Pairing: Benjamin Pointdexter x Reader
Summary: Your life has always been one inconvenience away from falling apart, but those problems seem to dissolve away as Benjamin Pointdexter enters your life. You call him your angel, he never bothers to correct you.
⥠Warnings: mentions of harassment at workplace, abuse of power, implied stalking, morally grey dex, unhealthy relationships, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess), obsessive behavior, smut, piv sex, oral (f!receiving), belly bulge, dryhumping
✠Went insane writing this lol, proofread but there r still some mistakes here and there prolly. Enjoy <3 and feedback is much appreciated. 8.8K WORDS
You knew your day was going to be absolute shit the moment your landlord called before seven in the morning.
The sun was barely peeking through the cracks of your lace curtains when you woke up hissing, rolling over in bed as if ignoring the persistent ringing would magically make it disappear.
You let the ringing prolong a bit more, dragging out your internal torture because you knew a call before half the working population even woke up meant absolutely no good. Nobody called before seven in the morning with good intentions and news. Not your mother. Not your boss. And certainly not Mr Rodriguez, who was more pressed about your overdue rent than he was on his late wifeâs passing.
You finally caved in, turning over to attend the call
Ugh, you hate him- his oily voice, his timing, everything about him.
You tune out of the conversation before it even starts and only allow yourself to catch snippets of it. Something about âfinal noticeâ and âend of the monthâ and âIâve been more than patientâ- the usual
Your head drops back into the pillow.
What a great start to your morning.
Everything just seems to get worse from there.
You couldnât drift back off to sleep all thanks to Mr Rodriguez, so you shake yourself awake and stagger out of bed with all the grace of a zombie.
You head straight to the kitchen to brew up a cup of coffee, stopping midway when you realize your coffee machine had broken and given up on life. You had forgotten to get it fixed - or buy a new one.
I fucking hate my life, you decide.
You were just one of those poor souls still indebted to college loans and struggling to make ends meet with a shitty job and even shittier colleagues. Did i mention the boss was a complete stuck up, pretentious, arrogant, absolute manchild?
To kill time you decide to fetch your clothes from the building laundry room two floors down, as your waffles cook in one of the only smart-appliances your broke ass had decided to invest in.
You step out of your apartment with a basket to hold your clothes in, trudging down the building stairs because of course the elevator was out of order the third time this week.
The laundry room was tucked away in the basement. A depressing little concrete box filled with rattling machines that groaned and moaned all the time, smelling of lingering detergent and a curious mildew smell that always seemed to haunt that area. You pulled your clothes out of the whirring machine hastily, not wanting to spend more time than was necessary here
You stumble back to the lobby and come face to face with the spawn of the Devil himself, Mr Fucking Rodriguez.
The argument had been going for seven minutes. Dex knew because heâd checked his watch twice.
Mr Rodriguez was red in the face. You were red in the face.
âAnd where exactly do you expect me to get it from?, I told you, give me one more week!â You snapped. âYou think Iâm hiding stacks of cash underneath my mattress?â
âI expect you to pay your rent, itâs already been long overdue!â.
âI expect you to shut the fuck up before eight in the morning, but I guess neither of us are getting what we want.â Rodriguez spluttered at that.
âYou have until Friday,â Rodriguez barked. You laughed a sharp, throaty sound.
âGreat. Iâll go print some money.â
Dex had noticed youâd looked exhausted. Your hair was a mess, one sleeve hung slightly off your shoulder, dark circles etched permanent bruises underneath your eyes. Yet you still fought.
That, more than anything, was what kept him from interrupting the argument and demanding the payment Rodriguez owed Fisk.
That, despite looking like life had spent the last decade kicking you down the stairs, you still hadnât learnt when to accept defeat and shut your mouth.
In the heat of the moment, you hadnât noticed the stranger leaning off the rickety doorway, silently observing, and had disappeared up the stairwell with your laundry basket tucked beneath one arm. Dex much preferred it that way.
Neither man spoke until your footsteps faded.
âCrazy girl,â Rodriguez scoffed.
He turned around to find Dex leaning off the door, and paled.
âHow long have you been standing here?. Sorry for ailing you, she was holding me upâ
âWho is she?,â Dex didnât want to sound too curious
âHer?- donât worry about her. Good for nothing brat. Late on rent. Always having some excuse up her sleeve, Late on everything. Thinks she can talk to me however she wantsâ Dex watched as Rodriguez âs face flushed a light red at the mere mention of you.
Dex didnât respond- let the silence simmer a little. The landlord immediately regretted opening his mouth.
âWhat?â Rodriguez muttered.
Dex stepped a little closer. Enough to make the older man aware of the distance.
âLetâs discuss the money you owe Fisk.â
Rodriguez visibly trembled, âThereâve been complications.â
âThere always are, itâs been months.â
âItâs not that simple, you need to understand!â Dex could hear the creeping hysteria slither its way in Rodriguezâs voice.
âYou have until Fridayâ Dex really couldnât find it in himself to give a shit about Rodriguez. The orders heâd received were simple; give him til Friday or blow him up, hes too complicated.
The landlord blinked. Friday?⊠The exact same deadline heâd given the girl. Coincidence? Probably.
âYou understand me?â Dex asked.
Rodriguez nodded immediately.
Dex started toward the exit and the relief weighed heavy on Rodriguezâs face.
He stopped in his tracks, turning around.
âThe girl isnât your problemâ
Cold dread filled the landlord once again, âWhat?â
âThe tenantâ. Rodriguez blinked.
âYou seem very focused on her, Rodriguezâ
The older man could feel tendrils of cold sweat flowing down his back. Dealing with Dex was like dealing with a land mine, âShe owes me rentâ.
âAnd you owe Fisk,â Dex tilted his head slightly, âIâd recommend prioritizingâ
Understanding flooded Rodriguezâs face. Dex wasnât telling him to outright forgive your debt, he was reminding him which debt could get him thrown into a river tied up in a sack.
Your week at home had gone remarkablyâŠuneventful. Shockingly so. Friday had come by, and still no Mr Rodriguez in sight. You had collected enough money to pay the rent, too, but still no Mr Rodriguez pounding at the door the entire week. Had he fallen down the stairs? Developed a conscience? Had God, in a rare moment of mercy, remembered you existed? Wow, you wanted to laugh. Or cry.
Instead, you sat in your kitchen and waited for the other shoe to drop. Because it always fucking did.
Your boss was a complete dick. He wanted the girls working at the shop to have a smile covering their face at all times, until you resembled a half assed Joan Cornellaâs painting.
However, he had lately reached new heights of unbearable.
Heâd pulled you aside during slow hours when you were in the middle of serving an order for a man covered in all black; face obscured by a baseball hat.
You wiggled out of his grasp.
âWhat do you want?â You snapped. Godsâ you hated the rotting smell coming from his mouth.
âYouâd sell more if you showed a little more⊠sensuality,â heâd remarked.
âExcuse me?â The audacity of this man.
âUnbutton the top a little. Itâll bring in customersâ. He grinned, his blackened teeth on display, two of them knocked out. Eyes curving down to the sliver of cleavage your button up had accidentally exposed.
A slow burning hatred settled into the pits of your stomach. You hated him so much it made you sick. But you could never bring yourself to say anything, you knew your boss was involved with...wrong company. And you didnât want to end up on some sort of hit list in your twenties.
How were you to tell him the reason for the lack of customers was maybe, just maybe the failing AC compartments, the graffitied entrance, and the ripped leather seats?
You didnât notice how long you stood there afterwards. You were pulled back in a cycle of horror, the one youâd desperately tried to escape after a week of not seeing your landlord threaten you actively for not paying rent you worked so hard for.
And in the corner booth across the shop, the man clad in a dark jacket clasped his hands around the coffee he barely touched, watching nothing in particular, but listening to everything anyway.
A few moments later you compose yourself and sigh, turning back to the customer you were serving, only to find the table empty, coffee untouched and receipt folded under the sugar packet.
You sigh once again. Now itâs just you and the silence.
Your boss is in a worse mood the next day. Which is saying something because hes always fucking angry and ready to explode, but this time he never explicitly blows his anger on you. Shockingly.
This continues for the next week.
He isnât actively pulling you aside, making snide comments about your appearance or blaming you for slow hours.
He stays in that dingy office most of the time now, not that youâre complaining. But its certainly odd.
Whatever, you really shouldnât question these strange blessings.
Youâve just been really lucky these last weeks. Maybe you have an angel watching over you. You scoff, whyâd it suddenly start showing up now?
You think the first time you noticed him, you were tuning out of what Anne was complaining about- something about her ex while the two of you sat crammed at some cheap diner a few blocks from work.
You were nodding along, pretending to listen, when your eyes drifted towards the window.
A man sat alone outside on one of the patio tables.
Dark jacket, baseball hat, coffee in front of him- full incognito. Something about him tugged at your memory.
You forgot about him thirty seconds later when Anne launched into another rant.
The second time you saw him was when youâd treated yourself to a nice sandwich after work and decided to sit outside once instead of returning straight to your apartment to stare at your peeling walls.
The weather was beautiful, light wind nipping at your exposed shoulders.
Your gaze wandered halfway through lunch and landed on that same guy. There he was again.
A different jacket but the same hat, same posture. Sitting on a bench a short distance away, talking quietly on the phone. You stared for a moment and he looked up.
You immediately looked away, embarrassed. Yuck, now you look like a pervert.
The third time you think you saw him, you were leaving a pharmacy.
You shoved the plastic bag underneath your arm and stepped back onto the sidewalk- and immediately almost toppled over when someone brushed past you.
You glanced up. Dark jacket. A glimpse of his side profile.
Gone before you could properly connect the dots. Now why the fuck do i keep seeing this guy everywhere?
The fourth time, however, was a little harder to ignore.
You had stepped out of your building for a smoke during the weekend, when you spotted Mr Rodriguez standing near the curb. This was your first time seeing him after weeks of his absence. It had worried you during the initial week, but indulging in conspiracies of what had happened to him had become a fading pastime.
You turned on your heel, ready to bolt your ass out of there in case he noticed you and picked up a fight over absolutely nothing.
Unfortunately, that senile old man noticed you first.
Before he could start his usual bullshit, another man stepped into view. Black windbreaker styled jacket, baseball hat, familiar faceâŠ
Mr Rodriguez looked strangely tense when the man muttered something. You watched as Mr Rodriguez nodded, and the man turned away.
Coincidences happen. Hellâs Kitchen was full of people. Maybe he was another tenant? Mr Rodriguez owned several buildings throughout Hellâs Kitchen. Maybe he worked for the city. Maybe he was Rodriguezâs accountant. His lawyer. His tax guy. Whatever.
Who cared. Certainly not you.
You had another week to survive and exactly 120$ in your savings account. And adding paranoia to the ever growing list it wouldnât help you. Other peopleâs business certainly wasnât your problem.
Itâs nearing midnight and you leave your shift, begrudgingly entering the convenience store to grab a snack before you head back to your apartment.
Every muscle in your body is aching with overstrain and all you want to do is huddle up in your blankets, no matter how cheap they are. You walk down the food aisle, intending to pick out a sandwich when you inconveniently bump into something. Or more accurately, someone.
The not so unfamiliar stranger. What the actual fuck? Thatâs it, youâve reached your breaking point.
âAre you following me?â You blurt out. His eyebrows lift in surprise.
âThats a serious accusation,â He seems calm?
You're immediately embarrassed. What were you thinking? You probably sound insane.
âi just-â you inhale, âI keep seeing you.â
He stares at you for a while. Gaze fixated right on yours.
âFunny,â he says, âI was about to say the same thingâ
You blink at him. Is this actually happening?
âBenjamin,â he says eventually, extending a hand, after letting the silence prolong for a while.
âMost people call me Dex.â
You hesitate a little before shaking his hand, offering your name, and you see the corner of his mouth twitch in a subtle smile.
You smile at him in return and awkwardly step around to head to the counter and he follows.
You buy your sad little sandwich and he his energy drinks- enough to kill a small horse - and step out.
Youâre a little intimidated to be honest, suddenly conversing with a stranger youâve been keeping an eye out for weeks.
For a moment, neither of you says anything. You shuffle around on your feet a little before perking up. âSo what do you do? For work, I meanâ. A boring question, really, but you canât be bothered to keep up a conversation when youâre so tired.
Dex stares at you for a moment once again, and you awkwardly blink.
Such a normal question. Dex has spent weeks learning everything he could about you, yet you donât know anything about him. The imbalance is delicious.
âI work for the FBI,â he says simply, not dwelling further.
Your jaw drops open, âHoly shit, thatâs a cool ass job.â
âIt really isnât, gets boring after a whileâ He smiles.
âRespectfully, I think youâre lying.â A quite huff escapes him.
âWish i had a cool job like yoursâ, Dex notices you look a little miserable- He has to play along. He hopes you donât remember him from the that time he visited your shop on a whim.
âWhat do you do?â He asks.
âi work at a coffee shopâ
âNo.â You bark out a laugh.
âWell, thereâs a lot of things that contribute to me absolutely despising my job. My boss, for instance,â You shake your head, âLike genuinely. Cartoon villain levels of asshole, heâs evilâ
âWhat didnât he do?â, You breathe out, âLately, however, Iâve noticed heâs being a little ⊠weird. Like he isnât tugging at me and hovering over me all the time. Itâs creeping me outâ
âIsnât that a good thing?â He tilts his head.
âNo, because now Iâm waiting for the catch.â
âYou think thereâs a catch?â
âI think my inconvenient life has conditioned me to expect one.â
âMaybe somebody noticed.â He says. You frown, âNoticed what?â
âThat he was treating you badly,â His gaze lingers on yours, as if trying to convey you something.
What a cryptic guy, you think. Could he not elaborate further?
âI guess, but who would really care for a person like me?â You knew you were self pitying at the moment, and it probably did little to elevate your image in his eyes, but so deep into the night with little to no company these past few months made you want to rattle on about every single thing about your life to the first person willing to listen.
âThereâll always be someone around who cares, trust meâ
âYou sound like a tired suicide prevention hotline workerâ You giggle a little at your own joke, and raise an eyebrow when he looks at you with a bit of skepticism. âWhat?â you ask.
He averts his eyes, âNothing.â
You notice the air around his demeanor has shifted a little and use it as your cue to leave. Glancing down at your mobile, you check the time and sigh.
âWell, I think itâs my time to go. It was really nice meeting you, Dexâ
âLikewise,â he smiles.
As you turn to leave he clears his throat, you glance over your shoulder to see him averting his eyes as he says, âCould we exchange numbers?â He seems nervous, probably the most emotion youâve seen him show the entire conversation.
Well⊠heâs really handsome, not to mention youâve been bumping into each other these past months so it must be fate that led you two to intertwine right? He seems polite too, âYou donât have to,â he adds.
âSureâ, and you watch as something akin to relief spreads across his face, he hands you his phone and gazes at your side profile as you type your number on the screen.
âText me when you get home,â he says.
You snort at that, âAre all FBI agents this paranoid over someone they just met?â
âWeâve been bumping into each other for quite a while, I wouldnât say weâre exactly strangers.â His answer comes a bit too quickly, you laugh it off.
You walk away without looking back.
Dex was surprisingly a very fun texter. Over the course of a few weeks, texting him became part of your daily routine.
â8:37PM You: Just made it home. Boss is still alive, ugh.
â9:10PM Dex: My condolences.
He was fun. His texts were-no-bullshit, all to the point. You loved his bluntness.
Heâd grown on you. Youâd bump into each other every now and then and grab a quick bite on your breaks from your shift. Sometimes, heâd even initiate meeting up and grabbing a coffee, though it was pretty rare and those meetings never had a label.
You slowly forgot at what point you started texting him whenever something good or bad happened. Extra shift? Coffee machine out of order again? Updates on your boss? What you ate for breakfast? Your hands are already subconsciously reaching out to text dex.
You werenât flirting, no god forbid. You didnât want to come off as a creep to dex and ruin what weird connection youâd built over one-sided-trauma dumping and him listening intently to your boring rambles.
You know he cares, or he wouldnât be dropping by on your shifts to bring you snacks. He wouldnât remember tiny things that even your best friend wouldnât be able to tell.
Like last time when you were eating a greasy burger and heâd said nonchalantly âi thought you hated picklesâ and watched you freeze. You donât even remember when youâd mentioned that to him. And then even before that, when youâd forgotten your wool gloves in the chilly autumn winds, and heâd dropped off at your work with a new pair and a resigned sigh at your carelessness.
You think it was month 5 when youâd subconsciously leaned in each otherâs personal space without the other minding. Normal things that felt too intimate for some reason. Heâd walk you home sometimes, and your hands would gently intertwine with his, your palm slotting perfectly with his.
Or in other quiet ways where heâd keep you away from the sidewalk whenever youâd be walking to the bus stop together. Or when youâd extend an earbud to him and heâd compliment your music taste, watching as you dozed off against his shoulder.
He was the perfect guy, really. He listened, he was reliable. He always picked up at odd hours of the night whenever you couldnât sleep. Heâd always appear when the tiredness would settle into the nook of your bones and youâd be too drained to drag yourself out of bed- coaxing you out of your messy nest and holding you close.
Dex thinks he couldnât possibly fall any harder than he already has, but the ache and longing in his heart every time your message appeared across his screen negated that immediately. How much longer could he go without pretending like you werenât driving him insane, to the point where every single thought from his waking breath to the lull of his dreams were plagued by you?
Was this love? He hoped it was. Certainly felt like it.
He couldnât understand it himself. It started off as a quiet solidarity to your unshakeable vigor, as curiosity. And turned into a spiral of obsession he was all too familiar with, turned into something uglier- needier.
Dex falls in love harder and harder whenever you treat him like a normal human being- not an assassin, not fiskâs weapon, not a monster- but him. He hadnât realized how badly he craved the quiet domesticity youâd brought with you.
You complain and whine about your boss, about the waffle you dropped on the sidewalk, about the cat that bit you while you were feeding it, about your landlord and how heâs so nice to me now its unnerving. You called him your angel and said he was your good luck charm. Dex spent the next hour staring at the message. If only you knew.
Dex always listened to you speak with rigorous attention, every single sentence you spoke already memorized and stored to the back of his mind to replay at night.
If love is mapped by the crease of your eyes whenever you smile at him, if itâs mapped by the sound of your laughter, by the image of your hair dancing to the rhythm of the cool autumn winds- then heâs so maddeningly in love. All he can do now is to not fuck up the best thing that has happened to him.
Slowly, but surely, your relationship with Dex turns into something more. Something that turned less platonic after he asked you to visit his apartment.
Neither of you ever sat down and discussed it, nor was it a grand confession, but a slow realization built over a period of time that led you two to fall into a cycle of comfort with each other. The first time he invited you over, youâd expected something depressing. Bare walls, maybe? or a mattress on the floor. Maybe a folding chair or two. He was usually away for his work, so you thought maybe his house wouldnât really be furnished.
Instead, his place was nice. Far nicer than yours, though comparing anything to your apartment felt a little unfair. Your place wasnât exactly built for competition.
Everything was organized, books were lined alphabetically, counters were spotless, the furniture looked expensive and barely lived in. He always did seem extremely bothered when heâd entered your messed up apartment, always cleaning out your shelves, offering to arrange your books. Youâd immediately ruined the atmosphere by leaving your shoes in the middle of his hallway.
âSorry,â youâd muttered, dragging your shoes to the stand near the doorway.
âMessing up the cleanliness in your apartment.â
The corner of his mouth twitched, âYou donât need to apologize, not with meâ
From that day onwards, youâd regularly visit his apartment. Sometimes he texted you, sometimes you boldly invited yourself over, sometimes youâd show up carrying takeout and immediately make yourself comfortable on his couch like you paid rent there. You didnât, obviously, you could barely afford the rent at your own place.
Physical touch was scarce. Though there was the lingering kiss you placed on his cheek every now and then, the moments where youâd sprawl all over him while watching a movie late into the night. Sometimes you got the feeling dex was hesitant in initiating physical touch with you, so you took matters into your hands. Youâd reach for his hand out in public, and watch as the stiffness in his shoulders relaxed. Youâd swipe the residue crumbs left on his mouth and took notice of how he shuddered every time just a little.
â9:25PM dex: Come over? I bought your favorite snacks, we could watch the movie you were talking about.
You were lounging in your apartment after a long day at work when your phone pinged with dexâs message.
Even for yours and Dexâs ungodly habit of appearing at each otherâs apartments at random hours, this was pretty late.
Normally, you wouldâve declined at such a late hour, but since it was the weekend you didnât really mind, and dex had mentioned your favorite snacks. You quickly shot him a text and dressed comfortably before heading out.
From there, it was routine.
The walk to his apartment, the methodical press to his apartment floor on the elevator, the familiar walk down the hallway.
The sound of the lock clicking open before you even had the chance to knock.
âYou know normal people wait for their guests to knock first,â you chastised him as you stepped inside.
âYou texted me when you got here.â
âThatâs not the point.â
Dex stepped aside to let you enter.
You rolled your eyes. He wasnât one to back down from an argument.
The smell of buttered popcorn wafted through his apartment and it was enough to ease your mind off any worries about the upcoming week. You hastily leaned down to remove your shoes near the doorway and your bag landed somewhere on his couch, disturbing the systematic cleanliness of his apartment.
âYouâre leaving your stuff everywhere.â
âThis is my nesting process, you should get used to itâ
You settled comfortably into the couch, tugging the blanket that hung over its side over your shoulders.
Dex trudged over with the popcorn and drinks tucked in the crook of his elbows. You didnât bother asking if he needed any assistance, because he would never allow you to lift a finger whenever you were in his vicinity.
The movie started ten minutes later, or at least it tried to. Because of your annoying habit (endearing, dex would argue) of blabbering whenever you could, you lasted twenty-three minutes before starting commentary.
âThat guy is absolutely the murderer.â
âHow can you be so sure? He literally has murderer eyes.â
Dex looked away from the screen.
âYou know exactly what I mean, youâre an FBI agentâŠâ you gave him a suspicious look.
The bickering didnât stop until the credits rolled. Even though you had dozed off quite a few times during the movie, you still found it in yourself to argue with dex at any given moment- just because you loved annoying him so.
Your head felt heavier, and your eyes even more so.
At some point during the movie, your shoulders had brushed and neither of you pulled away. A little while later, your head was fully resting against his and his arm had settled around your waist.
Neither of you had acknowledged it.
The movie had ended twenty minutes ago,
You should probably go home, it was nearing midnight. But you couldnât deny yourself this small comfort, and judging by how dex was clinging to you, you could say the same for him.
The television cast a faint glow across the apartment, painting everything in shades of blue and silver.
You tilted your head back slightly to glance at him. Big mistake.
Dex was already looking at you, which wasnât unusual for him. He looked at you a lot, but this felt different.
The air shifted and your heart picked up speed.
His eyes flickered briefly to your lips before returning to your gaze, the movement so subtle you almost missed it.
Suddenly every thought abandoned you.
A slow smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, as he caught onto your dazed expression.
Heat immediately crawled up your neck.
âShut up.â The smile widened slightly, you hated how much you liked seeing it.
The silence settled again, full of something soft.
Your eyes drifted to his mouth before you could stop yourself.
When you looked back up, his expression had changed. Something that made your stomach tighten.
The hand resting against your waist shifted slightly, pulling you closer until your breaths mingled. His grip was light enough to give you room to pull away.
You could tell by the way he was breathing, he really wanted this. And you would be a fool to deny him.
He inched his lips closer, and you met him halfway.
The kiss was tentative at first, dex pulling you close enough that you straddled his lap, it was soft, inviting. The second you pulled away, he searched you for any sort of displeasure or regret, but when he found none but growing lust he crashed his lips against yours with more rigor.
Every push of your tongues, raw and powerful, unleashes another muffled groan into each otherâs mouth. The smell of his cologne, your shitty supermarket perfume you sprayed on today as a whim. Your hands tightened around his sturdy biceps, pulling another groan from him.
Sweet, he thinks. Your lips taste sweet. Like the times he dips a spoon of honey into his tea.
He moves his lips so deliciously against yours, so dextrous, so demanding, that it makes you weak in the knees.
You curl your fingers into his hair, tugging at the roots, pulling him close enough youâd be mistaken for one being. The kiss breaks off into bouts of panting, a thread of saliva that quickly snaps between your and his lips. You needed more, you could feel dex searching your eyes for confirmation.
A nod later and your shirt was being tugged off, your bra unclasped and thrown off into the distance. You hastily reciprocated his actions- pulling his loose shirt off him, before smashing your lips against his once more.
Your hands wandered down to his chest, feeling the taut skin on the ridges of his defined abs, tracing light scars and gun wounds he no doubt got from his time working at the FBI.
You could feel his breath stutter as your hands traced a particularly gruesome wound, he could sense your curiosity about the question you were longing to ask, so he worked to make you busy.
His mouth latched onto the sensitive skin at the corner of your jaw, sucking harshly enough that all rational thought left your mind. His lips traced their path down to your collarbone, biting and licking to claim his mark on your skin. He trailed kisses of fire between the valleys of your breasts, sucking a harsh purple mark there.
He enveloped one soft bud between his mouth, groaning as the salt from your skin flooded his taste buds. You felt like you could cum just by his heady ministrations, practically feeling your core begging to be relieved.
You grinded on his thigh, trying to find a good enough rhythm to get that familiar high.
âGod, goodness, you are so soft,â He took in a deep breath, trying to find a semblance of composure because lord, youâd really throw him off the rails if you continued to act this fucking lewd.
His hands engulfed your hips, moving you back and forth on his thigh as he suckled on your breasts, groping the other and tweaking the nipple between his calloused fingers. He bit into one and you groaned at the pained pleasure, feeling as he soothed the skin with a stripe of his tongue, swirling it at the tip of the bud. He was panting just by being able to taste the soft skin of your tits.
Needy, he was so needy. You could feel his frustration evident in his growing erection. You, yourself, were practically drooling at the mouth as you palmed him, watching him sigh as he closed his eyes shut.
Not for long though, because Dex was on a mission, and he was not one to back off a challenge easily. His lips smashed against yours again, and you could feel the steely resolve rolling off him.
He lifted your hips just enough so that he could tug off your shorts with ease, peeling them away from your legs, slowly lowering you down to lay your back down on the couch- never once parting his lips from yours.
Once he was sure you were comfortable, he pulled back, smiling at the agitated whine that accompanied your lips. God, you were going to be the death of him.
He sat on his haunches to look at your disheveled state in all its glory, raking his eyes down your form embarrassingly slow. His eyes seem to glue somewhere in your nether regions, particularly your pussy glistening shamelessly wet from your white linen underwear, your folds visible from the way your arousal had made it see through.
âAll this for me, sweet girl?â Fuck, he couldnât stop the embarrassing whine that pulled out of his chest from seeing you so eager, he loved seeing you like this, but he couldnât help but tease.
He lowered himself down a little, kissing his way from your ankle to your thighs treacherously slow, peppering open mouthed kisses and little suckles here and there. He paid particular attention to your inner thighs, sucking bruises on your skin and soothing them with soft licks, never straying towards where you needed him to, but close enough for him to smell your sex.
You were a moaning mess by this point, all you wanted was for him to touch you where you wanted- no needed him the most, or you would lose yourself.
âF-fuck, fuck, Dex, just give it to me already!â You couldnât stop the broken moans that pulled from your lips, god you would beg on your knees if he wanted just so he could relieve some of the horrible ache, you could feel your arousal leaking out of you and glistening on your thighs, streaking downwards as Dex caught them with a swipe of his tongue.
âWont you show some patience, baby? Iâm busy hereâ You could feel his smirk as he continued his lapping of your thighs, the lilt of his voice when he was teasing you, sucking color wherever he could reach.
Every part of you burned with need, âplease, please? Please, dex. I need you, pleaseâ your breath caught in your voice as he practically lunged to your pussy, grinning wildly from ear to ear at your eagerness.
He huffed out, âAll you had to do was ask sweetly, princess,â before diving straight to your clothed clit.
âO-oh, oh Dex!â He pressed sweet kisses to your mound, relishing in the sweet taste that leaked out from your core, lapping it up like a mad man. He swiped kitten licks wherever he could reach, practically making out with your pussy.
âNgh, fffuck,â you were in too much bliss.
Your underwear was now practically glued to you, sticky with his spit and your arousal.
Eventually, he decided this was not enough. And he could feel you were growing frustrated too if your whines were anything to go by. Your eyes were teary, lip swollen and puffy and frustration for the lack of release evident in your scrunched up eyebrows. Heavens, you were adorable.
He peeled your underwear off and stuffed the wet cloth in his back pocket, pushing your legs to your chest so he could take a good look at his meal.
Your puffy clit was just begging for attention, if your drenching wetness was enough of a hint, glinting lewdly in the dim yellow light. Fuck, his cock was straining against his pants at the erotic sight.
He hunched back down, huffing out soft breaths against your pussy to watch you squirm. He pressed another soft kiss at your bare core, before indulging you. He drags his long index finger from your entrance all the way to your clit, watching as you squirm your head against the armrest. He would be distracted from the sight of your perky tits heaving up and down due to your irregular breathing only if he didnât remember he had a mission to complete.
His finger pushed into you experimentally, and youâre gasping, eyes twitching from the pleasure his one finger brought. He laughs cruelly at your gasping form, before slowly pumping it in and out of you, giving you a little time to adjust.
His mouth lowers down once again and settles onto your sensitive core, sucking harshly, while simultaneously fingering you. He pushes another rough finger inside, watching with his pupils blown out how easily you take him because of the mess of arousal and spit your pussy had become. He feels your legs thrash around his head-rebelling from their position tucked to your chest, so he slings a strong arm over them to keep them in place.
His fingers take up a fast tempo, curling them and hitting that spongy spot that had your eyes rolling and back arching off the sofa.
âD-dex, n-ngh, god itâs so goodâ You could see white when his tongue flattened against you, filthy noises erupting from his chest at the taste.
His thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles on the aching nub- feeling you tighten around his fingers as trickles of wetness roll from you, his tongue greedily lapping it all up.
âBaby, your pussyâs going crazy right now, so fucking tightâ heâs huffing out a snicker as he steps up his tempo, slamming his fingers repeatedly to that cushiony spot heâs practically memorized by this point, grinning as you warble out incoherent cries. Bullseye.
What threw you off the edge was when he hums against your core; sending vibrations to your center and tingles all over your body, you come undone so violently you feel your eyes rolling back and you swear you see god.
He keeps fucking you through your high, never once faltering in his lewd ministrations, keeping a tight hold of your legs as your legs buckle, clamping shut around his dirty blonde head, threatening to keep him trapped between your thighs.
You sigh when you come down from your high, feeling dex still suckling out all the wetness you had spilled from your entrance. You were too sensitive now, your hands tugged lightly at his hair to get him off of you but he didnât so much as budge.
âLet me.. let me taste, babyâ he was practically glued to your pussy, but the sensitivity was getting too much.
ââM too sensitive, dex, get off,â he grunts before pulling away, eyebrows furrowed and a pained expression painting his face as if it physically hurt him to be away from your pussy.
He was about to fucking burst in his pants just by looking at the mess youâd made between your thighs, the juices there winking devilishly at him under the lights, all too tantalizing.
You needed more, you needed more of him. You wanted to reciprocate the mind numbing pleasure heâd brought you. So you reached forward to unbuckle his belt, and he helped you pull him out of his trousers.
The painful bulge lining his boxers made your mouth water, and you palmed him through his briefs. He closed his eyes at your teasing.
âLet me taste you, Dexâ You looked at him from under your lashes, trying to get him to agree. You wanted to show him the same pleasure, but it seemed Dex was too impatient to waste another second not burying himself to the hilt inside of you, because with a shake of his head your hand was shrugged off and your back towards the couch.
He hooked a thumb under his briefs and slowly pulled it off, snorting at your dumbified expression. You knew he was big, you knew it from his hard outline, but seeing his cock out in the flesh was a god sent experience .
âReady, baby? how do you want it?â You nodded vigorously, hoping to convey him the sense of urgency you felt.
âRaw, m on birth control, Dexâ
âRaw it isâ He smirks.
He doesnât waste a single second strewing your legs over his broad shoulders, before aligning himself to your slick entrance, rubbing himself upward, circling his tip around your clit in a way that had your hand shooting up so you could grip onto his arm. He taps his finger against your core a few times, before pushing himself in with no further loitering.
You grabbed at anything for purchase, his biceps, his neck, the sofa, anything. Because nothing could have prepared you for the fullness that his cock brought. God, you felt him in your tummy, with the way you could see the bulge forming as he penetrated you. You were so full.
He kept your legs hooked tightly over his shoulders, before fully unleashing hell on your pussy. Heâs moving precisely enough to hit that spot over and over and over again, you feel the tears streaking down your cheeks as he rams into you, holding you tightly enough that you donât inch away from his onslaught of fury against your pussy.
âL-lord , oh lord. I feel so f-fullâ your tears cloud your eyes now, and one of his hands move down to caress the outline of the bulge that appeared every time he pushed in.
He wonât stop moving now, the sofa is creaking under his brutal and almost feral movements. You canât think, canât speak, canât do anything but claw at the rippling muscle of his back, and gasp when his hand traces over your abdomen to your clit, giving you feather light, teasing flicks as he rams into your body. You just lay there and took it.
You could feel the slick of your recent orgasm drip from you and cling to your skin each time he pulled his hips back, and each time he pushed back in.
âBaby youâre doing so good, so perfect.â He muttered praises to your mouth, never stopping once.
He bends your legs to your chest, keeping them in place as he pulls out slowly before ramming back in, repeating his motions over and over again until your resolve resigns and all you can do is claw at his neck.
âSay my fucking name, sweet girl. Tell me how fucking bad you want me.â
âWant you,â you whine, trying to get just a little more friction. âFuck, Ben, I want you so bad, I need you-â
Heâs pounding into you now, the echo of skin against skin reverberating around the living room, and youâd worry if the neighbors could hear if you werenât so fucking dumbified.
His mouth found yours, tongue slipping into your mouth in a sloppy kiss. You whined against it, and God, the moan he released in response had your toes curling and your stomach tensing. So quickly, so soon.
His heavy balls smack against your ass every time he pushes in, and you know youâre going to be sore come tomorrow morning, but you hardly find it in you to care when heâs fucking you so good. His finger trailed down to rub torturous circles over your clit.
Your jaw slackened, but no sounds could escape you, not when you did not feel as if you could inhale, or even exhale. Breathing seemed unattainable from how lost you were in this pleasure. And he seemed to notice, âBreathe, baby, breathe- you can take it, you can take what Iâm giving you.â
You exhaled shakily, feeling your legs tremble around his hold as the knot in your belly began to untwist itself. Your second orgasm came without warning. White lights dotted behind your closed eyelids, and you felt your thighs convulse against him.
He just kept fucking you through it, kept you in that prolonged state of bliss. He chased his own high as he watched you sob from the pleasure, bending down to lick a stripe of salty tears from your cheeks and groaning at the taste.
He whispered a curse as your walls clenched around his length once more, finally throwing him over the edge. His sperm shot out of him in white ropes, spilling deep in your tummy and leaving you bloated from how much he came.
For a moment, you both slumped against each other. He was still buried to the hilt inside you but yoh allowed each other to catch breath. Heâd never felt so light before, so free as your fingers brushed over his cheek, and you pulled him down against you.
âYou okay?â He whispered against you, didnât wanna disturb the fragile silence that coated you both.
âMhm..âm okayâ you could barely string together coherent sentences after being fucked so good, despite being full to the brim you wanted more, but were embarrassed to ask more of him.
He rest his head against your chest, slowly lowering your legs to his waist. After a while of quiet, comfortable silence where he tracked your irregular breathing back to normal, he started pressing kisses to your sweat glazed body.
He only stopped when you grasped at his arm, gazing up at him with bright eyes, whispering, âPlease,â again.
He could only smile, tenderly, leaning down to press his mouth against yours in a brief kiss.
âAre you ready for me, again?â he asked, though he knew the answer.
Youâd visited Dexâs apartment enough times by this point that it had started feeling less like his apartment and a little more like yours too. Your favorite snacks lived in his cabinet, an extra blanket was strewn across the couch because you always complained about being cold, the fridge was stocked with your favorite food and leftovers.
He had asked you out a few months ago, winter had passed and spring was just around the corner.
Being in a relationship with Dex was extremely domestic, shouldâve terrified you, but instead you found it embarrassingly comforting.
Which was why after waiting outside his apartment with food tucked under your arm, youâd called dex to open the door and heâd given you the location of his spare keys and told you to let yourself in as he finished something at work.
Nothing unusual. Just Dex and his top secret stuff holding him up. He never liked to talk about his work, anyways, and you learnt to never ask him about it.
You found the spare beneath the potted plant, and the apartment greeted you with the same familiar silence. You headed straight to the kitchen to place the food, hung your coat near the doorway, and remembered midway that youd forgotten your phone charger in Dexâs bedroom last week.
Twenty minutes of searching later, you found yourself kneeling in front of a cabinet youâd never bothered opening before. Mostly because Dex was weirdly organized and you preferred not disturbing whatever system his FBI brain had concocted.
You tugged the latch. No charger. Instead, a black cardboard box, with a thin satin ribbon tied on top. You hesitantly reached out, dex would surely be very mad at you for going through his things. but you were his girlfriend, right? You had a right on his things just as he did on yours.
Curiosity killed the cat. Fortunately, you werenât a cat.
You lifted the lid, and felt your stomach drop.
A pit seemed to form in your stomach, tendrils of horror curdling deep in your belly.
Photographs. Hundreds of them, stacked methodically. Ripped journal entries. A dried flower, pressed and preserved that youâd given him back in spring as a joke.
Your fingers trembled as you picked one out of the stack. It was of you.
You. Leaving work, catching the bus, walking home with groceries, your apartment door, your bed, you in that bar you frequented, you serving another customer during work hours. You, laughing. You, in that park you always sat in during weekends. The pictures seemed endless. None of them were sexual. But they still felt invasive.
It didnât make sense. Nothing made sense.
Maybe this isnât what it looks like? Should you confront dex, or leave? You tried to assure yourself, tried to make up excuses that would justify this.
It would be too easy for dex to find you, no matter where you went. He knew where you frequented, he knew your friends, and you knew it would be childâs work for him to trace you if you stayed at a motel.
You could feel a burst of nausea, staring at pictures older than your relationship, older than your first date, older than your first meeting.
The front door creaked open and you dropped the photographs in fear. You could feel your vision blurring, and your heartbeat seemed to thrum in your ears with every drawled breath. You hastily dropped to your knees, gathering the photos even as your legs steadily gave up.
Footsteps approached you. Steady, and so achingly familiar.
The silence that followed was enormous, neither of you daring to speak.
Your voice sounded strange,small, very unlike the girl with fire and determination blazing through her veins.
You couldnât believe it. How dare he call you love as if he didnât stalk you obsessively before you even knew who he was?
For once, you seemed completely drained, âWhat is this?â
He didnât respond. He kept staring at you, not daring to step closer to you in this fragile state. In case you punched him, or worse, left.
He couldnât lose you. Heâd go insane, heâd lose his only anchor and go berserk. He was going to fix this, even though right now he felt wrong and foreign and upside down.
You stared at him expectantly.
âDoes it matter?â Ambiguous. A trait you always admired in him, how easily he deflected your questions with another question, but right now you felt as if in one more vague answer and youd slam your head against the wall.
He was breathing ragged as he leaned closer to you, kneeling down to where you were sprawled across the floor; trying to regain your composure.
âI made sure nothing happened to you, babyâ. He seemed so certain, as if youâre life was his to decide.
You couldnât stop the disbelieving laugh that rippled out of your chest, and you wiped the haze of tears from your face.
âI thought you wereâŠâ you start and stop yourself midway.
Because you donât really know what word fits anymore. You thought he was safe. You thought he was yours. But reality has a cruel way to crash down any fantasies, just when you thought youd met the love of your life, the man of your dreams.
You watched as Dex inhaled sharply, averting his eyes from yours for the first time.
âIâve always admired your fire. Youre so sure of everything, youâre so different from what i am baby. You can change me, i know you can. You need me just as i need you,â He was rambling now.
âNeed you? I was doing fine on my down, dex! I was doing just fine! You were fucking stalking me, stalking me!â
âNo, you werenât doing fine. You were behind on rent, and Rodriguez was already finding another tenant to replace you, you think you wouldnât be thrown to the streets if it wasnât for me? I made him extend his deadline and was the one who stopped your boss from harassing you. You wouldnât be anywhere without me.â His words were cruel, so cruel, so unlike him. So unlike the man you knew.
âSo it was you? The one behind Rodriguez? Behind my boss?â
You watched him scoff, but he didnât answer.
Suddenly, the hundred impossible coincidences didnât feel so impossible anymore.
Your landlord, your boss, the bad luck that kept disappearing. The way Dex always seemed to show up exactly when you needed him. The amount of times youâd run into him, where youâd kept on chalking it up to being coincidences. Or your paranoia.
You looked down at the photographs again, then back at him, and watched as his eyes trail your actions. He didnât look regretful, he didnât look guilty, he didnât look scared. His composure was too perfect, given away slightly by his erratic breathing and the wild look in his eyes. You had called him your angel once, your good luck charm.
For the first time since meeting Dex, you found yourself wondering whether you had ever been lucky at all.
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