just had a thought about fucking adrian into the sheets, holding his hair in your fist, whispering about how cute he looks with his glasses all fogged up, but behind you, dex holds your hips and presses you back and forth fucking you on his cock, as well as making you thrust into adrian as he groans and whines about how he can take it so good and how he wants it faster, but dex just chuckles and sighs against your neck ahfhbffg hshhuttttupppp
DEX’S DAMN TWO FINGERS…. i just know he’d finger you so, so well ! he’d start slow, shoving his index and middle finger in your hole not before wetting them in his mouth, eyes stuck on you. ever so softly, he’d begin to to shove into your entrance as your lips widen the further he goes. he’s delicate and light, sure to not make you feel uncomfortable, cooing at you while his free hand strokes your head.“that’s it baby girl, loosen up for me.” once you’ve clenched around his fingers a couple of times, your walls welcome him in as he begins twisting around. he doesn’t rush, letting you gulp his digits in till you’re full. dex watches closely, increasing speed and continuing to leave and enter your throbbing pussy. as your feet begin to move up and down, legs scrambling and toes fidgeting — dex grabs onto a thigh, holding you still. reflexively, your pelvis shifts; rocking back and forth, side to side as he carries on fingering you till you’re a quivering and shaking mess.
DDBA! Dex being awkwardly flirted with by a younger waitress at the diner. She has his favorite items memorized and clearly stares at his hands and lips a little too intensely whenever she takes his order. 🙂↕️
ddba!dex and a shameless 20 something year old waitress...
he's a regular at the diner now, he swears it's not to see you, it's just close to his apartment! but you definitely do keep him company while he eats.
you always love seeing him walking through the door in the morning, taking his usual seat at the counter and not so subtly eyeing you down while you talk to other customers.
"hi, dex" you make a show of batting your eyelashes at him and smiling sweetly, just to see the corner of his lips twitch, an amused smile playing at his face. "hi sweetheart" he responds in that low, gravely and teasing tone of voice that makes your cunt clench around nothing. just him talking to you like that makes you go dumb.
"the usual?" you ask, your mind somewhere else as your eyes glance down to his big, thick fingers, the ones you're sure would stretch you out. he's fiddling with a coin between his digits, "yeah, baby, the usuals good." the fucking pet names, they make your mind go hazy, and he notices.
you're pressing your thighs together while making his milkshake, you can literally feel his stare piercing through you. he's just tilting his head, very evidently amused by how needy you are from just talking to him. it makes his cock twitch in his pants.
if he does stay for a while, you ask him all about his day, his work life, whatever can get him to keep his attention on you. he just gives vague answers, finds your pressing funny.
and by the time he leaves, he's giving your ass a pat and leaning down to whisper to you, "don't be afraid to tell me how you really feel, okay?" you're caught of guard. nodding dumbly as he slips you his number on a napkin.
thoughts on buck finding out dex is ur ex/side piece and vice versa??
This ask is so fun, I had to set down everything I was doing when I read it in my inbox LOL, you're driving these men crazy!
For starters, let me just say, the word "ex" and/or "side piece" doesn't exist in Dex's vocabulary. Like at all. Given he probably lost his virginity to you, you're the only living feminine presence in his life, most likely his north star...the list of reasons goes on and on and on as to why Dex doesn't believe in things like situationships, the word casual, or break-ups. It's just not an option for him.
In the "exes" scenario, if Dex really did think the two of you were splitting, he might as well be dead. Deceased. Six feet under. A ghost. No point in living anymore if the light of his life is gone. When everything is said and done, I don't doubt after getting his first taste of love- only to have it taken away- would result in anything other than a gun in his mouth. Which is why he has no choice other than to attempt to delude himself into thinking the two of you are still together.
But deep down I think Dex isn't delusional per se (about this anyhow), his self consciousness and insecurity makes him a firm believer that you wouldn't want anything to do with him. That this was bound to happen eventually. Inwardly, Dex knows it's likely over for the two of you...he just can't accept it. The amount of holes punched in the walls, the amount of people winding up dead as a doorknob on the news from Bullseye, the sheer amount of crash outs- it's almost like witnessing a child throw a tantrum (just with less petulance, and more distress.)
Not to mention you're likely working with Fisk in this scenario if you're in a new relationship with Buck. There is a bitter resentment inside Dex festering day by day for you. And don't get me started on their thoughts on each other.
There genuinely isn't a word in the English language that can encapsulate the frenzied, manic, pure hatred that Dex would have towards Buck. It feels like a viceral loss of self control. In Dex's eyes, it feels like this fucking nobody just came in and put its (yes, it) filthy hands on you. It stole you. Those are the words that Dex clings onto. You were stolen from him. They repeat in his head like a mantra. He doesn't sleep. He can't eat. All he can do is sit and stare at the cracked hole in his wall. Throw knives at pictures of you or Buck on the screen of his TV. White knuckle a gun while he cleans it, readying himself for his next mission. To get you back.
Dex really doesn't just hate him. Hate's too small. Too weak. What Dex feels is closer to revulsion. He sees Buck as a thief- a criminal- a snake. Every time he pictures that thing breathing the same air as you, smiling at you, touching you...it’s like someone's dragging a knife across the inside of his skull. Deliberately.
I've talked about how Dex has a tendency to mythologize everything. Everything gets turned into some grand, cosmic narrative inside that head of his. He becomes obsessed with balancing the scales. In Dex's mind, the universe has rules, and those rules were violated the second that it laid a hand on you. So now he has to correct it. He has to restore order. The scales have to balance, no matter how much blood it takes.
I wouldn't be surprised if in his head, Dex views Buck as something akin to the literal devil. He, in fact, has to delude himself into thinking that Buck is this supernatural, demonic evil that crawled up from somewhere filthy just to corrupt the one pure thing Dex ever had. In his broken logic, you weren’t just taken by another man. You were tempted. Seduced. Like Eve and the apple.
It doesn't exactly have to be Buck, either. I feel like this sentiment applies to anyone you would see after Dex. Although, I do think Buck's natural charm and fairly polished and attractive looks don't help Dex's superstitious narrative- or the fact he's Fisk's right hand. Lucifer was God's anointed guardian. Lucifer was the protecting creature of heaven, considered perfect in beauty and wisdom. Sounds familiar....
Dex wants to put a round between its eyes so bad his trigger finger twitches just thinking about its name. Dex wants to watch the light go out from its face and feel absolutely nothing except relief that the rot is finally gone. He wants to make it slow. He wants to make it personal.
He has to convince himself that Buck is a trial. That this is a test- a test he will overcome- and that he is determined to pass. Just you wait and don't you worry. He'll save you from this evil.
Which leads me into Buck's perspective of this all.
Both Buck and Dex seem to have a savior/white knight complex when it comes to this dynamic. They both believe they can save you and protect you from the other. Guaranteed, Dex's point of view is a lot more melodramatic and paranoid.
Well, while Dex is going batshit insane in his little corner, Buck is taking this all quite well. Surprisingly well. So well, in fact, you'd never guess that your gentleman lies awake every night staring at the slow spin of the ceiling fan, jaw tight, mind running through a hundred methodical ways he could make Benjamin Leonard Poindexter disappear.
Just one clean opportunity.
See, Poindexter is a problem that Buck needs to take care of. Poindexter is an animal. Buck hates that he still lives rent-free in your head. Put plainly, Buck would like to give you his word that that psychotic fuck will be put down like a dog. And Buck is a very creative man. There are times he thinks a bullet would be too good for a man such as Benjamin Leonard Poindexter. How satisfying it would be to watch that twitchy, obsessive little sniper realize too late that the hunter had become the hunted. To see the exact moment Dex understands he's just a loose end that needs tying off.
And, are you feeling sad? Downcast after such a split? Don't worry, sweetheart. Buck will make you feel better. He'll be there for you, and hey, we saw what we did with Heather. Exposure therapy can come in a LOT of different ways...
He wants to end the threat. Permanently. He wants to be the last man standing between you and anything that could ever hurt you again.
He's your man on a mission, now.
Buck's jealousy has a tendency to masquerade as protectiveness. Buck is dead-set in believing that this man is a madman. Convincing you that killing him is necessary. I wouldn't be surprised if Buck drives himself a smidge insane over this too...if Dex's white knight complex is bad, Buck's is downright terrible. Given Dex's track record, I have a feeling Buck would construct a narrative of his own- although it's much less based in divinity- and more of his own suspicion that Dex is a complete monster.
I can truly see Buck attempting to convince you that Dex abused you. Even if Dex never laid a hand on you, I can see Buck carefully manipulating you into recognizing just how unhealthy and unstable a relationship with a man like Poindexter is. Never minding the fact Buck himself is a literal hitman. It's in the way he gives a small shake of the head, almost sorrowful. A soft tut of pity clicking behind his teeth and a kiss to your forehead. And then tells you that you are a victim.
Which is all the more reason for you to let him handle it.
Buck truly sees himself as the significantly more stable choice. He won't show you how much it bothers him, he's playing the long game. He really is incredibly protective over you. He personally thinks he's bringing you back down to reality after your relationship with Dex, and he can be quite firm in his opinion that Dex is a deranged assailant. An abuser.
Remember that scene with Daniel? Buck's "No. It's not flattering." With that disgusted look on his face? And then subtly threatening Daniel to focus on the task at hand? That's what I'm picturing the moment you defend Dex or your past relationship.
He'll snap you out of it by snapping at you from time to time. Bring you back down to Earth. Maybe even delicately threaten you to focus on him in a turn of possessiveness and loss of control that he eventually corrects. Because of this, I think Buck can lose himself and wind up being more of an abusive presence in your life than Dex could ever be- if solely for the manipulation and pent up anger and stress just slowly seeping out of him. The desire to protect you, the strain of his job, versus his frustration with you not being able to see how dangerous and demented Dex is.
It’s funny, because you’re taking two guys who both have superiority complexes and putting them against each other. And while Dex has a more “I’m one of the good guys” mentality, Buck has no problems playing the bad guy and admitting to it if it means keeping you sheilded. Buck will tell you he takes no enjoyment in this, but he’ll say that while actively attempting to control every aspect of your life. If these men had it their way, you’d be locked up in their mutual basements. Only theirs. For the rest of forever.
Moral of the story is they are both crashing out in separate ways. Also actively trying to kill the other with separate approaches. Overall it's one lovely hot mess. I wouldn't be surprised if they both ended up hunting each other (and everyone else that gets in their way) just for sport.
court hi!! i was wondering if you think about writing for buck cashman x reader 👉🏻👈🏻 i really do enjoy your writing and there's so few about him around and I'd love to read him through your observations of him
ya know nonnie buck has really grown on me this season (which may or may not have anything to do with the choking scene) but what can I say a morally grey brunette with homicidal tendencies is gonna do it for me every time. he's also quite a challenging character so it was fun to dip my toe in the buck pond
thank you for thinking of me & thinking i'd do him justice 🖤
warnings: mentions of alcohol, buck's dimples (yes those need a warning)
word count: 1.9k
the promotion.
gif by @kamillahn who's out here doing the lords work bc trying to find a gif of him was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, we're really out here in the trenches in the buck pond
“Enjoying the party?”
Jumping slightly at the smooth deep voice and newly familiar British accent, you turned to see Buck standing behind you with his hands in his pockets. You hadn't heard him approaching, you never did. When he wasn't glued to Fisk’s side, he seemed to just…appear out of thin air, often without a word. It was unnerving.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah it's…it's nice.”
Buck quirked one of his dark brows, a subtle sign of amusement accompanied by a faint sardonic smirk.
“You're drinking Parisian champagne that costs more per crate than most people make in a year, and you've also recently had quite the promotion. I’d say that's deserving of a more…exciting adjective, wouldn’t you?”
The question rolled off his tongue in a nonchalant tone, and the charm that was still lingering on his lips contributed to the guise of it being an insouciant inquisition, but the fervency lurking in the depths of his dark brown eyes gave you the gut feeling it was a test.
Becoming the head of Public Relations for Mayor Fisk hadn't been a promotion you'd sought out. It happened suddenly, and unexpectedly, after your former boss resigned effective immediately one Wednesday afternoon. The Mayor himself had offered you the position that following Thursday. It was the first time you'd ever met Wilson Fisk in person, and consequently, his ever present shadow, Buck Cashman.
You hadn't been prepared for the situation. The shocking news of your former boss’s abrupt departure had still been fresh, and the resignation letter that had been left on his desk had caused suspicion to root in your mind. The language was too impersonal, and the explanation was hollow. It read as if it had been written by someone else, which evoked an uneasy feeling that tangled your intuition with your self preservation. Wilson Fisk wasn't someone you could easily say no to, certainly not while alone in a room with him and Buck, both of their calculated stares piercing through you as they had waited for an answer. It had been more of a polite demand than an extended opportunity. When it came to Fisk, you were either an ally, or an obstacle.
By that Friday, you'd been officially promoted. In the three weeks that followed settling into your new role, you still hadn't heard a word from your former boss. It was incredibly unusual, as unusual as the letter had been. You’d known he wasn’t a fan of Fisk, he didn’t bother hiding that. He had been civil and done his job, but certainly not with the same dedication he’d shown previous mayors. Still, it was completely out of character for him to just up and quit like that.
The incertitude you’d felt since you first read the letter had spread over the weeks, twisting around your bones like wild ivy, snagging on the knots of tension that tightened in your stomach with each day of silence that passed. You’d tried calling and texting, but the number was no longer in service. You’d tried emailing, but got a kickback. You’d even tried showing up at his place, but with one look through the gap in the curtains of the front window, you could see it had been cleared out. It was like he'd disappeared.
And maybe he had. Though you weren't sure if it was of his own volition or not, and that ominous thought had haunted every decision you'd made since, and every word that slipped past your lips.
“I guess it's just still…overwhelming.”
You tightened your grip on the champagne flute, hoping he bought your flimsy half truth, and then became entirely too conscious of how tightly you were holding onto the glass and forced your fingers to relax. You couldn’t afford to wear anything but ease in his presence, not under that meticulous stare.
Buck always had this air of calmness to him, but there was an underlying presence of hypervigilance layered just below the surface of that composed demeanor. He noticed everything. You'd heard rumors from Daniel about his past, although anything that came out of Daniel’s mouth was to be taken with a grain of salt, but even so you knew Buck’s presence at Fisk’s side wasn't what it seemed.
You’d seen that mask of charisma slip once or twice, like a flash of lighting that briefly illuminated the storm hidden behind the clouds. A glimpse of something darker that erased any decipherable emotion from the canvas of his face, leaving behind only a decodable message that was conveyed through the intensity of his stare; the warning of a threat, or the promise to follow through with one.
And just as quick as the mask slipped, it was snapped black into place with a titillating smile, the edges of his lips carving dimples into his clean shaven face, transitioning the gradient of his deportment from dangerous to innocuous.
Which was exactly why you found yourself feeling anxious every time you were in his presence. Your initial suspect that your former boss hadn't vacated the job willingly had become as solid of a feeling as the ground beneath your feet. Whenever Buck was near, you knew you were being intricately evaluated, and it wasn't just about how you were performing in the role.
He was assessing if you were letting your predecessor’s swift departure become more than a curiosity, shifting instead into a personal investigation. If you were committed to the new position, to Fisk, or if you would also rust into a problematic piece that needed to be replaced. Each interaction with him was no doubt a verbal report he personally delivered to his boss.
And while Fisk was just as dangerous and intimidating as Buck, Fisk was prone to emotional outbursts and reckless impulsivity. Buck on the other hand was too calm, too controlled. You wouldn't know he was going to strike until he did.
“The party? Or the job?”
Shifting your gaze away from that piercing stare that made you feel like an exposed nerve, you looked out at the opulent ballroom decorated with New York’s elite. They’d all come either out of loyalty to Fisk, for mutually beneficial opportunities, or to ensure certain skeletons remained buried. It was a grandiose affair, serving a dual purpose in painting a portrait of a man who cared for his city while also providing a lavish demonstration of the wealth and power he wielded to keep it under his thumb.
“A bit of both. I guess I…I’m still not sure why I was chosen-”
“You were the best fit.”
“There were other people next in line for the job, though.”
“Seniority wasn't the deciding factor. It was talent.”
Buck took a few steps closer, his eyes never leaving you, his hands remaining concealed in his pockets.
“You were hand selected, Miss Y/N. And so far, you haven't been a disappointment.”
So far. Those two words felt like thinly veiled caution.
“Fake it until you make it, right?”
Buck granted you the mercy of returning your awkward smile with a beguiled one of his own.
“The only thing I've seen you fake is confidence.”
Those words straightened your spine, the casual confirmation that he'd been watching you feeling like a steel tipped blade being delicately pressed against the back of your neck. Of course you'd assumed he was paying attention, but hearing that admission slip from his tongue with such ease felt intentional somehow, like he wanted you to know he'd been watching.
You couldn't tell if his comment was meant as a genuine reflection on your character, or if it was a subtle clue that he knew your allegiance was striated and bound only by fear, interwoven with distrust for the story you'd been sold about your former boss. You could never tell what he truly meant. Every sentence was so cryptic, leaving you to overthink the true connotation.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Would it hurt your feelings if I said yes?”
The honeyed cadence of his voice was complemented by the knowing smirk he gave you, as if this was an inside joke between the two of you. Letting out a breathy laugh, you fidgeted with your dress, smoothing it down to buy yourself a couple more seconds to think of how to respond.
“Not hurt my feelings, no. But be utterly embarrassing, absolutely.”
Buck let out a chuckle that resonated deeply in his chest, cocking his head to the side.
“What's there to be embarrassed of?”
“That everyone can tell I don't know what I'm doing.”
“That's not what I said.”
Buck’s humor faded into something else. Not quite so serious, but definitely less playful. That intense stare of his had your heart pounding as he stepped even closer, just a breath outside of what was considered a professional boundary.
“You fake confidence in yourself, not in your work. Granted, you don't seem to give yourself nearly enough credit for what you're capable of, or what you've achieved. But your weakness isn’t in your proficiency.”
“Then what is my weakness?”
The ghost of pleasure tugged at the edge of his mouth at your intellect, that you'd read between the lines he delivered.
“What do you think it is?”
There was just a hint of tease in his tone, almost a challenge. He was waiting to see if you'd play into his game. If you answered truthfully, you'd be confirming something for him somehow, and you already felt exposed. If you tried to be strategic with your answer, your bullshit would be transparent to him, and you didn't need to give him any more excuses to keep you under a microscope.
So, you chose a different answer entirely.
“Dancing.”
Buck’s dark brows rose slightly up his forehead, and then his eyes just faintly narrowed in lighthearted suspicion while a smirk began to tug at the corner of his mouth.
“Is that why you're standing over here by yourself?”
“Part of it, yeah.”
“Well, we can't have that.”
Buck reached out to take the champagne flute from your hand with a gentleness that was at odds with his daunting demeanor, setting it on a nearby table before offering his elbow to you.
“Shall we?”
The surprise at his proposal was etched clearly in every facet of your reaction, and you let out a nervous laugh at the mere idea of sharing something so intimate as a dance with him.
“You know how to dance?”
“I do.”
“What, was it a requirement in your job description to know how to Waltz, or is that just an English thing?”
“Oh it's instilled in us right after ‘God Save the Queen’, but as for my position, I believe I wrote it under ‘special skills’.”
Pressing your lips together, you tried to suppress a smile at the quick retort. He could be so disarmingly charming when he wasn't making you feel like you were being thoroughly analyzed.
“I'm gonna step on your feet.”
Buck gave you a look that was kindle to an ember, causing warmth to suddenly spread within you and glow in your cheeks. He took another step closer, crossing that invisible line to hold out his elbow with further insistence, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone.
Buck would be so unbearably toxic in a relationship. He'd definitely track you, he'd probably give you a debit card with an allowance he'd top up every month
and i think the way that he is possessive is very different from the way that dex is.
dex feels like he needs to be wherever his partner is a majority of the time vs buck who could handle it as long as he has some way of checking in (notifications from the banking app to see what you spend, where you spend), the tracker on your phone, some man tailing you from a distance.
he is a very very busy man, to a fault. he probably makes you sit in his lap after a long day and tell him everything you did. i don't think he would let you forget that he paid for it all.
if his partner goes clothes shopping, i can see him making them try everything on for him.
an: nobody perceive me right now i have the post period hornyness, just finished the latest episode of hotd and this happened, the grasp this terrifying man has on me is driving me insane
pussy inspections with your husband ormund hightower, because of course he does, his control over you has never been a suggestion, you had to quickly learned that to survive his strict vision of the world and to avid the severity of his punishment what he demands is obedience and compliance.
so he always has you seat in that special chair he had made just for the occasion, one that raises your legs in just the right way and gives him an easy view after he's returned from his endeavors, a travel or maybe just a long and boring meeting where the people across the table from him managed to bored hi to death.
he calls for you and offer that seemingly candid gesture, that smirk that he thinks is a smile but it always seems like a threat to your eyes.
"come here, wife".
he takes in all the details of your shape, making sure the fabric of your dress is appropriate, eyes fixing on the tight fit of he corset around your torso and the way the garment perfectly accentuates the perfect curves of your soft waist. you come close to him as he continues his assessment, fingers making sure there is not a hair out of place, the brief smile the confirmation that he is pleased with your choice of styling.
"I like this, wear it more often like this",not a suggestion, an order in that nonchalant way he is so prone to give. he leans over and pecks your lips kiss in a gesture you quickly and to learn to be always willing to correspond with enthusiasm, "it suits you".
he breaks away from you while starting to remove the leather belt around his middle, his heavy Valyrian sword going to the rest at the side of the bed: vigilance, a very appropriate name for a sword belonging to the lord you call your husband. you are familiar with te ritual by now, the meticulous ritual of his getting rid of the outer layers of his regal appearance.
"show me".
you know what it means, and yet it still manages to bring a blush into your face without fail, the habit doesn't reduce the scrutiny, and the weight of his stare hasn't gotten easier to bear; on the contrary, it seems every time it gets harder ad harder, because much to your dismay your body seems to have grown completely used to his demanding nature.
slowly you take your spot on the high chair and expose yourself for him, opening your legs in front of him as he takes his place in front of you, sitting at the percent level so your exposed core is right at eye level.
he exhales a sigh as his thick fingers caress the tender skin of your thighs, hot breath fanning over you, skin prickling with anticipation.
"open". he says, as he pinches the doughy fat of your inner thigh.
too used to his command you obey without questioning, you've learned hesitation could very well mean betrayal in front of this man. so you spread your folds in from of him using your hands, he hums in appreciation at the efficiency of your obedience.
he always takes his time, ringed fingers carefully tracing your soft folds and thumb lingering a second longer on the entrance of your tight channel, moist already gathering a his touches, at the way his fingers reached the hood of your clit and pulls, delicately but firm, he repeats the motion several times until you are struggling to not let out a sound, after all he hasn't given you permission to do so.
when one of his fingers finally goes inside is slow, exploratory, making sure everything feels the same as usual, making sure his wife wasn't defiled by somebody else than him. he hums, satisfied with the usual warmth and tightness of your channel receiving him.
a wet 'pop' follows his movement as he retreats his finger and wipes the sticky emission in a white handkerchief that he takes a long inhale from.
his voice is hardened by his desire in a way that has you clenching around the emptiness left by his touch. he starts removing the final layers of his garments, proud member erect and glistening as he positions himself at your entrance.
"let us devote ourselves into birthing an new hightower, the one who shall continue my efforts to put a worthy heir in the iron throne".
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