Do I dare disturb the universe?

[wielkiimarzyciel]

[hmione]

FRIENDS (1994-2004) 04.10 — The One With the Girl From Poughkeepsie

[marveldaily]

Captain America: Civil War (2016)

[commie-pinko-liberal-blog]

[liberalbutnotpartisan]

This point can never be repeated often enough.

[mysharona1987]

[burntxt]

By Your Hand Alone

this scene doesn't come up until around part 2, chapter 2x of the original fic 'where the spiral ends'. since I'm not sure I'll still be posting translation updates by the time the story gets there, I borrowed the idea and adapted it for my dex × reader fic

Summary : After countless hardships, you and Dex finally begin a new life in a new place. The steady rhythm of an ordinary life, coupled with your unwavering love, helps him keep his sanity intact—for the most part.

But every now and then, the world reminds him of the darkness he carries. When he loses control, he becomes a danger to the person he loves most: you. Yet you are never afraid.

You know who Dex truly is.

And you love him anyway.

Pairing : Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter × Fem!Reader

Warnings/Tags : MDNI, Smut, Dark Romance, Husband!Dex × Wife!Reader, Trauma, Mental Breakdown, Self-Loathing, Attempted Strangulation, Oral Sex, Shower Sex, Codependency, Obsessive Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count : 4.5k

Dex stared at the automatic garage door as it descended with a low, mechanical hum. He sat motionless in the driver's seat of the turned-off car, still clad from head to toe in the tactical gear he wore during operations. Normally, he would have changed long before the gun oil or someone else's blood from the mission could seep into the car's interior. But not today. No, today he couldn't bring himself to do it.

As the faint glow of the streetlights was blocked out by the closing door, darkness slowly swallowed his face.

He felt utterly drained. Throughout the entire drive home, the chronic self-loathing and helplessness he had managed to forget for a while clawed its way back into his gut, leaving him feeling like an empty shell of a man.

During the mission, a single phrase carelessly thrown around by an enemy had lodged itself in his mind, refusing to leave. Normally, it was the kind of crude provocation he would have dismissed without a second thought. He knew better than anyone that he shouldn't let it shake him. His mind understood that. His heart, however, did not.

The phrase had been nothing more than his wife's name. Yet hearing it there—where it had no business being spoken—was enough. In that instant, Dex realized she was still in danger.

From that exact moment, something shifted violently inside him. It felt as though debris had jammed the intricate, perfectly synchronized gears that usually ran his life. The internal compass he had been desperately clinging to dissolved like a mirage at the intrusion of a single stray thought.

The world Dex lived in now had been built by the woman he loved. She was the reason he drew breath every day, the reason he trained himself so relentlessly, and the reason he endured each day pretending to be a normal human being. They had promised each other forever, and to Dex, that promise was an unwritten, inviolable law. He had truly believed that nothing in this world could ever break it.

Yet, his own incompetence could break that sacred law at any moment.

This wasn't the first time she had been in danger. And every single time, Dex arrived at the exact same conclusion: because he wasn't enough. Because he wasn't fast enough. Because he wasn't strong enough. Ultimately, the fact that she remained under threat was entirely his fault.

That tiny hairline fracture became a gaping rift, and the emotions he had suppressed for so long came rushing in all at once. Like a cracked dam bursting in an instant, he was consumed by a wave of self-disgust and exhaustion. The trigger behind Dex’s breakdown was a man whose skull he had completely shattered—a man who was no longer among the living—yet Dex’s resentment remained aimed squarely at himself.

Even after the garage door shut completely, Dex didn't move for a long time.

He stared into the darkness ahead, a void as hollow as his own inner state. The mere thought of anyone else possessing her was worse than death.

After what felt like an eternity, Dex finally stepped out of the car and opened the back door leading into the house. It was a strict rule in this household to remove one's shoes indoors, but his combat boots silently pressed against the cold floor, cutting straight through the kitchen and living room toward the master bedroom.

With every step he took, a faint trail of blood-stained sand was left behind. It was as if the anxiety and madness he had barely managed to conceal could no longer be contained within his body, leaking out onto the floor.

*****

A sudden presence, and even through the haze of sleep, the vivid sensation of pressure around my neck.

When I opened my eyes, a shadow darker than the pitch-black bedroom was looming over me. Before I could react, the force crushing my windpipe tightened. It was as if whoever it was realized I had woken up and intentionally squeezed harder. Only after failing to draw a breath did my brain finally register that this wasn't a hallucination. It was an intruder. Someone was trying to kill me.

I clawed at the solid hand wrapping around my throat, but it was futile. Beneath my numb, desperate fingertips, I felt the texture of rubber or leather. I dug my nails in, trying to scratch at the arm, but my grip was deflected by the tough, slick material. I couldn't see the person's face, but my primal instincts screamed at me to fight back in the face of death.

As I resisted violently, a sharp jolt of realization flashed through my frayed nerves. In that split second, that jolt brought a sudden revelation. It made no sense, but my animalistic intuition deduced the intruder’s identity purely from the aura radiating from them. The grip around my throat was somehow familiar. Even though I felt a clear, lethal intent, an inexplicably lonely and sorrowful emotion bled through the air.

The one person who would never do this to me.

The one person who was never supposed to do this to me.

My husband.

My breath was entirely cut off, but fighting through the agonizing sensation of my tongue rolling back, I managed to choke out his name. "Dex?" At that, the hand only pressed down harder against my neck.

It was only natural to be terrified and confused by the sheer incomprehensibility of the situation. My body was absolutely refusing to take this as a joke. Even in the dark, I could feel my face burning crimson from the lack of oxygen. Yet, in stark contrast to my frantically thrashing body, my mind began to settle into a bizarre state of calm. I had no physical proof that this intruder was my husband, but my sixth sense was entirely certain. This man was undeniably the man I loved.

Slowly, I stopped resisting and let the tension drain from my body. The hands that had been frantically trying to pry his fingers away fell limply onto the mattress—not because I lacked the strength to fight as my consciousness began to fade, but so that he would know I was surrendering willingly. Finally, my body and mind became one, and I completely ceased to fight against the hands I knew belonged to Dex.

It wasn't that I wanted to die. But I believed there had to be a reason he was doing this.

He was not a man who would ever kill me, but if he wished for my death, I was ready to accept it.

As I abandoned all resistance and let myself go limp, writhing in the agony of accepting death, a ragged, burning breath brushed against me in the darkness. The intruder, who had been pinning my neck down with one hand, now brought both hands down, throwing his full weight into the chokehold. Yet, even as my vision blurred from the suffocating pain, I refused to fight back to the very end. I didn't know the reason, but I trusted him. There was a reason for his actions.

If that was what he wanted, I was prepared to die.

Just as the final pocket of life-sustaining air drained from my lungs, the crushing pressure around my throat vanished instantly. My nose and mouth reflexively gasped for air, dragging the metallic, blood-tinged oxygen deep into my chest. A violent cough racked my body against my will. But the heavy, labored breathing echoing through the bedroom wasn't just mine.

"I'm sorry..."

As expected, the mysterious attacker who had just been choking the life out of me was Dex. His voice trembled, thick with tears, and the metallic scent of blood clung to him as well. Through eyes blurred by involuntary tears, I watched silently as he bypassed the bed entirely and walked toward the bathroom. In the shadows, he violently stripped off his gear, letting it drop to the floor. Completely naked, he flipped on the bathroom light, stepped inside, and closed the door.

With a trembling hand, I reached over and turned on the small lamp on the nightstand. The clock read 2:00 AM. On the floor lay Dex's tactical uniform, discarded like a shed snake skin.

My physical body had truly felt the threat of death. Contrary to my mind's composure, my limbs wouldn't stop shaking, and an inexplicable chill washed over me despite the warmth of the bedroom. While the reality of what he had just done was undeniable, my soul knew that Dex hadn't actually intended to kill me. It was a bond that no one else but Dex and I could ever comprehend, a silent understanding forged by the time we had walked together.

From any rational point of view, there was no explaining why he was choking me. But my refusal to resist him was just as illogical.

Sensing the immense, suffocating swamp of grief he was trapped in, I slowly got out of bed and walked toward the bathroom. I picked up his discarded gear piece by piece, folding it neatly in the corner. His uniform smelled of gunpowder and cold iron.

I shed my own clothes, placing them across from his tactical gear. Fortunately, the bathroom door wasn't locked. I pushed it open and stepped inside, spotting Dex standing under the torrent of the transparent shower cabin.

As I entered the room completely naked, Dex’s downcast head slowly turned, his gaze locking onto me. The moment I caught a glimpse of his bloodshot, sorrowful eyes through the glass, I realized he was weeping silently.

I opened the shower door. A wave of freezing air hit my skin. Dex was shivering violently, yet he was standing right under an icy stream of water. My own body instinctively broke into goosebumps and winced against the freezing spray, but I pushed through the discomfort and stepped into the stall, facing him directly. Together, we stood under the freezing water.

Dex tried to speak, but he couldn't form a proper sentence, his voice breaking into a sob instead. I pulled him into my arms, gently smoothing down his back. Dex buried his face into my shoulder, weeping hot tears like a child. I didn't know—could never fully know—what he had to endure alone from the moment he wrapped up his mission to the moment he stepped into this house. I might never understand it in this lifetime. But I knew all too well that it was a burden heavy enough to break a man.

A violent tremor passed from his body into mine, though whether it was from the freezing cold or the uncontrollable, toxic emotions raging inside him, I couldn't tell. He mumbled repeatedly about how much he loathed himself for failing to protect me, whispering that he wished no one would ever lay a finger on me. The void he’d always carried within and his profound self-hatred were freezing him from the inside out. Under the icy downpour, it felt as though my own heart was turning to stone.

Once Dex calmed down slightly, I gently pulled his face from my shoulder and cupped his freezing cheeks with both hands. His skin was colder than the icy water running over us. We rested our foreheads together, sharing each other's breath in the cramped shower stall. Even then, he wouldn't warm.

He inhaled the breath I exhaled, and I breathed in the air he let out. As our noses brushed in the intimate proximity, he leaned in to kiss me. But I subtly pulled my head back, maintaining the distance.

Having his advance rejected made the corners of his eyes droop even more pitifully. Looking at his face, which seemed on the verge of breaking into tears again, I offered him a reassuring smile. I pressed my forehead back against his, letting him know that my refusal didn't stem from resentment. I could never hate him, no matter what he did to me.

Dex never forgot a face, a habit, or the slightest deviation in someone's behavior. He instinctively cataloged patterns, routines, and tells with frightening precision. Yet somehow, he always forgot the one truth I wanted him to remember—that I loved him, and always would. And every single time he did, I was confident I could remind him a hundred, even a thousand times over.

They say sadness is water-soluble, and I wanted to believe that was true.

I reached out and turned the dial from freezing cold to warm. As the hot water began to pour over us, a heavy shudder rippled through his frame. Reclaiming our body heat, our skin began to react to the shifting environment. Our breathing grew heavier, and the color slowly returned to our pale faces.

I pumped my shampoo twice into my hands and began to massage it gently into Dex's hair. His products carried a woody musk scent, while mine bore a citrusy floral fragrance. Our tastes were entirely different, but I knew he loved my scent, and I knew exactly how to use it to soothe his frayed nerves. As if tenderly bathing a beloved pet, I washed his hair, using my fingertips to apply firm pressure to his scalp, stroking it gently.

Dex looked confused at first, but soon closed his eyes, surrendering completely to my touch. Every time I massaged the nape of his neck, a low groan escaped his parted lips, his body trembling slightly. Beneath my abdomen, I could vividly feel his flaccid member beginning to swell and stiffen, rising slowly. I barely managed to suppress the urge to lean in and kiss him.

After rinsing his hair clean, I turned off the water temporarily and lathered my body wash onto a shower puff. First, I covered my own body in the rich foam, and then, with hands coated in lather, I softly kneaded his broad, solid chest. I stepped in impossibly close, pressing my breasts firmly against his sternum. The moment my hardened nipples brushed against his bare skin, Dex’s breathing turned ragged. By now, his erection was standing rigidly toward the sky. As I wrapped my arms around him to wash his back, he began to grind himself against my stomach, his hips moving in a subtle, desperate rhythm. My fingers traced the long scar running down his spine, and every time I stroked it, Dex bit his lower lip.

"Please..." Dex gasped, leaning his lips in as if begging for even a single kiss, but it wasn't time yet. This was a lesson meant only for him—a punishment for failing to cherish himself.

As my soft breasts rubbed slowly against his chest, Dex leaned down slightly, aligning his nipples with mine to rub them together. I continued to knead and caress his entire body, teasing him under the guise of washing him. Dex, consumed by arousal, submissively accepted every ounce of stimulation I offered. He pressed himself against me like an animal driven by pure instinct, his desperate movements pleading for any kind of permission.

I turned the water back on, and warm streams cascaded over our heads. The running water couldn't match the gentle softness of the soapy lather. Sensing that the sweet torment was drawing to a close, Dex's expression flickered with reluctant disappointment, and his Adam's apple bobbed with a heavy swallow. I rinsed the remaining foam from both of our bodies before pressing myself against him once more.

Then, sliding my chest down his torso, I slowly sank to my knees. My eyes never left his, and his gaze remained locked onto mine. When I finally settled into a stable kneeling position before him, I felt like a harlot looking up at a deity in absolute worship.

Dex’s expression flickered with pure ecstasy before he realized my intention and tried to pull me back up. When we made love, Dex frequently pleasured me with his tongue, but he was fiercely averse to receiving oral sex. His excuse was always that he despised the taste of his own semen when we kissed afterward. At first, I had joked, "So it's fine to taste my fluids, but not yours?" But it didn't take long for me to realize that this, too, was born from his deep-seated self-loathing.

Even if it was a slightly unfair and highly erotic method, I wanted to show him through my absolute devotion just how precious he was to me. I loved every single part of him, and I wanted him to understand that he, too, had to learn to cherish himself. If words could never reach him, then I would carve that truth into his heart with my devotion instead. Kneeling entirely before him, his engorged, throbbing shaft was right before my eyes. I ran my tongue in a long, slow stroke up the length of his shaft, making his entire body flinch violently.

I parted my lips and slowly took the head of his length into my mouth. Gripping the base with my hand to massage it, I pleasured him fervently with my tongue and the soft walls of my throat. Dex let out a deeper, darker groan, his hand gently cupping the back of my wet head. He kept looking down at me, and I stared right back up at him through the falling water, never breaking the rhythm. The line of his jaw, clenched so tightly that his teeth ground together, was so devastatingly attractive that I felt my own hidden depths slicking with a different kind of moisture. Blood rushed to my clitoris, causing my hips to quiver like a creature in heat.

I took him deep, swallowing his length to the back of my throat, and used the tip of my tongue to press against the slit of his crown where pre-cum bled out, pushing him over the edge. Dex closed his eyes tightly, his body tensing with increasing frequency. Sensing that his release was imminent, I quickened my pace.

Finally unable to take it anymore, Dex tried to pull away as the climax hit him, but I locked my arms tightly around his firm thighs, buried his shaft deep into my throat, and held him there. A choked groan tore from Dex’s chest, and I shivered violently as I felt the thick, burning wave of his release flood down my throat.

Even after his cock had throbbed through the last drop, I wrapped my lips around the head and sucked it firmly a few more times. Dex muttered a low curse as the last traces of his release spilled out in shuddering pulses. By then, his thick thighs were shaking uncontrollably.

Swallowing the vast majority of it, I finally stood up. Dex's eyes were still wild with the residual heat of passion. I offered him a faint smile and parted my lips, showing him the small trace of white fluid resting on my tongue. Then, I pressed my body flush against his. Brushing my nose and forehead against his, I signaled that I was finally ready to kiss him.

Dex hesitated for a fraction of a second, but the moment our lips touched, his hand clamped firmly around the back of my head, burying his tongue deep into my mouth. We tangled our tongues fiercely, exchanging saliva. The fluid laced with his seed washed over our tongues and slid down our throats once more.

Breaking the kiss for just a breath, I met his eyes and spoke softly.

"I will only ever die by your hand."

I reached up to stroke his cheek, and he leaned into my palm.

"No one else will ever take my life."

At last, Dex seemed to understand what I had been trying to tell him all along. A spark returned to his hazel eyes, followed by a fierce determination to survive.

"And I'll be the one to kill you. So don't you dare die by anyone else's hand. Not even your own. I won't allow it."

I met his possessiveness with one of my own. I knew this would reach him far more surely than any gentle words of comfort ever could.

I had no intention of ever killing him, despite what I'd just said.

But I also knew Dex would take my words as absolute truth. He always had. He would never question them. And because of that, they made him untouchable. The same was true of me.

I loved him.

Knowing the depths of his flaws and the darkness he carried could never stop me from loving him. It could never deter my devotion.

From the night I first took his hand, I had braced myself for everything.

Even if the path we had to walk together was hell itself, and even if I had to strip away everything I owned, I would gladly follow him. If I had to prove to the world that my resolve was not a fickle thing, I was ready to prove it as many times as it took.

He needed to know this certainty. Even if he lost his way and wandered into the dark from time to time, I had the absolute confidence to drag him back, over and over again.

"I swear it."

Dex was a man of terrifying capability when it came to executing his goals. He had never once broken a promise to me. I trusted him implicitly. Absolute, unyielding trust—that was the most perfect form of love I could offer him. I loved him, including every single piece of his brokenness.

At his answer, I cupped his cheeks once more and kissed him. Our tongues tangled, burning like a fallen sun. Every time we parted briefly to catch our breath, torrents of water rushed into the gap, but they could do nothing to stop the violence of our kiss.

He was already hard again, aching to bury himself inside me. I burned with the same desire. There was no denying the solid, unmistakable presence of him between my thighs, already slick, swollen, and softened for him.

As I parted my legs, it was only a matter of time before he claimed me again. The narrow passage that would normally struggle to take even two of his fingers had already softened into slick, yielding heat. The bathroom filled with the wet sounds of flesh and the sharp slap of skin against skin.

He began to drive into me with the relentless power of a stallion, and a raw, unvarnished moan tore from my throat, helpless against the mounting wave of pleasure. Dex buried his face against my neck, covering it with hungry kisses and slow sweeps of his tongue, as though he wanted to devour me. It was rough, but he never truly bit me. He cherished me. The places where his fingers had dug into my skin only moments ago still throbbed with pain, but the instant his burning tongue brushed over them, the pain melted into a searing ecstasy that seared itself into my mind.

Unable to withstand the sensory overload, my overheated body was instantly swept into its first orgasm. My entire frame trembled uncontrollably, leaving me barely able to stand, yet Dex never relented.

When an orgasm shatters the boundaries of what the mind and body can endure, it ceases to feel like pleasure and brings a strange, agonizing pain instead—one laden with a profound sense of shame. The moment the realization hits that you have been reduced to nothing more than an animal ruled by instinct, the body’s instinct is to push back, resisting the very partner inflicting this overwhelming ecstasy.

As I instinctively tried to push against his solid chest, Dex caught my hands and gently placed them around his own neck. Then, as though making penance for what he'd done to me in bed, he silently allowed me to choke him. Even through the haze clouding my mind, I wrapped my hands around his thick throat and squeezed. My grip was nowhere near strong enough to make him feel the same terror I'd felt, but it was enough to steal his breath and flush his pale face a deep crimson.

Even as he struggled for air, Dex smiled with an almost childlike innocence. I, on the other hand, stared at his lovely smile with my brow furrowed in a grimace of pure pleasure, drool slipping from my lips.

A prolonged orgasm does eventually become painful. But the true torment isn't the pain itself. It's that the moment one peak passes, another is already waiting. My clitoris, swollen and throbbing in time with his shaft, was already primed for another orgasm. And once I reached that point, I became a woman who would desperately rock her hips just to climb that hill one more time, even while it felt as though it might kill me. Sometimes, tears simply came without my willing them to. This was one of those moments.

These were truths I had learned solely through the friction of our flesh, carved into me by Dex. He was the man who taught me how depraved I could become. Dex knew exactly how to break me; he had every inch of my pleasure mapped out.

Though I was the one with my hands around his throat, the longer it went on, the more it felt as though I was the one suffocating. A ragged, broken wail echoed off the bathroom walls—loud enough that I could no longer bring myself to care about our daughters sleeping on the floor above.

"Dex... Please... Fuck...!"

The roles had completely reversed. Now, I was the one pleading with him.

A tidal wave of ecstasy consumed me. No matter how many times I drowned in it, it was a sensation I could never grow accustomed to. Dex looked down at me with a fierce, predatory gaze, a low, animalistic growl rumbling in his throat, never once slowing his pace. Only after I shattered into a second, ruinous climax and Dex finally emptied himself deep inside me did we descend from that impossible height and return, at last, to the world of reason.

On Dex’s throat, the dark red bruises left by my pressing fingers remained like a vivid collar.

We panted heavily, our ragged breaths mingling between us. Unlike me, who could barely keep my vision steady as I struggled for air, Dex simply smiled. It was a smile so breathtakingly beautiful it almost felt cruel. Before our breathing had even begun to settle, we found each other's lips once more, devouring each other with desperate, unyielding hunger.

*****

We came together a few more times inside the cramped shower stall before finally stepping out, utterly spent. By the time we'd dried our hair and climbed into bed together, it was already past four in the morning.

Exhausted from everything that had happened, Dex fell into a deep sleep almost instantly. Fighting off the heavy wave of drowsiness washing over me, I watched his sculpted face in the faint bluish light of approaching dawn.

In sleep, his face bore no trace of the anxiety, panic, or grief that had consumed him only hours before. Bathed in quiet serenity, he looked utterly at peace.

"I love you, Dex."

Even hell itself would taste sweet, so long as I faced it with you.

The spiral of madness and self-loathing—if Dex were ever to escape that endless cycle, it would only be because of my love.

Anyone who loves Dex probably isn't sane either. But I wanted there to be someone who could be unhinged themselves and still be the stable presence capable of calming him down

[mayhemi]

thinking about masochist dex.

he'd bring up the idea of you hitting him in the middle of you riding him. well, its really more like him begging you to hit him. "baby- please." "i'll be good, i'll be so good..." "just one slap-- or choke me! just once!"

and once you finally give in to his incessant pleading, and land a sharp slap over his cheek, he moans whorishly. you can't exactly say you're surprised (it is dex, afterall) but you didn't expect him to get so turned on, his dick twitching violently inside of you.

"harder" he sounds wrecked, his voice cracking and his head still turned to the side from the force of the slap. "wh- harder?" you try your best not to question it too much. your palm hits his red and flushed cheek harder than before, and while he throws his head back in ecstasy, it's still not enough for him. never enough for him.

he silently takes your hand in his, impossibly gently, and leads it up to wrap around his throat. you can feel his adam's apple bobbing under your palm, and the way his hand tightens around yours.

he makes you choke him, until his face is red and his head is dizzy, while you're still bouncing on his cock. "s'good" he manages to talk although he's literally strangling himself with your hand. he feels fuzzy, and he can feel his vision starting to go blurry. that only spurs him on.

you can tell he's close with the way his hips buck up into yours, and all you can do is watch him in a daze.

when he finally does cum, he's letting his jaw go slack, unable to take in a breath or speak. he spills inside you, pulsing rhythmically. you're the one to finally pull your hand away, watching as he takes in a deep breath, coughing. "thank y'baby" he manages a small, genuine smile. he's well aware he's sick, he's aware he could've passed out.

you already know he's going to make you do this every time you two have sex. who are you to deny him?

© mayhemi | all rights reserved.

@killshotx ur dex fic got me thinking abt how much of a masochist he is !! thank you 🙏

[burntxt]

Where the Spiral Ends 1.4

first chapter (1.1) previous chapter (1.3)

This fic was originally written as a reader-insert on another platform. During the translation process, I replaced the reader with a lightly described OC to make the story flow more naturally. That said, feel free to read her as your own OC or as yourself. Please check the note on the first chapter for more details :)

Summary : Dex watches Mara from afar until distance is no longer enough.

What begins as a cautious attempt to understand the man stalking her slowly evolves into an unsettling routine of shared dinners, fragile trust, and carefully concealed lies. As Dex tightens his grip on her daily life, she finds herself walking a dangerous line between keeping him close enough to control and being drawn into the heart of a world where he refuses to let anyone else have her.

Pairing : Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter × Original Female Character

Warnings/Tags : Obsessive Love, Slow Burn, Codependency, Moral Ambiguity, Morally Grey Characters, Crime, Toxic Relationships, Psychological Manipulation, Stalker Benjamin Poindexter, Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Domesticity, Fix-It Elements, I Can Fix Him (Maybe), Boundary Violations, Emotionally Unstable Dex, Dark Romance, Canon Divergence (let me know if I missed anything!)

Chapter Word Count : 5.6k

Total Word Count : 300k+ (Ongoing)

Mara savored the wine in silence, while Dex slowly, deliberately, savored her with his eyes.

He was enjoying this moment like a sated lion, pretending to wait patiently for her reaction. The longer she stayed silent, the longer he could watch her without suspicion. Did she even realize? Like water slowly coming to a boil, a sense of satisfaction she could never comprehend was gradually consuming him. Dex could wait for her like this for days on end. While he secretly wished this moment would stretch on forever, Mara was quietly suppressing a sudden surge of regret welling up from deep within. She had let him in after much deliberation, but no matter how many times she replayed it, it was absolute madness. One fact remained undeniable: as time dragged on, he would grow more stable, while she was pushed at a distinct disadvantage.

Dex had already made his move, but she hadn't. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was already playing entirely into his hands. Yet, even as the odds stacked against her, she couldn't afford to act rashly.

Ever since Mara realized Dex was orbiting her like a satellite, not a single day had passed without her thinking about him. He was always watching, making unannounced appearances only to melt back into the shadows. Even in the pitch-black darkness where her eyes couldn't reach, he had never once lost track of her.

At first, her only concern was how to avoid this dangerous man who existed far outside any boundary of normal. But sometimes, to catch a tiger, you have to step into its den. To shake him off, she first needed to understand him—to look at the world through his eyes. It was only after throwing herself out as bait that Mara realized Dex was miles ahead of her. He would come right up to her, only to step back again, yet paradoxically, the distance between them kept shrinking over time. If the moment ever came where their paths truly collided, one thing was certain: at least one of them—and quite likely both—would be ruined. And the one with the most to lose wasn't Dex, who had nothing left, but Mara herself.

She had an objective to complete. His constant intrusion into her mind was an unwelcome distraction, and by nature, Mara wasn't the type to sit back and take it.

At its core, she was curious about why he was watching her. She didn't need a detailed explanation; she just needed to know if he posed a threat to her mission. The bizarre behaviors she had uncovered so far pointed to mere stalking, but making assumptions before securing direct proof was out of the question.

Ever since receiving the flowers, Mara found herself thinking about him far more than usual—partly by choice, partly not. He maintained a fixed distance as if bounded by an invisible fence, repeating the exact same patterns, until at a certain point, he acted as though he refused to go any further. Meanwhile, she still hadn't figured out how to push this relentless man away. Ultimately, Mara concluded that the only way to break his rhythm was to close the gap herself. And to do that, she had to play one of her own cards.

Mara let him know, in her own bold way, that she had known about his antics all along. Fortunately, just as intended, Dex seemed genuinely thrown off. She thought she had taken the upper hand—until she was forced to discard that idea almost immediately.

Dex following her to the grocery store was well within her expectations. But as Mara unpacked the groceries—identical items, bought in the exact same quantities—she got the distinct feeling that Dex's imitation of her carried no underlying malice or hidden agenda. Her dark hunch, which had prompted her to buy single portions just in case, hit terrifyingly close to home. Through Dex’s eyes, she saw herself not as a person, but as the embodiment of a desire she never wanted to understand. Only then did it strike her that his condition might be far worse than she had imagined.

No matter how much she reassured herself that she was prepared, the fear of the unknown wasn't something she could easily get used to. Even after inviting him in with forced hospitality, she felt a chill run down her spine the entire time she cooked, knowing he was watching her from behind. How should she act? How should she react? There were no easy answers. This relentless man was entirely unpredictable—a type of human she had never encountered in her life.

He pretended to be considerate, but in truth, none of his actions were born out of genuine care for her. He thought and acted solely for himself; it was simply how he was wired. Mara tried constantly to keep that fact in mind, but even that simple effort felt overwhelming. At some point, an indescribable emotion began to surge within her, tormenting her mind. In a relationship where everything—including herself—was stacked unfairly against her, something kept preventing her from viewing him with pure hostility.

Was it because she was so terrified of him? A strange lightheadedness and a racing pulse clouded her judgment. The fact that she was the center of his volatile thoughts and actions had been utterly repulsive at first. But the more they collided, the more it filed down her sharp edges, dulling her defenses.

This was undeniably a bad sign. When Mara looked straight into Dex’s eyes, he never broke contact first. If this precarious relationship were a food chain, he acted like the apex predator—and she couldn't help but feel the same way.

His eyes were unswerving, quietly settled. That dry, emotionless stare she had met several times before, completely devoid of thought or feeling. Even though it was her own home, Mara felt increasingly uncomfortable. It was like sticking her head right into the jaws of a predator. As much as she wanted answers straight from his mouth, she couldn't bring herself to trust him. She warned herself once more: too much information would cloud her judgment or even act as poison. Taking a subtle breath, Mara adjusted her posture and leaned slightly closer to the dining table.

"Is everything we discuss today going to be the truth?"

"I will answer as honestly as I can."

A response that was neither a yes nor a no. It was the exact kind of vague stance she had anticipated, but it brought her no satisfaction.

Honestly, Dex had no obligation to tell her the truth anyway. Mara drained the rest of her wine and set the glass down. The dynamic between them was far from equal, but she figured walking this thin ice was just as nerve-wracking for him as it was for her.

Being the bold woman she was, Mara tried to regain her footing quickly. To avoid getting dragged deeper into his pace, she had to. After much deliberation, she posed the most fundamental question: Are we enemies? A question heavy with implicit meaning—asking why he kept spying on her, why he acted so favorably toward her, and what he was ultimately aiming for.

"Unless it's something like the last mission… we won't be enemies."

As expected, it was a clean answer, yet Dex once again avoided giving a straightforward yes or no.

Suddenly, he wanted to ask if she knew about Fisk. It wasn't out of mere curiosity. He wondered why she had come all the way here from somewhere else, and whether she ever planned on going back.

Yet, he barely managed to swallow down the name he loathed to even speak.

It was a lesson learned from his time with Julie.

One thing was clear: Mara knew a fair amount about his past. That meant it was only natural for her to wonder why he was out of prison. But he decided there was no need to bring it up now.

As far as Dex could tell, Mara had zero connection to Wilson Fisk. She didn't seem like someone who would work for his arch-nemesis. If she were really Fisk's person, she wouldn't be sitting across from him right now, sharing dinner.

Above all, over the past few months, she had become his North Star—an absolute presence no one else could reach. Strictly speaking, calling her a "North Star" wasn't even enough. It was hard to capture the full weight of the obsession and feelings he harbored for her. But since it was an emotion he had never experienced before, Dex settled on that concept for convenience.

Regardless of her wishes, time and circumstances had turned her into that presence for him, but Dex couldn't care less. It didn't matter to him. He was always prepared to do anything for her, but he had no intention of freely revealing where all that devotion stemmed from.

Dex firmly believed that every thought and plan he held regarding her was entirely justified and rational. However, he was also fully aware that she wouldn't exactly welcome them. The world had never truly understood him, and the moment this twisted obsession was translated through the lens of ordinary societal standards or gender dynamics, it risked being dismissed as nothing more than an ugly desire. The relationship with Julie had twisted right from the start for that exact same reason.

When it came to Mara, Dex wanted to keep their relationship on a pristine, perfectly positive trajectory. So, instead of confessing the truth, he chose silence.

Inside Dex's mind, Mara had been recreated in a distorted form. He desperately needed this woman—ordinary on the surface, yet special to him—and he refused to let her go. He couldn't explain why. But he wanted her to view him the same way, and in Dex's world, that was how it had to be.

He was quite pleased with his previous response—concealing his motives entirely while establishing that he harbored no ill will and was favorably inclined toward her. He trusted that a smart woman like Mara would understand, and she did.

Mara took a deep breath. Why Dex was doing this remained a mystery, but right now, it seemed like he wouldn't talk even with a knife to his throat. Breaking and entering, murder, stalking—he had committed serious, inexcusable crimes, yet he was completely shameless. A normal person would never have pushed things this far, but since he was what people called a psychopath, his attitude wasn't entirely incomprehensible.

For the first time, Mara felt grateful for her own resilience and bold nature. If not for that, she might have been swallowed whole long ago. She might have panicked and compromised her mission.

Under the current circumstances, she could be certain that Dex wasn't doing all this out of a simple crush. Curiously, since he was someone she couldn't afford to make an enemy of, his answer brought her a quiet sense of relief. When Mara asked whether the people he worked with were like him, Dex gave a vague “probably” and laughed softly as a few faces crossed his mind.

"It's similar to the FBI. Some people fit well, some don't."

So, no one to trust. Mara caught his meaning right away. It made sense; what he meant aligned closely with her own reasons for being in Hell's Kitchen. Besides, just reading through the case files of his past made it obvious that the FBI was hardly a positive chapter for him. Pleased by how well she understood him, Dex smiled, leaving Mara with a brief impression that his first genuine smile looked almost like an innocent boy's.

Objectively, Dex was a dangerous man, but Mara found it unsettling how he occasionally felt like a genuinely decent person. It wasn't because of his striking appearance. Though he was someone who had trained relentlessly to hide his true nature to get this far, those rare, unpolished glimpses of him built a strange sort of expectation toward the man named Benjamin Poindexter.

If this, too, was calculated—if he was letting these slips show on purpose—she almost wanted to tell him that it was working terrifyingly well. Mara asked Dex if there was anything he wanted to say to her, or if he wanted anything from her. Judging by his demeanor, she figured she needed to ask something more direct. Dex rubbed his chin habitually, seemingly lost in thought, before uttering a total bombshell: he wanted to be 'friends.'

Mara asked him again, making sure she hadn't misheard. In response, Dex took on a serious expression, leaning forward slightly to close the physical distance between them. It was a change in distance so subtle it would barely register in normal human interaction, but for Dex, who was terribly inept at dealing with people, this action represented a grand display of courage and absolute certainty.

"I know it sounds strange. But… if you're okay with it, Mara, I'd like to be friends."

Dex washed his face with his hands, confessing that he was terrible at interpersonal relationships. While it was true, he was deliberately using his words and actions to convey the impression that he had suffered and agonized greatly because of it. Swearing inwardly at his boyish display once again, Mara listened as he added, almost emphatically, that while he worked with people toward the same goal, he couldn't call them colleagues—he was entirely alone. He told her that he had found her decisiveness captivating during their first meeting, and expressed hope that by being around someone like her, who was always surrounded by people, he might become a better person. Dex didn't forget to slide in an excuse, saying he understood how uncomfortable this whole process must be for her, and that he was deeply sorry, but as she knew, he wasn't normal, so he had no other way.

Dex never imagined he would recycle this exact script—the slightly modified story he had once told Julie—on Mara. He was steadily placing the burden of responsibility onto her shoulders. Naturally, every smooth word tumbling out of his mouth was a lie.

Dex had an exceptional memory. He still vividly remembered how poor Julie had reacted. Back then, those words had been spoken with complete sincerity, but now, they were nothing more than an attempt to exploit Mara's sympathy.

The concept of a North Star was entirely different from that of a friend. Unlike a friendship, which could be formed or severed out of convenience, a hard-won North Star had to belong strictly to him. Wasn't it just basic human nature to want to keep a precious object safe from everyone else? That was what Mara had become to Dex. He felt no particular remorse toward her.

This woman is worth keeping by my side, even if I have to break her first. That single conviction consumed Dex entirely.

And he firmly believed that Mara herself was partly to blame for becoming such a massive presence in his life. She was the one who had shown him kindness, saved his life, and ultimately had gotten him addicted to her. The woman standing before him had to take responsibility for making him this way.

Mara said nothing. No, she couldn’t speak. She had no idea how to deal with this insane, unimaginable man. She had been hit hard, and the blow was fatal. It was a total defeat. She felt as though she were gaining nothing while constantly losing ground. While Dex had seen right through her weak spots, she couldn't even tell if he was being sincere.

Taking advantage of her confusion, Dex raised the stakes even higher. He offered that if she agreed to be his friend, he could stop this creepy stalking immediately. He framed it as a proposal, but it was practically a threat. Seeing her hesitate, he began to make an aggressively calculating move. One way or another, he was indirectly making it clear that he had no intention of leaving her side. Under the guise of acting pathetic and considerate, he was essentially forcing her to choose: either sit back and watch him continue his shadowy behavior, or make it official and keep him close. He glibly claimed that while he wanted to step back right now so as not to make her uncomfortable, his broken self would inevitably be drawn back to her. And despite spinning a web of lies, he casually appealed to her, saying he didn't want to be a liar in her eyes.

Dex didn't want to give Mara room to think. He was thoroughly enjoying having her backed into a corner like this. He was inherently fragile against others' criticism and mockery. The fact that he lived by observing and copying others meant he was constantly walking on eggshells around people.

Unlike the rest, Mara had never condemned him. Dex was maddeningly fond of the fact that she didn't reject him, even while knowing something was wrong with him. Sure, he could forcibly claim a spot by her side, but he saw no reason to take unnecessary risks when an easier path was sitting right in front of him. The thought of solidifying his position while she couldn't even push him away was exhilarating. She would believe she was accepting him out of her own free will—and he was more than capable of making her think just that.

His message—that he had no intention of backing off easily—was delivered loud and clear. In the end, Mara accepted his offer to be friends. Making such a deal with a persistent stalker wasn't something a person in their right mind would do, but then again, very few things in this neighborhood ran on sanity. Furthermore, realizing he wasn't someone she could control right now, she judged that keeping him close where she could monitor him was better than letting him roam freely outside her reach. If it came to this, he would observe her openly, but it also meant she could keep an eye on him too. There was no guarantee Dex was telling the truth, but Mara found herself believing he wasn't tricking her.

She couldn't ask any more questions. Mara had been utterly defeated in this psychological game. And just like that, Dex emerged from the shadows with surprising ease, claiming a prominent spot by her side. To call it a bloodless entry would ignore the bodies left behind to reach this point, but Dex's brain had long forgotten them. Everything was merely a stepping stone to subjugate her—nothing more, nothing less. Now, all that remained was expanding his domain.

The following day, around the same time in the evening, the doorbell rang. Dex showed up with takeout, claiming it was a gesture of thanks for the dinner the night before. Mara greeted him in a daze, but it happened again the next day, and the day after that. Instead of stalking her, Dex visited her every single evening with clockwork precision.

Starting from the day he secured her phone number with mutual consent, he even began texting her, asking what she wanted to eat and when he should drop by. In a normal relationship, they would have looked like a couple. Day by day, Mara realized that something was going horribly wrong.

It was the fifth evening Dex had shown up with dinner.

As Mara ate the Chinese takeout he'd brought, she gently hinted that he didn't need to keep doing this. Dex insisted it was just a simple dinner between friends—his way of returning the favor for all the home-cooked meals she'd made him—but they both knew how flimsy that excuse was. To begin with, more than half the ingredients she’d used for those dinners had come out of Dex’s own pocket. Yet he kept showing up with meals and snacks bought with money from who-knows-where.

At her words, Dex couldn't quite hide the troubled look on his face, soon rambling on about just how much those evenings spent together meant to him. It had taken Mara a fair amount of resolve to bring the subject up in the first place, yet once again, the outcome was a complete victory for Dex.

From the moment they'd first faced each other in her living room, Mara had always been strangely vulnerable to the restless uncertainty in his eyes. She couldn't explain why, but she simply couldn't bring herself to crush whatever emotion lingered in that gaze and coldly tell him never to come back.

Regardless of how Mara reacted, Dex relentlessly forced her to face just how massive a role she played in his life. He obsessively emphasized that merely seeing her face for a short while in the evening did wonders for his state of mind. Hearing that she was helping the life of a man who had broken out of prison and was now committing murder for a mysterious organization didn't sound like a compliment at all, but Dex spoke as if he genuinely meant it as one.

Normally, Mara was a cold, sharp person who drew a crystal-clear line between professional and personal matters. Yet strangely, whenever she stood before Dex, those principles began to blur. And Mara had no way of knowing that Dex viewed that very transformation as his own masterpiece.

Every time she met that gaze—the one that rendered her soft—she found herself praying he wouldn't cause any unmanageable trouble. But what good were those hopes? Before Mara even realized it, the suffocating pressure Dex created was silently taming her.

Thus, the past two weeks had been the most satisfying time of Dex's life. The lonely evenings he used to spend alone in his car watching her were now spent with Mara, without a single day missed. From the moment she granted him a place by her side under the banner of 'friendship,' Dex planned his daily visits to her.

He reasoned that since he had given up the dark thrill of tailing her, it was only natural for her to make that much of a concession for him. He believed that for every compromise he made, Mara had a burden she needed to endure. Of course, in reality, Dex had sacrificed nothing at all.

Even if Mara eventually displayed discomfort, he already knew exactly what face to pull to make her heart waver. Dex began to weaponize that knowledge bit by bit. He believed the reason Mara couldn't push him away was simply because she was far too kind. That gentleness was one of the reasons he was drawn to her, but it felt all the more attractive because it was a flaw he could easily exploit.

With their new dynamic established, Dex rarely caused trouble, striving to stay on schedule for dinner. His daily routine consisted of swiftly wrapping up assigned tasks before heading straight to Mara.

M watched him with suspicion for a while, noting how unusually quiet he had become. But after realizing he was involved with some woman and deciding it posed no real threat, M quickly lost interest.

Everything was unfolding exactly according to Dex's design. Mara was gradually moving as he intended, and it felt as though this board would never flip against him. That conviction fueled his arrogance more with each passing day.

*****

Yet, even the formidable Dex wasn't a god capable of orchestrating every single piece on the board. Given the nature of irregular, underground contract work, strict working hours were impossible to maintain forever. Dex had anticipated variables and prepared in his own way, but when reality hit, the cracks caused by a lack of control were far beyond his imagination.

The first mission to hit a snag since he began taming Mara under his influence was infuriating. Frustration rising to his throat, Dex couldn't manage his impatience, obsessively glaring at his watch. No one knew why he was performing his duties with such brutal, edge-of-the-seat hostility today.

By the time he finished the assignment, it was well past one in the morning. Realistically, it was a time far too late to visit her using the excuse of being 'friends.' He had already exchanged texts with Mara saying they wouldn't be able to meet today, but Dex simply couldn't bring himself to accept it. With nothing left to distract his thoughts from her, his mental state rapidly deteriorated. This was unacceptable. Sure, there was always tomorrow, but the mere fact that he hadn't seen her for a single day was beginning to trigger intense anxiety and restlessness, like an addict suffering from withdrawal.

The arrogant composure he had enjoyed evaporated without a trace overnight. Changing clothes and taking a shower did nothing to settle him, and forcing himself to sleep proved useless. Sitting at the table, lying in bed—his entire world was consumed by her. For the first time in a long while, Dex was acting like an utterly chaotic child.

Returning to a home untouched by her presence made the space feel alien and suffocating. How had she spent her day today? What was she thinking? What if he couldn't see her tomorrow either? Was she happy he hadn't shown up? A barrage of meaningless, isolated thoughts began to erode him.

The conditioned, learned rationality left inside him urged him to endure, even if it meant tying himself to the bed. Just like the days when he stole glances at her living room from inside his car, all he needed to do was hold out for a few hours. He told himself to wait until sunrise before heading over, pleading with himself not to ruin everything. Yet, when Dex snapped back to reality after tossing and turning for hours, he was already dressed and standing right in front of Mara’s apartment door.

It was creeping toward three in the morning. Knowing her sleep schedule, Dex was well aware she would be fast asleep.

Just this morning, he had believed he held absolute dominance in this relationship. Now, it was agonizingly unfair to think that while he was miserably suffering all by himself, she was sleeping peacefully as if nothing had happened.

The situation felt utterly unjust. He wanted nothing more than to ring the bell or pound on the door to wake her up, beginning to feel he had every right to do so. They only spent an hour or two together each day anyway; surely, if he compromised and saw her for just ten minutes despite the late hour, he could leave without lingering regret. If he apologized for waking her and admitted he just missed her too much to stay away, wouldn't she accept it? She was kind, she had a weak spot for him, so maybe she would tell him it was alright.

Yet, despite his arrogant inner monologue, his body wouldn't budge. Dex grew increasingly furious at his own physical paralysis, unable to even bring his hand to knock on the door. After standing there suffering in silence for what felt like an eternity, Dex collapsed weakly against the wall, sliding down to the floor. His breathing grew harsh; holding back the urge to scream, he clutched his head in agony. He had never felt like this in his entire life. It was deeply terrifying not knowing when or how he had lost complete control over himself. Feeling worthless and pathetic, he sat there torturing himself over a woman who knew nothing of his current state.

The woman he desired so desperately was just beyond this door, yet a surge of resentment flared within him—resentment directed at himself for even considering acting on an impulse that would upset her.

He knew this wasn't their agreed-upon time, and he was well aware of how late it was. He understood that this was her personal time, a space he had no right to breach in his current state. He knew he had a problem, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was.

He believed that since she was the one who had driven him to this state, it was only natural for her to accept him at any given moment. Yet, every single neural pathway in his brain screamed at him to stop. He was crawling at her feet, relinquishing the very high ground he had secured. I must be losing my mind. Dr. Mercer had described the North Star as a beacon to guide his broken self, not something that would drive him mad like this. Had he known it would be this agonizing, he might never have pursued Mara in the first place. Not that it mattered now.

He needed her right this second. But on this lonely night, there was only him—strayed far off the immaculate path he had built, lost once again. He had never been this desperate before. Only now did he realize that he was the one who had been swayed and tamed, not her.

The reality he had been avoiding suddenly hit him like a physical blow. Deep down, he had known all along: forcing his way into her life every day didn't make him a desirable man to keep around; Mara was simply tolerating him out of sheer kindness. Behaving like this would never leave a good impression. The terrifying thought of being abandoned by Mara, coupled with the unprecedented discomfort and anxiety that stemmed from it, turned Dex into a coward.

Having never experienced fear before, he didn't even recognize the crushing weight holding him down for what it was. As Dex writhed in a tempest of emotion and thought, the firmly shut door swung open, and Mara stepped out in comfortable clothes. Appearing freshly awakened, her warm, rich scent billowed into the air.

"Dex…? What are you doing…"

Seeing a drowsy Mara squint against the unfamiliar hallway light, Dex mistook her expression for anger, and his heart plunged into a bottomless pit of despair. It felt as though his most shameful flaw had been exposed. A single word, a fleeting expression from her, rendered him utterly powerless. A bitter taste of defeat lingered on the tip of his lips. He hated to admit it, but she had conquered him without even lifting a finger. With a single gesture, his entire world was shaken.

Watching Dex tremble violently, staring up at her without a word, Mara stood there completely dumbfounded. Perhaps the past two weeks had made his daily presence a habit; she had tossed and turned thinking about him before finally drifting off, only to be awakened by a faint thud in the corridor. With her quick intuition, Mara instantly realized that Dex had come to see her at this ungodly hour, pacing outside because he couldn't bring himself to wake her up.

Honestly, she hadn't expected his struggle with human interaction to be this severe. For a man who lived entirely on his own terms, seeing him act so completely out of character gave her a sharp sense of dissonance. Mara pulled him up from the cold floor and gently ushered him inside. Supported by her grip, his shattered heart began to slowly mend, almost as if by magic. It's late, so stay the night. It wasn't cold outside, yet his body was ice-cold to the touch. Deciding she needed to calm him down and get him to sleep first, Mara led him into the bedroom she had just left. Dex sat obediently on the edge of the bed, following her lead.

Looking straight at him, Mara suddenly realized an unwelcome truth.

On the cheeks of a man who looked like he wouldn't bleed if pricked, wet tear tracks remained.

In that moment, she wanted nothing to do with whatever was making him suffer alone like this. But against her will, as she stared at his face, the true nature of that strange dissonance hit her. Her heart felt like it sank into a deep, dark abyss, and the lingering drowsiness completely vanished. Only then did it strike her that stepping out into the hallway had been a massive mistake.

She shouldn't have given him a second thought; she shouldn't have stepped out just in case. She should have ignored it and slept through the night. It was too late for regrets, but she knew she had to get out of this space immediately. Ordinarily, Mara would have comforted him, but right now, she lacked the composure to do so. Mara intuitively felt that Dex was in a state she should not be confronting.

"Good night, Dex." As she grabbed a pillow and blanket, attempting to make a quick exit to the living room, Dex silently caught her arm. His touch held no aggression—it was, if anything, heartbreakingly desperate. It was the last bit of courage he could muster toward her. In the darkness, illuminated only by the faint glow of the headboard light, their eyes finally locked. That gaze she was weak to. But this time, it wasn't a calculated expression. Tears streamed down his cheeks once more, and the hand clutching her arm trembled like a leaf. He remained silent.

Mara knew she was soft on Dex, but she couldn't afford to let this slide any further. Sirens blared in her head, telling her to scream or hit him if she had to, just to get away.

An emotion she couldn't even tell who it belonged to—an emotion she had desperately wished to avoid—was now overflowing the room so heavily that it could no longer be ignored.

[callsign-tangerine]

Arranged meet cute | Benjamin Pointdexter

Summary: Dex plans a meet cute, but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Word count : 1.6k

Note: I’m thinking about doing a multi part fic with Dex, but I’m hesitating between S3 or DDBA cause that dinner scene has me in a chokehold

———

Dex remembers when he laid his eyes on you the first time.

You were running down the side of the East River. You had stopped by the bench he was sitting at. You had stopped to drink some water and look at the view. An energetic dog ran to you, his owner not able to control him with the leash. You were caught off guard as the dog had jumped on you, his front paws digging into your leg.

The owner kept apologizing, saying he adopted the dog recently, but you assured him it was nothing to worry about. You kneeled down to pet the dog. You complemented the dog, saying he was a good boy, and asked his owner his name. After a brief conversation, the dog started heading elsewhere, clearly something else had caught his interest. The guy thanked you for being nice and left, still not fully in control of his dog. You looked at the owner walking away from you and chuckled at yourself. Dex smiled.

You hadn’t noticed him, but boy had he noticed you.

He’ll always remember it, just like he remembers everything about you. That’s why he’s on his way to your favorite coffee shop - although you don’t drink coffee, it’s always tea or hot chocolate. You always go there on Tuesdays once the lunch rush is over. You never skip it and Dex likes that. He likes that you’re a creature of habit.

Monday. Gym in the afternoon.

Tuesday. Coffee shop around 2 p.m. and walk around the neighbourhood in the evening, but always before dark. Dex assumes you don’t walk alone at night, and he likes you even more for it.

Wednesday. Pizza, pepperoni pizza with pepper flakes on it to be precise.

Thursday. Gym in the afternoon again.

Friday. Morning run by the East River.

Saturday and Sunday were less precise, sometimes you had plans with friends, or you went to a morning yoga class. On rainy days, you just stayed in. Dex enjoyed your simplicity. He found it comforting.

He needed more. Observing you and learning everything about you had been enough for a few months, but now he needs more. He thought about how to insert himself in your life without making it obvious that he knows everything about you. He wants to make it look random. Like a meet cute, he thought. He thought about his plan for a while, now everything is mapped out in his head. He’ll get in line right behind you at the coffee shop. Your orders should be ready at around the same time. When you’ll go to reach for your cup, he’ll reach for the same. “Sorry, stupid mistake”, he’ll say. You’ll probably smile brightly at him and dismiss his apology.

So that’s where he’s at right now. He’s faking a phone call outside the coffee shop, waiting for you to enter. When you do, he follows the plan; he gets in line behind you.

You order. He orders. He moves to the side to wait for his coffee. He stands close to you, but not close enough to be suspicious. He looks over at the wall, as if he’s looking at the deco of the shop.

He’s thinking about what he’ll say, he had rehearsed it. He knows he’ll have to give you a small smile. Not too big to look too interested, just enough to look friendly.

He’s so focused on his plan that he completely misses the barista say his name. He’s almost in a trance, his eyes fixated on the wall.

He comes back to reality when he sees you moving in his peripheral vision. He shakes his head briefly, getting himself together.

There you are, handing him his coffee, “I’m guessing you’re Dex”. You smile at him. He’s so captivated by you that he almost doesn’t realize you’re introducing yourself to him.

He takes the cup in his hands, greeting you with a nod, “Thanks. Nice to meet you. Yes, I am”

“Good, if not it would’ve been super awkward.”, you chuckle to yourself.

This is not how it’s supposed to go. This is even better than planned.

This is his way in, you’ve opened the path for him. You played your pawn, not it’s his turn to make a move on the chess board.

He smiles, “You want to sit down, or maybe walk outside?”

“Yeah, walking outside sounds great.”

He gestures for you to go in front of him. You do and you both walk out of the coffee shop together.

He could ask you what you do for work, but he knows already. Well, you don’t know he knows, so he plays the part.

“So, what do you do for work? To be able to get a coffee at this hour?”

You look up at him, “I’ve got flexible hours, I work from home. I’m in tech, so I can work whenever.”

It explains your habits. Tech suits you, it’s all routine and codes.

“What about you?”

“I’m in the FBI. I don’t have a normal schedule you could say.”

“Woah, that’s cool. I’ve never met someone in the FBI. Policing yeah, but that’s like a step above for sure.”

“A few steps above” he says with a dead face. He’s not saying it to be cocky, he just doesn’t really like the NYPD. He finds them ineffective.

You chuckle, thinking it’s his type of humour and he’s joking.

You stroll around the neighbourhood. You get to know him, while he already knows you. You learn things he likes, he only confirms his theories about you while you feed him info about your life. You’re very alike to the version of you he had created in his mind. You smile often, you speak with your hands a lot. He thinks he likes this version of you even more, the real you.

Your phone rings. “Sorry”, you say as you take it out of your pocket. “I need to take it”, you answer the call. He nods at the statement.

He looks at you while you’re on the phone. You’re mostly listening, the person on the other end of the line scrambling through words. You remain calm, which resonates with him. Being relaxed in emergencies or situations out of your control is very important to Dex. He needs that in his person. In you. This only confirms he was right, you are the perfect candidate to be his North Star. But are you meant to be his North Star? He hopes so.

The call ends and you put your phone away. “I need to run, work calls”, you give an apologetic smile.

“You can be sure I understand.” He does, it’s not rare he needs to rush into work.

You reach for his arm, resting your hand on the side of his bicep for a second. You look up at him, “Thank you. And thank you for the walk. How about I give you my number and you hit me up when you’re free for coffee?”

He nods before speaking. This is his shot to insert himself in you life truly- to get more of you.

He smile shyly, handing you his phone, “How ‘bout dinner next time?”

You smile brightly, taking his phone in your hands, “Yeah, dinner sounds nice”.

He watches you enter your phone number in his phone and send a text to yourself. He relaxes when you take out your own phone with your other hand and he sees him phone number pop up on your screen. You actually gave him your number. This is real.

You hand him his phone back, “Hit me up when you’re free.”

He puts his phone in his pocket, grinning internally, “I will. Take care”

“You too, Dex!” You give him a final smile before turning away.

And just like that, you’re walking away. You start jogging down the street. Maybe your work emergency is more serious than he thought. Still, you were nice enough to take the time to manifest your interest in seeing him again and give him your number.

He had done it. His planned worked. It went way better than he thought it would.

He opens his phone and goes to your contact page. He hesitates for a minute about changing your name to North Star, but he refrains from doing so in case you see his phone the next time you see him.

The next time you see him, he thinks and smiles. You actually want to see him again. You agreed to dinner with him. Dex couldn’t be more happy. His plan worked and things are going faster than expected. He has your number and a date to plan.

He thinks that the stars might be alining for him after all these years. That since Dr. Mercer died, life had finally sent him a new North Star.

He thinks about how soon is too soon to text you and say he’s free whenever you are. He can’t wait to see you again.

~

That evening, he thinks about messaging you to ask if the work emergency was managed. He doesn’t know what to text.

A buzz gets his mind out of his thoughts. He looks at his screen, your name on it, with a message under it.

Hey, I had a crazy afternoon, are you free for a drink tonight? You mentioned baseball and there’s a game tonight. We could catch it at a bar?

His heart melts. You remember he likes baseball. And you want to see him. Tonight.

He replies right away.

I’m free! Can’t wait for you to tell me about your crazy afternoon.

You’re in for a treat then!

You fix a place and hour to meet up. The game starts at 7:30, but you agreed to meet up at 8. He doesn’t mind missing part of the game, he knows he won’t pay attention to it anyways. Not when you’ll be next to him.

As he got ready, Dex thought about how he didn’t even have to text you, you had reached out to him first.

In that instant, he was sure: Life had definitely sent a new North Star his way.

[mayhemi]

── premature ejaculation

content.ᐟ 18+, pathetic!dex, unprotected p in v, first time, crying, praise, pet names (baby/babygirl)

dex poindexter, bullseye, who cums within 30 seconds of being inside you.

he can't shake the thought that it feels a bit too good when your hand strokes his flushed cock lightly a few times before he inches himself in, but he couldn't bring himself to tell you that he was already close. what was he supposed to say? "i feel like i might cum from looking at you, can we take a break?" he decided to save himself the embarrassment.

so when your pussy is fluttering around his pretty pink tip, he has to clench his eyes shut and bite his lip, before burying himself to the hilt quickly. he swears he's never felt anything like your velvety heat, so warm, wet, and tight— fuck. his head falls down to your bare chest and he actually pants, cursing under his breath and not daring to move.

the soft moans and breathless whispers of his name that fall from your lips when he's fully buried inside you isn't helping either. the way your nails card through his damp hair and scratch at his scalp makes his balls tighten up, he literally has to pull his head away from your grasp so he doesn't blow his load right there. poor boy feels so bad :(

"dex?" you ask in that soft raspy tone that always manages to give him a painful hard-on. even as he's distancing himself as much as he can from you without actually pulling out, you're reaching for him, small soft hands grasping at his biceps, pulling him back into your chest.

you figure he just needs a bit of encouragement, maybe he's scared of hurting you? "feels s'good baby..." you praise him breathlessly. his dick twitches violently inside your gummy walls at that, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, like he's hiding from your impossibly soft gaze.

"m'sorry babygirl, i just- jus' need a minute..." he speaks lowly, words muffled by your neck. it sounds more whimpery than he meant it to be.

you catch on quickly after that, you then notice his trembling and heavy breathing, you have to hold back a giggle, such a big brooding guy like him all gooey under your touch and words. he has a big need to please you, but it's not his fault your pussy just feels too good!

you let a small smirk grow on your face, "oh, dexie," you coo, rubbing his back. "am i that good?" you huff a small, teasing laugh, kissing the top of his head.

he whines at the sound of your voice, and just how pathetic he feels. "just- don't talk —fuck— i'm sorry-" he shakes his head, it physically hurts him to tell you to be quiet, but if you don't, he knows he'll embarrass himself :(

you feel dex's eyes blinking against your skin, and the tears falling down his cheeks. you bring your hand to grip the hair on the back of his head, pulling him from the crook of your neck. he has big, glossy eyes staring at you with so much embarrassment.

you soften impossibly at that, "dex, baby, s'okay" you coo at him, peppering reverent kisses all over his flushed face, swiping away his tears. he leans into the contact, closing his eyes and letting you kiss all over his face. "i- i don't wanna disappoint you–" he hiccups, glancing down at where the two of you are connected, and instantly regretting it.

before you can reassure him once again, you feel him buck his hips into yours, and a sudden, warm sensation. "oh– fuuuck–" he chokes out a low groan, burying his face into your neck again. he's crying harder, fingers gripping into your shoulders hard enough to bruise as he fucks into you in shallow thrusts, moaning softly.

you lay there in almost shock, still rubbing his back tenderly as he fills you up with his warm release. "did you just–" you stutter out, letting a small, suprised grin grow on your face.

he's not so amused though, shaking like a leaf and sobbing apologies into your skin. "ohgod–" "m'so sorry, baby" "fuck– i'm so stupid" he's beating himself up, making a big deal out of cumming too soon. he collapses on top of you, not wanting there to be any space between the two of you.

"dex." you stop his spiraling firmly, squeezing his bicep and getting him to look up at you. he looks humiliated, pitifully glancing away from your gaze when you begin to speak. "i don't mind, okay?" you make him nod at that, carding your finger through his damp, blonde hair. "lets go again, yeah?"

© mayhemi | all rights reserved.

[callsign-tangerine]

Guys my age | Shane Maguire

Summary: When you move to Yosemite for the summer to take a job as a bartender at the hotel bar, you don’t except to meet a guy like him.

Word count : 4.2k

Tags: age gap, implied sex, bartender!reader, idk at this point

Note: Untamed came out a year ago today. For the occasion, here is a fic of Shane!

——-

You needed a breath of fresh air. A break from everything.

Thats why you’re spending your summer in Yosemite, bartending at the hotel bar. When you applied for the position, they said that summer was very busy and that the tips would be worth it. At the point where you were, you just wanted to leave home for a while. Living in the big city had gotten awful these last few months. You just needed to get away. The job did come with nice perks. Since it was only contractual, they offered to house you in one of the small cabins for the duration of summer. So you are paid and housed. Plus the views and tips should be good, so you can’t complain.

You quickly got used to the fast pace of the tourist coming and going. The management hadn’t lied, the tips were flowing. A smile and a little flirting got you far. The guys your age all tip big in the hopes of getting lucky. Most of them are here in groups so the tips are multiplied. You even flirt with the older men, it makes them feel good and even more generous. That’s how you like it. Women tip you good too, especially the ones on solo trips you notice. They like the company you think. You don’t mind listening to people talk, that’s part of the job anyways.

About two weeks in, you arrive to relay your coworker Jack for the closing shift. You greet him and he wishes you a good shift before leaving. Late shifts always are the most lucratives, people are always more loose with their money when they’ve got a few drinks in them already.

You serve a couple and a groups of girls. They seem fun and offer you to come to their cabin later, but you’re just beginning your shift. You ask if they’ll be around for a few more days but they mention it’s their last night. Bummer, it could’ve been nice to hang out with them.

You like being away from the city. You’re reconnecting with nature and also learning about yourself more. You’re just not used to being completely alone yet. Sometimes you just miss hanging out with friends. You look around the room, groups of friends, couples and a few solo travellers you recognize from a few days ago chatting to each other. You finish scanning the room and your eyes fall on him. He’s already looking your way, your eyes locking in the process.

He’s sitting at the last bar stool, sipping a beer, a bowl of peanuts in front of him.

He nods your way so you walk over.

“Hey. What can I get you?”, you offer.

“I’ll take another of these. Thanks sweetheart”, he grins. Is it his intention to rob you the wrong way?

You roll your eyes internally at the pet name. You grab a beer and put it in front of him, taking his empty one away.

“Here you go”

“You’ve got a name or should I just call you sweetheart?”

You debate a moment between giving your name and being sassy. You decide on both.

You introduce yourself, then add “but you can stick to the sweetheart, it seems like your style.”

He smirks, “Well sweetheart it is then. I’m Shane by the way. I work here too, wildlife management, so you’ll be seeing much more of me around”.

Oh, he works here. You smile at him, genuinely this time.

“Nice to meet you Shane. Maybe I should ask you about hikes and stuff when I get the time.”

“I’ll be here all night, don’t be shy. I am an expert after all.”

You nod, “Good to know. Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

“Will do.” He tips his beer in your direction before taking a sip.

A customer catches your eye so you walk over to serve him. The guy’s older than you, good looking too.

Shane looks at you as you shamelessly flirt with him. Are you actually interested or is it just for the job? He observes you to decide which it is. That guy is at least 10 years older, but you don’t seem to mind. You’re smiling brightly, more than when you had served that couple earlier. You hand the guy his drink and he sticks around. You chat, both of you clearly enjoying the exchange.

Shane’s beer is finished. He wants another and that’s the perfect excuse to break up the conversation you’re having with mister nice guy.

He clears his throat, catching your attention. You signal the guy it’ll only be a minute.

“Yes Shane?”

“Same thing, sweets.”

“Coming right up!” You don’t seem to mind the pet name, probably too eager to get back to the older gentleman.

He watches you exchange his beer for a new one like you did before.

“Thanks.”

You smile his way.

He goes to add something, but you’re already back in front of mister nice guy. Maybe you’re into older guys, he thinks to himself. And if you are, then this has just taken a different turn. Shane had seen you hike about a week ago, thought you were beautiful. You hadn’t noticed him. When he saw you walk into the bar tonight, behind the bar- he realized something. This meant that you’re here to stay, you’re not just a tourist here for a few days.

And seeing you flirt -truly flirt he had decided- with that guy right now, who’s close to his age, changes everything for him. It means he might have a shot if he plays his cards right. Sure, if you don’t find him attractive, he doesn’t have a chance, but he hopes you do. He won’t lie, he knows he’s good looking. He sees they way women look at him, but still, he doesn’t know if you’ll look at him like that. You hadn’t as of right now. He’s hoping to change that.

He observes as you take the time to serve the other guests while maintaining the guy’s attention. Shane knows that look, that guy is on the hunt and his pray tonight is you. Shane knows that look cause he often has it himself. He loves to hunt. He lives to hunt. He wonders if that guy will score. The bar doesn’t close for another 2 hours, and you need to clean up after. He wonders if the guy will wait until you finish or if he’ll tell you where he’s staying and ask you to join him once you’re done.

Shane gets his answer as the guy asks you for a pen after paying his tab cash. Once you give it to him, he scribbles something on a napkin and hands it to you. You take it and your expression changes. You look sympathetic, maybe you’re turning him down. Shane hopes you’re doing just that. Maybe you’re saying you can’t make any promises or that you finish too late, that’s more likely. The guy nods at you before leaving. He doesn’t look like a guy who’s been rejected, so you clearly left the door open. Maybe in fear of offending him or because you’re genuinely interested. Shane hopes it’s the first option.

You walk over to the corner where Shane is seated to wash to your hands at the sink. You just handled cash so it is the sanitary thing to do.

He adresses you, cocky as hell, “So, tell me sweets- is that guy getting lucky tonight?”

You turn your head to look at him. “First, you can stop with the pet name, you’re overusing it and since you work here and are not a tourist, it’s very weird. Secondly, that is none of your business Shane.

Woah, he realizes he fucked up. You’re mad, he can tell by the look in your eyes. You think he overstepped and he agrees.

He changes his tone to something less arrogant and more friendly, “I didn’t mean to offend you, I’m just curious. I’m trying to have a chat, get to know you. You into guys like him?”

He seems sincere, but you think maybe it’s just the effect beer has on him. You take a breath. Shane works here so you’ll see him around, you don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with another employee. You decide to give him a chance and allow him some grace.

You smile gently, but still a little defensive, “What if I am, Shane? There’s no policy against that.”

“Maybe there should be.” He thinks out loud.

“Anyways, I’m not doing anything with that guy. I’m not entertaining anything besides harmless flirting on the job. He leaves tomorrow anyways.”

“But he gave you a napkin, what did it say? I’d bet 10 bucks it’s his room number. Come on, tell me.”

“It is. But it doesn’t matter, cause like I said, I’m not entertaining anything with him.”

“Would you? If he wasn’t a guest?”

You look at him for a second, wondering if it’s a real question. The absence of a smirk on his face tells you he’s serious.

“Hum, maybe. He was good looking and really nice.”

You like older guys.

“He was older”, he states. It’s a question in disguise.

“What about it? I can do what I want. With who I want”

Okay, you definitely like older guys.

~

Shane comes to the bar even more now, hoping to see you. You work 6 days a week, so his odds are good. It has become routine for you two to see each other while you work. He sits in his usual spot and you chat with him between serving guest. You talk about a bit of everything together. After every shift, he walks you back to your cabin. He knows you won’t get attacked out here, but it gives him an excuse to spend a few more minutes with you. Alone. He wants you all to himself, in more ways than one. He’s into you, more than he thought he would, but it’s the truth.

You nod his way, putting peanuts in front of him, “Hey Shane, the usual?”

“Yes please, sweet-“ he stops himself, raising his hands in a defensive stance as you give him a look. “I know, I’m not allowed anymore, I’ve been getting better though.”

You chuckle at his behaviour. “Good, here’s your beer.”

“What time are you off?”

“I’m closing tonight. Why?”

“I know you’ve said you wanted to stargaze, so I wanted to offer to go with you. Or, you know you can come to my camp. There’s always a place for you.”

It’s not the first time he’s offered you to go to his camp. You know he wants to get in your pants, it’s obvious. You know cause he gives you the look guys give you when you flirt with them for tips. You don’t think he realizes. He’s got a good poker face most of the time, but you still catch him looking at you with those eyes every now and then. You’ve been thinking about giving in and saying yes. Or you’ve thought about inviting him to your cabin after your shift. You know he’d say yes in a heartbeat. You’ve been stopping yourself out of fear that everything will change. Shane has become the person you’re closest to here. Sleeping with him could change the dynamic in a bad way and you can’t let that happen.

“Well not tonight, I finish late.”

“No worries, the offer stands for whenever you’re free.”

You do want to go stargazing. You’ve been talking about it since you moved here. Everyone talks about how clearer the skies are here, how the stars shine brighter, but every day you tell yourself you’ll go, you’re always too tired to go through with the plan.

You lean on the bar in front of him, “How about going up to a cliff to stargaze some day? Don’t you have an ATV or something?”

“I do. Sure, we could do that.”

He’ll take whatever you’re ready to give him. He thinks you’re leading him on sometimes, but the glimmer in your eyes tells him something else. He knows he’s your type. He doesn’t want to make a move too intense out of fear of pushing you away, cause he enjoys your company. He won’t tell you, but he does. Since you started working here, he’s been less lonely. Even if you only talk to him a few times during a shift, he considers that a good night for him. You listen to him and offer your input when he lets you. He knows that’s your job, you’re paid for that as a bartender, but to him it feels different. He sees how differently you act towards him cause he sees how you are with the guests.

With him, it feels real, like you’re not faking anything. You’re not faking your smile, nor your interest in what he has to say. You’re not faking for a tip, cause you had told him a few weeks ago not to tip you anymore. You had said it made it weird, since you were now friends. Friends. That’s the word you had chosen in that moment.

He remembers feeling weird when you said it. Sure, it meant you liked him enough to consider him a friend, but was he a friend friend. Like “in the friend zone” friend? Or was it just a word to describe you had become closer over the weeks.

He tries not to think about it too much, but it’s hard. The hunter in his picks up all the sign you give him that you’d maybe want more. He’s observed you long enough over the weeks to know how you operate.

When you twirl your hair with your finger like you’re interested, it’s fake.

When your eyes don’t close a little when you’re smiling, it’s fake.

When you cross your arm, it’s fake.

When you laugh, throwing your head back, it’s fake.

But in the contrary, he knows when it’s real.

When you lean forward while someone is talking, it’s real.

When you laugh with your head down, it’s real.

When you massage your cheeks after laughing too much, it’s real.

When you bite your lips a little without even realizing when you’re concentrating, it’s real.

When your cheeks turn bright read when someone compliments you, it’s real.

When you rub your arm up and down while asking for something, it’s real.

Bar just closed. You closed the register. You made sure every bottle was at its right place behind the bar, while Shane put the chairs in their right spots. He always helps you even though you always insists he doesn’t have to and it’s your job to do it.

You just finished cleaning the counters. You wash your hands at the sink and get out from behind the bar. You take a pen and write on the maintenance paper that’s against the wall at what time you closed up. You write your initials next to the time stamp.

When you turn around, Shane is right there, standing a few inches away from you.

While watching you clean up, he decided he was going to make a move tonight. He’s been patient enough he figures. He knows you’re interested and he thinks it’s now time for him to make a move. A real one.

“You’re beautiful”

Your cheeks turn bright red. This is real.

You chuckle, your head falling towards the ground as you shake your head. This is real too.

“How much have you had to drink Shane?”, you say as you rub your arm. This is very much real.

He takes a step forward, closing the small gap between you two.

“You know how much I’ve had to drink. I’m not drunk, I’m just stating a fact.” He brings his hands up and sets them on the side of your waist.

You don’t push him away. Instead, you raise your hands and sets them on his arms, feeling his muscles tense under your touch.

You look up at him, as if you’re waiting for him to make the next move. He pulls you even closer to him.

You’re there, pressed against his chest. This is it, there’s no going back. This has been weeks in the making. He leans in, slowly.

“I’m so sorry I think I left my hat in here”

You snap your head in the direction of the voice. A guy your age, standing in the middle of the room, pointing towards the tables.

You pull away from Shane, completely breaking contact as you turn your attention to the tourist, “Yeah, of course, have a look.”

He smiles, “Thanks, I’ll be quick”

You look at him search the area he was in earlier. You don’t look at Shane, but you know he’s looking at you. You feel his eyes in you.

“Got it.” The guy walks towards the door, you do the same to accompany him out. “Thank you”, he says apologetically. Anyone with eyes could see he interrupted something.

You smile his way, “No worries. Take care.”

He nods and leaves. You stay in the doorway. You look at Shane and take out the keys from your pocket.

You nod towards the door, “You coming?”.

Shane realizes the moment passed. His chance went up in flames the second that guy showed up. “Yup.” He walks out the door and you follow suit. You lock up behind you and you start walking out of the hotel.

Shane walks you to your cabin in silence, not knowing what to say after what happened - well actually, after what hadn’t happened. He was about to kiss you when that guy showed up out of nowhere. He curses the guy out in his mind.

“Good night Shane, I’ll see you around”

“Night. See ya sweets”, you don’t correct him at the use of the pet name. Its use does feel different tonight. He sounds regretful, disappointed or sad even, but those emotions don’t belong in his repertory. You dismiss it, smiling at him before disappearing into your cabin.

You both think about how the night could’ve ended differently. If he had kissed you, would you have invited him inside to spend the night? Would you have left it at that for tonight? There’s no way to truly know.

~

When you wake up, you’ve got a clear objectif in mind. Today is the day, you’ve decided to go to Shane’s camp. In all the weeks you’ve known Shane, you never went to his camp. You know what it implied. When he offers, you know it’s cause he hopes you say yes and sleep with him. After last night, you’ve decided to just let go and enjoy. You’re only here for the summer after all, who cares if you sleep with him. You’ve got the right to have fun.

So here you are, in the middle of the afternoon, heading to Shane’s campsite.

You’ve thought about it and you don’t care if it all goes to shit, you want to sleep with him. Shit, you really want to sleep with him. He did try to kiss you yesterday and you would’ve let him- if it wasn’t for that guy who barged in looking for his hat.

“Shane?”, you look around the camp.

He sees you and stands up, “Oh hey, what’s up?”. He rests his riffle up against the log.

“I was hiking by and figured I should say hi. You’re always seeing me in my element, I figure I should get a peak at you in your natural habitat.”

“Yeah, well this is me. I was on my way to check on a herd of deers. Want to come with?”

He zips up his backpack.

“I would, but I’ve got a meeting for the job. Scheduling and shit, or something like that.”

Than earns you a chuckle from him. He’s getting ready to leave.

He nods your way. “So, you working tonight?”

“No, finally my night off.”

“Nice, you got any plans? Doing something?”

“Yeah.”

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to elaborate. You take a step towards him.

This is it, it all goes to shit or it doesn’t.

“You. I’m doing you if you’re free.”

He doesn’t have time to register what you’re saying that you pull him by the shirt and smack your mouth against his. The second his brain realizes what’s happening, he pulls you closer by the waist.

You break away, breathless.

“The deers can wait- let me-“

You cut him off. “I don’t have time right now. I told you I’ve got a meeting. Come to my cabin when you finish work?”

He grins, his eyes dark with lust, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

“Good, I’ll see you tonight”

You put your arms around his neck to pull him in for another kiss.

“Bye Shane.”

As you turn around to leave, he smacks your ass, “Bye sweetheart.”

This time you don’t correct him. The pet name makes your heart drop a little. You think about how you’ll finally get what you’ve been thinking of tonight.

Shane thinks the same thing. He's still processing what just happened. He knows his chance was ruined last night and he thought about when he’ll have another shot at making a move, but you just did. You straight up grabbed his and made out with him. He thanks the stars for that, cause he didn’t know how long he was gonna be able to be around you without kissing and touching you. Especially since you weren’t pulling away last night before that fucking tourist came in.

He wants you to be his.

Tonight, he’ll get everything he’s been obsession over. He’ll get you all to himself.

~

You’ve been casually sleeping together for a few weeks now. You’ve been going at it in your cabin, at his camp, in the river, on top of the cliffs while stargazing. You can’t get enough of each other. There’s no label but you’re clearly exclusive. You hadn’t slept with anyone since you arrived and Shane hasn’t thought about sleeping with anyone else since he laid eyes on you.

Shane knows you’re exclusive even if nothing was clearly stated. In his head, you’re his. You’ve been from the moment he say you on a hike that first time. He marked you as his pray when he realized you were working here for the summer. Shane doesn’t do casual, only one night stands, but for you, he’d do anything.

You’re doing the early evening shift today. Shane knows your schedule by heart. He’s sitting at his usual spot, no beer this time. He’s got a small map he’s scribbling on, he’s working. He loves your company so sometimes he works from the bar, only to be near you.

He looks up when he hears you laugh. You’re leaning forward, both hands on the bar, your eyes closing as you throw your head down to laugh. Oh, this is real. The guy on the other side of the bar looks your age. He’s good looking, a nice watch on his wrist. Shane sees your eyes sparkle and his heart drops.

He debates between calling you over for a beer, just to seperate you from that guy. He decided against it, thinking about what you’d say if you knew he was jealspus. Jealous, that’s what he was feeling. He’s never been jealous. Shane isn’t the type of guy to be envious or jealous of anyone.

He realizes he’s down bad for you. Maybe he should just tell you. You’re already sleeping together and some might say that you already look like a couple. Could Shane say you’re seeing each other? You’ve never talked about it together so he doesn’t know how you see the relationship. Are you just basic friends with benefits or can what you’re doing be considered casual dating? He wonders.

He gets snapped out of it as he notices you walking over to him. He blinks a few times rapidly, shaking all those questions out of his mind.

“Hey, just checking in? How’s it going?”

“It was going good, until that guy showed up. He’s your age. He wants to get in your pants.”

“Like the others.”, you say it so casually, but it’s not rare with the job you do.

You notice the interaction you just had with the guy is affecting him. You lean forward, a wicked smile forming on your lips.

“Guys my age are nice, but you know you’ve got me hooked.”

His eyes go dark, a grin appearing on his face, like you just light something in him.

“Good, cause you’re mine”

His possessiveness makes your inside all fuzzy.

You raise an eyebrow to challenge his statement, “Am I? Since when?”

“Since I saw you. But let’s say since now?”

You grin, “Fine by me Shane.”

He smirks, “Good, then now you’re mine. As soon as you clock out, I’m making that official.”

You’re speechless. By the time you think of what to reply, you can’t as a guest calls out for you.

As you walk away to serve the guest, Shane looks at you. You’re his now and he was gonna make sure you understood what it meant tonight, as he was gonna claim you as his. All. Night. Long.

[a3zore]

#BENJAMIN POINDEXTER X READER ➽──❥ OPTION TWO

synopsis stalker!Dex shows up to your restaurant after you got stood up by your date.

cw: cursing, reader is a dumbass who entertains stalkers, slight mentions of stalking

a/n: HIII ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵) this is my first post on here! I decided that instead of just reading all these amazing fics on this platform I might as well post some myself! Hope you like it⋆˙⟡

p.s! don't mind if there are any errors i'm still quite new to this lol.

You wanted to sink into that expensive velvet chair and disappear.

It was so embarrassing. After weeks of being cooped up in your apartment. You finally decided to give the guy you met on Tinder a chance. A terrible idea in hindsight-- who even goes on Tinder dates anymore?

Of course, Dex hated the idea the second you mentioned it.

You really couldn't care less what he thought.

The two of you had been talking for months-- if "talking" was even the right word. Dex would text you at odd hours asking how your day went, remind you to eat before you remembered yourself, and somehow always knew when you made it home. You'd long since stopped asking how.

Every now and then he'd even FaceTime you. Sometimes he'd show his face. Other times, he'd flip the camera around and casually point it to your apartment building from somewhere across the street.

It should've terrified you.

Instead, you'd roll your eyes, tell him he was being weird, and go back to complaining about your coworkers.

Dex, on the other hand, refused to call it a date, insisting it was just a “hang out” (he decided to call it that for his own sake) and spent the entire week trying to convince you to stay home instead.

You really should've listened.

────୨ৎ────

“Dex, I even did my fucking hair,” you whined into your phone, slumping over the table in a pathetic attempt to make yourself smaller. This was not how it was supposed to work! You were supposed to be the one ghosting him, not the other way around.

With a groan, you rubbed your temple as your eyes drifted toward the waitress making their way across the dining room.

'They're probably gonna ask me to leave'..

That thought only made your embarrassment worse.

You made a mental note to swear off dating for good.

...Okay, maybe not for good.

On the other side of the phone, Dex was furious. The thought of even leaving an angel like you waiting was something he’d never do.

“Didn't I tell you he was a piece of shit?” he replied flatly.

Balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear, he shoved his feet into his shoes and headed for the door. Within minutes, he was behind the wheel.

He already knew where you were.

Dex had your location for months. He'd even scoped out the restaurant before your reservation.

Just a few safety precautions.

By the time you reached for your purse, deciding you'd suffered enough humiliation for one night, someone slid into the empty seat across from you. Arms folded on the table, he settled in as if he'd been invited.

"Hey sweetheart." I knew that voice.

The dim lighting caught the edge of Dex's knowing smirk as though he belonged here all along. You just stared at him, blinking once.

Then twice. "...How did you know I was here?" A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, "I know a lot of things." He had the sheer audacity to grab your glass of water, taking a sip exactly where your lips made that sheer lipstick stain. A subtle claim in which you didn't bother correcting. "I also know that he left you sitting here for.." Dex checked the watch on his wrist. "...Forty-three minutes." His eyes swept your outfit. "You got dressed up for that?" "Don't" "No?" He shrugged, "I'm just sayin' if someone dressed up for me the way you did for him, I would never let that offer slip." In defeat, you set your purse on your lap. Leaning back against the chair, bitting the inside of your cheek. He didn't seem like he was leaving anytime soon, and you couldn't waste a perfectly good outfit either. With a sigh, your gaze flickered up towards Dex. "If you're gonna stay and keep talking, then pay for my meal." "Anything you want, princess," He answered rather quickly. A bit to happy to be at your disposal. "Guess that makes me option two."

[tempestmaguire]

IS THIS MY SIGN TO WATCH HART OF DIXIE HELLO MOTO

[duchess0fmalfi]

repost :)

wilson bethel said he wanted dex to have a "really weirdo fucked up girlfriend", with whom dex could have "some toxic ass weird shit going on."

so i wrote a prelude what dex with a weirdo fucked up girl looks like :)

check out my masterlist with the rest of my weirdo!reader posts :3

1.9k words

mdni, ddba post-season two, fem!reader, freak4freak, age gap brief reference to roadkill, violence, no physical descriptions of reader, reader is mentally unstable, depictions of (undiagnosed and untreated) mental illness

about the reader:

you had spent the better of your life fighting your nature. it seemed that before you were even a thought, your path had been chosen for you: you were doomed to be incomprehensible, your behaviour could never be understood. not that anybody had ever tried.

at the age of four, you stopped speaking. seemingly by choice. you had put up walls against the rest of the world, wavering for nobody. you sustained it for an impressive amount of time, before you discovered a newfound interest for antagonising your parents with your words.

informing them in great detail of the roadkill you would see on your way to school (game birds, stray pets, rodents—the kind of creatures that would lay at the end of your parents' bed on some days), or telling them that your friend 'the watchman' protected you on the nights you refused to come home. god knows what you were up to then.

in your early adolescence, your parents had grown weary of handling your strangely ominous and, at times, violent behaviour, so they opted to hand you off to a wilderness therapy camp for 'troubled teens'. the grand idea was that you would be whipped into shape, perfectly silent and subservient by the time you returned home.

however, you ran away on the fifth night. your parents never heard from you again.

you spent the rest of your teen years skirting from town to town, couch surfing and doing odd jobs to stay afloat. eventually, you ended up in new york.

in your early adulthood, you felt unequipped to handle the blows of day-to-day life. every perceived slight from a more well-adjusted individual set your skin ablaze. you would clench your fists until your nails drew blood from your palms, staring at the offender with such intensity that any onlooker would think you were about to explode their head with your mind.

you had to float from job to job, never making more than minimum wage. your disagreeable nature tended to put customers off, so you weren't exactly destined for customer service. however, you found a sort of equilibrium in your role as a taxidermist.

you relished in not having to speak to people for a living. none of your 'clients' could speak at all. you only had to lay your hands on these animals, manipulating their cold flesh to recreate a living animal's likeness. it was amazing.

you fell into a routine that just barely kept you sane: you'd wake up in your little apartment and freshen up. most days you would manage to brush your teeth, but sometimes you missed the mark. nobody's perfect.

you'd sit on your fire escape and maybe smoke a cigarette with your coffee. though you knew it was bad, you enjoyed the film it left on your tongue.

every once in a while you would visit the diner about a block away. you didn't enjoy the social aspect (you could almost feel the other patrons' unease from your entrance), but you did love the pie. you'd stalk up to the counter, lurking silently until the waitress noticed you standing there. "blueberry pie. two slices. please."

she'd always nod warily, looking as if you had pointed a gun at her and demanded she empty the register.

you always sat in the same booth when you could. away from the rest of the diner, likely ideal for intimate meetings, but you never brought a guest. you waited for the pie to arrive (the waitress always left it on the table like she was feeding an animal known to bite) and shovelled forkfuls into your mouth until every crumb was gone. the only trace of you left in the diner was the plate with purple smudges on its ceramic surface and a crumpled ten dollar bill.

if you knew you were running low, you'd head to the bodega perched right outside your building and pick up at least two bottles of whiskey in advance. then you'd head straight back to your apartment. back to your safe haven that allowed you to hide from the outside world. stuffing dead animals and drinking yourself until you almost looked as alive as one of your works.

how you meet dex:

it sounds easy, but dex lived in your building. you were never sure exactly where, but you assumed he was on a floor above you since you only ever ran into him as he was headed down.

he would flash you a sharp grin. "good morning, kid." on an exceptional day you would mutter something to the effect of "hi", but most of the time your mouth was glued shut.

dex was somewhat intrigued by your standoffish (and generally off-putting) stature. the way you seemed to walk through life like an intruder evading capture; the way you always looked like you just wanted to sink into the earth's cold embrace.

he planned to stage interactions with you. first, he trailed a couple feet behind you on your walk to the diner. he entered about three minutes after you, faking surprise at you sitting at your booth when he 'spotted' you.

"oh, hey, kid. fancy seeing you here."

you had only thrown him a sidelong glance and nodded stiffly.

he asked "mind if i join you?" as he was already easing himself into the seat opposite you.

your skin almost crawled at the forced engagement. you didn't know what to do! what do you say to somebody you don't really know? especially one who seems to want to know you.

your fingernails scratched at your pants, an almost soothing gesture aside from how the pressure left furiously hot skin under the fabric.

he kept an eye on you hand shifting beneath the table, wondering how you had already become so agitated. "i'm tony. i haven't seen you around too much." he trailed off, expecting you to introduce yourself. or tell him to fuck off, or excuse yourself. nothing but a reserved grunt came from his statement.

by this time, the waitress had arrived with your two slices of blueberry pie. your iron grip moulds around a fork, not yet feeling comfortable to eat. you regretfully let your gaze lift to tony's face. to his vaguely amused grin and crinkles around his eyes.

"oh, don't let me stop you."

your gaze flits over his blonde hair, greying by his temples, before you avert your gaze and scarf down the slices. tony only watches quietly before you set the fork down and eye him again. you just barely force out the words "what do you want?"

the man lets out a soft huff that sounds like delight. at your engagement? at your voice? at your eyes on him"

"just wanna get to know you."

your relationship:

rocky. but almost like a mountain. the vast majority of time spent together is like the beautiful peak. delightfully cool, covered in soft snow, it feels almost giddy.

it often felt amazing. you always looked forward to welcoming him into your apartment at night. sometimes you would have already gotten started on a bottle. he could tell by the slight haze to your eyes, the unsteadiness to your gait. you would just barely crack a smile when you opened the door to him before stepping aside to let him in.

you'd let him into your bed. you were grateful that he didn't seem to mind the smell of tobacco clinging to your sheets. on a slow night he would let you cling to his back like a koala, tangling your legs with his as you revelled in the smell of his skin.

on other nights, he would unceremoniously slip into your apartment through the fire escape. parts of his bullseye getup would be soaked through with blood. his face would be smeared with it. he would flash you a soft grin, watching your eyes light up.

you enjoyed stitching him up. it was almost erotic to you, watching his skin tug ever so slightly as you threaded it back together. good as new. you'd smooth your hands over the planes of his skin, thin layers of dried blood cracking under your fingertips. nights like this always ended with you on top of him, whining as your fingernails dug into his already tortured skin. he didn't mind.

but every once in a while you slip, and the jagged sides catch on virtually every inch of your skin.

sure, dex had managed to worm his way into your life, but you're still the girl who has a tendency to shut herself away when uncomfortable. that doesn't fly with dex's almost suffocating need for proximity.

he had told you everything about him. all about dr. mercer, his time in the army, at the suicide prevention center, in the fbi. he told you that under fisk's order he had masqueraded as daredevil, committed atrocities. drowned his muzzle in blood for a man he, in a weird way, looked up to. every excruciating detail of his life was laid bare for you to gawk at. he hid nothing from you, and he expected the same of you.

you told him nothing of your past. he didn't know about your childhood spent on the outskirts of your own family. he didn't know about the wilderness camp or the years that followed. all he knew was the quiet girl in his apartment building. the one whose apartment reeked of cigarette smoke and whiskey, ever surface adorned with a taxidermied critter.

sometimes, he would sit on the sofa next to you. his hand almost petting your thigh, you sat staunchly next to him. he'd try and coax some context out of you. "sweetheart, you know i'd never make you do anything you don't want to. right?"

you'd nod.

"and," his hand would inch higher up, lingering closer to your clothed pussy. "you know i love you, right?"

you'd nod again. he smiles, seemingly satisfied.

"i just wish you'd open up to me, y'know? i wanna know more about my girl." his hand teases your pelvis, its proximity to where you need it creating a burn in your abdomen.

"i...don't like to talk about it, dex."

"i know, baby. that's hard. it's really hard. but..." almost cruelly, he lifts his hand off of your leg and grasps your jaw, forcing your face to his. you avoid his gaze, eyes darting anywhere but his own.

"when two adults love each other, they make sacrifices. i need you to tell me more about you."

you wrench your face out of his grip before standing up, flexing your fingers so as not to hurt your palms. dex had insisted on this the first time he saw your palms become ruddy with blood when he began probing you for information.

"i don't want to talk about it."

he stands too, looking down at you. his eyes are clearly swimming with annoyance, but he tries his best to level his tone. "baby, i just wanna know a little bit more about you, that's fair enough, right?"

you barely let him finish before storming off to your bathroom, locking the door and pressing your back against it. you know that dex is on the other side, and that he'll start knocking—pounding, really—finally demanding things of you. that you open the door, open yourself to him, understand him, see where he's coming from.

after hours, you leave. dex is still on the other side, sat right next to the door on the floor. his eyes flick up to you as you lower yourself to him, slotting your body into his arms.

he holds you softly, nothing like his grip on you earlier, and pets your hair.

author note: this is so arse, but i am willing to write more about specific scenarios with this pairing! i may also write one without an age gap :)

pls let me know what you guys want to see about dex and his freaky weirdo gf :P

[redtailhawkdeerwriter]

under your skin | benjamin poindexter x reader

authors note: inspired by @targlocket ‘s masterpiece Lick You Clean and the fact that I want to motorboat him wait what who said that? content tags are licking, sniffing, praise, body worship, established relationship, no physical description of reader, fluff, no smut but lots of yearning and deranged objectifying of that old man

There is something so enticing about Dex’s chest. Running your hands over smooth skin, coarse hair in the center, firm muscles that ripple at the shoulder at the slightest movement. The fixation developed after the first time you kissed him on the cheek. You had to stand a little on tip toe to reach, and had placed your hand on his chest for stability. The softness underneath his t shirt, and the heat radiating from within set you on a course as a girl on a mission to get under that shirt.

The morning’s alarm has just gone off, but you are not ready to leave the comfortable haven that is your shared bad. “Just a little longer” you plead as the sunrise shines beams of warm light across the room. Your eyes are half open as you scoot closer into his side. You wedge your shoulder under his arm, and lay your head right over his heart, the organ thumping lazily in your ear. You shift your head into his armpit and inhale the unique scent of him. It’s a combination of a little sweat from sleep, soap from last nights shower, and the essence of his own skin. The smell of it makes you feel lightheaded with pleasure. It’s the smell of comfort and safety.

“Whatcha doin’ sweetheart?”

“Nothing” you mumble, only somewhat paying attention to his words. You are half asleep and the awake part of your mind is only thinking the words him, skin, want.

You run your hands softly over the plane of his abdomen. Firm muscles beneath your touch. Your hand travels up to his chest to grip his pectoral muscles, then impossiblely broad shoulder. You shift to prop yourself up on one elbow so you are looking down on him.

“You are an odd one” he comments.

You rub your eyes sleepily. “But you love me anyways.”

You dive your face into the center of his chest, between his pecks, and softly run your face back and forth over the area. The hair tickles your nose, but still can’t help inhaling again and again. “I like this place, here” you comment, voice muffled. He lets out a quick, quiet huff of air through his nose, amused “Do you, baby?”

You mouth the skin over collar bones and swells of muscle, dragging your lips and occasionally sharp teeth. The skin just above his heart is sensitive so you run your tongue along it. “Tastes good” you mumble. It’s a little salty, earthy, and makes your brain quiet to a low hum. His hand comes to cradle the back of your head, not to press down, but to further connect you together and let you know he doesn’t mind your attention even if it is a bit strange.

You hand travels back down to his stomach. A small bit of fat over his low tummy. It’s a little padding, energy storage, protection over abs and the vital organs underneath. Everything about him is solid, heavy, beefy. You adjust your positioning over him so you can unceremoniously press your face into his stomach. “Can I crawl inside your skin?”

“If I could figure out a way to let you, I’d have done it already” he replies in a deep voice, made gravely by slumber.

“Don’t give up” you tilt you head to rub you cheek into the coarse hair near his navel, the trail that leads down to his cock “We will find a way one of these days.”

[interloved]

thinking about hyper codependent!benjamin poindexter who cannot do anything without you…

super clingy. dex follows you everywhere, and when i say everywhere, i mean… everywhere. if you’re going to the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water, he is there. if you leave the room to charge your phone, he is there. even if you excuse yourself to the bathroom to pee, he is there, following you around like a newborn puppy. that man has severe separation anxiety :(

not quite submissive in bed but not super dominant either. dex is more of a gentle dom service top. he wants to endear himself to you, make you in love with him; something he thinks he will only achieve by pleasing you. that is something you’ve been trying to tell him is not necessary—you love him for who he is, and you’ve been trying to tell him that no matter how he messes up, you’ll still love him. that your love isn’t given with conditions. every time the two of you breach this topic, he nods his pretty little head, but the words don’t seem to actually reach him. it’s like dex processes these words, files them away, but doesn’t take them to heart. like he is still afraid that as soon as he makes a mistake, you’ll dip. but with time, with lots and lots and lots of reassurance, words of affirmation and encouragement, he will unlearn this behaviour. just be patient with him <3

dex could never hurt you during sex or initiate it, but if you were into it, he would reconsider. still, dex being dex, he would still be afraid of doing something wrong and scaring you away that he would just let you lead him in doing it. like when he’s thrusting so deep in you that your legs are shaking, and you gently intertwine your palm with the back of his hand, guiding it to your throat… dex won’t admit it, but it kinda really fucking turns him on.

lowkey likes watching you sleep. it’s hella creepy, he knows, and it’s why he’ll always do this in secret. it’s something he’s embarrassed of, something he doesn’t want you to ever find out. but he’s just so fond of your sleeping facial expressions. most of the time, he just admires the way you look during your sleep, relaxed and comfortable and entirely at peace. privately, he thinks it’s so adorable.

dex is sort of like a crow in his love. he’ll rarely say the words “i love you”, but he will shower you with gifts and buy you things that remind him of you the same way some crows bring their favourite humans trinkets. he’ll dance around it, too. like when you’re coming home, you see this inconspicuous, tiny thing on the table. no note, no previous text from dex, no nothing. it’s just there. and when dex comes home, and you’ve unwrapped it and are squealing with joy as you give him kisses and hugs, he’ll act clueless. dropping words like, “huh… hasn’t that been sitting on the table since yesterday?”.

dex is no stranger to feeling alone. it is because of this that he always makes sure to check in on you. usually, when you wake up, he’s already gone, but there’s traces of him everywhere: a little ‘good morning’ note next to your bedside table or a breakfast on a plate in the kitchen, still warm and fresh. during work, he often sends you texts. it’s a common occurrence for your phone to light up with a little ‘ping’ during your shift, with a super dry, robotic and vaguely cryptic text like “requesting update.”, and even though he writes like he’s drafting a professional email to his supervisor, it makes you smile. it shows you dex cares, and boy, if only you know how much he cares—the things he would do for you.

all in all: dex is the best boyfriend ever. he comes with a lot of perks like, he’s surprisingly good at fixing stuff and repairing things, and, of course, the fact that he’s super, incredibly, out-of-this-world level handsome.

take under advisement that he requires plenty of kisses (emphasis on PLENTY!), hugs and encouragement, and you’ll be good to go!

[strawbbiez]

“i’ll handle it”

“c’mon baby, m’almost there.” dex breathed, grip on your hair tightening as his tip kisses the back of your throat. earlier that night you had come home complaining about a coworker who just can’t seem to take a hint. dex simply just told you “i’ll handle it” and left without any explanation. you already knew what he was doing, proving you right when he came home a while later, slightly bruised and bloodied.

safe to say that coworker wasn’t going to be bothering you for a long time. so, of course, you have to reward dex for the oh so romantic gesture! tears welled in your eyes as your jaw began to ache, mouth full of his thick cock, saliva and precum dripped from your chin, skin glistening in the light. your tongue swirled around his tip before deepthroating him again, a loud groan escaping dex’s lips.

you took that as all the encouragement you needed, bobbing your head faster, nose brushing his lower abdomen. each slow, calculated thrust turned erratic, hips stuttering as dex felt his orgasm approaching. he hadn’t even realized how close he was until his cum painted the back of your throat and face white. dex hated other people ogling at his baby, so he found a permanent solution, and he loved the rewards you gave him every time.