ִֶָ🪽་༘ body worship, marking liek a lottt, slow burn, orgasm, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, praise kink, cunnilingus, cum eating
you stand in front of him as he sits on the edge of the bed, looking up at you. his hands rest on your hips, gentle but sure. “you’re beautiful.” his voice is soft, almost a whisper, and it makes you smile. a small shy curve of your lips. your eyes are confused but full of awe. “thank you, dex.” your fingers find their way into his hair and threaded through the strands.
he slowly leans into you. his lips press small, deliberate kisses across your stomach. his hands slip down behind your thighs, squeezing just under the hem of your short dress as he pulled you closer. he’s not rushing. his mouth wanders everywhere. your ribs, your stomach, your hips, down to your thighs. and even as his grip tightens, there’s nothing rough about it. he’s savoring every inch.
then he stands, rises to his full height, and presses a kiss to your forehead. then your cheek, your nose, and finally your lips. the kiss is slow and deep, a lingering taste. he trails down to your jaw, your neck, your shoulders, your collarbone, each kiss a small worship.
“what’s with all of these?” you murmur, smiling, and kiss his jaw in return. he doesn’t answer, just smiles against your skin, his breath warm. he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, a silent question. you nod, and his gaze softens with permission granted.
he eases one strap of your dress down, pausing to kiss and suck the newly exposed skin until faint marks bloom. then he pulls the strap further, until the edge of your bra is visible. he stops, lets the fabric hang loose around your waist, and his lips move to your chest, kissing, sucking, but not yet pulling the bra down to spill you free.
finally, he guides the dress down your body, over your hips, past your thighs, until it pools at your toes. he holds your hand to steady you as you step out of it. real gentleman, huh? your fingers grip his biceps, feeling the muscle tense. he squeezes your waist, then kisses your forehead again, then your lips. “lay down for me, baby.” his voice is raspy, low, a rough edge of desire.
you obeyed. your hands lingering on his chest as you pull away. you settle onto the bed, lying back, watching him. dex’s adam’s apple bobs as his gaze travels over you. beautiful. the word is written in his eyes.
he climbs on top of you, his body warm and solid. he kisses your jaw, then your lips. the kiss is messier now. your hands tug at his shirt. he breaks away just long enough to pull it over his head, then returns to claim your mouth again. tongues slide together, tasting, teasing. he pulls back to kiss a path around your face, your neck, your collarbone. his hands find the clasp of your bra behind your back, and you arch up, making it easier. he takes the chance to press his mouth between your breasts as he unclips it, then slides the straps down, freeing you completely.
he cups both of your breasts. it fits his hands just perfect. it’s like you were made for him. he was kneading both of it gently. then lowers his mouth to suckle. your nipples harden against his tongue. he lavishes attention on each one, slow and thorough, before kissing down again.
god, he's kissing every single inch of you.
from your face to your torso to your legs, he leaves almost nothing untouched. his mouth climbs back up from your thighs, pausing at the hem of your panties. he hooks the waistband with his teeth and pulls it down. you part your legs slightly to help, and he replaces his teeth with his fingers, sliding the fabric down your legs, over your ankles, off completely. he takes a moment to look at you, bare and open beneath him. then he’s on top of you again, his mouth planting hickeys across your waist. “so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin.
his mouth drifts lower, to your bare pussy. he kisses the inside of your thighs, then your folds, before his tongue makes a long, slow lick from slit to clit. he pushes inside you, stiffening his tongue. he was eating you with a hunger that contrasts sharply with the gentleness he had treated you with moments before. you grip his hair, head thrown back, a gasp escaping. “dex! oh my-” your jaw drops, words lost. you’re pulling him deeper, grinding your hips against his face. his hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as you squirm.
you feel yourself clench around his tongue. you sense the corner of his lips lift in a knowing smile. he knows. his free hand finds your clit, rubbing fast, the wet sounds filling the room. you’re gasping, moaning louder. “ ’m close, dex- fuck!” you cry out. a few more flicks of his tongue, and you come. hard, messy, your body shuddering. you sob. gripping his hair tight and then releasing. you were panting heavily. dex cleans the mess with slow licks, drawing soft whines from you. he gives you a moment, then rises to kiss you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. without warning, he slides two fingers inside you, moving them slow and gentle just to feel your soft moans into his mouth.
dex’s fingers curl just right, drawing another broken sound from your lips. his eyes meet yours and the promise in them makes your breath catch. all he want for this night is to please you and serve you.
Dex doesn't fully understand your affinity for useless objects such as blind boxes. To him, they were valueless scams packaged in something pretty to trick the masses into spending money. But he knows that it makes you happy, and that was the important part. So Bullseye begins to gift you very special ones straight from his heart.
CW: Dex being his obsessive creepy self, smut implied, no use of y/n, no reader descriptions aside from AFAB
WC: 3.5k
A/N: This might actually be the stupidest prompt I've ever written but I just kept thinking about it lmao. Unfortunately I've started an addiction for maymei blind boxes after pulling the one I wanted AND the rare option on my first time ever getting a blind box. So now you get this incredibly dumb story lmao.
Your shared apartment was always the quietest during the late afternoon, the sharp horizon of the Hell’s Kitchen skyline throwing long, stark shadows across the hardwood floor. For Dex, silence was usually a dangerous variable. It was the space where the static in his head grew too loud, where the meticulous, rigid architecture of his internal programming began to fray at the edges.
But lately, the silence had a different rhythm. It was punctuated by the soft, rhythmic click of your platform heels, the crinkle of cellophane, and the bright, unbothered melody of your voice.
Dex sat rigidly at the kitchen island, his long legs extended, his large, calloused hands resting flat on the clean counter space. His cold blue eyes were fixed entirely on you. Specifically, they were fixed on the bright pastel shopping bag you had dumped unceremoniously onto the table.
He didn't really understand your apparent attachment to inanimate objects. He himself never really got this overwhelming need to like something so much that you needed multiple versions of it. To Dex, an object possessed utility, or it was clutter. The closest comparable thing he had to such notions were his weapons. His pristine, balanced throwing knives and his standard-issue sidearm. But his constant need to replace or maintain them was born entirely out of lethal necessity, a calculation of survival and structural order. It wasn't born out of consumerism. It wasn't born out of... fun.
You had always known there was something a little off with your boyfriend beyond just his severe diagnosed obsessive-compulsive tendencies. Dex didn't just struggle to understand human emotions; he viewed them like a foreign dialect that required constant, exhausting translation. When feelings did pierce through his armor, they didn't come naturally or easily. They came like a flash flood. It was a hard, beautifully dangerous lesson you had learned early on in your relationship: when Dex loved, he loved hard, with his entire fractured being. You were the center of his world, his absolute everything, the singular gravity well keeping his violent impulses from spinning into total chaos.
So, whatever you liked, Dex tried to accept. He tried really, really hard to get it.
Even your insatiable hunger to keep collecting these stupid, overpriced little things.
"It's a collection, Dex," you had corrected him a few days prior, your lips pulling into a frown because he had worded your hobby far too seriously during a debrief of the apartment’s organization.
Dex reached out, his large fingers gingerly picking up one of the pastel boxes you had on the table. His sharp brows furrowed into a tight knot of absolute concentration, his gaze drilling into the cardboard as if the colorful text on the side held the answer to the universe's deepest, most classified secret. His eyes scanned the bright, cartoonish characters. He didn't understand the appeal of the molded plastic or the soft fabric, but he knew the sheer sight of the packaging made your eyes crinkle at the corners.
It's stupid, the first, rigid voice in his head screamed, a remnant of the sterile Bureau evaluations that dictated what a grown, lethal operative should care about. But he didn't voice it outright. Instead, he kept his jaw set, his large palm sinking back into the bag to pull out the remaining boxes. Four more, exactly. He lined them up in a flawless, perfectly symmetrical sequence, exactly one inch apart from one another.
"But you don't know what you're getting," he said, his gravelly voice carrying a trace of genuine, slight astonishment. The concept of a "blind box" genuinely offended his sense of structural logic. He did the math in his head instantly, the probabilities, the margins of error, the high likelihood of wasted capital. To willingly take your chances on losing was gambling. This was gambling. You were gambling.
"That's the fun part!" you gleamed, your face lighting up as you snatched the first box. "You cross your fingers and hope for the best!"
Dex blinked, his gaze tracing the soft curve of your cheek. Bless your heart. You were always so effortlessly optimistic about everything, moving through the grime of Hell’s Kitchen with a radiant, unbothered lightness that felt entirely unaligned with the dark realities he dealt in. Your light was one of the things he admired most about you; it was the exact gravity that had pulled him away from his old, suffocating scripts and to you.
But as his eyes dropped back down to the five boxes sitting on the kitchen table, his mind had already weighed out the bleak chances of getting one or two duplicates. Immediately, a heavy dread dropped in his chest and his heart tightened. You would be so disappointed. That brilliant, blinding smile he loved seeing on your face would falter, and he knew you would force it back on just to keep him from worrying. Dex took an involuntary step forward, his hand twitching slightly as your manicured fingers tore into the first cardboard flap. Part of him wanted to physically stop you, to intervene before the statistics failed you. Words of clumsy reassurance were already at the tip of his tongue.
But as you kept opening them, the expected disappointment never materialized. Instead, your excitement only got louder and louder, a bright, melodic laugh breaking free from your throat as your smile grew exponentially bigger.
And your eyes... oh, your beautiful eyes that he loved looking into when you were flushed and breathless beneath him in the dark, they just sparkled. They were brilliant, shining so bright under the kitchen lights as you held each tiny figurine up to his face in rapid succession. To his utter surprise, the math had defied itself. You hadn't gotten a single repeat. Not one duplicate of the plush and plastic crap you were currently cradling against your chest as if they were your own flesh and blood.
As you stood there in the middle of the dining room, fawning over your new things in your cutest, softest mini dress, something inside Dex’s brain clicked into place with a definitive snap.
He liked seeing you like that. He liked it with a fierce, possessive intensity that thrummed right beneath his skin. You looked so good-hearted, so completely light and positive, as if the outside world had never once touched you, or as if your own complicated past had never possessed the power to harden your edges. For the fleeting moment you spent opening up those useless boxes, the immense stress and the heavy burdens he knew you carried, the constant fear of the world taking him away from you, were entirely gone.
Dex’s posture straightened, his broad shoulders squaring as his eyes remained trained on you, tracking the way you carefully assessed each plush keychain. He decided then and there, with the absolute finality of a new directive, that he would do everything in his power to give you that gift again. That one small, unvarnished moment where you weren't worried about the government finding him, or the cops kicking down the door, or the bloody ledger he was constantly balancing. A moment where all you did was show him your new keychains.
Throughout the following week, Dex found your new companions absolutely everywhere.
His hyper-fixated eyes mapped them into the spatial layout of your shared life. One was hung carefully on your car keys, rattling against the ignition switch. Two were clipped to the straps of your favorite handbags. One was positioned on the nightstand by your shared bed, its glassy, unblinking stare oriented toward the pillows, while the fifth hung out in the living room, perched symmetrically on the edge of the bookshelf.
Every single time your eyes landed on them, Dex would catch the subtle, beautiful transformation of your features. The way your day got just a little bit brighter, your shoulders relaxing because you felt like you had a tiny, familiar companion with you everywhere you went.
And that was precisely where the thoughts started.
It happened late one Thursday evening. The city outside was a muted blur of rain and distant sirens, but inside the bedroom, the atmosphere was thick, warm, and entirely spent from lust. You were fast asleep, your soft bare frame curled tightly against the broad, heavily muscled expanse of Dex’s chest. Your breathing deep and even as you slumbered in content. Dex remained wide awake, his large arm anchored around your waist, holding you with a protective, unyielding grip. He was exhausted, his body thoroughly satiated, but his mind refused to slip into the quiet.
Instead, his eyes were locked onto the small plush keychain sitting on the nightstand.
He stared at it through the deep shadows of the room, his unblinking gaze drilling into the toy for minutes on end. It was a tiny, ridiculous creature with dead, empty eyes decorated with cheap glitter. In the silence of the night, the ideas began to organize themselves within his brain, assembling with the clean flawless precision of a blueprint.
And low, decisive, albeit highly amused scoff escaped his lips, vibrating faintly against your hair.
"Open it," he said the following evening, his voice a cool, steady register as he precisely slid a brand-new, sealed pastel box across the dinner table, presenting it to you like a trophy.
You immediately pushed aside your half-eaten plate of pasta, your eyes locking onto the packaging with a gasp. You instantly launched into a frantic, excited explanation about how this was a completely new series you hadn't even seen online yet, turning the cardboard over in your hands and excitedly pointing to the specific, rare character you wanted.
Dex watched you, a pleased, thoroughly satisfied smirk gracing his sharp features. He knew exactly which one you would pick, of course. He was profoundly satisfied with his own knowledge of your desires. What you didn't know was that he had spent over an hour at the specialty store that afternoon as he used his awareness and knowledge of manufacturing data to subtly weigh and measure the boxes, calculating the serial codes to fish out the exact plush you wanted.
Your face lit up as the wrapping tore away, and you began to preen over the stuffed keychain, gushing about how it was a "winter moth" and holding it up right next to your cheek to compare the size. Dex’s smile remained fixed, his blue eyes locking onto the toy's face as a sick, intoxicating sense of delight flooded through his chest.
He had spent hours meticulously replacing the plush's cheap glitter eyes with a high-definition pinhole camera.
You loved your little companions so much that you took them everywhere. They sat on your bags, they went to the market, they sat on the dashboard of your car. If you were going to carry them into the world, Dex reasoned, he might as well utilize them in his permanent, singular mission to keep you safe. If he couldn't be by your side every second of the day to neutralize any threat that dared look at you, his eyes would be there instead.
You stood up from your seat, completely oblivious to the surveillance matrix in your hands, and rushed over to his side of the table. You plopped down happily onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his large frame as a torrent of sweet, breathless thank-yous spilled from your lips.
"You're welcome. Anything for my girl," he muttered into your skin, his deep voice vibrating against your neck as he breathed in the scent of your perfume. His large hand moved to stroke your hair, though his cold, calculating gaze remained locked entirely on the plush in your hands, watching the tiny lens catch the light.
Over the next few weeks, the project became a quiet, methodical obsession. Dex worked tirelessly in the late hours while you slept, using his surgical precision to dismantle, modify, and re-stitch every single plush keychain you brought home. Some were significantly harder than others; certain characters had asymmetric eyes or mobile fabric features, but his hyper-focused mind always engineered a solution.
Every new box you brought home was no longer just clutter to him. It was a new soldier in his private, invisible army.
You had come to understand his sudden, intense interest in your collection in your own sweet way. You hadn't picked up on a single shred of the darker, deeply possessive intent behind his involvement, simply assuming it was just Dex being his supportive, loving self, learning to participate in the things that made you happy.
"I want this one because it looks like you in your suit," you murmured day, your finger tracing a tiny, brooding character on the back of a new box.
Dex froze for a fraction of a second, his jaw tightening as he stared at the little drawing. He had to physically force his hands to remain flat on the counter, actively restraining himself from reaching across the space, pulling you against his chest, and smothering you with the sheer, unadulterated weight of his affection.
That was by far the sweetest, most devastating thing you had ever said to him. You wanted to carry a miniature version of him around in your pocket.
Little did you know, you had already been carrying him everywhere you went.
Dex knew according to the scripts of normal society, that he should probably feel a semblance of guilt or shame for what he had done. He was monitoring your every movement, cataloging every street corner you turned, mapping every face that came within five feet of you through the dead eyes of your keychains. But truthfully, as he looked at you, all he felt was an absolute, pure sense of satisfaction.
You loved your messed-up killer boyfriend, that he had no doubt. But Dex had a very distinct feeling that you didn't truly know the terrifying extent of how far he would go to protect you. You didn't know how truly, beautifully ruined he actually was. He had been very, very careful to keep certain aspects of his obsessive nature hidden from you, having learned the hard way from Julie and the bloody disasters of his past.
So he held his breath, his blue eyes tracking your fingers as you eagerly tore the cardboard open in anticipation.
But as the plastic wrap came away, your face fell. The familiar, bright excitement dropped from your features. You hadn't gotten the one you wanted. You hadn't gotten him.
"Oh... that's okay," you said softly, your voice carrying a brave but disappointed little lilt as you lifted the plush up by its metal ring. "This one kinda looks like me! So it's okay."
Dex’s eyes hardened instantly, the blue in his irises turning to chips of ice as a brand-new, unyielding directive programmed itself into his brain. No other options. Not when you wanted him. And only him.
It took him exactly two days to correct the mistake.
The bedroom was bathed in the lazy, amber glow of the late afternoon sun, the heat thick and comforting. You were leaning back against the headboard, a blissful thoroughly fucked out smile on your face as you ran your fingers through Dex's short hair. He was resting heavily between your legs, his broad shoulder blades pressing against your thighs, his head pillowed softly on your bare stomach. His large, calloused hand was moving in a slow, lazy rhythm up and down the soft skin of your thigh, his touch possessing a quiet, grounded familiarity. Dex tilted his head up, his sharp jawline tracing against your skin as his eyes locked onto yours.
"Got a gift for you," he nodded, his gravelly voice dropping into a low, quiet register.
"You have a gift for me?" you asked, instantly sitting up. Your body was thoroughly sore and beautifully spent but your eyes were wide and eager.
Dex offered a single, precise nod. Reaching down with one long arm, his hand slid beneath the edge of the bedframe, where he had kept the thing hidden in the shadows for the past twelve hours. When his large palms unfurled, revealing the object within, your heart completely melted.
It was the exact plush you had wanted from the box. The one that looked like his suit.
Except, it wasn't standard factory issue anymore. Dex had spent hours straight meticulously altering the fabric with tools. A miniature, flawlessly stitched dark blue mask now covered the doll's entire face, the infamous Bullseye emblem embroidered perfectly over the forehead. Branding the little creature entirely as his. He had even crafted a ridiculously adorable, functional leather gun holster and a microscopic tactical knife belt, fastening them securely around the plush's waist.
You had to physically clamp a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from letting out a loud, embarrassing scream of pure adoration. Your six-foot, deadly, globally wanted assassin lover had just spent his free time customizing a tiny, soft doll to look exactly like his alter-ego, just to make you smile.
You were barely keeping your composure together, your eyes misting with affection, before Dex’s expression shifted, taking on a rigid, deeply serious alignment.
"There's more," he nodded, his voice entirely deadpan.
With a smooth, deliberate twist of his large fingers, Dex gripped the plush's head and popped it cleanly off the torso, exposing a gleaming, three-inch black metal dagger hidden inside the stuffed body.
Your jaw dropped half an inch, completely speechless as the tiny, lethal blade caught the sunlight.
"I need to know that you always have something to protect yourself with when I'm not with you," Dex nodded firmly, his tone carrying the absolute unyielding weight of a universal law.
He held the decapitated head of the plush, which now served as the textured handle for the hidden dagger, waiting for your reaction.
For a fraction of a second, the silence in the room stretched. Dex’s fingers tensed against the grip, an instinctual, raw anxiety flaring in his chest. Was it too much? Had he crossed a line? Did his unrefined, violent nature finally freak you out? His hand began to instinctively lower, preparing to hide the weapon away in the shadows again, his internal self scrambling to find a script to fix the mistake.
But before he could retreat, a loud, unbridled laugh broke free from your lips.
"This is the absolute cutest thing you have ever done!" you exclaimed, leaning forward to snatch the modified plush from his hands, cradling it as if it were a priceless, irreplaceable artifact.
Dex froze, his sharp brows furrowing slightly as he processed the reaction. "So... you like it?..." he asked, his voice cautious, parsing the data.
"I love it! It's so adorable, oh my god—" You covered your mouth to shield a genuine gasp, your fingers already tracing the tiny leather straps of the knife belt, completely enchanted by the detail.
Dex let out a slow, quiet breath, the tension leaving his broad shoulders as he leaned back against your legs. A dark, thoroughly proud and satisfied smile spread across his scarred face, his blue eyes crinkling with a deep, unsettling fondness as he watched you toy with the miniature version of his executioner suit.
You leaned down, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss against his lips, murmuring about how lucky you were to have such a supportive, protective boyfriend. Dex leaned into the touch, his large hand wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, his thumb stroking your skin in perfect, rhythmic intervals.
He didn't say a word about the micro-camera embedded into the center of the stitched target on the doll's forehead. He didn't mention the encrypted feed currently streaming directly to his private monitor, or the fact that the tiny soldiers on your other bags were currently capturing every angle of the room. You were completely blissful, entirely safe within the bright, happy parameters of your collection. You didn't know the terrifying depth of his sickness, and as Dex laid his head on you, listening to your soft laughter fill the quiet apartment, he knew he was never going to let you find out.
A/N:
Our man is so supportive. Anyways I hope you liked this silly little story. Requests are open for Dex only right now, so if you want more feel free to shoot me a message in my inbox!
pretty dresses <3 long pretty dresses <33 asymmetrical line skirts <33 big poof skirts <33 pretty pretty dresses <33
MAKEUP OMG I went to cvs the other day for a lil makeup and. I kept asking my friends (they can confirm) if they wanna sponsor me buying out. All of it. Is sooo prettttyyyyyyyy
fun silly lil cast bonding <333 bonded casts <333 esp small ones <3 ten is the best number for a cast imo. Maybe up to 12 <333 Ive only been in two straight plays and both had ten person casts <333 sooo much fun
MY FRIENDS I LOVE YOU FRIENDSHIPS HI YAY I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUU ykwtfs:ijbalbtrhwtbwmatwp (plus other camp besties!! hiii)… wsfc + other high school friends…. middle and elementary school friends… my bffs (shosh + lux are splendiferous fun fact)…. cb & ts friends… tumblr friends…. random people I’m friends with…. I love y’all so much omg listen id genuinely like. Stay alive for all yall. My friends are one of the biggest/most important things on my wills to live list
damn it only five :((( but I have SO MANYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY but they ask for. Five things. Booooo can I say. 24??? Please 24 is very good number I am the colour 24 (the shade of purple I’m wearing rn + a nice warm gold)
ANYWAYS imma tag more than ten bc I wannu and also. Positivity is good !! Specifically non toxic !! Gratitude has many health benefits !! Yipppppeeee love y’all <3
@angelicm00nzdreams @heliorescens @oliverquary @nothing-special-i-guess @hypnopompic-decay @rusty-spooooooooon @callmemreep @emstheles @high-school-is-killing-me @sams-hyperfixations @slasheddream @hopelessplutonium @purpledinosaurdnd @luxthegenderlessblob @pottertheweird @monochromedevdle @stephanieyumyum @grisha-offical @notimportant173 @achilles-the-loser + literally anyone and everyone who wants to !!
1. my friends. These little shitbags (@philanthropicalsundog ) are the best
2. shows and movies. I don’t know how to function and live without them. These days especially kdramas but I also love anime and stuff
3. the sun. ☀️ it makes me giggle to myself like a madwoman. No seriously. My mood gets sooooo good I start laughing out loud because the things in my head just get too funny
4. caffeine. I don’t know why but that feeling of my heart racing is a high I chase every morning (I’m going through withdrawal… AGAIN)
5. dreaming. At night when I go to sleep I’m just so excited to see what I’ll dream about tonight. And truly, the dreams I have are like full-length movies— you could write multiple novels about the lore drop in my dreams
Honorable Mention to my therapist, my family, omega 3 supplements and the beautiful months of may and June for having such breathtaking skies!
I'm not a lot on Tumblr so I'll tag blogs I somehow have perpetually present in my mind 🎀 @momentsbeforemass @headspace-hotel @why-bless-your-heart @sorchaivy @cheerfullycatholic
Dex doesn't fully understand your affinity for useless objects such as blind boxes. To him, they were valueless scams packaged in something pretty to trick the masses into spending money. But he knows that it makes you happy, and that was the important part. So Bullseye begins to gift you very special ones straight from his heart.
CW: Dex being his obsessive creepy self, smut implied, no use of y/n, no reader descriptions aside from AFAB
WC: 3.5k
A/N: This might actually be the stupidest prompt I've ever written but I just kept thinking about it lmao. Unfortunately I've started an addiction for maymei blind boxes after pulling the one I wanted AND the rare option on my first time ever getting a blind box. So now you get this incredibly dumb story lmao.
Your shared apartment was always the quietest during the late afternoon, the sharp horizon of the Hell’s Kitchen skyline throwing long, stark shadows across the hardwood floor. For Dex, silence was usually a dangerous variable. It was the space where the static in his head grew too loud, where the meticulous, rigid architecture of his internal programming began to fray at the edges.
But lately, the silence had a different rhythm. It was punctuated by the soft, rhythmic click of your platform heels, the crinkle of cellophane, and the bright, unbothered melody of your voice.
Dex sat rigidly at the kitchen island, his long legs extended, his large, calloused hands resting flat on the clean counter space. His cold blue eyes were fixed entirely on you. Specifically, they were fixed on the bright pastel shopping bag you had dumped unceremoniously onto the table.
He didn't really understand your apparent attachment to inanimate objects. He himself never really got this overwhelming need to like something so much that you needed multiple versions of it. To Dex, an object possessed utility, or it was clutter. The closest comparable thing he had to such notions were his weapons. His pristine, balanced throwing knives and his standard-issue sidearm. But his constant need to replace or maintain them was born entirely out of lethal necessity, a calculation of survival and structural order. It wasn't born out of consumerism. It wasn't born out of... fun.
You had always known there was something a little off with your boyfriend beyond just his severe diagnosed obsessive-compulsive tendencies. Dex didn't just struggle to understand human emotions; he viewed them like a foreign dialect that required constant, exhausting translation. When feelings did pierce through his armor, they didn't come naturally or easily. They came like a flash flood. It was a hard, beautifully dangerous lesson you had learned early on in your relationship: when Dex loved, he loved hard, with his entire fractured being. You were the center of his world, his absolute everything, the singular gravity well keeping his violent impulses from spinning into total chaos.
So, whatever you liked, Dex tried to accept. He tried really, really hard to get it.
Even your insatiable hunger to keep collecting these stupid, overpriced little things.
"It's a collection, Dex," you had corrected him a few days prior, your lips pulling into a frown because he had worded your hobby far too seriously during a debrief of the apartment’s organization.
Dex reached out, his large fingers gingerly picking up one of the pastel boxes you had on the table. His sharp brows furrowed into a tight knot of absolute concentration, his gaze drilling into the cardboard as if the colorful text on the side held the answer to the universe's deepest, most classified secret. His eyes scanned the bright, cartoonish characters. He didn't understand the appeal of the molded plastic or the soft fabric, but he knew the sheer sight of the packaging made your eyes crinkle at the corners.
It's stupid, the first, rigid voice in his head screamed, a remnant of the sterile Bureau evaluations that dictated what a grown, lethal operative should care about. But he didn't voice it outright. Instead, he kept his jaw set, his large palm sinking back into the bag to pull out the remaining boxes. Four more, exactly. He lined them up in a flawless, perfectly symmetrical sequence, exactly one inch apart from one another.
"But you don't know what you're getting," he said, his gravelly voice carrying a trace of genuine, slight astonishment. The concept of a "blind box" genuinely offended his sense of structural logic. He did the math in his head instantly, the probabilities, the margins of error, the high likelihood of wasted capital. To willingly take your chances on losing was gambling. This was gambling. You were gambling.
"That's the fun part!" you gleamed, your face lighting up as you snatched the first box. "You cross your fingers and hope for the best!"
Dex blinked, his gaze tracing the soft curve of your cheek. Bless your heart. You were always so effortlessly optimistic about everything, moving through the grime of Hell’s Kitchen with a radiant, unbothered lightness that felt entirely unaligned with the dark realities he dealt in. Your light was one of the things he admired most about you; it was the exact gravity that had pulled him away from his old, suffocating scripts and to you.
But as his eyes dropped back down to the five boxes sitting on the kitchen table, his mind had already weighed out the bleak chances of getting one or two duplicates. Immediately, a heavy dread dropped in his chest and his heart tightened. You would be so disappointed. That brilliant, blinding smile he loved seeing on your face would falter, and he knew you would force it back on just to keep him from worrying. Dex took an involuntary step forward, his hand twitching slightly as your manicured fingers tore into the first cardboard flap. Part of him wanted to physically stop you, to intervene before the statistics failed you. Words of clumsy reassurance were already at the tip of his tongue.
But as you kept opening them, the expected disappointment never materialized. Instead, your excitement only got louder and louder, a bright, melodic laugh breaking free from your throat as your smile grew exponentially bigger.
And your eyes... oh, your beautiful eyes that he loved looking into when you were flushed and breathless beneath him in the dark, they just sparkled. They were brilliant, shining so bright under the kitchen lights as you held each tiny figurine up to his face in rapid succession. To his utter surprise, the math had defied itself. You hadn't gotten a single repeat. Not one duplicate of the plush and plastic crap you were currently cradling against your chest as if they were your own flesh and blood.
As you stood there in the middle of the dining room, fawning over your new things in your cutest, softest mini dress, something inside Dex’s brain clicked into place with a definitive snap.
He liked seeing you like that. He liked it with a fierce, possessive intensity that thrummed right beneath his skin. You looked so good-hearted, so completely light and positive, as if the outside world had never once touched you, or as if your own complicated past had never possessed the power to harden your edges. For the fleeting moment you spent opening up those useless boxes, the immense stress and the heavy burdens he knew you carried, the constant fear of the world taking him away from you, were entirely gone.
Dex’s posture straightened, his broad shoulders squaring as his eyes remained trained on you, tracking the way you carefully assessed each plush keychain. He decided then and there, with the absolute finality of a new directive, that he would do everything in his power to give you that gift again. That one small, unvarnished moment where you weren't worried about the government finding him, or the cops kicking down the door, or the bloody ledger he was constantly balancing. A moment where all you did was show him your new keychains.
Throughout the following week, Dex found your new companions absolutely everywhere.
His hyper-fixated eyes mapped them into the spatial layout of your shared life. One was hung carefully on your car keys, rattling against the ignition switch. Two were clipped to the straps of your favorite handbags. One was positioned on the nightstand by your shared bed, its glassy, unblinking stare oriented toward the pillows, while the fifth hung out in the living room, perched symmetrically on the edge of the bookshelf.
Every single time your eyes landed on them, Dex would catch the subtle, beautiful transformation of your features. The way your day got just a little bit brighter, your shoulders relaxing because you felt like you had a tiny, familiar companion with you everywhere you went.
And that was precisely where the thoughts started.
It happened late one Thursday evening. The city outside was a muted blur of rain and distant sirens, but inside the bedroom, the atmosphere was thick, warm, and entirely spent from lust. You were fast asleep, your soft bare frame curled tightly against the broad, heavily muscled expanse of Dex’s chest. Your breathing deep and even as you slumbered in content. Dex remained wide awake, his large arm anchored around your waist, holding you with a protective, unyielding grip. He was exhausted, his body thoroughly satiated, but his mind refused to slip into the quiet.
Instead, his eyes were locked onto the small plush keychain sitting on the nightstand.
He stared at it through the deep shadows of the room, his unblinking gaze drilling into the toy for minutes on end. It was a tiny, ridiculous creature with dead, empty eyes decorated with cheap glitter. In the silence of the night, the ideas began to organize themselves within his brain, assembling with the clean flawless precision of a blueprint.
And low, decisive, albeit highly amused scoff escaped his lips, vibrating faintly against your hair.
"Open it," he said the following evening, his voice a cool, steady register as he precisely slid a brand-new, sealed pastel box across the dinner table, presenting it to you like a trophy.
You immediately pushed aside your half-eaten plate of pasta, your eyes locking onto the packaging with a gasp. You instantly launched into a frantic, excited explanation about how this was a completely new series you hadn't even seen online yet, turning the cardboard over in your hands and excitedly pointing to the specific, rare character you wanted.
Dex watched you, a pleased, thoroughly satisfied smirk gracing his sharp features. He knew exactly which one you would pick, of course. He was profoundly satisfied with his own knowledge of your desires. What you didn't know was that he had spent over an hour at the specialty store that afternoon as he used his awareness and knowledge of manufacturing data to subtly weigh and measure the boxes, calculating the serial codes to fish out the exact plush you wanted.
Your face lit up as the wrapping tore away, and you began to preen over the stuffed keychain, gushing about how it was a "winter moth" and holding it up right next to your cheek to compare the size. Dex’s smile remained fixed, his blue eyes locking onto the toy's face as a sick, intoxicating sense of delight flooded through his chest.
He had spent hours meticulously replacing the plush's cheap glitter eyes with a high-definition pinhole camera.
You loved your little companions so much that you took them everywhere. They sat on your bags, they went to the market, they sat on the dashboard of your car. If you were going to carry them into the world, Dex reasoned, he might as well utilize them in his permanent, singular mission to keep you safe. If he couldn't be by your side every second of the day to neutralize any threat that dared look at you, his eyes would be there instead.
You stood up from your seat, completely oblivious to the surveillance matrix in your hands, and rushed over to his side of the table. You plopped down happily onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his large frame as a torrent of sweet, breathless thank-yous spilled from your lips.
"You're welcome. Anything for my girl," he muttered into your skin, his deep voice vibrating against your neck as he breathed in the scent of your perfume. His large hand moved to stroke your hair, though his cold, calculating gaze remained locked entirely on the plush in your hands, watching the tiny lens catch the light.
Over the next few weeks, the project became a quiet, methodical obsession. Dex worked tirelessly in the late hours while you slept, using his surgical precision to dismantle, modify, and re-stitch every single plush keychain you brought home. Some were significantly harder than others; certain characters had asymmetric eyes or mobile fabric features, but his hyper-focused mind always engineered a solution.
Every new box you brought home was no longer just clutter to him. It was a new soldier in his private, invisible army.
You had come to understand his sudden, intense interest in your collection in your own sweet way. You hadn't picked up on a single shred of the darker, deeply possessive intent behind his involvement, simply assuming it was just Dex being his supportive, loving self, learning to participate in the things that made you happy.
"I want this one because it looks like you in your suit," you murmured day, your finger tracing a tiny, brooding character on the back of a new box.
Dex froze for a fraction of a second, his jaw tightening as he stared at the little drawing. He had to physically force his hands to remain flat on the counter, actively restraining himself from reaching across the space, pulling you against his chest, and smothering you with the sheer, unadulterated weight of his affection.
That was by far the sweetest, most devastating thing you had ever said to him. You wanted to carry a miniature version of him around in your pocket.
Little did you know, you had already been carrying him everywhere you went.
Dex knew according to the scripts of normal society, that he should probably feel a semblance of guilt or shame for what he had done. He was monitoring your every movement, cataloging every street corner you turned, mapping every face that came within five feet of you through the dead eyes of your keychains. But truthfully, as he looked at you, all he felt was an absolute, pure sense of satisfaction.
You loved your messed-up killer boyfriend, that he had no doubt. But Dex had a very distinct feeling that you didn't truly know the terrifying extent of how far he would go to protect you. You didn't know how truly, beautifully ruined he actually was. He had been very, very careful to keep certain aspects of his obsessive nature hidden from you, having learned the hard way from Julie and the bloody disasters of his past.
So he held his breath, his blue eyes tracking your fingers as you eagerly tore the cardboard open in anticipation.
But as the plastic wrap came away, your face fell. The familiar, bright excitement dropped from your features. You hadn't gotten the one you wanted. You hadn't gotten him.
"Oh... that's okay," you said softly, your voice carrying a brave but disappointed little lilt as you lifted the plush up by its metal ring. "This one kinda looks like me! So it's okay."
Dex’s eyes hardened instantly, the blue in his irises turning to chips of ice as a brand-new, unyielding directive programmed itself into his brain. No other options. Not when you wanted him. And only him.
It took him exactly two days to correct the mistake.
The bedroom was bathed in the lazy, amber glow of the late afternoon sun, the heat thick and comforting. You were leaning back against the headboard, a blissful thoroughly fucked out smile on your face as you ran your fingers through Dex's short hair. He was resting heavily between your legs, his broad shoulder blades pressing against your thighs, his head pillowed softly on your bare stomach. His large, calloused hand was moving in a slow, lazy rhythm up and down the soft skin of your thigh, his touch possessing a quiet, grounded familiarity. Dex tilted his head up, his sharp jawline tracing against your skin as his eyes locked onto yours.
"Got a gift for you," he nodded, his gravelly voice dropping into a low, quiet register.
"You have a gift for me?" you asked, instantly sitting up. Your body was thoroughly sore and beautifully spent but your eyes were wide and eager.
Dex offered a single, precise nod. Reaching down with one long arm, his hand slid beneath the edge of the bedframe, where he had kept the thing hidden in the shadows for the past twelve hours. When his large palms unfurled, revealing the object within, your heart completely melted.
It was the exact plush you had wanted from the box. The one that looked like his suit.
Except, it wasn't standard factory issue anymore. Dex had spent hours straight meticulously altering the fabric with tools. A miniature, flawlessly stitched dark blue mask now covered the doll's entire face, the infamous Bullseye emblem embroidered perfectly over the forehead. Branding the little creature entirely as his. He had even crafted a ridiculously adorable, functional leather gun holster and a microscopic tactical knife belt, fastening them securely around the plush's waist.
You had to physically clamp a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from letting out a loud, embarrassing scream of pure adoration. Your six-foot, deadly, globally wanted assassin lover had just spent his free time customizing a tiny, soft doll to look exactly like his alter-ego, just to make you smile.
You were barely keeping your composure together, your eyes misting with affection, before Dex’s expression shifted, taking on a rigid, deeply serious alignment.
"There's more," he nodded, his voice entirely deadpan.
With a smooth, deliberate twist of his large fingers, Dex gripped the plush's head and popped it cleanly off the torso, exposing a gleaming, three-inch black metal dagger hidden inside the stuffed body.
Your jaw dropped half an inch, completely speechless as the tiny, lethal blade caught the sunlight.
"I need to know that you always have something to protect yourself with when I'm not with you," Dex nodded firmly, his tone carrying the absolute unyielding weight of a universal law.
He held the decapitated head of the plush, which now served as the textured handle for the hidden dagger, waiting for your reaction.
For a fraction of a second, the silence in the room stretched. Dex’s fingers tensed against the grip, an instinctual, raw anxiety flaring in his chest. Was it too much? Had he crossed a line? Did his unrefined, violent nature finally freak you out? His hand began to instinctively lower, preparing to hide the weapon away in the shadows again, his internal self scrambling to find a script to fix the mistake.
But before he could retreat, a loud, unbridled laugh broke free from your lips.
"This is the absolute cutest thing you have ever done!" you exclaimed, leaning forward to snatch the modified plush from his hands, cradling it as if it were a priceless, irreplaceable artifact.
Dex froze, his sharp brows furrowing slightly as he processed the reaction. "So... you like it?..." he asked, his voice cautious, parsing the data.
"I love it! It's so adorable, oh my god—" You covered your mouth to shield a genuine gasp, your fingers already tracing the tiny leather straps of the knife belt, completely enchanted by the detail.
Dex let out a slow, quiet breath, the tension leaving his broad shoulders as he leaned back against your legs. A dark, thoroughly proud and satisfied smile spread across his scarred face, his blue eyes crinkling with a deep, unsettling fondness as he watched you toy with the miniature version of his executioner suit.
You leaned down, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss against his lips, murmuring about how lucky you were to have such a supportive, protective boyfriend. Dex leaned into the touch, his large hand wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, his thumb stroking your skin in perfect, rhythmic intervals.
He didn't say a word about the micro-camera embedded into the center of the stitched target on the doll's forehead. He didn't mention the encrypted feed currently streaming directly to his private monitor, or the fact that the tiny soldiers on your other bags were currently capturing every angle of the room. You were completely blissful, entirely safe within the bright, happy parameters of your collection. You didn't know the terrifying depth of his sickness, and as Dex laid his head on you, listening to your soft laughter fill the quiet apartment, he knew he was never going to let you find out.
A/N:
Our man is so supportive. Anyways I hope you liked this silly little story. Requests are open for Dex only right now, so if you want more feel free to shoot me a message in my inbox!
Dex and Lester distracting their girl with sweet kisses all over her face so she can take her mind away from the pain of her being stretched with both of their cocks in her :))
"mmhgm..i’m s’full.." you whined, pawing at dex’s chest as he had his cock stuffed inside of you :( lying down beneath him while lester sat beside you, his rough hand playing with ur sore and puffy clit,, "shh, shh.. you’re okay, you can handle it…" dex’s words much more comforting than lester’s, dex pushed his cock in and out of you slightly.. moving gently and slowly.. "you’re such a baby." lester cut in, snorting as he grinned and pinched your clit — a sharp whine leaving your lips at the feeling :(
scratches littered the two men’s bodies while bruises and bites covered yours.. "move over." lester grunted shoving dex to the side with a glare and scrunched up nose ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა "stop being so rough—" "rough? you’re the one who’s hogging all the damn space!" the two men bickering… one literally inside of you and now, paying more attention to the other man! :( "les.. dex..!" you whined, squirming in your spot with soft pants,,
dex leaned down to press a soft, long kiss on your lips. lester taking the moment to slid his cock along your slit… before nudging it at your already full entrance,, "w—wait— lester-" you tried to protest against dex’s lips, before lester nudged dex’s face away — stealing ur lips in a much rougher kiss (╥﹏╥) "you can take it." he grumbled. you felt dex’s lips trail all over your face and body, seemingly to distract you from the sting as lester slowly shoved his cock inside you.. the two men littering kisses all over you — lesters tongue shoving into your mouth to swallow your whines and moans ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა
"s’sweet," lesters words a grumble against your lips as one of his hands cupped your face, holding it roughly as he hummed approvingly, before giving dex a turn .. receiving more gentle kisses.
the two men began thrusting in and out of you — as dex moved out,, lester moved in. their thrusts timed perfectly and both hitting that sweet spot inside of you… the coil inside you coming close to snapping, "mhm— uh— dexie.. l-les— m’close.." you choked out… brain too fogged up to form proper words except for soft pants, moans and whines. drooling slightly from the corner of your mouth as they continued to grope your body and kiss you…
you felt lester begin to fuck you quicker and rougher — forcing you to your release, him earning a glare from dex. "go on, sweetheart. give it t’me, c’mon." lesters voice mocking yet sweet, kissing the side of your breasts…. as you came undone a broken moan left your lips :( dex and lester following suit and filling you up to the brim… they pulled out of you slowly with a soft pop. an appreciative sigh leaving lesters lips as he grinned, before turning to dex.
"…soo dexie, you gonna clean that up or?-" "shut the fuck up."
dex shoving ur face in the pillows while fucking u at ur parents house im cummminbvgggggggg
aaand he's so mean about it too. your back arched and he's disgustingly slow as he's stuffing you from behind in your old bed. right hand lost in your hair, pushing your face into the pillows so the only sound he heard is the squelch of your cunt. you wiggle your hips, urging him to go a little faster but he likes to fuck you slow. likes to see you desperate and stupid. beginning for more as if it doesn't make you cum harder when he treats you so delicately.
you notice you can feel your juices dripping down your thighs when he whispers, "baby couldn't wait to get her insides ruined until we get home, huh? you got to take what i give you now, then. before i change my mind." he threatened. you begged him to do it so he was rightfully punishing you. he never liked to fuck you in your parents house out of respect but you knew exactly how to get him into your panties.
you could only whine into the soft fabric of the cotton pillows that swallowed all of your sounds. his voice is what pushed you to the edge, your cunt feeling hotter and tighter suddenly and he decided to reach forward and play with your little clit. now you growl. "yeah honey, feels full doesn't it? you take it so good, i might just knock you up. want that?" his other hand slid in front of your mouth, lifting your head up as he set his pace faster when you started cumming. eyes rolling back, his hand tight on your mouth and you felt your body getting limb. he fucked you through it all before he would allow himself to cum inside you, filling your little cunt up.
being so desperate for him to fill you up and to corrupt you that you just position his cock to your little asshole, urging him to stretch you out good. then he uses two of his fingers to keep your little cunny stretched too :( and then you cry for even more as you're already rubbing your clit so he just switches from gripping your waist to slapping your breasts with his free hand. he praises you with a hint of degradation as he tells you how disgusting you are yet how good you take him. he growls when you cum, little ass squeezing him so much that he can't help but cum inside immediately <3
Dex "denying" readers advances bc he's anxious/afraid (of rejection) but his obvious hard on gives it away what he wants.... like they say the mouth can lie but a hard cock would never!
stay away (ben poindexter x reader)
thank you for the most fire request, hope i did it justice :,)
warnings?: fbi dex, tension, angst, dex is hard, age gap.
he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, hands gripped so tightly on the granite that his knuckles are completely white, and his entire body is stiff. you’re standing less than an inch away from him, your front almost flush against him.
“you need to move,” he grunts, voice incredibly low, and forced through his clenched teeth. he won't look at you, his eyes are locked onto the wall just above your shoulder. “i’m telling you, go back to bed….this is not- i don’t want this”.
it’s a lie. it’s a massive, desperate lie, and you both know it.
dex is terrified. he is so convinced that if he lets his guard down, if he lets you touch the ugly, messy, fractured parts of him, you’ll see right through the perfect structure he forces himself to maintain and you'll run. he’s rejecting you first because the thought of you rejecting him later makes him feel like he’s actually going to lose his mind.
“look at me and say it,” you whisper, stepping closer, your knees slotting between his.
he lets out a sharp, ragged breath through his nose, his hands twitching on the counter but he refuses to touch you. “i don’t want you,” he’s trying so hard to sound cold, “i don't. just get away from me.”
but his body is a traitor.
while his mouth is throwing out cold rejections, his hips are trapped against yours, and there is no hiding the thick, heavy, unyielding ridge pressed hard against your lower stomach. it’s furious and pulsing.
you let out a soft, breathless laugh, looking down at his groin and then back up to his face. you slowly slide your hands up his chest, feeling the frantic, terrifying speed of his heartbeat.
"your mouth can lie all it wants, dex," you murmur, tilting your hips forward just a fraction of an inch, deliberately grinding yourself against the thick length of him.
his eyes instantly snap down to yours. they are dark, wild, and absolutely swimming with panic. his hands fly off the counter and grip your wrists, his hold tight enough to bruise, trying to push you back, trying to force some distance between you.
“stop. you don’t know what you’re getting into. get too close and…you’ll see the reality and leave.” he gets out, his voice cracking, the structured facade totally fracturing. he’s shaking now.
despite his hands holding your wrists to keep you back, his lower body instinctively twitches forward, seeking the contact again, helpless against the craving.
“i’m not going anywhere, you idiot,” you whisper fiercely, pulling your wrists from his grip and instead wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him down. you press yourself entirely against him, letting him feel how much you want him, how ready you are for him. “look at what you do to me. look at how much i want you. please, dex.”
hearing your voice break, feeling the undeniable reality of your body melting into his, completely breaks the last circuit in his brain.
with a low, defeated growl that sounds almost painful, his control snaps. his hands slam into your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he violently hauls you up against him, lifting you slightly so his hard cock slides perfectly into the crease of your thighs. he buries his face in your neck, biting down softly on the skin there as he grinds his hips forward with a desperate, heavy thrust that has you crying out.
“god,” he gasps against your skin, his body trembling violently as he completely gives up the fight, his hips moving against you in a needy, bruising rhythm. “don’t leave. don’t leave me.”
cw: slight angst, anorgasmia, masturbation, handjob (m!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, basically porn with a pinch of plot
Stroke.
Another stroke.
Come on, Dex.
Grunt.
Come on, Dex.
Next second, he's spilling over the bathroom tiles with a hitching breath, but nothing. Nothing creeps from his stomach up his spine and into his brain. Nothing soothes his weary mind and body with white-hot pleasure. No warmth, no stars behind the eyelids, no shivers, no buckling of the knees. Nothing.
Fuck.
Dex lets out a deep sigh and leans his forehead on the shower wall. Ever since he got prescribed new medication all of his attempts to coax an orgasm out of himself have been fruitless. And now he just stands here under the warm spray, shoulders slumped, already softening shaft still in his hand as he squeezed it tighter trying in vain to feel anything in his brain. Nothing. His face crumpled as he slid down the wall to sit in the tub, water from the showerhead still running gently over his body. Faint sobs were shaking his frame now, tears running down his cheeks and mixing with the water and his spent that was pouring smoothly down the drain.
Broken.
Useless.
Good for nothing piece of shit.
You can't even jerk off like normal people.
Vile.
Disgusting.
Another violent sob rippled through his body, his shoulders shaking, tears and snot running down his face.
What is wrong with me?
And just like that, nights were changing, but not his inability to climax.
Until…
The first time you even joked about sex he was petrified. Not just because he was a virgin—it was a big reason nonetheless—but because of his… little problem. What if you would laugh at him? Even worse, what if you would hate him?
That's when he started learning. Educating himself to compensate for his inexperience and this defect of his with knowledge. Sleepless nights of him reading and watching and writing things down and practicing his movements… His poor pillows really saw everything.
Eventually, the time had come. The two of you were heading home from some kind of party your friends were throwing—a concept not entirely foreign for Dex, but still surprising enough that someone has considered inviting him to one. Both of you were holding hands and giggling; you—because the cocktails made you tipsy, Dex—because he was just so happy to be here and spend the evening with his girlfriend.
After Dex walked you home, you lingered in the doorway, batting your eyelashes innocently at him.
“I thought… hic I thought that maybe you could stay…?” you murmured, fidgeting with your fingers. How could he refuse when you were looking at him so sweetly?
A couple of minutes later, both of you were making out on your couch, one of your hands groping his pectoral, the other one tangled in his hair, pulling on the blonde strands.
“Mhmmm, Dex…” you whine into the kiss, grinding your hips down slowly onto his growing bulge. “You're so handsome, it's unfair…”
Dex can't help but whimper softly at the praise, hands grabbing everywhere he can reach; he ends up sliding them under your shirt, his lower stomach tingling at the feeling of your soft skin under his palms.
“Nghhh, want you…” you moan against his lips. “Want you so bad… I know… shhh… I know that it's spontaneous, but… please, baby…” you continue murmuring sweet nonsense against his skin, trailing kisses from his lips to his chin and placing the softest smooch on his dimple, up his jaw and down the column on his neck, pausing at the juncture where it meets the shoulder. You suck a faint mark on the skin there, nibbling it lightly with your teeth before soothing it with your tongue.
Dex's mind was in a haze. He didn't remember how he returned the kisses with equal fervor, didn't remember how he unbuttoned his shirt and unzipped his jeans, didn't remember how he ended up in your bed with only his boxers on and a very prominent wet spot on their front, too.
Fuck.
It's happening.
It's really happening.
You pawed at his pecs then trailed your palm down the ridge of his abs and stopped just under his navel, fingertips teasing the trail of darker blonde hair leading down where you were shamelessly staring with a seductive smile. Dex freezed. Shit. Fuck. What if I won't… What if she'll hate me… What if…
As if you sensed his nervousness, you leaned forward and kissed him, slow and passionate, licking into his mouth with a soft moan. That seemed to shut his thoughts right up because he began rolling his hips against your thigh, searching for any friction he could find. He gasped when your hand found its way under the band of his boxers, fingers closing around his already hard and leaking cock.
“That's it, baby…” you cooed at him, swiping the pad of your thumb over his sensitive tip. “Lemme help ya… just like that…” you whispered, stroking him achingly slowly.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Thumb swipe, followed by the hitching of Dex's breath.
Down…
This delicious torture didn't last long. Just like Dex. He spilled over your fingers, making a mess of his briefs and shaking almost imperceptibly. Both of you knew that premature ejaculation was a thing, but he was still embarrassed, tears of shame stinging his eyes. Nonetheless, there was something else too. Your hands felt different from what he felt touching himself. Your skin was soft, your grip gentle, your movements unpredictable. But that's not what has drawn his attention. Not the thought of your hands. But the feeling in his brain. It felt fuzzy and tingly at the same time. And then, under the haze of shame, the hunger woke up. He needs to find out. He needs…
Next thing you know, you're rolled over, Dex is hovering over you, leaning down to press a slow kiss to your lips.
“Need to… to make you feel good… please let me…” And oh do you let him. He does a great work of warming you up—though you did not exactly need it, you were already soaked. Does all by the book—what a good boy!
You're already whimpering and shaking after a few climaxes when he finally—finally!—slides into you, the girth of him stretching you deliciously, sending the waves of heated pleasure all over your body and making the pressure in your belly coil tighter with every movement. Dex was ecstatic—the warmth of your silky tight walls hugging him so snugly and making him twitch just slightly inside of you.
“Ohhh, godddd…” he moans into your shoulder, mouthing at the softness of your skin, his thrusts are slow and deep, just like you both need it. Dex guides your legs to wrap around his waist, adjusting the angle to push deeper, kissing your cervix with his tip on every thrust and hitting that spongy spot inside. The two of you right now are a tangle of limbs, sharing one breath and moaning into each other's mouths.
The pleasure was building slowly, but surely. The ah's and oh's spilling from your lips were getting higher and louder as Dex just kept hitting that damn spot. Your head fell back as you weren't holding your moans anymore. Your nails raked down his spine, leaving red marks as he railed you so good… And he wasn't ashamed to make noises too. Every time he bottomed out he let out a low grunt, but when he dragged his length back through your warm slick it pulled the nastiest moan right out of his lungs.
“Ba-abe… ah… my sweet girl, are you… ohhhh… are you close…?” he managed to mumble almost incoherently. You were drooling at this point, not being able to figure a word out of your mouth and that's when he knew you were there.
“Ahh, Dex… mhmmm… Dex… ohhh… ah, ah, ahhhh…!”
The only word you could muster through the intensity of your climax was his name. And that's when he snapped too. His hips bucked forward once, twice before they locked as he spilled into you right in time with the damn fireworks going off in his spinal cord and exploding into his mind, drawing intricate colorful patterns on the very back of his eyelids, making him feel like he was falling into the softest cloud.
Changing those fuckass meds was a brilliant decision, after all.
it doesn't matter how: on a voicemail, a voice note you left him before going out with ur friends or just by simply listening you talk about the most wordly thing ever. he loves it.
and benjamin is always ends up complimenting your voice in some way. whether it's if you sound good pronouncing a certain word and he wants you to repeat it, his reactions when he hears his own name come from your lips with such a sweet essence, or—if we don't get too tmi—how hot your voice sounds when you moan his name.
so naturally when you're out of town, he locks himself in his room and starts endlessly repeating every single voice message you've sent him throughout your relationship, while touching himself.
it was his little secret. he didn't want you to know, oh no. imagine if you ended up leaving him for being a pervert—never! he wanted to protect you from everything, even from his depraved mind that had him getting his underwear soaked with cum just from hearing you talk about your day, chatting about the weather and your plans for the week.
benjamin repeated that audio more than once and with the barrage of messages in the chat, was enough to bring him to his first orgasm of the day—moaning your name out loud before picking up his phone and typing: enjoy your day, doll. i miss you.
fucking dex in his bullseye suit, breeding, daddy kink, fingers in mouth, riding, manhandling, age gap (wc ~ 1.1k)
imagine dex coming back from his nightly patrol in his full bullseye suit with no intention of taking it off just yet. dex sneaked back into your shared apartment, silently locking the door behind him. you were in your bed, your cover tussled.
you were faintly drifting off into sleep, mumbling in the covers. even though you constantly called your boyfriend an old man, you had the bed time of a woman double his age. dex always insisted you to sleep if he never came home in time, as he always would. you drowned your face into dex's pillow, trying to smell bits of him. dex came into your bedroom, but did not make a sound to signal his arrival.
he stood at the doorframe and looked at your figure. you were turned over, tiny sleep shorts riding up. the straps of your tank top were falling, and dex held back the urge to pull them back, snapping against the soft skin.
dex took a step forward, the carpet dampening the sound of thick boots. he strode to the bed now, taking a seat at the edge. he raised a gloved hand to stroke your hair, smoothing it down. "my girl," he whispered, before coming to lay a kiss. you murmured, something about dex coming to bed and how you miss him.
dex chuckles at your antics, in awe of how gorgeous you are while disheveled in the sheets. dex's finger travelled down your spine, all the way to your bottom. you were now up, blinking yourself awake. "hi, dexy," you smiled. "hey, princess," rasped. you turned over to your side, clawing a hand at his chest, threading your hand through his greying, golden locks. "i missed you.. i tried to stay up. i couldn't, though, i got sleepy." dex took your hand and kissed it, "no problem. my girl's still tired?" you nodded, mumbling a yes.
dex hummed in acknowledgment, putting your hand back so he could change. but you tugged your hand to place it back on his chest, pulling him forward. "not tired enough to sleep, though," you cooed. dex smelt of rain and his usual cologne, a mix that always drove you up the walls. "want you, hun." dex replied, "let me shower first baby." you shook your head, "no, no, want you like this." dex raised a brow, bemused by your sentence. "in my suit?" you nodded with haste, "yes dexy, now," you peeped, pulling yourself up.
you licked your lips before pressing a kiss to dex's, kissing through his mask. he kissed back with passion, trying his best not to claw you apart. he pulled his arms around you, pulling you into his lap. "miss you so much, always leavin' me." dex cradled your head, taking a good look at you. your eyes were still half-lidded, but full of love. your lips parted, bringing dex's hand to them. he understood what you wanted and set his thimb against your glossed lips. he squished them before tapping them twice, signalling you to open.
you gladly obliged, sucking the gloved finger. your lashes batted at him, before turning so your back was against his chest. dex's large hands trailed down your body, raising goosebumps. before, you saw masked vigilantes, and fear arose in your body. however, since you saw dex in his suit, a warmth bloomed in you. though you've never told him, you always wished he would take you in it, helpless and bound.
you wished he would come in the dead of the night to scare you back to life. dex stroked both your thighs before pulling them apart. you yelped in surprise, before whispering something just enough for him to hear. "be rough dex. use me." dex didn't reply, but kissed your cheek, maybe as a silent 'thank you.' he pulled your shorts down, the thin fabric pooling at your feet. "dirty girl," he hissed, seeing that you had no underwear on. dex slapped your core, making you cry out.
he closed his other hand around your mouth, muffling the sound. he circled your pearl, making you twist and turn. he removed the hand from your mouth to hold you tight, not wanting you to escape. dex pulled the frilly fabric of your tank top down, groping your chest. you squeezed your eyes shut, grunting at his manhandling in eagerness. he held you tight before fumbling with his belt and pants, pulling himself out.
he gave himself a couple of strokes before probing you, spreading your legs further. he moved down to kiss your neck, sucking on the flesh through the mask. he circled your entrance with his finger, making you moan egregiously. he shushed you, "quiet, doll." you tried shutting your legs from the stimulation, but he pulled them apart once again.
he lifted you slightly, pulling you down on his length. he didn't ease in this time, making tears prick your eyes. your lip quivered, dex making you turn so he could kiss you. he silenced you through the aggressive pull, forcing you to stay right where he wanted you. he lifted you, tip prodding your entrance. thrill flowed through your blood, feeling full everywhere. dex groaned gutturally, pleasure-filled.
"look at you, so needy for me." you looked up at dex, staring into his blackened eyes. they were wide with lust, the type he got when he ended a life. your fear-instilled, furrowed brows gave him meaning, meaning to be more rash. he used you like a ragdoll, throwing you around on his cock. you threw your head back, wanting to scream until his hand came back. your eyes met his again, except this time his were closed. you could tell dex was close, his movements stiffening.
you grabbed his bicep, the muscle flexing from keeping you still. your nails dug into the suit, nearly hard enough to leave crescent marks. "my little doll, all fucking mine, hm?" you nodded your head, mumbling, "i'm all yours, dexy, all yours, daddy." that was the final stretch for dex, making him grunt a final push to your cervix.
you swore you saw white, your vision blurring. soon after, you felt the warm cum inside your belly, overfilling your tiny cunt. you whined against dex, clawing at his chest behind you. "dex, full.."
dex shook his head, "nah, you need more, princess. swear i’ll put a baby inside you, don’t need to leave me." dex pulled out of you, remnants of him oozing out and dripping onto the hardwood floor. dex stroked himself a few times before cumming on your stomach. you lazily looked down at the mess, eyes slowly shutting. you traced a heart between the droplets before your head fell. dex craned over to kiss your cheek, cooing, "i love you, my little girl." he ran a bubble bath as he always promised.
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a/n : hi very rushed and not proofread but at least i wrote! also im taking a teeny weeny break cause im taking an online course thats super hard so ill be back around august! for now im just posting little blurbs like this.
thinking of lester giving dex a handjob while u sleep between them… hes shoved dex’s head into the pillow, mocking him the whole time on how loud and sensitive he is :( his hand sssooo rough and causing him to wince — way different to yours! hes whimpering and whining into the pillow, tears slightly swelling up his eyes as he bucks his hips desperately, "f— fuck you," he chokes out in a broken whisper, causing lester to snicker quietly and grin. "one day, pretty boy." his tone degrading :(
lester ends up crawling over to his side…handling him into another position so his cock is facing lesters clothed one, still jerking him until hes cumming all over his boxers :( lester shoving his fingers into dex’s mouth to clean them up before tugging on his hair.. "clean me up, would you?" lesters tone still mocking.. a grin on his face as hes shoving the other mans head towards his crotch… dex hesitantly dragging his tongue over the bulge in lester’s boxers ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა "heh, that’s a good boy— i see why she likes you so much!"
dex and lester laying on either side of their girl fully clothed , stark contrast to her being naked and squirming and panting from them groping her all over and talking all sweet about how pretty she is 🫣😵💫😵💫 (bonus if they’re in their suits)
"such a pretty gal.."
your face grew hot as their gazes travelled over you.. squirming slightly in your spot as lester grabbed your tits, squeezing them gently as a small ‘heh’ left his lips — the two of them had just gotten back from a good job,, lester in a particularly good mood and wanting to tease you :3 dex just missed u a whole bunch… they were still in their suits— a bit odd to see both bullseyes beside you.. especially how one of them (dex) was now trailing his gloved hand down the inside of your thigh, teasing your clit gently as he rubbed it soothingly.. "mhm!— dexie…" a soft moan leaving your lips, the rough fabric of his gloves making you more sensitive.. 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 "you’re so pretty." dex’s face reddening slightly under the mask.
lester tugged his mask up slightly, revealing his stupid grin.."bet you’re gettin’ off on this, huh? seein’ us like this." giving you a rough kiss on the lips before pulling his mask back down. a small approving hum leaving his lips before pressing his clothed cock against your slit.. grinding against you.. a small whine escapes your lips along with soft pants. your back involuntarily arching against the feeling. "you’re makin’ such pretty sounds, sweetheart." lesters nose scrunching up slightly and you could tell he was grinning under the mask. his hands grabbing at your tits and kneading them gently, not pulling his gaze away. you paw at his chest, before grabbing onto dex’s empty weapon belt for support..
dex leans down against your neck, inhaling softly and you could feel his heavy breathing through the fabric of the mask. his hands map down your body slowly, causing your panting to quicken slightly— squirming in your spot. dex’s own cock was hardened against ur thigh.. the two men rutting against you like dogs :( "s’snot fair..!" you whine, trying to pry of dex’s shirt and lesters mask.. "but you just look so damn cute like this, babe!" lester cooed before huffing dramatically, letting go of you for a second and fumbling with his belt and the zipper of his pants, "fine fine… since you’re too cute to resist.." you had a feeling they’d still remain mostly clothed for this part.. :(
the issue with growing up in the 2000s and 2010s was like there was this really big push toward "accepting your weirdness" overall but they meant like idk wearing mismatched socks or something not being tangibly beyond the norm in any way shape or form
