if you’re still taking short story request, maybe a hate sex scenario with Dex but it’s not really hate sex it’s just complicated with a lot of history.
(congrats on the wedding btw! I feel like everyone and their mother in this fandom knows of you getting married and I’m personally treating it as a celebrity wedding hehe)
You and Dex Have a Complicated Relationship
WC 1.1k
TW does this count as exes with benefits? violence, gun threat, ex!FBI reader, toxic situationship, enemies-to-lovers-ish-maybe, explicit sexual content, Dex is implied to work for Mr. Charles.
You and Dex used to sleep with each other, back when you worked together in the FBI.
Now, almost a decade later, he’s apparently a CIA black ops assassin and you’re working private security for dickheads.
Your dickhead for the evening is a billionaire who’s aware he has too many enemies, attending a gala full of people pretending not to hate him. He pays well enough that you spend the night in silk with a gun strapped high on your thigh, scanning balconies, reflective surfaces, and every bored rich bastard with a hand inside his jacket.
Then you see Dex across the ballroom, and you know immediately who he’s been sent to kill.
His eyes drop, not subtly, to the slit of your dress where he knows a weapon is hidden, and he smiles.
Dex doesn’t make attempts at your client like an amateur. He waits until the crowds gather and the music swells. Then, your client steps too close to the west corridor because he wants to whisper some disgusting thing to a senator’s wife.
Dex tries to get him there.
You catch his wrist before the blade clears his sleeve and twist. Dex pivots into it, because he was always slippery like that. You drive your knee into his side, hook your ankle behind his, and put him on the ground.
The knife skitters under a decorative table and Dex hits the carpet on his back.
You step over him and plant your heel in the middle of his chest.“Stay down.”
Dex looks up at you, pupils blown, mouth parted.
He should be calculating his next move, except Dex has always liked being overpowered by you.
He swallows. Your client makes a pathetic noise behind you.
You can see exactly how much Dex is enjoying himself.
For the next two hours, the gala becomes the most expensive foreplay you have ever been forced to participate in. Dex tries the balcony so you shove your client under some cover. Dex switches to the service corridor, and you’re already there. He tries to use a champagne flute off a waiter’s tray as a projectile, and you push your client behind a marble pillar.
Every time he gets close, you put your body between him and the target.
At midnight, your contract ends.
Your client checks his watch smugly, like surviving the evening means he won. You escort him to his car, already done, already thinking about getting out of the dress.
Dex kills him in his own home. Technically not interfering with your job.
You find him in your hotel room twenty minutes later because he wants to be found. He is sitting on the edge of your desk, still in that black suit, bruising blooming at his throat where you grabbed him.
The bastard looks pleased with himself.
You sigh and take off your earrings. “Did you kill my client?”
Dex tilts his head. “Technically, he stopped being your client at midnight.”
You tilt your head. “You think that makes it better?”
“I think it makes it funny,” he says.
You slap him, and then he looks back at you with a red mark on his cheek.
You grab his shirt and shove him further into the desk.
He lets you be rough with him like it’s a privilege. After all, your anger is still attention and attention from you is the only thing he has ever really wanted
“You ruined my job,” you hiss.
His hands find your waist. “I’ll pay whatever they dock you.”
“You can’t.” It almost makes you laugh thinking he can afford you. It doesn’t matter anyway. The contract was done, you still get paid.
“No,” Dex says, and there he is, honest in the worst possible way. “But I can make it up to you.”
Dex flips this around and drops to his knees. He’s on the floor in front of you, hands sliding under your dress, mouth pressing against the inside of your thigh.
Your hand goes into his hair to shove him away, but it’s a weak attempt. Before you know it, you’re gripping him to drag him closer to your arousal.
“I missed this.” His teeth scrape carefully over your thigh enough to remind you exactly what his mouth can do. “Missed when you were mad at me.”
You pull his hair hard enough to make his eyes lift. “Shut up and do your fucking job.”
For once, he does and puts his mouth where you need it.
After your first orgasm, he looks up with his mouth wet.
“You forgive me yet?” he asks.
You shove him back by the forehead.
He laughs, then stands because he knows you too well. He knows the limit of your patience, he knows that you’re two seconds from climbing him like a tree.
He turns you around and bends you over the desk, and for whatever reason, you let him. Papers scatter and the lamp wobbles. Dex is behind you, one hand dragging your dress over your hips while the other works his belt open.
He fills you in one steady stroke.
“Sweetheart,” he breathes as he thrusts, pressing in close behind you. “Come on. ‘M sorry.”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s the idea.”
You should hate that it makes you laugh.
Dex kisses the back of your shoulder, your spine, anywhere he can reach while he takes you apart like he used to in the New York FBI office, in the blindspot between the filing cabinets and the copy machine. He keeps saying please like it means something. Please forgive me. Please don’t throw me out yet. Please, sweetheart, I missed you, I missed you so much, you have no idea.
By morning, the desk has moved halfway across the room and your dress is ruined.
Dex is sitting on the edge of the bed, buttoning his shirt carefully as if he didn’t spend half the night on his knees and the other half making a mess of you.
You pick your gun up from the nightstand and point it at his chest.
Dex looks at the barrel. He knows you won’t pull the trigger. Worse, he knows you know he knows.
You cock your head toward the door. “You can fuck off now.”
For a second, he just stares at you, eyes sparkling with a hint of fondness.
Then the cocky bastard leans down and kisses you.
You should bite his fucking nose off. You kiss him back instead because you’re not entirely sure, anymore, if the gut feeling in your stomach is still hatred. It feels too familiar, like wanting him to come back so you can throw him out again.
When Dex pulls away, he smiles against your mouth. “See you soon, sweetheart.”
You should spit in his face, but Dex would like that too much.
A month later, you are at a different gala with a different dickhead, watching champagne bubbles rise, when you see Dex across the ballroom, already smiling at you.
You roll your eyes because, unfortunately, you know exactly how this night is going to end.
Rinse and repeat.
—
Note : thank you for all the wedding-related comments! I didn’t expect everyone to care this much, I just wanted people to know why I would be on a little break. Eternally grateful, though!🫶🫶🫶
Naufrage explores 20 famous and less known shipwrecks found in different waters all around the world. Each ship is accompanied by a little fun fact at the end of the book ⚓
“Do you realise that when you give a schilling to a beggar you are giving it to yourself? Do you realise that, when you help a dog over a stile, you yourself are being helped? Do you realise that, when you kick a man when he is down, you are kicking yourself? Give him another kick, you deserve it!”
“Drink, my angel; everything I have inside me is yours, soak it up through the paper, through the sleeve of my coat. Suck my blood out of the hollow of my elbow where you are lying, where you are keeping warm. It’s just as you please, it will always be just as you please from now on.”
— Violette Leduc, from The Lady and the Little Fox Fur (via lifeinpoetry)
