Lark

“The bereau needed a scapegoat… BEHHHH” Requests are open!

[midnightslark]

MASTERLIST

SERIES

-> Coming soon!

ONE SHOTS

BREATHE

You return home to find Dex curled up beside his bed, broken glass littered everywhere. In a moment of self deprecating panic, you comfort Dex.

SERIES

-> Coming soon!

ONE SHOTS

-> Coming soon!

[lucis-dove]

𝖮𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗃𝗎𝖽𝗀𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 {1}

chapter summary; Robby gets to know you're a virgin. Unexpectedly, he offers to change that.

pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

rating: Mature

chapter no: Chapter 1/? 𝗈𝖿 𝖮𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗃𝗎𝖽𝗀𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍

wc; 10.5k

tags/warnings; mentions of canon type injuries/gore/violence, fem!reader, virgin!reader, resident/attending power dynamics, age-gap, slow-burn, drinking

Author; @lucis-dove

a/n: IT IS HERE PEOPLE AND WE ARE STARTING OF WITH A BANG (if any of you think you'll receive chapters below 3k for this series, you're gravely mistaken)

"Ouch."

You refrain from rolling your eyes at the man. Not because of his injury, no. Riding a bike and being hit by a car isn't the best way to start your morning. Even if he got lucky with no internal damage and no fractures, only scrapes along his legs and hands, and a suit torn to shreds. 

But he can't feel it, not right now.

It will without a doubt throb in pain later, but you'd given him enough lidocaine to properly numb the irritated skin for you to clean the wound and wrap it up.

"I'm sorry," you apologise, softening your tone to ease the frustrated furrow he stares at his leg with, even if you wanted to call out his hissy-fit. 

His attention switches to you. Thankfully, the annoyance melts from his body as he sighs.

"Yeah, thanks, I guess… for the patchwork." He waves aimlessly with his bandaged hand. You decide to only smile and nod as you stand from your rolling seat. 

As you step towards the trash can, you dispose of the sterilisation pad and your gloves. The typical blue rubber tinted, more so smudged, somewhat red. It's considerably less than what you're used to. 

"You did well, so my work was easy," you smile at the man as you walk over to the computer in the corner. You notice how his back straightens after your comment. 

It was surprising how much a little compliment could do with some patients. However, it wasn't surprising that it worked wonders in stroking that man's ego, considering he'd complained more about his newly tailored suit than his health when he first arrived.

"I've prescribed you an antibiotic ointment to help against infection," you inform him, typing in some extra notes in his journal before looking at him. "You'll have to change the dressing once a day after dabbing it clean with some water and applying the cream."

His face twists. "Every day?" 

There's almost a petulant whine to his question, one you brush off with a cock of your head, smile still on your face. Although you're starting to struggle to make it appear genuine.

"It may ruin your tanning abilities, but at least it will help the healing process and minimise scarring."

"Whatever, then," he huffs.

"In case you get unsure, just read the instructions I sent with you as you collect your meds. Any other questions?" He shrugs, and you take that as a no. 

You log out of the computer, turning to face him fully.

"I suggest you call your workplace and say you'll be unavailable today and for the next three days. If you think they need it, head to the nurse station outside before you go home and collect a doctor's note. Other than that, you're free to leave."

He mutters a thank you, and you nod before slipping out of the room.

The second you step into the hallway, your smile drops. If the door hadn't been open behind you and there was a risk he would hear you, you might just have sighed. Now, you simply head straight to the nurse station with a clenched jaw to hold off your annoyance. Which did little to fend off what felt like a growing headache.

Your elbow finds the flat surface of the chest-high counter, as you reach for an iPad beside you. With the same hand you lean on, you massage your temple, adding the final details to the patient's chart to close the case.

"Guy in Exam 6 not treating you well?" You glance sideways at the voice, watching as Robby stops to join you. He eyes you for a second, attention soon moving to the patience board overhead. The entertained smile on his face tells you he knew what must have transpired.

"Can't say a man-baby is my choice of poison." Robby rocks on his feet, huffing out a laugh without his eyes falling from the screen.

"How about beer, then?"

You almost groan. "God, I could definitely have one right about now." In your periphery, you see how Robby glances at you when you abandon the tablet on the counter and use both hands to massage your temples.

"We're going to the park after, don't think I have to invite you for you to come." 

You look at him, keeping the pressure against your temples with your index fingers, but without any movement now. "Are you sure we can't go now?" 

Brown eyes meet yours, his mouth tugging at the edges. It looks like he wants to say something, but rather than answer, Robby steps towards you.

Two big hands plant themselves on your upper arms, curving to gently grip your biceps. With a slight tug, he turns your body around, your hands falling alongside your body as he does. You feel his smugness radiate behind you as he forces you to walk once he steps forward himself.

"I was charting," you protest as Robby leads you away from central, but make no move to actually shrug out of his grip.

"You were complaining." His voice is light, brushing on entertained, not stern as when he actually stepped into his attending role to lecture you. "You've got time to see at least three more patients before your shift ends."

You throw a look back and up over your shoulder, met with the upwards tug of his mouth and his eyebrows arched as he looks down at you. "You love torturing me."

"That's my job as an attending and for residents to endure." 

"Can't wait until I'm not a resident any longer, hopefully you'll be retired then."

Robby cocks his head sideways, grimacing for effect. "Mm, don't think so, probably still be chief attending by then," he makes a sound with the edge of his mouth like saying 'tough luck'. "So you'll not escape me."

You roll your eyes, muttering. "Lucky me."

"Lucky you indeed, because you're here to help Dr. Mohan." You face forwards again, seeing how Samira turns upon catching her name. 

Her eyes find yours, then they flicker up above you together with a quick rise of her eyebrows, only to lock with yours again. 

"You'll be in good hands," Robby pats your shoulders after you both come to a stop in front of Samira, quickly turning on his heel to be on his way.

"Always so eloquent with his residents," she mutters. You chuckle in agreement while turning to glance back at his retreating figure, catching the thumbs-up he shot over his shoulder as if he knew you would look.

When you turn back to face Samira, she's already watching you with an entertained look. "I take it he's in one of his moods, since I didn't see him lecturing you."

You release a soft scoff, "Yeah, whatever you can call that mood, he's in it." She shakes her head before taking a clipboard with her.

"At least you're getting a good educational opportunity," she nods sideways to urge you along. While you walk side-by-side, she continues, "We got a finger fracture, possibly an open avulsion. If that's the case, what do we have to do?"

"Even if it's an open fracture, we could always treat it like a closed one if the bone fragment is small enough and not significantly displaced. A conservative RICE treatment, together with a splint or cast, could be enough in that case?"

Samira nods. "And if not?"

"If the bone is misaligned and needs internal stabilisation to heal properly, we probably need to call Ortho for on ORIF?"

"Good diagnostic hypotheses, let's see if either is correct," she says with a smile before pushing the door to the exam room open.

***

It's late. Much later than when Robby found you by the nurse station a few hours ago. Hours you've filled with meeting patience and reaching that quota your attending had dangled before you like a carrot, not the revenue maximisation Gloria kept reminding him about.

The man with a finger fracture you'd helped Samira with ended up being a case for ortho. You didn't manage to follow more than a few minutes of the meticulous work of hand surgery before you were pulled into one of the two trauma rooms to aid in a sternal fracture case due to blunt force trauma. Then it was an elderly woman's failed pacemaker. After that, a teenage boy who attempted some stupid TikTok trend and blacked out.

In other words, you'd been busy. Like always. Only finding time to scarf down a protein bar in between cases, one bite between each.

While the snack did little to replenish your long-term energy reserves, it was enough to stave off hunger and the headache you'd been fighting since midday. Unfortunately, you felt it creeping right back the longer you stared at the screen in front of you.

Since... you don't know how long, but it's been a long time in ER standards, you've been stuck at your station, finalising your charting of the patients you've seen over the last few hours.

All but one are done; the final journal is open and waiting in front of you. But you find yourself unable to finish it, simply staring at the blinking marker in the blank square you were supposed to fill out.

You close your eyes, running your hands over your face as you slump forward. 

A stinging sensation rises behind your eyelids; your eyes dry after sitting in front of a screen for too long. In an attempt to rub away the burn, you press the heels of your palms against your eye-sockets. It does little to actually relieve you from it, even if it feels good to block out the fluorescent lights. 

With a soft groan, you open your eyes once more, blinking away the tears that have gathered beneath your lids.

A shift in your upper vision prompts you to crane your neck, your attention moving upwards with a flicker of your gaze once it has focused. 

Robby is standing on the other side of the desk, his backpack slung over his right shoulder. Ah, you really lost track of time, it seems.

"Call it a day," he says, settling his elbows on the countertop behind your computer, clasping his hands together.

"I'll finish this because I'd rather not have Gloria on my ass, thank you."

"You know it's me who's going to be on your ass for that and not her."

Your brows raise, head cocking as you give Robby a look. He mirrors it right back at you, which makes you lean back in your chair, arms crossing.

"You pushed me to see my daily quota of patients, which also means finishing their charts, as far as I'm concerned." You say, not really able to hold off on letting a smile tug at your lips. "So I didn't think you'd complain?"

"It's me who has to deal with you in the mornings and-" he tips his head in that emphasising fashion of his as his brows scrunched together, eyes narrowing as he watches you, "-throughout the day when you mope around, complaining about your coffee not helping because you couldn't sleep."

Robby was probably right. Scratch that. He is right. You always felt like caffeine did jack shit if you hadn't slept at least a few hours. 

"I'll be fine," you huff out amusedly because Robby had clocked that character trait of yours, going back to watch your screen. "Worry about yourself instead."

In the upper part of your periphery, you see his mouth drop open as an oh preceded his question, "Calling me old?"

"Only one of us doesn't wake up with a back-pain because they slept badly." Your eyes flicker to him momentarily, meeting his as he looks down at you.

Robby huffs lightly, doing that minimal side-ways jerk of his head as he stands straight, tapping his palms against the flat surface he previously rested his weight on.

"Don't forget beers," he reminds you, pointing a finger in your direction as he pushes away from the desk. "We won't save one for you if you run too late!"

"What you don't know is that I've bribed Donny to!" You don't see Robby's reaction, eyes focused on the screen as you begin writing, but you catch his chuckle.

You smile. the kind that is slow to grow and remains far longer than it should. One of those you would never admit to having if someone pointed it out, and certainly never would let slip if face-to-face with Robby.

It's complicated, your relationship with Robby. Or, really, it isn't. He's your attending, has always been, even if your title has changed.

You met him during your final rotation in med-school. Back then, emergency medicine had already called your name. 

The fast pace and adrenaline rush were something that equally excited and intimidated you. Not because you were afraid of the work itself, but because you were aware of the importance of knowledge and experience. Both of which you knew only got greater with time.

Choosing a speciality-focused rotation when it was offered by your school was therefore a no-brainer. That's why, when your fellow med-students continued their rotations, you stayed for a whole year in the ER. 

During those twelve months, you grew comfortable with the work you'd previously only read about in course literature and medical journals. Likewise with those you worked with. The nurses, residents and, of course, your attendings.

You met both Robby and Jack —still Dr. Robinavitch and Dr. Abbot back then— within your first two months. Doing one whole rotation with the day and night shifts to familiarise yourself with the ER as soon as possible. 

With Jack and the other night-shifters, you experienced the versatility of the injuries the department had to handle and the severity of some of them. You learned to stay calm, push yourself despite the discomfort of being thrown out of your natural circadian rhythm. 

Despite Jack's stoic and straightforward approach to teaching, you found that you performed even better under Robby's supervision when you switched to the day-shift. Not because he didn't share some traits with his fellow attending. He didn't hesitate to give you a stern look and equally clipped comments if you made an entirely avoidable mistake. But he was... friendlier, felt more approachable than the retired combat medic. 

Even if you now know Jack wasn't as hard-shelled or unapproachable as he seemed, actually opting for more positive reinforcement than his fellow attending. Robby always took the time to share his experiences with you, most often on the go, as you briefly joined him during his usual rounds between patients and residents. He'd answered your questions with anecdotes and recommendations of journals, all of which you soaked up like a sponge.

Robby made it easy for the med-student you'd been to feel like you weren't simply in the way, but a doctor in training. And it was during the day-shift that you grew the most, learning how to put your knowledge to use.

When looking back at it, the most memorable parts of your rotation were instances when Robby's knowledge impressed you. When he presented different pictures of a case because he thought that something had been forgotten or overlooked. Always with the sort of understated confidence that only came after decades of experience. 

God, you remember the first time he supervised a case you participated in. 

You'd presented your preliminary hypothesis, your eyes, which had been fixed on the patient up until then, switching to him, waiting for some sort of confirmation from your attending. You'd been correct, yet listened avidly as he elaborated on possibilities you still should consider.

But that memory was only second to when you'd witnessed Robby in action for the first time. When he was the one dictating the room and not solely surveyed someone else doing it.

If not for the rush and focus on following orders as he calls out only lateral sounds upon inspecting the lungs, you would've marvelled at Robby. He didn't hesitate even though the chest X-ray and CT scan hadn't returned to confirm his suspicion of tension pneumothorax. The low blood pressure, high BPM, and mediastinal shift were enough to confirm his call and rule out hemopneumothorax simultaneously. 

You probably fucking did watch him with wide, glittering eyes if the smile he broke into was anything to go by once he looked at you after the chest tube was in place. He'd offered his fist for you to bump, making you laugh with his comment of 'Your first chest tube', to which you replied 'I think you should say that when I actually did it myself.'

The line between the work and the man had been clear in the beginning. Although as time passed, you realised that the more you worked with the man, the more you looked up to Robby. Not only as a doctor, but as a person.

You knew it wasn't unheard of. Med-students gravitating towards their attendings, that was. They were someone reliable, steady, in an unfamiliar surrounding.

You'd thought nothing of it, as it made itself known so late into your rotation. But it was a whole different story when you returned for your residency. 

After your time at PTMC during med-school and your school's connection to the hospital —and that you worked your ass off to get it— you were granted a spot in their residency program. 

You'd thought some of the people you'd gotten to know would be happy to see you again, but hadn't quite expected Dana to meet you with a hug, Samira beeline to you rather than the lockers when she arrived, Donny to clap you on the shoulders from nowhere with a big grin, or Princess and Perlah smiling and waving from where they stood huddled together.

You'd certainly not expected Robby to halt in the middle of a step and move towards you with a smile as you hung out by the nurse station, waiting for the same man's welcome-to-your-first-day huddle you'd already experienced once. He'd welcomed you back personally and spoken to you for a few minutes before he patted your shoulder and excused himself to dump his stuff in his locker. 

No, you hadn't anticipated receiving such a warm welcome back. Nonetheless, it had made you carry a big smile throughout your whole first day as a student-doctor and reignited… whatever it was you'd felt as a medical student towards Robby.

It had been both exhilarating and infuriating. You'd strived just the tiniest bit harder to earn his praise, compared to the 'good jobs' or 'great calls' from senior residents or other attendings. It shouldn't mean more, but the back-straightening excitement which ran down your spine had argued it did. In fact, you'd preened inside if he sent you a thumbs-up and a smile, or you caught one of his low hums and nods to agree with your examination. 

Your childhood dream of becoming a doctor, a good one, was equal parts blessing and a curse. 

You had the work ethic; you wouldn't have even made it into med-school otherwise. But because you focused so much on always doing better —for yourself and your career, mainly, but also a teeny-tiny part for him— Robby had noticed. And when he'd noticed, he'd kept you closer by, followed your progress with attentive eyes, no matter if you performed an incision, stitch-up or IV, or aided a senior resident or him with an emergency.

You didn't get distracted by it in the moment, remaining single-mindedly focused on stabilising the patient, regardless of the injury's severity. But after your twelve hours were up and you returned home, you had a hard time forgetting the things that happened. Mind lingering on your shift for more reasons than the patients you'd succeeded or failed to help.

The way Robby moved past you, big hands settling on your back or hips to alert you of his presence so you didn't stumble into him in the hectic Trauma rooms.

When he gestures for you to take over from him, your fingers brushing as he provides you with the tools, offering instructions in a direct, step-by-step manner. Of course, he stayed to supervise you, always doing so from behind and over your shoulder to not be in your way but also able to step in quickly if things went awry.

Then, of course, there's that one time that you still couldn't help but think back on today. 

It was almost a hilarious repeat of fate, the déjà vu heavy from your med-school rotation. Low blood pressure, high BPM, and mediastinal shift: a tension pneumothorax. Only this time, Robby turns to you with the chest tub, leaving you to perform the insertion. He'd reassured you he would guide you, and you'd nodded. 

That's how Robby ended up behind you, crouched to get closer to your level and hands on yours as he coached you through your —actual— first chest tube. You remember how close his face hovered beside yours as the two of you watched the screen, following the white tube slip down the patient's throat. Low-spoken pointers were given here and there, brushing over the shell off your ear, until it was properly in place.

It was a wonder Robby hadn't felt your hands shake in his that day.

You can't pinpoint the day and time, but whatever it was that made your heart beat faster when you spotted Robby slowly faded as you progressed through your first year of residency. Without a breakdown. Just quietly. Probably because Robby never seemed phased by your proximity and never really did things that could be considered more than friendly-colleague-ish, even to your overthinking mind. And, like most things that never progressed, they fizzle out. 

Entering your second year of residency, the once starry-eyed picture of Robby you had as a medical student shifted into something more anchored in respect. Respect for how he kept himself afloat after every gruesome thing he'd seen, or handled family situations you would've found yourself stumbling for words to manage.

Now, you considered Robby... friends were a stretch, but colleagues were too little, just like with everyone else in the Pitt. Most of you didn't see each other outside of work, but with he shit you experience each day, you weren't just coworkers either. 

Then it was the fact that you and Robby just seemed to levitate towards each other more than you did with others.

Whatever you shared was something to keep the spirits up in a place that otherwise could swallow you. Trading quips by the nurse station and supporting each other during an emergency. It was easy to be around him and work with him. Too easy, sometimes.

Fine, you had to rationalise yourself into accepting what Robby should be to you rather than entirely abandoning the fantasy where you wished for something more. 

That's why, in the same breath as you could admit he's handsome and that you had definitely thought about him in more than friendly ways, he is still your attending and old enough... anything between the two of you outside of work would have people doing a double take.

You would never admit to any of it, because it would be such a disgusting cliché thing. And, you guess you've hidden it well enough as you never caught a whisper going around or felt the curious glances from the nurses, who you knew were always the first to know about these things.

But if Robby didn't unknowingly do it damn hard sometimes, like the way he now cranes his neck backwards as your shoes hit the gravelly path after crossing the road to the park. 

His glance was quick, only to confirm it was you. But there's a quirk in his lips as he holds up a beer bottle.

He'd pinched the neck between his index and middle fingers, keeping it steady with his thumb as he held the unopened bottle upside down. Even so, you recognised the label of your favourite beer. 

"Thought you wouldn't spare me one?" You hum as you pluck the bottle from his grip.

You feel Robby following you with his eyes as you walk around the bench he's sitting on. Meanwhile, you send a smile in greeting to Donny and Perlah on the opposite side, as they'd also noticed your added presence.

"You looked too miserable earlier, so I took pity on you." 

You turn to face Robby as you plop down beside him, sliding your backpack from your shoulder as you do. "Remind me to use that line on you in the future."

The sides of his mouth jerk upwards as he huffs a laugh through his nose right before raising his beer can to his lip. You hide your own smile by turning to your bag, beer wedged between your thighs.

Your last meal had been that sad excuse of a sandwich in the afternoon, and though your stomach hadn't audibly grumbled, you could feel it churning. Knowing you wouldn't enjoy your drink on a near-empty stomach, you rummaged through the side pocket of your bag to fish out a protein bar.

An exhale that bordered on a snort came from beside you. You glance at Robby, who observes you as he sips his beer. While sitting up straight, you rip open the wrapper with your teeth, stretching the snack towards him.

Even if he doesn't object, Robby scrunches his face in a mock expression of disgust. It makes you scoff, but still, you hold the protein bar steady as he grabs the end and starts ripping off an uneven half. 

He wiggles the piece to break it off from the remaining one in your grip, a thin web of caramel connecting them, until it breaks and covers mainly your fingers.

"Smooth," you remark. Robby only chuckles with a shrug. 

You lick the sweetness from your fingers before you, much like the man beside you, dig into the snack.

It's not the first time you've shared your food with Robby, nor the first time he's gotten a drink for you. While it may not always be an even trade of half a protein bar for a bottle of beer, similar exchanges have happened before.

You've earned a reputation for always carrying around some sort of snack. It wasn't your fault that people who'd worked longer in the Pitt still had shitty abilities to plan ahead, whereas you knew how convenient it was to order a box of protein bars or some other on-the-go snack each month to keep in your locker, especially with how sparse the time for actual meals was during your shift.

Your attending had certainly not been the first to ask if you had anything to spare. Of course, he'd know about it; it was his department. He'd even witnessed firsthand how someone sidled up to you in the middle of a conversation between you, only for you to not miss a beat answering his question whilst retrieving whatever this month's snack of choice was to hand it to them. The first time, his head had cocked, and his brows jumped. Now he was used to it.

But Robby had never asked, still didn't. It was you who handed him a protein bar, or dropped a pocket-sized candy bag on the screen of the iPad he held. Always square in sight and when he couldn't object. 

To see your attending take a pause, have something other than a coffee, or an occasional sip of water, was rare. 

You'd noticed those traits of his as early on. However, it wasn't really until becoming a resident that you spared enough attention to learn other people's habits and remember them as well. And that's kinda how it all started. 

On a random day, you'd asked Robby if he'd eaten anything. You already knew the answer, so when he shrugged, you hadn't been surprised. Without hesitation, you held out the protein bar you'd specifically brought to give to him.

Robby, being Robby, tried to reject it. Eat it, you. But you informed him you'd already eaten and slipped it into the pocket of his hoodie, walking away before he could give it back.

A satisfied kind of giddiness coursed through your body when you later found him snacking on it while talking to Dana in one of those few lulls during the day.

You know Robby is a grown man; he's older than you by double digits. He could take care of himself, had for this long, and you weren't aiming to force a change in his habits. But that didn't mean you enjoyed the appreciative glances and comments he directed at you when you seemed to read his mind, or mood, and gave him something to eat.

Not long after the little habit began, you noticed Robby started returning the favour. Getting you a coffee if he got one, or filling your water bottle.

You'd commented on it once, but he'd only cocked his brows, head tilting, as his attention moved from the patient board to you. If I didn't, a bill would probably end up in my mail at the end of the month, I know the salary residents live on.

Despite barely visible through his beard, you caught a hint of a smile. You only rolled your eyes and amusedly shook your head before sipping the coffee, having grown pleasantly surprised when you realised it was made just as you liked it.

"Don't choke yourself."

Your eyes flicker to Robby as you push the remaining part of the protein bar into your mouth. His gaze is already set on you as he wipes his finger unceremoniously on his pants, trying to get rid of the sticky residue of melted chocolate.

You chew and swallow before you reply, "Sorry, not all of us have mastered the art of starving ourselves."

He hums as his mouth kicks up into a smile. "You'll learn." 

Shaking your head, you finally undo the screw cap of your beer and take a swig, washing down the residual bits around your teeth, simultaneously tucking the now-empty wrapper into your bag.

"Hey Doc-" you can't believe how that nickname actually stuck, yet your head automatically turns towards Mateo who's looking at you "-you playing along?"

The usual suspects on these nights have formed a kind of semi-circle around him. Javadi, like always, tagged along, even if she sipped the beer given to her sparsely. Samira, who'd begun joining more frequently, was to her left. Santos and Whitaker both sat on Mateo's other side. 

All of their eyes now trained on you.

"What game are we playing?"

"Never have I ever," Mateo says with a broad smile, shaking the beer in his hand, implying it's not the sober kind.

"I'll pass this time, thank you very much," you laugh in return.

"Don't let the elders make you into a bore," he chuckles in return. 

As you notice Robby's head turning the same way as yours in the corner of your eyes, the nurse earns a hasty, panicked look from Javadi.

"Oh, I'm racking up my karma points by being a Good Samaritan, taking care of the senior citizens and all that, you know?" You feel Robby's eyes shift to you; that's precisely why you turn to him with a smile edging on too sweet and a tilt of your head. "Ain't that right?" 

He cocks his brows as he scoffs. "Yeah, sure, tell yourself that."

You look back at the group of people, noticing the expressions ranging from stunned to amused. When your gaze catches Samira's, who's shaking her head in disbelief, you send her a wink. Countless times, she has remarked how she could only dream of escaping a verbal sparring with Robby unscathed if she ever attempted one.

Knowing you wouldn't participate in their drinking game, the group of people returned to talk amongst themselves as they began. 

With an entertained smile pressed into the rim of your bottle, you turn forward, tuning in on the conversation between Donny and Perlah, the same one Robby was a part of. But much like him, you enjoy the setting without contributing much to the discussion. Laughing along, making a comment here or there. 

Sitting down and taking a moment to reflect on the shift was sometimes needed to decompress and feel like it's alright to let it go before heading home. Today hadn't been a tough shift, but the week had been more stressful than usual. Nothing major, just the sheer amount of emergencies that had rolled through your doors and the growing queue in the waiting room. 

You don't know if it's because you've forced yourself to focus for so many days straight, that your attention now strayed so easily from the conversation you'd mainly been a part of to the huddled group to your right. 

Despite that your eyes remain locked forward, you listened with one ear to the hushed voices and bursts of laughter. 

The 'Never Have I Ever' game mechanic had seemingly been dropped along the game's progression. Now, it mainly consists of random statements they drink to or not, with elaborations coming when pleased rather than when you were the odd one out.

When you can't help but lowly chuckle at the chorus of whoops and comments after Santos admitted to having made out with a girl while drunk, Robby's head angles towards you. It had been low enough only he caught it, yet enough for him to understand you no longer were invested in the same conversation.

"Changed your mind about playing along?" He asks, voice close to a whisper.

You shrug and look at him, your smile shielded by how close you kept the beer bottle to your lips. "Want to join me in my secret participation?"

He huffs amusedly, the shake of his head minimal. "Do I have to get on drunk-duty?"

"Loosen up, Robby, they say being around young people also makes you feel young." You tease him, jutting your elbow gently into his arm.

"I don't think that's how the saying goes," he says sceptically, but with brows humorously narrowed.

"I have never found a patient hot!"

You glance towards the group —not taking note of who drinks or not— before your eyes move back to Robby. 

With arched brows, you drink, daring him to play along. A smile pulls hard at the corners of your lips at his disgruntled noise, which is followed by him raising his beer to drink.

"My first kiss was bad." 

"What are these questions?" Robby mutters as he rubs the side of his face, brows pulled together for an entirely different reason now.

You quell your chuckle. "Didn't think they would ask what's better between treating obstructed bowels or sanitising the trauma rooms, did you?" Robby sends you a look, but you meet it with an inquisitively raised brow. "So, bad first kiss?"

He sucks the inside of his cheek against his teeth, lips rolling as he winces slightly. Robby jerks his head, even if it's more a twitch of his chin, before he drinks. His expression makes you snicker because you know he must have thought back to it. 

Unable to resist, you teasingly ask, "Do you even remember your first kiss?" 

"I do, and it wasn't good." Your smile widens, and you have to force your laugh through your nose so it isn't too loud.

His brown eyes fall —you guess at the way you tap the bottle against your lip rhythmically, but don't tip it to drink— before they meet your gaze.

"No need to lie if they don't even know you're participating," he comments. 

You tip your bottle to the side, flashing him a grin. "Some of us are just born with it." 

He rolls his eyes and looks away again, humming a non-committal, highly doubtful 'mhm'. 

Despite having questioned the topics, Robby doesn't opt out as the two of you secretly play along while pretending to still follow the conversation between the nurses opposite you.

On most of the questions, your and Robby's answers are the same. Been close to fainting during a trauma? Neither of you drank. Skinny-dipped? Yes. Made a fool of yourself when drunk? Yes, and you made a mental note to ask him about it at a later date because you had never seen him drink more than a few beers, so that intrigued you.

On others, you disagreed. Drunk dialled an ex? You had, not Robby. Have a patient ever given you their number? You took a sip, shooting Robby a surprised look when he didn't. 

Then, Whitaker throws out a question you scrunch your nose at. 

I've never slept with anyone. 

If you don't imagine it, a somewhat awkward silence briefly settles over the group, until Santos questions why on earth Dennis would ask the question if he hadn't done it himself. That breaks the ice, and most of them chuckle and move on without delving into the topic of who has or hasn't any further. But you don't catch what the next question is, as a bump to your shoulder redirects your attention to Robby.

"In case you missed the question, drink." You'd seen him drink. Hadn't expected anything else, really. What you also noticed was how he'd glanced at you through the corner of his eyes as he dropped his beer, like he was waiting for you to do the same.

"Oh, I heard it."

The edge of his mouth jumps upwards, his head rolling to look at you better, apparently taking your hesitation for something other than what it was. 

"Was your first time so bad you don't even want to think about it?" He reuses your previous remark. It makes you huff, head dropping into a shake.

You should probably deflect, drink to drop the topic and move on. But you find yourself unable to raise your bottle, leaving it to create a watery ring against your scrub pants.

You don't say anything, only shoot Robby a smile that probably looks as half-assed as it feels, following with a kind of defeated rather than nonchalant shrug if you continue the same trend.

Even if your eyes fall to watch yourself trace the rim of the bottle with your index finger, then the group who continues with their game, you don't miss the way Robby's eyebrows shot up as he registers what you said without saying a goddamn word.

His eyes are heavy enough that you feel them on you. It makes it difficult for you to concentrate on what Samira is saying, eventually forcing you to turn back and face him. 

When you find Robby with his brows furrowed, enhancing his eleven lines and the wrinkles on his forehead, you question him with a "What?"

He blinks, head tilting questioningly. "Are you saying...?"

You would've let out a bark of laughter if it hadn't pulled everyone's attention. Instead, you settle for leaning slightly towards him. "I'm flattered that you give me the benefit of the doubt."

Brown eyes stare at you unwaveringly, remaining silent for a moment as he studies you. Then he drops his chin slightly. "Really, a virgin?"

Nothing points to it, but Robby must be tipsy because there's no way he would ask you to spell it out for him otherwise. 

"Yes, I am. Any more questions, or can I wait until my gyno appointment?"

But he won't drop it, you realise when he shuffles closer, passing it off as putting down his beer on the ground rather than closing the gap between you.

Although a foot shrinks to a few inches, he keeps his voice just as low as before, his question sounding more like a sound caught in his chest than spoken words, "Why?"

You should've just drunk and escaped this conversation entirely. Now, your heart is rushing, and you resist the urge to squirm in your seat. You could've skipped this conversation by simply drinking, saving yourself from disclosing your sex life to him, Robby, your attending. But no, of course, you didn't think that far ahead. Didn't consider that he was just as down-bad for gossip as anyone else in his department.

You take a slow sip of your beer, but that distraction only lasts so long before you sigh, slumping against the backrest of the bench. 

You can't dig your grave any deeper, and Robby is a friend, anyway. 

Your arms wrap over your stomach and you tap the bottle against your elbow as you try to mentally ratify your decision to actually indulge him with an answer.

"It's not that I haven't wanted to, I do, but no one has ever been interesting enough in the end... I guess," you mumble. Hopefully, Robby catches it because over your body buried six feet deep, will anyone else hear a word of what you say. Samira is the only exception as she already knows.

Robby crosses his arms over his chest, watching you with a tilt of his head, eyes slightly narrowed. It's similar to how he watches you —anyone, really— when you present a case, fully present and giving you his undivided attention. You have no problem holding it usually, but now, you find your eyes falling to the ground as you nudge a pebble with your shoe.

"So, how come no one passed then?"

Your eyes widen, your eyebrows shooting up, unable to wipe the disbelief from your face as you snap to watch him. "My sex life so intriguing to you?" 

"Rather the lack thereof." He sends you a smile, but even despite the teasing air of his comment, the look in his eyes remains overall gentle.

"Having this conversation with you, Jesus-" you scoff out on a low chuckle, yet you find yourself continuing, "Anything to light a sexual spark? Tried to take it further than kissing with some, but... ugh." Your nose scrunches, thinking back to those guys you'd hoped would finally be good enough to take the label off of you.

It wasn't a burden, per se. Nor did you carry it as a badge of dishonour. You've talked about it openly with your friends before. Not shy that you held off for the sole reason that you simply hadn't found anyone it felt right with in the moment, no one that excited you enough to look forward to it changing.

But having this conversation with Robby? Your attending? The man you, without a doubt, had fantasised would soothe the desperate ache only someone else's touch could quell? Yeah, that definitely wasn't like talking to anyone in your closet circle about it.

"The market that bad nowadays?"

"You don't know half of it." You earn a chuckle from Robby as he shakes his head, bending down to grab his beer again.

"A cheers in hopes of you finding someone". He holds his can sideways, letting it hang in the air between you. Enough so you can clink your bottle against it.

"Cheers to that."

Whereas you neck the drink, Robby waits a few seconds, the drink stalling close to his lips as he watches you. Your head jerked in a compulsive side-to-side movement, eyes shutting tightly as your brows knitted together in reaction to drinking too much carbonated liquid in one sweep.

He's swift to take a mouthful of his own drink so you don't catch how he'd observed you. But Robby only needed those seconds to know what urges you to set down your bottle with a sharp clink on the gravel beneath the bench and subsequent heavy exhale that follows as you sit up straight again to focus on Perlah and Danny's gossiping. 

Frustration.

***

You should've known better. That's the first thing you realise when you wake up with a pounding head.

You hadn't had much to drink yesterday, stopped at two beers and headed home before nine. You hadn't been drunk, barely able to call yourself tipsy. But, being poorly hydrated combined with your scarce food intake helped fuck all to battle the alcohol you consumed, no matter the amount. 

You weren't hungover, no nausea clinging to the back of your throat or flare of disgust at the idea of food. The headache from yesterday had simply intensified into a rhythmic thump in your temples. Your neck felt even stiffer and didn't ease up no matter how much you stretched it.

Groaning, you sit up in bed, head in your hands. There's a dull pulsing across your frontal lobe and the top of your skull. Your whole head, if you're honest. You really fucking hope an Advil or two could ease the pain so you didn't have to power through an entire shift like this.

What it can't do is make you forget yesterday. Your conversation with Robby.

Okay, maybe you were tipsy. You almost fucking wish you had been drunk so you could blame the alcohol for having entertained the discussion and wake up with no memory of it. But you hadn't. And, you remember every detail from it with vivid clarity.

The groan you let out this time was louder. 

You could only pray Robby took pity on you and didn't mention it. Despite the many times you'd fantasised about all the hot scenarios this very discussion could arise between the two of you before you fell asleep, you'd never believed it would actually happen. And certainly not as casually as it did.

Your second alarm blears out of nowhere, doing nothing to help the tension behind your eyes as you scramble to shut it off and drag yourself out of bed.

Before you leave for work, you manage to cook a sizable breakfast, complete with painkillers as dessert, and prepare an extra-large thermos of coffee. Gods know you need it. 

This early in the morning, the traffic has barely started up. So you arrive at your typical time at the hospital, which is usually about twenty minutes until Robby's usual huddle. 

To no surprise, the man himself is already there when you walk through the doors into the Pitt, seemingly just finishing the handover with Jack, the latter heading towards the locker with a parting pat on the fellow attendant's shoulder. 

Yet what does surprise you is the sudden but low through-the-teeth whistle. 

Halting in the middle of your step, you look sideways, finding Robby already looking at you over the edge of his glasses, holding a paper cup in the air. It's not from the cafeteria, but one of those small, corner coffee shops. 

The cup's bottom is tilted slightly toward you, which makes your eyes jump upwards again. Robby is now looking at you with an entertained smile that tugs the line of his beard upwards enough to enhance his crow's feet. He beckons you towards him with a second show that the drink is for you.

"Thought you might need it," he says when you finally reach the other side of the counter he's standing behind, his own coffee on the desk and iPad in hand. You take it from him with a slight scoff at his amusement, which only grows when he speaks again. "Don't forget to hydrate as well, can't live off of coffee."

"That's bold coming from you," you retort, turning on your heel to put your stuff away before your shift begins. And just maybe to minimise the chance of Robby mentioning yesterday. 

Even though you catch his chuckle, he doesn't say anything else. Thank god.

When you arrive at the lockers, Jack's just closing his. He looks towards you as soon as he hears you coming. 

"Morning," you greet him with as you walk past him to your locker. Jack responds with a nod.

After putting in the code and depositing your stuff, you pull out a strip of pills, popping one into your hand.

"You know we have to report if anything goes missing from the storage." You look at him as you wash down the Advil with the coffee Robby gave you. His eyes momentarily fall to the mug before they return to you.

"Yeah, sure, I'll tell you if I see anything suspicious," you reply with a smile.

He huffs out his chuckle. "Last night took hard on you?"

You keep yourself from giving anything away as flashes from yesterday play on your frontal lobe. With a shrug as you close your locker, you say, "Not as seasoned as you to drink beer on an empty stomach."

When you turn, now with only your thermos and the coffee cup Robby gave you, you see there's a shadow of entertainment in the corner of Jack's eyes. 

"Stuff running you that hard into the ground?"

Like always with him, the check-in is wrapped into a quip, but no less probing. Which only has you chuckling as you head out from the corridor, Jack going with you. "Not just yet."

"Good." He says with a nod, which also serves as a goodbye, as he turns right while you continue forward to join the other day-shifters gathered around Robby, not without throwing him a wave in return.

Throughout the rest of the day, you pop Advil like candy each acceptable set of hours after the last one. Doing everything to stay focused throughout your shift. 

Considering your first cup of coffee runs out while you'd listened to Robby's brief summary of the night shift, you also follow your attending's suggestion of drinking water. The thermos you brought from home conveniently saved for when that early-afternoon crash hit.

Thankfully, you slept enough to feel the effects of the caffeine as needed, rather than feeling jittery and sluggish simultaneously. Leaving Robby without a chance to remark on your pouting if the opposite had been the case. Not that you gave him many chances to talk about anything. Especially that particular thing.

You didn't actively avoid him. You just occupied yourself every second of your shift, moving from one task to the next. Going from charting to checking up on a patient. From the exam room to the trauma bay.

That didn't mean you… enjoyed wasn't the right word, but at least felt the tiniest bit of relief that your and Robby's interactions were kept to a minimum today out of all days. But there was no escaping the set of heavy eyes following you throughout your shift. 

You know it's Robby. Somehow, you've grown familiar with the particular weight of his attention. Can't say how, but you just know, like a sixth sense. Today you're particularly sure, concerning he's the only one who has any reason to stare at you like that.

But he doesn't pull you aside, no eyes locked and finger swiping sideways to silently inform he wants to talk to you, nor join you by the nurse station and excusing you from the conversation you're having with Dana to do the same.

And you think you've survived when you find yourself by the lockers twelve hours later.

There's only a thirty-minute drive home until your three days off start. You're planning to sleep through one of them. The other two, you'll probably do whatever you'd put off during the past few days of work. Clean your apartment. Wash all the dirty clothes in the hamper. Go grocery shopping. 

You're leaning against your locker, letting out a sigh as you stare at the contents inside, zoning out for a second. 

What snaps you out of it is when you hear it. Footsteps. 

The locker door blocks your vision down the corridor leading to central, but you know who it is. The pace, the distribution of gait, all those small details registering despite the sudden noise of your heartbeat in your ears.

Only when there's a deep chuckle from beside you and a very familiar pair of New Balance's enter the corner of your vision below the locker, do you deflate, the last glimmer of hope you had crushed.

Your head thuds against the locker beside your own with a groan, the door still shielding you from the man at the other side. "I thought I escaped this conversation."

"So you have been avoiding me?" Robby says it with a borderline laugh in his voice.

"No," you mutter, moving to stand straight as you move the locker enough to see him. Robby's watching you with a cocked head, slight smile on his lips.

"We've barely spoken more than a few sentences today."

You cringe a little, knowing he's right. Outside of the Trauma bays or Exam rooms, you've barely spoken more than this morning. 

"I have not been actively avoiding you."

His brows raise as he gives you a single nod, humming a 'mhm'. He eyes you, seemingly waiting to see if you'll say something. When you don't, he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Alright, so if I ask why you didn't just lie and drink yesterday-"

"God," you shut your eyes hard as you cut him off with a groan. When you open your eyes, you look at Robby with something close to a plea. "I don't know, I just… didn't drink, okay? Unfortunately, I can't blame the alcohol, and I let you know I would've if it were possible. I could always bullshit the excuse of being tired, which I was, but there's no use lying now. So I- just… forget I told you anything."

"Not avoiding me, you say?" Robby rolls on the soles of his feet as he chuckles, nodding towards you as he muses, "And really? You had a whole speech planned?"

You send him a glare, but it only makes him chuckle again, offering you a smile you pointedly don't return as you drop your head against a closed locker again. This time, he sees you do it. And you see him watching you, which makes your eyes close to block his entertained expression.

"You kinda got time for that when you lament it for a whole day." You mutter into the wood right against your face.

"So… you regret it?" That makes your brows furrow and look at him again.

"What?"

"Telling me about… it?" Thank god that he doesn't spell it out in case anyone heard.

You shrug defeatedly. "Let's just settle on that I should've known better than vent to you about my problems when I could've just gone to Samira like usual."

His eyebrows pinch together. "Samira knows?"

"It shouldn't be that hard to believe, compared to us, I actually see her outside of work."

"We could change that?"

You blink. "What?"

Robby is silent for a second, working his jaw before momentarily glancing sideways. "Maybe-" he begins, arms unwinding from over his chest to use a hand to articulate the word further in an aimless fashion before his eyes seek yours again. "-we could-"

"Start having wine nights and sleepovers?" You ask with a short laugh, turning back to grab your backpack from your locker and sling it over your shoulder. You're burning up from he inside and need to get out of here. You're sure Robby gets over it during his days off, too, and you'll be back on Tuesday with no need to mention it ever again.

But fate seems to be cruel today, because the moment you take your car keys and thermos, you catch it, almost missing the words from how the two metal things clink together.

Majorly, the second part.

Your head whips towards Robby. 

He's now standing with both hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, head bent, not looking at you but the linoleum floor, which has grown awfully interesting.

"Sorry?" He glances up at you, something present in his gaze you didn't often see. 

It's enough for you to do anything but stare at him.

There's a thumping in your ears, much more prominent than before. It must be your headache returning. But it's not a steady, pulsing sensation that curls around your skull. It's a rush of blood as your heart suddenly skips in your chest, enough to make you inhale sharply to get rid of it. Even so, the vibration remains in the hollow of your throat, a quiver throughout your body.

You couldn't have heard Robby right, could you?

You're smacking your locker closed harsher than you intend, only because you're already moving towards Robby, who hasn't said another word. 

For a man as big as him, he's surprisingly easy to navigate when you grip his arm and tug him along with you further down the corridor, using your ID card to enter the closest door with a lock, which so happens to be one of the on-call rooms.

As you step over the threshold, you let go of Robby. He doesn't bolt the second you do, simply follows a step behind and closes the door.

"Can you repeat what you said?" You spin around to face him. The bottle and keys in your hand rattled jarringly together in your haste to do so.

It's a first, feeling the power dynamic between you shift. Usually it's Robby who pins you with his stare, waiting for you to answer him. Now you are watching him intensely while he rubs his neck and bows his head, gaze not meeting yours. 

"I-" 

"Robby," you cut him off, making his gaze snap to yours from where it wandered sideways. "Please just tell me if I heard you right, because I can hear my headache at this point and I think I'm growing delirious." 

He exhales harshly, scratching the back of his head with both hands before they drag down the side of his face, only to bury them in his pockets.

"Yes, you heard right," he admits through his teeth.

"So you did ask, proposed to…" You trail off, mouth staying open as you seemingly can't form the words. But they hung in the air all the same.

He notches his head sideways as he grimaces. "Yeah."

"Oh", you nod once, then again, until you're repeating the movement as you find words, more sounds to be honest, to reply with, "Yeah, alright, uhm..."

"Fuck," he mutters, eyes shutting tightly as his face angles to the roof, only dropping once he continues. "That- that was really fucking out of line, and I should never have said it, so just forget it."

"Robby, wait-" you latch onto his arm before he can take more than a step, halting his action to reach for the door. Surprised, he looks at you, brows pinned high on his forehead.

You swallow, letting go of him, only to rub your palm along the side of your thigh as you break away from his gaze.

"I guess-" you clear your throat, forcing your hand to clutch the strap of your backpack when your eyes trail back to him again. "I guess you caught me off guard."

This time, Robby averts his eyes, one hand running through his hair, only to scratch at his neck. He pushes the air harshly from his lungs. "I get why."

"I feel like I'm entitled to ask this considering things-" you wave your hand aimlessly, "-but why… did you suggest it?" 

"I... Jesus-" he jerks his head with a disbelieving chuckle, "-we should not be having this conversation."

"Too fucking late for that," you mumble. Brown eyes lock with yours again.

"If you wanna file an HR-complaint, I totally understand."

"What? No, Robby," you shake your head. "Why would I do that?"

He cocks his brow, pinching his fingers together and using his hands to further accentuate what he's saying, "I'm your attending and I just suggested..."

"It's not forbidden," you interject.

Robby scoffs, his hands dropping. "Doesn't make it less of a potential HR nightmare."

"So, why did you suggest it if it's such a terrible idea?" You disregard the way it feels like your heart deflates a little with the question.

He gives a short laugh, tongue pushing against his cheek as he looks away while shaking his head. You decide not to say anything, observing what is probably an internal battle equal to yours, as you try to grasp how the situation has spiralled like this.

"Whatever you think, just know it isn't to stroke my ego." He heaves out a sigh before glancing at you. "And I'm not pitying you."

"Good, because if you were, I would fail an HR complaint," you scoff. That's enough to make Robby's shoulders drop an inch, not all the way, and not to make him look relaxed, but they aren't as drawn tight anymore. "But, the question still stands, Robby."

"I don't know." He says it slowly, with a slight pause after 'don't,' inhaling before he exhales the 'know'. "I've just been thinking about what you said."

You exhale slowly to wrap your head around the situation, around what he just told you. That he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it. What did that even mean? That he couldn't believe it? That it bothered him enough to propose this? 

God knows how much you would've paid for him to admit that a year ago, to suggest this. Who are you lying to? Amid the confusion, there's excitement, something chanting 'yes, finally' right now.

But the situation is ... a mess? Fucked? You don't know what to call it other than fuel for your headache that's flared right up again.

"Can we… talk about this more tomorrow, maybe, when I've slept away my headache?" That's present for multiple reasons now.

"Yeah, sure, of course." Robby breathes out.

"I… uh, write to you tomorrow, I guess?" 

"You decide if you want to." He says, giving you an out. 

With the pounding in your temples, you really can't give him anything but a tight-lipped smile in appreciation because it's just such a Robby thing to do. One that he answers with something similar, if not more strained.

Stepping out of the room did little to slow your thundering heart that triggered your headache even further. If you had caught someone lurking in the corridor, you might just have dropped dead.

Because how could you explain the muffled conversation they would definitely have heard through the walls? 

With the way your thoughts were running a mile a minute, it would've been a shit-show to string together a good lie. And if they saw Robby exit the on-call room after you —which you're thankful he doesn't even if no-one is here to catch the two of you coming out of the same room, you visibly flustered and Robby something that wasn't his usual self— you would've scrambled to get a single coherent word out.

Because, what the fuck was that? 

Robby offered to- yeah, he offered to take your virginity. Your attending was offering to take your, his resident's, virginity. The very man you've harboured a crush on —because let's face it, that's what it's been no matter what you named it— just suggested he could be your first.

And you were seriously considering accepting it.

Yeah, you're so fucked.

[pomme-meadow]

Buck Cashman and Benjamin Poindexter challengers version but instead of tennis, it’s competing in a shooting range with hand guns, WHEN?!

[multibows]

i felt like a feral dog whenever buck or dex was on screen tonight

[d3monslust]

TRUTH IS A GUN - B.P

SUMMARY: facing the consequences of your provocative actions -BENJAMIN POINTDEXTER X FEM!READER

WARNINGS: mentions of mental illnesses ( BPD and psychosis) ,, toxic relationships ,,SMUT: obvious gunplay ,, choking and edging ,, hints of cnc ,, SUIT ON!DEXIE ,, slapping,, ( let me if I missed any !)

His hands found their way to your throat, holding tight and restricting the airway. Fuck, he could kill you if he wanted to. Snatch the knife from his slacks and tear you apart. But there was no need for that. His eyes could do that, too. Burning a literal hole in your face, his gaze concentrated and sharp.

“"What did you say, angel?" He always called you angel. Said you were too good to be true. Too naive for him, extremely… perfect. Flawless: that was the word.

Oh, but you had broken the rules today. You disobeyed him. And when a man's all about control, he can't have his baby girl running around, mishearing his orders. No. You must learn. You must take a lesson. A punishment.

"I can't," you whispered, in a futile attempt to calm him.

"Can't what, baby? Use your words." You huffed, hands reaching into his as he pushed and pushed your neck harder. You even tried to scratch him. That only amused him more.

"I'm sorry! I've been so bad, sir," you finally managed to say. He quickly released your hot skin, his eyes never leaving yours. His calloused hands moving to your breasts, standing upright and hard. It was painful. His torture was unbearable. "I thought I told you not to open that fucking door, didn't I?"

He never cursed. He was a good guy. Well, of course jail had changed him, but deep inside you knew. You hoped. He would never hurt you. Right? So why was he so rough today?

Your eyes were all bloodshot from the innocent pleas. You begged, and begged, him not to take it so hard on you. You made a mistake! Every human being does!

Oh, but he wasn't one. His aim was inhuman. Out of this world. But it didn't bother you. Not even when you walked into his apartment and a kitchen knife passed right next to your head. "I thought you were an intruder, angel." Lie. Again.

He is who he is. You know that. And he knows that. That's why at the very start of your relationship he casually stated, "I'm not one to be changed." You laughed it off. You always did. Used to, actually. When was the last time you ignored what he said? You couldn't remember.

Returning to reality, you could hear his muffled voice asking you a question. Fuck, you would be punished for zoning out.

"That pretty mind of yours is still in a position to think, hm?" he challenged.

You shook your head no in return. CRACK! The force of his slap took you by surprise. You tried to ignore the flushed and sensitive part of your cheek, as the tears gathered in your eyes, threatening to spill over.

"Gonna make sure you're not thinking anything tonight," he exhaled, as his lips locked onto your nipples. Your back arched as his sinister tongue lapped over the sensitive skin, carefully tugging.

His big hand tightly held your wrists, forbidding you from touching and distracting him. Not that anything could distract him from you right now. You were his altar. His North Star.

"Gonna fuck you dumb, angel," he added. His tongue was followed by the tips of his fingers, that trailed a path down your stomach. His touch was featherlike, precise. He stopped over your pussy, looking straight into your tear-stained eyes.

Fuck, that turned him on. Your little pout and the tremble of your lips. You are so cute, he thought. His to destroy. To kiss, to bite, to fuck.

His cock turned hard at the thought of your bodies connecting as they so exceptionally did. He needed to have you. Right now.

But he also must give you a lesson first. He slipped two fingers into your wet cunt, a wicked smile plastered on his face as he realized how easily they fitted.

Instantly, he added another, laughing as you moaned loudly. Begging him to do more.

"Please, sir. More!'' He pressed the little bundle of nerves while his three fingers worked viciously at your cunt.

"You don't deserve this, you dumb whore." his voice dripped with poison. He doesn't mean it, you thought. Dexie adores me, you thought. But the tears from your eyes couldn't stop slipping. They gave your broken heart away.

You hated when he became like that. So cruel and twisted. You barely recognized him. But still, he was the man you love.

Suddenly, he stopped assaulting your poor womanhood. His skilled hands reached into the back of his gear, removing the metallic steel out of its case.

"No safety," he stated, simply. His eyes sparked with excitement. He loved the fear in yours. He thrived off that.

The Glock 19 shined brightly under the fluorescent lights of your—no, his—bedroom. Wasting no time, he placed the cold machine at the inside of your thighs, making little stars.

My star. My North Star.

"Dex, please, not with that. Need you!'' you cried out. A ridiculous way to hide your fear. He noticed, always did. In return, the gun moved closer to your pounding pussy. You couldn't deny it, you wanted him badly. Despite his sick and bipolar nature.

"You disobeyed my commands. And now you're not addressing me properly." He clicked his tongue. "Such a bad girl you are tonight, angel," he finished.

"I thought I had trained you better than that," he whispered, as the cold metal slipped into your open entrance. The gummy walls engulfing it while you cursed the pain away.

"I could pull the trigger right now, y'know?" he said, while locking eyes with you. You could easily pinpoint how the madness behind his eyes had overtaken him. He was a captive of his own insanity.

He pushed the gun deeper inside, ignoring your cries and muffles. Soon his pace was ruthless, the sound of the wet noises making his eyes spin with despair. Pupils widened and nostrils flared, he swore this was heaven for him.

"It's too much'' you lied. It wasn't too much. You loved it. Fear mixed with adrenaline had made you even more hungry, wanting—no, being in need of his handsome body.

But that fucking suit was blocking every single beat of his unholy body. And that weird strange mark,the target which adorned his head.. You couldn't imagine what it could possibly mean, but you didn't care either.

He was very clear about that. "Don't go into that room. Don't search my stuff."

Your heart dropped as you remembered the hospital letter. "Agent Benjamin Pointdexter has been declared mentally insane and therefore must be called off all FBI works, due to severe BPD and psychopathic tendencies."

And his heart broke when he found you holding those top-secret papers, hands shaky and weak.

Why did you have to disobey him like that?

NOTES: I actually havent written anything for the past 4 years so pardon my dusty english , including any spelling or grammar mistakes !!II'm open to any kind of reconstructive criticism so please go ahead and comment what you think! DEXIE IS STRAIGHT UP FUCKED UP IN THIS ONE but we love him all broken up like that , right???Any likes and reblogs are appreciated ,, thank you !

[midnightslark]

You can’t just put Dex handcuffed to a bed while smiling with a gun pointed at his head on my screen and expect me to be chill about it

[ruerecs]

𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒔 𝒊.

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[polaris-daydreams]

the art of noticing

pairing : benjamin poindexter x reader

warnings : extremely suggestive below read more, not outright explicit in detail (cause im not talented enough for full on smut lol) but just to be safe, don't read if below 18 !! quite a few religious themes/imagery too.

a/n : hii ! i've never written fanfiction before let alone anything spicy but the dex brainrot was too strong so please bear with me. special thank you to @kyamiia for inspiring me and letting me expand on the idea based on this, and to @babyangeldex for being THE sweetest ever with her encouragement, especially on me wanting to write for the first time !! credits for the header images goes to @bullseyelover, THE no1 bullseye fan hi i love you !! hope you enjoy fellow dex lovers <3

dex notices things.

it started even before you guys got together.

dex's eye for details only intensifies when he crawls his way into your heart. your home. your shared home. it was one thing being able to look through the glass of your apartment window, studying your routine. timing his sips perfectly to yours, anticipating that look of bliss when the coffee hit just right. pretending that faraway look and smile out the window was directed to him, reserved for him.

now though, dex doesn't have to be delusional anymore. there's no need to time his drinking with yours because he is making your coffee and spending the mornings with you. he knows just how you like it. he's memorised all your morning routine steps, catalogued every small tick in your face when you eat your breakfast, has your glossy eyes from watching your favourite romcom seared into his brain. he knows how to see that satisfied and "on cloud 9" face. how to be the reason for that pleasure.

when you laugh at dex's poor attempt of a joke, really laugh with your eyes crinkling in the corner, he thinks his heart stops. he thinks this is it. the sound of an angel come to gently lead him towards the afterlife, with the way your laughter wraps around his body like the soft embrace of an angel's wings.

so it makes perfect sense for dex's penchant for noticing to seep into your shared bedroom too. he needs to remember everything, he needs to file away every little sound, every facial expression. keeps it in the folders of his mind, locked away for nobody else to see. only unlocking these memories when he's hard at work, away from his angel. clings to the image of you, the sound of you like a lifeline. counts the seconds down to when he can finally lock up his place of worship again because you're back in his arms. but its not just for himself, to keep his hunger satiated. its for you too. so he can replay your reactions to everything he does and says. analyse what made you feel good. what can make you feel even better. let you float up to the same high he gets from watching you, being with you. don't worry, he'll be there to catch you in his protective embrace when you land back down.

the first time he sunk to his knees for you, he never took his eyes away from you. couldn't bear to, not when your face was so beautifully contorted in pleasure, pleasure he was giving to you. the rising pitch of your voice, the up and down movement of your chest, the low tilt of your eyes to keep that eye contact with him going. when you absentmindedly reach for dex's hair, tugging the short hairs at the back while begging with that sweet saccharine voice of yours,

"pl- please dex, i can't anymore. i need, ohmygod, i need it please, i need you dex"

it takes every. single. cell. in dex's body to not roll his eyes to the back of his skull and finish in his pants then and there. his years of military training, experience as FBI-SWAT all lead up to this moment. to practice that honed skill of restraint. he can't let go until you have, until you've reached that peak. when you do, you collapse backwards with a heaving chest. dex unclenches his bruising (posessive) grip on you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. not to waste a single drop, he licks his hand clean while slowly standing back up from his place of worship.

the sight that greets dex has him believing in God.

your hair is tousled just above your head like a halo.

your eyes that look up at him are completely glossed over, a single tear slowly cascading down the right side of your face.

your smile, oh, your sweet loving smile. directed at him, only him as if he was the answers to your prayers.

those aren't what drives dex over the edge though, oh no.

its you.

you looking like the epitome of an angel.

slowly hiking up your legs, opening them up shyly.

"more? please, dex?"

if this is how dex dies, he believes its worth it.

a/n : thank you so much if you've read to the end <3 !! this is very very beginner so pretty please be nice if you reblog with comments/ramblings, though i'd still appreciate any kind of support with likes/reblogs/comments hehe. (also yes i wrote this on my phone on drafts, and nearly got a heart attack when the draft vanished and accidentally uploaded before i was done so if you saw ... no you didnt)

[monicfever]

how do u think ben poindexter would act as a partner of a reader with mental problems? (it can be any type, depression, bpd, ocd) Do you think the relationship would be too chaotic considering that normally the reader is his "anchor" and not the other way around?

ben poindexter with a partner who struggles with mental health. 𝜗𝜚 headcanon’s

r e q u e s t e d ♡

includes ᝰ .ᐟ depressed!reader ,, anxiety!reader ,, anger issues!reader ,, ocd!reader ,, bpd!reader ,, bipolar!reader ,, psychopathic!reader ,, did!reader ,, adhd!reader

⏜︵ DEPRESSION . 𐂯

at first, he doesn't get it — but he feels it.

dex is someone who thrives on structure, discipline, and clarity. depression doesn’t fit into that mold, so at first he might react with frustration or confusion. he won’t understand why you can’t get out of bed or respond to messages, but he feels something’s wrong — and it stirs this deep, primal panic in him. he doesn’t like things he can’t fix.

hypervigilance kicks in hard. he starts watching you closely. if you’re sleeping more, eating less, avoiding eye contact — he notices every shift. it’s not even intentional at first, his brain is just wired that way. but eventually it becomes obsessive. he might track your routine without realizing it's intrusive. he just wants to understand how to help.

he becomes weirdly tender. ben is used to people leaving. the thought of losing you, especially when you're already emotionally distant, triggers all his abandonment issues. so suddenly he's doing small things — cleaning the apartment, bringing you your favourite things, sitting silently beside you.

he’s not great at boundaries. if you're pushing him away during depressive episodes he doesn’t always respect that space. he thinks “giving up” is betrayal — because that’s what was done to him, so he’ll push back. he might force interaction ("you need to eat something") thinking he’s helping, when really he’s not reading the room.

the guilt eats him alive. when he does snap (because let’s be real, he’s not emotionally consistent), he regrets it almost instantly. he’s not emotionally equipped to handle the weight of his trauma plus yours, and that makes him feel like a failure. it cycles into self-hatred: why can't I be what they need?

quiet protector mode. he becomes obsessed with shielding you from things that could “make it worse.” he’ll walk on eggshells around you when he thinks you’re fragile. if someone at work talks badly about you? they’re getting a very polite, very terrifying conversation in a back alley. he might not say "i love you" often but he'll absolutely threaten your ex behind the scenes.

tries to become your "routine." his brain thrives on predictability, so he tries to be yours. he brings coffee at the same time. texts you reminders. suggests daily walks, just five minutes. he’s not always gentle, but he’s steady in his own way.

there are days you can’t shower, can’t talk, can’t stop crying. you half expect him to walk out, slam the door, say this is too much. but he doesn’t. he sits on the floor beside the bed, back against the wall, eyes on the ceiling. you’re not a burden, he says once, so quietly you almost miss it.

he’s not the best at emotional language. he fumbles with words like “hope” or “healing.” but he’ll run a thumb over your knuckles when your hands are shaking. he’ll wrap you in his jacket when you won’t stop shivering. sometimes, when he’s sure you're asleep, he’ll whisper things like i need you to stay.

he takes your symptoms personally sometimes. he’s not perfect. if you ignore his texts, cancel plans too many times, part of him spirals — they don’t want me anymore. it’s not fair, but it’s real. he needs reassurance almost as badly as you do. when you’re both struggling at once, it can get stormy fast.

he doesn’t try to fix you. not once does he say just be happy. instead, he asks what do you need right now? even if the answer is nothing. even if it’s silence. he stops trying to “cure” your sadness and starts just existing with it. with you.

would it be chaotic? yes. very. especially if you’re the one who usually grounds him. the imbalance can create friction, confusion, emotional dysregulation on both sides. but dex craves connection, even when he’s awful at it. if anything your depression might force him to slow down, listen, and care in a way he’s never had to before.

⏜︵ ANXIETY. 𐂯

he doesn’t flinch at panic.

your hands start to shake. your breath shortens. maybe your chest is tight, and your brain's telling you the world is about to end. ben doesn’t panic with you. he doesn’t say calm down. he just kneels in front of you, steady eyes, quiet voice. you’re okay. i’ve got you.

he becomes your external voice of reason. doesn’t dismiss your spirals — but he challenges them. no, they’re not mad at you. you didn’t mess it up. you’re not a failure. he says it like it’s fact, because in his eyes, it is. when your brain lies to you, he’s the wall it can’t push through.

he knows routine calms you. he sticks to rituals. texting you good morning. calling at the same time every night. keeping your favourite tea stocked. it’s not that he’s overly romantic — he just understands that consistency is comfort. he’ll give you that stability with military precision.

crowds? overstimulation? he handles it.

big, chaotic spaces stress you out? he’ll put himself between you and the crowd without you asking. hand on your back. eyes scanning constantly. it’s second nature to him. he doesn’t just keep you safe — he makes you feel safe.

sometimes he forgets how intense he can seem. his tone gets sharp. his jaw clenches when he’s trying to be patient. sometimes that accidentally triggers your anxiety. when it happens, he pulls back fast.

he talks you down with brutal honesty. if you're catastrophizing, he'll look you dead in the eye and say, that's not going to happen. not to be dismissive — but because he needs you to feel grounded. sometimes it works. sometimes it doesn’t. but you always believe that he believes it.

he memorizes your cues. fidgeting, pacing, biting your nails, avoiding eye contact — he notices all of it. he doesn’t make a big deal out of it, but if he sees you spiraling, he’ll distract you fast. a question. a joke. a hand on your thigh. anything to stop the freefall.

your emotions don’t scare him. not when they’re loud, messy or irrational. he’s lived with his own intensity his whole life — he understands what it’s like to feel too much, too fast.

you apologize for everything. for “ruining” things. for “needing too much.” it hits him hard every time. don’t say that, he says, voice tight.

grounding you becomes instinct. he doesn’t even think about it anymore. when you're shaking, he grabs your hand. when you start zoning out, he says your name. when you forget how to breathe, he mirrors his breath with yours. it’s like muscle memory — his way of pulling you back to earth.

⏜︵ OCD. 𐂯

he recognizes it instantly.

before you even tell him, he knows. the checking, the tapping, the washing, the mental loops — it’s all painfully familiar. he doesn’t look at you like you’re weird. he looks at you like, shit. you too?

when you confess your rituals — the embarrassing ones, the intrusive thoughts. you expect disgust. or at least confusion. instead, he just nods.

sometimes your compulsions trigger his and vice versa. you need things clean, he needs things exactly placed. you wash your hands too much, he lines up the soap bottles by size. one of you starts, and the other spirals. it can get tense. sometimes you end up snapping at each other.

he doesn’t try to fix you but he does monitor you. he clocks every behavior shift. every time you do a compulsion more than usual. he won’t call you out right away, but later, when you’re both quiet, he’ll say i noticed you checked the lock nine times instead of five. not judgmental — just observant. it’s his way of keeping you safe. of loving you in his own controlled way.

you share intrusive thoughts. sometimes, in the dark, you tell him the things your brain says. the violent flashes. the terrifying urges. things you’ve never told anyone because you thought they made you dangerous. but ben? just says, i have them too.

hyperfixation nights. you both get caught in loops, cleaning, organizing, researching some obscure fact for hours. sometimes you’re side by side on the floor at 2am, surrounded by half-sorted junk, too deep in it to stop. you don’t talk. you don’t have to. there’s a strange comfort in the mutual obsession.

he’s gentle with your rituals — to a point. he’ll flip the light switch six times if it calms you. he’ll check the stove, touch the doorknob, run through the “safety” list with you before bed.

meltdown territory is dangerous. if you’re both overwhelmed at the same time it can get bad. yelling. pacing. doors slammed. not because you’re mad at each other, but because your brains are both screaming for control.

you yell. over nothing. over a shirt being out of place, over a phrase that felt “wrong,” over rituals that weren’t “done right.” he yells back. both of you so desperate to maintain control in the only space you feel safe.

when you spiral, he mirrors — and it kills him. you start pacing. your brain floods. he feels it like static under his skin. he doesn’t know how to help, so he does what he knows: control. “you need to sit down.” / “do the thing again, it’ll feel better.”

sometimes he feeds into the loop without meaning to — trying to soothe you, even when it reinforces the compulsion.

⏜︵ BPD. 𐂯

lovebombing is the default setting. he doesn’t fall in love slowly, neither do you. it’s intense. it’s fast. texting 24/7. staying up all night. he says things like i think i need you to breathe. you believe him. you build an entire future in your heads before the first fight even happens.

then — the splitting. he says something wrong. he looks at you weird. you don’t answer a message fast enough. suddenly, you hate him. he’s cold. distant. cruel. but at the same time? you’re sobbing. checking your phone. hoping he texts.

he's the same. one second: you're perfect. next: you're just like everyone else who left. it's a war. every day. between i can’t lose you and you’ve already destroyed me.

the abandonment fear rules everything. didn’t text back in 10 minutes? you spiral. he goes quiet for a day? you’re convinced he’s done with you. but when you pull away, even slightly? he’s showing up at your door, eyes bloodshot, voice shaking.

fights escalate fast. it starts small — a tone, a word. then suddenly you’re screaming. throwing things. saying things you don’t mean but feel in that moment. he yells back. sometimes punches walls. sometimes storms out. neither of you can stay gone.

impulsive affection. tattoos. gifts. kissing him mid-argument. climbing into his lap after saying you hated him. he matches it. hand gripping your jaw like he can’t decide whether to kiss you or strangle you.

you both need constant reassurance. “do you love me?” / “are you mad at me?” / “are you gonna leave?” he asks as much as you do. maybe more.

you trigger each other constantly. you both fear rejection. both fear being “too much.” sometimes you self-destruct first — just to beat him to it. he does the same thing. it’s exhausting.

the threat of leaving hangs over everything. “maybe you’d be better off without me.” / “i’m just gonna ruin you.” you both say it. neither of you go.

even when you’re halfway out the door. even when your bags are packed. something always pulls you back — a shaky voicemail. a familiar song. or just the unbearable silence that feels like dying.

the mood shifts are violent. he kisses your forehead and tells you you’re perfect — then suddenly he’s pacing, snapping, calling you clingy.

you both test each other all the time. ignoring texts just to see if he’ll double message, picking a fight just to feel close again. threatening to leave, not because you want to — but because you need him to say “don’t.” and he does the same. “go then.”

you spiral at the same time. when you’re upset, he’s upset. when he’s triggered, you are too. there’s no one to pull the other out — just two people drowning in each other’s panic. he says “why do you always do this?”you scream “why don’t you care enough?”

you call him cold. manipulative. broken. he tells you you’re crazy. too much. impossible. and then you’re both sobbing, curled up in the hallway, whispering “i didn’t mean it.”

jealousy is brutal. he looks at someone too long — you’re spiraling. you talk to someone else — he shuts down completely. neither of you know how to handle the fear of being replaced.

silence is a weapon — and a punishment. when he shuts down, it feels like abandonment. when you go quiet, it’s because you want him to beg you to stay. neither of you know how to ask for love directly, so you withhold it.

you destroy each other and then bandage the wounds.

⏜︵ BIPOLAR. 𐂯

he lives for your manic highs.

when you’re manic, you’re everything he craves — fast, fearless, chaotic, alive. you talk a mile a minute. you touch him constantly. you pull him into ideas, into danger, into motion. he’s addicted to it.

follows you everywhere like a shadow, wild-eyed, smiling like this is what love’s supposed to feel like. you make him feel chosen. he forgets you’re burning out until the crash hits.

the lows devastate him. when the mania fades, and you’re quiet, distant, numb — he doesn’t know what to do. he takes it personally even when he shouldn’t.

you stop laughing at his jokes, and he thinks they don’t love me anymore. you sleep all day, and he thinks i broke them. he doesn’t mean to make it about himself — he’s just scared. he’s never good at stillness.

starts tracking your patterns. notices when your speech speeds up, when you don’t sleep, when your ideas start getting bigger and riskier.

he notices when you go flat. start pulling away. lose your appetite. he won’t always say something, but he’s watching. when he does speak up, it’s never “are you okay?” it’s “you’re going fast again. is it time to slow down?”

sometimes you love him for it. sometimes you hate him for it. he always takes the blow.

when you're manic, he tries to keep up — but he gets lost in you. you start a hundred projects. rearrange furniture at 2am. plan road trips you’ll never take. he says yes to all of it. not because he agrees — because he wants to ride the wave with you. you’re radiant. unstoppable.

but deep down, he’s waiting for the moment it turns. and when it does, he breaks with you.

he struggles with your depression. doesn't understand how you go from lighting up a room to barely getting out of bed. he wants to help. he needs to help. but he doesn’t know how. brings coffee. puts on your favourite movie. sits at the edge of the bed and quietly says, “you were laughing last monday. i miss that.” it’s not a guilt trip. it’s a confession.

you spend too much money. say the wrong thing to the wrong person. disappear for hours without answering. it freaks him out. not because he doesn’t understand — because he does. he’s impulsive too. he’s self-destructive. he knows what it’s like to lose control. when you spiral it scares the hell out of him.

he loves your fire — but fears your collapse. when you’re loud, wild, electric — he worships it. when you’re low, unreachable, quiet — he feels helpless. the duality confuses him. hurts him.

he's bad at stability but he's loyal, he’ll never be the calm, steady type who knows exactly what to say. but he won’t leave. not when you cry. not when you break. he’ll stay in the mess. in the flatline.

the moment you start rising again? he’ll be the first one to hold your face and whisper, “there you are.”

sometimes your mania and his instability clash — hard. you’re too fast. he’s too reactive. you say something impulsive. he takes it as rejection. he lashes out. you spiral harder. fights get nuclear. you both say things you regret.

the manic episodes sometimes turns on both of you. he’s always in love with it at first. your energy is infectious. you’re glowing. talking fast, touching him constantly, laughing in that way that makes him feel like the only person alive. you pull him into impulsive ideas — road trips, tattoos, new furniture, wild sex, quitting your job. at first? he’s high on you.

but then you stop sleeping. you stop eating. you snap at him for “slowing you down.” you disappear for hours, come back wired and shaking. he tries to intervene — gently at first. “baby, you haven’t stopped in two days.”

you scream at him. accuse him of controlling you. “you’re scaring me.” he whispers, and you laugh. then the crash hits. you cry for hours, inconsolable, paranoid, terrified.

the depressive episode where you push him out. you haven’t moved from bed in two days. he brings you water. you don’t drink it. he tries to touch you — you flinch. your eyes are hollow. voice flat. you say things like “you should leave. i’m not good for you.” it rips him apart. you try to be cruel — not because you mean it, but because you want to test the bond. his hands shake. his voice cracks. he stays. sits on the floor by your bed. you fall asleep with your hand in his hair, barely holding on. he holds back twice as hard.

you try to leave during manic spirals. pack a bag in the middle of the night, tell him you’re going to “start over.” he panics. full-on panic mode. “don’t do this. you don’t know what you’re doing right now.” you’re wild-eyed, stubborn, glowing like fire. “i’m fine. i’ve never felt better.” he knows it’s not true — the fire is burning too hot. you’re not sleeping. not thinking straight. not safe. he tries to grab your hand and you rip away. “you’re trying to control me. you’re just like everyone else.” he lets you go. but not far. he tracks your location. texts every hour. waits for the moment you crash. hopes for it to be soon.

⏜︵ PSYCHOPATHIC. 𐂯

at first, ben doesn’t realize. he’s completely pulled in by your intensity, your control, the way you look at the world like you’ve already figured it out. he mistakes it for strength.

but slowly, the edges start to show. the way you fake empathy like it’s a language you learned, not something you feel. how you manipulate people with surgical precision just to see what happens. it both unnerves and fascinates him—like watching someone dissect a soul with a smile.

if you’re violent, it does something to him. he’s terrified and completely obsessed. you don’t lash out like him — you hurt people on purpose, with a clear head. you don’t spiral, you choose.

you’re not his anchor in the traditional sense. you don’t ground him — you pull him further. not with softness, but with gravity. you become his obsession, not his comfort. he craves your attention like it’s oxygen, even when he knows it might kill him.

arguments aren’t loud. they’re cold, calculated, full of psychological traps. you know how to cut deep without raising your voice. when he loses control, you don’t flinch. you just watch, and it drives him mad — because you’re not afraid of him, not moved by him. he needs to matter to you.

if you threatened to leave or humiliate him, he could absolutely snap. he might hurt you — not because he wants to, but because his emotions run so violently high he can’t stop them. when it’s over he’ll break down in front of you, begging, bleeding, apologizing like a child caught in a nightmare.

your lack of emotional response becomes addicting to him. you’re the only one who doesn’t recoil when he shows his worst. you don’t comfort him, but you don’t abandon him either. you stay. and in his mind, that’s love, even if it’s not.

if you manipulate him, he lets you. he wants so badly to be important to you that he’ll twist himself into whatever shape you want. kill for you. lie for you. destroy himself and everyone else if it means you’ll keep looking at him like that.

ben doesn’t know how to love in a healthy way, and you don’t love in the traditional sense at all — so what you have isn’t so much a relationship as it is a collision. you don’t comfort him, you study him. he mistakes that focus for affection.

when you compliment him, it’s rare — but when you do, it’s calculated. it hits him like a drug. he spirals, obsessed with earning another one. he starts doing things not because they’re right, but because he thinks it’ll make you look at him the way you did that one time.

you encourage the worst in him — not with words, but with your presence. you never tell him not to hurt someone. you just let him make that choice. and when he does, you don’t flinch. you clean the blood off his hands like it’s nothing. and he falls harder.

ben’s jealousy is absolutely feral when it comes to you. he knows you don’t feel attachment the same way he does, and it kills him. every interaction you have with someone else, no matter how meaningless, twists something deep in his chest. he wants to be your one exception — the one person who means something to you.

he constantly tries to pull real emotions out of you. he wants to see you feel something, anything for him. he pushes buttons, breaks things, starts fights — just to provoke some proof that he matters. and if you so much as raise your voice or look a little too long? he clings to that moment like it's sacred.

when he’s spiraling, you don’t try to calm him. you just watch. sometimes that makes him worse — there’s no comfort, no softness, just those cold eyes and that quiet mind. other times it grounds him. you don’t lie. you don’t pretend to care. you just are. and that’s more honest than anything he’s ever had.

he fantasizes about being the only one who truly gets you. the one person you’d kill for, spare for, stay for. he clings to any sign that he’s different to you — more than a pawn, more than a means to an end. he’s desperate to matter.

⏜︵ D.I.D. 𐂯

at first he’s confused. he’s never known anyone with did. he doesn’t understand how one body can hold more than one person, and it messes with his sense of control. he doesn’t like not knowing who he’s waking up next to — at least in the beginning.

but he’s also weirdly respectful. once he realizes the alters are real people, not just “parts,” he starts remembering names, patterns, even small preferences. he’ll write down what snacks each alter likes, what topics to avoid, what calms them down. he treats each one with a kind of soldier-level precision. like, “okay, this is your protocol. i’ve got it.”

he actually feels safer once he gets used to them. he’s so used to his mind being a minefield, and now he’s with someone who’s honest about the chaos. he likes that. he likes that nothing’s hidden, even if it’s messy. he doesn’t have to pretend to be normal around them, because they get it.

he totally has favourites but lies about it. he'll act like he doesn't, but the way he lights up when a certain alter fronts? obvious.

if you have them he's intensely protective of the littles. he doesn’t care how old the body is — if a young alter fronts, he’s instantly softer. he’ll crouch down, lower his voice, offer his jacket if they’re cold. if anyone dares to look at them weird in public, he goes full murder-eyes.

arguments can get intense. especially if an alter doesn’t trust him, or if someone fronts who isn’t aware of his darker side. there might be yelling, slamming doors, confusion. but ben hates leaving things unresolved. he’ll sit outside their door for hours, forehead pressed to the wood, talking through it.

sometimes he does spiral. especially if he thinks he’s hurting them. and that’s the part where it gets complicated — because they’re usually his anchor, his reason to stay human. and when he sees them struggling he doesn’t know how to help. he panics.

it becomes a give and take. sometimes he grounds them. sometimes they ground him.

you prank him sometimes. switch mid-convo and pretend you don't know who he is. act like it’s the first time you’re meeting. he falls for it once, never again. but he plays along anyway. “oh, hey, i’m ben. i kill people for the government. wanna get lunch?”

sometimes, after a bad day, he’ll crawl into bed, wrap himself around you, and whisper, “don’t care who you are right now. just need you. s’that okay?”

⏜︵ ANGER ISSUES. 𐂯

okay first of all, dex is into it. not in a weird fetish-y way, but he’s drawn to fire. always has been. so when you snap? raise your voice? throw something across the room because you feel too much and can’t hold it in? he doesn’t flinch. he relates.

sometimes it’s explosive. you scream, he screams back. neither of you back down. neighbours hate you. walls have been punched. vases broken.

he doesn’t try to “fix” you. that’s important. ben knows what it’s like to be treated like a problem. so when you’re angry, he lets you be. sits with you through the fire. sometimes you’re pacing, yelling, cussing out the world — and he’s just there. arms crossed.

when he’s angry, you’re the only one who can talk him down. you just mirror his fire. you don’t try to quiet him, you match him. “you wanna break something? cool. let’s go smash plates in the backyard.” and you do. and it’s cathartic. you scream together until your voices crack.

but then there are soft moments too. you’ll lash out at the world, storm into the bedroom, slam the door — and he knocks gently before coming in anyway. he’s holding your favourite hoodie. or snacks. or just his stupid face. “done? or you wanna go another round?”

he keeps your triggers memorized like a hit list. people who talk down to you? gone. someone makes a snide comment in public and you start to boil? his hand’s already on the small of your back. grounding. “not worth it, baby. let’s go.” he deals with it later.

there’s this comfort in knowing you’re both made of sharp edges. he’ll cup your face after a rough episode, look you dead in the eye, and say, “you’re not crazy. you’re just loud. i like loud.”

if you feel guilty afterward he doesn’t let you spiral. “you think i love you less because you lost it for a minute? get over yourself.” (and then he holds you like the world’s ending.)

you don’t want to hurt him — but sometimes it happens before you can stop it. something small goes wrong, you’re already on edge, and dex says one wrong thing? you explode. words sharp enough to cut, your tone goes nuclear. the second it’s out you hate yourself for it.

dex goes stone cold silent. still. unreadable. it’s the same expression he wears right before he kills someone. and that scares the hell out of you. not because you think he’ll hurt you — but because you know what it means when he shuts down. he doesn't raise his voice back — at first. he just stands there, lets you say what you’re gonna say, and waits. sometimes you storm out. sometimes you break down crying two seconds later. sometimes you both just sit in the wreckage for a while.

when he finally does speak, it’s low and controlled. “you can be mad at the world, but don’t take that shit out on me.” he’s right. and that kills you.

if you snap at him specifically too many times he’ll encourage therapy. not in a pushy, judgmental way — just, “you need help for this. we both do. i’ll go with you if you want.” and sometimes he does. sits in the waiting room with his legs bouncing and a death grip on his phone, waiting to hear how it went.

unfortunately he’s not the best at not taking your words to heart sometimes, and your anger mixed with his bpd can push him into his own episodes.

⏜︵ ADHD. 𐂯

let’s be honest, you drive him kinda crazy. the clutter drives his ocd insane. you leave a cup out and he’s twitching. you abandon five different projects around the apartment and he’s pacing like he’s trying not to commit a crime.

silently starts cleaning. aggressively. like wiping down surfaces at 2am with murder in his eyes. "i'm not mad at you. i just need this fork to not be facing that way."

at first it causes friction. you feel judged, he feels overwhelmed. you don’t mean to be messy — it’s just how your brain works. and he doesn’t mean to be controlling — it’s how his brain survives. it takes a few fights, a lot of deep talks, and one shared therapist before you both find a rhythm.

eventually, he creates “safe zones.” like: “this drawer? chaos zone. do whatever you want in there. but the bathroom counter is sacred. do not mess with my system.” and you’re like, “deal. but i get one chair to pile my stuff on. non-negotiable.”

he builds you routines to help you function. not in a patronizing way — more like, i know how your brain forgets things. let me make it easier.

you stim with his hand. absentmindedly running your fingers over his knuckles or nails when you’re anxious. he pretends it annoys him, but if you stop, he’ll nudge you, “you good? keep doing the thing.”

whiteboards, timers, little checklists. he even sets your meds next to your phone so you can’t miss them. “you don’t need to say thank you. just take them.”

your impulsivity stresses him out but also fascinates him. you buy random shit on a whim, change plans last minute, jump into conversations without thinking. and ben’s like: “…you terrify me. but also i’ve never been bored since i met you.”

he gets flustered when you stim by fidgeting with his perfectly organized things. like twisting his pens, re-stacking his books, tapping your foot against his desk. he’ll groan, drag a hand down his face, and give you a fidget toy.

you learn to compromise too. you try harder to put stuff back where it belongs, especially the things he’s sensitive about. not because he makes you — because you love him, and you see how much it costs him to exist in disorder.

sometimes you have really hard days — executive dysfunction, sensory overload, total burnout. you end up on the floor in a pile of blankets and regret. dex lies down next to you. hands you a snack.

he’s never annoyed by your forgetfulness. just quietly compensates. always has your meds ready. always keeps water nearby. always says, “yes, i heard that story before. tell me again anyway.”

he becomes your executive function. you forget appointments, lose your keys, double-book your day? he’s already fixed it. didn’t even tell you. you’re like, “wait, wasn’t i supposed to—”and he stops you before you can finish. “handled it.” he doesn’t want credit. he just wants you to breathe.

your hyperfixations become his hobbies. you’re into puzzles this week? cool, he’s suddenly better at them than you and weirdly smug about it. laser-focused. you’re into baking? you catch him at 2am measuring flour like he’s assembling a rifle.

you help him too. when his rituals become obsessive, when he’s cleaning the counter for the fifth time in ten minutes and whispering under his breath — you come up behind him, gently take the rag from his hand and guide him to sit with you.

you make his world less sterile. it’s not all white walls and symmetrical furniture anymore. there’s colour. life. movement. and yeah, it’s messy. but so is love.

★ a / n : if anyone feels poorly represented lmk and i can take this down :)

started 4.24.2025. finished 4.24.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[midnightslark]

Stopping mid writing to stare at my computer like this when I realize i’m literally writing smut rn:

[babyangeldex-deactivated2025043]

thinkin abt how BENJAMIN POINDEXTER is the sweetest man behind closed doors to you. like yeah, to the world he’s cold, precise, terrifying, but when it’s just you and him? he’s tucking you under his arm like you’re made of glass. he makes your tea just right, remembers how you like your pillows fluffed, kisses the inside of your wrist just because. the same man who can kill with a paperclip clutches your pinky in the grocery store like it’s a lifeline. his voice drops to a whisper when he talks to you, like even his words wanna be gentle. it’s fucked up. it’s beautiful. he’s your own little anomaly.

[midnightslark]

Sorry i cant go out with you rn, I have a crush on Wilson Bethel and it’s taking up a lot of my time

[midnightslark]

Wilson Bethel is so hot. That mf has never looked ugly. Like what’s his problem? Dude needs to relax, like he’s doing too much (to me)

[obiwan-kesophie]

I wanna get him pregnant 😩

[midnightslark]

You can’t do this to me rn. Omg. That man is so fine it literally causes a physical reaction. I’d let him and Dex do terrible things to me

[amberlynnmurdock]

The First Time

Pairing: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Reader

Genre: FLUFF, angst, SMUTTTT 18+!!!!

Summary: Dex and his neighbor become good friends, so much so she only trusts him to take her virginity.

Based off this anon message

Note: I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT BUT HERE IT IS I HOPE YOU GUYS LOVE IT

She’s the purest thing he’s ever known, and she lives right down the hall from him. Dex liked to keep his space neat and tidy; it was never dirty or out of order. He never allowed anyone into his space. Dex valued his privacy and, even more so, his alone time, despite feeling the lows of such often. Everything was a routine he had to strictly follow: wake up, shower, get ready for work, work, come home, be alone.

She ended up fitting into his routine, somehow. Only someone as pure and kind as she could find her way into Dex’s space--and so easily, too. She had recently graduated from New York University with a degree in forensic science and was living alone for the first time. 

He’ll never forget when she started talking to him in the elevator, one rainy evening.  

“What floor?” He asked her.

“6,” she replied. It was the same as his. Dex clicked the elevator button. 

“You work for the FBI?” She couldn’t help but notice the large letters on the sleeve of his navy blue jacket. Dex typically took it off before going out in public, but that day’s mission had exhausted him so much, he forgot to. 

“Yes,” Dex answered and shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to friendly conversation with strangers. It was natural for him to have his guard up. 

“That’s cool,” she sighed. “I just graduated from NYU last year. I got a job at the 15th Precinct in their forensics department, but working for the FBI is a dream of mine. Do you like it?”

“It’s tough,” Dex said. “It pays the bills.”

The elevator dinged. If he weren’t on the same floor as her, he’d be happy. He let her exit the elevator first and trailed slowly behind her. She waited for him so they could walk in tandem. He sighed, realizing he had no escape. 

“Do you mind if I come by sometime and ask you questions about your job? I’m new to the area—new to living here, and I’d like to know that I have a personal FBI agent to call a neighbor and—friend,” she smiled at him. Dex squinted his eyes slightly, amused by her outgoing personality and interest in his job. He wasn’t particularly a fan of being put on the spot like this, but seeing the way she looked so hopeful at him—who was he to say no? 

“Sure.”

And that’s how she ended up sitting across from him at his kitchen table, notebook on her right side, a cup of decaf coffee on her left. It had been like this for a year now—like clockwork, she was at his door at 11 PM, sometimes even later (depending on when he came home from work) to talk about his day and ask questions about anything related to his job. Dex grew to look forward to these late-night conversations with her—it was oddly reminiscent of his meetings with Dr. Mercer. 

Now, he knew these weren’t therapy sessions, and if anything, he was the one giving her advice and information, but it was comforting to talk to her about his day. He found comfort in explaining his job duties and answering any curiosities she had. She was kind, probably the kindest thing in his life right now, and he needed that. He found it harder to sleep if she didn’t come by and spend an hour with him talking about his job.

“Wow,” she breathed. “So when you guys detain whoever you need to, how soon does forensics show up to the scene?”

“They’re already on their way before we even lock the handcuffs,” Dex said. He watched as she scribbled something in her notebook. He only recently noticed how attracted he was to her—he only ever saw her at night, and she was always, more often than not, in her pajamas. He started to take notice of her rotation. Last week, she had light pink polka dot ones on. Tonight, she’s in a plain light blue set. Next was probably her black silk ones. It was always in her natural state that he saw her. No makeup, disheveled hair. Friendly smile. Curious and his favorite part, attentive, eyes. 

He rarely ever saw her during the day. He was up at the crack of dawn going to the headquarters, and she was always in three hours later. She always came home before him, and when she’d hear Dex’s familiar knock on her door, she knew he was ready for their nightly catch-up. 

Neighbors catching up…friends, like she said one time. That’s what they were, Dex supposed. 

He didn’t think of this as an almost every night thing. After the first few nights, he let her into his apartment, Dex thought it was a done deal. On the fifth night, just as he was about to get in bed, he heard a knock at his door. 

“I brought ice cream,” she was holding two tubs of Ben and Jerry’s in her hands, and squeezing her notebook under her arm. “Mint chocolate cookie or strawberry cheesecake.” 

Dex grabbed the mint chocolate cookie from her grasp and let her inside with a tired smile. 

He had also grown a bit protective over her as her neighbor. 

He remembered one time he got home from work at 10:30 PM—earlier than usual. He knocked on her door three times—it was his signal that he was ready and home—but there was no answer on the other side of the door. Dex pressed his ear against it and listened for any movement or sound. Nothing. He checked his watch and saw it was nearly 11:00 PM. It wasn’t like her to not be home already.

He pulled out his phone and called her. It immediately went to voicemail. 

Dex clicked his phone off and rested it on his lips. The increasing heaviness in his chest was something he only felt when he was on missions—he was anxious. Is she okay? 

Something inside of him locked, or maybe, unlocked at the thought of her never coming home. The thought of her never sitting across from him at his kitchen table ever again. It unlocked a feeling he kept hidden away as best as he could, despite it being the most constant thing in his life. Feeling abandoned—left behind. Alone. 

For the first time in his life, Dex didn’t want to be alone.  

Dex was too numb to go back into his apartment. He pressed his back against the wall of the hallway and slid down to sit on the floor. He decided he would wait there until she came home. 

After an hour of staring into nothing, but mentally replaying all the times he’s had someone leave him, the elevator doors dinged. Dex was too tired to look at who it was, too afraid of disappointment if it wasn’t her. He kept his eyes forward. 

“Dex?” She started walking faster towards him. “Are you okay?” Dex whipped his head up and immediately stood up on his feet. 

“Yeah,” Dex nodded, his voice feeling thick and dry. “I was—worried. About you. Your phone…”

“It died,” she explained. “And I forgot my charger. I ended up staying late to finish up some work. You waited for me here?” She asked with a hint of a smile on her face.

“Yeah,” Dex nodded, meeting her eyes finally. She still looked as wide awake as ever, full of energy and positivity he wished he could emulate. Something compelled him to wrap his arms around her and bring her close in an embrace—so he did. He sighed in relief. “Don’t forget your charger again,” he said in her hair. 

“I won’t,” she pulled back, suddenly catching on to the seriousness of his tone. “Rough day? Is it too late to talk in your apartment?”

“Not if it’s too late for you.”

It was strange, the effect she had on him. It only grew more intense after each night together. Dex watched her carefully now, across from his table. He couldn’t remember the lat time he let someone get close to him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed himself to connect with someone since Dr. Mercer passed away. It was the first time he possibly found a new North Star. He hoped this one wouldn’t go out. 

She brought a warmth to his apartment that it was lacking before. He never spent time at the kitchen table unless it was the morning and he was having his coffee before work. He never thought he’d spend most of his nights here, with her, talking about his day and duties as an FBI agent. She was part of his routine now. And if there’s anything about Dex, it’s that he doesn’t like when his routine is disrupted. 

“Can I ask you something we haven’t talked about before?” She looked up from her notebook and placed her pen down on the table. Dex shrugged his shoulders. There wasn’t much he wouldn’ttell her at this point.

“Anything,” he said.

“Have you ever had to kill someone?” 

It took a lot to catch Dex off guard. But this was a question he wasn’t expecting to be asked so blatantly. 

“In the line of duty, obviously,” she followed up quickly, responding to his reaction. 

Dex held her gaze—he didn’t want his answer to drive her away. In case it did, he wanted to memorize the way she was looking at him right now. The hopeful curiosity. The kindness without judgement in her eyes. He broke eye contact and sighed. 

“Yes,” Dex said, rearranging the napkin holder in front of him. 

“Because you had no choice?”

“Yes,” he lied. 

She shook her head. Not in disapproval, but in disbelief. “I can’t imagine that. Do you—do you remember the first time you had to?”

Dex does remember his first time killing someone. But it wasn’t in the line of duty as an FBI agent. It wasn’t even when he served time in the army. 

It was when he was a child and had dreams of becoming a baseball star. The memory flashed in Dex’s mind as quickly as the baseball ricocheted off the fence and hit Coach NAME in the head. 

“I do,” Dex said. “It was a cartel member. We had the group where we wanted them, but one guy wouldn’t give up the fight. He grabbed for a weapon to shoot at my partner—Nadeem—but I got to him before he could do anything more.”

“And by got to him, you mean…”

“Mmhm,” Dex hummed. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I know it’s not easy work. I know these things have to happen. But I wonder, are you okay? Knowing that that happened? And what you had to do?”

“I’m okay,” Dex said, and he wasn’t sure if it was a lie or not. “It was either him or Nadeem. They train you to think fast in those situations. You can’t waste time.”

“I’m really glad I chose the science side of it all.” She leaned back in his chair, and he liked how she made it look so casual. He wanted to mirror her but didn’t. “I don’t know if I could handle it like you do.”

“We make the mess,” Dex said, leaning forward. “Your side cleans it up.”

“That’s an interesting way to put it,” she replied. “Accurate.”

Dex sipped his coffee. “Anything else you’d like to know, Ms. Forensics?”

She smiled at the nickname. “I guess… out of personal curiosity… what did it feel like? Taking a life like that? Even if the guy was bad.”

Dex twisted the mug in his hands. Truthfully, it made no difference to him. But what would she want to hear?

“It’s hard,” Dex said. “Really hard. But these situations aren’t black and white. We have a job to do. We have to protect people. Protect our own. That’s what matters at the end of the day.”

“I see,” she said, nodding her head. “Do you have counselors at work you can talk to?”

“We have to undergo a psych-eval every once in a while.”

“That’s good,” she pressed her lips together. “Well, if the counselors aren’t always there for you, just know that I am, Dex.”

And there it was—that sweetness he had become so accustomed to. He couldn’t imagine his nights without it now. Dex smiled a little and focused his gaze on the table. 

“It’s late,” she said after a few moments of silence. “I think I’ve run you dry for tonight. Got any plans this weekend?” She asked him this all the time, and Dex always had the same answer for her.

“No,” he said. “Catching up on sleep, maybe.”

“Me too,” she began to close her notebook and collect her pens, to Dex’s disappointment. 

“You can come by tomorrow night,” Dex said with hope in his voice. “If you’re not busy and you feel like talking.”

She smiled a little and nodded her head. “I’d like that. Maybe instead of me asking about work, we can just hang?”

Dex took her empty coffee mug and wiped a coffee stain with the pad of his thumb. Her question echoed in his head. 

“I’d like that,” he answered, meeting her tired eyes. “Maybe I can ask about your life and work for once.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be getting much,” she laughed, and Dex hoped she was kidding. “But I’ll do my best to highlight the interesting parts.” She began her walk to his door, notebook in her hand. Dex unlocked it from behind her, gently brushing his arm against hers by mistake. He took a step back to give her space.

“Good night, Dex,” she whispered. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

“Good night,” he softly said back. He watched her as she walked halfway down the hall to her apartment. He always waited until she was inside and locked the door before going back and retreating to his bedroom. When she was, he closed his door and locked it. He was alone again. 

◎◎◎

Dex wasn’t worried about having her over until the reality finally settled in and he realized that she would be coming over in a different context than usual. He couldn’t remember the last time he hosted something for someone and had food ready—this was possibly his first time ever. When he came home, early for a Friday night, he checked his fridge to see if he had any snacks and felt silly for it—of course, he had nothing, except a carton of milk and some eggs. 

He went back out to the corner store and paused in the middle of the aisle. What did she like to eat? He only remembered the time she brought ice cream to his place. He went to the freezer and grabbed the same flavors of Ben and Jerry’s she had once brought: mint chocolate cookie and strawberry cheesecake. Dex balanced the two cartons in his hands and went through the chips aisle. He wasn’t sure what to get, and the options were overwhelming. He settled on a jar of salsa, French onion and guacamole—that way, she’d have more than one option. He also grabbed two kinds of chips: salted and hint of lime. He also threw in a container of chocolate chip cookies. 

After leaving the store, he realized that she may be interested in drinking something. He wasn’t a drinker at all—alcohol didn’t mix well with his medication—so he didn’t have a clue of what she may like. Wine? Beer? He found himself inside the liquor store, even more overwhelmed by the options. When was the last time he was in a place like this?

He grabbed one bottle of red wine (Pinot Noir), one bottle of white wine (Sauvignon Blanc), and one bottle of rose for good measure. At the counter, he saw a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels and grabbed it. 

Dex had his hands full on his way back to his apartment. He’d never had this much food in his house—the bags practically filled his counter. He laid every snack out but paused midway—they wouldn’t be sitting at his kitchen table. Maybe on the couch? Dex began to move all the snacks to the coffee table. He placed each dip in a bowl and had two more bowls filled with each type of chip he bought. He left the ice cream in the freezer. He put the chocolate-covered pretzels in a smaller bowl. 

Then, he put each bottle of wine on the counter so that when she first walked in, she could choose. Dex finally sat down on his couch and checked the time. It was almost 10 PM. She should be home soon.

◎◎◎

His apartment felt cold and dark until she finally graced it with her presence. She was in her black silk pajamas, as Dex correctly predicted was next in her rotation. When she first walked inside Dex’s apartment and saw the line up of wine and snacks, she couldn’t help but smile at how endearing it all was, especially the hopeful look on Dex’s face as he watched her take it all in. 

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” Dex said, scratching his neck. “So I got a bit of everything.”

“It’s okay,” she looked at him, this well-trained and tough FBI agent who looked like he spent the last hour stressing over salted or hint of lime chips and ended up getting both. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I wanted.”

Dex sighed in relief. “I also got different wines you can choose from.”

She looked at each bottle. She was naturally inclined to reach for the red. But she wanted to make sure Dex had a say in the matter, too. “Which do you prefer?” She asked him.

He shook his head. “Oh, I don’t drink. I got that for you. All of it’s for you.”

“Well, if you’re not drinking, then I’m not either,” she said smiling. “I do want to dig into those chocolate-covered pretzels, though.”

“They’re for you,” Dex said.

She walked over to his couch, but Dex stayed standing by his kitchen table. He didn’t take a moment before to take in how different his apartment looked whenever she was in it. Before, everything looked as tidy as it needed to be: empty coffee table, couch lacking warmth, unused empty bowls. But she graced his apartment with her presence by making it feel comfortable. A couch is meant to be sat on, a coffee table meant to have snacks, and bowls meant to have food—just for her. He’s never seen his place so lively and it’s all because of her. 

It was like watching a science experiment in real time. The cause and effect. The hypothesis and results. Except, he felt in the thick of the experiment and the results could be a wild card. He was just happy to witness it happening. How she was so good at making it all feel so comfortable. He liked having her around. Dex wanted her to stay a while. 

“Well don’t be shy, Dex,” she patted the seat next to her on his couch. “Come stay a while.”

Dex laughed and made his way to his couch. He felt like a stranger in his own house. How should he delicately handle this new context of hanging out? He was used to her having a notebook and her doing the talking. He felt the pressure and was afraid he wouldn’t live up to expectations. 

He sat down next to her—not too close. A comfortable distance. He reached for a salted chip and dipped in the guacamole first. During training, they taught agents to start conversations with witnesses or suspects casually. He felt he could apply those tactics here, with her. 

“So,” Dex began, chewing his chip of guacamole, “first thing’s first. How was your day at work?”

Dex didn't know he had it in him, to curate and carry a conversation as long as he did with her. He asked her things about her life he didn’t know before—how she got into forensic science, where she’s from, who she used to be. She’s only 22—she’s got her whole life ahead of her, and she’s only getting started. 

When she revealed her age, Dex was slightly taken aback. The thought never crossed his mind but now that he knew she was a bit younger than him, he felt that sense of protection he had over her grow in size. All those times she had come home late, he never knew she was vulnerable like that. Maybe it was wrong to think that way… she’s independent and lives on her own. She can take care of herself. But it doesn’t have to be that way. 

Still, he had to know something. 

“My age… you’re not uncomfortable?” Dex asked in a small voice, avoiding eye contact. 

“No,” she shook her head. “Not unless you are.”

“I’m not,” Dex answered quickly. “It never crossed my mind to ask how old you were. I didn’t think there was that much of a difference.”

“Seven years is nothing,” she shrugged. Most of my coworkers are that or even more.” 

“I just want you to be comfortable,” Dex admitted. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to be here.”

“I want to be here,” she said. “I like talking to you. You’ve told me a lot about the FBI. That’s not the only reason I like talking to you, though.”

“Why’s that?” Dex couldn’t help but ask. 

“You’re nice to me,” she simply stated. “I got lucky that you’re my neighbor. I feel safe.”

“Even though you know my line of work isn’t always sunshine and daises—even though you know what I’ve done,” Dex said in a low voice, “You still feel safe?”

“You’ve given me no reason to think otherwise,” she said softly. “You’ve shown me one side of you. I’m shocked you haven’t figured out I’m trying to get to know all of you, Dex.” 

Dex held her gaze and felt something blooming slowly in his chest. “What else do you want to know?”

“We can save it for another time. You asked me here tonight because you wanted to get to know me,” she nudged his shoulder with hers, the first physical touch they’d shared all evening. 

“That’s right,” Dex said with a small nod. 

“Your turn,” She said with a welcoming smile. Dex took a deep breath. Truthfully, he felt the basic questions had run dry. He knew all there was to know about her on the surface: how she got into forensic science, where she studied, where she’s from, where she works. When he was serving time in the army, the comrades he was with often sat in circles in their tents and started playing games like Never Have I Ever or Would You Rather? He didn’t want to play those games with her now, but he wanted to get to know her on a deeper level. Those games typically made people reveal things about themselves. If she felt so safe around him, Dex didn’t see any harm in asking more personal questions. 

“Do you remember what your prom was like?” Dex asked with a sideways smile. 

“My prom?” Her eyes lit up at the question to Dex’s relief. He nodded. “Oh my, gosh, well, yes. It was such a weird time for me. I actually didn’t have a date my junior year, but senior year I did. I was the worst prom date.”

Dex smiled, trying to live vicariously through her experiences. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“It’s true. I had a crush on someone else so by the end, I ditched my prom date and went to a different party. But I had so much fun with my friends. I miss the freedom of being that young,” she smiled. “Good music, free food. Sneaking alcohol at the after party. What about you?”

Dex looked away from her and shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t go to prom. I didn’t technically have a prom.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. The institution Dex grew up in threw a makeshift prom for the seniors, but it didn’t have good music. It had free food that came from the cafeteria they ate at every day already. And absolutely no alcohol by any means. And Dex didn’t have a date. “I remember sneaking out to leave early and head back to my room.” 

“Room?” She questioned.

“I grew up in a Boys’ Home,” Dex lied again. “They invited other homes for orphans but it was awkward. No one really knew anyone. I swore off events like that after that.”

“When’s the last time you went to an event?”

“Probably then.”

“Dex,” she said his name, “we’ll have to find an event for us to go to and change that.” Dex smiled. He’d only consider it for her.

“What color was your dress?” He asked her. 

“White,” she said. “With a bunch of sparkles. My friends gave me shit about it, saying white was for weddings, but I didn’t care. I loved my dress. It was an off-shoulder dress. I felt like a princess.”

Dex tried to imagine it in his mind. White—fitting for her. 

“I’m sure you looked like one, too,” Dex said quietly. “Have you ever traveled outside the city?”

“Of course,” she smiled again. “I’ve been for Orlando, Boston… the entire east coast, pretty much. Outside, I’ve been to London.”

“London,” Dex said impressed. “Did you like it?”

“I did but, it’s got nothing on New York. Where have you traveled?”

“I’ve only ever traveled for the army,” Dex answered. “Nowhere exciting. And definitely not for vacation.”

“We’ll use up your PTO days soon,” she nudged his knee with hers. Dex liked the hopefulness in her tone—the idea of what she was saying coming to fruition one day. And he liked that she said we. 

“Do you remember your first heartbreak?” Dex asked her. 

“Oh, Dex,” she sighed. “Who doesn’t? It happened recently in college. About around the time I was a freshman. Of course, I fell for a guy who was older than me. He had me in the palm of his hand for an entire year… until he graduated and dumped me like that. I was so head over heels for him, but it taught me a great lesson. Never put your life on hold for someone else.”

“That’s true,” Dex said. “I’m sorry he did that to you. That must’ve been hard.”

“It’s okay,” she shrugged. “I hardly think about it now, unless someone asks me. Do you remember yours?”

“Yeah,” Dex replied. “Like you said, who doesn’t?” 

“What was it?”

“It’s not a typical heartbreak.”

“It’s all the same feeling.”

“I guess it would be when my parents died,” Dex said, meeting her eyes. “And then I was put in that home when I was a kid.”

“Dex, I’m sorry,” she whispered, scooting closer to Dex on the couch. His right leg was now resting against her left leg. She put her arm around his back and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Dex whispered back. “It was a long time ago. It made me capable of being on my own at an early age.”

“Do you have other family?” She asked, pulling back to look at him. 

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s just me.”

“Well,” she said instantly, “now you’ve got me.” 

Dex wanted to tell her that she couldn’t say things like that to him unless she really meant it. But he didn’t want to get serious about it all—didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

“Do you remember your first kiss?” She asked him in a lighter voice. Dex laughed. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “I had no idea what I was doing. It was awkward. And wet. You?”

She laughed against him. “I had a similar experience. It was so strange at first. I honestly hated it. I felt too young to kiss like that.”

“Yeah,” Dex nodded, trailing off, thinking of another question to ask her. He opened his mouth to say something, wondering if it may be too far, or treading a thin line of what boundaries they already had. Her leg was still pressed against his, but her hands were to herself now. “Do you remember… your first time?” He asked her.

Silence at first. So much silence that Dex had to look at her to make sure she was okay. Her eyes were focused in front of her, avoiding his. He’s never seen her like this—quiet, unsure. Dex wanted to rescind the question immediately and apologize for overstepping a boundary. But then, she gave him a small, ironic smile. 

“No,” she answered, shaking her head. Dex thought of every possibility in his head that could make her not remember something like that—having sex for the first time—and each possibility raised concern in him until she finished her answer. “I haven’t had my first time yet.”

It was Dex’s turn to go silent. He looked at her expression—she was trying her hardest to keep an indifferent look, but Dex sensed a tinge of embarrassment from her, and even sadness. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more: that she was a virgin or that she was capable of emitting an emotion he knew all too well. He wanted to kick himself for triggering that emotion out of her. 

“I’m sorry,” Dex squinted his eyes, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “You’re not judging me, are you?”

Dex looked at her in disbelief. How could he judge a girl like her? Dex has killed people before—not in the line of duty. He’s used lethal force; he’s been abandoned. And she thinks that he would judge her over not having ever had sex? Dex felt hollow in his heart for a moment—that she thought for even a second he would ever judge her for something like that. She, who is so kind and sweet—pure—someone Dex is positive he isn’t worthy of having so close to him. She scares him in a lot of ways because of that. But somehow he’s earned her trust. No, there’s no world where Benjamin Poindexter judges her. 

“Never,” he breathed out, moving so he was facing her. “I could never judge you for something like that. There’s no shame in it.”

“Sometimes I feel that way, that I haven’t experienced something so intimate before,” she said behind a sad smile. In a lot of ways, Dex hasn’t experienced something so intimate before either. Yes, he’s had sex—but the sex he’s had with partners never felt intimate. It just felt like sex. Soulless, empty, physical. He always felt emptier inside after. 

“It’s okay,” Dex comforted her. “It’s not always intimate.”

“It’s not?” She asked him, furrowing her brows. “I don’t know. It seems intimate to me.”

“It is,” Dex nodded, “it can be. But it has to be with the right person. Otherwise, it’s just an act.”

“I don’t want it to be that way,” she admitted, breaking eye contact. “Just an act. I can’t—I’m too sensitive to just do it. It has to mean something. I think that’s why I’ve waited so long. Not because of religious reasons. I’m not waiting for marriage. I just want my first time to be intimate. I want my first time to mean something. I want it to be real. I’ve heard so many stories from my friends saying guys just leave them after they get what they want. I’m not strong enough for that.” 

“I understand,” Dex said softly. “I get it. But please know I could never judge you for that. If you don’t judge me for not being pure.”

“Pure,” she laughed, “is that what you think I am now that you know that?”

“No,” Dex shook his head. “I knew you were pure from the moment I met you. I didn’t need to know anything else about you to know that.”

“Why do you say that?” She asked.

“Because,” Dex struggled to find the words. He looked at his hands, her knees, her curious expression. “You talked to me so easily that first night in the elevator. So open. I’m not—I’m not used to that. You were kind. I could tell you were a good person. I—I need that in my life, __,” he said, almost pleading like she was halfway out the door when she was still sitting on the couch next to him. 

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” she whispered. 

“I let you come over every night to talk about my job because you wanted to,” Dex began to say, “but I also let it keep happening because it has kept me sane. Talking to you. Being with you…” he broke eye contact again. “You tell me I make you feel safe,” Dex spoke again. “You make me feel that way, too.” But when Dex says that she makes him feel safe, he doesn’t mean safe from the other people in the building or even New York City. She makes him feel safe from himself. 

“I’d never want to do something to make you go away,” Dex continued. “I want you around,” he whispered. “I want you to stay.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she shook her head. She placed her hand on Dex’s knee. Dex slowly brought his hand to cover hers. This was the first direct contact they’d ever had—holding hands. Dex looked at the image—studied how his hand fit perfectly on top of hers. He twisted his fingers so they intertwined. Without thinking, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. She let him. He kissed her knuckles again, then the back of her and, then her wrist, and soon Dex was peppering kisses all the way up the length of her arm, pushing her sleeve up. 

“Dex…”

He rolled her sleeve down and held her hand again, waiting for her directive. When she gave no protest, Dex moved her hair behind her and kissed her neck. She gently pushed his chest away from her, but only to look at him. His eyes were dark, full of intensity. She leaned in and closed the space between them, kissing Dex and Dex kissing her back. The moment their lips touched, they both knew it was long overdue. Dex placed his hands on her waist while she held him on his shoulders. His tongue made his way into her mouth and she welcomed it gladly. Dex squeezed her gently and pulled back, resting his forehead on hers, out of breath.

“When’s the last time you’ve had a kiss like that?” She asked. Both of them had soft laughs escape their lips.

“I think that was my first time,” Dex admitted against her lips, “my first time wanting to kiss someone like that.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” she smiled. 

Dex kissed her again, gently pressing her to lay down on his couch. She did so she was laying on her back, with Dex leaning over her. She pushed his chest away again, indicating she wanted to speak.

“Dex, I want you to be my first time,” she said.

“What?”

“I want you to take my virginity,” she told him. Dex pulled back completely now. He had to sit with what she was asking him. She leaned up again in concern. “I want it to be with you.”

“__,” he said her name, rubbing his eyes closed. As much as he wanted that, Dex wasn’t sure he was worthy. He wasn’t worthy to be in your presence alone—but to take that from you, the very thing that could change everything—he wasn’t sure he was worthy of that either. You were so good and so pure—to give him that responsibility is to give him the power to potentially ruin that. He couldn’t stand the thought of ruining something else that was so good in his life. 

But if it wasn’t going to be him, it was going to be someone else. And the thought of someone else doing this to her—ruining her purity—cut him to the bone. As quickly as his attachment grew in his chest, jealousy did too, at the thought of someone else doing it to her. 

Selfishly, he wants to be the one to taint her. Unselfishly, he doesn’t want to ruin what she is. 

“You don’t want me,” she shook her head and bit her lip, avoiding eye contact.

“That’s not true,” Dex said. “I do want you.”

“Then why aren’t you saying yes? Why aren't you taking me right now?” 

“Because like you said before,” Dex whispered, taking her hands again. “You want it to be special. You want it to mean something. Rushing into it on a spur of the moment thing won’t make it what it should be.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and Dex had never seen her so emotional. It made his heart hammer in his chest. He shifted so he sat closer to her. He kissed her forehead. 

“I want you,” he reassured her. “But not right now. You should sleep on it. Really think if you want it to be me. I’d hate to ruin a perfect night by us jumping into it right away.”

She avoided looking at him, but deep down, she knew he was right. 

“Okay,” she whispered. “I will.” 

He kept looking at her until the look of worry faded from her face. All that was left was exhaustion in the form of half-closed eyes and soft breathing. Dex nudged her with his knee. 

“What do you say we call it for tonight?” Dex asked. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “I should go.” 

Dex walked her to her door. As she unlocked it, she turned around to say goodnight again, and as if on cue, Dex twisted her into his arms and gently pushed her against the wall of the hallway, kissing her deeply. He locked her there, between his arms, a leg separating hers. She placed her hands on his chest to steady herself. When he pulled back, he looked away, as if the mere sight of her would make him come completely undone. 

Silence followed her into her apartment. Dex retreated back to his, and while she was no longer gracing it with her presence—he felt her everywhere. 

◎◎◎

Dex sat at his kitchen counter. His mind was too clouded by his thoughts to focus on anything—his thoughts that were consumed by her. He didn’t realize that by giving her a choice in thinking about what they talked about, he was at the mercy of that decision. 

If she ended up not wanting it to be with him, how would that change their relationship? Would she stop coming over? Worse—would she never speak to him again? Dex could’ve easily given her what she wanted in that moment, but at the same time, he didn’t want to ruin what they already had. What had easily landed in his lap without him having to do anything. 

On the other hand, if she did still want it to be with him… well, where do they go from there? Not to mention that he would be the one to take that purity away from her—and not in the sense of virginity. But in the sense that someone like him, someone who has killed and is capable of doing much worse, gets to be inside her for the first time. He didn’t feel worthy to be in her presence like that, to be the one to alter her experience with intimacy forever. If she still wanted it to be with him, he would make sure it was special and intimate like she wanted it to be. 

But he’s afraid that if this happens, he’ll never be able to let her go. It sounds wrong, but he would feel a sort of possession over her. He was protective over her already; after this, he would be downright territorial. His past lovers have all been with people before him…she would be the first he’d ever be with who hadn’t been touched before.

Touched. Dex felt a cramp in his hands thinking about touching her for the first time. He’d want to map her entire body out; take in how beautiful she looks completely naked. He’d be the first to see her like that. He hoped he’d be the last. 

There was a knock at his door.

Dex paused before getting up. It could all change in this next moment. He wasn’t sure which he was hoping more for. He took a deep breath and walked to the door. 

There she was in all her glory—her hair had brushed out, messy curls and was pushed to one side, like she had just nervously fixed her hair. She was in a new set of pajamas—pearlescent silk white. She met his eyes for a fleeting moment before looking down—Dex could still she still felt embarrassed, or ashamed. For whatever reason. It should be him who felt like that.

“It’s okay," Dex spoke first. “Whatever your decision is."

“I want it with you, Dex,” she looked up at him with worried eyes. “But if you don’t want it with me, then—“

“Come in,” Dex opened the door for her to step inside. She immediately stood in the middle of his living room as Dex shut and locked his door.

She was holding herself—arms around her stomach, avoiding eye contact. Dex wasn’t used to seeing her so unsure of herself; he was used to seeing her positive, confident, smiling. Looking at him with hopeful eyes. What did he have to do to calm her nerves?

“I want this with you,” Dex said softly, approaching her slowly. “I just want to make sure you truly want this with me.”

“I do,” she affirmed. “More than anything.”

Dex placed his hand on her cheek, studying her features before everything changes. She was right about something—sex is an intimate act. Sex changes things. He knows how it has changed things for him, but he’s not sure how it will change things for her. He wanted to remember what she looked like before the act—before he changed everything. He caressed her cheek with his thumb. He didn’t want her to feel worried. It was written all over her face.

“What are you scared of?” He asked her.

“It hurting,” she said meeting his eyes. 

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Dex began, “it’ll hurt at first. But then it won’t. What else are you scared of?”

“Making a mess,” she broke eye contact again. “I may bleed.”

“Don’t worry,” Dex shook his head, whispering. “It’s not a mess you’ll have to clean up. Anything else?”

She bit her lip and met his eyes again. “I don’t want you to stop talking to me after it’s done. I don’t want us to do it, and then that being all that you wanted, and then you stop seeing me or hanging out with me.”

Dex furrowed his brows in disbelief. Here he was, afraid of the same thing, unknowing that she too shared the same fears. Dex would never stop talking to her after it’s done. She knows she’ll be attached to him after—little did she know that Dex would be infinitely more attached to her, for separate reasons. He may be taking her purity, but she’s giving him something worse: hopes that he may find newfound purity in himself. 

“___,” he said her name, meeting her eyes. He caressed her cheek some more. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. Once this happens—it won’t be possible for me to let you go.” 

She took a long shaky breath. “Okay, Dex. I trust you. I—I think I’m ready.” 

Dex continued to caress her cheek as he held her gaze, witnessing her eyes soften in comfort—safety. Trust. “Okay,” he said. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

She blushed in the most adorable way. Avoided eye contact, bit her lip. She nodded. Dex placed two fingers under her chin to lift her to look at him. Dex slowly leaned down to meet her lips with his. And when they finally touched, she fell right into him. 

Dex cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand, holding her steady in place as he kissed her. He teased her lips with her tongue, and she opened her mouth to let him in. He started off slowly…sweetly. When she took his hands and moved them to hold her waist, he took it as a sign to deepen the kiss. His tongue danced against hers as he practically inhaled her with kisses. His strong hands rested at either side of her waist. 

They both pulled back out of breath. Dex leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closed. 

“Let me lay you down,” Dex said in a low voice. She nodded against him and let him lead the way to his bedroom. 

She sat at the foot of the bed in the center. She started to shake uncontrollably—from nerves, the AC in his room and from the reality of what was about to happen.

Dex knelt between her knees in front of her. He took her hand and held it in his. He kissed her knuckles and felt her shaking. He looked up at her. 

“This is for you,” Dex reminded her. “It’s okay.” 

“I’m just nervous,” she said. “I’ve never been completely naked in front of anyone.”

“I’ll ask you if I can do anything before I do it,” Dex said. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” she nodded. She was taking deep breaths to calm her anxiety. Dex kissed her knuckles again. He placed both her hands on her legs. 

“Can I touch your shoulders?” He asked. 

She looked confused at first, but nodded anyway. Dex placed his hands on both her shoulders, softly caressing her with his thumbs. He moved his hands down both her arms slowly, feeling the softness of her silk pajamas. When he reached her hands, he held them both. 

“Can I unbutton your shirt?”

“Yes,” she breathed softly. 

Dex nodded and slowly started to unbutton her shirt one by one. He kept his focus on the buttons—nothing else—definitely not the goosebumps rising on her skin and definitely not at her hard nipples through the shirt. When he was done, only the center of her torso was exposed. She leaned back on her elbows and Dex leaned forward more between her legs, which were now spread a bit more. 

Dex could see her heart pounding in her chest. He took right hand and kissed her knuckles. He met her eyes.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” Dex reassured her. She shook her head. 

“I don’t want you to stop.”

Dex kissed her hand again. “Can I touch you?”

“Anywhere,” she said in a small voice. 

Dex slowly began to trail his hand up the length of her torso, from her stomach to her collarbone. He slipped a few fingers under neath her shirt, dangerously close to her left breast. Dex looked at her once more for permission. All he needed was a small nod to let him know it was okay—and she did. Dex slowly traced his fingers over her breast, feeling her soft supple skin react to his touch—goosebumps, her nipple hard in the palm of his hand. Dex took a deep breath to control his own feelings of arousal—feeling her breast in his hand, realizing he was the first person to ever touch her like this. Dex squeezed her breast lightly and traced his pointer finger underneath her breast, feeling the curve of her soft skin. He pushed the shirt away, exposing her completely. He did the same thing on her other side with his other hand. He slid her shirt completely off and she closed her eyes, leaning fully back. 

“You’re beautiful,” Dex whispered. “You’re soft and perfect.” 

She opened her eyes. “Touch me more.”

Dex scooped her in his arms and lifted her further up his bed. He knelt between her on the bed and traced his hand on her stomach again. An intrusive thought crossed his mind—would she let him come inside her? Would she want to feel his seed that deeply inside her, knowing the risk? Dex felt his cock harden at the thought of coming inside her for her first time. 

He took a deep breath and crossed the thought away. He placed both his hands on her breasts and gently squeezed them again. He leaned down and kissed the skin between her breasts. She closed her eyes in pleasure. Dex kept his hands on her waist and slowly kissed his way to her right breast, kissing it before taking her nipple in his mouth. He licked and sucked her hard nipple, gently wrapping his lips around it and starting a motion of licking and sucking. He swirled his tongue around her nipple and kissed her breast. He did the same thing on the other side.

  “How did that feel?” He asked her. 

“Good,” she answered in a breathy voice. “Really good.” She was still shaking. Dex was starting to love the idea of him making her shake like that. 

“Good,” he said. Dex began to pepper kisses down the length of her torso, holding his hands on either side of her waist. She breathed deeply and pressed her head into his pillow, bracing herself for whatever was next. He played with the hem of her pajama pants and looked up at her with a slight sense of urgency. 

“Can I take these off?” Dex asked. 

“Yes,” she breathed, closing her eyes. 

In one single slip, Dex took her pajama pants and underwear off, completely exposing her to him. Dex gazed at her sex which was slightly glistening from how wet she was, and then he noticed her slightly shaking again. He placed his hands on her thighs and kissed her on either side, trying to hold her steady. 

“It’s okay,” Dex whispered. “Just tell me if you want to stop.”

“I don’t,” she said. “I’ll stop shaking soon.”

Dex secretly hoped she wouldn’t. He slowly slid his right hand over to her inner thigh and began to draw small circles. He slowly inched his way over to touch her pussy. He ever so gently placed the pad of his thumb on her clit, mimicking the small circles he just drew on her thigh before. She shivered at his touch and Dex watched her carefully. He mindlessly kept rubbing her clit as he watched her expression change from tense to relaxed. 

“That feels really good,” she whispered. 

“Let me know how this feels,” Dex said in a low voice. He slowly knelt between her legs, pushing them farther apart. He placed his entire mouth on her pussy and began to lap slowly at her slick folds. He started from the bottom and licked slowly up to her clit. 

“Oh,” she moaned in a slightly pitched voice. Her legs shifted against Dex’s head, which was welcomed. Dex continued to lap at her wetness, completely putting his entire mouth on her sex. He pulled back momentarily to insert one finger in her tight pussy. She gasped at the tension, grabbing onto the fitted sheets. Dex reached his other hand up and took her hand, indicating that she could hold onto him. He pulled his finger and met his lips to her pussy again, this time moving his tongue around faster than before. His lips were locked on her wetness, and he began to feel himself get lost in the way she felt against his mouth, like this was his last meal on earth. She squirmed against his face, breathing deeply. She reached to pull on his hair to channel how he was making her feel. His hand gripped her thigh while the other held onto her ankle. 

Dex focused his sucking on her clit and he paid mind to how she was breathing—he didn’t want her to come yet. Her eyes were closed, mouth half open, brows furrowed together. With his lips still on her pussy, Dex looked up at her and locked eyes for a moment with her before she closed them again and sighed into his pillow. He took one last lap at her wetness before pulling back and kissing both of her inner thighs. 

“Dex…”

“You okay?” He licked his lips. 

She only nodded, slightly disappointed by how cold she felt now that he wasn’t touching her. Dex could sense she wanted more. He could sense she was ready. He took off his shirt and pants, exposing himself to her. He couldn’t remember the last time he was bare in front of someone, but he didn’t care—all those times before didn’t matter. Only now did. 

His cock was hard, pre-cum leaking at the tip. Dex was slightly surprised that she reached down to touch him, gently running her thumb over his tip. He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. He placed his hands under the small of her back and lifted her up his bed, so she lay perfectly in the middle. He was hovering over her now—his cock dangerously close to her wetness, but not touching. They looked at each other for a moment, Dex looking deeply into her eyes—he couldn’t tell what she felt. Fear, anticipation, aroused? A mix of all three, he supposed. Because it’s exactly how he felt, too. Knowing that after this, their entire dynamic would change. For better or worse. 

She spread her legs wider and placed her hands on his face. Dex leaned down and kissed her gently. 

“You still want this?” He asked her.

“Yes.” She swallowed hard. “Please be gentle.”

“I will,” Dex nodded, his hot breath hitting her skin. He pushed a strand of hair away from her flushed face. He kissed her between her eyebrows. 

Dex slowly lined up his cock at her entrance and rubbed his tip against her folds, getting himself wet with her pussy. He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw. Her eyes were closed, but he watched her as he ever so slowly tried to push himself inside her. He was too big for her to enter easily, and she was too tight for him to go any harder. She said gentle, and that’s exactly what he did. She took a sharp intake of breath and her heart was beating hard against her chest. Dex could sense her anxiety and kissed her forehead again as he tried to push himself inside her more. Slowly, inch by inch, he pushed himself inside her tight pussy, and in one quick thrust, Dex was completely inside her. They both reacted in their own way—Dex letting out the deepest sigh he’s ever taken, and her gasping for air from the pain.

“Dex, Dex,” she whispered in a slight panic.

“Shh,” Dex was trying to keep himself focused but it was hard to while he felt her tight pussy completely encase him while at the same time soften her worries. “It’ll get better. I’m going to go back and forth.”

She nodded and kept her eyes shut, a pained expression on her face. Dex felt incredible inside her, but this wasn’t about him. It was all for her. 

He slowly pulled out, and she could feel the difference immediately. He felt so big inside her that when he almost pulled out, she felt so empty—she needed to feel him like that all the time. Close, inside, tangled up with her softness. 

When he pushed back in, he couldn’t help the moan that slipped out of his lips. She was shaking, and her shaking at his cock inside her, ignited something primal in him. He was the first person to ever feel her like this and make her feel this way, and that thought alone spurred Dex on to keep thrusting inside her. She was completely soaking and he could feel her start to mold to his cock.

“Dex,” she whispered his name, “it’s starting to feel different.”

“How?” He uttered out while he still slowly went back and forth inside her. 

“Good,” she opened her eyes finally and met his dark ones. “Really good. I—“

“You want more?” Dex asked, and it was his turn to close his eyes.

“I want more,” she nodded. 

Dex wasted no time in speeding up his thrusts inside her. He went even deeper, feeling the tip of his cock touch the back of her cervix. He was imprinting his size on her. She knew she would feel him for days after. She felt so velvety, soft, wet and tight around his cock, Dex’s mouth was half open and his eyes were closed as he continued to thrust inside her.

“More, Dex,” she sighed.

His arms were under her, and hers were around his shoulders. Dex kept one arm under her and held onto his bed frame to get a better angle at fucking her, because now that’s what they were doing. Dex pounded inside her tight pussy, wetness and possibly blood coating both of them and his sheets. He watched her as she closed her eyes, mouth half open, as he continued to fuck her into being all his. He didn’t know what he liked more—being inside her or watching how much she enjoyed him being inside her. She fluttered her eyes open for a moment, meeting his, and Dex instantly closed his eyes. He retreated his arm back from the bed frame and scooped her in his arms, pressing his forehead against hers. 

She closed her eyes again and had an expression of arousal, her eyebrows knitted together and her mouth slightly open. She opened her eyes and suddenly felt very aware of what was happening between their two sexes—it was a mix of wetness from her and something else more runny—blood. Her cheeks flushed red in embarrassment, Dex could tell, and she tried to look between them as he kept thrusting his cock inside her, unsure if she should allow herself to feel good or worry about the mess she’s making. 

Dex followed her line of view and blocked it with his dark eyes. 

“Look at me,” he whispered. “Look at me. How do you feel?”

She met his eyes and sighed heavily, “But Dex—“

“Don’t,” he pressed his forehead firmly against hers, continuing to pound into her, feeling the tip of his cock touch the back of her cervix. “Focus on me.”

Focus on him she did—the way he was hitting her g-spot repetitively made her spread her legs wider and push him in even more. He filled her up so completely, so well, she was sure to feel him for days. 

“Oh, God, Dex,” she moaned, louder than before, “something’s happening—“

“Let it,” Dex whispered against her lips, closing his eyes and focusing on hitting her sweet spot. “Come for me, __. Come for me…come for me…”

“Dex!” Her pussy convulsed around his cock as she finally reached climax for the first time. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly against her, holding on like she was holding on for life. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest and she lost her breath and regained it as she held onto his warm body. He was still inside her, thrusting more gently now. He kissed her neck, kissed the skin behind her ear, kissed her forehead and kissed her lip as he continued to move inside and out of her.

“Oh,” Dex whispered against her lips. “I’m right behind you—“

“Inside me,” she said in a whisper, “please.”

Dex closed his eyes as he felt himself release his seed inside her tight pussy, feeling it coat all over her inside, he was shaking against her. It was her turn to kiss him, to bring him back down from his own high. 

He laid his entire body weight on her, which was welcomed. His cock was still inside her, resting, until he slowly pulled out of her. She held him tighter. He breathed her in deeply, kissing her shoulder. She ran her fingers through his dirty blonde hair. 

He pulled back, gazed in her eyes for a moment. 

“Let me get a towel,” Dex said softly. 

He pulled the sheets over her and when he came back, he cleaned between her legs as best as he could while she fell asleep. Dex threw the towel in the hamper, a clean, perfect throw, and crawled back under the sheets with her. He pulled her in tightly, and she molded against him like she was meant to be there. It may have been her first time, but he was certain this was his first time feeling the attachment in the aftermath. He hoped this wouldn’t be their last.  

[midnightslark]

Wilson Bethel is so hot. That mf has never looked ugly. Like what’s his problem? Dude needs to relax, like he’s doing too much (to me)

[porcelainstarrr]

i cant stop laughing

gif cred : daredevilshots

[soularsss]

been thinking about Dex.. a lot..