-Smut (sex pollen, porn w/o plot, etc)
-Fluff
-Domestic fluff
-Hurt/Comfort
-Enemies to lovers/Friends to lovers/Strangers to lovers
-Sharing a bed
-AU (but it's depends)
-First kiss
-Mutual pining/yearning
-Headcanons
-Oneshots
-Drabbles/blurbs or something short
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ꒰ What I don't write ꒱
-Omegaverse/ABO
-Gore or extreme violence
-Angst (I could try but It won't be super angsty)
-Dark fics
-Slow burn (I'm impatient lol)
-R*pe or non-consencual
-Incest
-Miscomunication/amnesia
-Nothing too kinky or rough
-Very sensitive topics or about mental illness (I can write about mental health but without going into too much detail)
-Series or too long fics
-Real people
~Anyway, don't be afraid to ask about a specific genre/topic, I may make some exceptions, depending on my mood.
Hello! So i was wondering if ya can write something fluff., like so fluff little dirty, make out stuff and touching in the end, if ya wanna make it real smut in the end it’s okay, kinda better!!!!
with ddba! Dex
Like in s2 ep4, or whatever somethin like that, reader lives opposite him, in the same building ya know,
Abd dont forget the old lady thats says “such a nice boy” lives between them too, so anyway reader never met dex and she’s so social and stuff and chatter box always talkin, and hot, and sweet and playful or whatever, anyway he met her once opening door and the same time and she’s like “wow! Hi!! Finally met you man! I always wondered who’s that private mysterious neighbor”
Smiling widly enthusistic then tease him, and he’s like striken tryin to swallow, and frowning tryin to process that he never met such a creature after he see how she’s so nice or whatever, anyway he then start stalkin her, until they meet again couple of times coffe shop chattin and on the stairs mettings and stuff make it so cute, and dex is so hot!!! :)))
Anyway and then there are some parts where dex gets jealouse seeing the reader standing pressed in her door smilling and melting at some hot guy, while dex standing in the end if the stairs watchin her broken (sorry i live for the jealousy things so much, like it’s my favourite parts always specially when the reader doesn’t know what she’s doing and she’s naive ‘bout it!) anyway dex later hears some giggling and moaning, and to be honest they are really messing around and. Into eachother but there’s nothin dirty or seriouse between ‘em,
Just some flirting.
Some way how anyway it’s happy ending in some month after they go alout dex and reader of course, coffe shops, banan milkshake, and reader sometimes inviting him to some of her stuff, like social stuff i dont know, running, or market or music shop,
Anyway i dont know someday they end up in of their’s apartment, maybe the reader’s and they finally kiss, make out hard or whatver
Anyway make dex in the request so down for her but ya know like in ddba he’s like so dom ya know.. ya know what i mean hot but not pathetic like in s3 :’)
I’m sorry if i have alot of ideas!! Like it’s really alot, I feel like im forcing stuff! Thank you anywayy!
Hello!! Thanks for your request. I'm currently working on another request very similar to yours, also using neighbor!dex, so I hope you don't mind if I combine both! I think it would be easier for me since they're similar.
I'll link this post to the other request when I finish it ;)
Dex with a fem messy reader.
mention of the reader having wavy/curly hair
Dex is very meticulous about his routines. Nothing out of place, nothing dirty, nothing messy. He knows exactly where things go, and everything has its specific place in the house. All the books in the library are arranged by genre and alphabetically. The pencils are together in one pencil case, and the pens in another. You'll never see colored clothes with white ones in the washing machine, and he also knows that each fabric needs a specific detergent and wash cycle to prevent staining.
And as for you... well, let's just say you found your own order in chaos. Sometimes you'd forget to make your bed or leave your clothes lying around saying you'd pick them up later (you never would). Or when you did pick up your clothes and tried to put them away in your wardrobe, they didn't end up as neat as Dex's; sometimes they'd end up in a crumpled mess or a Tower of Babel.
You really tried to keep things tidy, but you struggled with organization and were a bit lazy, or sometimes you were simply tired and didn't feel like it. And Dex had to get used to it and tolerate it. At first, your messiness disrupted his routine, a little chaos he couldn't control, and that frustrated or stressed him out. Patiently and politely, he tried to convince you that it was best to maintain discipline and routine, to learn that everything had its place. But something he realized late was that you did have a routine in certain areas, even if you weren't aware of it—things you did out of habit more than anything. And even though it might not have seemed like it, there was a bit of 'order' in your mess; that is, maybe you left your things lying around, yes, but you always left them scattered in the same place. And it bothered you when Dex tidied your room because he moved things around that you already knew where they were, and now you didn't, and the worst part was that he didn't tell you.
Anyway, Dex noticed that you maintained routines in your beauty and hygiene care. He'd observed you styling your hair after showering, always using the same order of products, the same technique, and the same products. First, you'd comb it and separate it into sections, then add cream and gently scrunch it with your hands, creating waves. He'd also seen you wash your face using a cleansing gel, rubbing it between your hands to create a lather, and then, without fail, applying moisturizer and sunscreen. Or even after you finished showering, you'd always dry your body from head to toe and apply body lotion.
Dex paid attention and learned this to incorporate it into his own routine to help you with yours. He wrote down absolutely every personal hygiene product you used so he could buy them when they ran out and restock them himself. And you were always surprised to see that curl shampoo in the shower again, the one you swore was running out, and now it was magically full. And he definitely memorizes the correct names of your products too.
Dex approaches you with a small, round object in his hand. "Here, you were running out of your body scrub. It was the last mango one, they almost sold out."
He'll never admit that he almost got into a fight with a girl over the last body scrub just for you.
And while you're curling your hair in front of the mirror, he'll be behind you watching, holding your hair in sections so it doesn't bother you. He'll gently place a hair clip in your hair and hand you the products.
"Don't forget the oil for the ends of your hair," he reminds you, even though you already know.
And the same goes for your facial cleansing routine.
"Don't combine this acid with the exfoliant and be sure to apply this calming toner afterward, here."
He mentions this while passing you the object and gently sliding a finger over the T-zone of your face.
Yes, Dex has memorized your entire profile and everything you need to know so there won't be any mistakes. Your skin type, hair type, etc. Oh, but what if someone ever makes a mistake with his order? Dex will be grumbling and thinking about killing that bastard.
He curses under his breath, eyeing the new serum he just bought for you. "They got the wrong product. This is for oily skin, and you have sensitive skin; it's going to irritate it," he mutters, frowning and looking at you. "I'll be right back, I'll get the right one."
"It's okay, it's not that urgent," you reply, worried about how he's going to treat the seller.
Dex shakes his head and kisses the top of your head. "It's your skin and your health. It's important," he says, grabbing his keys to leave. He probably can't kill the salesman because he knows you'd be furious, but he'd better listen this time.
And that's how you two were able to find your own routine to share, giving Dex back the harmony and control he needed to feel safe
This was so much fun and comfort that I got carried away. Let me know if I should keep writing smth similar but maybe shorter lol
This was extremely comforting to read as someone that is unintentionally messy (bc of depression) but thrives on order, has curly hair and skin that needs too much care 🥹
So I was watching a series on accidents and I was wondering if you could write a fic with Dex where we’re his neighbour and we usually take the stairs because we’re scared of the elevator (claustrophobia, don’t trust it or wtv) and for whatever reason reader has to take the elevator w/ Dex except there’s some malfunction (obv).
Reader can either be a familiar neighbour to Dex or they don’t like each other, it’s really as you prefer.
I hope it’s understandable, English isn’t my first language and I don’t really know how to explain it better 😭
First of all, thanks for your request, anon! Don't worry, English isn't my first language either, I almost always say that ^^
Second, I like your idea; I'd never thought of something like that. Personally, I don't like using elevators either, and someone close to me is claustrophobic, so I'm familiar with that. I'll see what I can write, and I hope you like it ^^
××××××××××××××××××××
Breath
Summary: Your neighbor saves you from what was about to be a nightmare
T. Warnings: claustrophobia, anxiety, hurt/comfort, Tony!Dex, angsty but Dex comforts you
A/n: pls if you are sensitive to this topic feel free to leave, i'll write it as light as possible tho
You didn't like using the elevator. Not at all. And it wasn't just in your apartment; you didn't like using it anywhere. Whenever possible, you used the stairs, even if it meant climbing many floors. And whenever someone politely offered to take the elevator when they saw you were tired, you quickly and with a smile refused, saying it was fine.
So every day when you left your house for work or the gym and came back, you had to climb all the way up to the third floor by stairs. Sometimes you wished you didn't have to be so claustrophobic so you could use the elevator, but just thinking about it made your palms sweat.
Your neighbor Tony did use the elevator. You saw him several times when he was leaving, although most of the time he also used the stairs when he wasn't in a hurry. Sometimes you exchanged glances with him, but you didn't talk much. Just a brief greeting with a smile or a nod. Occasionally, he would stare at you when you arrived tired or very late, and yet you still used the stairs. Or when you declined the elevator when someone offered it to you, politely giving them your place. That's how the observant Dex knew there was something about you, something that bothered you.
And so the days passed, your routine remaining the same. Until one day something unexpected happened. You were coming home from work, ready to climb the long flight of stairs, when you saw that the stairwell entrance was blocked off with yellow tape bearing the words 'caution' or 'do not trespass' in black. You frowned, confused and worried. At that moment, your neighbor Tony was also entering the building. Suddenly, a man in uniform came down the stairs.
"E-excuse me, why can't we use the stairs?" you asked in an uncertain voice.
He looked at you. "Oh, there was a problem on one of the floors, it'll be ready in a few hours..." the man explained, but you barely heard him.
You weren't sure if a crime had been committed or if there had been a gas leak on the second floor, so you didn't pay attention to what he was saying. You felt too overwhelmed for his words to take shape in your mind. The man must have seen you looking pale or scared because he asked, a little worried, "Are you alright? You can use the elevator meanwhile"
Yes, that's exactly what I'm trying to avoid.
You shook your head in denial, then contradicted yourself, nodding your head several times. "Yeah, yeah... thank you..." you said in a low voice.
The man went back upstairs, and you stood there, staring sadly at the stairs. What a stupid idea! How could you not use the stairs? In every building, the stairs should be a priority. You couldn't always rely on elevators. A fleeting thought crossed your mind: what if you slipped away and went through the yellow tape? No one would see you..
No. You dismissed the idea as quickly as it came to you. It would be unwise. You bit your lower lip several times, holding it and sucking on it between your teeth. Suddenly, you felt a presence approaching from behind you. A voice cleared its throat.
"Are you coming?" Tony asked.
"Huh?" you exclaimed, startled, and spun around, staring at him as if you'd seen a ghost. He was pointing down the hallway to the elevator, watching you patiently, waiting for your response.
"Oh! Yeah!" you said quickly, nervously, and started following behind. The more you walked and the closer you got to the elevator, the more you fidgeted, digging your nails into your fingertips. Your hands felt icy cold, and a shiver seemed to shake your body slightly, as if you were cold, but it was really nerves, the kind you get before an important exam. You would have honestly preferred that.
When the elevator doors opened, he offered to go first, but you, startled, shook your head several times and gestured inside for him to go first. He did, and before the doors closed, you trotted over and stood beside him. There was no turning back now. The metal doors closed. The elevator wasn't that big, though not that small either, but it did seem a bit old. Inevitably, your mind betrayed you, and you began to imagine the worst possible scenarios. You closed your eyes, gently rolling your eyes, trying to think of something else. You lowered your head, looking down at your feet. You tried to distract yourself by remembering a song you'd heard on the radio that had gotten stuck in your head.
Your neighbor, for his part, was calm, indifferent. Standing upright beside you, his posture straight, his shoulders broad, his hands in his pockets. He glanced at you sideways. Your defensive attitude hadn't faded. You looked like a scolded child, defenseless and frightened, your head down and your arms crossed, wishing you were smaller. Your brow was furrowed, and you were lost in your own thoughts.
Suddenly, just when you thought the elevator was finally going to stop at the top and open its doors, it did the opposite. For some reason, it seemed to go back down. Confused and scared, you looked up at the button panel and then at him.
"Wh-what's wrong?" you ask in a trembling voice
He approaches the panel and presses the button for floor 3 again. "I don't know, let me see."
The elevator went back up when Tony pressed the button, but just as it seemed to reach its destination and open its doors, it went back down. Oh no. You felt your breathing quicken, becoming a little shallower. You closed your eyes tightly and tightened your grip on your arms, clenching them into fists, your nails digging into your clothes. Your brow furrowed in apprehension, and the corners of your lips turned slightly downward. Your foot began to move anxiously up and down.
"Someone outside must be pressing the buttons to get in..." he murmured, looking at the control panel, then turned his head to look at you. You looked even more frightened. His brow furrowed with concern. "Are you okay?" he asked cautiously.
You shake your head, unable to speak. Your chest rises and falls, gasping for air. Water begins to well up behind your eyelids. You bring a hand to your face, covering it, and start sobbing with anguish and nerves. Seeing you so helpless, Dex approaches and stands in front of you. "Hey, hey, look at me," he says, placing his hands on your shoulders.
You couldn't; you were too overwhelmed. He rubs your arms and doesn't try to make you look at him. Instead, he resolutely hugs you and pulls you close to his chest. You let him hug you and bury your face in his shirt. You begin to sob harder, hiccuping and with spasms that shake your chest.
"I've got you, I'm here. Breathe, like this. With me, together," Dex comforted you, just as Julie had once done for him.
He began to breathe deeply, slowly and calmly. You tried to imitate him, though you were a little shaky. He patiently rubbed your back while continuing those exercises until you felt better. Gradually, listening to his heartbeat, which distracted you, you began to calm down and breathe more normally. The tears had stopped falling from your eyes.
"That's it, you're very brave, keep it up," he murmurs against your crown.
Several long seconds passed, feeling like hours, until the elevator finally stopped at the top of the third floor and the doors opened. A small wave of relief washed over you when you heard the metallic clang of the doors opening. You quickly looked up. Without thinking twice, you pulled away from Dex and practically ran out, accidentally bumping into an elderly woman and her daughter. He followed you out of the elevator and glared at the two women, especially the elderly one. They were the ones to blame for the elevator going up and down without stopping.
The women came in, and you stayed there, breathing deeply through your nose, your body still trembling, though not as much. You sighed with relief and wiped away the tears that had dampened your cheeks. The two of you remained silent, Dex watching you intently, making sure you were alright.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked worriedly, with his serious face and distinctive frown.
You nodded, more calmly. Your heart was no longer pounding like a drum. You even allowed yourself a small, crooked smile. "Yes, thank you. I'm sorry about that," you said, embarrassed.
"Don't say that, you have nothing to apologize for," he says confidently. "Believe me, I understand."
You nod gratefully, smiling shyly. "Thank you again," you murmur
"Anytime," he says softly with a slight, gentle smile.
When you finally decide to go into your apartment, he stays there, his smile fading until it disappears. Then he turns his head toward the elevator. He hums thoughtfully, his eyes slightly narrowed. Perhaps he should pay that old woman a visit. After thinking for a moment, he too goes into his apartment.
Dex letting you kiss him as he come to the aparent with his suit on and mask on, so you are eager enough kissing him with his mask making out with eachother as he’s trying to look at you with you panties on and the short shirt that is just above em exactly, while he’s holding your waist and your grinding alittle while still standing in the night in the living room in front of the window, until he take of his mask and take your shit and your start not kissing him just both with open mouths breathing eachothers breaths, carresing youre face into eachtohers, until he kiss you hard sayin i mossed you so much even though it was just bout 2 hours ago since he left,
Moving his hand on your inner thigh since he knows its one of your weakens and holding your face with your face admiring you while you are breathless, he keeps stayin like that for mintues so youre like gasppy laughin alittle nervously “what is itt?” Even though you know its his thing,
And theb he kisses all over youre face softly holding you by the neck/throat
Until he left you up to the kitchen’s counter finally..
Ohh it's getting hotter now! 🗣🔥
Y'all this is filthy af so don't say I didn't warn you.
++++++++++++
You left a lamp on, you always did. That way Dex knew you were waiting for him at the same time and in the same place. The warm, orange light illuminated the living room and could be seen from outside in the dark night.
You kept glancing at the wall clock, taking quick looks at the door. Waiting. Suddenly you heard the sound of heavy boots and the door opened with a click and a soft creak.
A dark figure stood out against the yellowish light. Dex entered wearing his suit and mask. His gait was tired and heavy, as if he were carrying a great weight on his broad shoulders. He closed the door. He walked toward you, swaying from side to side, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. His breathing also seemed slightly labored.
You sat waiting impatiently in your light blue lace panties and fitted short-sleeved top. Without wasting a moment, you trotted toward him and pounced on Dex, standing on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck and begin kissing him hungrily and desperately, even with his mask on.
He startled slightly with a grunt, almost losing his balance. But he quickly gripped your waist tightly and matched your rhythm. Your open mouth chased his face, your breath hot and panting, your tongue wetting the fabric, pushing in as if you wanted to pierce the mask. Then you began to moan and whine pitifully as your hips rubbed against his leg desperately, like a rabbit in heat. Your mons pubis rubbed against your panties and the fabric of his suit, wetter with each rub, clinging to him like a leech.
"Dexy, Dexy.. please, wanna feel good.."
Your breathless, whimpering voice, combined with the frantic rocking of your hips against his crotch, made his grip on your waist tighten, turning his knuckles white. That would probably leave you bruised tomorrow. And when you kissed his nose through the fabric, sucking lightly, he knew he couldn't go on like this without kissing you properly. Dex ripped off his mask with a grunt, his breathing ragged. His hair was disheveled, and he had a cut above his eyebrow. Without a word, he slammed his lips against yours with aggression and possession.
The kiss became messy, chaotic, and urgent. Tongues fought, teeth clashed. Your hand moved up to the back of his head to grasp his short strands of hair while he pressed your hips closer to his hardness, holding you firmly so you wouldn't pull away. Tilting your head, you deepened the kiss, your mouth open as if you wanted to devour him. Your breath mingled with his as if you were giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Your nose pressed against his cheek, and his against yours.
Suddenly he pulls away from the kiss, catching his breath, and rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. He rubs lightly against your forehead and nose like a cat, then gives you a slower, more passionate kiss on the lips.
"I fucking missed you so much" He murmurs against your lips, barely leaving a few centimeters of space.
His hands rise to cradle your face. His broad chest rises and falls as you both remain with your foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's breath.
"You were only gone for 2 hours," you say breathlessly, although you had also missed him terribly.
"It felt like an eternity..."
Then he pulled back slightly to admire you completely. You were flushed, your eyes slightly glassy, your breath quickening, and those lacy panties were starting to do things to him. His gaze slowly traveled up and down you with adoration. He slowly reached out and brushed his fingers against your inner thigh, then slowly moved them up. Just a light touch, as light as a feather, but it made you shiver all over, as if you were cold. Your eyebrows arched, and you let out a soft moan as you felt your legs go weak.
His large silhouette seemed to float, hovering above you, his eyes now fixed on you, his face like a predator assessing its prey. Yet his features appeared relaxed and gentle, though a mischievous glint hid behind those brown eyes. With two fingers, he held your chin beneath your jaw while his thumb caressed your skin. He remained like that for a long time, simply staring at you, silent. You began to giggle, letting out soft, nervous giggles.
"What? What is it?"
He doesn't answer. Instead, he slides his hand lower, following the line of your jaw, lower, lower. Until he reaches the base of your neck, closing his hand around your throat. Not enough to strangle you, but enough to hold you firmly so you can feel it. Your breath catches for a few seconds in anticipation. However, Dex brings your face closer to his and begins to give you soft, loving kisses all over your face. From the tip of your nose, up the bridge to between your eyebrows, on each closed eyelid, on your forehead, your temples, your cheeks, your chin, and the corners of your lips. An almost overwhelming contrast, given that just a few minutes ago you two had been devouring each other's faces like wild animals.
And just when you least expected it, Dex released your grip on my neck and bent down to wrap his arm under your bottom, lifting you effortlessly like a suitcase. You squealed and wrapped your hands around his shoulders. He carried you to the kitchen and sat you on the counter. He placed both arms at your sides, trapping you, and began kissing your neck, moving down to your collarbones and the hollow of your neck. Biting your lip and feeling your center throb, you dug your nails into his shoulders. With his calloused hands, he spread your legs, opening them so he could slide between them. Then he looked down at you and slowly knelt down, his legs spread, while his thumbs played with the elastic of your panties.
You looked at him in surprise. "A-are you sure?"
He barely smirked. With his large hands, he massaged the flesh of your thighs, gently squeezing from top to bottom. Then, without taking his eyes off you, he brought his mouth close to your intimacy and gave you a kiss and a bite on your thigh.
"Just shut up and look at me."
Dex brought his mouth to your clothed pussy and kissed you through the lace, licking and sucking gently, inhaling your arousal. You whined and brought a hand to your mouth as you looked at him with raised eyebrows. Then you remembered that he loved it when you were vocal, so you uncovered your mouth; otherwise, he'd let you know why you shouldn't.
With his teeth, he pulled down your sticky panties, leaving a trail of arousal that stretched like an elastic band until it snapped. Dex tucked them into his back pocket.
"For later.." he murmurs without breaking eye contact
He brings his face back to your now-naked intimacy, kissing both sides of your inner thighs, getting closer and closer to where you needed him. He kisses the hollow of your pelvis until finally he kisses your clitoris and circles it with his tongue, applying gentle pressure. Your hips instinctively jerk up as you moaned sharply. Dex reveled in this and began to suck on your needy clitoris while his fingers parted your folds and stroked them up and down and in a zigzag pattern, spreading the thick moisture.
"Oh my god!" you choked, rolling your eyes and letting your head fall back, hitting the cupboard with a loud thump. You didn't care. Your mind was clouded, focused on his tongue down there.
Your hand gripped his short hair tightly, scratching his scalp as your hips ground and thrust down, fucking his face and pulling him even closer. He purred and hummed softly, sending shivers through your walls. He devoured you like you were his last meal, like someone who hadn't tasted anything truly delicious in years. He took his time, yet he did it with a fervor, vigor, and desire.
Dex felt his own pants begin to tighten around his crotch and his underwear grow stickier. Unconsciously, he started rubbing against nothing, thrusting his hips forward near the counter, ramming the air as if it were you. His fingers found your entrance and slipped inside, massaging your rubbery walls with hooked fingertips, sliding them from side to side like a windshield wiper. You let out a moan that was almost a scream. Your chest rose and fell, and your legs trembled on the counter. Dex was focused on his task, but that didn't stop him from looking at your face. He saw your head thrown back and your mouth open in an O.
"Look at me," he demanded in a husky voice as he squeezed your thigh.
You gasped, bouncing softly in surprise until you had no choice but to look at him. Your half-clouded gaze met his, relentless, barely blinking. It felt like an intense game of stares. You tried not to close your eyes and focus on his face, but now, with his tongue swirling inside you, it was nearly impossible. You squeezed your eyes shut in a grimace, feeling close to your climax. You opened them again, feeling Dex's penetrating gaze even behind your eyelids.
Your thighs trembled as short, breathless moans escaped your lips. Your breathing quickened until you felt it coming. The wave was so powerful you couldn't even scream. You just closed your eyes, bending forward slightly as if you'd been punched in the gut. You arched your eyebrows and opened your mouth, but no sound came out. The only sound was the gentle splash of your fluids, spurting out like a fountain, mingled with the sounds of Dex's licking, not wanting to waste a single drop despite your already heightened sensitivity.
Your body trembled, and suddenly you were powerless, weak. He, on the other hand, had never stopped staring at you or rubbing himself against nothing, and that single sight was enough to make him come too, in his bullseye suit. His strong hands gripped your hips to keep you from falling off the counter. Soft, broken moans escaped your lips as he slowly stood up with a grunt. A wet stain was forming on the front of his pants, spreading faster and faster with each movement. He looked at you with a mischievous grin as he wiped his chin, stained with your juices and saliva, and sucked his fingers with glee, an obscene pop! sounding each time he released a finger.
As best you could, you raised a trembling finger and weakly pointed to the pocket of his trousers where he had kept your panties.
"A-are you going to give that back to m-me...?"
He chuckles softly and pats his butt pocket, as if to check that the underwear is still there.
"Nope"
Idk what kind of freaky demon possesed me to write this but i hope you enjoyed it and that it was what you wanted.
Dex with a fem messy reader.
mention of the reader having wavy/curly hair
Dex is very meticulous about his routines. Nothing out of place, nothing dirty, nothing messy. He knows exactly where things go, and everything has its specific place in the house. All the books in the library are arranged by genre and alphabetically. The pencils are together in one pencil case, and the pens in another. You'll never see colored clothes with white ones in the washing machine, and he also knows that each fabric needs a specific detergent and wash cycle to prevent staining.
And as for you... well, let's just say you found your own order in chaos. Sometimes you'd forget to make your bed or leave your clothes lying around saying you'd pick them up later (you never would). Or when you did pick up your clothes and tried to put them away in your wardrobe, they didn't end up as neat as Dex's; sometimes they'd end up in a crumpled mess or a Tower of Babel.
You really tried to keep things tidy, but you struggled with organization and were a bit lazy, or sometimes you were simply tired and didn't feel like it. And Dex had to get used to it and tolerate it. At first, your messiness disrupted his routine, a little chaos he couldn't control, and that frustrated or stressed him out. Patiently and politely, he tried to convince you that it was best to maintain discipline and routine, to learn that everything had its place. But something he realized late was that you did have a routine in certain areas, even if you weren't aware of it—things you did out of habit more than anything. And even though it might not have seemed like it, there was a bit of 'order' in your mess; that is, maybe you left your things lying around, yes, but you always left them scattered in the same place. And it bothered you when Dex tidied your room because he moved things around that you already knew where they were, and now you didn't, and the worst part was that he didn't tell you.
Anyway, Dex noticed that you maintained routines in your beauty and hygiene care. He'd observed you styling your hair after showering, always using the same order of products, the same technique, and the same products. First, you'd comb it and separate it into sections, then add cream and gently scrunch it with your hands, creating waves. He'd also seen you wash your face using a cleansing gel, rubbing it between your hands to create a lather, and then, without fail, applying moisturizer and sunscreen. Or even after you finished showering, you'd always dry your body from head to toe and apply body lotion.
Dex paid attention and learned this to incorporate it into his own routine to help you with yours. He wrote down absolutely every personal hygiene product you used so he could buy them when they ran out and restock them himself. And you were always surprised to see that curl shampoo in the shower again, the one you swore was running out, and now it was magically full. And he definitely memorizes the correct names of your products too.
Dex approaches you with a small, round object in his hand. "Here, you were running out of your body scrub. It was the last mango one, they almost sold out."
He'll never admit that he almost got into a fight with a girl over the last body scrub just for you.
And while you're curling your hair in front of the mirror, he'll be behind you watching, holding your hair in sections so it doesn't bother you. He'll gently place a hair clip in your hair and hand you the products.
"Don't forget the oil for the ends of your hair," he reminds you, even though you already know.
And the same goes for your facial cleansing routine.
"Don't combine this acid with the exfoliant and be sure to apply this calming toner afterward, here."
He mentions this while passing you the object and gently sliding a finger over the T-zone of your face.
Yes, Dex has memorized your entire profile and everything you need to know so there won't be any mistakes. Your skin type, hair type, etc. Oh, but what if someone ever makes a mistake with his order? Dex will be grumbling and thinking about killing that bastard.
He curses under his breath, eyeing the new serum he just bought for you. "They got the wrong product. This is for oily skin, and you have sensitive skin; it's going to irritate it," he mutters, frowning and looking at you. "I'll be right back, I'll get the right one."
"It's okay, it's not that urgent," you reply, worried about how he's going to treat the seller.
Dex shakes his head and kisses the top of your head. "It's your skin and your health. It's important," he says, grabbing his keys to leave. He probably can't kill the salesman because he knows you'd be furious, but he'd better listen this time.
And that's how you two were able to find your own routine to share, giving Dex back the harmony and control he needed to feel safe
This was so much fun and comfort that I got carried away. Let me know if I should keep writing smth similar but maybe shorter lol
Dex is sitting at the edge of the bed folding clothes while you're resting your leg on his shoulder, a typical day in your lives.
"Hey, baby?" You ask after hitting recording, trying to hide your smile.
He hums in response.
"Can I take your card tomorrow for my wax appointment?"
"You don't need to ask." He states.
"Thank you, benny. It was supposed to be next week but his schedule is packed." You say, casually dropping a bomb of an information on him.
His hands stop as he looks forward, and then shifts to look at you. His jaw clenched, but he doesn't want to scare you.
"Him? You get waxed by a man?" His voice is low.
"When my usual girl isn't avliable, yeah."
Dex grits his teeth, "what is the name of the clinic?"
"Why?" Now you're confused.
"To pick you up, of course." He says with an innocent smile.
"It is the one on the 4th. My appointment is at 4." You return his smile.
"What's the name of the guy?"
"Baby, why are you so pressed by this? He's been waxing me before we got together."
"Why am i so pressed? This man waxes my wife's pussy and i'm supposed to be okay with that?"
"It's his job, dex."
He snorts, "I don't give a fuck, you're changing clinics, to one that is girls only." He shakes his head and continues folding.
You burst out laughing, "It's a prank, benny."
He sighs, "you're on thin ice."
"You know I can wax you right?" The seriousness on his face makes you giggle again.
Jake: went to your page and understood why hes so protective of you, you pretty af😩
⤷bendex: I will claw your eyes out.
Frankcas: shes not lying i wax her
⤷bendex: kill yourself.
Elmo: this man will probably kill for you omg😭
⤷bendex: I did. Deleted by creator
Gia: fym "i did"??
⤷yndex: he was joking💕
⤷bendex: No i wasnt. Deleted by creator
Jakey: insecure man. Yucks.
⤷bendex: i am not. But you would know insecure, wouldn't you? With that big ass forehead and receding hairline. Bald at 20 is crazy.
Sia: idk girl i dont like his behaviour😬
⤷bendex: and I don't like how your grandma's room in the nursing home is on the second floor. Or how your siblings all went to private schools except you. Maybe you should ask your dad why. He lives 50mins away from you, right?
Leahmeoutofit: imma stay silent so he dont dox me..
⤷bendex: living with your parents at 30..I wouldn't want to be doxed too.
Sia: idk girl i dont like his behaviour😬
⤷bendex: and I don't like how your grandma's room in the nursing home is on the second floor. Or how your siblings all went to private schools except you. Maybe you should ask your dad why. He lives 50mins away from you, right?
while everyone else mistakes your quietness for disinterest, dex catches the tiny things - the way you lower your eyes when someone compliments you, how you linger just outside conversations before slipping away, how your voice gets softer when you’re nervous.
he secretly loves being the only person who gets to hear your real laugh. around other people it’s quiet, always hidden behind your hand, but when you’re alone with him it slips out freely. every single time it happens, he pauses for just a second, watching you with the smallest, barely noticeable smile.
“…there it is,” he murmurs.
your shyness makes you hesitant to ask for affection, which means dex learns to read you instead. he’ll notice you hovering nearby while pretending to look at something else, the tiny glances you keep stealing at him, the way your fingers fidget with your sleeves. without a word, he’ll open one arm. you shuffle over almost immediately, resting against his side. “…better?” he asks. you nod into his shoulder. “mhm.”
he finds your tendency to hide behind him endearing. crowded streets, loud environments, unfamiliar people - you’ll unconsciously drift until you’re standing just behind his shoulder. after a while, he starts shifting slightly to make room without even thinking about it.
because you’re so reserved, every little sign of affection from you means everything to him. if you reach for his hand first, if you lean your head on his shoulder without being prompted, if you quietly mumble, “I missed you,” when he comes home - it stays with him for days. he doesn’t react in the moment, but later that night he’ll pull you just a little closer while the two of you lie in bed, silently replaying those moments in his mind.
your shyness means you’re constantly apologizing for taking up space. dex hates it. every time you murmur, “sorry,” for something insignificant, he gently interrupts. “don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong.” eventually he starts placing a finger beneath your chin whenever you apologize unnecessarily, making you look at him until you smile instead.
dex has spent most of his life hiding every genuine emotion he has. you wear yours all over your face without realizing it. he knows exactly when you’re excited because your eyes brighten before you even smile. he knows when you’re anxious because you start twisting your rings. he knows when you’re trying not to cry because your lips press together just a little tighter.
“I can hear you thinking.” he says.
“…how do you know?”
“because I know you.”
one of the first things dex notices is that you instinctively make yourself smaller. when a waiter accidentally gets your order wrong, you smile and say it’s fine. when someone interrupts you, you simply stop talking. it bothers him more than he’d ever admit. after watching it happen one too many times, he starts speaking before you can. “she ordered the tea, not coffee.” his voice is calm, almost detached.
you glance up at him, surprised. afterward, you mumble, "dex, you didn’t have to.”
he looks at you for a second. “I wanted to.”
he loves when you hide your face in his chest after he compliments you. at first he thinks you’re embarrassed. then he realizes you’re smiling too much to look at him. from then on, he starts whispering compliments just to feel you curl into him. “you’re beautiful.” you let out the tiniest groan, face disappearing into his jacket. he rests his chin on your head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
there are times when your quiet nature worries him. after everything he’s experienced, silence can make his thoughts spiral. if you spend too long lost in your own head, he’ll glance over more often than he’d like to admit. “you okay?” he’ll ask. every single time you smile softly and answer, “just thinking.” only then does the tension leave his shoulders.
he never tries to change your personality. if anything, he protects it. he knows the world constantly expects louder, bolder people, but he likes that you’re soft. likes that your words are carefully chosen instead of rushed. likes that your kindness isn’t performative. one night, when you apologize for “being too quiet,” he looks at you for a long moment before gently taking your hand. his fingers intertwine with yours. “it’s one of my favorite things about you.”
you’re soft in every way he isn’t. where his voice is blunt, yours is hesitant. where his gaze is intense, yours is quick to drop. when strangers make eye contact, you smile politely. dex studies them until they look away first. the funny part is that you balance each other perfectly. people approach you because you seem approachable. they leave you alone because they eventually notice who’s standing beside you.
Hi I have a request for Dex if you're interested! Reader is a vigilante as well and Dex patching up her wounds after a mission?? You can make it smut or fluff or whatever direction you want to take it! Hope your week is going well 🩷
Hello! Thanks for the request, i love this trope! Take care and have a nice week as well <3
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Unexpected Touch
Pairing: Dex x Vigilante!Reader
Summary: When you're seriously injured, the only person who can heal you is precisely the last person you'd want to see. Especially when the situation starts to become sexually charged.
Warnings: female!reader, patching wounds, fluff with sexual tension, injuries and blood, slightly enemies to lovers attempt, reader hates Dex, swearing, Dex is sassy and teases her (idk if that's could be ooc), Daredevil is protective of her (he's her friend), English isn't my first language
You trusted Daredevil, of course. But the one you didn't trust was Dex, aka Bullseye. And well, he didn't exactly trust him much either, but let's just say he didn't have much of a choice.
You knew his moral compass, and that's precisely why you knew Daredevil couldn't kill Dex, no matter how much he wanted to. What you never expected was to end up in his apartment with several injuries.
Daredevil had explained to you a thousand times that Dex was now trying to do things right and get back on track. You heard him, but you didn't really pay attention; honestly, you didn't care. You didn't believe someone could change overnight, much less someone like him. The worst part was knowing that Bullseye was now working with the two of you—well, more accurately, with Matt, since you'd rather bite a wire than work with him.
And every time you saw Dex nearby, you couldn't help but wrinkle your nose and look away, keeping as far away from him as possible, as if he were radioactive. On the other hand, luckily, he didn't seem to be trying to get close or gain your trust. And he'd better not. And Daredevil, more and more often, had to hear you grunt and say something like, "No. I work alone," and then you'd go your own way, leaving him alone with Bullseye. And he had no choice but to accept it; he wasn't judging you, though.
Dex, for his part, watched you all the time. And that included when you weren't on guard duty. You captivated him with your mysterious aura and indifferent demeanor. Part of him enjoyed this cat-and-mouse game. At first, when the two of you were working with Daredevil, he tried not to pay much attention to you or bother you, because he knew why you rejected him, as everyone else did. But the more he watched you, the more he wanted to find out why his presence disgusted you so much. Had he hurt someone close to you or something like that? He didn't think it was possible, at least not that he'd found out.
Anyway, that night you and Daredevil had to take down a smuggling ring. Luckily for you, Bullseye wouldn't be around this time. You didn't ask why. Nor did you care. You wanted to take advantage of the little peace that remained now that Dex wasn't around to bother you two.
If only you had known what would happen, you would have changed your mind..
There were more people than you thought, and no matter how hard Daredevil tried to cover your back, he couldn't prevent you from being seriously injured. Suddenly, your body felt heavier. You had several cuts and bruises on your torso. The worst was a knife stuck in your shoulder. When you felt it, your back arched, and you groaned, feeling a searing pain in that area. Matt decided he'd had enough; you needed to get out of there.
He put his arm around your waist while he put your arm over his shoulders to hold you.
"We have to get you out of here now," he said, panting.
You frowned and shook your head with a grimace, denying it. "No... not yet... we still have to stop-..." you said tiredly and breathlessly, feeling like you were going to faint at any moment.
"It doesn't matter. You can't keep going on like this hurt and that's the end of the discussion. Come on," Matt urged you.
He started walking away. Every now and then he spoke to you to make sure you didn't lose consciousness. You followed him as best you could, dragging your feet clumsily, with a sharp burning sensation where the knife had been stuck in you.
That's when Daredevil took you to Dex's apartment. He knocked insistently. When Dex opened it, he first saw Matt in his red suit, also injured and with blood on his face. But then he saw you hanging from his shoulder, your head tilted slightly, even more hurt. His brow furrowed. You tilted your head back like a rag doll to look at him, your eyes squinting. You grimaced and glared at Daredevil.
"Noo... not himm..."
You slur your words like a drunk. Matt ignores you and stares intently at Dex.
"Can you help her? She needs treatment for her wounds," he asks, hoping for a yes.
Dex looks at him seriously, barely raising an eyebrow subtly. "Do I look like a doctor to you?"
Matt ignored his sarcastic comment and pleaded in a softer voice, "Please... do it for her, not for me..."
Dex's expression shifted slightly. His gaze slid to your face, which was now looking down at the floor, unable to speak due to exhaustion. He pressed his lips together slightly, looking back at Matt. After a few seconds, he said nothing and simply opened the door wider to let you both in. Daredevil sighed in relief. As Matt pulled you inside, you muttered incoherently while Dex stood watching everyone with his arms crossed.
"Leave her on the couch," Dex pointed out.
Matt walked until he felt the couch in front of his knees. He gently laid you down while you groaned in pain. Then he stood up and turned to face Dex.
"Thank you..." he murmurs. "I... I have to go. I also need to get my wounds treated, or rather, have someone treat them for me."
Just as he was about to leave, he suddenly stopped. "Take good care of her. And if you hurt her, I swear I'll hunt you down until my last breath," he threatened in a low voice.
Dex just stares at him and then murmurs, "I'll do what I can," he says, unable to keep promises.
Matt nods and leaves. Meanwhile, you continue to squirm and groan stubbornly on the sofa, grimacing. Dex sighs and approaches you. "Stop moving, it'll only make the wounds worse."
You glare at him with a furrowed brow and a murderous look. He remains unfazed and turns to look for something, saying seriously, "Stay there, I'll get the first aid kit."
"Screw you" you spit softly through your teeth.
Dex walks away trying not to roll his eyes
"How cute" That's his only sarcastic thought
You waited for Dex to return, which thankfully didn't take long. He knelt in front of you, and you could feel his body heat as he drew near. Instinctively, you moved back slightly, leaning your back closer to the sofa's armrest. He ignored this and opened the first-aid kit, taking out everything he needed. He set the items aside and began inspecting your wounds. You were still wearing your suit, which consisted mainly of a thermal shirt, now slightly torn and stained. That's when he noticed the knife stuck in your shoulder; Matt hadn't wanted to remove it yet for fear of bleeding.
"I need to get that out,"
he says, pointing to the knife and gesturing as if to reach for your shoulder. You grunt and swatt his hands away.
"Don't tocuh me.." you groan, annoyed
Dex sighs, gathering patience, but pulls his hands away. "If I don't get it out, I can't heal you, genius," he says sarcastically.
You huff and puff in annoyance but say nothing. He takes the opportunity to place his hands back on the injured area. He grips the knife handle and, in a swift and precise movement, draws the weapon. You close your eyes tightly and let out a cry of pain that ends in a guttural growl like a wild animal.
"MOTHER FUC-! You could have warned me sooner, you bastard!!" you sneer with a grimace
One corner of his lips trembled slightly. "And what would you like me to do?" he asked calmly as he wiped the knife blade and put it in his pocket.
"I don't know! A countdown like 1, 2, 3! Jesus!" you exclaim, gesturing with one hand.
He chuckles softly. "Countdown? What is this, a rocket launch?" he scoffs slightly, then adds, "Besides, countdowns go backwards."
He looks at you indifferently. "You know how to count backwards, right?"
Oh, this son of a-
You glare at him, wanting to kill him, your chest rising and falling a little faster with the anger boiling inside you. You smile with a sarcastic, hateful grin that looks more like a grimace. "Mmh, very funny," you hum. "I remind you that if you hurt me on purpose, Daredevil won't leave you alone for a long time."
He smirked, grabbing cotton and staring at your wound. "I'm not afraid of him..." he simply mumbled.
"Well, you should," you say, looking at him when he's not looking at you. "And you should fear me too."
His smirk doesn't disappear, it even gets slightly bigger
"Mmh, feisty.." He murmurs in a hoarse voice, barely parting his lips, amused.
You sigh, feeling your body heat up with anger as you realize Dex doesn't care and even seems amused. Suddenly, he places his hands on the hem of your thermal shirt and begins to pull it up. You open your eyes and gasp in surprise.
"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! What are you doing?!" You stop him by grabbing his wrist with one hand and suddenly pulling down your shirt with the other.
Dex simply shrugs. "I have to take your clothes off so I can heal you properly," he says, as if it were obvious.
"Okay, next time, ask before you touch me, okay?" you say, sounding both annoyed and embarrassed. Then you make a gesture with your finger, twisting it. "Now turn around," you order.
He blinked "What?"
"TURN.AROUND" You say firmly through gritted teeth, pronouncing slowly as you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, no longer anger. "And don't turn or look until I tell you," you add, already starting to roll up the hem of your shirt.
He grunts softly, his brow slightly furrowed, but accepts with a " 'K." He gets up with a grunt and turns away so he can't see you. You take the opportunity to try to pull up your shirt, but there are so many wounds that you can't move much. With each pull of the fabric, you let out a hiss or a pitiful moan as you feel your skin and muscles stretch, reopening cuts or inadvertently touching fresh bruises. At the fifth groan of pain, Dex sighs and turns to face you.
"Hey! I didn't say you could watch!" you grumble, looking at him, somewhere between offended and nervous.
He doesn't answer, he just frowns and moves closer again. This time he doesn't kneel or crouch down, he just bends forward, hovering over yours. "Let me help," he says, grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it up despite your protests and grumbling. You still raise your arms, gritting your teeth, as he pulls the fabric over your head. When you're left in just your bra, you suddenly look away shyly, frowning. Dex takes your clothes and folds them to put them in a laundry basket. You glance at him, puzzled, but don't say anything. You can tell that Dex's apartment is impeccably clean and tidy, so he probably wouldn't want anything out of place.
Now he kneels in front of you, holding a cotton ball soaked in alcohol, and begins cleaning the cuts. You have several on your shoulders, chest, and stomach, and a large bruise on your abdomen near your navel. When you feel the cotton ball cleaning the wounds, you hiss, closing your eyes.
"Yeah, it might burn," he murmurs at your reaction, without having warned you before.
You sighed softly and rolled your eyes. Your gaze followed his hands at work, gentler and more delicate than you'd ever seen them. It gave you a strange feeling. Dex changed the cotton when it was worn out, running it over your shoulders. You had a cut on your chest, below your collarbone. When his hand moved there, above the curve of your breasts, your breath caught slightly, making you tense. But he seemed focused on his task, judging by how slow and deliberate his movements were. The cotton traced a slow, smooth, downward line near your bra strap. His eyes followed the movement while yours were fixed on your chest, which was now rising and falling with a bit more nervousness. You cleared your throat uncomfortably.
"Does it hurt?" he asks in a soft, low murmur, looking at you.
Unable to look him in the eyes, you frown and shake your head almost imperceptibly. "It's okay.." you reply in a raspy voice.
He hums, nodding, and continues dabbing the cuts with cotton, thankfully far from your chest. Then he moves on to the most serious cut, where a knife had been plunged. After inspecting it critically, he takes a needle and thread from the first-aid kit. He holds them up, showing them to you. "You need stitches," he says in a deep voice.
You look at the needle and thread apprehensively and slightly press your lips together. "Uh... you don't have anything to bite on, do you?" you ask hesitantly.
"Right," he sighs and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. He hands it to you. "Here. Bite on that."
You slowly take the handkerchief and stuff it in your mouth as if you were being gagged, still holding it with your hand. He looks at you for a few seconds before deciding whether or not to sew you. You stare at him intently, and he knows what to do. Without a word, he holds your shoulder and makes the first stitch. You close your eyes tightly, feeling them fill with tears, and stifle a scream. But he doesn't stop. He continues stitching the wound, though he tries to do it more carefully. When you feel you've grown accustomed to the pain, you pull the handkerchief from your mouth with a groan.
"I'm not finished yet," he warns without looking at you.
"I know, but I think it doesn't hurt anym- Oh fuck!!" you grunt as you feel another sharp stitch, this time deeper, and you bite down hard on the handkerchief again.
A faint smirk forms in Dex's mouth. You take a deep breath through your nose, and when he finishes, you pull the cloth handkerchief from your mouth, slightly panting. You look at the now-closed wound. It's perfectly taut, and the stitches are clean, neither too big nor too small. You make a sound, half hum, half low grunt of surprise and admiration.
"You have good hands," you murmur now looking at him.
Dex stops and looks at you, raising an eyebrow curiously. It's probably the first time you've complimented him during the tour you've been on. He analyzes your face, searching for a sign of sarcasm or mockery, but you seem genuine. He sighs and puts a bandage on your stitches. "Thanks"
Then he glances at the bruise on your lower abdomen and stands up. "Wait here," he says, going to get an ice pack. When he brings it back, he crouches down in front of you again and this time looks at you before placing the pack on your skin. "May I?" he asks, looking at you intently. Shyly and with your guard down, you nod. "Y-yes."
He places the bag of ice wrapped in a cloth on your stomach. Your muscles twitch from the cold, and you shiver. "Ah!" you hiss, closing your eyes and parting your lips, remaining motionless for a few seconds. Dex hasn't taken his eyes off you.
"Sorry," he whispers, almost guiltily.
"Don't worry," you comfort him, downplaying its importance.
His hand remains resting on the ice pack even though isn't necessary. A few seconds of silence pass, then suddenly he speaks.
"Why do you hate me so much?"
You're stunned, staring at him wide-eyed. You weren't expecting a question like that. Then you let out a humorless laugh. "Are you seriously asking me that? You killed Foggy," you snap.
"He wasn't a relative of yours," he says, looking down and frowning.
"So? But he was innocent. It's called having empathy, something I see you lack," you say coldly.
You notice his jaw tense, but he doesn't say anything. He seems hurt. You realize you might have gone a little too far with your words. Your frown softens, and before you can say anything, he speaks again.
"It's... complicated," he simply says, not wanting to go into detail about how he was manipulated.
"Oh, really?" you say with a somewhat sarcastic, mocking tone.
Then he looks up at you, and your mocking smile disappears. His gaze now seems more tired, more real.
"Oh..." you murmur very softly, and for some strange reason you feel guilty. "Maybe it is..."
You sigh and look down at the ice pack on your stomach. A light silence falls between you. You bite your lip, thinking about what to say.
"I don't hate you.." you admit
He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, not believing you. You roll your eyes. "Fine, maybe just a little..." You gesture with your fingers. "But it's because it makes me angry that even when you have the chance, you choose the wrong ones," you vent and sigh, frowning at him.
He looks at his hands, flexing his fingers. You speak again.
"Is it true that you want to do good deeds...?" you ask, more out of curiosity.
He nods once, slowly.
"Can I ask why?"
Dex looks away, staring out the window and lightly clenching his fists. "I want to have more control over my life..." he says tersely.
You sigh and nod without insisting. "Well... I hope you're being honest," you murmur, one corner of your lips twitching upwards.
"Would you like that?" he suddenly asks, looking at you.
You look up in surprise, staring at him with slightly wider eyes. "Excuse me?" you stammer, confused.
"I mean... would you like me to do good deeds? To balance.. the scales?" He looks at you seriously, waiting for a yes.
You frown, unsure what to say. You shrug and blink a few times. "Yeah, I guess. Only if you mean it," you murmur.
Dex hums sympathetically without adding anything else, but in his mind he's already prepared to make things right for you, so that his presence won't bother you so much anymore. Suddenly he gets up and silently picks up your perfectly folded suit shirt to wash it.
"Hey! You'll give that back to me later, right?" you ask, following his movements as he walks away towards the laundry room
"Of course," he chuckled softly with a smirk, "but I don't want dirty things in my apartment," he said, almost mockingly.
A few minutes passed while Dex put your clothes in the wash, carefully selecting the detergent and setting it to a gentle cycle. When he returned to the living room, he found you gently dozing on the sofa. The only sounds in the background were the washing machine running and your soft snores muffled by the noise of the machine. He sighed, his face softening. He walked over to grab a blanket and cover you with it. You automatically let out a satisfied sigh as you snuggled deeper into the soft, makeshift comforter. Dex offered a tender but almost imperceptible smile. When he tried to move away, he suddenly felt someone grab his pant leg. Turning his head and looking down, he saw that you had reached out, still half asleep, babbling unintelligibly. Your brow was slightly furrowed, and your fingers were gently closing in the fabric of his pants, preventing him from leaving.
Dex let out a long sigh and gently took hold of your wrist to move your hand away. "Fine," he said softly, sitting down next to you and gently placing your legs on his lap, one hand stroking your thigh through the blanket.
"I'll stay.." He whispered like a coo until the soft noise of the washing machine also lulled him to sleep.
dex is so obviously a cat person. they’re clean, don’t need high maintenance and are usually quiet!
i can imagine when you first got a cat dex was obviously disapproving. finding it— or as you claim, your baby— sat on his pile of clothes, paper and even his side of the bed! he could’ve sworn it was out for him!!! "get— get off." he grumbled, nudging at your cat as he stubbornly sat on dex’s bullseye suit that was lying on the arm of the couch. "..shoo." a glare on his face as the cat (muffin.) didn’t budge, waving his hand at it. "jeez. you’re just like your owner..and your name’s stupid." before hesitantly and awkwardly picking muffin up and dropping him on the floor — earning a complaining meow from it.
muffin would also have a staring problem with dex. you found it adorable! claiming how he found dex interesting :) "he likes you!" you cooed, giggling as muffin sat on the table, directly infront of him with an almost judgmental stare. "it’s staring at me." "hey— it, is a he! and be nice, hes my baby." gently petting him,
and like all cats, they have a tendency to knock things over! constantly annoying dex! one of dex’s small pocket knives sat peacefully on the coffee table.. until he heard a small noise. turning around to see muffin tapping at it before knocking it off, staring right at dex. "asshole." grumbling before going to fix up the cat’s mess..
eventually, he’d learn to warm up to muffin :) giving him treats and pats, getting used to the stares and behaviour ^_^ you found him lying in bed one day, sleeping still with muffing lying on his lap, purring softly. <3
Thinking about Fbi!Dex who is so clingy and touch starved and yet, too shy to ask for.
He's pathetic. He presses himself against you when you're cuddled up in bed and starts rubbing and grinding against your inner thigh without a shred of remorse. Whimpers escape his mouth and are muffled by the hollow of your neck as you feel his tears on your skin.
"Please don't go~" he begs, stammering. "Stay a little longer," he says, dragging out the words in a trembling voice, his face still buried in your neck, his hips pressing against you steadily but haphazardly.
"Honey, at some point I have to get out of bed," you say as you feel his hardness through his underwear and a wet patch forming at the tip.
Dex mutters something incomprehensible as he tightens his grip on your belly and his hips kept grinding with more insistence, hungry for physical contact. He's starting to act like a spoiled brat.
And so you had to stay until he finished what he started and came in his boxers with a muffled moan against your neck.
Other times, the two of you were sleeping with your back pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around your waist and stomach; that's when Dex would start rubbing against your clothed bottom, trying to create friction.
"Mmh.. Dex..?" You say sleepily in a husky voice.
Dex's face is pressed against the back of your neck as he hums and thrusts, stuck to you like glue, as if he really wants to break through the layers of fabric and penetrate you properly. When he doesn't respond, you sigh and do what you usually do.
"Wait, not like that," you stammer, dragging out the words.
You help Dex by moving your knee slightly upward on the mattress as if you wanted to bring it to your chest. Dex hums, confused, thinking you wanted to move away, and unconsciously tightens his grip on your hips in fear. You, on the other hand, reach behind you and hook your fingers under Dex's knee to lift it and place it over your leg, around your waist, giving him better access to your clothed intimacy.
"There you go.. now move"
He doesn't need to be told twice. Dex moves against you again, this time allowing you to push deeper. You hum with satisfaction, your eyes closed, as Dex moans and babbles against the back of your neck. You begin to mimic his slow rhythm, and your hips start to sway together, back and forth like a ship on the waves, united and throbbing as one.
"Mmh.. yesss" you whisper
You feel Dex's hard member hit against your clothed center, sending a shiver through your stomach. He, meanwhile, is starting to whimper, his breathing slightly rapid, trying his hardest not to come too soon. But his thrusts become erratic. The perfect, rhythmic sway you two had been enjoying is broken by the force of his hips hammering like a nail into a wall.
Without warning, you feel his hips jerk violently and a hot sensation near your buttocks. Dex comes with a pitiful groan. His body goes soft like putty and he begins to sob, tears soaking the skin at the nape of your neck.
"Shhh, you did well," you said as you placed a hand on his thigh and massaged it. You noticed him shudder.
"Thank you... thank you..."
That's all he repeats like a mantra as his breathing calms down
I'll just leave this here and slowly back away... (while working on some requests)
The funniest thing about Dex is that everyone thinks he’s the dominant one.
It’s not hard to see why. They see him beside you in public, tall and big and scary, one hand wrapped around yours like he’s escorting you through hostile territory. They see how he scans every room before you enter it, how he keeps himself half a step ahead of you, how his eyes go cold when anyone looks at you wrong. He is the danger in the relationship to everyone else. And sure, Dex is dangerous.
He has killed and will kill for you. If someone even thinks of hurting you, Dex wouldn’t hesitate. He wouldn’t spiral over morality or pace the room wringing his hands. He’d handle it, come home, wash his hands until his knuckles were pink, and ask if you wanted hot chocolate.
But that is only one side of him.
Then you get him home and lock the door.
The terrifying man everyone assumes must be in charge is on his knees before you’ve even taken your coat off, hands clasped behind his back, eyes lifted to your face like he’s waiting for a commandment. He doesn’t look dangerous then. He looks hungry.
Nobody would believe Dex lets you tie him down. Nobody would believe he gets hard before you even touch him, just from the sound of the drawer opening where you keep the restraints. Nobody would believe he goes silent when he sees the blindfold in your hand, swallowing hard because he knows what it means. He knows he’s going to lose sight, lose control, lose the ability to predict where your hands will be next.
And fuck, he wants that so badly it embarrasses him.
Dex’s whole life has been control or punishment. Straightforward, y’know? Aim. Fire. Hit the mark. Never miss.
So when you take that straightforward control from him, when you bind his wrists above his head and tell him he doesn’t have to think, it ruins him.
It’s not because he’s weak. It’s because he’s tired. Because with you, surrender doesn’t mean danger. With you, restraint doesn’t mean abandonment. He knew you’d kiss him afterward.
You make him feel safe enough to be pathetic, and Dex is so fucking pathetic for you.
He was a virgin when you met him, and sometimes it still shows in the hottest, most devastating ways. It’s not because he doesn’t know what he’s doing now. He learned fast. Dex treats your body like a language he’s afraid of mispronouncing. He studies every inhale, every shiver, every little unconscious movement of your hips. He knows exactly how to put his mouth on you now. He knows where to press his fingers, how to curl them, how to hold you open to see your thighs shake.
But underneath all that skill is still that awful first-time hunger.
And to be honest, Dex is convinced you’re his last, too. And though he romanticises you being his only, he still looks at you sometimes like he cannot believe he’s allowed to touch you at all.
He gets overwhelmed so easily. That’s why he comes in his pants with his mouth between your legs, hips grinding helplessly into the mattress while you pull his hair and tell him he’s doing well. He doesn’t even realize it’s happening until it’s too late. His whole body goes rigid, fingers digging into your thighs, a broken groan vibrating against your skin as he shudders through it like it hurts.
Then he looks up with a wet mouth, blown pupils, and shame burning bright red across his face.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
You almost laugh because he looks so ruined. Dex, who can put a bullet through a moving target without blinking, undone because he got too excited eating you out.
“You came?” you ask.
He swallows hard.
His face says please don’t make me answer.
So naturally, you make him answer. “Dex.”
“Yes,” his eyes flutter. His hands tighten on your thighs like he needs something to hold onto.
You stroke his cheek with your thumb, “That’s embarrassing.”
He whines, and that’s how you learn Dex likes the embarrassment.
From anyone else, shame turns him defensive and violent. But from you, humiliation feels like intimacy. It means you see him. It means you know exactly how needy he is and you’re not disgusted by it. You’re pleased, fond. You look at him messy and desperate, and you think he’s precious.
So he starts chasing it, and that's the real psychosexual rot of him. Dex doesn’t just want pleasure. Pleasure is almost secondary. He wants exposure. He wants to be reduced to the most honest version of himself and survive it. He wants you to see that beneath the perfect aim and the flat affect, there is this needy, touch-starved, obsessive man who wants to belong to you so completely it makes him stupid.
He wants to humiliate himself because humiliation proves you can see everything and still want him.
That’s why he steals your panties.
At first, he’s ashamed of it. He hides them in the back of his drawer. He doesn’t just shove them somewhere and forget them. No, Dex treats them like contraband, like evidence of a crime he cannot stop committing.
The first time you catch him, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his pants open and your panties wrapped around himself, stroking himself slowly and desperate into the lace. His head is tipped back, your name in his mouth like he’s trying not to say it too loudly. He is so lost in it that he doesn’t hear the door open.
“Dex.”
He freezes.
Then he looks down at himself, at your underwear twisted around his shaft, at the mess he’s already made of them, and the shame hits him so hard his face goes blank.
“I can explain,” he says.
You close the door behind you. “Can you?”
He looks up at you. Huge, broad-shouldered Dex, sitting there with your panties in his fist, leaking against the fabric.
“I missed you,” he says.
It’s not an explanation.
You walk over slowly and take his chin in your hand, tilting his face up until he has to look at you.
“You missed me so much you had to jerk off into that?”
His mouth parts. “Yes.”
“Do you do this often?”
His eyes squeeze shut. “Sometimes.”
“Look at me.”
He immediately does. Because he is good, even when he’s disgusting.
“How often?”
His voice is wrecked. “When you’re gone too long.”
You raise an eyebrow. All you did was go to the movies with your friends.
“What’s too long?” You tilted your head, “an hour? Twenty minutes?”
Dex doesn’t answer.
You smile. “Oh, baby.”
That softness, that pity destroys him. Somehow, you make him feel both adored and exposed. He tensed before your hand even touches him properly.
You make him keep going.
You stand there, fully clothed, while he sits half-undone in front of you, hand moving again because you told him to. You make him tell you what he thinks about when he uses them. You make him confess that sometimes he presses them to his mouth first. Sometimes he sleeps with them under his pillow on your work trips. He confesses that he doesn’t even want to come unless it’s into something that smells like you because at least then it feels like he’s close to you.
Then you stroke his hair and say, “Finish, then.”
Dex comes almost pathetically fast with a broken little sound that he tries to swallow and fails.
After that, you make rules, not because you actually mind, but because rules make it feel better for him. Rules mean permission means ownership. So he has to ask now. He has to stand in front of you, red-faced and tense, and say, “Can I have a pair?” like he is asking for water and will die without it.
Sometimes you say yes. Sometimes you say no.
Sometimes you say, “Earn them,” and watch his brain shut off.
He becomes so obedient it’s almost obscene.
Dex will get on his knees while you sit on the edge of the couch and kiss his way up your legs, mouthing at your calves, your knees, your thighs, breathing harder with every inch. He’s not subtle about how badly he wants you. He tries to be, but he has never been good at hiding desire from you. His hands hover uselessly because he’s not allowed to touch yet. His lips wobbles because he wants to beg and knows he should wait.
You let him suffer for it, your favourite kind of cruelty. Because you know he could take what he wants and chooses not to.
“Aw, baby,” you say, running your fingers through his hair.
He sighs.
“You’re so good at pretending, aren’t you?”
His eyes lift to yours.
“Everyone thinks you’re the big strong man in this relationship.”
His teeth clenched.
Then your fingers tug gently at his hair, and his eyes go soft. Empty. Yours.
“But you know better.”
Dex nods.
“Say it.”
His throat moves. “I know better.”
“Who’s in charge here?”
“You are.”
“Who do you belong to?”
You could see the last little shred of dignity slipping away. “You.”
And he means it.
For him, this isn’t pretend. The kink is play, yes. The restraints and blindfolds and gags are negotiated and safe. You have signals, check in, know when to stop and when to push. But underneath the play is something real. Dex wants to be yours because belonging gives a vessel to his needs. It gives him somewhere to put all that obsessive spiral so it doesn’t devour him whole.
He wants to be useful to you.
And he would do all of this even after being the sweetest boyfriend, making dinner as if he was domesticated.
Dex would be in the kitchen twenty minutes earlier, sleeves rolled to his forearms, washing rice, chopping vegetables, checking over his shoulder to make sure you were still home. He would ask if you wanted more salt. He'd wipe down the counter twice. He would put your mug exactly where you liked it. He would kiss your temple absentminded, like he was a normal boyfriend in a normal home with normal hands.
Then later, those same hands would be gripping the sheets like he was praying.
The contradiction of him made you melt and twist at the same time. Big dangerous Dex, who could turn a pantry into a weapon, looking up at you from your bed with his hair mussed and his mouth parted, asking permission like he would die without it.
“Please,” he said, and it was barely a word anymore. “Please, baby. Please.”
You almost cooed at him.
“Aw, sweetheart,” you murmured, stroking his cheek. “You did the dishes and everything. Is this what you wanted after being so helpful?”
Dex’s eyes fluttered.
“Yes.”
“Say it properly.”
His throat worked. He looked like a fucking loser already, and you had barely touched him.
“I wanted you,” he said. “I wanted to be good and I wanted you to notice.”
Oh, that was it. Dex could clean the whole apartment, fold your laundry, cook your dinner, refill your water, set your slippers by the bed, and still what he wanted most was for you to look at him and understand what he was offering. To see the domesticity for what it was.
He was not pretending to be tame. He was bringing you every awful, needy part of himself and laying it down at your feet.
“You’re so embarrassing,” you told him fondly.
Dex made a broken sound.
“You like playing house, don’t you? Making me dinner. Taking care of me. Then crawling into bed and begging to come inside like this.”
His face went red, but he nodded.
“You want to be my boyfriend and my toy?”
He nodded again, faster this time. “Yes,” he breathed. “Yes. I want that. I want to be yours.”
And god, he was.He clung to you, trembling, face pressed close, whispering please and baby and I’ll be good until the words blurred together.
Then when he finally fell apart, it was with this devastated little gasp, like pleasure had knocked the soul clean out of him.
Wrecked and breathless, Dex whispered, “Thank you.”
He didn’t even seem to realize how ruined that made him sound.
“Thank you,” he said again.
The filth always circled back to devotion, even when you’d sit on his face while his wrists are tied above his head, and he loses his mind completely. He can’t grab your hips. He can’t guide you or prove how strong he is. He just has to lie there and take what you give him, groaning helplessly while you use his mouth exactly how you want. You’d use the gag later, after his mouth is swollen and his eyes are glassy and he keeps asking if he did good.
You gag him because he gets too loud when you edge him. Dex, who is silent in combat, who can lie still for hours waiting for a perfect shot. Dex, who barely reacts when hurt. That same Dex cannot stay quiet when your hands are around him and your voice is in his ear telling him not yet.
He tries.
His whole body strains with the effort, muscles tight, stomach jumping, hands twisting uselessly in the restraints. The blindfold makes it worse because he can’t anticipate anything. He cannot see when you’re going to touch him or when you’re going to pull away. He only has your voice, your breath, your nails dragging lightly over his skin, your laughter when he bucks into your hand like he has no pride at all.
“Don’t,” you say. “Not yet.”
He nods fast.
“Words.”
“I won’t,” he gasps. “I won’t. I’ll be good.”
And he means it. For about twenty seconds.
Then you stroke him, thumb dragging over a sensitive spot, and he makes this helpless noise that makes you grin.
“Dex.”
“I’m trying,” he chokes.
“I know.”
“I’m trying so hard,” he whimpers.
So you gag him, and he looks grateful for it. He likes that you know he can’t stay quiet. He likes that you make it his problem and then solve it for him. He bites down on the gag, eyes wet behind the blindfold, letting you ruin him slowly.
And when you finally let him, sometimes you don’t touch him at all.
Sometimes you just lean close tell him he’s allowed.
That’s enough.
His back arches. His wrists pull against the restraints. A muffled sound tears out of him as he chases his high, humiliated by how completely you own him. He is shaking afterward, furious with himself and blissed out and so visibly in love that you almost can’t be smug about it.
You kiss his stomach and murmur, “That was quick.”
Dex groans like he wants to disappear.
“You’re so easy.”
He turns his face into the pillow, blindfold still on, ears red.
“Don’t hide from me,” you say.
So obediently, he turns back.
That obedience is the sweetest part, because Dex doesn’t submit casually. He doesn’t often hand people control. He doesn’t trust easily. But for you, he will be blindfolded, spread out and helpless and humiliated and leaking onto his own stomach because you told him he was pretty.
He wants to be made ridiculous because his whole life people have only ever made him monstrous.
You make him pathetic instead. You make him blush and beg to come in your mouth, on your thighs, against your leg, anywhere you’ll allow. You make him admit that sometimes he gets hard from holding your hand in public.
He loves walking through the world with his hand in yours while everyone assumes he’s the one keeping you.
Because Dex’s need is not polite. He wants too much, feels too much.
After the sex burns off, you take care of him. Always.
You untie his wrists carefully and kiss the places that bloom red. You remove the blindfold slowly, letting him blink up at you in the dim light. You take out the gag and wipe the corner of his mouth with your thumb as he smiles at you, the corner of his mouth tugging at his pretty scar.
“There he is,” you murmur.
Dex looks dazed. You climb into bed beside him, and he comes to you immediately, burying his face against your chest. He wraps an arm around your waist and holds on like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.
“You okay?” you ask.
He nods.
You kiss his forehead.
Then so devastatingly earnest, he asks, “Was I good?”
And there is his core. Not the violence of lust. That need to be told he has done something right. That he has pleased you. That he is wanted not despite the mess of him, but with it.
You cup his face and make him look at you. “You were perfect.”
He hides his face against your neck, but you can feel the smile there.
And it is sweet, in the end.
Because yes, Dex is filthy for you. He is so obsessive it would be alarming anyone else knew.
But that was never all it was.
The two of you had both struggled with power your whole lives, just in opposite directions.
Dex had been made into a weapon by people who only cared how well he could aim. He made himself care about routine and control because without them, he felt like he might disappear completely. You, on the other hand, had spent years being pushed around by people who thought your femininity meant they could talk over you, use you, underestimate you, make you pay dues that the men around you in your field never had to pay.
So maybe this should have been strange.
Maybe it should have been worrying that you came home from a world that tried to take power from you and found comfort in telling Benjamin Poindexter, out of everyone, what to do. Maybe it should have been frightening that Dex, who could hurt anyone, found peace in giving control to you.
But it wasn’t strange at all.
It was sweet.
Dex didn’t make you fight for authority. He handed it to you lovingly, with trust in his eyes, like it was a gift. And you didn’t use that control to make him feel small, like many others did. You used it to make him feel safe.
The bondage, dominance, and submission was never just sex. It’s consent. It’s care. It’s trust.
It was two people who had been mishandled by power learning how to hold it between them.
And maybe that was why you fit so well.
You were interconnected puzzle pieces that matched each other’s damage. You looked at the darkest parts of each other and went, oh, there you are.
— end.
—
As an additional note, my moot @poindextersgirlforever has brought my to attention about the Moroccan Street dogs in danger due to the World Cup, and Dartmoor ponies being pushed out of their grazing land. Click these links for the petitions to help: X X
Visit her page for more info, too! I believe she has a post pinned talking about the former🫶
I’m not sure whether to tag, bcs it’s more like a little analysis than a full fic, but it’s over 2k words, so…
─୨ৎ─ Riley, who can't help but gets hard very often
─୨ৎ─ And the worst part is, you don't even have to do anything suggestive. Just seeing you trying on his glasses is enough to make his pants feel tight in the groin area.
─୨ৎ─ And it's so painfully obvious because he's packed down there, so he has to grab onto anything to cover himself.
─୨ৎ─ Believe me, it's very frustrating and embarrassing for Riley; he hates every time it happens, but what can he do?
─୨ৎ─ Are your feet resting in his lap while you're sitting on the sofa? Erection. Are you hugging him from behind, smelling your perfume? Erection. Are you stepping out of the shower with wet hair and wearing a loose shirt? Tent under the sheets
─୨ৎ─ He swears he tries to think about other things so the blood doesn't rush to his dick. But he can't! You're his biggest distraction! And you don't even do it on purpose, do you?
─୨ৎ─ Although at the end of the day he notices that you don't seem to care much, and what's mortifyingly embarrassing for him isn't for you. In fact, you find it funny and... hot?
There's so little of this freaking nerd that I had to write something...
DEX’S ARMS are so muscular and veiny you’re forced to develop an arm kink because just look at them ! during sex, his meaty biceps are your favourite thing to grip on because they’re just so hard to the touch. you figure that dex also enjoys when you stroke your fingernails up and down his arm or dig into his skin as you notice a sexy smirk plaster on his lips. he’d have to be completely brainless not to catch onto your eyes linger at the size of his arms, so he does his part and flexes whenever you grab onto them. sometimes — when dex’s feeling extra and hitting it from behind — he’ll have you rest your back against his chest with a bicep wrapped around your neck. then ever so nicely, he applies pressure; choking you till you’re left breathless and begging for more…
