[...]⠀⠀┄ ⠀ a lonely, socially isolated benjamin poindexter becomes unexpectedly fixated on a small pink bracelet worn by a kind barista. what begins as an awkward misunderstanding turns into the first genuinely warm interaction dex has had in years, when you gifts him the bracelet and treats him with a kindness he doesn't believe he deserves.
❝ including ⠀! ⠀benjamin poindexter. ◟ warnings ⠀! ⠀part 1 of series, fem reader, yandere dex, fbi dex, fluff maybe? masterlist, english is not my first language 𖹭⠀⠀❞⠀
The bracelet is pink.
That’s it.
That’s the whole fucking problem.
Not you.
Not your smile.
Not the way your voice sounds soft enough to make his chest ache.
The bracelet.
Pink stones around your wrist.
Small.
Glossy.
Translucent under the café lights like little pieces of skinned flesh dipped in sugar.
Dex notices it the second he walks in and then his brain clamps onto it so hard it feels physical. Like teeth sinking into tendon.
Great.
Fantastic.
Another thing to obsess over.
He should leave.
He knows he should leave.
The coffee shop is crowded and loud and smells like burnt espresso beans and wet jackets and somebody’s cloying perfume two tables over. Every sound crashes into him separately instead of blending together normally.
The espresso machine screams.
Silverware scrapes ceramic.
Somebody taps their nails against a laptop keyboard too fast.
A guy near the door keeps sniffling every twelve seconds exactly and Dex notices every single one.
Twelve seconds.
Sniff.
Twelve seconds.
Sniff.
His head already hurts.
He shouldn’t have come here.
Should’ve stayed home.
No. Home is worse.
Home breathes.
Home makes noises at night.
Not real noises. Just settling pipes and creaking walls and neighbors moving around upstairs but his brain stretches every sound open until it becomes something alive. The apartment feels like the inside of a body sometimes. Warm and airless and rotting slowly around him.
So he came here instead.
And now there’s you.
Pink bracelet.
His eyes drift toward it again immediately.
Fuck.
Stop staring.
He looks away.
One second later his eyes slide right back to your wrist.
Fuck.
You’re moving behind the counter, smiling at customers while steam curls around you in pale ghost shapes. The café lights catch against the bracelet every time you move your hand.
Pink.
Pink.
Pink.
His brain starts tracing the movement automatically.
Trajectory.
Distance.
Speed.
The beads hit against your wrist softly every time you reach for something.
Click-click-click.
His fingers twitch against his coffee cup.
Don’t stare.
He stares.
He tells himself he’ll stop after one more second.
Then another.
Then another.
It feels good.
That’s the embarrassing part.
The bracelet quiets something in his head for a second. The noise around him dulls whenever he focuses on it. Like his brain finally found one clean line in a room full of screaming static.
You laugh at something a customer says.
Dex’s eyes jerk upward automatically.
And there it is again.
That smile.
Jesus.
You smile like you don’t know what people are capable of.
Like nobody’s ever bled on your hands before.
His stomach twists strangely.
Look away before she notices.
Too late.
You’re already walking toward him.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Dex straightens immediately in his seat without meaning to. His spine locks rigid. He looks down at the coffee cup like maybe if he avoids eye contact hard enough you’ll leave.
“Do you need anything, sir?”
Too close.
Your voice is too close.
Warm.
Soft.
He can smell vanilla syrup on your clothes.
“No,” he says too quickly. “No, I’m okay. Thank you.”
Weird.
Too fast.
You definitely noticed that.
Your eyes narrow slightly.
“Then why do you keep staring at me?”
There it is.
He fucked up.
Heat floods his neck instantly.
His grip tightens around the paper cup hard enough to bend it inward with a soft crunch.
Everybody heard that.
Now everybody’s looking.
Nobody is actually looking but it feels like they are. Feels like the entire café just turned toward him all at once.
Creep.
Weirdo.
Psycho.
His heartbeat starts slamming too hard.
Say something normal.
Normal people know how to do this.
“Well— I—”
Jesus Christ.
Spit it out.
Your expression shifts slightly.
Not angry.
Guarded.
Like you’re already preparing yourself to leave.
That feeling hits him somewhere ugly and soft inside his ribcage.
“No, it’s not—it’s not like that,” he says quickly.
Too quickly.
Now he sounds defensive.
Good job.
You made it worse.
“Then what is it?” you ask.
His thoughts jam together immediately.
Words never come out right when people are looking directly at him.
Too many things happening at once.
Your eyes.
Your voice.
The noise in the café.
The smell of coffee.
The bracelet.
Pink.
Focus.
“It’s just your bracelet,” he blurts out finally.
You blink.
“My bracelet?”
“Yeah.”
Too blunt.
He should explain more.
Why can’t he ever fucking explain things correctly?
“What about it?” you ask slowly.
He notices your shoulders tightening slightly.
You think he’s lying.
You think he’s dangerous.
Maybe he is.
The thought flashes through him fast and cold.
No.
Stop.
“It’s just…” His throat feels tight suddenly. “It’s a nice color.”
Silence.
God.
That sounded pathetic.
A grown man staring at a waitress because of a bracelet.
You’re definitely gonna walk away now.
Instead your eyes widen slightly.
“Oh.”
Color rushes into your cheeks almost immediately.
Dex stares before he can stop himself.
Pretty.
The thought arrives sharp and sudden.
Too pretty.
You let out this awkward little laugh and glance down at your wrist.
“Thanks,” you mumble. “It’s rose quartz.”
Rose quartz.
Rose quartz.
Rose quartz.
“What’s that?” he asks.
Your expression changes again.
The suspicion softens around the edges.
You touch the bracelet gently with your fingers.
“It’s a crystal,” you explain. “People say it attracts love.”
Love.
The word sits strangely inside his chest.
Heavy.
Wet.
Like an organ dropped into his hands.
His eyes flick unconsciously around the café.
Couples everywhere.
Hands touching.
People leaning close together.
Everybody connected together through invisible threads while he sits alone at a tiny corner table feeling like something stitched together wrong.
“My sister gave it to me because she said I was lonely,” you say with another embarrassed laugh.
Lonely?
You?
No.
That doesn’t make sense.
You move through rooms easily. People smile when you talk to them. Your voice sounds warm enough to crawl inside.
Lonely people are supposed to look like him.
Tired.
Sharp.
Held together too tightly.
“Does it work?” he asks quietly.
You blink at him.
His stomach twists immediately afterward.
Too serious.
Why did you say it like that?
Now she thinks you’re insane.
But you keep staring at him instead of leaving.
Your expression softens slowly.
Like fabric loosening.
And suddenly Dex feels exposed in a way he hates.
Because he thinks you can see it.
The emptiness.
The horrible starving thing inside him.
“It works if you believe in it,” you say gently.
Believe.
Dex almost laughs.
His brain feels like a mouth full of broken teeth chewing on itself half the time.
He doesn’t know how to believe in anything.
Then suddenly you step closer.
Too close.
His whole body locks immediately.
You reach for his hand.
Dex freezes so hard it almost hurts.
Warm fingers wrap around his wrist.
Fuck.
His pulse jumps violently beneath your touch.
He can feel every line of your skin against his. Every tiny shift of pressure. His nervous system lights up all at once like somebody peeled his skin off and exposed every nerve ending directly to air.
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean you have to—”
“You can have it.”
You’re already sliding the bracelet off your wrist.
His brain stutters.
Wait.
Wait.
Your fingers brush against the inside of his wrist again while fastening it around him.
Pink beads against his skin.
Warm from your body heat.
“You need it more than me,” you say softly.
Need.
The word goes through him like a blade.
Need.
Need.
Need.
Something inside his chest moves suddenly.
Not metaphorically.
It genuinely feels like something waking up underneath his ribs. Something thin and starving uncurling slowly in the dark.
Because you noticed him.
That’s the horrifying part.
You looked at him and saw loneliness immediately.
And instead of recoiling—
you touched him.
Dex stares down at the bracelet silently.
His thoughts start looping instantly.
You touched him.
You gave it to him.
You said he need it.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Like film burning over itself inside his skull.
Then you step back suddenly.
“Oh my God,” you say quietly. “And I’m sorry for earlier.”
Your face goes pink again.
“We get a lot of creeps here sometimes.”
Creeps.
There it is.
Reality sliding back into place.
Dex feels his stomach knot painfully.
Because for one second there he almost forgot how he looked from the outside.
Strange man sitting alone.
Staring too hard.
Too intense.
Too quiet.
Wrong.
“I hope you understand,” you mumble awkwardly.
You actually look guilty.
That’s what gets him.
Not the accusation.
The guilt.
Because you care.
You genuinely care that you hurt his feelings.
Something in his chest pulls painfully tight.
Say something.
Say thank you.
Say it normal.
“Y-yeah,” he manages finally. “No, I understand.”
Too stiff.
Still weird.
You smile anyway.
Small.
Sweet.
Beautiful.
Tiny living thing fluttering through all the rot inside his head.
Then you walk away.
Dex watches you go because of course he does.
His eyes follow automatically.
Your hands.
Your shoulders.
The empty space on your wrist where the bracelet used to be.
No.
Not empty.
On him.
His fingers close around the pink stones carefully.
Pink.
Still warm.
Still carrying heat from your skin.
And suddenly the café doesn’t feel quite as loud anymore.
Not because the noise stopped.
But because now there’s something else inside his head too.
Your voice.
Your smile.
Your hands touching him gently like he wasn’t something dangerous.
Dex sits there long after his coffee goes cold.
And every few seconds his eyes drift back toward you again automatically.
Every time you laugh, his chest aches strangely.
And when you catch him looking again near the end of your shift—
you smile at him.
Actually smile.
Like you’re happy he’s still there.
The starving thing inside him opens its eyes completely after that.
roommate dex who you hear masturbating and whining your name in the shower when he thinks you’re still at work 😋
NAUGHTY!!!!!!! roommate dex who can't even make eye contact with you when he asks for trivial things around the apartment, who averts his eyes in a panic if he catches you walking around with just a towel covering your naked body, who goes red at the face in near blinding rage when you plead for him to let you use the apartment to bring dates over, roommate dex who sleeps in your bed whenever you spend the night away because he misses you so much he end up crying against your pillow
roommate dex who instantly blows his cover by sighing your name in between pathetic whimpers as he jacks off in the shower, his body smelling of your soap and shampoo, unaware that you're watching him as he gasps and moans and twitches at the very thought of you, roommate dex who cums with a high pitched whine of your name that echoes against the white pristine tiles of the wall and dex, who instantly gets hard again when you murmur at him "oh dexy, started without me?"
discreetly slipping dex your panties out in public.
he’d definitely be mostly calm and collected but his pupils would dilate and there’d be a slight waver in his breath, and he’d definitely threaten in a whisper that he’ll take you right there in front of everyone since that seems to be what you want
he's just soooo easy to rattle in that sense, its hard not to want to push his buttons all the fucking time, even if it may not show outwardly, the moment you start to tease dex out in public you know his 'easy going' demeanor is at risk of falling completely, his eyes go black as they stare at you with the kind of antagonistic intensity usually reserved for someone like matt murdock, and all you do is fucking beam at him, it makes his blood boil, that you want to ridicule, taunt him like this, his knuckles crack with how hard he's gripping the fabric of your underwear inside his pocket, dex's breathing is shaky, "whats this little stunt mean?" he asks with a suspicious squint of his eyes, gulping back a knot in his throat as he continues whispering "you want me to fuck you out here for everyone to see? is that it?" he smirks, says it to scare you off, to gain some semblance of dominance over the situation, but the reality is that dex has fantasized about doing exactly that from your very first outing with him, and every single one after too
you teased the tip of dex's cock against your cunt, gathering your arousal as you dragged him slowly back and forth. his breath landed shakily on your neck, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips in desperation. biting your lip in anticipation, you let out a moan when his length hitched on your sensitive little clit. dex watched you obsessively, falling right into a trance, groaning your name when you positioned his pearling head at your entrance. "please, honey, need to be inside you." you cooed at him, “awww,” planting a filthy kiss on his swollen lips. you slipped his tip inside your warm, soaking pussy and felt him twitch, veins pumping and length further hardening. "fuck," dex sighed, sweat beading, dripping down his carved chest as you ground your hips, teasing him to insanity. "'s okay, baby? just the tip's okay?" you blinked up at him, blindingly beautiful smile on your lips. dex whined shamelessly, head falling back against the headboard.
Asking him to pass you a teabag and instead of taking those few extra steps he just throws it in your mug for you.
Forgetting to turn off the lights before going to bed and instead of letting you get up he just balls up a sock and throws it at the light switch. The clothes hamper now sits nicely under the light so he’s not overwhelmed by clothes on the ground when it inevitably happens again.
He never misses your mouth when he kisses you. Always right on the money!
You’re having a bad day, walking down the street. Maybe something happened at work. The pocket of your jacket suddenly feels heavier than just a few seconds prior. You put your hand in your pocket only to pull out your favourite candy. You look around, even up at fire escapes and windows. You don’t know where he is but he’s definitely around!
In summer, you make it your mission to get him to toss your sunglasses onto your face. Tipping your chin up as you dig into your beach bag for sunscreen, asking so sweetly if he could put your sunglasses on.
He does it, of course, and gets all that more smitten as you beam towards him. The frames sitting proudly on the end of your nose.
summary: you hated him and you hated what he had done but that didn't even stop you from doing what you wanted deep down
word counter and tw: (1,9k) smut, age-gap, injuries
The room was in semi-darkness, lit only by the orange light of a streetlamp filtering through the broken window. The air smelled of dried blood, sweat, and that faint metallic scent Dex always left in his wake.
You were sitting on the wooden chair, legs crossed and arms pressed tightly against your chest, as if trying to contain the rage eating you alive. In front of you, on the makeshift bed, lay Dex.
Asleep. Vulnerable. And that only made you angrier.
His bare torso rose and fell slowly with each breath. He had fresh bruises everywhere, shades of purple and black marking his ribs, shoulders, and abdomen. A deep cut crossed his left eyebrow, still crusted with a bit of dried blood. His face, which was usually disturbingly attractive, now looked beaten and swollen… but it was still him.
The man who had killed Foggy. The man who had nearly destroyed your brother. The man Matt, in a damn stupid act of heroism, had decided to save.
Your hands clenched into fists on your thighs. You remembered the exact moment you found out about Foggy’s death. Foggy was family, and Dex had erased him like he was nothing. Since then, every problem, every sleepless night, every time Matt came back injured… everything had Benjamin Poindexter’s name on it.
Matt had brought him here, to one of the hideouts only the two of you knew about.
“I can’t let him die,” your brother had said with that damn voice full of guilt and responsibility. You hadn’t answered him, only looked at him with so much hatred that Matt almost stepped back. And now here you were. Watching him. Because Matt had asked you to while he went out to get supplies.
Dex stirred slightly on the bed, letting out a low groan of pain even in his sleep. The movement made the sheet slide further down his hips. Despite the hatred, your eyes lingered there a few seconds too long.
You hated him even more for that.
Suddenly, Dex’s eyes snapped open, not slowly or confused, but instantly, like a predator that never fully lowers its guard. His dilated pupils focused on you immediately. For a second he said nothing, just stared at you with that disturbing intensity that defined him. Then a slow, pained smile formed on his split lips.
“Murdock…” his voice came out hoarse and broken. “What a nice way to wake up.”
You froze. You hadn’t expected him to wake up so quickly.
Dex tried to sit up a little, but the pain made him hiss and lie back down. Still, he didn’t stop looking at you. His eyes traveled down your body for a moment before returning to your face.
“You’re still here… watching me while I sleep.” He let out a low laugh that ended in a cough. “Are you thinking about killing me? Go ahead. It would be… poetic. Daredevil’s adoptive little sister avenging the fat guy.”
The hatred burned in your throat.
“Foggy had a name,” you spat with venom. “And you killed him like he was just another target. Like he meant nothing.”
Dex stared at you in silence for a few seconds. His expression changed. He wasn’t smiling anymore.
“I’ve killed a lot of people,” he said coldly. “He was just one more.”
You stood up from the chair so fast it fell to the floor with a loud clatter. In two steps you were beside the bed, looking down at him with trembling fists.
“You’re a plague. Everything that’s gone wrong in our lives has your fucking name on it. If it weren’t for Matt, I would’ve let you bleed out.”
Dex held your gaze. His eyes shone with something dark, almost excited.
“So why don’t you do it now?” he whispered, almost defiantly. “I’m hurt. Unarmed. It’d be easy for you.”
He stayed quiet for a second, then added in a lower voice.
“Or… is it that deep down you don’t want me to die?”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Your hand moved before you could think twice. You grabbed a fistful of his blond hair and yanked his head back violently, forcing him to look up at you. Dex let out a rough grunt of pain, but his eyes locked onto yours with that damn intensity that drove you crazy.
“I’m not leaving things like this,” you hissed through your teeth, your face inches from his. “As soon as my brother takes his eyes off you… I’m going to take care of you myself. I’m going to make you pay for every tear. I’m going to destroy you, Poindexter.”
Dex breathed heavily, lips parted and a crooked smile on his face despite the pain from his split eyebrow. His gaze dropped to your mouth for a second before returning to your eyes.
“You’ve never killed anyone in your life…” he murmured in a deep, mocking voice. “Do you really think you can kill me, princess?”
You tightened your grip on his hair, pulling even harder until he hissed.
“You could be the first,” you replied with pure hatred. “And I’d enjoy it.”
The silence was electric.
Suddenly, Dex pushed himself up, ignoring the pain of his wounds, and crashed his mouth against yours with brutal force. It was a furious kiss, full of rage and something much darker. His lips were split and tasted like blood, but that didn’t stop you. For a second, you responded with the same violence, biting his lower lip hard.
Then you reacted.
You pulled away sharply and slapped him across the face with such force that his head snapped to the side. The sound echoed in the room.
“Son of a bitch!” you growled, breathing hard.
Dex let out a low, dark laugh, his lip now bleeding even more. He looked at you again, eyes bright with excitement and madness.
And he kissed you again.
This time it was you who pulled him in. You grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him with even more fury, as if you wanted to punish him with your mouth. Dex moaned against your lips. One hand slid to your waist and pulled you against him hard, even though his body protested from the wounds. The kiss was dirty, desperate, full of teeth and resentment. Your hatred mixed with something you refused to name, something hot and sick that made you wet between your legs.
When you pulled away again, panting, your foreheads stayed pressed together. You looked into his eyes, breathing ragged.
“I hate you,” you whispered against his mouth.
Dex smiled with that disturbing smile that defined him, running his thumb across your lower lip.
“Good,” he answered hoarsely. “Then use me to take it all out…”
You hated him. You hated him because your body responded before your mind did.
You shoved him hard against the mattress. Dex grunted in pain as his bruised back hit the bed, but the sick smile never left his face. You climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. You could already feel him hard beneath the thin sheet.
“Shut up,” you growled, yanking your shirt off with rough movements and throwing it to the floor.
Your hands were shaking with rage and something more you didn’t want to admit. Dex looked at your breasts with shameless hunger, his hands sliding up your ribs to squeeze them hard, almost brutally. His thumbs brushed over your already hardened nipples.
“You say you hate me… but look at you,” he murmured mockingly. “You’re already soaked, aren’t you?”
“Shut up,” you repeated, weaker this time.
You leaned down and kissed him violently, biting his wounded lip until it bled again. Dex moaned into your mouth and thrust his hips upward, rubbing his erection against you. With a quick movement you unbuttoned his pants and freed him. He was rock hard, thick, and already leaking at the tip.
You impatiently stripped off the rest of your clothes and positioned yourself over him. You rubbed his tip against your soaked entrance. Dex clenched his jaw, his hands digging into your hips with force.
You sank down hard.
A rough moan escaped you as you felt him stretch you open completely. He was big and filled you too much. You stayed still for a second, breathing heavily, refusing to move.
Dex looked at you with narrowed eyes, that crooked smile still on his lips.
“You gonna stay there pretending you feel nothing?” he taunted, voice broken with pleasure. “I can feel how tight you’re squeezing me…”
“Shut up,” you growled, starting to move.
You began riding him hard, with rage. Every downward thrust was brutal, punishing him, using him. Your hands braced on his bruised torso, digging your nails into his bruises on purpose. Dex groaned in pain and pleasure, but never looked away from you.
“Just like that… fuck,” he panted. “Harder, princess. Take it all out on me.”
You increased the pace, moving your hips with fury. The wet sound of your skin slapping against his filled the room along with his groans and your ragged breathing. You tried to keep the look of hatred on your face, tried not to moan… but it was impossible.
Every time you sank all the way down, a treacherous moan escaped you. Dex noticed immediately.
“There it is…” he whispered with dark satisfaction. “You can’t pretend with me. Your pussy is gripping me like it wants to swallow me whole.”
Dex slid one hand up and grabbed your throat, squeezing just enough to make you feel dominated, even though you were on top. With his other hand he pressed his thumb against your clit and started rubbing it in fast circles.
Your body tensed. A louder moan escaped you.
“I hate you…” you gasped, but your hips started moving more desperately, chasing more friction.
“I know,” he replied with a sadistic smile, not stopping his movements. “And yet you’re going to cum on my cock like a desperate little slut.”
That infuriated and aroused you at the same time. You started riding him faster, deeper, almost violently. Your moans could no longer be contained. Every time you came down, he thrust up, slamming hard into that spot that made you see stars.
“Dex… fuck…” his name slipped out without you meaning it to.
He let out a rough, victorious laugh.
“Say it again.”
You didn’t want to, but the orgasm was approaching too fast. Your movements became erratic, your thighs shaking. Dex kept rubbing your clit mercilessly, squeezing your neck.
“I’m not… I’m not going to…” you tried to lie, but your body betrayed you completely.
You came hard, moaning loudly, clenching around him as waves of pleasure tore through you. Your nails dug into his chest, leaving red marks.
Dex cursed under his breath, mesmerized by the look of pleasure on your face. He fucked you faster through your orgasm, prolonging it until it almost hurt, until your moans turned broken and pleading.
When you started to come down, he suddenly flipped you over, getting on top despite the pain of his wounds. He spread your legs roughly and thrust back in with one deep stroke.
“Now it’s my turn,” he growled against your ear. “And you’re going to cum again… even if you keep saying you hate me.”
18+ benjamin poindexter is big, needy, and pathetic.
at first you were afraid of what bullseye can do.
you didn’t know benjamin poindexter, but you knew of that other side of him. the blood on his hands that he acted like didn’t exist or just didn’t care to dwell on. how capable he is of destruction that it followed him everywhere he went.
but then he met you.
well, first he followed you. he found your address and place of work. found your parents house and your coworkers husband who stared too long at you when he picked up his wife.
dex watched you walk home from afar because someone should make sure you’re safe, right?
but you’re attentive and when he starts to get closer, you notice him. he’s not hard to miss, all that muscle mass and that deafening stare. you lock eyes with him at the grocery store. then, at your local coffee shop when he lifted his hat and visibly gulped. he finally builds up the courage to talk to you then and buys you a cup of coffee, plus some sweet pastry because he knew you hadn’t eaten yet, even though you didn’t tell him.
though when he slips up that the gym by your house is nice, you just knew.
“did i mention i lived around there?” you blink at him.
his smile reaches his eyes, crinkling beautifully. “i believe so.”
calling his bluff and inching closer, you press on, “i believe you’ve been following me, Benjamin.”
everything in his face drops and his expression falters. “no… i just—i saw you and i thought,”
“—it’s okay,” you smile, lifting your drink and sipping slowly. eye’s glued to his as they began to soften. “i can learn things too. really interesting things officer.”
he blinks hard, “i didn’t tell you about my job…”
“and yet? you’d be surprised how much information you can find online.”
the words die in his mouth and he’s left dumbfounded and speechless. still, he stays and he asks for number. you give him it. you could ask him to anything and he’ll say yes or soundlessly change the odds so they’re all in your favour. it’s not coercion and it’s almost worse than obsession, but the control is all in your hands. he is at your beck and call willingly.
so when he you’re mad at him, he doesn’t know what to do. he just falls apart.
“please,” he begs over the phone, “i’ll be good i swear. i’ll stop fighting just let me come home.”
from his tone you could tell he was just done crying and it just sounded pathetically beautiful.
“this is not your home. this is my house.” you coo as you stir your dinner. “stop calling me dex.”
you hang up without listening to the rest of his pleading. though less than 10 minutes later, he’s at your front door, begging again.
“baby,” eyes red and puffy, “i need you, i can’t breathe without you. please, please, don’t cut me off again, just—” he breathes as he ghosts his arm by your shoulders like he’s asking for permission. “can i please stay?”
you sigh and let him inside the house. he silently walks in, muttering a quiet thank you as he passes you. as soon as you close door and turn, dex is already on his knees.
“what the hell are you doing dex?”
dropping to his knees, his hands caress the backs of your thighs, dropping his head and burying it between them. gripping you tightly like he could bare letting go. “please take me back. nothing is good without you and it’s making me fucking sick, please,” practically blubbering at this point.
he was so strong and his biceps wrapped around you effortlessly. you could feel the strength just radiating off of him always, like an ever glowing essence.
you sigh, hand touching the nape of his neck and travelling up through his hair while he hums in contentment, “please stand up.”
the sound that he makes was teetering the line of desperation and relief. his lips press against the plush of your thigh while his hands rise to cup your ass. with your hand still buried in his hair, you pull him up with a slight tug, trying to get him to stand. though he keeps slowly rising, kissing up your side and dancing over your stomach, the fabric rising with every movement. a soft gasp escapes your lips and his touch slides up your spine, a shiver running through you. he stops just by your neck when you tug his hair harder and he hisses your name though one would argue it was a moan. you shove him gently and tell him to sit down, though you knew he could’ve stopped you.
you tend to his wounds and wipe his face and he watches you the whole time with puppy eyes. you share your dinner with him but you don’t touch again then, he only steals glances between bites.
within the span of an hour he’s inching closer to you on the couch and he’s watching you when he thinks you’re not looking. no one really cares about the news playing on the television as it repeats something about the AVTF.
his heavy hand rests just under your chest as he pulls you in and buries his nose in your hair, taking a long deep breath in. memorizing your scent like it gave him life.
by the end of night dex is situated between your legs, groaning like it hurts to part from you. he whispers soft thank you’s like he’s grateful for this meal you’ve provided. pushing your legs up higher over his head while you pant and squirm. but dex takes more control then, ignoring your pleas to slow down and dragging you closer to his mouth. maw slack and relentless as he laps and teases. his strong arms wrap and hook around your thighs. tongue teasing the sensitive bud for what felt like eternity. you’ll push his head away to no avail, weakly spent as you attempt it.
“dex, enough. i can’t,” you pant, voice bordering on barely concealed exhaustion and blissful satisfaction.
he shakes his head against you and that only makes you gasp again, throwing your head back.
“not until you promise hmm?” he says between his drunken moans, “you can’t leave me.”
crying out from overstimulating pleasure you nod, “okay, fuck— i won’t. you can stay.”
looking up at you through his hooded eyes, he smiles with them before kissing your inner thigh. he leaves gentle kisses to let you cool off, letting the feeling subside for barely a minute before diving right back into his ministrations. he lets you squeeze yours legs around his head and writhe as you say his name.
“now really try to suffocate me with these,” he says as he squeezes your thighs harder around his neck, turning his head to bite the plush of your thighs.
you know you’ll let him in again. you’ll always let him come back. maybe one day you’ll tell him how you follow him too.
can you tell i just rewatched the whole show again?
📣 Notes: This one is for that request and for a sweet anon who said they have been scouring the seven seas for content like this; we're so glad you're satisfied with the writing beautiful. We don't post the messages any of you send, but keep in mind we read them all and we're so grateful for your sweet words, all of you are so wonderful. 𖹭
Tags: Top Dex - GN/AFAB reader - Unprotected sex - Pussy slapping - Mini squirt - Obsessive behavior - Attachment issues - DDBA Dex - Dark topics
You remember the knock on your door as if it were yesterday.
Only someone with his precision and calm could knock on your door like that, at such late night, and he'd done it so many times in the past that it was already etched somewhere in your brain where your memories of him are stored.
You almost didn't open until you heard that voice calling your name.
The sound of it, the low scrape of it through the door. It was enough to make a knot rise in your throat and your hands suddenly felt cold. It was something you should have forgotten long ago for the sake of your sanity, but his memories were painfully good enough to be able to forget about him after he'd been caught and separated from you with the intention of keeping him imprisoned for life.
His voice managed to burrow into your brain just like it used to, and before you knew it, you were opening your door to the person who had become a ghost in your life.
Dex looked just like you remembered him, bright and tired hazel eyes, a few more wrinkles from age, a scar on his cheek that looks very good on him. He looked more mature, stronger, tired… He looked so perfect that you felt all the love you thought had disappeared hit you at the speed of a train.
A small smile formed when he saw you, easing the slightest tension in his shoulders because you decided to break the barrier and see him. The two of you stood facing each other, words gone, and honestly, it's not like you could utter a single word during that moment.
“Hello,” he breaks the silence, and your knees almost give way. “Can I come in?” However, he didn’t wait for an answer; he only needed to see the sparkle in your eyes to enter.
You remember the smell of rain on his coat, the way he locked the door behind him as if he still belonged there. The silence that followed was a living thing, pacing between the two of you without intentions to leave.
Why are you here, or you shouldn’t be here, were the things you wanted to say, but all that came out of your mouth was his name. He said yours again, softer this time like an apology—though he didn’t look like he was sorry for anything, or at least he didn’t feel it at that moment.
You knew he was broken. Locked away for so long while being exposed to his own thoughts, his ideas, his problems, the buzz.
Suddenly it dawns on you that he’s been off his meds for a critical amount of time, and it all started to make sense.
You let the silence take over as you head to the kitchen, feeling a mixture of panic and relief. You can't deny that his presence alarms you, but at the same time, you feel safe because he's by your side again. No matter what, he's here.
As you head to the kitchen to get him, or rather, yourself, a glass of water, he stood in the doorway, looking around, studying the changes. He began to tell you how long ago he escaped. He didn't say how, or what he did along the way. You didn't ask him either, because you're still absorbing it. You were too busy pouring two glasses of water, and for a moment, you thought about drugging him and maybe getting him out of your place.
Just a thought you didn't need.
You approached him and handed him the water, which he drank quickly. You noticed his dark circles under his eyes, the sharp and worn features. You watched the slight trembling of his hands, focusing on the seams where control ended and violence began.
Your brain was still endlessly debating whether you should call the police or tell him he had to leave, neither option giving way until he started speaking.
“You said I could come to you if I had nowhere else,” he said, as if that promise hadn’t been made years ago under completely different circumstances.
You swallow the huge lump in your throat that doesn’t allow you to speak. “That was before everything,” you murmur without looking him in the eyes, your gaze fixed on a nonexistent dot on the ground.
He nodded once, recording inside his head everything he could take of your face. “I know… But I still remember it. I’m not asking for much, just the night.” There’s a pause, and he takes a step forward. You instinctively take a step back.
“Please? ”
Your breath catches at the tone of his voice, the one he used to use with you, only with you. You squeeze the glass of water in your hand, fingers imprinting on the material as you hear your heart racing.
That's what you remember most. Your heart about to leap out of your throat, the heavy feeling of the room, the tension, the danger balanced with the safety on the edge of something inevitable that you know could have been avoided if you had told him to leave.
It was already too late to do that.
Because you let him in, you talked to him, cared for him, kept him close, managed to relive the sweet moments you spent with him, and you should be disappointed by the fact that you so much enjoy this slightly more twisted version of him. You noticed it after he refused to take the pills you got for him not in a very moral way that were for his conditions.
He only took the ones that helped him with the stabbing pain in his back that attacked him more times than he'd admit. You wanted him to continue taking the others for his own good, but he refused as many times as it took for you to stop bringing it up.
As expected, this had some not-so-bad consequences. His attitude changed a little; he laughed and smiled a bit more, he loosened up when you were together, he no longer repressed himself when he felt an emotion eating him up from within, he let it flow until it exploded enough to be dangerous to then calm down with your help and patience.
A part of you feels guilty; another wants to keep him that way forever.
He needs you so much, he seeks you so much, so obsessed and needy for your touch. Cowed by the despicable thoughts that invade his mind about you abandoning him for any reason, even though deep down he knows you would never do anything like that.
You know he needs you now more than ever, and you don't mind his attempts to show it at all.
While you're eating, while you're showering, while you're watching TV, while you're healing him after he tried to hurt himself. Also in bed, while he gives you everything he has and lets out the most adorable, muffled sounds against you.
You didn't mind keeping him off his medication if it meant he was going to please you in such a satisfying way. The guilt will come later.
For now, all you can do is enjoy the way your aching cunt is stretched by his pulsing cock, hitting all the right places inside you, his forearm pressed tightly against your throat as your body rests on top of his, feeling his sweaty, solid chest pressed against your back in a somewhat awkward position.
But you can't focus on that because the smacks of his hips keep you in limbo, and his forearm leaves you stunned enough to keep you in a vicious cycle of pure lust.
Dex doesn't talk much, but that doesn't mean he isn't loud. Small, breathy moans and gasps are muffled against your ear as he struggles to get as much of his cock inside your tight heat as he thrusts upward, making obscene sounds that make you arch your back off him, but his left arm keeps you in place so he can continue fucking you the way he thinks you deserve.
You feel like you're going to pass out from the abuse in your ruined flesh and all the times he has come inside you until you can feel his cum mixed with your slick escaping out of your entrance after he pulls out only to slam back in again in needy thrusts that leave you breathless.
He whimpers holding you close when he's close again, and the arm pressing against your stomach lowers. You feel a warm hand stay still where his cock stretches you open and you let out a squeal at the extra contact.
He fingers a little, getting out of your hole just a bit to insert a quick finger into the mess and pull it out, sticky strands sticking to his finger. He raises his hand until his finger touches your battered lips and you obey, opening your mouth for him to feed you with the union of the product of both of your pleasures, tasting the salt, the filth of it and you hollow your cheeks as you suck, lowering your hand to touch yourself, something he avoids.
Removing his finger from your mouth with an indecent pop, he moves your hand from your pussy to cup it himself, making you close your thighs at his action, but he doesn't move an inch.
To get you to keep your legs open again, he moves his hand towards your mound and with four fingers he smacks your cunt hard, hitting your sensitive clit while at it. He takes your reaction as something positive that is still on what's pleasurable.
His cock throbs untouched at your little pathetic huffs and he slaps your flesh again, focusing on your clit and your legs start to tremble while he does it repeatedly, open hand against hypersensitive flesh, small obscene sounds made by the wetness of your cunt are heard causing your cheeks to burn with pitiful shame but he doesn't stop, he keeps smacking your bare pussy and your hips thrust upwards seeking to rub against his open palm but that only makes him press harder.
Suddenly, to make it worse for you, there are tiny spurts of that clear fluid coming out of you with each smack and you can practically feel his smile.
Dex starts whispering praise as your world comes crashing down because he doesn't stop, prolonging your orgasm, slapping until your flesh is sore and raw, until his hand is soaked with your release, then he takes his length to shove it inside you again and fuck you again, no matter how you tremble or how wet you left the mattress beneath you.
He will continue until he is sure that you are more than satisfied.
Tags: Sub Dex - Female reader - Inexperienced Dex - Oral sex ( f receives ) - Panty kink - Panty licking - Panty eating (?) - Praise kink - Established relationship
There was nothing better than a cloudy afternoon in your apartment, the world outside muted and grey, while inside you had warmth, comfort, and the company of your boyfriend with a movie humming faintly in the background—something neither of you were really watching anymore—as you're sitting on the sofa, legs open, perfectly at ease, happy and relaxed, letting him do…
Well, that strange thing he’s been obsessed with for weeks now.
He's on his knees between your thighs, shoulders tense with effort, face buried right where the heat radiates from you. He hadn’t even touched your bare skin yet, just pressing his mouth to the thin cotton stretched over you. Your panties, damp from the earlier teasing were soaked through now, clinging to your feverish skin. His tongue moves against the barrier testing and pushing, little slow strokes that make you twitch because of the ticklish sensation that travels up your core to every place under your skin.
Then, as if something snapped loose in him, the licks came faster, so sloppy, as though he couldn’t believe you are letting him do it, as though he was scared you will take it away if he doesn't devour you every second.
At first, he seemed awkwardly harmless when he asked—shy, almost tripping over his own words. Typical Dex.
Up until then, your relationship hadn’t crossed the line of kisses and hesitant touches, so when he finally deigned to ask you that, your smile spread without you meaning it to. It wasn’t that you were shy—you knew eventually you’d ask him yourself—but there was something disarming about the way he rushed to get the words out, as if the idea had been gnawing at him for too long to keep inside.
The weight slipped off your shoulders in the moment he said it, he saved you from being the one to break that invisible wall first. Just a quiet, offhand question slipped between laughs during a silly conversation full of intimacy.
You could still hear his voice in your head, low and a little rushed, which made you think that if he said it too clearly it might sound like too much. And yet the request had been simple enough, almost innocent, if not for the heat behind it.
That way, he wouldn’t have to keep sneaking around, wouldn’t have to “borrow” your panties the way he had been doing—thinking you hadn’t noticed or that his little secret was safe.
The truth was that you had noticed. Of course you had, and the thought of him alone with something that belonged to you, so desperate enough to do that, all of it was too tempting to just stare at him as if he was a weirdo, that's not how you are, you're hyperaware of the fact you enjoy your awkward freak and you can't bring yourself to judge such act covered in worship.
“Dex,” you murmur, fingers curling into his hair, tugging just enough to make him look at you, “you know you can take them off, right? At this point you’ve kind of already eaten them.” The words slip out with a breathless giggle, the fabric clinging to you sticky and soaked from his persistence.
He doesn’t stop right away. He presses his mouth harder, trying to drink through the thin barrier, and there's a desperate noise vibrating against you when you finally tug him back, his lips are swollen, slick with spit and the product of your satisfaction.
“Yeah I know,” he says, voice a little muffled. He swallows hard before admitting, “but I don’t really know that,” his breath hitches, his cheeks flushing deeper, and he shifts like he’s embarrassed by the confession but can’t help himself.
“I like… I like how they taste like this, I also want to try more, but you'd probably be disappointed,” that last part comes with a breathy, nervous laugh that has you smiling.
He presses his mouth back to the soaked spot, dragging his tongue slowly over it until your breath stutters in your chest. The pressure isn’t nearly enough, not with the fabric still in the way, but watching him try to rut against nothing while he licks and sucks greedily has your whole body burning. He’s a mess somehow—hips jerking, shoulders tight with restraint, mouth working like he thinks if he just tries harder he’ll get to the sweetness beneath.
“You could never disappoint me,” you murmur, encouraging. “Besides, you already know some tricks,”
The small compliment makes him finally look up at you, pupils blown wide, lashes trembling with every desperate blink. His lips shine, wet and swollen, and he looks undone just from this. You giggle when he just stares at you like you just said something that he will never forget.
“Not that look…” you tease, laughter breaking the tension for a heartbeat.
He answers with a quick, clumsy lick against the damp fabric just where your clit is swollen beneath the material, like a puppy desperate to please, earning another little sound from your throat.
“Alright,” you exhale, your thighs twitching, the teasing burning into frustration, “this is too much. I’m gonna teach you Dex—so you can do it good and please me properly—because you’re making me go crazy here.”
Your words make him shiver, his hands tightening on your thighs like he’s bracing for a lesson he’s been waiting his whole life to take.
“Are you sure?” his voice makes your chest tighten, makes your pulse race in sync with the steady throb between your legs. You give him the smallest nod, and it’s all he needs. His face lights up, so grateful it nearly breaks you. “Okay… okay, thank you,” he whispers.
The way he looks at you makes your stomach flip, he always looks at you like you're something divine and painfully sacred that he still can't believe is by his side.
You can’t wait to show him what he’s capable of, to coax out that potential he’s so desperate to prove. With a quick hand, you hook your thumb into the band pressing against your swollen heat and peel your panties aside, just enough to expose the slick ache he’s been tormenting himself over all this time.
The moment your cunt glistens in the dim light, his breath catches audibly. His eyes go wide, pupils swallowing the pretty hazel, lips parting like he’s about to pray. He stares at the way you shine for him, mesmerized, a wet sigh escaping from you as the cool air kisses your bare skin. His gaze flickers up to your face, only to fall again, drawn helplessly back down.
“Now,” you say softly, steadying his focus, guiding his hunger with a fingertip pointing where you want him. Your swollen clit, just a little below it, “start here with your tongue, yeah? Just a slow lick, baby.”
“Mhm,” he nods quickly almost trembling with the weight of your instruction, leaning in with both of his hands gripping your thighs.
He obeys instantly, no hesitation at all. His tongue drags up your folds with a shaky gasp, slow just like you told him. The sound of it—his raw need bleeding into every movement—makes you shiver. By the time his tongue slides up to touch your clit, your whole body is already leaning into him, greedy for more. His hands clutch your thighs like he’s terrified you’ll push him away, knuckles straining white.
“Good boy,” you murmur, your voice dropping lower, syrupy-sweet with approval. The effect is immediate—he has to take a moment to whine, then lick his lips to continue.
“Just like that,” you guide, and he follows before you even finish speaking, desperate to earn more of your approval. His tongue circles your clit in quick little swirls, messy but effective, each one sending sparks dancing through your belly.
Then he slides lower again, down to where you’re dripping, where your body pulses and clenches with every teasing touch. He pushes the tip of his tongue inside, shallow, but still enough to make your breath catch, to make your thighs tighten reflexively. He doesn’t linger long—only to taste a little bit of what's inside, enough to make you gasp—before moving back up to your clit, the rhythm is not overwhelming but it is intoxicating. Every pass feels better than the last, his tongue applying the right pressure, dragging the sweetest ticklish ache out of you until your lips part in a bitten-back moan.
He’s learning you on instinct alone, desperate, eager, and it’s already making you dizzy.
“Dex,” you gasp, tightening your grip on his hair “Please start sucking, your lips... Use your lips,” twitching and panting feeling pathetic, but no more than him because he nods so quickly, closing his lips around your clit making a little pout that makes you close your eyes and moan.
His muffled mhmm vibrates right against your clit, and the sound alone makes your legs tremble. His mouth doesn’t leave you, not even for a second—he’s latched on now, fully addicted, tongue moving in frantic little circles that border on sloppy but feel like heaven. Every desperate flick drags another wave of heat out of you, and when he sucks—lips pulling tight around your swollen nub—your cunt clenches against nothing, aching, your body trying to grasp at something that isn’t there.
The pressure is relentless, his tongue alternating between circling and pressing, abusing that bundle of raw nerves that has your hips rocking helplessly against his mouth. The broken moan that rips out of you only spurs him on, he groans louder, shamelessly, the sound spilling directly into your skin, feeding off your reaction.
He’s lost in it—lost in your taste, in the tug of your fingers in his hair, in the way you guide each quick movement like you’re conducting him. You don’t even have to look down to know what’s happening to him; you can feel it in the tremor of his shoulders, in the tiny twitch of his body pressed so close to your legs. He’s rutting against the air, straining for friction he can’t have, so turned on it’s almost painful, but he refuses to pull away from you.
The sight alone—his mouth worshipping you while his own body trembles with need—makes the burn inside you coil tighter, ready to snap.
Your free hand drifts down, resting on your lower belly, fingertips grazing your mound. His eyes flicker to the movement, wide and intent, but his mouth never falters against you. Then, suddenly, his grip shifts—he releases your thighs, and the absence of that bruising hold makes you whimper at the loss. Before you can even complain, his hands are sliding higher, thumbs pressing delicately to either side of your labia.
The breath catches in your throat when he parts you open, spreading the slick skin. He pulls back just enough to look, his mouth hovering, his eyes locked on you, on your most intimate part he needs to see. Adoration softens every line of his face, and the way he drinks in the sight makes you tremble.
“What are you doing? Don't do that… keep going,” you whine, the petulance in your own voice making heat rush to your cheeks, shame curling under the desire. You sound like a begging spoiled child.
He licks his lips, eyes flashing up to yours, caught between guilty and awestruck. “Sorry. I just wanted to see,” there's a very awkward pause, “...wow.” The last whisper is reverent, ragged, and before you can scold him again, his mouth is back on you.
This time he starts lower, licking and sucking at your entrance, his thumbs still holding you open so he can taste every drop. You shudder at the hot, sloppy attention, gasping when he drags his tongue back up and catches your clit again between his lips. The combination makes you arch, your back bowing against the sofa, hips rolling forward to feed him more.
Obscene wet sounds echoing between you as he works. Your body pushes into his mouth again and again, giving in completely while he laps and sucks like he’ll never get enough.
Nothing stops until the pressure inside you finally snaps. Your body seizes against his mouth, your cunt pulsing around his tongue just as you told him to fuck you with it. He does—shoving it as deep as he can, sloppy and relentless, his nose rubbing against your clit, smelling your natural scent that makes him leak inside his pants. The combination has you crying out, thighs trembling around his head, heat spilling over his tongue as he drinks down every second of your release.
It takes everything in you to push him back, gasping, overstimulated, your body still twitching from aftershocks. He resists for a moment, groaning into your folds like he’d happily drown there, but when you tug his hair firmly, he pulls back. Thin threads of saliva and your slick joining his lips to your cunt, he stares up at you like you’re his vice, his drug.
“Wait—please, please, again, again,” he whines with his pretty voice breaking, his face still close enough that his breath fans over your flesh.
You shift on the sofa to glance down at him properly. He’s still moving his hips against nothing, rutting air like a desperate animal. He must be so hard it aches, but he doesn’t reach for himself, doesn’t even think to—his whole world is focused between your thighs. The sight makes you chuckle, a giddy little sound of satisfaction, because you’ve never seen him look so undone.
“Yes,” you breathe, stroking his hair, rewarding him. “Yes, you can do it again.”
The joy that breaks across his face is pure, grabbing your panties, tugging them back over your swollen cunt, covering you again. And he dives in again, pressing his mouth to the damp fabric like it’s his altar, licking and sucking through the soaked cotton as if he can’t bear to let you go bare for too long.
“Weirdo,” you purr while stroking his hair and he starts giving little kisses to your puffy cunt, loving how the soaked fabric feels against his lips.
“Don’t be mean,” he mumbles against you, words muffled by the constant, sloppy way his mouth keeps working over the damp fabric. The vibration of his voice only makes your thighs twitch tighter around his head.
“I’m not…” you coo, tilting your head, watching him like he’s the sweetest, dirtiest thing you’ve ever owned. Then, with a sly grin, you drop the bait. “You know… if you come just from this, I’d let you keep them. You could lick them whenever you want.”
You wink at him, voice dripping with tease, and the effect is instantaneous. He almost chokes on his own breath, groaning into you, eyes squeezing shut as though the promise alone might undo him. His hand jerks downward, clutching himself hard through his jeans, desperate for some kind of hold to keep from blowing too soon.
The sight of him—mouth glued to your cunt, nose pressed into the damp cotton, one hand trembling as it grips himself like a lifeline—makes your chest tighten with wicked delight. He’s so close, you can feel it in every frantic lick, every needy sound he pours into you.
You know it, he can definitely reach that edge, and after all, he deserves it for learning too fast.
dex brings home a camera. starts with an intimate photoshoot and ends with him between your legs.
warnings?: oral (reader recieving), kissing, they both horny as hell, polaroid camera photoshoot, fbi dex.
he doesn’t say anything at first.
dex just stands there in the doorway, watching. some habits are hard to break.
you’re turned slightly toward his mirror, fingers grazing the lace hem of your black vintage babydoll, tilting your head like you’re trying to decide if you like what you see. his bedroom is dim, only the warm lamp on his nightstand illuminating you, you looked like something unearthly.
he notices everything, he always does. the way the fabric shifts when you breathe. the slight arch in your back. the matching black lace underwear that he can get glimpses of when you turn to look at your back side. you’re completely unaware he’s home. you look pleased with your self, you feel pretty.
“…you’re in my room.” dex breaks the silence.
his voice is calm, flat. he opens the door, leaning against the door frame. his arms folded across his chest.
you turn, startled for half a second before relaxing. “you scared me.” you pout.
“i didn’t mean to.”
you roll your eyes a little, but there’s a smile there.
“how was your day?” you ask, sauntering towards him.
his gaze lingers on you not shy, not flustered but like he’s trying to memorize the way you look right now.
“better now that i’m with you” he says truthfully. he wouldn’t know what he would do without his north star.
“I got you something.” and a glint forms in your eyes to which he smiles.
he turns and walks out before you can even ask what he means.
you blink and follow him with your eyes as he leaves, your attention catching just briefly on his back. the way his black t-shirt pulls across his shoulders, your boyfriend is so hot.
when he comes back, he’s holding something black and boxy in his large hands.
“a guy at work didn’t want it anymore,” he says, holding it out like it’s nothing. but it was everything to you.
you take it, turning it over in your hands. a vintage polaroid camera.
you feel dex’s stare as you switch on the camera, it comes to life with a high pitch sound.
there’s a pause.
You glance up at him. “why give it to me?”
“…why not.” he says quietly. you were perfect in dex’s eyes, an angel who sat on his shoulder.
you smile a little, “okay… then take a picture.”
he hesitates. the tip of his ears lightly getting flushed.
then he steps closer, taking the camera back, adjusting it with careful hands. “stay like that.”
oh he’s into it now.
you laugh lightly. “like what?”
“don’t move.” he murmurs, looking through the viewfinder.
the click is quiet. the photo slides out slowly, and he watches it develop like it’s something important. then hands it to you.
you both lean in slightly to look at it, resting your hands against his forearms. your shoulder brushes his chest.
“take another,” you say, barely above a whisper now. inching backwards to lay on the bed. you lean back on your arms. tilting you head a little. you pout into the camera, eyes on dex.
this time, dex doesn’t need to see through the viewfinder to click. once it slides out, you pull him by his wrist onto the bed, he’s on his knees between your legs. he clicks another one, selfishly aiming for your cleavage.
you take the camera from his hands and turn it towards him. he lets you photograph him shockingly.
click. another one. the flash causing red eye effect on his pretty eyes. you notice as the photo slides out he wasn’t even looking into the lens, but at you.
you put the camera next to you, and pull him down to smash his lips onto yours. you both exhale into the kiss.
“i put this on for you” you murmer between kisses talking about the nightie.
he bites your lower lip letting out a chuckle. “beautiful” he whispers, he leans into your neck. breathing in your scent, “stunning” he smiles.
you let out a soft moan, with your hands you feel for the camera and try to click a photo of him kissing your neck. he gets shy not looking up till you put the camera back down.
the photos begin to blur together, some of them of you laying back on the bed, the strap of your nightie slipping off your shoulder till it’s completely gone, your tits on display. one in particular was your favorite, you had your head resting against his shoulder, his shirt long gone as well and while you looked at the lens. dex was looking at you.
a few flashes later, handful of polaroids littered on the bed.
the room gets quieter.
at some point, you’re not really taking pictures anymore, you’re just holding the camera between you, neither of you quite letting go.
dex puts the camera to the side and lays you on your back. he places kisses all over your naked chest. lightly rubbing circles on your ribs. your hands go to his hair. running your hands through his short soft dirty blonde hair.
you let out soft breathy moans when he kisses down your stomach and around your pelvis.
the second his lips kissed your pussy, you arched your back and tried grabbing onto literally anything. he quite literally made out with your pussy as you let out whines and incoherent words.
“dex oh god” you yelped.
god knows how, but you mustered up your strength and reached to grab the camera and tilt it down.
without caring you clicked on the capture button, a flash of light filled the room. and a second later dex thrusted two fingers into your hole.
you dropped the camera onto the bed, lost in the feeling of dex’s tongue and hands.
dex knew you were right at the edge, he lifted himself up, his fingers still keeping up a menacing pace. he tapped the side of your thigh and whispered “let go baby”
your’e body went limp as you rode out your orgasm. dex got off the bed to take off his bottoms. in the mean time, eager to see the photo you took moments before. you pick up the polaroid and let out a light gasp at the sight.
your legs wide open, dex’s arms gripping your thighs and his sandy hair between your legs. his back muscles were taut, and his shoulders and biceps flexing hard.
“this one is nice” he smirks joining you on the bed.
you nod admiring it till you doze off on dex’s chest not before mumbling a “thank you”.
you loved your boyfriend.
———————————————————————————
idc i am recreating that priscilla photoshoot scene with my future man, its so so hot its my kinky dream. hope you enjoyed thnxxxx for reading 📸.
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