped you onto your stomach and started binding your wrists behind your back, then looped your ankles together with quick, practiced knots. You kicked once and earned a deep warning growl.
He hauled you up and slung you over his shoulder like a sack of grain, one strong arm locked across your thighs. Your face bounced against his back, the faded blue shirt smelling like pine and smoke.
“Let me go!” you shrieked. “Where the hell is your manager?!”
He stopped for half a second, body tensing as if your voice grated on his nerves. “Do ya like havin’ the ability to talk?” he muttered, drawl thick. “Or ya want me to put somethin’ in that mouth to shut it?”
You froze. The casual threat hit way different when you were literally tied up and draped over him like laundry.
He kept walking to his horse, your bag swinging from his other hand. Every step jolted you against his shoulder. When he reached the horse, he dropped you face-down across the saddle without ceremony. The pommel dug into your ribs, your tied limbs making it impossible to do anything but squirm.
“Can you at least tell me where you’re taking me?” you groaned, voice muffled against the leather.
“Back to camp,” he said flatly. He swung up behind you, one hand pressing down on your back to keep you steady, and kicked the horse into a walk down the narrow trail.
You squeezed your eyes shut, heart hammering. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
After a few miserable minutes you cracked one eye open. “If you’re gonna unalive me… can you at least make it quick?”
He only answered with a low grunt.
× × × ×
You sit there tied up against the tree, wrists aching behind your back, ankles still bound, dirt in your hair, dignity somewhere back on that mountain trail where this lunatic decided kidnapping was okay. The sun is lower now, shadows stretching across the clearing, and you’ve been forced into the world’s worst audience seat while a group of grown men go through your bag as if they’re cave men.
The one who lassoed you, let’s call him Robb Stark, stands a little off to the side, staring at you like you’re a math problem that keeps dividing by zero.
Robin Hood closes your diary with a soft smack. “She’s got pages full of complaints about someone named ‘Professor dickhead’ and a man called James Barnes. Interestin’.”
All eyes snap to James.
He finally pushes off the tree and walks over, boots heavy on the pine needles. He crouches right in front of you, close enough you can see the scar through his eyebrow and the pure exhaustion in his blue eyes.
“How d’ya know my name?” he asks, low and dangerous. “Start talkin’.”
You let out a slightly unhinged chuckle, “I don’t know who you are, dude. So how about we just drop the act…it’s sun down already!”
Jame’s jaw flexes. Without breaking eye contact with you, he holds one hand out to the side. “Clint. Pass the diary will ya?”
Clint tosses the diary over without a word. James catches it one-handed and flips it open, scanning your handwriting like he’s reading a wanted poster. His expression darkens as he finds the page.
“‘James “Bucky” Barnes,’” he reads out loud, voice flat but carrying across the whole camp. “‘1817 to unknown. One blurry-ass tintype mentioned in records. Possibly an outlaw near Strawberry. Zero reliable sources. Professor clearly hates me because why assign the guy with literally almost nothing on him—’”
He pauses, eyes narrowing as he keeps reading.
“‘—he sounds kind of hot in that mysterious “I might rob a train” way, but if I fail this paper because of him I’m going to scream.’”
Will Smith wheezes.
Your face burns hotter than the campfire.
Bucky keeps going, merciless. “‘If this man actually existed he’d probably be grumpy and emotionally unavailable and way too good with a rope, if you know what I mean. Not that I’m thinking about that. Focus! This is research.’”
He snaps the diary shut and stares at you again, dead serious.
You want the earth to open up and swallow you whole. “...I was sleep-deprived when I wrote that, okay? College is hard.”
Bucky tilts his head, still crouched in front of you like a predator deciding whether you’re dinner or just annoying. “You wrote all that… about a man you claim you don’t know.”
“I don’t know you!” you insist while laughing, that’s panic and frustration at the same time. “I was researching for a history paper!”
The camp goes quiet except for the crackle of the fire and Will Smith’s barely-contained snickering while he pinches his lips together. Bucky stays crouched, diary still in his hand, still studying you because you’re the strangest thing he’s ever dragged back to camp.
Finally he mutters, “You’re either the best liar I ever met… or you need a doctor.” He stands up slowly, tossing your diary back to Clint.
“So what now, Buck?” Johnny Bravo asks.
Bucky looks down at you; tied up, glaring at him, and still running your mouth—and lets out the world’s longest, most exhausted sigh.
“I don’t know?”
You blink at him. “How about releasing me?”
“You ain’t goin’ nowhere till I figure out what you are,” he adds, already turning away like that settles it.
“What I—? I’m a person!” you snap. “A human being! Da-fuck?!”
“Ya better watch your language, Steve don’t like bad words…” Will Smith snickers not even trying to hide it and earns an unimpressed expression from Johnny Bravo.
“I’m keepin’ this. It’s entertainin’.” Clint says dryly, flipping your diary back open like he’s invested now.
“Give that back, temu Legolas!” you snap immediately.
Steve exhales slowly, looking between you and Bucky like he’s already tired of this situation. “Well we need to do something about her. She could be trouble.”
“Oh, I am trouble alright!” you cut in. “You should absolutely untie me and let me go before I escalate. I know BJJ!” (You do not.)
Bucky doesn’t even look at you. “Ain’t worried about whatever that is.”
“Wow.” you say flatly.
Will Smith crouches down in front of you again, elbows resting on his knees, studying you like a puzzle. “Why don’t you give us a story of how you got’eer?”
“I was in the library!” you say, latching onto that like finally, someone with brain cells. “A building. With books. For studying. You know, education? There was a hurricane and the lights went out then, boom! I’m here.”
He nods slowly, like he’s following, even if he definitely isn’t. “And you just… fell outta that place and landed here.”
“Yes,” you say. “Exactly. Thank you. Finally. Someone gets it.”
“That don’t make a lick of sense,” he says immediately, “Did she hit her head when you lassoed her Buck?”
“Yes but maybe she’s actually crazy…” Bucky shrugged, “and hittin’ her head made it worse.”
You stare at him. “Oh my God.”
“Hey this thing’s glowin’” Joaquin holds your phone up. “Looks evil, I tell ya.”
“It’s called an iPhone, you idiot sandwich!” you snap. “It’s not evil, it’s just… technology. From the future. Where I’m from. TWENTY-TWENTYSIX. We have airplanes and Wi-Fi and—you know what? Never mind. You’re all gonna think I’m insane anyway—this is a dream, I don’t need to explain myself.”
Steve pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I’m so desperate to pass this assignment, my brain is actually trying to cope.” you whisper, more to yourself this time, eyes darting between them like maybe one of them will suddenly break and admit this is a prank.
But they're all just… staring at you like you’re speaking in tongues.
Sam finally breaks the silence. “She really believes that, don’t she?”
Your full-on laughter bubbled up, unhinged, shoulders shaking so hard the rope around your wrists digs in and shakes your head so fast your hair whips dirt into your eyes.
Screw it.
You can do anything in a dream, right? Rob a bank. Kiss a hot outlaw. Tell the most unhinged lie in history and watch these grown-ass men lose their minds.
“Okay, okay, you got me,” you say, still cackling like a hyena. “I am crazy. Certifiably, clinically…”
Bucky’s eyebrow does that judgmental twitch again, but you barrel on, voice pitching higher with every ridiculous word.
“When my mom gave birth to me, she pushed so hard I flew across the entire room like a human cannonball. BAM.” The cowboys jolted simultaneously, “Doctors said it was the most violent birth they’d ever seen. Mom had to wear a neck brace for weeks because she was screaming my name so loud she pulled a muscle. Taking care of me after that? Nightmare. Chewed through three cribs before I was six months old. That’s why I ran away from home so she could finally live her best life, you know?”
You pause for dramatic effect, eyes wide like you’re sharing state secrets. The whole camp is staring. Clint’s got your diary halfway open again, frozen mid-page.
“I was diagnosed with this disease—” you pause as if you’re getting choked up. “It’s tough to talk about—I was born with Skibidi Brainrot Syndrome…yeah. Doctors tried everything. Mewing therapy. Ohio salt rituals. Teaching me how to Dougie. Nothing worked. So here I am... in your camp. Tied to a tree.”
You look up to see Joaquin’s face crumpling into the saddest, most heartbroken cowboy puppy eyes you’ve ever witnessed in your entire life. He looks two seconds away from offering you a hug and a warm bowl of outlaw stew.
“Aw, hell… poor lil’ thing,” he mutters, actually sniffling. “Born launchin’ across rooms and cursed with… Skibidi whatever-the-devil. That’s the saddest damn story I ever heard.”
Joaquin wipes at his face with the back of his hand, then turns to the others, voice thick with genuine concern.
“Boys, we gotta bring her in. She needs help—real help. Can’t just leave a gal out here with her head all twisted up like that. What if she wanders off and gets herself hurt? Or worse, what if she hurts herself tryin’ to… I don’t know, cannonball into another tree or somethin’?”
You open your mouth to cut in—Wait, no, I’d prefer to be released, I’m not actually—but Joaquin already rolling right over you, waving one hand like he’s making the final call for the whole group.
“She’s self-aware about it, at least,” he adds, glancing around. “That’s gotta count for somethin’, right? Poor thing’s been carryin’ this burden her whole life. Ain’t right to just turn her loose.”
Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Clint all exchange a long, loaded glance. Bucky’s jaw tightens, but there’s no mockery in it this time—just a flicker of confusion. Steve rubs the back of his neck, looking genuinely unsettled, trying to square the wild story with the fact that you’re sitting there owning it so plainly. Sam’s eyebrows shoot up, and he lets out a low whistle under his breath.
After a beat, Bucky exhales through his nose and gives a single, decisive nod.
“Alright,” he says, voice low and final. “Guess we really are bringin’ her in. We’ll sort the rest later.”
You try again—“Guys, seriously, I was just—” but Joaquin’s already crouching down beside you, patting your shoulder with one big, gentle hand like you’re a spooked horse.
“Shh, easy now, we go back to camp tomorrow.” he soothes, all earnest cowboy kindness. “You’ve had a rough go of it. We’ll get you fixed up best we can. Ain’t no shame in needin’ a little help.”
Joaquin gives your shoulder one last reassuring squeeze, then stands and heads off toward the horses with the others, already talking low about watches and bedrolls for the night. The campfire crackles softly, the only sound left once their boots crunch away across the pine needles.
You let out a long breath, finally able to think straight for two seconds. Okay. Damage control time. Just explain it was a joke—
But before you can even shift against the tree, heavy footsteps approach again. You glance up just as Bucky crouches down right in front of you, close enough that the faint scent of him hits your nostrils again. He studies your face intently, those sharp blue eyes narrowing like he’s reading every tiny twitch. Then his gaze drags slowly down the rest of you—your dusty sneakers, the pleated skirt that’s revealing too much legs, the way your arms are still tied up—before sliding back up to meet your eyes.
You give him your best judgmental sneer, chin lifting in pure yeah, I see you energy, because seriously, the audacity of this man after everything.
He doesn’t blink. Instead, he leans in even closer, his breath warm against your ear as he drops his voice to a deep, rough whisper that’s meant for you alone.
“You might have Joaquin fooled,” he murmurs, the words slow, “but I don’t believe a damn thing that came out of your mouth.”
He pulls back just enough to lock eyes with you again, one corner of his mouth twitching into a small smirk. The message is crystal clear: he knows you’re full of it.
× × × ×
Steve, who’s been quietly watching from his watch spot, stands up without a word. He grabs a folded wool blanket from his own bedroll and walks over. He drapes it over you without making a big deal about it and tucking the edges around you.
“Here,” he says quietly. “Nights get cold up’ere. Don’t need you freezin’ before we even figure out what to do with you.”
You blink up at him, surprised by the small kindness. The blanket is heavy and actually warm.
“...Thanks,” you mutter, pulling it tighter with your free hand. “Didn’t think any of you guys had a functioning conscience left.”
Steve’s mouth twitches into the tiniest smile as he lowers himself down to sit on a log a few feet away from you—close enough to keep an eye on you for his watch, but not crowding. He rests his rifle across his knees and stares out into the dark trees.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he says after a beat, voice hushed so he doesn’t wake the others. “Still ain’t sure you ain’t some kind of Pinkerton trick… or somethin’ worse.”
The fire’s down to glowing embers now, casting soft orange light across his face. He looks tired but alert, the classic “responsible one” energy radiating off him.
You let out a soft, tired laugh. “Dude, if I was a spy, I would’ve picked a better outfit than this. And I definitely wouldn’t have let Bucky lasso me like a rodeo clown.”
Steve huffs a soft laugh, almost reluctant. “Don’t let Buck hear you say that. He’s just… careful. We all got reasons to be.”
You glance over at Bucky’s ‘sleeping’ form, hat also over his face, one hand still resting near his gun even in sleep. “He’s terrifying. You’re all terrifying. But thanks for the blanket. Seriously. I was about two minutes from turning into a popsicle.”
“You should try to sleep,” he finally says. “Ride to home camp tomorrow’s gonna be long. And Bucky don’t do slow.”
“Sure.” You pull the blanket up to your chin, suddenly aware of how bone-tired you actually are, “Y’know… I will not miss all you handsome cowboys when I wake up from this dream.”
You close your eyes, the wool scratchy but warm, the leash rope loose beside you, and the soft sound of Steve’s breathing nearby.
× × × ×
You wake up to the distinct, deeply unpleasant sensation of something wet and aggressively slobbery dragging across your cheek. You flinch hard as your eyes snap open and there is a horse staring directly into your soul.
“JESUS—” you choke, jerking backward so fast you tangle yourself in the blanket and nearly roll off whatever bedroll contraption you’ve been dumped on.
The horse snorts, unimpressed, and goes right back in for another investigative sniff, its whiskers tickling your jaw.
You freeze, holding your breath.
“…If I stay still,” you whisper hoarsely, “it might think I’m dead.”
A shadow falls over you, “Look who decided to join the living...took you long enough. Horse already introduced herself twice.” the voice said flatly and you guessed right who it was.
You slowly peel one eye open to see Bucky was standing over you, arms crossed, hat tipped just enough to shadow his eyes. He looks like he’s been up for hours.
You blink at him, then at the horse, then back at him, “…Oh,” you say faintly. “Okay. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”
You flop back onto the bedroll, staring up at the sky.
“I’m having a dreamception,” you announce. “That’s what this is. I thought I woke up, but I didn’t actually wake up. I woke up inside the dream. A very layered—”
“…A what.” Bucky’s brow furrows like you just started speaking another language again.
“Dreamception,” you repeat, gesturing vaguely. “Like… dream within a dream. Which means if I wake up again, I’ll be in my real bed, and none of you—” you wave a hand at him, the horse, the entire cowboy situation “—will exist.”
There’s a pause while Bucky stares at you for a long second. Then muttered as if not surprised, “…You hit your head harder than I thought.”
You gasp, offended. “I did not—”
“Get up.”
You blink. “Excuse me?”
“We’re movin’,” he says, already turning away. “You can argue with yourself on the horse.”
You scoff, flopping forward before forcing yourself up, “I cannot believe my subconscious made you this rude.”
(I happen to remember this while I was disassociating at the gym and it's too funny not to overshare 💀 so again, if you want to laugh at me and my experiences...feel free to read.)
Anyway context: When I was like 16/17 I had really bad depression + panic attacks which was made worse after getting cyberbullied by my own friend group when I said I didn't wanna hang out with them anymore 💀 anyway I was on medication and basically rotting in my room 24/7
I grew up in a fairly religious family. My mom being the most religious one but shes not extreme, she just loves Jesus. She ALSO had a close work friend who was on another LEVEL 😭 and she kept suggesting her church would “help me heal” or whatever
Eventually my mom begged me to go just ONCE so I agreed purely so she would STOP asking LMFAOOO (and i think she wanted her friend to stop recruiting her so basically i did my mom a favor lol)
BRO this church was in the middle of fucking nowhere on some acreage and when we arrived everyone looked like they were trapped in the 90s 💀 like old fashioned clothes, weird vibes, immediately I knew this was not gonna be a normal experience
We go inside and the service starts and I swear it was the most cult-adjacent experience of my LIFE 😭
They sang the SAME chorus on loop for what felt like 14 business days. Me and my sister were standing there side eyeing each other like surely this is the last repetition.
NO ❤️
Someone was even waving a big ass flag on the side btw 🥴
Anyway I’m dissociating through the whole thing until the end when my mom’s friend suddenly pulls me over to the pastor and goes:
“can we pray for her? she’s been depressed since 14”
????????? Auntie the fuck? 😂
And because my frontal lobe was still under construction I DIDN’T EVEN SAY NO 😭 (listen my mom thought they were literally gonna just 'pray' okay?) So I just stood there while they started praying over me
Then more people joined...
At one point I looked up and genuinely felt like a celebrity getting swarmed by fans except everyone was yelling in tongues and spraying me with spit particles 💀
And listen… I genuinely think they were trying to exorcise the depression out of me LMFAO because i heard one of them say as I walk through the valley of the shadow of death💀💀💀
Like they had me surrounded so intensely that I just slowly went down onto the floor because what else was I supposed to do?? 😭
I caught a glimpse of my family in the crowd and they looked CONCERNED to see people tryn'a compell me with the power of their spit christ like:
Meanwhile I was trying so hard not to laugh at my their faces because I genuinely thought if I did start giggling they would be like, THE DEMON IS REACTING
Afterwards they asked me how I felt and I was just like yeah I’m okay 🙂
THE CAR RIDE HOME WAS SILENTTTTTTTTTTT
Then I jokingly asked my mom, So… am I cured now?
And the threeof them immediately lost it laughing 😭😭😭 and we never came back there again!!!
Anyway no ❤️ the depression stayed another 3 years until I met my husband lel
You were supposed to be the thing that kept Dex in line, not the reason he keeps coming back worse; but every time you tell him to leave, he shows up bloodier, hungrier, like he’s trying to prove love is just how much damage he’s willing to do for you.
Pairing: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Super Soldier!FMC
݈݇— [18+] themes: Morally gray FMC, Violence, Toxic Dynamics, Codependency, Mutual obsession, Jealousy, Murder (AVTF agents), Mentions of Blood, Dark Romance, Dark domesticity, “I can fix him” mentality, Manipulation on both sides, FMC matching Dex’s insanity instead of fixing it, Mutual enabling, Smut(not every chapter though). Post-Prison Dex. Inspired by "Don't Blame Me", "I Did Something Bad" by Taylor Swift and "Gethesemane" by Sleep Token.😭
Author’s Note: These characters are gonna be deeply flawed and their relationship is intentionally unhealthy. Nothing here is meant to reflect a healthy or ideal dynamic (please read with that in mind.) If you’re looking for healthy dynamics with Bullseye, this is not that story.
× × × ×
Prologue 🍴Part I 🍴 Part 2 🍴 Part 3 🍴
Playlist:
Dont Blame Me - Taylor Swift, I Did Something Bad - Taylor Swift, Gethsemane - Sleep Token, Emergence - Sleep Token, Down With The Sickness - Disturbed, Killing In The Name - Rage Against The Machine, Animals - Maroon 5, Die On This Hill - SIENNA SPIRO, Love Me Harder - Ariana Grande, Paparazzi - Lady Gaga, Judas - Lady Gaga, Been Like This - Doja Cat, Paint The Town Red - Doja Cat, Kill Bill - SZA, i like the way you kiss me - Artemas
You were only meant to study the life of James Buchanan Barnes, not meet him beneath an open sky, not learn the sound of his voice or the way he looks at you like you don’t quite belong; his world isn’t yours and yours was never his, but time doesn’t ask before it takes, and somewhere between borrowed days and every stolen glances, you realize the end won’t come gently—it will simply take you, and leave everything unfinished.
݈݇— themes: HISTORICAL/WESTERN AU, TIME TRAVEL, Fish-Out-Of-Water, Captor/Captive Dynamic, Marriage for Protection, Opposites attract (Brooding Outlaw x Chaotic Smartass), Enemies-To-Lovers, Slow Burn, Forced Proximity, Emotional Walls, Comedy, Angst (Emotional Damage), Eventual Smut.
Author's Note: If you know me...yes it's inspired by Taylor Swift's song Invisible String lmao...Say thank you Taylor!!
part i ᥫ᭡ part ii ᥫ ᭡part iii ᥫ᭡ part iv ᥫ᭡ part v ᥫ᭡
