My name is Lumen (She/Her)! I am 18+ and yearning to be Dex's North Star ᥫ᭡
I am a Dex appreciator through and through, so I decided to dedicate a blog to this beautiful man.
I will be taking requests for stuff to write for him, and I'll blab a little on my own. I do have a bit of a busy schedule but I will try to post as much and as well as I can!
Req rules below the cut.
RULES
As of right now, I am not taking NSFW requests for full blown fics, but may write some and WILL do headcanons or short rambles.
All NSFW MUST be interacted with only by those 18+
I have BPD myself, so disrespect or bias towards Dex's mental issues will not be tolerated whatsoever.
DM to be put on my tag list!
My Askbox is open for requests, random dex stuff, and of course just for you guys to say hello!
AHH I love your writing I hope you’re doing well!!
Thank you so much!! So SO sorry for the slowdown writing wise, but I promise I'm getting what work I can done with my classes and work balanced. I want to put out work I'm proud of and you guys will enjoy!!
Hey, I love your writing. Really. It's been comforting reading about Dex.
Can I ask you to write about Dex discovering that the reader always draws him when he goes to the coffee shop? She's shy and doesn't know how to say she likes him. So she just leaves the drawing on his table with a note saying how beautiful his eyes are or that his presence makes her day better (he deserves to have a secret admirer!!!) 🤭
So I actually fell in love with this idea and made a lil 500 word drabble for you, lovely <3. I apologize for the short fic lengths, but hopefully I can make up for it once I'm in the swing of things! I may actually turn this into a series if people like it enough! Enjoy! - Lumen
Warnings: NONE! Just fluff.
Admiration. //// B. Poindexter
You’d found Dex to be a careful creature of habit.
Each morning at the same time he walked through the door to the coffee shop, ordered the same drink, and sat at the same booth. You’d adjusted your normal sitting spot to a table across the lobby. The view at this time of year had the sun hitting him just right, and gave you the perfect position to sketch.
You’d drawn him enough times you could do it without him sitting there- your hands move across the page like a habit, drawing out those same striking features. Of course, that memory of him doesn’t stop you from glancing over your paper at him, getting down more details. Maybe his hair was sitting differently today, or his resting face was gentler as if something pleasant had happened.
This is an FBI agent, acutely aware of his surroundings at all times. He’d felt your stare before he’d turned his head to attempt to meet it. Your gaze was just as quickly averted down to the paper you were sketching on. Your face flushed at even the thought of meeting his eyes- those eyes you’d drawn so many times in as great detail as you can from across a room. They were captivating, they gave away so much of his thoughts without him saying a word. The lead scratches the page as it glides across to add the soft lines of his iris and the hard ones of his pupil. A few minor finishing touches before you write the date on the piece.
Today would be the day you do something bold… but not too bold.
A note, your name signed and number written in a meticulously neat font, one he’d probably immediately clock wasn’t your normal handwriting. A simple, “I see you here often, it makes my morning a little better each time.” following the previous. You took the first opportunity, his trip to the nearest waste bin, to set the sketch by his phone and keys on the table before skittering away.
When Dex had gotten home, his mind drifted back to the paper he’d found tucked beneath his phone. The drawing was great, it looked professional, like whoever had done it had taken a lot of care for details into it. He’d always had the sneaking suspicion that someone — more specifically you — was watching him there, at least now he knows for certain it wasn’t malicious. It was kind of wholesome, in a way. He’d seen you probably as often as you’d seen him, you looked so calm and approachable. Even though you stutter a little when you’d order your coffee, then turn pink and make yourself as small as you could when you’d sit waiting. Of course he’d noticed.
He decided the very next morning that with the number you’d given him, he’d text you before his coffee run. Much to your surprise when you open your phone. It was just a simple hello and a question of if it was your number. It had taken you approximately 3 hours to respond:
Can I request a one shot about Reader and Dex going on a date. Dex is stressed being that this is the first one he's gone on in a while, but Reader comforts him 🙂.
A/N: I kind of got an idea and ran with it for this one. I hope its what you were hoping for!! - Lumen
Warnings: None! Just fluff, thought there's a little anxiety attack in there too.
Everything had been going well between you for a while now, you’d hit it off at a random gathering you both had ended up at one night. Two wallflowers in a room full of happy-go-lucky people with enough energy to make either of you a little queasy. You exchanged numbers, texted throughout the day. He stalked your socials to make sure there weren’t other men and you- well, you couldn’t find any of his besides a blank facebook profile from years ago. He’d asked you to dinner one night, and you accepted.
Both of you found each other right at the doors, greeting each other with smiles and you hugging him (he humored you with a half hug in return). His mind was focused on you. You looked simply stunning, it amazed him that you’d done it for him of all people. His head reels with thoughts of how this could go wrong, how he could so easily lose you forever if he didn’t think everything out precisely and-
“Dex?” You call his name out with a tilt of your head, silencing the rampaging thoughts in his head with your confused smile.
“Sorry, was trying to remember if I left the oven on.” As the hostess seats the pair of you, he internally scolds himself. Left the oven on? REALLY? That’s what you pick?
“I do that so often… Its a wonder my landlord doesn’t kick me out.” You reply in turn, hands resting in your lap beneath the table. Despite the storm in his head, he tries to keep a good outlook on everything.
While waiting for your dinner, you discuss old memories. “I remember that time you were wasted out of your mind and fell down the stairs right in front of me.” Dex comments, you seem to get a little embarrassed. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to do that.
“Yeah well-” You’re cut off by your phone ringing, you check it to see your bosses name on the screen. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I have to take this.” Answering the phone you turn towards the window, just slightly away from him.
His heart lurches.
Had he upset you? Were you texting someone to save you from him this entire time? He wouldn’t be surprised, this being his first date in a very long time.. Something in him decides he needs to get away, just for a moment. After stepping away with a murmur you hadn’t properly heard, a single cell bathroom becomes his refuge. He leans his back against the door and sinks down to the floor, head in his palms. He knows he ruins everything he touches, he shouldn’t have gotten close to you. Maybe this date was a bad choice- maybe sticking to making sure you got home safe from the sanctity of the rooftops was better. The thoughts he has keep getting worse, echoing in his head. Time loses itself to him, it feels like its been an hour and five seconds all at the same time. Maybe he should save you the effort and le- three knocks, gentle against the door interrupt his head.
“Dex.? if thats you.. It’s been 10 minutes.. Are you okay? I’m sorry about that call interrupting us, it was work, I couldn’t miss it. I’m having a great time with you, I hope I didn't screw this up.”
Your voice brings him back. You’re worried about him- if you hated him you wouldn’t be. The door swings open and he steps out, face a little red. “I thought I was the one who screwed up.” He responds.
“You thought- that’s so funny. Of course not. You’ve been perfect.. I didn’t know we had so much in common.” You grip his wrist softly and guide him back to your table, speaking as you do. “I don’t get how a guy as great as you wants to be here with me… I got a little-”
“Nervous?” Dex finishes for you, “Yeah, Me too.” Normally, admitting that would be the last thing he chooses to do, but for you? He’d admit anything.. Mostly.
do you think Dex is capable of having a casual relationship?
I don't, honestly. Not much about him IS casual. Mental illnesses like BPD make relationships really difficult at times. Its not something he can really just 'turn off' with any one person. He'll be scared he's upset you and that you're going to leave him constantly and that's too overpowering of a compulsion to be able to look past.
As someone with BPD, how do you see Dex being in a relationship if he pursued one (a romantic one)? Also, can you share some more of your personal headcanons about him? I'd love to hear them 🙂
It kind of just clicked. That's how Dex works. Something just drew you to him, be it the way you smiled at him or laughed at his cocky sarcasm. After that there was no going back.
Picking up hobbies of yours, or at least knowledge on them, so he can converse or do them with you. As a way to connect.
In a room full of people, although a scene he wouldn't enjoy being in, he's watching you.
He'd do little things for you to make sure you know you're on his mind, and to keep him on yours.
From there its a matter of rinse and repeat, methodically, until you've realized he's what you want. He's not the kind to be forward with his feelings- he'd rather subtly hint at it or lead you to feeling the same ones.
His love shows itself in many indirect ways.
A hand on the small of your back, guiding you through a rough part of Hell's Kitchen---or past a particularly rough looking group of people.
Keeping food and beverages he knows you like at his house, not only so he can have things that remind him of you, but so you'll want to come over more often.
Getting more angry about people disrespecting you then you do, whether this is pre-relationship or during, he is defending you like no tomorrow.
You're on his mind constantly, he sees you in things he knows you like, smells that associate with you like candles, laundry detergent, anything. Every sense has something to do with you. He finds his mind drifting to you, wondering what you're doing in the times you're not beside him. His fingers hover over the send button of a random filler text he was thinking of sending to get your attention, maybe a compliment so he can imagine you smiling at your phone.
You're his favorite person, his North Star, he'll do what it takes to have you and treat you the way you deserve.
“Whole new avenues” Wilson Bethel on a new side of Dex being explored in Born Again season two
“I have good news for you, which is that in the new season that’ll be out next year there are whole new avenues of Dex’s interesting dynamic messed up psyche that we get to explore, and that’s some really fun stuff is on the way for Bullseye.”
What do you think Dex would be like in a relationship if his partner also had BPD ?
As someone who has BPD and has had a partner with it as well, there will be low lows and high highs.
The two of you may quickly find yourselves latching onto each other, as you both understand how each other feels on a level so astounding you question how anyone else could ever compare.
Sometimes, though, one of you will have that moment where every tiny detail builds up and suddenly you can't stand each other. Both of you can be very independent people, with the drawback that you don't want to ask for the attention you desire so you don't push the other away. Then it seems like you're ignoring each other, and it festers as anger until you explode---- but neither of you want to leave. You're begging each other to stay, and then it's okay again.
Sometimes you'll fuel each others fire-- "Is this a slight against me?" one of you may ask about the actions of someone else, maybe the person in question genuinely hadn't meant to hurt you or be mean, but he sees through the same lens as you, and will very likely take it just how you did and vise versa.
This is kind of a lot of me projecting my own experience here so I hope this makes some kind of sense? BPD can be so unpredictable.
TLDR; you tend to match each other quite a bit, and it leads to fights and makeups (and make-outs) frequently. But he loves you.
The apartment smelled like her shampoo. It clung to the air, a faint floral ghost threaded between the smell of cleaning supplies and coffee grounds, and Dex could track it the way other people tracked a heartbeat. She’d gotten in the shower ten minutes ago. Ten whole minutes. He sat on the couch, knees bouncing, fingers worrying a seam into his jeans because she’d asked him — asked him — for “just a little space” to finish getting ready.
Space. He hated that word. It opened like a black hole under his ribs every time she said it.
From the living room he could see the pale stripe of light under the bathroom door, and beyond it the shadow of her movement. He catalogued each sound automatically: water shutting off, glass door sliding back, the faint squeak of her foot against tile. She’d be wrapping herself in a towel now, pressing it against skin he could map with his eyes closed. He pictured her exactly the way she’d looked a half-hour earlier, brushing her teeth, sleep still half in her eyes.
His fingers tightened around the edge of the couch until the leather creaked. She’s here. She’s here. She’s here. That mantra kept him steady. She was the first person who hadn’t flinched at the darkness inside him; she’d even reached for it, like it was a wound she could clean instead of a weapon he’d learned to wield. He could still feel the imprint of her nails at the base of his neck from where she’d tugged him down to kiss her before disappearing into the bathroom.
Dex’ eyes flicked to her phone on the counter. He’d already memorized her schedule, the addresses of every place she went, the timing of every commute. The phone’s lock screen glowed once and dimmed again. Messages. He hated the idea of her attention drifting outward. His heart rate went jagged just imagining it.
The front door waited across the room, a slim vertical of brass and steel. It looked like a threat. When she walked through it she belonged to the world again, all the strangers, all the noise, the unknown angles of danger he couldn’t predict. His breath came thin. She has to stay. Just stay. He rubbed a palm over his face, nails grazing his scalp, grounding himself with the pressure.
Water off. A pause. Towel sliding over skin. He could hear it. His pupils blew wide just listening. The space between them stretched. He rose before he even thought about it, pacing two steps toward the hallway. Bare feet on hardwood. Her scent sharper now, steam carrying it out of the bathroom crack by crack. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, eyes fixed on the door. The need for her, the pull, wasn’t romantic anymore, not in the simple sense. It was survival, an animal compulsion to keep the only person who’d ever wanted him exactly where she was.
His knuckles hovered an inch from the bathroom door. Just hovering. He could feel the warmth radiating through the wood, like her presence seeped outward with the steam. His skin prickled. Every second without her felt like a paper cut running deeper and deeper, the sting so small and constant it rewired his nerves. He shifted his weight, shoulder grazing the doorframe.
She’d said something about an event tonight. An event, a word so meaningless but it tore at his chest like claws. People. Cameras. Light. A night where her smile would be thrown across a room he couldn’t lock. The thought made his jaw clench so hard he didn’t even realize he was biting his cheek until after the blood started to gush.
“Hey…” he called, voice pitched like a question but heavy underneath. “You okay in there?”
Her voice came back muffled through the door: “I’m fine! Just getting ready.”
Fine. Getting ready. Dex rubbed a hand down his face until his palm dragged over the stubble on his jaw, nails biting his neck. His pupils were still blown, breathing short. She was fine. But he wasn’t.
Inside his skull it was a loop — She’s putting on makeup. She’s slipping into a dress. She’s walking into a room full of eyes that aren’t mine. Every detail turned into a splinter. He tried to breathe it out but it only curled tighter. He hated the way his mind ran ahead of itself like this; hated the way every second away from her dragged him back to the same cold corridors he’d lived in before she existed. Before she’d put her hands on him and said his name like it belonged somewhere other than a police file.
He leaned his forehead against the doorframe. Closed his eyes. He could picture her drying her hair, looking at her own face in the mirror, maybe humming something soft he couldn’t hear. He wanted to push the door open, slide behind her, wrap his arms around her waist and lock his fingers until she couldn’t move. The image burned in his mind.
“You’re taking a while. . .” A laugh followed, brittle at the edges, like it was supposed to be a joke but it wasn’t.
She’d told him once she liked how intense he was. Liked how focused. He clung to that memory now, because it was the only proof he had that she hadn’t grown tired of it yet. That she wouldn’t.
Another pause. More muffled movement. The soft thud of something set on the counter. Dex’ head tipped back against the wall. He stared at the ceiling, jaw locked, hands balled. The event. She’d have to leave soon, and the city would touch her, and strangers would see the soft parts of her she kept only for him. He could feel the night pulling her out of his hands already and his heart thumped in his ribs.
The seconds stretched so thin they hummed in his teeth. Dex pressed his palm to the wall, forehead still tipped back, every muscle wound. He hated doors. Hated the slice of wood and brass that could shut him out. It didn’t matter if it was a bedroom or a bathroom; a door meant she was on the other side and he wasn’t. The lock clicked once when she’d gone in. He took it like a knife between the ribs.
She never meant it that way, he knew that, but his mind chewed it anyway: she wants space, she wants to be without you, she’s shutting you out. It felt personal, every time. He wanted to be in the warm steam with her, to hold her and watch her face while she got ready. He always wanted to be where she was, even if it was just sitting on the edge of the tub while she brushed her teeth, just breathing the same air. Without it the silence started crawling under his skin.
His hand drifted toward the door, almost knocking. He stared at the tiny flecks in the paint, the way the steam bled through the crack, the faint perfume of her hair products slipping out first. He was seconds from pounding on the wood. Seconds from tearing it open just to see her.
Inside he could hear the soft friction of fabric sliding over skin. She was dressing. The sound dragged a hot wire down his spine. He imagined the dress; imagined her stepping into it, smoothing it over her hips, pulling it into place. All the parts of her the world would see tonight. All the parts that had been his to trace with fingertips now stitched into public fabric.
“Open the door…” he whispered under his breath, not loud enough for her to hear. His thumb pressed to the frame like it might leave a print. Open the door. Open the door. Open the door.
And then, the latch clicked. The hinges moved. A blade of light widened, steam unfurling into the hallway. She stepped out.
For a second Dex forgot to breathe. The hallway’s glow caught on the damp ends of her hair, the shimmer of lotion still not fully absorbed into her skin. The dress she’d chosen clung in places that made his palms ache to touch. Her makeup was soft but deliberate, a line at the corner of her eyes making her look almost unreal. The chain at her throat trembled as she adjusted her clutch.
“You…” he said before he’d even formed the words. “You look…” The rest broke off into a dry swallow. “…beautiful.”
He couldn’t stop staring. His gaze dragged up and down, memorizing every inch. His hands twitched at his sides. The thought bloomed anyway, sour and metallic: other people are going to see this. Other eyes. Other hands reaching out. The city will touch her. The city will stain her. He shifted his weight, still leaning against the wall as she brushed past to grab her shoes.
Why does she want to go out there? Why does she need them when she has me?
Another flicker of an image: him stepping in front of the door, pressing his palm against the frame, saying no. Just stay. Just stay with me.
He swallowed the impulse but it sat behind his teeth, hot as a match-head.
“You’re sure you have to go?” he asked, too calm to be casual. His eyes followed the slope of her shoulders, the place where the dress dipped at the back. The hall light struck his face at an angle, leaving one eye in shadow and one lit.
She didn’t even look up at first, she was bent over in front of a mirror, sliding an earring into place. “I promised Mia,” she said, soft but definite. “I have to go.”
Promised. Have to. Dex’s chest went tight on each word like it was a hook being reeled in. Promised someone else. Have to for someone else. But what about me? He watched her slide the second earring in, the glint of metal against her skin.
He stepped up behind her before he even knew he was moving, hands sliding to her hips, fingers spreading across the fabric of her dress like he had to stake a claim on it. His palms were hot; he could feel her heat through the thin material. He bowed his head until his breath caught against the side of her neck. “Can’t I come with you?” It came out almost like a plea. “I’ll stay quiet, I’ll sit in the corner.”
She shifted slightly, the smallest lean back into him, but kept her eyes on the mirror. “You know if I could take you, I would. This isn’t— it’s not that kind of thing.” She reached to touch his wrist, a small grounding gesture, as if she could feel him winding tight.
His jaw clenched. He looked at their reflection together, his shadow rising behind her. She was so beautiful it almost hurt. The dress wasn’t for him. The hair wasn’t for him. The little gloss at the corner of her mouth — not for him. Then who? Who gets to see this? Who gets to breathe the same air as her when she looks like this?
His hands slid higher, palms grazing the dip of her waist, then lower again, thumbs circling. His fingers were restless; they needed an anchor. He bent and pressed his mouth to the side of her neck, once, then again, harder. The smell of her skin under the perfume steadied him for a heartbeat. He kissed a line upward, to the soft place just below her ear.
He closed his eyes, nuzzling into her hair. Is this what normal boyfriends do? Do they stand here trembling like this, ready to rip the city apart just to keep her home? His thumb stroked the hollow at the base of her throat.
She was picking up her clutch now, trying to keep her hands steady while he covered her. “Dex,” she spoke again, softer. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
A few hours. Alone. Anything can happen. People staring. Touching. Her laughing at something someone says. He tightened his arms, pressing his forehead to her shoulder. “You don’t have to go,” he murmured against her skin. “Stay. Tell her you’re sick. Tell her anything. Don’t go.”
He knew he was too close, too much, but the thought of stepping back was like opening an airlock. He shifted his weight, turning her slightly so he could kiss her collarbone, then her jaw. His hands slid up her sides, over her ribs, skimming the edges of the dress as if to peel it away. If I keep touching her, maybe she’ll forget. Maybe she’ll stay.
Inside his skull, the questions ricocheted: Why can’t she just take me with her? Why does she need them at all? Why isn’t this enough? What if she comes back changed? What if she doesn’t come back?
His mouth moved almost on its own, following the scent of her perfume, the small tremor at the base of her throat. He hadn’t meant to press so hard, hadn’t meant to linger, just to touch, to taste, to leave a breadcrumb of himself so she’d remember him while she was gone. But his focus narrowed to the sound of her breathing, the pulse he could feel beneath his lips. Each kiss became slower, warmer, heavier, until a sharp edge of hunger bled through the softness.
A startled push on his chest broke the trance. Her voice was sharp—“Dex!”—and she ducked toward the mirror. He blinked, disoriented, only then noticing the hickey blooming on her skin: deep wine-dark against the pale slope of her neck. His hands hovered at his sides, caught between apology and want.
She was already dabbing at it with makeup, muttering under her breath. “I just got ready, Dex. Seriously.” Each stroke of the brush was fast, almost angry. Watching her try to erase him from her skin sent a sting through his chest that felt both humiliating and thrilling. It was proof of how much space he took up, and yet she was scrubbing it away.
He shifted his weight, jaw working, eyes tracking her reflection. In his head the thoughts flared up and curled back in on themselves: Did she hate that I did it? Why is she hiding me? Why isn’t she proud? At least now they’ll know she’s taken.
She caught his gaze in the mirror and sighed. “You can still see it a little. Great.” The faint bruise was stubborn under the layers of foundation, a ghostly outline of his mouth. She pressed another dab of powder, frustrated.
Dex’ hands clenched against his thighs; the shame burned hot, but under it coiled a grim satisfaction. A piece of him would still be visible out there, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. He swallowed and tried to steady his voice. “I didn’t mean to…” he started, but the words tangled.
Because hadn’t he? At least a little? Hadn’t the thought, mine, been curling at the edges of his mind the whole time?
She moved away from him without another word, a small whip of air rising as her dress brushed past his knees. The scent of her perfume trailed behind her like a ribbon he couldn’t grab. Dex stood in the hallway, fingers flexing at his sides, watching her retreat. Every step she took toward the bedroom felt like a subtraction, one more foot of space he couldn’t cross, one more second slipping through his grip.
She was silent now, working with quick, irritated motions at the vanity, fixing the line of her lipstick, tucking a stray curl back into place. He could see her shoulders rise and fall, steady, like she was forcing herself to breathe evenly. He tried to swallow the acid bloom of shame in his chest, but all he could taste was copper. His eyes flicked to the faint mark at her neck, still visible under makeup, a secret dark star beneath the powder.
Her bag thumped softly against the dresser as she lifted it. Phone. Keys. Lip gloss. Small click of a compact snapping shut. She didn’t look at him. She was already somewhere else, mentally at the event. She started toward the door, heels muted against the rug. His body moved before he even registered it, instinct overtaking the thoughts. Two steps forward, then another. He planted himself in front of the door, bracing a palm flat against the frame, the other resting lightly on the knob.
“Don’t go.” His voice came out rougher than he’d intended, but steady in a way that made his own stomach tighten. His pupils swallowed the green of his irises until his eyes looked black. He wasn’t touching her yet, just standing there, but every nerve in his body leaned toward her like iron filings to a magnet.
She stopped a foot away, her bag still dangling from her hand. Her reflection wavered in the mirror across the hall: her, poised, beautiful, irritated; him, wide-shouldered, blocking the exit like a sentinel. For a moment it looked like a painting.
Dex stared at her, drinking in every detail, the sweep of her eyeliner, the slope of her throat, the way the dress hugged her ribs. The longer he looked, the less the room felt real. Everything blurred into that one thought curling under his ribs like a hook: mine. The word pulsed through him with each heartbeat, sweet and sour.
His fingers tightened imperceptibly on the frame. “Just… don’t,” came softer now, almost a plea. In his head the words were sharper, louder, desperate: stay here, stay here, stay here. Because if she walked out, she’d be out in the city, a world that had never been kind to him, a world he didn’t trust with anything fragile. He realized belatedly he was holding his breath waiting for her to speak, standing between her and the door like it was the only thing keeping the night at bay.
Her voice reached him first, soft as a breath but carrying a weight that cut through his skin.
“I can’t, baby. I’m sorry.”
The word baby did something dangerous inside him. It landed like a hand on the back of his neck, gentle but electrifying, and he felt his chest tighten as if she’d just wrapped a cord around it and pulled. She’d called him baby. That meant she still loved him. Didn’t it? Then why was she leaving?
Dex blinked once, twice, everything became unbearably vivid. She was still standing there, bag in hand, lips soft, hair shining, but to him she was already turning away. “What did I do?” His voice cracked without warning. He didn’t remember deciding to speak. It just slipped out. “Why are you leaving me? I didn’t— I didn’t screw up again, did I?” His fingers pressed harder into the doorframe until the wood creaked under his grip.
She shook her head, a small, tired movement. “You didn’t do anything, Dex. I promised my friend. It’s just a couple hours.”
A couple hours. Two hours where she’d be gone. Two hours where she’d be somewhere he couldn’t follow, where faces he didn’t know could lean close, smile at her, drink her in. Two hours without her scent in the room, without her warmth on the mattress, without her heartbeat close enough to lull him out of his own head.
“You’re not gonna come back.” His mouth moved before he could stop it. The words sounded childish, ugly, but they tumbled out anyway. “You’ll go out there, you’ll forget me. People are gonna see you, touch you, and you’ll…” He trailed off, jaw trembling. “You’ll realize you don’t need me. That’s what’s gonna happen, isn’t it?”
She stepped closer, her hand brushing his forearm. “Look at me.” Her voice stayed gentle, but there was a firmness to it. “I’m coming back. I always come back. You know that.”
Every inch of him wanted to believe it. But belief didn’t stand a chance against the pounding in his ribs. The space between her words and his fear was a canyon he couldn’t cross. “Then stay now,” His head tilted a fraction, like a plea he couldn’t articulate. “Just come back to bed. We can shut the curtains, order food, whatever you want. Just stay.”
Her fingers stroked down his arm, trying to soothe him, but even that touch was a knife. Because it felt like goodbye. “Dex,” she said softly. “I have to go.”
He caught her wrist without thinking, not hard, but enough to feel her pulse against his palm. “Why?” His voice trembled now, the anger fluctuating. “You said I was enough. You said—” He stopped, swallowing hard, ashamed of the way his throat burned.
She slid her other hand over his, gently trying to pry herself free. “You are enough. This isn’t about you. Let me go.”
Dex could taste panic. Every nerve was screaming at him to hold on tighter, to press her back against the wall, to keep her here just a little longer until the outside world forgot she existed. If she stays, she’s still mine. If she goes, the city takes her. The panic tipped, just enough, and spilled into anger. It wasn’t the clean kind of anger that could be directed outward, it was the jagged, self-splintering kind, born from fear, the kind that felt like betrayal even when he knew it wasn’t.
He stayed where he was, braced like a barricade, shoulders squared into the doorframe. His breathing came fast enough now that it misted the air between them, and his palms pressed flat against the wood as though he could fuse himself into it. The panic had settled into his bones, vibrating there, shaking every muscle in microscopic tremors. He stared at her, at the bag on her arm, at the tiny shift of her weight toward the door.
“I need you,” he said, the words raw and uneven. “I don’t know what I’ll do if you walk out. You don’t get it. You’re the only thing. The only thing.” His hands came up, fingers hovering inches from her arms, afraid to grab, desperate to grab. “Why are you leaving me? Why would you even risk it? What if you don’t come back?” His voice broke on the last word; his eyes darted, searching her face for an answer that didn’t exist.
She tried to keep her voice calm, tried to keep her eyes soft. “I told you I’d be back tonight. You know I would never leave you.”
He shook his head once, like he could fling the thought out. “They’ll look at you. They’ll touch you. You’ll smile at them.” His throat locked, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. “You’re supposed to smile for me.”
Her hand hovered toward his chest but then drew back, fingers trembling. She could see it now, the way his shoulders shook under his shirt, the shine in his eyes that wasn’t quite tears but could be. She knew what this looked like: the spiral, the slope he slipped down sometimes when he thought he was being left.
“Honey,” she said carefully, “I know this feels bad. But you’re safe. You’re okay. I’m not leaving you forever. It’s just a friend.”
He shook his head again, more violently this time. “No. I need you. I can’t—” He bit the inside of his cheek until it went coppery, trying to quiet the tremor in his voice. “I can’t be here alone. Please. Stay. Stay.”
She closed her eyes, exhaled through her nose, weighing her options. She’d promised someone she’d go. She’d also seen this before, seen what it did to him when he tipped into this place and no one was there to anchor him back out. If she left him like this… would he even still be here when she came back?
Her bag slid off her shoulder, hitting the floor with a muted thump. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. I’ll stay.”
For a heartbeat he didn’t seem to understand, the words taking too long to reach him. Then his shoulders sagged, some invisible thing snapping inside him. He reached out and touched her face, eyes still frantic. “Yeah?” he asked, because he had to make sure.
“Yeah,” she said again, more firmly now. “I’ll stay.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, still holding her cheeks in his palms as though she were something breakable. His whole body felt electric and hollow at once. Relief, shame, need — it all ran together until it left him dizzy. “Thank you,” he murmured, over and over, almost a chant. “Thank you. Thank you.”
His mouth found hers before the second “thank you” was fully out. At first it was almost shy, a brush, a tremor, but then it deepened, the kind of kiss that felt less like an act and more like an instinct. He needed the taste of her, the heat of her lips, the press of her breath breaking against his own. The kiss became a tether; every brush of her mouth against his was another inch of rope wrapped around him, keeping him from floating out of his own skull.
She kissed back, gentle but steady, fingers sliding up into his hair. Her warmth under his hands was the only thing he could recognize with certainty. Lips, jawline, pulse, he mapped them like a blind man memorizing a room. He pulled back only enough to breathe, eyes wide and glassy, then kissed her again, slower this time but more desperate. He took it all in like a starving animal and still it wasn’t enough. He dragged his palms down her arms, over her hips, feeling each contour like proof she still existed.
“Come on,” he murmured finally, forehead against hers. “Come back to bed.” His thumbs swept over her jaw as if trying to erase any thought but him.
She hesitated, still half-turned toward the bathroom. “I need to take my makeup off first,” she said softly, fingers brushing his.
He nodded too quickly, eyes still on her mouth. “Okay. Yeah. Just— I’ll come with you.”
She moved toward the bathroom and he moved with her, like her shadow given muscle and breath. His hands found her again before they’d even reached the sink, sliding over her waist, settling against her stomach, palms flat against the soft fabric of her dress. He pressed in behind her, his chest a solid wall to her back, head tilting down until his forehead rested between her shoulder blades.
In the mirror she could see them both: her reaching for a washcloth, him wrapped around her like a snake. His fingers moved absently at her sides, tracing slow circles as though they were counting her breaths. He buried his face into the curve of her neck, breathing in her scent where her perfume was strongest. Inside his head everything narrowed to sensation: the silk of her hair brushing his cheek, the warmth under his hands, the pulse in her throat against his lips. He pressed a kiss there, then another, unable to stop himself, panic still in his ribs but muted now by her skin.
She leaned a little into him even as she wiped away her makeup, used to this pattern now, the way his need for grounding sometimes crested into clinging. “I’m right here.”
He tightened his arms, chin hooked over her shoulder, eyes fixed on her reflection. She kept moving, cotton pad to eye, rinse, repeat, and he stayed still, carved around her like parentheses. He didn’t even notice how tightly he was holding on until his fingertips started to tingle, but he didn’t loosen his grip.
She peeled the last traces of makeup from her face, dropped the cotton pad in the sink, and patted her cheeks dry. Dex didn’t move until she did, then he fell into step behind her like he was tethered. She crossed the threshold into their bedroom and went for the closet. He was already there when she opened the door, leaning against the frame, taking up all the space. He didn’t even pretend to look away; his gaze moved with her hands, her shoulders, every small gesture.
She reached behind her to undo the zipper. Fabric whispered down her sides and pooled at her feet. She pulled a loose, soft T-shirt from a hanger and a pair of worn sleep shorts from the drawer. The cotton looked almost weightless against her freshly cleaned skin. She slipped them on without hurrying, combing her fingers through her hair once, trying to find a sense of normality in the ritual.
She grabbed her phone to tap out a message — I’m so sorry. Something came up. Can’t make it tonight. — the tiny whoosh of the message sending sounded like a door shutting.
Before she could even lower the phone, Dex’ fingers hooked around her wrist and gave a gentle, insistent tug. Not rough, but eager, needy, a current running from his hand into hers. She glanced up at him, already knowing, and he was looking at her with that blown-out gaze, like he’d been underwater and only she could teach him to breathe. “Come lay down,” He backed toward the bed, pulling her with him. The duvet was still rumpled from earlier; the sheets smelled like them both. He sat, then slid back until he was stretched out, tugging her down with him until her knees hit the mattress and she toppled into his arms.
He wrapped himself around her instantly. One arm banded across her waist, the other across her shoulders, his face pressed to the side of her neck. His legs tangled with hers, hooking at the ankles. His breath shuddered once, then slowed, syncing to hers like a metronome finding its rhythm. Her phone slipped from her hand onto the blanket; she let it.
His hands flattened against her ribs. He counted the breaths.
For a heartbeat he could almost believe it was permanent, that if he just held her still enough, the night couldn’t find her, the world couldn’t call her back.
He stayed there, eyes open, telling himself again and again: Right now she’s here. Right now she’s here. Right now she’s here.
what POV do you prefer to read stories in for the reader?
synopsis- due to your reputation as a renowned criminal psychiatrist, you're assigned to a difficult patient at riker's island. during a session, he makes an offer that tempts the boundaries of your professional curiosity.
starring- benjamin poindexter and psychiatrist!reader
rated- x (18+) for explicit sexual content, graphic nudity, and strong language
run time- 2.8k
“When’s the last time you got laid?”
Instantly your hand stilled, and your inked thoughts came to an incomplete halt on the page of your notebook. Lifting your head, you locked eyes with your patient, who was already watching you with a hint of mirth in his eyes.
“Excuse me?”
“You seem tense, Doc. Doesn’t seem like you’re doing much to relax-”
“This session is for you, Mr. Poindexter, not the other way around.”
Benjamin let out a quiet chuckle while leaning back in his chair, the chains connected to the cuffs around his wrists rattling.
“Sweetheart, I’ve told you my favorite ways to kill people. I think we’re way past formalities.”
He’d gone through several psychiatrists already. It was mandatory for his sentence, but he’d refused to participate. He was already in prison, and he had no delusion they would ever let him out. What could they really do if he just sat there and ignored everyone they assigned to him?
The entire time he’d been here at Riker’s Island, that’s exactly what he’d done. Every time someone new was brought in, Benjamin would sit there silently, sometimes barely blinking, and just stare them down. He never said a word. Until you.
You were lucky number thirteen.
You’d been made aware of Benjamin’s refusal to participate in therapy prior to being assigned to him. You had expected to have the same experience as your colleagues. But for some reason, he was different with you. He did talk to you. Sort of. He could be incredibly evasive, and sometimes he made comments just to see if they’d provoke a reaction, but he would participate just enough to keep seeing you and you hadn’t been able to figure out why. It was as puzzling to you as it was to everyone else.
Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you gripped your pen and continued to write.
“I’d appreciate if you focused-”
“Little hard to do when you look like that, Doc.”
His blue eyes wandered appreciatively over the half of your body he could see sitting across from you, and a wicked smirk stretched across his mouth when he met your gaze again. His remark caught your attention. You weren’t wearing anything out of the norm. It was a dress you’d worn in a session with him before. He’d never made a comment on it before, or on your appearance, until now.
All of a sudden, a lightning strike of clarity cracked through the clouds of mystery that surrounded him, illuminating an epiphany that made you feel stupid for not considering it before. Pausing your notetaking once again, you lifted your head to look at him, tilting your head to the side as you narrowed your eyes in suspicion.
“Are you only participating in these sessions because you desire me sexually?"
Benjamin pursed his lips faintly with a casual shrug, that smug smirk of his never fading.
“If you’re asking if I wanna fuck your brains out, then…yeah.”
He’d never been anything but blunt and shameless the entire time you’d been around him, so you weren’t sure why that cavalier comment affected you the way it did, but it sparked something within you that made your cheeks feel warm. Attempting to appear nonchalant, you calmly set your pen down in your notebook and leaned back in your chair while holding eye contact with him.
“So that’s why you’ve been so well behaved.”
“Good boys get rewarded.”
“You’re not exactly a good boy, Benjamin.”
“Oh, but I can be.”
He didn’t bother to hide the hunger that darkened his eyes considerably, and it was audible in the sudden huskiness of his voice. He leaned in closer until his forearms were resting on the desk, loosely gesturing around with his hand, making the chains rattle again.
“See? A little good behavior, a little cooperation, and now we’re alone. No cameras, no nosy guards, no two way mirrors. Total privacy.”
Because of his cooperation, and decent behavior, he’d been given a few more privileges. The big cuff that covered both of his hands was reduced to just cuffs around his wrists. No more guard supervision was required, they now waited outside. And recently, your sessions were able to be moved to an office instead of an interrogation room.
Everything started to fall into place, and his revelation made you let out a scoff of disbelief. He’d planned this.
“And what exactly was your end goal, here? You thought you could just talk me into sleeping with you?”
Benjamin let out an amused laugh, his lips spreading into a tooth bearing grin.
“You don’t strike me as someone who can be talked into anything, Doc. I thought making an offer would be more realistic.”
“An offer.”
Your voice was dry as you repeated his words, sounding as uninterested as you looked.
He stared at you for a moment silently, and for some reason the intensity of his eye contact made something twist in your stomach. The ticking of the clock on the wall suddenly sounded louder, like it was right by your ear, a clandestine countdown you weren’t privy to. He didn’t look away, and you couldn’t. It was like you were stuck in some silent staring contest.
“Let me eat you out.”
Of all the things you expected to come out of his mouth, that was not one of them. Your shocked surprise must have shown on your face, because he smirked as he leaned in closer and dropped his voice to an intimate whisper.
“C’mon, Doc. It’s a mutually beneficial offer. You get to relax, I get to taste you.”
A dry incredulous laugh bubbled up in your throat, and you couldn’t keep it from escaping. Arching one of your brows, you crossed your arms over your chest.
“You really expect me to believe you’ve been playing the long game just to go down on me?”
“It’s not just for you. Like I said, it’s mutually beneficial.”
You couldn’t believe it. He was serious. As far as you could tell, he was actually serious. Very rarely did you find yourself speechless, but you genuinely had no idea how to respond to that. There was the entirely plausible idea that he was fucking with you, just to see how you’d react. He didn’t exactly have many opportunities for entertainment, and being in solitary confinement, you were the only person he “socialized” with.
Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you attempted to redirect the conversation.
“Benjamin-”
“Again with the formalities. How many times I gotta ask you to call me Dex?”
“Nicknames are generally reserved for friends.”
“We could be friends. We could be very good friends, sweetheart.”
Leaning back in his chair casually, he clenched and unclenched his fists, making the metal of the chains connected to his handcuffs rattle once again.
“Look, I’ve been in prison for a while now, sweetheart. Certain needs I can take care of with a little imagination, but not that one. And I really miss pussy.”
You were supposed to be getting the conversation back on track and make him focus on the session. You should’ve threatened to end it early for how inappropriate he was being. But when he’d clenched and unclenched his fists, it had made his biceps flex, and you unexpectedly noticed just how taut the orange jumpsuit was over his arms and broad shoulders. Had he always been so…big?
“C’mon, Doc. I’ve been good, don’t I deserve something sweet? I promise I’ll make you come. You know I never miss a target.”
Flashing you a wink, Dex’s wicked smirk stretched wide across his mouth once again. That should’ve been the end of the conversation. You should’ve ended it before, honestly. But you’d been curious, and now your curiosity had put you in a confusing situation, because you should be getting up and calling the guards to come take him. But you didn’t. And he noticed.
“You’re considering it.”
“I am not-”
“You didn’t say no. You’re not walking out. You don’t even look offended or disgusted. As a matter of fact you look…interested.”
This time when he let his eyes wander over you with evident lust, you felt a shiver that straightened your spine despite there not being a draft in the room, and your skin prickled in response. He slowly tilted his head to the side, and it would’ve been menacing if he was threatening to harm you instead of offering to pleasure you.
“When’s the last time someone made you come with just their tongue?”
The heat that bloomed in your cheeks betrayed your silence, and his brows lifted, amusement breaking through the clouds of desire in his eyes as his words dripped with mock sympathy.
“Oh…no one ever has. Now that is a crime, Doc.”
A part of you felt ashamed for being attracted to him. You knew what he was, what he had done. Your brain was screaming at you for even entertaining the thought, for looking at him in anything but repulsion. But the guilt and shame that should’ve settled in your gut and made your skin burn was nowhere to be found. In its place was heat born from reckless curiosity, a carnal chemical demand, and a youthful thrill of doing something you weren't supposed to.
All at once you felt like a teenager again, sneaking out for the first time to meet up with someone you weren’t allowed to be with. What the hell was wrong with you? This was your patient, and he was a dangerous and violent criminal. This wasn’t just crossing a professional boundary, it was crossing a moral one too. But why did it feel so…exciting? Why did it have you pressing your thighs together and your body buzzing with anticipation?
Why did you want it?
“I won’t hurt you.”
His voice interrupted the flurry of conflicting thoughts and feelings he’d shaken up. He was still staring intently at you, but his smirk had faded into a more serious expression. There was a conviction in his voice that made you feel like he meant it.
“I don’t know that.”
“Trust me, Doc. You’re the last person I want to harm.”
Holding your gaze, he leaned forward again, dropping his voice to that intimate husky whisper that had a flame of desire igniting in your lower belly.
“It can be our little secret. You don’t have to take the handcuffs off. I won’t even touch you if you don’t want me to. All you have to do is come sit in front of me, take off your panties, and spread those pretty legs for me.”
You glanced at the closed door. It wasn’t locked. Anyone could come in unannounced, and that would be the end of your career. That should’ve been the moment the logical side of your brain took over and made you walk out. But instead you glanced over at the clock, noting that you had twenty minutes left with Dex, and your eyes fell on him again. The tension between you was like a dense invisible fog that made it almost difficult to breathe. He didn’t say a word, he just stared you down with his offer dangling in the silence.
You weren’t sure if it was even a conscious decision when you stood. It was like you were bewitched, your body moving of its own accord. Dex tracked you with his intense stare like a predator as you floated around your desk. He leaned back in the chair and spread his legs wide for you to fit between, and he eyed the hem of your dress hungrily. As you hauled yourself up onto the edge of your desk, you realized you’d never been this near to him before. He was even bigger up close.
He licked his lips as he watched you hike up your dress. Your fingers were trembling as you lifted your hips slightly to slip your lacy panties down your legs. When you slowly spread your thighs, Dex inhaled sharply, and his gaze zeroed in on your glistening cunt.
“Goddamn, Doc. You’ve been holdin’ out on me.”
He didn’t hesitate to lean in, dragging his tongue languidly through your drenched pussy, letting out a groan as he savored your taste. The warmth of his eager tongue and the vibration from his groan made your eyes flutter, and you gripped the edge of the desk with a soft whimper.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about how good you’d taste, how pretty you’d be.”
He took his time, taking another slow lick before turning his head slightly to gently nip at your inner thigh, earning another whimper from you. His pupils were completely dilated when he looked up at you from between your thighs.
“But I gotta tell you, sweetheart, the real thing is so much fucking better.”
Immediately his tongue found your clit, giving it a few swift flicks before suctioning his lips around it, and your eyes nearly rolled as you dipped your head back, your hand instinctively flying down to grip at his hair. He growled when you tugged at his roots, and the obscene sound of slurping was the only noise that combated your breathy panting and moans. The metal chains connected to his cuffs were cold against the backs of your thighs, digging into your skin in a way that was sure to leave indented evidence.
“Oh God-”
It was a subconscious reaction when you started to roll your hips, but he didn’t seem to mind that you were essentially riding his face. He groaned against your pussy, his tongue spreading you open and slipping inside you while you grinded your clit against his nose and clamped your thighs around his head.
You hadn’t realized you’d grabbed onto one of his cuffed hands until you felt him interlace your fingers together and squeeze your hand, a silent gesture of encouragement. You tried to be mindful of the fact that there were guards outside, but God it just felt so good. Dex was tearing noises from you that you’d never heard yourself make, and he made you feel things that only a battery operated toy had ever been able to conjure.
“Fuck…Dex…”
He pulled away just for a moment to glance up at you and growl out a command.
“Let me touch you.”
You were nodding fervently in an instant, and Dex hooked his hands under the backs of your knees to pull your legs over his broad shoulders. His reach was limited by the handcuffs, and the metal was biting into his skin as he pushed the boundaries of his restraints to be able to touch you, but he didn’t stop. One of his hands firmly gripped your thigh, and with his other he slipped two of his fingers inside you right as he wrapped his lips around your clit again.
Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream when his skilled fingers swiftly found that special spot inside you, stroking it in a ‘come hither’ motion while pumping his digits and suckling at your clit. Both of your hands were now tangled in his hair, and your thighs had started to quiver around his head while your breathing was reduced to choppy, staccato gasps.
“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck-”
Dex grunted at how roughly you tugged at his hair, tightening his grip on your trembling thigh. He was fingering you faster and harder, flicking his tongue over your clit like a metronome at high speed. When his teeth just barely grazed over your sensitive bundle of nerves, you completely shattered.
By the time you climaxed on his tongue, you were practically hugging his head between your shaking thighs, hunched over as a wave of raw pleasure cascaded throughout your body, leaving a tingling feeling of bliss behind. One of your hands had let go of his hair to clamp your own hand over your mouth to muffle a euphoric cry that was accompanied by wrecked whimpers as Dex kept licking your pussy, drawing out your orgasm, swirling his tongue like he was collecting sweet cream dripping down an ice cream cone.
“Dex…fuck…please-”
You begged for mercy with a whine as you pushed at his head, trying to escape his delectable torment. He still had his lips wrapped around your swollen clit, and the hum he let out that vibrated against the hyper sensitive bundle of nerves felt like getting shocked with a jolt. He chuckled against your core at how your body jerked in response. Releasing your clit with a soft pop, he finally leaned back to look up at you with a glistening grin. The lower half of his face coated in your wetness, and when he licked his lips, his eyes were almost as hazy as your own.
A/N: Here's a little drabble to get stuff rolling on the blog! I'm just playing a little with some stuff as I am definetly rusty when it comes to fanfic writing.... aside from that, Enjoy! - Lumen
Synopsis: A little morning moment after your first night with Dex!
Warnings: Written with Afab!reader in mind, Mildly Spicy/References to NSFW (18+), minor stalking mentions.... I think that's it?
He’s planned this down to the second. Meeting you on the street on your way home from work, picking up a dropped cellphone and striking a conversation. As much as he’d wanted to go home with you that very night, he knows how you think. Dex is a new, charming man who seemed to appear out of thin air? No way someone as smart as you would just lead him into your house. Instead, he’d invited you out for drinks, if you weren’t busy that night—he already knew you weren’t. You’d stayed out pretty late, he made sure you got home safe, with as drunk as you had ended up he’d die before he let you get home on your own. You’d woken up the next morning with his number on your phone and a simple text of your name between the two of you. That’s how you ended up here.
You lay in his bed, the grey sheets soft against your skin. His arm around your waist, chest pressed to your back as if not being as physically close as possible would lead to you slipping through his fingers. His steady breathing and heartbeat against your back was comforting, and abnormal for Dex as a man who’s natural state is on edge.
You turn in his arms to face him–and force a little space between you two–and he shifts with your movement, eyes fluttering open. He looks down at you through his bottom lashes, a small, tired smile gracing his features. “Morning.” He says simply, reaching his hand from your waist to move some hair out of your eyes. He’s always liked your eyes, they told him every little feeling you were having in the most simple yet complex way.
“Morning, handsome.” You reply, a tired cadence in your voice. You rest your head on his upper arm when he moves it from your waist.
He tries to sit up, “I’ll start on breakfast,” he starts. Only to be pulled back down, although really he just lets you do it when he feels the tug.
“Where do you think you’re going?” You giggle as you speak, “Stay in bed. Just a bit longer?” He obliges, this time lying back, propped up on his elbows and tugging you up to rest on top of him.
“Anything for you.” He mumbles through an exhale, he didn’t want to leave this moment either. The work he’d put in to get you right here, right now, all came to fruition. He’d stay here with you in his arms, staring into your eyes, and feeling each breath you take forever if he could.
You tilted your head suddenly, clearly caught up in a thought. Before he can ask a ‘what’s on your mind,’ your lips connect to his softly, one hand resting on his shoulder, the other drifting into his hair. The scratch of your nails against his scalp feels good enough for him to tilt his head down towards yours in an attempt to deepen the kiss. He sits up and adjusts you to straddle his lap, one hand on the bare small of your back, and the other tilting your jaw up for him. You mutually break a few times to breathe before clinging back onto each other like magnets of opposite polarity until finally he flips you onto your back once again—-memories of the previous night flooding back into your head. You smirk up at him from where your head rests on his pillow, the looking being enough for him to reach under you and unclasp your bra as swiftly as possible.
You’re thankful for whatever divine force there may be for the little stumble that brought him into your life, completely unaware that he’s thankful he didn’t fuck up playing the long game to have you right now.
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Hope you enjoyed even if its a little short! - Lumen
