sleepy

25 you'll find me searching for moonlight. INFJ.

[babybellabale]

sweet girl (benjamin poindexter x reader)

you smelled him before he even got into bed, he smelled cold, comfortable and a little metallic.

the firm grip of his hands on your hip made you clench your eyes in anticipation. a small spark inflamed in your gut too, but you would never tell him that.

you felt the cold hard press of his chest against your back, you tried hiding your face into the duvet but dex’s other hand held your chin because dex knew you better than anyone.

next came his knee, you felt the coarse hairs on his legs as he was stripped to his navy boxers only. dex knudged his knee between your legs. it felt so good, the pressure he placed there, relief.

dex softly mouthed your name onto your shoulder as he pushed himself closer to you. his hand moved from your chin to your lips.

like the good girl he knew you were, you opened your quivering lips and bit and licked at his hand, the side of his hand or sucked at his thumb.

you felt him groan into your shoulder as his knee pressed harder, you let out your own sound of pleasure as dex slowly moved back and forth.

“my sweet girl” dex grunted into your hair and he inhaled your natural scent.

sweat from anticipation mixed with sweetness of shower gel.

in a split second, dex had you flipped onto his body as he laid on his back.

you were met with dark green eyes and a face so handsome you could do nothing but take in the light blonde stuble and lines of age around his eyes and mouth.

“i missed you…” he whispered into the closed space between eachothers lips.

you stupidly stared at the movement of his lips, as they were pulled into a smile so sweet you couldn’t look away.

“…did you miss me?” he continued with a slight tilt of his head.

you nodded and dex made a face of fake annoyance, “words” he ordered. his face was all sweet but his tone told you the truth.

danger, fear, bullseye.

“yes- alot dex” you smiled.

why were you so easily enamored by him????

suddenly he kissed you, so soft yet so controlling.

his lips moved so well with yours, so intimate. he let out sighs of enjoyment and you did too.

he whined over your ear as he pushed you into the place between his neck and shoulder.

“my sweet girl”

“you’re impossible,” you murmured against his shoulder, your fingers tracing the firm line of his collarbone just to feel him shudder in response.

dex let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated straight through your chest. his hand slid up from your waist, his fingers tangling effortlessly into your hair to tilt your face upward. his dark green eyes locked onto yours, blazing with an intensity that made it difficult to draw breath.

“only for you,” he rasped, his thumb brushing lightly across your lower lip. the teasing edge in his voice vanished, replaced by something raw and unyielding. “don’t ever look at me like you’re trying to figure out how to leave, sweet girl. It makes me do irrational things.”

before you could courage up a witty retort to break the sudden tension, his mouth crashed down onto yours again, hungrier this time, desperate as if he were trying to prove a point only the two of you understood.

———————————————————————————

do what you want with this 🫪

[bunnis-yanderes]

Yandere who is desperate for touch and affection, and his sweet little darling that gives love freely.

He’s sitting on the couch, watching TV. His attention shifts to you as you saunter over. For a moment he’s still, as if you’re a cat and he’s trying not to scare you off.

You look at him for a moment before carefully climbing into his lap. His entire body stiffens and his arms shoot out, not knowing where to put his hands as you get comfy like this spot is all yours now.

Once you’re settled, slowly, he moves his hands from the space beside you to your hips. He almost groans as he squeezes the soft flesh there, his eyes fluttering shut as your bury your face into his neck.

This is paradise…

[shimihu]

YANDERE MODEL X GN! READER

Warnings . Yandere content; stalking, hinted kidnapping, yandere will end himself for you

A short writing~

There he was again on the big screens. The billboard flashed vibrant blues, pinks, and golds around some cologne with his porcelain features beside it. He really has been getting brand deals as of late, be it a product, clothing, or even some beverage. You basically couldn't even escape seeing that pretty face considering that he's in a lot of your favourite snacks.

The quiet bell of the store entrance sounded as you enter the place, warmer than the cold air outside from all the wind and rain. Moving instinctively to the snack aisle to bring some home— of course. There he was again on the drink you held against your palm.

Honestly, you don't even get what's so interesting about this guy. Sure he's pretty handsome, he's got the face and from what you've heard he's pretty tall as well. You aren't complaining but does he really need to be everywhere you look? At least pick some other drinks as your brand deal!

Regardless though, he has the fame and wealth you don't. It's not like some big shot is going to listen to a commoner who isn't even his fan anyway. Alas, you'll have to bring him home with you in the form of a tin can.

With another ring of the store bell, out you went from the cozy atmosphere of a shelter and back into the unforgiving chill of the weather. Although you wore a hoodie, it didn't really do much when you've been soaking out here for a while now, the fabric now damp from each little raindrop.

You had two choices. Call a cab to get home or walk home in the rain.

Of course you're going to call a cab. Why wouldn't you? With your attention fixed on your phone screen, your fingers tapped away with some difficulty against the rain-speckled display. It wasn't until the steady patter of raindrops suddenly shifted above your head that you realised someone had walked up beside you, holding an umbrella overhead.

With a glance towards the kind stranger keeping the rain off your head, you opened your mouth to thank them only to pause, the words dying in your throat.

Huh?

No way, it can't be. Seriously?

Your mystery man turned out to be the same face you had seen countless of times. There's no way this could be him though, right? A model? The model? You remembered how they spoke about his height but to see him in person right next to you no less made you feel way smaller than you thought you were. Either it was the literal height difference or the presence of someone who's better than you in nearly everything—who knows.

"You okay? You'll catch a cold if you stay out here for too long."

You don't even remember if you've ever heard his voice before but it's way hotter than you had expected. Sure he had the looks, the body, but even that smooth, deep, velvety voice of his? No wonder people were obsessed with him.

"Ah- yeah, sorry. Thank you but you really don't have to do this. I was just about to call a cab home," you snapped out of your thoughts once you processed that this really is the man himself, someone everybody loved.

"Is that so? The rain's going to pick up so I'm not sure if there even is going to be any driver around who's willing to pick you up. Why don't I drive you home instead?"

Before you could even politely decline the man's offer, you already had no choice when he held your forearm to gently drag you away all while keeping you dry under the umbrella. Damn him though, even his hold on your arm felt way stronger than your own grip, yet not enough to hurt. With him up close, the veins on his hand showed off as well. Such pretty hands.

The silence in his car didn't last very long either. He kept bringing up a conversation while focusing on the road, occasionally glancing towards you whenever the car stopped at a red light. Some, "what are you doing in the rain?" Or some, "are you tired?" Or even a, "we can eat somewhere if you're hungry." It didn't feel uncomfortable though, nothing like the potential awkwardness you had worried about considering that he isn't just some average guy. Yet surprisingly, he is pretty normal. The media really does put views on people huh?

"So... Why did you become a model?" Your question was probably one he received way too many times from fans trying to peak into his personal life, but what else was there for you to ask? This is interesting, isn't it? Not some, "hey what's your favourite colour," one of those dry conversations.

He paused for a second, as if thinking to himself what even if the answer—or if he even wanted to share. You were about to apologise for that if it made him uncomfortable, but you were cut off with his answer.

"Do you remember when we met a year ago?"

What kind of answer is that? That's not even an answer. It seemed more like he was trying to dodge the question.

"... Do I know you?" Understandably, nothing had ring a bell to your memories, or maybe it's because you've seen his model face so many times that you basically forgot who he even is. If you even knew this guy.

"Yeah, we met at the park, remember? You gave me an umbrella because it was raining that day. I thought it would be romantic if I did the same now..."

His gaze shifted just a bit between the road and the front mirror to your view at the backseat as he trailed off. The city drifted by outside as familiar streets, traffic lights, and little corner stores blurred beneath the relentless rain. The gentle hum of the engine and the rhythmic sweep of the windshield wipers made the ride surprisingly peaceful.

Wait—you never even gave him your address.

"Well I became a model because I figured that I could be with you in that way~ I even went for products that you love. Just like that drink of yours you had bought earlier."

Huh? How did he even know. Did he just notice it through the translucent plastic bag? Or was he—

"I did everything I could to get your attention, but it didn't seem to work. So, what better way than to get your attention through modelling! What do you think? Do I look good now? Do you like me now? I have money! I'll buy you anything you want. I'll change if you don't prefer this!"

He continued to ramble on, almost like he was talking to himself. It felt less like a conversation and more like someone finally letting years of bottled-up thoughts spill out. You tried to cut him off, but he didn't even listen, almost as if he desperately needed to confess everything right then and there. All you could say was a, "wait-" before you were interrupted again.

"Just... Give me a chance, okay? You love me too, right? I don't want to resort to drastic measures. I love you, I love love love you, fuck- you make me like this. It's only fair that you return the favour, right?? I'll even kill myself if it makes you happy! I don't want to live without you, please please please."

His rambling finally came to an end, almost like he had gotten everything off his chest. His smile remained, barely concealing the quiet madness beneath it as he quietly giggled to himself, almost expecting you to accept the model—the stalker—as if all of this had finally paid off and you'd be his. The engine hummed louder as he pressed further on the accelerator, the city melting into a blur beyond the rain-streaked windows as familiar buildings began to disappear.

Wait, is he even bringing you home?

[aquaticmercy]

10 p.m. on a Tuesday

Summary : You finally find out who your neighbor really is.

Pairing : Benjamin Poindexter x neighbor!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : neighbour-with-benefits to lovers!!! explicit sexual content (no explicit anatomy is mentioned as per usual), Dex lies about his name, obsessive behaviour, jealousy (?), stalking, murder implied, violence mentioned, blood/injury mention, food. Set between DDBA S1 and S2. (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count : 6.9k

Notes : This came to me in a dream. Enjoy!

Dex had never meant for Tony to become a real person.

Tony was supposed to be nothing more than a fake name. It was just supposed to be nothing more than the real-life equivalent of a Reddit throwaway account, because it was disposable and bland and forgettable.

He first said it out loud the day he moved into the building with one duffel bag and no furniture, which, in hindsight, did make him look suspicious. He had no boxes stacked outside the door or cheap flat-pack shelves waiting to be assembled, not even an awkward little pile of kitchen things. He just moved in with a fresh key in his hand, trying very hard to feel like he was in control. 

You were stepping out of your apartment when you saw him. At first, you only glanced over politely, because that's what neighbours did when they were trying to decide whether they had to be friendly or could get away with a nod, right? 

Then your eyes narrowed slightly, your hand still resting on the doorknob behind you. “You look familiar,” you said.

Dex froze.

Then you smiled, and it wasn’t the smile of someone who had recognised him from a news report or a file photo. 

You couldn’t place him yet, good. It would be a shame to have to kill you. Instead, you seemed curious, maybe a little teasing. 

Actually, it was worse than that. You looked interested.

“Got a name, new guy?” you asked.

He knew he should have had one ready. He had lied for far more important reasons before, but now, his pretty new neighbor was standing there in her doorway, looking at him with that faint little spark of amusement, and for one stupid second his mind went blank.

“Tony,” he said, and the name he made came out too quickly. It was simply the first thing he had grabbed because it was the first shape his panic could make.

“Tony.” You repeated it back to him, and really  that was where the trouble started, because you said it like you were trying it on. You looked over him once, not subtle enough to ignore but not bold enough for him to call you on it, and Dex felt the attention burn through his skin.

This must be what people meant when they said someone was checking them out. 

“Well,” you said, stepping back into your apartment, your smile wide just enough to make it clear you knew exactly what you were doing: flirting. “See you around, Tony.”

The door closed behind you.

Dex stood in the hallway with his duffel still on his shoulder.

From that moment, he hated Tony. 

Which was insane, obviously, because Tony was nothing but a mask, a lie invented in panic. Tony was supposed to disappear the second your door shut. He was supposed to remain a name, and it did.

But then you kept saying it.

You said, “Hey, Tony,” when you passed him by the mailboxes. You asked “How was your day, Tony?” when you caught him coming up the stairs too late at night. You said “Need some sugar, Tony?” when you leaned against your doorway. Every time you said it, the name felt warmer than it had any right to be. You made it sound familiar and intimate.

Well, Dex thought. Fuck. 

—

The first time Dex slept with you, it really wasn’t intentional. 

Well. 

It was almost ten PM on a Tuesday, when Mrs. Smithers, the neighbor across from you, had called you five minutes earlier in a panic because her cat had gotten out again, and Mrs. Smithers had a bad hip, no patience, and a fifteen-year-old “kitten” who liked to wedge himself under the radiator by the stairwell whenever he felt underappreciated. You were already dressed for bed when she rang, but she sounded so genuinely upset, you just had to shove your feet into slippers, dragged on the nearest cardigan, and went downstairs to retrieve her stupid cat like the apparently unpaid superintendent you had become.

By the time you got the cat back into Mrs. Smithers’ arms, you were thanked with three peppermints from the bottom of her handbag and very much ready to go back to your apartment.

Then you saw Tony coming up the stairs.

He had a shirt pulled tight across his chest, looking tired and hollow-eyed, yet still unfairly fuckable in every sensible thought in your head left the room. 

When he got to your level, his eyes dropped.

The nightgown you were wearing was not indecent, technically. It covered everything it needed to cover, and the cardigan did most of the work, but the hem had ridden higher than you realised, one strap slipping down your shoulder. 

You managed a smile. “Late night, Tony?”

You leaned against your door frame as if you hadn’t been waiting for an excuse to catch your weird, hot neighbour off guard for days. 

“Yeah,” he said.

“That’s it?”

His eyes moved over you once, but didn’t say anything more. 

“I… was about to make tea,” you said. “If you wanna join me?”

Dex didn’t drink tea. It had never been his thing. Apparently, Tony loved tea, because he said yes.

Your apartment was warm and lived-in, and he looked almost out of place standing in the middle of it. The click of the lock sounded louder than it should have.

“You always this… tense?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“Sometimes.”

Something about how he said it made you laugh, and his eyes snapped to your mouth. 

There! There he was!

That was most definitely not Tony, though you didn’t know that yet. There was a sinking feeling that something else was underneath him, though, restrained and hungry and mean enough to make your stomach dip.

You moved past him toward the kitchen, close enough that your shoulder brushed his arm.

You reached for two mugs you both knew you were never going to use, then turned back and found him watching you with that same starving look. 

So you thought the best course of action was to be forward. Why waste time, right? “Can I kiss you?”

For one second, he did nothing.

Then, he walked to where you were slowly, and that almost made it worse. If he had rushed you, maybe you could have laughed. If he had grabbed you, maybe you could have pretended to be surprised. But he came to you like he was trying very hard not to scare you. 

He wanted to kiss you, but his mind didn’t know why. It wasn’t useful or necessary to his routine or his survival. Then why did he want you so much?

He struggled to place this desire, so it was eating him alive. Still, his hand settled at your waist

One second his mouth was careful, the next you made a  stupid sound against him and his whole posture changed. His control broke so fast it almost felt violent.

Whatever confusion he felt about wanting you dissolved, little by little. He just knew now that it felt right. 

You grabbed at his shirt as he pushed you back against the counter. The mugs rattled behind you, forgotten, and the kettle screamed itself while he kissed you harder, while you laughed once into his mouth because “Jesus Christ, Tony,” and then he went still for half a breath.

It was enough for you to understand why he flinched at the name. 

You said it again later. You couldn’t help it. You were under while he was stretching you out, dizzy and already too far gone, your fingers were twisted in his shirt, his mouth dragging every feasible thought out of your head until there was nothing left but the ruined sound of your own voice.

“Tony.”

Dex hated it.

The name felt wrong. It crawled under his skin. It made his teeth clench and his hand tighten against your bedpost because you said it as if Tony was the one making your thighs quiver. As if Tony was the one you wanted.

But what was he supposed to do? Tell you to stop? 

He couldn’t snap and tell you, That’s not my name. He couldn’t say, I’m not Tony. I’m Dex. Say Dex. Say my name. Say it like you mean it.

Because he had done this to himself.

He had handed you Tony on a silver platter. He had let you flirt with Tony. He had stepped into your apartment as Tony and kissed you as Tony and now your hands were on him and your mouth was saying the wrong name, and all he could do was take it.

And yes, he felt violent because of it, but he didn’t want to hurt you. So instead, in his head, he was punishing you, but not in the way that you could complain about. 

He fucked you harder and rougher in a way that made your head tip back and your smug little smile disappear.

You gasped his fake name again and felt him lose another inch of control.

“Ton—”

His mouth came down on yours before you could finish it.

You made a shocked sound into the kiss, and he swallowed it like it didn’t have any right to exist in this world. His grip tightened and body sank into yours until the whole apartment seemed to shrink.

You should have been embarrassed by how fast you folded. You should’ve been flustered by how rough this was, especially for the first time. 

That night, you thought Tony was the kind of man who didn’t talk much in bed because his body did enough damage on its own. You had no idea he was biting back his real name.

You had no idea every breathy little “Tony” made him jealous of a man who didn’t exist.

Later, when your breathing had finally slowed down, you laid beside him with one arm thrown over your face, feeling thoroughly ruined and pleased with yourself all the same.

He was still awake, flat on his chest, staring at you like he was still recovering.

You only reached out and traced the spine scar on his back. You placed two fingers there first, tracing the raised line gently. 

His whole body went rigid, like he had been waiting for the question before you even knew you were going to ask it. What happened? Who did that? Why do you have that?

You didn’t ask. Instead, you cupped his cheek and traced all the scars he had there too, and scooted ever closer for a cuddle.

You smiled against his shoulder. “Clumsy, Tony?”

Oh. You made it seem so… innocent, then.

“Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

You shrugged, kissing the place beside the scar on his cheek. “So,” you said, voice rough, “tea?”

For a second, nothing. Then his mouth twitched. Eventually, a small, reluctant chuckle escaped his lips. 

You turned your head and smiled at him. “Was that a yes?”

He looked at you then, and there was something in his face you didn’t know how to read yet. His eyes felt too intense for this to be a one-time thing, as you intended. 

He should have left.

That was what guys did after a lapse in judgement, right? If this was even what that was. He had heard enough stories of it to know that they found their clothes, made an awkward joke and then went back across the hall and pretended none of this ever happened. 

That didn’t feel right, though. So Dex stayed.

You told yourself it was because he was tired. You told yourself he probably just fell asleep. You told yourself a lot of bullshit.

But in the morning, his arm was around your waist like it had always belonged there.

—

The thing about Dex was that he was a creature of habit. Ergo, he didn’t really do one-night stands.

So what you thought was a one-time pleasure fest ended with “Tony” showing up for “tea” every Tuesday at exactly 10 p.m., because apparently Dex had pencilled this into his schedule by now. Not that you were complaining, of course.

By week two, you had realised what tea stood for. By week three, you stopped acting surprised when the knock came like clockwork. By week four, you started answering the door in slips that made him forget how to speak for a second, his eyes dragging over you before snapping back to your face as if he had a single decent thought left in his head.  

That was also around the time Dex started thinking of you as his girl.

Obviously, Dex had never asked you officially. Dex didn’t do things like communicate. He observed and collected evidence instead: You opened the door for him every Tuesday, you let him in, you smiled when you saw him. So, naturally, you must be his girl.

The fact that you didn’t know was just a teeny tiny clerical error.

The bigger problem was Tony, because that was a hole he couldn’t un-dig. 

It started when you started asking things. Normal things, really, neighbor-y things. Things  a man with a fake name and a very real need to keep seeing you every Tuesday at 10 p.m. should have been prepared to answer.

“So, Tony,” you had asked once, sitting on your kitchen counter while he pretended not to stare at the bare stretch of your thigh beneath your nightgown, “what do you do?”

Dex should have said something boring like accounting. Or something closer to the bitter truth like security or freelance whatever. Instead, because you were looking at him with that teasing smile and he wanted you to keep looking, he said, “Carpentry.”

That was stupid. That was so goddamn stupid he wanted to punch a hole into the wall. Dex had never built a table in his life unless throwing someone through one counted, but you had smiled, and suddenly the lie was worth it. 

Of course you liked competent hands and l the idea of Tony making things instead of breaking them.

“Oh,” you said, smiling. “That’s kind of hot.”

And Dex, idiot that he was, took that information and buried himself alive with it.

Tony became a carpenter. Tony liked old buildings. Tony knew how to fix things, which unfortunately Dex actually didn’t really know, so he was really just winging it every time he repaired something in your apartment. Still, he kept doing it because you looked at him like you wanted to climb him.

Then it just spiralled from there.

Tony had a sister in Denver because you once said guys with sisters were usually less useless. Tony liked black coffee because you complained every time someone took too long to order their extra shit in coffee shops. Tony had once owned a dog named Felix because you said you didn’t trust people who hated animals. Tony listened to jazz because you said it sounded romantic, and Dex had gone home that night and listened to three hours of it with the focus of a man studying for a bar exam.

Tony was becoming a whole person.

Dex hated him because Tony was all the things Dex thought you would like, stitched together badly. Tony was a useful man, a normal man. Tony fixed your sink and let you make jokes and stood in your apartment at midnight with his shirt half-buttoned while you called him handsome.

Tony was the version of Dex who got you every Tuesday night.

You opened the door wearing something short and sheer. and Dex forgot about every lie he had ever told for one second. You looked sleepy and smug and too pleased with yourself, leaning against the doorframe like you had been waiting for him.

He had a routine now: Lock the door, check your window latch, then touch you. Except tonight you didn’t let him get that far. You grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down before he could finish scanning the room.

He kissed you hard enough to make your back meet the wall next to your hanging jacket.

The lock clicked behind you. His hand found your waist. Your fingers dragged through his hair, and the sound he made into your mouth so unlike Tony the carpenter that your stomach flipped.

You said his fake name when his hand slid beneath the edge of your pyjama shirt. “Tony.”

His body seemed to reject the name even as his mouth pressed back harder, rougher, more desperate. You thought it was funny. You thought he liked being teased. So you said it again.

“Tony,” you mewled, softer this time, cruel even though you never meant to be.

Dex kissed you like he wanted to devour the name before it could escape.

He hated that Tony got your breathless voice and your hands pulling him closer. Tony got your shirt bunched in his grip. Tony got you looking up at him with your lashes heavy and your lips swollen and your whole body arching toward him like you had been made to fit under his hands.

Tony got the filth, and then he got to cuddle after.

Dex was the one doing all the wanting.

His mouth dragged back to yours, and the kiss turned messy. He lifted you off the floor like it was nothing, your legs locked around him, and he carried you away into the bedroom. 

By the time he got you there, you were clinging to him, needy and already smug about how wrecked he looked. His shirt was half-open because you had gotten impatient. His mouth found the sensitive spot beneath your ear that made you gasp every time because unfortunately Tony had learned you well.

No.

Dex had learned you well.

Dex was the one who knew how to kiss you until your sarcasm died in your throat. Dex was the one who knew exactly how to make you squirm and forget every clever thing you had planned to say.

Tony got the credit. Dex did the work.

Afterwards, Dex lay with you in the dark, and realised the hole he had dug was no longer a hole.

It was a grave, and Tony was lying in it with all the things Dex wanted.

Dex wanted to kill Tony, which was inconvenient, because this fake identity shared his body. Dex was jealous enough of himself that he once put his fist through the bathroom mirror just to watch Tony crack. Blood ran down his knuckles and the glass broke. Tony still wasn’t dead.

You turned your head toward him. “You know,” you murmured, “for a casual fling, you’re really clingy.”

His hand spread slowly over your stomach, possessive. “Casual?”

You smiled into the pillow, too ruined to work out the danger in it. “Yeah, Tony. Casual.”

His grip tightened.

And Dex, who had decided you were his girl weeks ago, stared into the dark and realised these clerical errors were seriously getting out of hand.

—

He left your apartment that Wednesday morning after you called him casual and Tony in the same breath, and for a while he convinced himself he was fine. 

He walked back across the hall and shut his door. He put the lock on and stood in the middle of his empty apartment with his shirt still smelling like you and your voice still in his head.

Tony. Casual. Tony. Casual. Tony. Casual. Tony. Casual. Tony. Casual.

His hand flexed once at his side.

He was angry, and Dex could admit that to himself in the privacy of his apartment, because there was no one there to look at him like he was a monster for it. 

Mostly, he was angry because none of it was your fault.

If you had done something wrong, he could have handled it. Wrong could be course corrected. But you had not done anything except believe the lie he gave you.

So, no. He was not going to knock on your door angry.

Never.

Still, the violence still had to go somewhere.

So he went out to kill task force agents. They had been getting too close anyway. They were a problem, and problems could be solved. 

These problems didn’t look up at him in bed and call him clingy. These problems didn’t touch the scar down his spine.

By the time the alley was bloody, Dex still didn’t feel any better.

That was annoying.

The next day, he heard you moving around through the wall, laughing at something the girl from 5B said. He could hear footsteps, the thud of a cupboard closing, and it made him feel worse. His girl was across the hall, and she didn’t know she was his girl.

By Friday, Dex admitted he needed information.

That was how he ended up watching the couple from 2C.

He wasn’t exactly stalking them in a creepy way, he told himself, which was a lie. It was objectively creepy. But they were together in a way that seemed stable and functional, so Dex observed them. The man from 2C had done something wrong. The woman was mad and said something like “boyfriends don’t lie to their girlfriends.” There were flowers involved. 

Then the man said, “I made a reservation.”

The woman paused.

Dex, standing one floor up in the stairwell like a lunatic, also paused.

Interesting.

Dinner seemed to help.

He followed them into the restaurant. He watched from across the room as they sat under yellow lights and talked too much and stole food from each other’s plates. The man held her hands, not to move her or stop her, just because he wanted to.

Dex frowned. Touch without purpose?

Then, he realised he did that to you all the time.

So maybe wanting was the purpose.

So he spent the weekend watching those two. 

By Tuesday, he had a plan.

At 10 p.m. exactly, he stood outside your door with dinner from the Greek place you liked and sunflowers from the florist down the street. 

You opened the door in your nightgown, smiling already.

Dex gripped the flowers a little tighter, holding up the food like an offering.

“I brought dinner.”

You blinked. Then your smile changed, softer and more confused at the same time. “Oh,” you said. “So we’re doing dinner now?”

Dex thought about the couple in 2C and how food fixed everything. “Yes,” he said.

Your eyes dropped to the flowers. “Are those for me?”

“Yes.”

You laughed, and for the first time in three days, the buzzing under his skin went quiet.

“Come in, Tony.”

Dex stepped inside as a man trying, very badly, to learn how to be yours properly.

He had done research. He had watched the couple, taken mental notes like a deranged field agent, and somehow arrived at the conclusion that dinner was the next step. Dinner meant intention and definitely not casual, right?

Except when Dex closed the door and saw your oven on cool down, he realised…. you probably had already eaten.

Shit.

Shit.

You seemed to notice, because you followed his line of sight, and then your eyes dropped to the bag.

“My dinner was honestly sad,” you said immediately, as if you could read his mind, pointing to the empty frozen box of hashbrowns in the recycling. “I needed more. I’m glad you got these.”

The tension in him loosened so quickly it was embarrassing.

You took the food from him and wandered into the kitchen, completely unaware that he was having a crisis behind you. You told him to put the flowers in water, so he did, arranging them so carefully like one wrong stem placement would ruin his chances forever.

Mostly, he was just bothered that he hadn’t kissed you yet. 

That's what he usually did, right? That was the routine. Usually, by now, the two of you would already be half naked. 

Then you opened the container. Steam curled up, and your face changed.

“Oh,” you said with a sigh. “Mhm.”

His jaw tightened.

You closed your eyes for half a second, before stealing a bite with your fingers. “That is so good.”

And just like that, breaking routine was worth it.

His thoughts went because you were sitting on your kitchen counter in your nightgown, eating the gyros he brought you, making happy little sounds like he had done something right for once in his fucking life. 

Dex got touchy after that, having his hand at your waist when he reached past you for napkins. His fingers would brush your knee when he handed you a fork. He would trace your skin absent while you picked at the chips and hummed over the sauce.

You noticed, but only barely.

“You’re touchy,” you said, amused.

He started to move back.

You caught his wrist without looking up. “I didn’t say stop.”

Dex froze and you kept eating, completely casual, completely clueless, like he had not spent three days trying to figure out how to win you over without once admitting that was what he was doing.

You took another bite and leaned on him. “I could get used to this.”

Dex stared at you, not knowing if you meant the food or him. 

—

You had sex eventually that night, because postponing routine was one thing, but he seemed unable to let go of it completely.

You were on the couch this time, because neither of you had made it to the bedroom. You were on his lap, your slip bunched up around your hips, one strap falling loose down your arm, your knees pressed into the cushions on either side of him. His trousers were shoved down just enough, his shirt half-open under your hands, and he was buried inside you so deep you kept forgetting that you were supposed to be the quippy one in this arrangement.

Usually, this was the part where you said something smug and made him look at you like he wanted to ruin you for sport.

Except, tonight, he didn’t look at you like he wanted to ruin you.

Tonight, he had both hands on your waist like he was afraid of leaving marks, which was new. His thumbs moved over your skin, almost soothing, while he watched your face for every microexpression. His hips rolled up into you instead of plowing in like he usually did. He was so fucking careful, which made you feel insane than when he was rough.

It felt horribly intimate.

You braced your hands on his shoulders and sank down on him again a shivery little, “Oh—”

Dex’s eyes flicked up to yours immediately. “There?”

You nodded, because yes, there, obviously there, and he did it again. He lifted his hips into you with the same angle, dragging himself along that perfect velvety spot inside you so slowly that your mouth fell open. Your whole body felt loose, thighs trembling, clenching around him before you could stop it.

His teeth clenched.

“F-Fuck,” he breathed.

You laughed, but it came out weak. “What?”

“Nothing.”

You leaned down to nibble on the shell of his ear. “Liar.”

His hands tightened for half a second, then loosened again as if he was remembering something. 

Because he had rules tonight.

Tonight, he was trying to be soft. 

You could tell, and it was making your chest do stupid little flips. You wondered quietly, what had gotten into him. 

Obviously, Dex wasn’t going to admit he had listened to the couple from 2C have sex.

Even Dex knew that were insane. That was weird. That was the kind of thing a normal person would not do, and Tony was supposed to be normal, wasn’t he? 

But Dex had installed a wire and listened in to study, of course. He got no sexual enjoyment out of them. 

The couple in 2C, when they sounded most in love, were gentle with each other, which had bothered him at first. The man had laughed into the woman’s mouth. The woman had said his name. He heard the whispering and pauses. These quiet sounds sounded like trust, and Dex had stood in his own apartment, furious at himself when he realized he had never given you that.

He had always been rough with you. And you had never complained. So he had continued being rough with you.

Because if you didn’t complain, it meant you liked it, right? It meant he was doing it right. It meant Tony was useful. 

But maybe, if he was going to stick around, he should learn how to be gentle, too.

So now he was under you, breathing hard, looking up like he was holding back every violent instinct he had ever had.

You leaned forward until your forehead almost touched his, still moving on him, devastating little rises and falls that made him slide in and out of your wet core with a filthy slick sound that didn’t match the tenderness at all. Your chest brushed his as his mouth parted. His eyes dropped to where your bodies joined, then snapped back up like he was trying to be respectful. Whatever that meant to him. 

“Fuck, Tony,” you moaned.

Ugh.

You felt him twitch inside you.

His hands flexed at your waist, but you were too fucked out to understand what that meant. You only smiled, dazed and mean by accident, and rolled your hips again.

“T-tony, hmm,” you whispered again.

Dex shut his eyes.

You thought he liked it, because he always reacted when you said his name. 

“Tony,” you said a third time, almost pleading.

“No.”

It came out before he could stop it.

Your hips slowed, but didn’t stop. You were still sitting full on him, pulsing around him, still too close to the edge to understand the stakes. 

Your eyes fluttered open, brows pinching. “Hm?”

Dex’s chest rose under your hands.

His self-control had been taking hits all night, how slow seemed to work on you and he had always been rough before. Then the fact that you looked at Tony with dinner as if you expected more from that.

But you were looking at Dex. You had to be. You just didn’t know it yet.

“That’s not my name,” he said.

You blinked down at him, breathless, confused, hips still moving in tiny unconscious circles because the pleasure coursing through your body was apparently not interested in pausing for plot.

“What?”

He swallowed hard.

He should have stopped. He should have pulled out, sat up, explained like a normal person. He maybe should’ve even had this conversation before he was inside you. There were probably social rules about this. 

But then you clenched around him because you were confused and needy, and his head tipped back against the couch with a wrecked little “hnngh—fuck.”

Your hands tightened on his shoulders, a bit concerned now. “Tony, w-what do you mean?”

“That’s not my name.”

Your hips faltered, but only for a second. Because his hands slid up your back, holding you close like he could feel you drifting away and wanted to pry you back.

“Call me Dex,” he said.

You stared at him.

What?

No, seriously, what?

Your brain tried to grab onto the sentence and failed because your thighs were still shaking around his hips.

That’s not my name.

Okay. That’s a huge red flag, right? It was a massive, bright, flapping-in-the-wind red flag. Normal neighbors-with-benefits didn’t reveal secret names mid-fuck. 

You should have stopped and asked why. You should have shoved yourself off him and said, hi, sorry, what the fuck do you mean?

Instead, you just kept staring at him, dazed and breathless, your heat fluttering around him like your body had absolutely no interest in self-preservation. So, because your body was a traitor and he was still stretching you open, you dropped down on him again.

Dex choked on a groan.

You moaned too, the new name falling out of you before your brain could catch up. “Dex.”

His eyes rolled back. 

Oh.

When he opened them again, his pupils were blown wide, his grip tightened, and his restraint dissolved. His hips jerked up to meet you, deeper than before, and the sound he made was so raw it punched heat straight through your stomach.

“Again,” he whispered.

You were panting now, hands sliding into his hair. “Dex.”

His eyes fluttered.

“Fuck.”

You said it again because you liked that. You liked watching him look ruined. “Dex.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, almost to himself. “Yeah, that’s—fuck.”

Your mouth parted around a shaky nervous  laugh, but it broke into a moan when he started moving again. Slow was gone, even though he wasn’t entirely rough. He was frantic now, almost emotional. He pushed up into you in deep strokes that made your thoughts scatter all over the couch.

Dex.

Dex.

Dex?

Where had you heard that name before?

It circled somewhere in the back of your head while he fucked up into you, while your squeezed around him. Dex. Dex. Not Tony. Dex. 

In your mind, you filtered through your memories on why he looked so familiar in the first place. 

You remembered a vague photograph through a newsprint and then a headline you had skimmed once at work. You read about the Task Force killings and though good, at least someone’s taking care of those assholes. 

Oh. 

Benjamin “Dex” Poindexter Still at Large, one of the newspapers said.

Your body went cold under your skin and fever-hot beneath your ribs, like your blood couldn’t decide whether to flee or boil. 

Your hands tightened in his hair and your hips faltered. But you didn’t stop.

Fuck!

Because his hands were still on your waist as he thrusted into you. He was looking up at you with a hungry devotion, like you were mercy and forgiveness and home all at once. Because the man beneath you—the man you had cuddled, kissed, let into your bed, let into your body—had just torn his own face off in the worst possible moment 

And the worst part was that he had not confessed because guilt had finally eaten through his soul. He had confessed because he wanted to hear his name.

“Oh my god,” you breathed.

His hands went still on your waist, panic slamming into behind your eyes so quickly it was almost boyish.

“What?” he asked. “What’s wrong?” 

He seemed to say it a split second before his eyes widened. That must’ve been the moment he realised, shit. She knows. 

His hands tightened on your hips, and before you could speak, he pushed up harder, dragging a sound out of you that made your stomach twist.

You stared down at him anyway. “That Dex?” You asked, after a barely contained mewl.

You stared at him, chest heaving, still so full that you could feel every twitch of him inside you.

“You’re— hmphh! You’re B-Bullseye?”

Dex didn’t deny it,.

You halfway hoped he would look confused, maybe even denied it. You hoped maybe he would say how dare you?

But none of those came out. 

On his face was this exhausted, naked look that said he was so tired of lying and so drowned by wanting you that he couldn’t even build a new story fast enough.

“Mmhmm,” he said.

Your stomach dropped, but Dex could feel how much more drenched you’ve gotten since you learned of that information. 

You hated yourself a little for that. 

“What the fuck?” you whispered.

“I know.”

“And what about— ahh... what about Tony?”

His hips slowed beneath you, like the name still hurt him even now.

“I made Tony up for you,” he groaned, and then seemed to realise he was saying it out loud. But he kept going anyway, because apparently the truth had started hemorrhaging out.  “I made him and you liked him and I— f-fuck.”

He cut himself off with a broken sound when you moved again, because even now, your body needed friction to deal with all the terror and heat currently detonating in your head.

“I hated him,” he said, breath catching as you lifted yourself and sank down again. “I — hmm—I fucking hated Tony. You wanted him.”

“I didn’t know there was anyone else,” you said, voice cracking into a moan at the end.

“There wasn’t,” Dex said desperate. “There wasn’t. It was me. It was always me.”

Except now you knew the sister in Denver, the dog, and the carpentry was all probably fake. 

“D-do you even like tea?” You managed.

He looked ashamed, and all he could say was, “I do now.”

An abrupt laugh burst out of you, completely hysterical and immediately turned into a gasp when he thrust up. “Fuck— Dex!”

None of this should have been sweet. He was a killer and a fugitive. You should have been terrified and you were, but you were just not terrified enough to stop.

In hindsight, it made sense.

The scars made sense. The late night stumbling home made sense. He even told you that your bloody knuckles were from sanding cabinets, and you should’ve known that it never looked like that at all. 

Fuck.

Fuck.

Then why did that make your stomach flip?

Dex’s hands gripped your waist.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice cracking. “What’s wrong? Do you want to stop?”

You were breathing hard, forehead nearly touching his. Your whole body was wound tight, your orgasm crawling up your spine with the worst timing in human history.

“Did I fuck up?” he asked, panic rising. “Did I make you want to stop?”

You made this desperate sound and shook your head.

His eyes searched yours like he didn’t believe you. “Say it.”

“No,” you cried, grabbing his face between both hands. “Dex, don’t you d-dare stop, I’m so close.”

For a second, he looked like he might die from relief.

Then his mouth crashed into yours in a messy and frantic kiss, drawing out broken little noises. He grabbed your hips and helped you move, thrusting further up to meet you halfway now, no longer pretending he could be gentle when you were moaning his actual name into his mouth. He drove into you hard and deep, every stroke dragging sparks through your body until you were trembling.

“Dex,” you gasped.

“Yeah,” he said, voice ruined. “Yeah, I’ve got you.”

“Dex—”

“I know. Fuck, I know.”

His hand slid down between your bodies.

You jolted when his fingers found your sensitive spot, rubbing tight circles exactly where you needed him. Your hips bucked, pleasure coursing through you so sharply you almost sobbed. He kept fucking up into you, kept his eyes on your face, kept touching you like he needed you to come before the rest of the truth caught up and took you away from him.

“There,” he panted. “There, right?”

You nodded frantically. “Yes, yes, fuck! Right there—”

His fingers moved faster.

Your body folded into him. Your arms locked around his neck as your living room blurred through the most insane confession of his life.

“You’re so—hngh— fucking insane,” you choked out.

“I know.”

“Y-you made up a whole identity f-for sex?”

“For you,” he corrected, thrusts becoming sloppy, sounding wounded that you would come to that conclusion. “I wanted you.”

Oh, you were done.

You came with his name in your mouth.

“Dex,” you cried into his skin, shaking so hard he had to hold you down on him while you pulsed around his own orgasm. Dex swore under his breath, hips stuttering as he felt you soak him, but he kept moving, his face buried against your throat, buried himself as deep as he could as he filled you out. 

After a while, you collapsed against him, panting into his shoulder, your slip twisted up around your waist, one of his hands spread over your back like he was holding you together or himself. More likely both.

And then your brain started working again.

Unfortunately.

You were sitting naked on the lap of a fugitive assassin who had lied about his name, invented a fake life, possibly murdered people between your Tuesday meetings, and somehow decided that buying you dinner was a relationship milestone.

You should tell him to leave.

You should scream or call someone to turn him in. You should be a better person, probably.

But he was looking up at you with those glassy fucked-out eyes and a mouth swollen from kissing you. 

In all honesty, he expected you to recoil now, bracing for you to finally do the sane thing.

The problem was the sane thing had left about three Tuesdays ago.

Sure, Tony had been a lie, yes, but the wanting had not. The flowers and dinner and the checking for the window latch had been. He sat under you now, naked and terrified and so stupidly in love he had confessed to being Bullseye mid-fuck because he wanted to cash all his percieved good deeds in and finally make it real. 

Finally, you lifted your head and slowly cupped his face in both hands.

His eyes flicked between yours, half-feral with hope.

Then you squished his cheeks.

Dex blinked.

It made his mouth purse slightly, which would have been funny if you were having a moral collapse on your couch.

“Don’t lie to me ever again.”

His lashes fluttered, and he looked like you had handed him absolution.

Then Dex nodded carefully between your palms. “Boyfriends don’t lie to their girlfriends.”

You, a reasonable person in any other aspect of you, should have been scared that a criminal was calling you his without any prior discussion.

But all you could think of now was: oh. I’m his girlfriend. How sweet. 

“No,” you agreed, kissing the corner of his mouth. “They don’t.”

—end.

Dex taglist: @itsdynotdaddy @diabolicallydownbad @doesanyonereadthis @meicore @pixie2k5 @bibiishin @starlitflora @pearlstiare @glorybeat @stardustworlds @castawaybarnes @supervampireflame @not-the-teen-witch @billybonesxx @ultimatewolverine @treetrees-world-of-imagiation @bitch-spaghetti-o @lostinthes4uce @cotton-eee @weallhaveadestiny @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @moonbug333 @yujyujj @mattdexx @lostfallenangelsblog @bloomsberryfairy @flimsysquid @abbotfan @leonetta2014 @ficcharsimpsblog @odairtrqsh @ugh-whytho @noonenuts @akiyhara @genya1617 @itzrachel04 @avidreader73 @quicksilver21 @lmg-stilinski24 @magnificentlymoltenpatron @natalia42069 @eaumyth @hxdxs @cemeterystardust @alligatortears87 @outpostsworld @scarlet48 @lunarbandwidth @star-yawnznn @smorgasbrods

Please send in an ask or message if you want to be added to the dex general / series specific taglist! Comments get lost sometimes! Let me know if I missed anyone!

[strangelure]

insisting on patching up dex and he’s strangely calm the entire time, not even flinching when you stitch him up, completely focused on you and intensely watching you and admiring you the entire time until the second you’re done and he pulls you onto his lap… sigh

GOD okay!!! i got a bit carried away and i got a little filthy with it too OOP 🤭 i couldn’t help myself. ended up mixing two asks together for this one, hope you still enjoy babe! xoxo

the push and pull

benjamin poindexter x reader, bullseye x reader cw: dex and his very obvious masochistic tendencies, a bit of dry humping (again, dont ask me why), he's completely covered in blood but you dont care of course. content is 18+, MINORS DNI

he already knows better than to fight you on it, you’re always so adamant on helping him, every time he arrives at your place all bloodied and beaten up you order him to “take the shirt off, sit down” so you can stitch him up

and he does, like an obedient dog, theres only a hint of amusement in his eyes as he watches you closely, meticulously every time, as if he were entertained and fascinated by your concern for him

his breathing does falter though, when you tell him "this is gonna sting" moments before pouring antiseptic over his open wounds

instead of flinching at the sharp sting, the only visible reaction from him is a slight tic above his mouth, an almost pleased but still quiet “mmph” sound emanating from his tight lipped smile

dex is in a state of elation as you stitch him up, his stomach progressively pooling up with heat at your proximity, his infatuation for you nearly bursts out from the constraints of his chest as he stares, and on top of it all you continue to rub or pierce at his tender and bruised flesh like you don’t even know what its doing to him

you being the one to inflict pain on him (even if its on accident) never fails to make dex’s mind reel with adrenaline and well… devastating want

the moment your teeth finally rips the thread you were using to stitch his last wound up dex sits up so alarmingly fast, his mouth aiming and landing directly on yours, his filthy hands reaching to lift and sit you between his crassly, almost disrespectfully wide opened legs

he kisses like he's starved for it, grunting against your lips when you squeal at the metallic taste of blood clinging to his mouth, his lips still gnashed open because of the hard blows that were inflicted on his damn pretty face

"dex, your wounds-" you mumble in between wet, messy kisses, feeling kinda angry at him for being so adamant on undoing your hard work "they're gonna split open again if you keep moving like that"

good, dex thinks

i want them too, he laughs outwardly at the continuing thoughts inside his head, the airy and mocking sound exhaled straight into your mouth

he thinks he could keep bleeding if it means he gets to watch you patch him up all over again, maybe he'll slice open new wounds just so it takes you longer to finish, to make the rawness and pain on his skin all the more worse for himself, the thought makes his cock twitch inside his pants

"dex im serious-" you say, but theres a shaky, heated quality to you voice, like the mere taste of him, his mind bending intensity and the feeling of his blood stained chest against your bare palms is easing you slowly into forgetting and dismissing his ‘delicate’ predicament

"i know you are” he says simply, separating from your mouth so he can lift a teasing brow at you, but right away his hands are moving your hips to place you on top of him, aching to feel your heat sitting right over the rough black fabric of his clothed (now painfully hardened) groin, guiding you to wrap your thighs completely around him

when you start to keenly whine in response to the rough, hardened friction dex smiles against your mouth, his teeth clanking into yours, he loves that you’re the one who’s always on the losing side when it comes to this part, that you always fall victim to his dizzying and aggressive pace

he still relishes on you putting up a fight though, he loves the push and pull before you inevitably give in to him like he always does with you

you grab the hair at the back of his head in frustration and pull, making his neck crane backwards until he can no longer access your lips, you do it so abruptly and forcefully its evident that you failed to consider the soreness and tenderness of his muscles

so of course dex hisses at the pain, his mouth still wet with your saliva and his blood, he spits out an aggresive “uungh, f- uck!”

“oh shit! baby- i- im so sorry i didn’t think it would-” you’re quick to mumble out the worried apologies, searching his face frantically, looking for any sign that could indicate you hurt him far beyond what he could tolerate, what he can stand

the truth is, so so far from that actually

dex’s face goes from a pained scowl to a dazed smile in a matter of fucking seconds, his near black eyes slowly blink up at you beneath his half closed eyelids, with a soft encouraging nod and a deceptively sweet tone he requests “harder”

[quasarr-r]

Benjamin ‘Dex’ Pointdexter headcannons

A/n: first writing post on this account kinda nervous hehe. Pointdexter you have bewitched me with your psychopathic tenancies and sweet little grin, I’ve started writing something long form for him too but going to warm up with some hc first! Happy Friday :p

Tags/warnings: Benjamin Pointdexter x afab!reader, Dex being possessive, a little controlling, stalking tendencies, general Dex stuff.

Sfw

⌖ big sweet tooth, you’ll often find him sucking on a sour sweet barley making a face at the taste.

⌖ is very attentive overbearing needs to be in or orbiting around your space constantly.

⌖especially if you’re ill he’s there every hour on the hour with meds, food, water, making sure you’re getting enough rest; anything and everything you could need. Sometimes gets to point where you want to tell him to go away, but even if you do, he won’t, he’ll linger near doorways just to watch the rise and fall of your chest.

⌖clean and methodical to a point where it’s diagnosable, its more than likely a hand off of his BPD but if this man looses his routine, he’s off for the rest of the day. It’s strict, thorough that when you two do move in together he struggles a lot to try and fit his routine in along side yours, he gets there slowly.

⌖ Dex is the type to pull you back in to bed in the morning, arms wrapped firmly around your waist, head snuggled in to the crook of your neck and mumble a “don’t go to work today, stay with me” you smile, it’s cute, and you’ll yield for another 5 minutes before you actually do need to get up. Little do you know, he’s not joking, he can support you both easily, you both know that. And with you home he can keep an eye on you, keep you safe.

⌖ Dex knows you well, maybe too well. He knows how you take your tea in the morning, and has it in a thermos waiting on the counter top for you . He knows when you should take your pills every morning and when you actually do, and if it strays past that time, he’ll walk over to you, the little tinks of the tablets hitting against the plastic holder, he’ll slide them towards you across the table, along with a glass of water and a small knowing smile. But he also knows more personal things, things maybe he shouldn’t know, but he does because he needs too. Needs to worm his way under your skin, carve bits of him in to every bit of your life.

⌖doesn’t sleep well, jerks himself awake with muscle spasms, sits up with a start gasping in lungfuls of air as his brain replays scenes that scare him half to death over over like bad re runs of a show he knows like the back of his hand. The only thing that eases it is when he’s next to you, he knows it sounds cliché but after sleeping like a baby for a few nights with you he hasn’t been the same. When you left and he went to bed that night he was a woken up after an hour, the rest of the night he had broken and fragmented sleep.

Nsfw

⌖ I don’t think initially he’s overly bothered by sex, he’s human at the end of the day, but his end goal is not to get in your pants. He gets off far more on the very essence of you. Getting to know you, what you like, what you don’t like, what makes you tick, your favourite things, what you do with your spare time, just to name a few. Sex and closeness come gradually for him and it’s often further down the line.

⌖pull his hair, with how much it’s done in the show I’d be wrong to not put this down. Grab a handful of the back of his hair when he’s in between your legs, as you grind against his face, you can almost feel the grin on his lips as he laps between your folds, his big hands on your thighs keeping them pried open. Both of your hands threading through the back of his hair, pulling him closer, tugging at his hair and pulling him back as he sucks your bottom lips between his teeth, biting down.

⌖ a biter, never enough to draw blood but enough to leave a purpleish tinge peeking from under the collar of your shirt. His head is angled down as he tries to fight off the grin that pulls at his lips. Later on he comes up behind you, slipping his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest and placing gentle kisses over them.

⌖he loves when you have your hands on him, in any capacity really, your hand wrapped around his in a big crowd, squeezing tighter when you get pulled a little too far away. Your arms wrapped around him, fingers lightly dancing over his stomach and chest with your cheek pushed against his back. But when you’re hand is wrapped around his cock, pumping him slowly, your other hand cradling his cheek as you switch between peppering his face and neck with kisses and whispering in his ear, he never lasts very long, loves having your attention on him, undivided and absolutely, just you both completely absorbed in each other.

Okay sorry it short and sweet, going to get back to writing my fic now, hope you enjoyed hopefully see you soon with more Dex stuff!

[berrie-ghostie]

Simon Riley has a fixation for you sitting in his lap. he feels the comfort of your warmth, your breath and your weight on top of him and it settles his head. calming the storm of thoughts that he's constantly burdened by.

watching youtube or doomscrolling on your phone? youre in his lap. he makes a passing comment about some of the things you watch, or he'll even watch it with you.

just got out of the shower? he'll dry, brush and maybe braid your hair whilst you're sat in his lap.

if you're sat on the sofa watching tv, you're sprawled across his lap.

He loves to have a hand placed on you, it grounds him to you and he's grateful that you stick around even when he's away for weeks on end without contact.

his favourite thing to do is have you sit in his lap facing him, he can see your face that way, can see what he comes home to every time he's been on a shit mission. he loves when you rest your arms on his shoulders and just talk to him.

[berrie-ghostie]

Simon Riley who loves to pamper you and make sure you're well taken care of. It took him about six months to convince you to move in with him and let him take care of you. His exorbitant wages weren't getting spent on anything unless he really needed it, so any disposable income he has he loves to spend on you. He's a simple man, loving to spoil you, he thinks all men should do that for their partners and they really wouldn't struggle with what to do in the future.

When he's home he plans your dates so you don't have to lift a finger. The new restaurant that opened whilst he was deployed? There's a reservation with your name on it. He spends a long time helping you shopping, considering it quality time.

Even though you have a job, he doesn't demand a penny of it towards the bills, groceries or even the furniture you both picked out together in an IKEA. He doesn't even want you to lift a perfectly manicured finger as he builds it himself, putting on a show with his skilled hands.

"Si, you spoil me." You mention one evening whilst you're in his arms watching a movie you told him he needed to watch after he mentioned he'd never seen it.

"I don't spoil ya at all. If I was 'ere more ya'd get so much more." You don't dare to question him why. You don't need to. He does this because its his way of loving you, and you settle back against him in a comfortable silence.

He's never asked for you to pay anything back. Hell, hes never even asked you to pay for anything. The only times you've ever been able to get away with buying stuff with your own money is when its for his birthday or for Christmas as you wanted to surprise him. He keeps tabs on what you spend on his card, he just wants to make sure you're spending his money and not your own, so it'd ruin the surprises of his gifts if he knew.

[berrie-ghostie]

Simon Riley who's a gentle giant outside of his work life, especially when he's staying with you. He loves your place, a cosy little cottage that's nestled away far enough away from the neighbouring city to be quiet but it's definitely not rural enough to be considered too far away from civilisation. It's settled in a nice medium ground. What he doesn't love however, is how far down he has to duck to get around it. There's been more than one occasion where he's banged his head on a solid wood door frame and instinctively you've come to kiss it better each time.

He treats you like you could break, like you're made of glass so fine even a slight breeze could cause it to shatter, essentially because he knows himself better than anyone, and knows the things he's capable of. He knows what he's done with his hands and that those actions are things that he never wants to bring home, he never ever wants to bring it to you. When he's not in his mask, he's not the revered Ghost of task force 141, he's just Simon Riley, and to you, he's just Simon.

His touches are gentle, hands carefully placed so that he isn't gripping you too harshly. He allows himself to be soft with you, cuddling you, kissing your plush lips like you're a delicate flower who's petals will wilt if you're too rough. He would never lay his hands on you, not after what his own old man did to his mother and how he broke her, he could never dim your light like that. Even the thought of it twists his stomach into a painful knot. Never in his life has Simon smiled as much as he has when he's with you.

Textbook princess treatment is what Simon provides. When the flowers bloom in the well loved garden you tend to, he cautiously asks if he can pluck a few, just to weave them into your hair, tucks them behind your ears just to see you smile. His lockscreen is a picture of one of those occasions, but he'd never admit that even when you confront him with his phone in your hands showing it one day.

When it comes to your sex life with Simon he's so tender, hands touching places so delicstely with his giant calloused hands, he always acts like he wants to commit your body to memory for when he's away. Desperate to remember each curve and dipof you, kissed every mole or blemish you think you have. You can't complain, he's gentle, you always get to have at least one orgasm, but his treatment of you feels like he believes you're a porcelain doll, going to crack and snap at any and every touch, and quite frankly it pisses you off, you just wish he wasn't so hesitant and careful witb his touches, wishing he'd just take something from you rather than dance around you with fleeting or careful touches.

He overhears you talking to a friend about it on the phone, military level silence coming into play whilst he hears your conversation. He doesn't want to spook you after all.

"Don't get me wrong, it's amazing, I can't really complain.. it's just he seems uncertain about placing his hands on me.." You trail off. "No, I'm not asking for him to throw me around and manhandle me. I just wish he was more.. I dont know how to word it.. assertive?" You let out a sigh. "I don't want him to be aggressive with me but I also don't want him to view me as something like a prized possession you dare not to breathe on."

After your call is finished he goes back to the sofa and waits for you to come down to watch your show together. You notice how his touches are a bit more firm and present, rather than the feather light ones from before. There's more confidence in his touches, more of an assertiveness and you think maybe he's just gotten a slight bit more comfortable with you.

[hearteyedinfatuation]

Nothing Comes for Free

Yandere Gojo x Reader

Thinking about Yandere Lieutenant Gojo known as the mad dog amongst his troop. Born to a long line of military commanders and with a reputation for being more fearsome than any of those that preceded him. Entirely too unpredictable and with that sort of backing, no one dared question the things he did.

All you had wanted was protection. The military was not the place for the likes of you but now that you were there you just wanted to ride the coattails of better and more powerful men until you got discharged and a fat pension to accompany your trauma. It was supposed to be simple but you chose the wrong man to kiss up to. They had warned you about the mad dog and you really should have listened. Nothing comes for free.

Wordcount: 14k+

Notes: Not canon-compliant, alternate universe where curses are widely known and everyone can see and fight them. Yandere behaviour, non-con touching, violence and threats of violence. Crack-like until things get serious. Loosely inspired by the manwha Passion.

You bit nervously at your nails, watching all the others gear up as though they were going to play laser tag and not be exposed to real bloodthirsty curses. You hadn't thought this far when you signed up for the Special Force Against Curses. All you knew was your old neighbour who had retired from SFAC now stayed at home all day eating snacks and yelling at his television. That was all you wanted from life.

The brutal 9-5 for decades would wear you out too fast. You couldn't spend the majority of your life waiting desperately for the weekend. It would be easier to enlist, tough it out until you found a way to be discharged with pension.

You hadn't really considered all the danger you'd be exposed to. Suddenly that fat pension made sense. They could afford to dangle it over your heads knowing most of you would not make it to the finish line.

The others began retreating from the weaponry breaking you out of your thoughts and making you wonder if you had taken too long dallying. Now only the stuff no one wanted would be left but then you saw the tall figure make their way through the parted crowd. Not only taller than all the other men but that shock of white hair made him stand out all the more. The one everyone called the mad dog. Though to you he looked more like an extraterrestrial being with those freakish blue eyes of his.

You had heard the rumours. He was as strong as ten men, so fast he could take out a whole gang of curses before they even realized they were under attack. Thought of strategy and planned attacks out in ways others couldn't even perceive of. It sounded like the winning recipe for a soldier but apparently, and according to the more envious men, he was barking mad. You thought it was just jealousy of his skill.

You weren't the jealous type. No, you were the type to recognize that there were others in this world who had advantages and skills you didn't possess but just because you didn't have them, didn't mean you couldn't make use of them. The mad dog, or Gojo Satoru as you would respectfully address him, was exactly the kind of friend you needed to make it out of here alive and get to use the pension you had signed up for.

That day as you cowered behind a wall while the others attacked, you kept an eye out for that shock of white hair. Watching as the man disappeared from your line of sight and reappeared at intervals almost always brutally finishing off a curse and it became quite clear as you watched why he was called the mad dog. He had a smile on his face more frightening than the creatures as he disemboweled them, those freakish eyes of his glowing in the darkness like that of a predator.

That was a man you could hide behind and one clearly capable of protecting you from any and all threats. That evening at dinner when you had gotten your tray of food you marched it over right to Gojo Satoru’s table.

"Can I sit?" You asked before you could think better of it.

Those blue eyes gazing out the window slowly trailed over to you. Not even the slightest shift in his expression as he stared at you as blankly as he had been looking at the scenery out the window beside the table he always sat at, alone.

"No." He said, making your stomach drop. You had been planning how to approach him but you hadn't really considered the possibility he might turn you down.

"I'll give you my dessert." You bartered, his eyes flicked down to your tray.

"Blech, I don't like raspberry pudding." He said making you glance down to your tray too.

"I asked for chocolate." You exclaimed.

You had asked for the chocolate pudding but clearly the blind bat serving had given you the raspberry instead.

"That blind bat." You muttered lowly under your breath, glaring back over your shoulder at the old lady serving. Nearly jumping out of your skin in fright when a bark like laugh erupted from the man sitting before you. Eyes now sparkling when just before he had been looking at you like he wouldn't bat an eye if you dropped dead.

"That's my great aunt." He said, making your heart drop. You had really ruined all chances of friendship.

"She lost her eye sight in one eye while serving and then majority of her sight in the other in a curse attack." He continued. Not only had you ruined chances of friendship you'd gone and made an enemy of the strongest man in the troop, not to mention that he was your superior.

"I'm so-" You started but were cutoff by him speaking again.

"She's got a nose like a hound though so she definitely gave you the raspberry on purpose. Nasty old bat." Gojo said and you nearly went boneless in relief.

"I knew it couldn't always be a mistake." You said swinging one leg over the bench but a tutting sound made you freeze.

"I didn't say you could sit." Gojo said and you blinked at him like a deer in headlights before awkwardly pulling your leg back.

"Find another table, this one's mine." He said, glancing away from you in clear dismissal.

You joined one of the many other tables where the soldiers, clearly still sour that you had hid during the attack, gave you dirty looks which you ignored. Too busy trying to figure out what had happened because there had been a moment when you thought you'd found your in with Gojo Satoru.

You retreated that day but that didn't mean you stopped trying. From then on where Gojo Satoru went, you followed. If he was heading to meals then you were right behind him, tray in hand and getting the exact same foods he chose. You woke when he did and retired to sleep when he did. At first it was just to align your routine but the madman was an early riser so soon you needed to go to bed early if you were going to survive waking at dawn like him.

The only time you weren't dutifully following him around was when you all ran laps. He outpaced you several times and would eventually make it back into your blurred line of sight as you gasped and panted for air while being heckled by your commander for being a disgrace.

He mostly acted like you didn't exist. He would respond when spoken to but still made it abundantly clear you weren't welcome in his space. He had yet to allow you to sit at his table. The only time he had any sort of positive reaction to you was when he would hear something you muttered to yourself and would let out that bark-like laughter that nearly pierced your eardrums.

It was one of those mornings where you were dragging yourself to the training room. Knowing Gojo was already there and cursing him for being such an early riser when you finally saw what made the others avoid the man and speak of him as though he were the legend of a spooky ghost story and not their fellow comrade in arms.

You opened the door to the gym, still a bit bleary eyed but the fog of exhaustion disappeared the moment you took in the scene in front of you. Gojo Satoru was straddling a man on the ground beneath him, pummeling fist after fist into his face. The man's face, now a swollen, bloody mess, was completely unrecognizable even though you had been spending every waking moment surrounded by your fellow soldiers.

You couldn't help the gasp that escaped you when the next punch resulted in a spray of blood splattering up from the man's nose that had been reduced to a mangled mess of bloodied cartilage. Drops of crimson spraying out onto Gojo's pristine, marble-like pale skin. The sight made more unsettling by how other than that splatter of blood across his jaw and neck, there was not even so much as a scratch on him. Not even his hair was mussed.

At the sound, Gojo glanced up making you freeze in place. Those manic blue eyes now on you, glowing just the way they did when he was hunting curses.

"Good morning." Gojo huffed, sitting back on the man as though it were not the body of a person he'd beaten into unconsciousness but a bench.

"Good morning." You breathed, whirling around when you heard footsteps coming down the hall. Your heart nearly fell through your stomach as you made eye contact with the beady pair of your commander.

Violence against fellow soldiers was strictly prohibited. If the commander saw Gojo now he would expel him and all your efforts in fraying him down would have been for naught. The others didn't particularly like you for being weak and hiding during attacks. You had spent all your time following around Gojo and the others had already formed their little cliques. There was no hope of finding another protector.

"Commander, sir, Lieutenant Hiroshi was looking for you in the weaponry. Something about needing help with a holster." You said, making the man pause. It was common knowledge the commander had the biggest crush on Hiroshi.

"A holster?"

"Yes sir, his thigh holster has come loose I believe." You said and the man didn't even bother responding. Turning right back around the way he had come.

"Lieutenant Hiroshi wasn't in the weaponry." A voice said from behind you and you nearly jumped out of your skin. Whirling back around to see Gojo stood behind you with an amused glint in his eyes and more concerningly the blood still splattered across his face.

"I know that but I had to get the commander out of here. If he saw this you would have been discharged from the military and that too disgracefully. You know you don't get pension if you get discharged disgracefully right?" You asked, unthinkingly licking your thumb and swiping at the blood on his jaw.

He flinched back, catching your wrist but you wriggled your hand out. Pushing against his chest so he was forced back into the gym and out of anyone who may be passing's line of sight. You leaned out, scanning the hall before turning back to look at the man whose large chest muscles you only now noticed your hands were still on considering he was looking down at them like he didn't understand what they were.

"Okay, now listen, you head back to your room and if anyone asks you were feeling sick so you didn't come to work out today. If you weren't at the scene of the crime, then you couldn't have committed it. I'll say I found him here like this. Just help me drag him over to the showers so I can say I only saw him after my workout."

Gojo was still watching you in complete silence as though you were speaking another language he didn't speak.

"Come on, get moving. If anyone sees you we're done for." You said.

"We?" He asked, reassuring you that he had in fact not forgotten his mother tongue out of shock. Though he didn't look the least bit flustered or shocked, only slightly perplexed but not at the situation, at you.

"Yes, we. If I get caught covering for your ass then I'll also be discharged dishonorably, completely defeating the purpose of why I enlisted in the first place so you better start putting that brain and those muscles to use." You said, walking over to the man and grimacing at the mess Gojo Satoru had made of his face. You had been about to grab his shoulders but that was too close to the mangled face so instead you moved to grab his legs which were more in tact.

"Why would you cover for me?" Gojo asked suspiciously and you huffed at seeing he still wasn't making any effort to help you. While he'd been enthusiastic about causing the mess, he was quite reluctant to join in on the necessary clean up.

His question registered and you were glad that you had been stooped down to try to lift the unconscious man's legs so Gojo couldn't see the momentary panic on your face. It probably wouldn't do to tell him that it was because you wanted to be brought under his wing until you found a way to be discharged early.

"Because we're friends." You responded, sounding a little unsure even to yourself but a quick glance up at Gojo told you he hadn't quite noticed.

His otherwordly eyes had a far off look and you wondered if he had now gone into shock before he met your eye and you watched as his gaze narrowed in on you reminding you eerily of a hawk zeroing in on their prey, sending a shiver down your spine. You really should have paid more attention to that uneasy sense of foreboding.

Instead of responding, Gojo stooped down to lift the man up by the shoulders and carried the heft of him over to the showers without taking his eyes off you but you were a bit too busy struggling to carry the man's legs to notice.

After you had both dropped the man in the showers you again told Gojo to go back to his room. Catching his wrist just as he was about to leave. He glanced back, looking at your little hand on his wrist and then up to you. Brows creased in worry for him.

"Did anyone see you on your way here?" You asked and when he took a moment too long to answer rushed to clarify.

"Besides the unconscious man."

He shook his head in negative, something about that worried expression rendering him speechless when so many horrors and wonders he'd faced hadn't been able to.

"Good, go." You said releasing his wrist and turning to fret over the unconscious man again.

Gojo walked back to his room in a daze. You didn't know who he was. He had assumed you had been following him around like a shadow because you wanted to be affiliated with the Gojo heir. Set to inherit all the wealth, influence and glory of all the Gojo clan before him but your actions today made it clear you had no idea about his family background.

It wasn't often that people tried to get close to him. Not since what used to be rumours had become so undeniably backed by proof he had provided at nearly every turn in his life that even his parents couldn't refute them without risking looking like fools. And no member of the Gojo clan would ever risk being made a fool.

He had never had a friend. At first it was because his parents simply didn't think anyone worthy of standing beside him as an equal when he so clearly surpassed all the children his age in every conceivable way. That made him used to being alone and not at all used to sharing.

Gojo knew what the others called him - the mad dog for his territorial ways. Gojo didn't take kindly to anyone trying to take what was his. He didn't go around attacking people for no reason but when they tried to use or take his things that set him off. Admittedly he had a tendency to go a bit overboard when set off.

Like this morning when he'd gotten to the gym and seen one of the others using the weight machine he woke up so damn early to be able to use without others pawing all over it. He had asked politely for the man to find another machine because that one was his but the man hadn't listened and Gojo only asked politely once.

When he'd first enlisted these sort of misunderstandings happened fairly often. People mistook living in a shared space to mean Gojo would be sharing what was his. After that misunderstanding had been clarified with some of his fellow comrades in arms, word spread and they learned to stay away from Gojo's things.

He had broken limbs and beat people to unconsciousness in front of their commander and no one had ever dared to so much as write him up. It was real cute though to see you fretting and scheming for him. No one had ever worried over him like this. People had worried because of him. Worried over the damage he could do to them, their reputations in his parent's case or other such nonsensical things.

He found he quite liked your worrying. If this was what being your friend meant then he was quite ready to have you as his first and only friend.

After that morning incident it was like a flip had switched. Suddenly you didn't need to follow Gojo around anymore because he always managed to find you first.

In the morning he was at your door, knocking to be let in and dragging you along to the gym barely awake. If you got to meals later than he did then he'd have a tray of food waiting for you identical to his and if you went together then there was no question you'd be sitting right next to him.

Somehow no one had bothered to question what you had said about finding the man Gojo had beaten into an actual coma on the shower floors. You had been terrified a full investigation would be done and in your nerves suggested that maybe he had just tripped in the showers when your commander had been questioning you about the incident.

At the time he had made it seem like he would be digging into the matter and you were going to be in a lot of trouble if caught lying but then he'd never brought it up again. Perhaps you were a better liar than you thought.

What you couldn't deceive anyone about though was your lack of physical prowess and were currently feeling the full weight of your commander's disdain as everyone running laps circled you for a fourth time while you struggled to complete your second. Gojo had ran past you six times already. Giving you an encouraging thump on the back the first time that nearly laid you out on the ground had he not caught you, and then with an encouraging cheer and laugh as though he were having the time of his life every time since.

"Having to watch you run is the only time I regret enlisting." Your commander was saying when you felt someone run up next to you. You glanced over, seeing double from exhaustion before your sight settled somewhat and you realized it was just one very pissed off Gojo glaring at the commander.

"Would you like me to give you a couple other reasons?" He asked and the commander seemed to turn as green as you probably were with how nauseous you were feeling.

"I-uh have to go check on the others." The commander said, breaking out into a full sprint across the field. Apparently not even the commander was above being intimidated by Gojo.

To not have to hear the commander's disparaging while you endured having to do the activity you hated more than anything felt like a blessing and out of happiness you flung yourself at Gojo. Clinging to your saviour with all your might.

Had it been anyone else you both would have gone sprawling onto the field with the way you practically tackled him into a hug but Gojo had just gone very still, staring down at you in shock. He couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged him.

You were so soft and warm against him. So much smaller than him you barely reached his chest. Burying your face into him like he was your only hope.

Before he could think of how to react you were glancing up at him beaming. Your face pink from the exertion, the afternoon sun making it glow and bringing out the flecks of gold in your eyes. He hadn't so much as broken a sweat while running those laps but now all he could hear was the blood rushing through his ears and his heart thudding against his ribcage.

Never before had he so desired for something to be his. And you were his, weren't you? It had been your idea all along to become his friend. You were the one to force yourself into his orbit and now that you had he had no intention of ever letting you out.

He allowed his arms to wrap around you, chest clenching at how right that felt. This was where you belonged, within his grasp.

You released him as abruptly as you had embraced him leaving him feeling cold and bereft. But there was still the lingering warmth of your touch and the heat that bloomed within his chest as you smiled at him in that way. Challenging him to a race you both knew there was no way you would win.

The effort however of trying to out run the Gojo Satoru had you so belligerent with thirst you couldn't be bothered to try to find your own water bottle amongst the many at the finish line. Swiping his from his hand and holding it up above your mouth so you could gulp it down.

A hush fell over the others, silence so pronounced that it made it through your haze of exhaustion. Every one of the others was looking at you, or actually upon closer inspection, not at you but behind you at Gojo.

Gojo waited for the familiar rage to rise up within his chest as he watched you gulp down his water from his water bottle. That feeling of wrongness and outrage but there was nothing. No rage, just that weird tightness he'd gotten in his chest earlier while looking at you.

It had been amusing to see you trying to beat him with your much shorter legs and how incredibly out of shape you were compared to him. He probably could have run that lap faster if he were carrying you than you had managed to on your own.

He had always liked running. It cleared his head and let out some of that pent up energy always buzzing in his veins but running with you panting next to him, gasping for air and asking if he was even human was the first time he had found running fun.

You made everything fun, life had been so dull before you. He couldn't imagine going back to that. He found everything you did entertaining. Your little habit of muttering to yourself. It was always rude or bitter comments said under your breath but he found them hilarious.

The way you made no attempt to hide that you had no interest in defending people by eradicating curses but were just here for the pension. Hiding away every time you were all sent out on a mission. Your honesty was a breath of fresh air amongst all the false bravado and nobility he had grown up surrounded by.

He threw an arm around your shoulders, feeling a strange urge to have you close that he'd never felt for anyone before.

"Let's get you out of the sun. You look like a tomato." He said and you scoffed through your panting.

"Sorry we're not all godly beings that can run laps in the sun and still look like we're filming an athletic wear commercial. Did you even sweat, you freak?" You asked, hearing a gasp from amongst the others but not paying any attention as you got up on the very tips of your toes to try to prove your point.

Gojo froze as he felt you nose into his neck and take a quick inhale. Feeling the blood rushing down south as your body pressed against his side, letting him feel the shape of you and the heat emanating off your skin. Your warm breath against his throat and the scent of you, clean sweat and soap filling his senses and making his head spin.

Suddenly he was the one that was breathless.

"How do you still smell good?" You muttered against his neck.

He couldn't help himself and pushed you away, only remembering at the last minute to not use his full force but still sending you stumbling back a couple steps.

"Oh can you not sweat? Are you like those animals that don't have sweat glands?"

You took his silence for affirmation and grimaced sympathetically.

"My bad, that's probably a touchy topic for you. It must be tough being unable to control your temperature and just overheating like a reptile in the desert. I won't bring it up again." You said, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as you passed him.

Letting you think he was missing sweat glands was better than trying to explain that he was actually sporting a raging boner because you had sniffed him. He let you walk away with his water bottle still held in your hand, turning to watch the commander a moment. That sight had his hard-on dying down fast enough and he scooped up your water bottle and chased after you just as you made it to the doors leading inside.

"Should we hit the showers?" He asked as he made it to your side.

It was strange that after a training session like that you and Gojo somehow had the showers all to yourselves. Usually this place was packed to the brim after a brutal training session with sweaty men all wanting to quickly shower so they could get to the dining hall as fast as possible.

"Can I borrow your shampoo? I'm all out." Gojo said and you quickly squirted some into your hand before turning to pass the bottle to him but froze at the sight that awaited you.

It wasn't unexpected. At that height and stature and with hands that were more like giant paws you couldn't have expected anything else, but this was nearly inhuman. It twitched as you continued to stare and you couldn't help the startled scream that escaped you at the sight of a monstrosity like that having any life in it.

You flung the shampoo at the man next to you and quickly turned to face forward again, hearing him chuckle.

"What, are you really acting like you've never seen a naked man before?"

"I've seen naked men but I haven't seen a weapon of mass destruction swinging between their legs before." You muttered furiously, chancing a glance at the man when you didn't get a response to see his face had gone completely blank.

"Which man have you seen naked? Was it one of those bastards?" He asked advancing on you completely ignoring the rules of the communal shower. You had assumed everyone knew that in the showers you always kept your eyes focused straight on the tiles in front of you and you never got too close to anyone else while your privates were swinging about.

"Woah, woah you stay over there and keep that thing away from me." You said, holding your hands out ahead of you in defense.

"Tell. Me. Who." He demanded.

"I've been sharing a shower with all those duds for months, of course I've seen them naked though none of them have been as shameless as you." You said, finishing up your shower and hurriedly wrapping your towel around yourself.

He grabbed your arm as you made your way past him.

"I've got clean clothes in my bag, wear those. Don't go out there like that." He ordered, eyes roaming down your body.

"Do you have a problem with the way I wrap my towel?" You asked.

Back when you were in school the other kids had given you shit for that though you never quite understood what you were doing so differently than the others.

"No, I have a problem with how small it is and how little it covers."

"It's the standard size they give everyone. Are you body shaming me right now? I'm sorry I don't have a six pack like you." You huffed.

"8." He said, a smirk twisting up his lips making you furrow your brows in confusion.

"Here, see -" He said having grabbed your hand, forcing your fingers to trail down what really was an 8 pack and counting out each row.

As he got to the bottom row and your palm brushed against the trail of hair that led to the image you were afraid was seared into your brain forever, you couldn't help but let out a yelp and snatch back your hand. Instinctively slapping him before your brain could catch up with what you had done.

Your eyes went wide as you saw his head turn. The pale skin of his cheek sporting a faintly pink handprint that perfectly aligned with the hand you would probably be losing in just a moment.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. Gojo, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to. I don't know why I did-"

He turned his head back to look at you making your mouth clamp shut. He took a step forward and you mirrored it by taking a step back. He took another and you did the same, both of you playing this game until your back hit the shower wall.

He placed his palm next to your head making you jump as he leaned in. Bringing his face level to yours as you cringed back into the wall, feeling like your heart was caught in your throat. All the rumours you had heard about his temper returning to you now.

"Kiss it better." He muttered.

"W-what?" You asked hesitantly, almost entirely sure you had misheard him. Perhaps he had said something about his intentions to kill and you had heard kiss.

"Kiss it better." He repeated, turning his pinkened cheek towards you and tapping his finger against it pointedly.

"Oh, uh okay." You said, you didn't quite want to kiss your naked comrade in arms on the cheek but it was better than being disemboweled in the communal showers so you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

He grinned as though you had done something particularly pleasing and his nickname began to make more sense than ever. The man really was barking mad.

"Now grab something from my bag to wear. I'll rip out the eyes of anyone who sees you like this." Gojo said, turning to saunter back to his shower.

You watched him go, wondering what sort of lunatic you had gotten yourself acquainted with. In the coming days you'd have that thought more often than anticipated.

Gojo Satoru wasn't just a powerful man, but an odd one too and for some reason everyone else just made allowances for it. Now that you were under his wing, that meant they made the same allowances for you.

The taunting by the others and dirty looks they had given you since your first mission when you hid instead of fighting had stopped. So had the very vocal disapproval of your superiors for your lack of strength and endurance.

Hanging out with Gojo also meant getting the gym to yourself, which was a great place to take a nap while the lunatic spent hours on various weight machines building muscles in places you didn't know people had them. It also meant never having to share the showers with anyone but Gojo though you didn't know if that was an upgrade considering he seemed to have no idea how to act in communal showers.

He was always chatting away and staring right at you as he did. The others may have hogged the hot water and been more unsightly in their nude form but at least they didn't stare. That was a small price to pay for all the perks though.

Being his friend wasn't hard. When you had first approached him you'd expected to be something of a lackey, imagining fetching his meal trays and egging him on when he got into a fight with someone. Truth was he did more for you than you did for him.

He got your meals for you because his great aunt actually gave him what he asked for and he would refill your water and even buy you snacks. It was unfortunate he didn't use his power to excuse you from training entirely but you tried not to get too greedy.

Eccentric as he was, beneath the aristocratic features and muscled physique that would imply an empty mind, he was actually quite smart. Seemed to be well-educated too so why he was so intrigued by you was genuinely a bit confusing. You didn't know what it was about you that made him seem to hang onto every word.

Those intense eyes of his bore into you while you spoke, though you were starting to get used to the other-worldly blue of them. He would burst into laughter at the oddest of times, particularly when you weren't intending to be funny. Though he'd always crack at least a smile at even your bad jokes. Grabbing you by the scruff and hauling you in when you truly made him laugh, resting his forehead against yours in a gesture you'd normally think too affectionate for friends but perhaps that's how comrades were.

The sound of the pulldown machine he was currently using was faintly registering as your mind began to wake but you refused to let yourself fully rouse to consciousness. When the sound of the machine struggling against the maniac who had had dragged you here this early finally seized, you had just begun to sink back into sleep when you heard the murmur of your name.

You groaned, turning over and clenching your eyes shut. Trying to escape into dreamland so you wouldn't have to face another day of arduous training and the resulting cloud of body odor that lingered in every room of the building because of it.

"Come on, wake up." Gojo said, poking your cheek but you batted at his hand.

“You’ve been napping for two hours. Do you not sleep at night?” He asked, which were long sentences and if you were understanding them then that meant the fall back asleep ship had sailed without you on board.

“No Gojo, I don’t sleep at night.” You sighed, sitting up and rubbing at your eyes.

“Why?” He asked, passing you his water bottle and smoothing your mussed hair as you took a long drink from it. Making you choke on the water as you dodged his hand irritably.

“Because the rats I’m roomed with stay up till ungodly hours playing games and drinking.” You said, once you’d finally managed to clear the water in your airways, helped by Gojo’s thumping of your back.

“Do they make you play with them?” He asked, returning to his patting of your hair.

“No, as if I’d ever do something so childish.” You scoffed, batting at his hand.

Truth was they didn’t let you play nor did they share their booze. Apparently rewards were for “soldiers not cowards” according to those jerks.

“Then why can’t you sleep?”

“Because they’re loud and stop touching my hair or I swear to god.” You growled, slapping at his hand.

“Swear to god to what?” He asked, though his gaze was a bit far away. Staring at the wall across from you both as though lost in thought about something. Probably trying to mentally tally the reps he had done, the meathead.

“I’ll - I’ll bite you.” You said, floundering for a threat when the man was double your size.

He smirked, amused. Holding up his giant claw of a hand before you like an offering.

“Well, as long as you’ve learned your lesson I'll let it pass this time.” You said, going to get up but that offending appendage forced you down by your shoulder. One of his claws keeping you seated and the other mussing up your hair until you really were livid enough to risk it all.

You caught his hand, bringing it to your mouth not paying any attention to how deceptively easy that was to do. Sinking your teeth into the soft flesh between his pointer finger and thumb like a feral pest.

Missing entirely the way those blue eyes darkened as he watched you, pupils blown wide. The hand forcing you down now cupping your shoulder and guiding you closer.

You pulled away, worried if you continued you might actually draw blood.

“My turn.” He said and you only had enough time to feel your stomach drop as he leaned in and then his teeth were sinking down into the conjecture between your neck and shoulder and you were screaming.

Pain wasn't familiar to you and to feel the teeth of a brute sinking into your sensitive flesh wasn’t something you could withstand with the grace of a soldier.

You slapped and batted at him but your hands were caught in his and easily restrained. Finally after what felt like an eternity of agony, he pulled back. Staring down at the mark he’d left in your soft flesh with a satisfied gleam in those freakish eyes of his.

He leant back in making you scream again but it broke off into an exclamation of “ew what the fuck man” as you felt something warm and wet drag over the bite mark.

You pushed vindictively at his chest when he pulled back and released your hands. Running over to the closest mirror to inspect the wound.

“You’re a fucking freak.” You called over your shoulder as you looked at the clear indents of his goddamn molars in your flesh.

“Be glad I didn’t break skin.” He said, making you yelp as he seemed to materialize right behind you like some sort of fucking ghost. Staring at your reflection with his mark on your soft skin with so much satisfaction and intrigue it turned your stomach.

You moved back intending to stomp his foot but froze as you felt something hard and large poking into your lower back.

“Please tell me that’s your water bottle in your pants.” You muttered.

“Nope.” He whispered back, popping the p in a way that had you jumping away.

“You’re a real freak. You better stay at least 6 feet away from me from now on.” You warmed.

He grabbed your wrist, hauling you in to his chest. You screamed again as the monstrosity in his gym shorts pressed into your stomach. Pushing against his chest but he kept you pinned with an arm around your waist.

“Nothing can make me stay away from you. You’re mine, I do what I want with you.” He said as easily as one tells the time and you scoffed.

“Like hell you do. Bit me like I’m a goddamn prime cut steak and then popped a boner. What a- oh my god are you a cannibal?” You asked, eyes wide in terror as you looked up at him. Mind jumping to the only conclusion you could think of in which a fellow soldier would be turned on by biting you.

“I wasn’t before but I might just become one because of you.” He muttered lowly, leaning down towards your neck as he spoke and snapping his teeth at you making you yelp again.

“6 feet, you rat.” You warned, somehow getting lucky and managing to shove him off as you accidentally brushed the beast pressing against your stomach in a way that had him going a little weak in the knees.

You watched him warily, a hand held out before you which you pulled back to your chest when his gaze dropped to it. He took a step forward and you took one back to maintain the distance.

“I-I’m warning you.” You said shakily which he ignored completely. Stalking forward until you were pressed up against the mirror with him hovering over you. That offending snake between his legs pressing against your stomach again.

“Warning me of what? Are you gonna bite me again?” He asked, tone light with amusement but those freaky blues still darkened in a devious way that didn’t sit well with you.

“I might if you force my hand.” You said, sounding uncertain even to your own ears.

The last bite had resulted in you nearly getting a chunk torn out of your neck and then getting harassed by a thing that should only exist in those bad romance novels you sometimes liked to read. You weren't really itching to repeat that episode.

“Do it here, please.” He breathed, and just for a second you could see why all the other soldiers complained he had it all.

So mesmerizingly pretty as he titled his head up, exposing the long column of his strong neck to you. Long lashes that nearly touched the apples of his cheeks when he blinked, pointed little nose and lush pink lips but then the words they uttered registered and the trance was broken.

“You’re completely fucking nuts” You mumbled, almost to yourself but he heard anyway.

“Too bad you’re stuck with me.” He said, backing off and finally you could breathe without the oppressive hulk of him looming over you. The monstrosity between his legs and the fangs in his mouth a safe distance away from you.

“We’ll see about that.” You mumbled, missing the way his eyes narrowed at your comment. No longer amused or playful.

You had known Gojo was weird but not threatening cannibalism or popping boners at his fellow comrades weird. It was making you reevaluate your chosen survival strategy.

Unfortunately while you were pondering whether it would be in your best interest to distance yourself from him, he was thinking the exact opposite. Planning how to get you more securely into his clutches.

He hated the thought of others around you. Not to mention others sharing a room with you. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought about it sooner. People other than him around you while you were at your most vulnerable, asleep or changing.

That had to change immediately.

He wiped at your mouth with his thumb, swiping off the bit of sauce on the edge of your mouth. Bringing it to his own and licking it off. You hadn’t reacted to him wiping your face since he did it so often but your eyes went wide as saucers as you saw him lick the sauce off his thumb.

“You really have got to stop doing shit like that.” You said when you got your bearings back after staring at him blankly for another minute.

“Here you can have my karaage too.” He said, pushing his tray forward which was enough to distract you.

“Your roommates really bother you, don’t they?” He asked, watching you stuff your face with the karaage from his tray.

“Yeah, they’re complete assholes. Childish too, did I tell you they play games all night? Like talk about lack of maturity.”

“You should change rooms.”

“I tried, not allowed. Apparently we need to man up and learn to deal with each other’s shit.” You said, quoting the Commander.

“You can if there’s a vacancy in one of the other rooms.”

“Is there? Oh yeah the guy you put in the- I mean the guy who took a bad fall’s bed is probably empty but he’s roommates with that guy who smells like blue cheese. I’d rather not.” You said.

“My room has a vacancy.” He said.

“I thought lieutenants got their own rooms.” You said suspiciously.

“Yeah exactly, there’s an empty spot for you to take.”

You blinked at him, trying to mentally calculate if lack of sleep or risking being eaten by the snake swinging potential-cannibal was worse.

“The Commander doesn’t do his morning wake-up calls in the lieutenant’s rooms.” He said and you were sold. To not be forcefully woken to the unfortunate sight of your Commander screaming in your face that you were a waste of space and would regret not waking up sounded like a dream.

“Rooming together would be cool.” You said, already fantasizing about getting to sleep-in.

“Great, finish eating. Then we’ll go pack your stuff.” Gojo said, only then picking up his own chopsticks and beginning to eat his food.

Packing was quick when you had superhuman strength on your side. Your roommates cleared out in a matter of seconds when they saw Gojo follow you in, not that they would have tried to stop you either way.

You walked alongside Gojo who was carrying both your bags in one hand swung over his shoulder, following him to the lieutenants’ quarters where his room was.

You waited behind as he unlocked his door and then stepped in after him. Scanning the room that was surprisingly neat. You’d only ever gotten glimpses over his shoulder as he locked the door after himself.

The detail that stood out to you most though was the count of beds in the room which stood at a steady and alarming one.

“Where’s the empty bed?” You asked. Watching as Gojo set down your stuff and then sat down on the bed.

“I said empty spot, and here it is.” He said, to your utter horror patting the spot next to him on the solitary bed in the room.

“Oh no. That's not gonna work. Thanks but hard pass.” You said stepping forward and grabbing your bags. The larger one of which you were quite unsuccessful in lifting and resolved to drag towards the door instead.

Before you could even make it more than a step away while dragging the bag that probably weighed more than you considering you were never a light packer, Gojo was in front of the door. Blocking the only exit.

“The change is processed. You can’t go back now.” He said.

“Processed where?” You cried. You had this discussion less than an hour ago and certainly hadn’t put in any requests.

“In the system. Your bed’s being given to the new arrival and you’re rooming with me.”

“I didn’t submit anything, how’s that possible?”

“I did it for you.”

“The office closes at 4.”

“I processed it this morning.” He said making your jaw drop at the sheer audacity of the extraterrestrial being before you.

“What do you mean you did it this morning? I didn’t even know this was happening till an hour ago.”

“I knew you’d agree.” He shrugged.

“Well I don’t, so kindly please go tell them they can’t give away my bed and help me carry this back. I know it's mine but I don't understand what I put in here to make it weigh a ton.”

“Not happening, darling. I told you you’re stuck with me, so you might as well settle in. Feel free to shower first.” He said and it was all too much for your brain to process but one particular detail stuck out.

“Wait, you’re telling me you have a shower in your room?

“Yeah, convenient isn’t it?”

“So why the fuck have you been using the communal showers?” You asked.

“Because that’s where you shower.” He answered as though that was a completely reasonable thing to say.

“Yeah like I said, hard pass on this whole situation. I’ll drag that newbie out by his toe hair if I have to. That bed’s mine.” You said, starting for the door, intending to somehow push past him while you dragged your overly large bag.

Perhaps you could somehow use the weight of it to your advantage. You remembered them teaching you all something about throwing off your opponent using their weight so this had to be similar. Not that you ever mastered that maneuver either.

"Darling, you have two options. Be good and listen to me, start unpacking your stuff, take a shower and then come to bed or I tie you to the bed. I unpack your stuff and then shower you myself. Either way you're staying in this room." He said making you pause in your very unsuccessful dragging of the bag sent from hell.

You stared at him, trying to discern if he was quite serious and would really follow through on his threat. Nothing about those blue eyes of his was giving you any confidence that he had a single rational or normal bone in his oversized body and so you gave up.

"I'm building a pillow wall between us." You huffed.

Your pillow wall lasted about 0.3 seconds before being quite unceremoniously, and unnecessarily violently, tossed to the floor. Then you were pulled back into the chest of the lunatic who had tricked you into his den and were used like a teddy bear.

There was no dignity in any of this. That pension could not begin to cover the damages that you had incurred here in this hellhole.

It was warm though, and his bed was softer and blankets fuzzier than your own. The weight of his long limbs on you was making you drowsy even through the haze of anger that nearly blinded you.

"You're a bad man." Was all you could manage before sleep overcame you.

Gojo didn't sleep though. He couldn't believe how good it felt to have you in his arms. So soft, so warm against him. If he wanted, and god how he wanted, he could completely envelope you in his arms so none of you was left exposed to the rest of the world. Take all of you for himself.

You moaned in your sleep, arching up slightly and he loosened his hold just enough to let you turn once he realized that was what you wanted and then on top of being sleepless, he was also rendered breathless. You turned, resting your head on his shoulder easily as though even in your sleep you could tell you two fit like puzzle pieces.

His heart clenched as he stared down at you. Watched your parted lips, still not knowing what they tasted like. Gojo wasn't ignorant to the effect he had on people and yet somehow the only one he had ever wanted was entirely immune.

He pulled you in closer, lowering his head to press his lips to your forehead. Feeling a warmth bloom in the core of his being that he had never felt before. This had to be what others called being at peace. So fulfilled, like there was nothing else he wanted, nowhere else he would rather be. This was addicting.

You woke enveloped in warmth, arching up and stretching in the little space you had between the awfully heavy covers pinning you to the bed. Finally opening your eyes and then screaming in horror when you were met with two blue lightbulb like objects floating in a blurry pale shape mere inches from your face.

"What is it?" The shape asked and as your vision focused you rest your hand over your racing heart. Trying to catch your breath from the insane jolt of adrenaline seeing something so unnatural that early had caused you.

"Don't do that. Why are you staring at me with your 500 megawatt bulbs at - god 7 in the morning." You said, turning to check the clock by his bedside.

"Wait isn't this actually late for you?" You asked, remembering he normally rose at 5.

"I didn't want to risk waking sleeping beauty." He said with a smirk.

"You could be doing laps around the bed with a lawn mower and I wouldn't wake up once I'm asleep. I just can't fall asleep in noise." You clarified.

"Lucky I'm quiet as a mouse at night." He said.

"It takes a big man to admit he's a rat." You said, going to scooch off the bed but Gojo tightened his arm around you.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"To get changed for training, we're already late." You answered.

"They would understand if we skipped a day." He said.

"No, I want to see the thief that stole my bed."

You could never have anticipated that in that thief you would find a kindred spirit. A soldier who flinched when anyone came near them in combat practice or looked out at the field with utter dread painted on their face. Perhaps that bed was simply fated only to have rational heads rest on it, or cowards as the rest of the troop would put it.

It was inevitable that you two would begin to get close when you were always the last ones to finish a lap, dragging your feet and cursing having ever laid eyes on this place. Standing with your backs against the wall as the others went hand to hand as though fighting for their lives when it was just practice.

Of course there was someone who highly disproved of this camaraderie. Gojo hated the new guy. Would glare daggers into him whenever he saw you both together and was the only reason you weren't braiding each other's eyebrow hair and exchanging pension fantasies.

"Oh man if that weight had fallen on my foot I'd be lined up at admin with my direct deposit form in hand faster than Commander could call me an idiot." The new guy - Kaido said making you guffaw and nod in agreement.

"What a fucking dumbass, telling the Commander he's just fine. That was a golden ticket to pension land." You agreed.

"You're too young to be thinking about pension." A voice said from right behind you making you yelp and turn to see Gojo looming above you and Kaido.

"I think you just shaved ten years off my life. We really need to put a bell on you." You said, taking the offered water bottle from Gojo and letting him pull you back so you were stood by his side.

"Lieutenant Gojo, sir." Kaido greeted awkwardly making you laugh and elbow Gojo, glancing up expecting him to laugh too but rather seeing him looking down his nose at Kaido as though he were dirt on his shoe.

The Commander called you all in before you could say anything but it stayed on your mind the rest of the morning anyway.

"Do you not like Kaido?" You asked as you sat on the bed that day while Gojo was folding both your laundry making him pause.

"No, I don't." He said, looking up at you, taking you by surprise. You had at least expected him to deny it.

"Why?"

"Because he sticks too close to you."

"No, you stick too close to me. Kaido understands the concept of personal space." You said.

"He better. I don't like seeing you with him, stay away from him." He said making you frown.

"I like Kaido, Kaido's my friend." You defended, not noticing the way the way Gojo froze at your words.

"He's your friend?" He asked, voice deceptively level and calm.

"Yeah, unlike the rest of you try-hards he understands the appeal of the easy life. We get each other." You answered not even getting a moment to try to back away before Gojo had tossed aside the towel he was holding and was rounding the bed.

Grabbing you by the jaw, he pushed you down flat onto the bed. Knocking the wind out of you with the unexpectedness of the movement. He sat down straddling your hips, keeping you pinned in place.

"Tell me again who’s your friend." He said.

"What the fuck dude? What's wrong with y-" You asked, being cut off by your own gasp of pain as he tightened his hold around your jaw to the point where the bones creaked in protest.

"Who is your friend?" He asked again.

"K-Kaido." You answered, not quite understanding what his problem was.

His eyes darkened and grip got even tighter making you grab at his hand, afraid he really might break your jaw.

"G-Gojo please it hurts." You mumbled, words barely intelligible with the way he was holding your face.

"I'm your only friend. You don't need anyone else. Just me." He said, leaning down closer so your noses nearly brushed against each other. Enouncing each word clearly and calmly as though he weren't actively trying to crush your face between his hand.

"Fine, fine just you. Please let go, it hurts." You pleaded. Willing to say anything to make him release you in that moment.

He let go of your face, seemingly satisfied but didn't get off of you. Watching in silence as you rubbed at the clear imprints of his fingers on your face. The bruises darkening into your soft skin.

He felt a pang in his chest, he hadn't meant to hurt you. He had just lost his mind a little hearing you so casually give someone else the place he held in your life.

"Let me see." He said, reaching for your face but you slapped at his hands. Pushing him away and when he saw the way your eyes were watering with pain he backed off readily, heart sinking as he realized he had hurt you to the point of inducing tears.

"I'll get you some ice." He said.

"No need." You scoffed, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. Scooching off the bed and heading for the door.

He let you go, knowing you needed some time to cool off. He'd always gone too far when it came to protecting his things and keeping the paws of others off of them. He'd never meant to hurt you though.

You slammed the door behind you. Immediately headed to the admin office. In the past few weeks you had often wondered if choosing to befriend Gojo had been a mistake but today had proven it. He was a far bigger lunatic than you had initially known. Volatile in his unpredictability. You were better off without someone like him by your side, either he'd get you in trouble or he'd end up hurting you seriously in one of his fits.

"I'd like to change rooms." You said as soon as you made it to the admin office, approaching the man sitting behind the desk who you'd never bothered learning the name of.

"Why?" The man asked, looking like he'd rather be doing anything but his job.

"I'm rooming with Lieutenant Gojo right now-" You paused as you saw the man's eyes widen and him sit up straighter.

"But there's only one bed so I'd like to request to be switched into any room with a vacant bed." You continued, wondering why he looked so alarmed.

"There's no vacant beds." The man said making you scoff.

"I know there has to be at least one considering Tomoya is still in a coma and will probably be in no condition to continue in the force when he wakes." You said.

"His bed was sent to headquarters." The man answered and you stared at him blankly, making his ears turn red at how stupid of a lie he had just uttered.

"Okay, well I don't have a bed so can you request headquarters to send it back so I have a place to sleep?" You asked.

"I'll put in the request." The man said.

"And how long is that going to take?" You asked.

"I don't know but I'll let you know when it's processed." He said making your eye twitch.

"Fine, thanks." You relented, getting the feeling there was no reasoning with this soulless slave to bureaucracy.

You would check Tomoya's dorm yourself. If you found the empty bed then you'd come here and demand this lying rat to process the transfer right then.

You lurked in the corridor outside Tomoya's room, icing your bruised jaw until one of his roommates finally emerged. The door opened and the pungent smell of blue cheese wafted out, singing your nose hair but you still forced yourself forward to take a peek. Letting out a triumphant "ha" which had your future roommate flinching out of surprise.

"I knew that man was a liar." You said to the soldier currently staring at you like you had two heads before marching back to the admin office. Swearing out loud when you saw the door was now closed. It probably wasn't even 4 yet.

You would be back first thing tomorrow morning. Waiting outside before the office opened to force that stinking liar to process your transfer request. That meant you just needed to figure something out for tonight. Tomorrow by this time you would have roommates who weren't actively a threat to everyone around them.

You didn’t want to see Gojo but the clinic doctor saw right through your lies about being sick and wouldn't let you into the infirmary. Upon arriving to the base you had feigned being sick quite often to get out of missions and more arduous training sessions so by now the doctor was more likely to believe Pinocchio with an actively elongating nose than you.

You couldn't avoid seeing Gojo but that didn't mean you couldn't ignore him. You walked right past him at shooting practice. Joining Lieutenant Hiroshi's group instead and avoided his gaze at dinner, choosing to sit next to Kaido instead. Feeling the full force of those otherworldly blues on you all throughout the rest of the day but refusing to look back at him.

Kaido however was having more trouble ignoring Gojo than you.

"He looks like he wants to kill us. Wait - actually he was only looking at me like that. He looks like he wants to kill me and looks like he's going to eat you as usual." Kaido said.

"Ignore him." You responded, angrily shoving another piece of broccoli in your mouth.

"Easy for you to say, he doesn't look like he wants to kill you. What happened between the two of you anyway?"

"Nothing." You barked, the word muffled and unintelligible due to the very undercooked broccoli still filling your mouth.

"Muppet?" Kaido asked in confusion making you huff in annoyance.

"I said nothing and I'm sleeping in your dorm tonight." You said after forcefully swallowing the unchewable broccoli down.

"What, why? There's no space in our dorm." Kaido whined.

"Because you stole my bed."

"I didn't steal shit, you transferred to Lieutenant Gojo's room so they gave me yours."

"I didn't transfer. That rat filled out the paperwork himself. You know what - it doesn't matter. Here, I'll give you my chocolate pudding if you let me stay." You said, pushing your tray towards Kaido.

"I don't like choc- oh it's blueberry. Fine, you can stay." Kaido said and you swore out loud when you looked down at the pudding. Being a pain in the ass clearly ran in the family.

You heard a bang across the dining hall and glanced up only to see a fuming Gojo up on his feet. His tray of food now spread all over the ground next to his table. He glared at you and Kaido as he made his way across the dining hall. Grabbing your tray from in front of Kaido and throwing it to the floor with a loud clattering sound that made you flinch.

"Stop testing my patience unless you want to see what happens when it runs out." Gojo warned, but you were too stunned by the commotion to think of anything to say. He turned to stalk out of the dining hall when you didn't respond.

"What a fucking nutter." You muttered under your breath once you were quite sure Gojo was out of earshot, glancing over at Kaido to see he was still frozen.

"Hey, you okay?" You asked, nudging him with your elbow.

"I don't know if that's spilt juice or if I pissed my pants." Kaido said making you grimace in disgust as you looked down at his pants to see that they were indeed soaked.

"Looks a little orange so unless you're very sick it's got to be the juice." You said, hoping you were right.

After clearing up the tray and giving Kaido the chance to shower and change out of the juice/sickly urine-soaked pants you two made your way back to your old dorm to retire for the night.

"What are you doing back here?" One of your old roommates asked the moment you walked in.

"I'm sleeping here tonight."

"Did Gojo get sick of his little lapdog?"

"Should we go ask him that together?" You asked, making the smirk fall right off the ugly mug of your most obnoxious old roommate.

"Whatever." He responded, going back to the stupid card game he had been playing with the others.

You and Kaido stood staring at the twin bed that looked even smaller than you remembered it. It really wasn't built for two adults to share.

"We can just lay in opposite directions." You suggested.

"Gross, I'm not laying with your feet in my face." Kaido said.

"Okay then orange-piss boy, what do you suggest?" You asked, earning yourself a dirty look from Kaido and confused glances from the others.

"Why don't you just take the floor?"

"Because the floor is hard and cold and there's creepy crawlies everywhere."

"Fine, we'll just share the bed. It's really no different than standing side by side." Kaido said.

It was very different. The bed was so cramped you couldn't even build a pillow wall without compromising the little space you had and of course Kaido had the pointiest elbows known to mankind. He wouldn't stop shuffling around to get comfortable and one of his elbows from hell would dig into your vulnerable midsection.

After the fourth time you elbowed him back which started a war you were bound to lose with your regular human elbows. You both eventually fell asleep bruised and cramped.

You were woken far too soon for it to be morning by a hand desperately slapping at you and then gripping into your pajama shirt as though about to tear it off. You slapped at the hand, trying to get back to sleep but were forced awake when you heard an odd, muffled gurgling sound followed by the voice of the last person you expected to hear.

"Keep your fucking hands to yourself." You heard Gojo say making your eyes fly open, struggling to adjust in the dark room only to see him forcing Kaido's hand backwards until you heard a sharp snapping sound as his wrist broke.

Your scrambled upwards on the bed, struggling to make sense of what you were seeing. Gojo sat straddling Kaido's chest, chocking him with one hand. The other still holding the wrist he had broken. Kaido let out a muffled scream, turning to look at you and reaching out towards you with his other hand making you flinch back but Gojo caught that hand before it could reach you.

"What did I just fucking say? Why can't people just listen while I'm asking nicely. Everyone's always trying to get their paws on what's mine." Gojo said, tossing Kaido's hand back down to his side. Increasing the force with which he was choking Kaido, pushing his head further down into the bed.

"G-Gojo what the fuck?" You asked, shakily reaching for the hand that was choking Kaido but seeing that manic blue gaze turn on you in the darkness had your blood freezing in your veins.

The predatory look he had while hunting curses back on his face but this time there was no joy accompanying it. Just a single-minded determination to take out what he saw as a rival for his chosen prey.

"Oh darling, did we wake you? I'm sorry, I was just teaching this fucker what happens when he puts his hands on what's mine. Why don't you go sleep in our room? I'll be there in a minute."

Kaido let out a muffled whimper, his flailing growing weak as he began turning purple with the blood rushing to his head. His teary eyes met yours, forcing you into action. As much as you wanted it to be, this wasn't a nightmare. Gojo had really somehow found you here and was about to kill Kaido if you didn't do something.

"Get off of him Gojo." You cried, shoving at his chest with all your might but it wasn't enough to move him.

You glanced back, about to yell to wake the others. Only to see them already awake, sitting up in their beds. Watching the scene with wide, horrified eyes.

"Fucking help me." You yelled at them, pushing and clawing at Gojo who didn't even bother to swat at you. Instead wrapping his free arm around your waist and pinning you to his side.

You thrashed against him, pulling and scratching at his arm as Kaido's eyes bulged.

"You're gonna kill him." You screamed, near feral now in your attempts to get Gojo off but it was like trying to move a rock.

"This is what happens when you befriend someone else. Look closely darling." Gojo mumbled, resting his forehead against your head. Completely relaxed as though he weren't actively choking the life out of someone.

"You fucking cowards." You screamed at the others, looking around desperately for something to help you get Gojo off. Your gaze landed on Kaido's alarm clock and you grasped at it desperately, turning in Gojo's hold and slamming it down into his temple with all your strength.

He reared back, finally releasing Kaido and you shoved him back off of him. Watching, with your hands hovering helplessly as Kaido coughed weakly, tears still streaming down his eyes and broken wrist held against his chest as tremors shook through him.

You heard that bark-like laughter and turned to see Gojo clutching his bleeding head. Streaks of blood running down the left side of his face, over his eye making the mania of his unnaturally blue gaze all the more terrifying to witness. Blood seeping through the hand he held to his head yet he was laughing.

"Only you, darling, would dare to do such a thing. Only you could get away with it." He said, pulling you in by the wrist back towards him.

"Let go, you fucking psycho." You yelled, hitting your fists against his chest but he swept both your wrists up in his hand. Palm sticky with blood that rubbed off onto your skin as he brought your conjoined hands up to his mouth to press a kiss to them.

"Never, I'm never going to let you go." He muttered, lips still against your hands. Darting his head back with a laugh as you tried to swipe at his face.

"You're not going to have a choice. When everyone finds out what you've done you're going to end up rotting in prison."

"Whose gonna put me there?" He asked, smiling indulgently as though speaking to a child.

"Me, I'm going to report you for what you've done to Kaido and I'll tell them about Tomoya too." You threatened.

"But you covered for me, you're my little accomplice. Won't that get you in trouble too?" Gojo asked, voice still light and teasing but his words made you blanche.

He let out another one of his bark-like laughs at the look on your face, darting forward and pressing a kiss to your cheek as though unable to help himself. You flinched back in disgust.

"Oh darling, I'm just teasing. I'd never let you get in any trouble and neither will I. You don't have to worry your pretty little head over things like that when you're with me. I take care of what's mine."

"There's four witnesses to you attacking Kaido. There's no way you'll get away with this." You said.

"What witnesses? Did you guys see me here tonight?" Gojo asked the others without even bothering to take his eyes off of you. He always thought you looked so cute while angry, turning as red as a tomato and glaring as though you could ever hope to intimidate anyone.

"No, sir." Came three responses making your eyes widen and you turned to look at your old roommates.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You all called me a coward but really you're the cowards." You spat, and not one of them could meet your gaze.

"It doesn't matter. I witnessed it, I'll help Kaido report you." You said, turning back to Gojo.

"My poor darling, you really don't know who I am, do you? I could kill Kaido at breakfast and no one would even dare complain about the mess."

"What do you mean? Who cares if you're a lieutenant, you can't go attacking soldiers."

"Poor, sweet thing, you don't even know who you decided to befriend. You don't even know who it is you belong to." Gojo tsked as though truly sympathetic at your naivety.

"I'm Gojo Satoru, darling. This place is only running because my family wants it to, because I want it to. I can do whatever I want here, but lucky for you, so can you. So long as you have my approval of course. Sleepovers with other soldiers are not allowed." Gojo said and suddenly everything he got away with doing began to make sense.

How he had gotten away with nearly killing a fellow soldier with as poor an alibi as yourself. Why he had a room nicer than the Commander and wasn't questioned for any of his insane antics. Where he got all that audacity from.

"I get you were upset with me so I'll let this one slide, but if you ever do something like this again, I'll have no choice but to punish you. You're mine, don't ever let anyone else get so close, let alone touch you." Gojo said, reaching for your face. Face dropping and eyes growing cold as you flinched back from his touch.

"Enough. I told you not to test my patience. Don't push me so far that I have to get strict with you. Now come on, let's go to our room." Gojo said, getting up off the bed and holding his hand out to you.

"You're fucking insane if you think I'm going anywhere with you." You said, turning back to Kaido and ignoring his hand but it was a mistake to turn your back to Gojo.

You were yanked back around by your arm making you cry out, Gojo ducking down and tossing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing before turning to stalk out of the room.

"I warned you." He said, swatting at your ass with one of those giant hands making you yelp.

"Put me down." You demanded, squirming and flailing to try to get out of his hold. A kick to his stomach only earned you another smack on your ass.

Your yelling must have attracted attention for you heard a door opening down the hall and the Commander's voice demanding which moron was up causing a commotion this early before he came into view wearing a sleep robe tied over pajamas.

"Help me." You called out, reaching out towards the Commander when he stood there staring as though frozen in shock. Heart sinking as Gojo got closer and the man merely stepped out of his way.

"Excuse us from training for the rest of the week, we've got a couple things to work through." Gojo said as he passed the Commander.

"Yes, of course. Let me know if you need to leave the base, I'll have a car arranged."

"That won't be necessary." Gojo responded, turning the corner so you could no longer see the man who you had expected to help you but had only stood with his head bowed down to the monster carrying you off.

Gojo didn't so much as slow down until he had made it back to his room. Opening the door with you still hanging over his shoulder with ease and dropping you down onto the bed. You immediately got to your feet, eyeing him warily where he stood before you.

He raised his hand and you flinched back making him frown as he brought his hand to the still-bleeding wound on his head.

"Fuck, you got me good." He winced, prodding at the wound tenderly and going over to the mirror hung up on the wall to get a better look.

"I didn't think you were capable of that but it's good to see you're not completely defenseless. Though, next time, maybe try hitting someone else and not your friend." He said, wiping at the blood with his t-shirt gingerly.

"You're not my friend." You said, seeing him pause in the reflection of the mirror. Eyes flashing before he closed them and took a deep breath as though trying to restrain himself.

"You're angry." He sighed, turning back to face you.

"No, I'm not angry. I'm disgusted. I can't believe I ever called you a friend." You spat.

His jaw clenched but he shook his head as though the movement would help him shake off what you had said.

"I lost control and I hurt you. I get that you're mad and I'm sorry for hurting you, I really am, but don't go saying things you don't mean." He said.

"Oh I mean it. You mean nothing to me, I don't ever want to see your face again. In fact, I'm leaving. Fuck this whole force. That pension isn't worth this shit." You said, moving towards the closet intending to pack but before you could even round the bed Gojo had crossed the room and was turning you to face him by the arm.

Your protests died on your lips as you caught sight of his face. Blue eyes alight with rage, the veins running up his neck and into his jaw standing out grotesquely from how tightly he was clenching his teeth. He looked inhuman, like something animalistic and feral. For the first time you felt truly afraid of Gojo.

"Didn't I say not to push me too far?" He asked through gritted teeth.

"Didn't I?" He demanded loudly, gripping you by your upper arms and giving you a sound shake.

"Y-you did." You responded, arching up in his hold to try to get out of the painful grip he had on your arms.

"Who are you leaving?" He asked, bringing you in closer by the hold he had on you.

"Who said you could fucking leave me? Who even allowed you to think it?" He barked, giving you another shake.

"You're mine, you don't ever get to walk away from me. You're the one who barged into my life, you think you can just up and leave whenever you want?" He demanded, his grip growing steadily tighter on your arms.

"Gojo, please, you're hurting me." You said, eyes watering from the pain but you didn't dare try to pull away.

"And what about how much you're hurting me?" He asked.

"Does my pain mean fucking nothing to you? Saying shit like I mean nothing to you, that I'm not your friend. You know what, you're right. I'm not your friend. I'm so much fucking more than that. Friend doesn't begin to cover what we are to each other."

"W-what?" You asked. You knew he was weirdly possessive of you but you hadn't anticipated that he thought of you in that way.

"I'm your fucking everything. Your friend, your lover, your husband. It's all me, there is no space for anyone else. I won't let there be anyone else. I'll make you mine in every conceivable way. Put a ring on your finger, brand my name over your fucking heart and mark your pretty little neck with my teeth every damn day." He growled, and before you had a chance to react was leaning down and sinking his teeth into your neck making you scream as he tore through the flesh.

You flailed in his grasp, pushing and shoving at his chest but it was like trying to move stone. After what seemed like an eternity of agony he finally pulled away, teeth lined with your blood and lips crimson with it.

"All fucking mine." He declared, licking over his lips making your breath catch as the reality of your situation dawned on you.

You had walked right into the den of a monster, awakening the beast and now you were trapped in its grasp. You should never have befriended Gojo Satoru. Not when there was all those rumours about him. Shouldn't have thought yourself more clever than the rest, able to tame the infamous mad dog.

"Gojo I don't think of you that way." You said shakily, hoping you could at least get him to go back to wanting to be your friend, not whatever the hell this was.

"That's okay, you'll start. It's my fault, I should have been more clear. I know how oblivious you can be so I wanted to take things slow but clearly that was a mistake on my part."

"Y-you can't force someone to be with you. I don't want to be with you and I won't." You said, trying to sound firm.

"I know you're a little slow and normally I find that to be fucking adorable but I need you to get it through your head that you are mine. You belong to me." He repeated slowly as though trying to drill the words into you.

"You're the one who forced your way into my life so really this is all on you. I would have left you alone had you not started following me around and then tried to cover for me, getting all worried about me getting into trouble." He said, going from enraged to getting a far-off look in his eye as though reminiscing. He was fucking insane, his moods changed faster than you could keep up with.

"I only approached you because I needed someone who'd have my back during missions. I didn't mean for any of this to go so far." You said.

"I'll always protect you, I'll always have your back. There's no curse, institution or person that can get to you while I'm around." He cooed, not seeming mad at all to find out about your ulterior motive for approaching him.

"I don't need that from you. I'm leaving the force, I never should have joined." You mumbled, filled with regret over your greed that had brought you into the predicament.

"You're not going anywhere. I'll tie you to the bed if that's what it takes. You'll stay where I am. If you don't want to be part of missions, good, I'd rather you not be but you're staying here."

"You can't watch over me every second of every day. I'd find a way to get away so why don't you just make this easy for both of us and let me go?" You asked, making his eyes darken and that bravado that had overcome your senses drained just as fast leaving only a hollow, cold sense of fear behind.

"I told you I'm never letting you go. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you with me. I don't want to tie you up but I'll do it if you make me and if you somehow manage to get out then I'll hunt you down and I'll break your fucking legs so you can't run." He growled making you flinch back.

"Now what's it going to be? Are you going to choose the easy route where you stay with me in our room and get to move about as you please or should I tie you up?" He asked.

"Better yet should I move right to breaking your legs so you don't get any funny ideas about running away? They'll even discharge you with pension if I break your legs, you'll still stay with me of course but it is what you always wanted." He said, grabbing your jaw in his hand and forcing you to look up at him.

His eyes softening when he saw the tears in yours.

"Fuck, I didn't mean to make you cry. Come here." He sighed, pulling you in to his chest and wrapping his arms around you.

Terrified as you were of him you couldn't help but sob into his chest. The dread of the horrible predicament you had gotten yourself into making you seek comfort from anywhere you could get it, even if it was the source of your misery. He hushed you, rubbing a hand up and down your back soothingly. Pressing apologetic kisses into your head.

"I told you not to push me. I fucking lose it when I even so much as think of you not being with me. Just promise me you'll stay with me. That you won't ever leave and we can forget all of this."

"I-I won't." You hiccuped, finally giving in to what had been inevitable since the moment you first approached Gojo.

"We're gonna be so happy together, darling. I'll always protect you, all you have to do is stay with me." He cooed into your hair. Hushing you when his words only made you cry harder.

[millyondollarpussy]

Persistent Fucker

Yandere male x female darling

He’s always there. You block him? He shows up at your job, your gym, your favorite café. He knows your schedule better than you do. “Missed you, baby. Figured you’d be here.” He says it with that lazy smirk like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

His love language is extreme persistence + acts of service. He’ll fix your car without asking, stock your fridge with your favorite snacks, pay your bills if you let him (and even if you don’t- which you should). He once waited outside your place in the rain for three hours just to walk you inside because “you shouldn’t be alone.” Meaning he didn’t want to be.

Jealousy level: nuclear.Any guy who even looks at you too long gets the death glare. He’ll casually slide an arm around your waist in public, pull you against his chest, and murmur in your ear, “They don’t get to look at what’s mine.” He’s not subtle about marking his territory: hickeys, his hoodie on your shoulders, his hand in your back pocket.

He calls you his wife already. Even if you’ve never agreed to it. “My future wife is picky about her coffee, so I got it exactly how you like.” He’s got a whole mental future mapped out: house, ring, kids(if you want, he doesn’t care as long as he gets you) , the works. He’s patient about the timeline because in his head it’s already decided.

Sex is intense and worshipful.

He fucks like he’s trying to crawl inside your soul. Slow and deep when he wants you to feel how much he loves you, rough and desperate when the obsession spikes. He never finishes first- your pleasure is literally his drug. Afterward he holds you so tight it’s hard to breathe, whispering shit like “You’re never getting rid of me. I’d burn the world down before I let you go.”

-He has a “I’ll wait forever” energy. You try to push him away? He just smiles softly and says, “Take your time, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” Then he proves it by being even more present. Distance makes him worse. He’ll send good-morning texts at 6:01 AM and good-night voice notes where he sounds a little wrecked because he misses you.

Soft moments exist. In rare quiet times he admits he’s terrified of losing you, that you’re the only thing that’s ever made him feel alive. He’ll bury his face in your neck and just breathe you in like he needs you to survive. Those moments make the persistence almost endearing… almost.

Dark side: He’s not above low-key sabotage if you try too hard to leave. “Accidentally” deleting dating apps off your phone, “running into” your friends and charming them so they’re on his side, showing up with your spare key he definitely wasn’t supposed to copy. Threatening any male interests’ life- He’ll never hurt you, but he will make sure you have no easy escape route.

Nickname collection: Baby, princess, wifey, boss. He uses them interchangeably depending on how feral he’s feeling.

Endgame: He genuinely believes you two are soulmates and that you’ll eventually accept it. Until then he’s content being your shadow, your bodyguard, your lover, your stalker, your everything. Good luck ever shaking him he’s not built to quit.

[roxxmo]

15 ways dex shows you his love

summary: 15 ways dex shows you the depths of his love, though we all know the list could go on...and on...and on...

pairing: benjamin poindexter x f!reader content/warnings: 18+ (mdni), brief description of sexual acts, obsessive behavior, stalking/surveillance, reproductive coercion, birth control tampering, isolation, implied violence/murder, unhealthy relationship dynamics word count: 896 A/N: oops poll isn't even closed and i said it was a democracy but i already had this ready and got too excited, so... as always for these oneshots, technically an interlude in the North Star Universe, but can be read separately. enjoy :)

divider by: @uzmacchiato

Dex remembers exactly how you take your coffee. Splash of milk, two packets of Stevia. Not too hot, you burn the roof of your mouth easily. 

Dex waits for you after work to walk you home. He hates the idea of you riding the subway alone. It can be dangerous, you never know what could happen. Besides, he would never want you to be lonely. 

Dex buys you flowers every Friday. He knows your favorites by heart now: roses, little bundles of white baby’s breath tucked in between them. He presents the bouquet wrapped in cheap cellophane every week, and you react with squeals of excitement each time. 

Dex loves to cook for you. He’s not amazing at it (the fire alarm has gone off more than once during one of his baking sessions), but it feels good to provide for you in this way. Why should you have to lift a finger, especially after a long day at work? And don’t you dare think about washing dishes after, he’s got it handled. 

Dex always ensures your pleasure comes first. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, how many positions you need to try, he won’t even think about putting his cock in you until you’ve orgasmed at least twice. Sex is his preferred method of devotion. 

Dex listens to you. Really listens. How rare is that in a man? He’ll remember everything you say, whether that’s your favorite type of carryout food, or movies you find overrated, or even minute details like names of childhood pets or favorite subjects from high school. Everything you say is important. Every detail of your life must be memorized. 

Dex knows which of your smiles are real. It’s become easy to see them more clearly, especially now that he’s with you all the time. He knows which are genuine, like when he makes you laugh. Which ones are polite, like talking to cashiers when you just want to go home. Or which ones are downright fake, like when you’re hiding something. Don’t you know you can’t hide from him?

Dex knows what you need before you even know it. A new pair of sneakers because the soles of your old ones are getting too worn down? He’s already found the ones you’ve stared at before in a department store window and is buying them. Tired and hungry from work? He’s placed an order for your favorite pizza and arranged the pillows and blankets on the couch just how you like them. Overstimulated from too much talking? He’s blocked your friends and family on your phone so they won’t bother you. You can always call them back later, he reasons. When you feel better. When he decides you’re ready. 

Dex looks out for you. Being an FBI agent, safety is always going to be his number one priority. You shared your location with him when you first started dating, but what if your phone died? He put an AirTag in your purse, buried behind some junk you’ll never sort through. He also put some cameras in the apartment just in case. Like the camera he put in your favorite potted fern. It has a perfect view into the living room. Just to make sure there weren’t any unwanted visitors while you were home alone. 

Dex knows your menstrual cycle by heart. Twenty-eight days, five days of a heavy period, with ovulation happening always around the fourteenth day. It’s good for him to know. That way he can prepare, like making sure there’s enough pads in the bathroom, that your heating pad is working, that he has enough tea and snacks for you, and that on the fourteenth day, he can get you cockdrunk enough that you don’t think to ask why he’s so intent on coming deep inside you, keeping you in the mating press with your hips raised with a pillow for a few minutes afterwards. 

Dex already has your future planned. He knows sometimes you struggle with big decisions, so he’s made it easier for you. He already bought your engagement ring, a beautiful two-carat diamond with a thin, gold band, and he’s got your matching wedding rings, as well. The wedding will be small, maybe about thirty people. In your hometown, at a church, to keep it traditional. He already has an idea of a wedding dress you’re sure to love. Dex has been looking at houses, too. There’s one in particular in upstate New York, near the Catskill Mountains. Woodsy. Isolated. Big enough for the four children you’ll have to run around and play. You’ll like the kitchen. 

Dex makes sure your life is free from things you don’t need. Clutter and junk in your bedroom, unnecessary plans that will just make you stressed out. He clears out your bathroom cabinet, too, throwing away old things you don’t need anymore, like expired bottles of Ibuprofen, old nasal spray, birth control, things like that. It extends to people, too. Coworkers who annoy you. Men that try and hit on you in bars. Friends. 

Dex would kill for you.

Dex has killed for you. 

Dex doesn’t stop loving you. Even when you cry. Even when you become afraid of him. Even when he’s locked away, alone for years with nothing but a metal spine and his own thoughts. He will never stop loving you. 

taglist

🏷️: @maximumcoffeeme @triceraquake @ugh-whytho @bibiishin @starlitflora @genya1617 @lostfallenangelsblog @weallhaveadestiny @pomme-meadow @itzrachel04 @hoeforicecream @fivedicksinatrenchcoat @silas-fanfic-favs @snowwythegloww

[yousummonedme]

Just thinking about Simon who’s a good example of what a man should be

Slight mentions of domestic violence and sexual assault

Growing up, he had plenty example of what a man should not be from his dad.

So when he began to date and became a father himself, he held himself up to a good standard and then he raised them higher.

Never did he raise his voice or hand on his wife or kids. He respected his wife and modeled it so his daughters knew what to expect from a man and so his sons knew how to be one. He’d spend time with his family, getting to know them not just treat them like side characters in his fantasies. He'd take each member individually out on dates and spoil them. There wouldn’t be any punishment for being imperfect, only discipline when doing something harmful and gentle teaching to guide his kids. He’d be emotionally vulnerable and mature so his family would be able to lean on and be close to him. His kids would grow knowing it’s okay to have feelings and there’s a way to handle them properly.

With his wife, he’d always be tender and loving. He’d show consideration for her needs and boundaries. When she was weak, he’d be stronger to support her. And when he needed, he’d let himself rely on her too. He was always holding her or telling her how much he loved her. He’d leave notes for her. He’d remember and plan for important dates. He’d take an active interest in things she liked. He valued the people in her life. When they had sex, he’d never selfishly focus on his own pleasure— nor was he selfish towards her at any other time.

No toxic masculinity in him. He’d worked hard to unlearn the harmful patterns his past had engrained in him. If his kids wanted to paint their nails or dress up, he was right there strutting to living room with them to show his wife. If his kids wanted to build something, he’d… freak out a bit that they’d get hurt, but he’d guide them age-appropriately anyway.

His kids weren’t perfect. Sometimes they’d break rules. They sneak out for drinks. They’d get bad grades. One wrecked his car. But there wasn’t ever a time they didn’t know he’d have their back. They’d always have a home in him and his wife.

When his son got into a toxic relationship, he let him cry his heart out, then gave the ex-bf a talk that chased him out for good. His daughter came to her parents, breaking into tears as she told them about a family friend’s inappropriate behavior. Simon had known him for a long time, but there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation as he put that man in jail. He didn’t tolerate other people doing or saying anything misogynistic, rude, or harmful towards his family. And you can bet he avoided it himself. If he screwed up, he’d apologize straight and change his behavior.

Years of marriage, years of parenting— Simon celebrated his 40th anniversary with his wife, his happy family and tight-knit friend circle still together. Simon looked back at the life he’d worked so hard to build with others. A memory played of his dad dying alone; then, he looked around at his loved ones. And a smile came to his face.

[porcleainvoid]

JUST LUCK !

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 wife’s passing.

You finally caved in, turning over to attend the call

“Morning,” he said.

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 “final notice” and “end of the month” and “I’ve been more than patient”- the usual

Click.

The lines goes dead.

Well, fuck you too.

Your head drops back into the pillow.

What a great start to your morning.

.

Everything just seems to get worse from there.

You couldn’t 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?

Yeah well, now you know.

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 he’d checked his watch twice.

Mr Rodriguez was red in the face. You were red in the face.

“And where exactly do you expect me to get it from?, I told you, give me one more week!” You snapped. “You think I’m hiding stacks of cash underneath my mattress?”

“I expect you to pay your rent, it’s already been long overdue!”.

“I expect you to shut the fuck up before eight in the morning, but I guess neither of us are getting what we want.” Rodriguez spluttered at that.

“You have until Friday,” Rodriguez barked. You laughed a sharp, throaty sound.

“Great. I’ll go print some money.”

Dex had noticed you’d 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 hadn’t learnt when to accept defeat and shut your mouth.

In the heat of the moment, you hadn’t 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.

”Crazy girl,” Rodriguez scoffed.

“Hm”

He turned around to find Dex leaning off the door, and paled.

“How long have you been standing here?. Sorry for ailing you, she was holding me up”

”Who is she?,” Dex didn’t want to sound too curious

”Her?- don’t 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 wants” Dex watched as Rodriguez ‘s face flushed a light red at the mere mention of you.

Dex didn’t respond- let the silence simmer a little. The landlord immediately regretted opening his mouth.

”What?” Rodriguez muttered.

Dex stepped a little closer. Enough to make the older man aware of the distance.

“Let’s discuss the money you owe Fisk.”

Rodriguez visibly trembled, “There’ve been complications.”

“There always are, it’s been months.”

“It’s not that simple, you need to understand!” Dex could hear the creeping hysteria slither its way in Rodriguez’s voice.

“You have until Friday” Dex really couldn’t find it in himself to give a shit about Rodriguez. The orders he’d received were simple; give him til Friday or blow him up, hes too complicated.

The landlord blinked. Friday?… The exact same deadline he’d given the girl. Coincidence? Probably.

“You understand me?” Dex asked.

Rodriguez nodded immediately.

“Good.”

Dex started toward the exit and the relief weighed heavy on Rodriguez’s face.

He stopped in his tracks, turning around.

“The girl isn’t your problem”

Cold dread filled the landlord once again, “What?”

“The tenant”. Rodriguez blinked.

”I-“

“You seem very focused on her, Rodriguez”

The older man could feel tendrils of cold sweat flowing down his back. Dealing with Dex was like dealing with a land mine, “She owes me rent”.

“And you owe Fisk,” Dex tilted his head slightly, “I’d recommend prioritizing”

Understanding flooded Rodriguez’s face. Dex wasn’t 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 remarkably…uneventful. 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 Cornella’s painting.

However, he had lately reached new heights of unbearable.

He’d 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.

”What do you want?” You snapped. Gods’ you hated the rotting smell coming from his mouth.

“You’d sell more if you showed a little more… sensuality,” he’d remarked.

“Excuse me?” The audacity of this man.

“Unbutton the top a little. It’ll bring in customers”. 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.

What the fuck?

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 didn’t 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?

Right. Fuck him, man.

You didn’t notice how long you stood there afterwards. You were pulled back in a cycle of horror, the one you’d 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 it’s 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 isn’t actively pulling you aside, making snide comments about your appearance or blaming you for slow hours.

That’s a first.

He stays in that dingy office most of the time now, not that you’re complaining. But its certainly odd.

Whatever, you really shouldn’t question these strange blessings.

You’ve just been really lucky these last weeks. Maybe you have an angel watching over you. You scoff, why’d 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 you’d 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 face…

Mr Rodriguez looked strangely tense when the man muttered something. You watched as Mr Rodriguez nodded, and the man turned away.

Coincidences happen. Hell’s Kitchen was full of people. Maybe he was another tenant? Mr Rodriguez owned several buildings throughout Hell’s Kitchen. Maybe he worked for the city. Maybe he was Rodriguez’s 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 wouldn’t help you. Other people’s business certainly wasn’t your problem.

.

You’re exhausted.

It’s 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.

And there he is.

The not so unfamiliar stranger. What the actual fuck? That’s it, you’ve reached your breaking point.

“Are you following me?” You blurt out. His eyebrows lift in surprise.

“Thats a serious accusation,” He seems calm?

You're immediately embarrassed. What were you thinking? You probably sound insane.

“i just-” you inhale, “I keep seeing you.”

He stares at you for a while. Gaze fixated right on yours.

“Funny,” he says, “I was about to say the same thing”

You blink at him. Is this actually happening?

“Benjamin,” he says eventually, extending a hand, after letting the silence prolong for a while.

“Most people call me Dex.”

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.

You’re a little intimidated to be honest, suddenly conversing with a stranger you’ve 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. “So what do you do? For work, I mean”. A boring question, really, but you can’t be bothered to keep up a conversation when you’re 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 don’t know anything about him. The imbalance is delicious.

“I work for the FBI,” he says simply, not dwelling further.

Your jaw drops open, “Holy shit, that’s a cool ass job.”

“It really isn’t, gets boring after a while” He smiles.

“Respectfully, I think you’re lying.” A quite huff escapes him.

“Wish i had a cool job like yours”, Dex notices you look a little miserable- He has to play along. He hopes you don’t remember him from the that time he visited your shop on a whim.

“What do you do?” He asks.

“i work at a coffee shop”

“Do you like it?”

“No.” You bark out a laugh.

“Why not?”

“Well, there’s a lot of things that contribute to me absolutely despising my job. My boss, for instance,” You shake your head, “Like genuinely. Cartoon villain levels of asshole, he’s evil”

“What did he do?”

You scoff.

“What didn’t he do?”, You breathe out, “Lately, however, I’ve noticed he’s being a little … weird. Like he isn’t tugging at me and hovering over me all the time. It’s creeping me out”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” He tilts his head.

“No, because now I’m waiting for the catch.”

“You think there’s a catch?”

“I think my inconvenient life has conditioned me to expect one.”

“Maybe somebody noticed.” He says. You frown, “Noticed what?”

“That he was treating you badly,” His gaze lingers on yours, as if trying to convey you something.

What a cryptic guy, you think. Could he not elaborate further?

“I guess, but who would really care for a person like me?” 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.

“There’ll always be someone around who cares, trust me”

“You sound like a tired suicide prevention hotline worker” You giggle a little at your own joke, and raise an eyebrow when he looks at you with a bit of skepticism. “What?” you ask.

He averts his eyes, “Nothing.”

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.

“Well, I think it’s my time to go. It was really nice meeting you, Dex”

“Likewise,” 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, “Could we exchange numbers?” He seems nervous, probably the most emotion you’ve seen him show the entire conversation.

Oh.

Well… he’s really handsome, not to mention you’ve been bumping into each other these past months so it must be fate that led you two to intertwine right? He seems polite too, “You don’t have to,” he adds.

”Sure”, 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.

“Text me when you get home,” he says.

You blink, “Why?”

“Its late.”

You snort at that, “Are all FBI agents this paranoid over someone they just met?”

”We’ve been bumping into each other for quite a while, I wouldn’t say we’re exactly strangers.” His answer comes a bit too quickly, you laugh it off.

“Goodnight, Dex.”

“Goodnight.”

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.

║8:37PM You: Just made it home. Boss is still alive, ugh.

║9:10PM Dex: My condolences.

He was fun. His texts were-no-bullshit, all to the point. You loved his bluntness.

He’d grown on you. You’d bump into each other every now and then and grab a quick bite on your breaks from your shift. Sometimes, he’d 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 weren’t flirting, no god forbid. You didn’t want to come off as a creep to dex and ruin what weird connection you’d built over one-sided-trauma dumping and him listening intently to your boring rambles.

You know he cares, or he wouldn’t be dropping by on your shifts to bring you snacks. He wouldn’t remember tiny things that even your best friend wouldn’t be able to tell.

Like last time when you were eating a greasy burger and he’d said nonchalantly “i thought you hated pickles” and watched you freeze. You don’t even remember when you’d mentioned that to him. And then even before that, when you’d forgotten your wool gloves in the chilly autumn winds, and he’d dropped off at your work with a new pair and a resigned sigh at your carelessness.

.

You think it was month 5 when you’d subconsciously leaned in each other’s personal space without the other minding. Normal things that felt too intimate for some reason. He’d walk you home sometimes, and your hands would gently intertwine with his, your palm slotting perfectly with his.

Or in other quiet ways where he’d keep you away from the sidewalk whenever you’d be walking to the bus stop together. Or when you’d extend an earbud to him and he’d 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 couldn’t sleep. He’d always appear when the tiredness would settle into the nook of your bones and you’d be too drained to drag yourself out of bed- coaxing you out of your messy nest and holding you close.

.

Dex thinks he couldn’t 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 weren’t 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 couldn’t 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 fisk’s weapon, not a monster- but him. He hadn’t realized how badly he craved the quiet domesticity you’d 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 he’s 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 it’s mapped by the sound of your laughter, by the image of your hair dancing to the rhythm of the cool autumn winds- then he’s 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, you’d 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 wouldn’t really be furnished.

Instead, his place was nice. Far nicer than yours, though comparing anything to your apartment felt a little unfair. Your place wasn’t 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 he’d entered your messed up apartment, always cleaning out your shelves, offering to arrange your books. You’d immediately ruined the atmosphere by leaving your shoes in the middle of his hallway.

“Sorry,” you’d muttered, dragging your shoes to the stand near the doorway.

“For what?”

“Messing up the cleanliness in your apartment.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, “You don’t need to apologize, not with me”

From that day onwards, you’d regularly visit his apartment. Sometimes he texted you, sometimes you boldly invited yourself over, sometimes you’d show up carrying takeout and immediately make yourself comfortable on his couch like you paid rent there. You didn’t, 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 you’d 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. You’d reach for his hand out in public, and watch as the stiffness in his shoulders relaxed. You’d swipe the residue crumbs left on his mouth and took notice of how he shuddered every time just a little.

.

║9:25PM 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 dex’s message.

Even for yours and Dex’s ungodly habit of appearing at each other’s apartments at random hours, this was pretty late.

Normally, you would’ve declined at such a late hour, but since it was the weekend you didn’t 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.

“You know normal people wait for their guests to knock first,” you chastised him as you stepped inside.

“You texted me when you got here.”

“That’s not the point.”

Dex stepped aside to let you enter.

“I think it is.”

You rolled your eyes. He wasn’t 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.

“You’re leaving your stuff everywhere.”

“This is my nesting process, you should get used to it”

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 didn’t 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.

“That guy is absolutely the murderer.”

“He isn’t.”

“How can you be so sure? He literally has murderer eyes.”

Dex looked away from the screen.

“Murderer eyes?”

“You know exactly what I mean, you’re an FBI agent…” you gave him a suspicious look.

“I really don’t.”

The bickering didn’t 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 couldn’t 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 wasn’t unusual for him. He looked at you a lot, but this felt different.

The air shifted and your heart picked up speed.

“Dex?”

His eyes flickered briefly to your lips before returning to your gaze, the movement so subtle you almost missed it.

“Hm?”

Suddenly every thought abandoned you.

A slow smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, as he caught onto your dazed expression.

“You forgot.”

Heat immediately crawled up your neck.

“Shut up.” 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 other’s 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 you’d 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.

“God, goodness, you are so soft,” He took in a deep breath, trying to find a semblance of composure because lord, you’d 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.

“All this for me, sweet girl?” Fuck, he couldn’t stop the embarrassing whine that pulled out of his chest from seeing you so eager, he loved seeing you like this, but he couldn’t 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.

“F-fuck, fuck, Dex, just give it to me already!” You couldn’t 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.

“Wont you show some patience, baby? I’m busy here” 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, “please, please? Please, dex. I need you, please” 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, “All you had to do was ask sweetly, princess,” before diving straight to your clothed clit.

“O-oh, oh Dex!” 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.

“Ngh, fffuck,” 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 didn’t remember he had a mission to complete.

“Mm…p-please Dex”

His finger pushed into you experimentally, and you’re 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.

“D-dex, n-ngh, god it’s so good” 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.

“Baby, your pussy’s going crazy right now, so fucking tight” he’s huffing out a snicker as he steps up his tempo, slamming his fingers repeatedly to that cushiony spot he’s 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 didn’t so much as budge.

“Let me.. let me taste, baby” he was practically glued to your pussy, but the sensitivity was getting too much.

“‘M too sensitive, dex, get off,” 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 you’d 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 he’d 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.

“Let me taste you, Dex” 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 .

“Ready, baby? how do you want it?” You nodded vigorously, hoping to convey him the sense of urgency you felt.

“Raw, m on birth control, Dex”

“Raw it is” He smirks.

He doesn’t 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. He’s 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 don’t inch away from his onslaught of fury against your pussy.

“L-lord , oh lord. I feel so f-full” 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 won’t stop moving now, the sofa is creaking under his brutal and almost feral movements. You can’t think, can’t speak, can’t 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.

“Baby you’re doing so good, so perfect.” 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.

“Say my fucking name, sweet girl. Tell me how fucking bad you want me.”

“Want you,” you whine, trying to get just a little more friction. “Fuck, Ben, I want you so bad, I need you-“

He’s pounding into you now, the echo of skin against skin reverberating around the living room, and you’d worry if the neighbors could hear if you weren’t 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 you’re going to be sore come tomorrow morning, but you hardly find it in you to care when he’s 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, “Breathe, baby, breathe- you can take it, you can take what I’m giving you.”

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. He’d never felt so light before, so free as your fingers brushed over his cheek, and you pulled him down against you.

“You okay?” He whispered against you, didn’t wanna disturb the fragile silence that coated you both.

“Mhm..’m okay” 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, “Please,” again.

He could only smile, tenderly, leaning down to press his mouth against yours in a brief kiss.

“Are you ready for me, again?” he asked, though he knew the answer.

.

You’d visited Dex’s 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, should’ve terrified you, but instead you found it embarrassingly comforting.

Which was why after waiting outside his apartment with food tucked under your arm, you’d called dex to open the door and he’d 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 Dex’s bedroom last week.

Twenty minutes of searching later, you found yourself kneeling in front of a cabinet you’d 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 weren’t 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 you’d 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 didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.

Maybe this isn’t 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 child’s 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.

“Dex.”

Your voice sounded strange,small, very unlike the girl with fire and determination blazing through her veins.

”Hey, love”

He sounded so normal.

You couldn’t believe it. How dare he call you love as if he didn’t stalk you obsessively before you even knew who he was?

For once, you seemed completely drained, “What is this?”

He didn’t 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 couldn’t lose you. He’d go insane, he’d 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.

”Does it matter?” 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.

“I made sure nothing happened to you, baby”. He seemed so certain, as if you’re life was his to decide.

You couldn’t stop the disbelieving laugh that rippled out of your chest, and you wiped the haze of tears from your face.

“I thought you were…” you start and stop yourself midway.

Because you don’t 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.

”I’ve always admired your fire. Youre so sure of everything, you’re so different from what i am baby. You can change me, i know you can. You need me just as i need you,” He was rambling now.

“Need you? I was doing fine on my down, dex! I was doing just fine! You were fucking stalking me, stalking me!”

”No, you weren’t doing fine. You were behind on rent, and Rodriguez was already finding another tenant to replace you, you think you wouldn’t be thrown to the streets if it wasn’t for me? I made him extend his deadline and was the one who stopped your boss from harassing you. You wouldn’t be anywhere without me.” His words were cruel, so cruel, so unlike him. So unlike the man you knew.

“So it was you? The one behind Rodriguez? Behind my boss?”

You watched him scoff, but he didn’t answer.

Suddenly, the hundred impossible coincidences didn’t 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 you’d run into him, where you’d 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 didn’t look regretful, he didn’t look guilty, he didn’t 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.

[interloved]

thinking about hyper codependent!benjamin poindexter who cannot do anything without you…

super clingy. dex follows you everywhere, and when i say everywhere, i mean… everywhere. if you’re going to the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water, he is there. if you leave the room to charge your phone, he is there. even if you excuse yourself to the bathroom to pee, he is there, following you around like a newborn puppy. that man has severe separation anxiety :(

not quite submissive in bed but not super dominant either. dex is more of a gentle dom service top. he wants to endear himself to you, make you in love with him; something he thinks he will only achieve by pleasing you. that is something you’ve been trying to tell him is not necessary—you love him for who he is, and you’ve been trying to tell him that no matter how he messes up, you’ll still love him. that your love isn’t given with conditions. every time the two of you breach this topic, he nods his pretty little head, but the words don’t seem to actually reach him. it’s like dex processes these words, files them away, but doesn’t take them to heart. like he is still afraid that as soon as he makes a mistake, you’ll dip. but with time, with lots and lots and lots of reassurance, words of affirmation and encouragement, he will unlearn this behaviour. just be patient with him <3

dex could never hurt you during sex or initiate it, but if you were into it, he would reconsider. still, dex being dex, he would still be afraid of doing something wrong and scaring you away that he would just let you lead him in doing it. like when he’s thrusting so deep in you that your legs are shaking, and you gently intertwine your palm with the back of his hand, guiding it to your throat… dex won’t admit it, but it kinda really fucking turns him on.

lowkey likes watching you sleep. it’s hella creepy, he knows, and it’s why he’ll always do this in secret. it’s something he’s embarrassed of, something he doesn’t want you to ever find out. but he’s just so fond of your sleeping facial expressions. most of the time, he just admires the way you look during your sleep, relaxed and comfortable and entirely at peace. privately, he thinks it’s so adorable.

dex is sort of like a crow in his love. he’ll rarely say the words “i love you”, but he will shower you with gifts and buy you things that remind him of you the same way some crows bring their favourite humans trinkets. he’ll dance around it, too. like when you’re coming home, you see this inconspicuous, tiny thing on the table. no note, no previous text from dex, no nothing. it’s just there. and when dex comes home, and you’ve unwrapped it and are squealing with joy as you give him kisses and hugs, he’ll act clueless. dropping words like, “huh… hasn’t that been sitting on the table since yesterday?”.

dex is no stranger to feeling alone. it is because of this that he always makes sure to check in on you. usually, when you wake up, he’s already gone, but there’s traces of him everywhere: a little ‘good morning’ note next to your bedside table or a breakfast on a plate in the kitchen, still warm and fresh. during work, he often sends you texts. it’s a common occurrence for your phone to light up with a little ‘ping’ during your shift, with a super dry and vaguely cryptic text like “requesting update.”, and even though he writes like he’s drafting a professional email to his supervisor, it makes you smile. it shows you dex cares, and boy, if only you know how much he cares—the things he would do for you.

all in all: dex is the best boyfriend ever. he comes with a lot of perks like, he’s surprisingly good at fixing stuff and repairing things, and, of course, the fact that he’s super, incredibly, out-of-this-world level handsome.

take under advisement that he requires plenty of kisses (emphasis on PLENTY!), hugs and encouragement, and you’ll be good to go!

[honeysucklewatr]

18+ benjamin poindexter is big, needy, and pathetic.

at first you were afraid of what bullseye can do.

you didn’t know benjamin poindexter, but you knew of that other side of him. the blood on his hands that he acted like didn’t exist or just didn’t care to dwell on. how capable he is of destruction that it followed him everywhere he went.

but then he met you.

well, first he followed you. he found your address and place of work. found your parents house and your coworkers husband who stared too long at you when he picked up his wife.

dex watched you walk home from afar because someone should make sure you’re safe, right?

but you’re attentive and when he starts to get closer, you notice him. he’s not hard to miss, all that muscle mass and that deafening stare. you lock eyes with him at the grocery store. then, at your local coffee shop when he lifted his hat and visibly gulped. he finally builds up the courage to talk to you then and buys you a cup of coffee, plus some sweet pastry because he knew you hadn’t eaten yet, even though you didn’t tell him.

though when he slips up that the gym by your house is nice, you just knew.

“did i mention i lived around there?” you blink at him.

his smile reaches his eyes, crinkling beautifully. “i believe so.”

calling his bluff and inching closer, you press on, “i believe you’ve been following me, Benjamin.”

everything in his face drops and his expression falters. “no… i just—i saw you and i thought,”

“—it’s okay,” you smile, lifting your drink and sipping slowly. eye’s glued to his as they began to soften. “i can learn things too. really interesting things officer.”

he blinks hard, “i didn’t tell you about my job…”

“and yet? you’d be surprised how much information you can find online.”

the words die in his mouth and he’s left dumbfounded and speechless. still, he stays and he asks for number. you give him it. you could ask him to anything and he’ll say yes or soundlessly change the odds so they’re all in your favour. it’s not coercion and it’s almost worse than obsession, but the control is all in your hands. he is at your beck and call willingly.

so when he you’re mad at him, he doesn’t know what to do. he just falls apart.

“please,” he begs over the phone, “i’ll be good i swear. i’ll stop fighting just let me come home.”

from his tone you could tell he was just done crying and it just sounded pathetically beautiful.

“this is not your home. this is my house.” you coo as you stir your dinner. “stop calling me dex.”

you hang up without listening to the rest of his pleading. though less than 10 minutes later, he’s at your front door, begging again.

“baby,” eyes red and puffy, “i need you, i can’t breathe without you. please, please, don’t cut me off again, just—” he breathes as he ghosts his arm by your shoulders like he’s asking for permission. “can i please stay?”

you sigh and let him inside the house. he silently walks in, muttering a quiet thank you as he passes you. as soon as you close door and turn, dex is already on his knees.

“what the hell are you doing dex?”

dropping to his knees, his hands caress the backs of your thighs, dropping his head and burying it between them. gripping you tightly like he could bare letting go. “please take me back. nothing is good without you and it’s making me fucking sick, please,” practically blubbering at this point.

he was so strong and his biceps wrapped around you effortlessly. you could feel the strength just radiating off of him always, like an ever glowing essence.

you sigh, hand touching the nape of his neck and travelling up through his hair while he hums in contentment, “please stand up.”

the sound that he makes was teetering the line of desperation and relief. his lips press against the plush of your thigh while his hands rise to cup your ass. with your hand still buried in his hair, you pull him up with a slight tug, trying to get him to stand. though he keeps slowly rising, kissing up your side and dancing over your stomach, the fabric rising with every movement. a soft gasp escapes your lips and his touch slides up your spine, a shiver running through you. he stops just by your neck when you tug his hair harder and he hisses your name though one would argue it was a moan. you shove him gently and tell him to sit down, though you knew he could’ve stopped you.

you tend to his wounds and wipe his face and he watches you the whole time with puppy eyes. you share your dinner with him but you don’t touch again then, he only steals glances between bites.

within the span of an hour he’s inching closer to you on the couch and he’s watching you when he thinks you’re not looking. no one really cares about the news playing on the television as it repeats something about the AVTF.

his heavy hand rests just under your chest as he pulls you in and buries his nose in your hair, taking a long deep breath in. memorizing your scent like it gave him life.

by the end of night dex is situated between your legs, groaning like it hurts to part from you. he whispers soft thank you’s like he’s grateful for this meal you’ve provided. pushing your legs up higher over his head while you pant and squirm. but dex takes more control then, ignoring your pleas to slow down and dragging you closer to his mouth. maw slack and relentless as he laps and teases. his strong arms wrap and hook around your thighs. tongue teasing the sensitive bud for what felt like eternity. you’ll push his head away to no avail, weakly spent as you attempt it.

“dex, enough. i can’t,” you pant, voice bordering on barely concealed exhaustion and blissful satisfaction.

he shakes his head against you and that only makes you gasp again, throwing your head back.

“not until you promise hmm?” he says between his drunken moans, “you can’t leave me.”

crying out from overstimulating pleasure you nod, “okay, fuck— i won’t. you can stay.”

looking up at you through his hooded eyes, he smiles with them before kissing your inner thigh. he leaves gentle kisses to let you cool off, letting the feeling subside for barely a minute before diving right back into his ministrations. he lets you squeeze yours legs around his head and writhe as you say his name.

“now really try to suffocate me with these,” he says as he squeezes your thighs harder around his neck, turning his head to bite the plush of your thighs.

you know you’ll let him in again. you’ll always let him come back. maybe one day you’ll tell him how you follow him too.

can you tell i just rewatched the whole show again?

[monicfever]

what if reader is really trying to go somewhere but dex wants them so stay, so they do and a little later if dex is asleep or distracted, they leave and spend a little too long at the place they're at. and when reader finally comes home dex is SPIRALLING and almost in tears because he thinks he's a problem for reader... my clingy man

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄. 𝜗𝜚 dex.

r e q u e s t e d ♡

What was meant to be only a quick trip stretches into hours, and when you finally return home you find your boyfriend unraveling, panic and shame spilling out as he’s convinced your absence means you’re slipping away from him.

　 It wasn’t supposed to stretch like this.

A couple of hours, that’s all you’d promised, a birthday drink, a handful of hellos, maybe a toast or two before slipping back out into the night. That was how you’d rationalized it when you pulled on your jacket and stepped out, leaving your phone behind on the counter like a deliberate act of rebellion. Freedom in the shape of silence.

The apartment you walked out of had felt controlled and still; the place you’ve landed now feels like the opposite. Bass ripples up through the floorboards, the kind that sticks to your ribs and makes your blood beat in time with the music. Your friend’s laughter rings out somewhere behind you, the sound splintered by the press of bodies and chatter.

You’ve lost track of how many drinks you’ve accepted, only that the glass in your hand keeps changing shape, a highball here, a coupe there, always refilled before you’ve even realized it’s empty. Time moves soft and blurry, gold and warm and careless. You know the city outside has slipped into late night, but you’re still tucked in this pocket of noise and neon, thinking vaguely about slipping away but not yet making the move.

Before this, your boyfriend had spent the whole evening trying to anchor you with him. Dex had a way of making even soft words feel like weight; stay, don’t go, just stay here with me tonight. You’d nodded at first, the way you always did when his gaze went glassy with panic. Yes, you’d stay. Yes, it could wait. Yes, you were his.

But later, when his attention had snagged on something else, you slipped out. You didn’t even risk shoes with laces, just slid into your boots, jacket half-zipped, and let the door click softly behind you. He would wake up if you waited for sleep to take him. He always did, as if your absence was some low-frequency sound only he could hear.

The city air had felt electric after that, like it knew you were running from something. This party wasn’t even special, but you couldn’t bring yourself to bail. Your friend’s birthday, the invite you’d said yes to months ago, you told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. That Dex would settle, that he’d calm down, that you’d only be gone a couple hours.

Now the hours have stacked up. The bar’s energy has dulled. Laughter thinning, glasses half-empty, people pulling on coats, calling cabs, ducking out into the cold. And suddenly the thought of Dex is there, unignorable, coiling low in your stomach; not just him, but the way his eyes would track you when you slipped your keys into your bag, the way his hand would find yours like a question he couldn’t stop asking.

You glance toward the door, the night feels heavier now. It’s late enough that he’s probably awake, pacing, thinking. You should probably go. You’re sure of it in the same way you’re sure of the bitter taste on your tongue, the ache in your temples, the smear of sweat at your collarbone.

You weave through the last cluster of friends, a soft smile and a clumsy goodbye hug for the birthday girl. “Happy birthday,” you smile, and she laughs, oblivious to the weight in your chest. Outside, the air hits you like a splash of cold water, sharp against flushed cheeks and the remnants of a drink too many.

You call a cab with unsteady fingers. Every step toward the waiting vehicle pulls at your stomach, a low, constant twist. Dex. Dex at home. Dex pacing the apartment, voice muffled through walls that aren’t really walls when your mind can hear him in every creak, every sigh.

You left your phone deliberately, and it presses at the back of your skull: no tracking, no calls, no “where are you, what’s happening?” It was the only way you could leave, the only way to breathe outside of his orbit for a few hours. But now that distance curls around your chest, a gnawing panic, because you can’t know how much he’s twisting in the apartment, what loops he’s running through in your absence.

The cab door shuts. Rain has started, spitting in ribbons across the windshield, and the driver hums low music you barely hear. You slump back into the seat, the warmth of the car a small, temporary reprieve, but the dread coils tighter as the city lights blur past. Every red glow, every flicker in the rearview mirror, whispers he’s awake, he’s awake, he’s thinking of you, he’s spiraling.

Even as the cab drifts forward, carrying you closer to him, closer to the moment you’ll see the fallout of your absence, you can’t shake the tight knot in your stomach that’s been growing since you stepped into the night. The storm isn’t outside, it’s waiting for you at home.

The cab tires hiss as it slows to a stop. You step out, a little unsteady, the alcohol in your system tugging at your balance and nudging your chest into a faster rhythm. Each step toward your building feels heavier than the last, every footfall dragging your stomach down with it.

By the time you reach the door, your palms are slick, heart hammering as if it already knows what’s waiting behind it. You pause, take a long, deep breath, letting it shiver out of you slowly, and then push the door open.

Dex is already there, blocking the threshold before you’ve even taken a full step inside. His chest is tight, shoulders coiled, jaw clenched so hard you can see the line of it under his skin. “Where the hell were you?” His voice is almost shaking with emotion, and then it cracks, the kind of anger that comes from fear and betrayal rolled into one.

Your stomach drops. He’s mad. His hands twitch at his sides, fingers curled like he wants to reach out and grip you, but something in him tells him not to, that he can’t risk hurting you.

You open your mouth, start to explain, but he slams the door fully shut behind you with enough force to rattle the frame. The sound echoes, a punctuation to all the dread you’d been carrying in the cab. “You said you’d stay,” he snaps. “You fucking said! And you left! You lied!”

His eyes flicker over you, wide and frantic, pupils blown, as if searching for the version of you that promised him safety; the version he feels like he lost. His chest heaves, shallow, ragged, like he’s trying to suck in air. You can see it in the glossy sheen of his eyes, that shimmer that teeters on the edge of tears, and the way his hands shake, loose at his sides, twitching, like he’s trying to catch something that’s already gone.

“How could you do this to me?” His words are jagged, tearing themselves out of his throat before he can soften them. “You said you’d stay. You told me you’d stay. You fucking liar.” It’s more than just being gone. It’s betrayal. It’s the feeling that the person he relies on, the person he trusts, isn’t really there, that you had to lie just to get away from him. You watch him reel, fists curling and unclenching like he can’t hold onto anything, not even himself.

You can see the thought-process behind those eyes: I’m too much. I always ruin things. I’m a problem. They’re leaving me because I’m broken. You weren’t gone that long. You weren’t trying to hurt him. But his mind doesn’t measure in minutes; it measures in stakes, in safety, in the impossibility of holding onto someone who disappears, even briefly.

You open your mouth, his name, an explanation, you’re not even sure what, but he cuts you off before you can form it.

“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t start with excuses. You left your phone here on purpose.” His eyes flick to the table where your phone still sits, screen black. “So I couldn’t reach you. So I couldn’t stop you from…” He swallows hard. “…from leaving me.”

The apartment is a mess, papers half-crumpled on the floor, a chair knocked over, a glass on its side. Dex, who alphabetizes his cereal boxes, whose entire morning ritual is a clockwork loop of order and repetition, standing in the middle of chaos like a man in a wrecked boat.

His voice cracks on the next sentence. “Am I too much? Is that it? Am I—” He gestures vaguely at himself, a broken, jerky motion — “—a problem? Did you need to get away from me that bad?” He laughs then, but it’s a hollow, brittle thing. “You had to sneak out. Like I’m some - - some monster you have to tiptoe around.”

The words spill out faster, overlapping, the way panic does when it’s been caged too long. He doesn’t pause for you to answer. He doesn’t seem like he could. His thoughts are too loud; you can see it in the twitch of his hands, the rapid dart of his eyes, the way his shoulders hunch as if bracing for a blow.

“You can’t just… vanish,” His voice rises as if he’s running out of air and words at the same time. “I thought —- I thought I could .. I thought you—” He stops, biting his lip, shaking his head. His eyes flick to the floor, then back up at you, glossy, frantic. “Do you even want me here?”

“Of course I do,” you say immediately, trying to slip beneath the roar in his head. You step closer, slow enough not to spook him, and your hands find his wrists, warm palms closing gently over skin. “Hey—Dex. Look at me. Right here. Breathe with me.”

He jerks once under your touch, as if he wants to pull back, but doesn’t. His chest rises fast, shuddering, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching like he’s chewing on the panic. You slide one hand up his arm, to his shoulder, thumb moving in small, grounding circles. “In and out. That’s all. Just in… and out…”

“I—” His breath catches. “You lied to me. You promised. And then you were gone. I was—” his voice cracks, and the rest dissolves into a half‑choked sound. His hands twitch toward you, then stop, then twitch again like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to hold on.

“I know,” you whisper, leaning in until your forehead almost touches his, until he can’t escape the calm you’re building. “I’m so sorry, Dex. I messed up. I shouldn’t have left like that. That’s on me.” Your thumbs press lightly into his pulse points. “You’re not too much. You’re not a problem. I love you. I’m here.”

He inhales sharply, but this time it’s softer, like something cracking open instead of tightening. You guide his hands up, pressing them against your chest so he can feel your heartbeat under his palms. “Here. Feel that? I’m not going anywhere. Just breathe with me. In…”

His fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, clutching, still shaking but following the rhythm you’re giving him. “…out,” you murmur, keeping your voice a tether. You repeat it until his breath starts to stutter less, until his eyes flicker shut and the glossy panic gives way to something smaller. You stay right there, touch and voice both steady, holding him while he shakes, whispering over and over, “I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.”

His eyes open, and a scowl comes like a flash of lightning. “You smell like alcohol,” he observes, half‑hoarse, half‑accusation. The words aren’t loud, but they cut, riding on the tail end of his panic.

You let out the smallest, unsteady laugh, not mocking but soft, “Yeah,” you admit gently, brushing your thumb across his temple. “I had a couple. Birthday party, remember? But I’m here now. With you.”

His jaw works, trying to hang onto anger but slipping back toward panic, his shoulders rising high, high, high. You guide him with your hands, coaxing him toward the couch, not pushing, just a steady pressure backwards until he sits. He goes down stiffly, still clutching your shirt, but he’s sitting.

You kneel in front of him, one hand still at his wrist, the other moving up to cup his face, palm warm against his cheek. His skin is fever‑warm, and your thumb strokes the corner of his mouth where his scowl trembles. “Stay with me.” you inhale slowly, exaggerated, so he can see the rise of your chest and mimic it.

He tries to copy you. There’s a flicker, anger dissolving into hurt, hurt dissolving into fear. “Don’t—” he starts, voice breaking, “don’t do that again.”

His voice cracks on the word “again.” His breath still comes too fast, shoulders rising and falling under a weight you can’t see. “If I’m—” he starts again, but the words knot, break, tumble out anyway. “If I’m too much, just—just say it. Don’t sneak out. Don’t lie. Don’t make me think—” He pauses like coming to terms with a harsh truth. “You wanted to get away from me. You did want to get away from me, didn’t you?”

You press your palm firmer to his cheek, thumb stroking a slow circle over his skin. “I didn’t leave because of you. I wanted to be there for a friend. That’s all.” You keep your eyes on his, not letting him slip away into the gaps of his own thinking. “I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m here now.”

He swallows, his expression flickering between anger and desperation. “Promise?” It’s a child’s question asked in an adult’s voice.

“I promise.” You brush his hair back from his face.

He clings tighter, then tighter still, a low sound caught in his throat, following your hands when you shift. You start moving through the apartment because it gives you something to do, because you can feel the mess pressing on him as much as his panic presses on you. A glass tipped over on the counter. Papers scattered, pens knocked to the floor. It’s all out of character for him, and you know it’s feeding the spiral.

You pick up a bottle. A book. A pillow from the floor. He follows you, magnetized, hands brushing at your elbow, your back, as though he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loses contact. “I just…” he mutters behind you, “…don’t want to lose you. I can’t.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say softly, stacking dishes, tossing stray wrappers, your motions slow so he can watch. “I’m cleaning up. We’re resetting. Breathe with me while I do this.”

He nods, a jerky little movement, shadowing you step for step. He’s still angry, you can feel it, but underneath the anger there’s only fear. Fear that if he looks away from you, you’ll dissolve.

“Kiss?” The word is small and uncertain between you. It’s not a demand, not even a question in the usual sense; it’s a plea, soft and childlike, the shape of a need he can’t dress in anything tougher. His fingers hover at your sleeve, not tugging, just waiting.

You lean in and brush your mouth over his. His hands loosen a little at your sides, then clutch again, like he’s checking that you’re real. “I love you,” you affirm against his lips, and then another kiss, until you feel his shaking start to ebb.

When you finally move to finish tidying the last bits of the room, he trails after you, eyes never leaving your movements. The apartment quiets as you set things back in place, and then you turn to him, palm out. “Come on,” you say softly. “Let’s get you changed.”

He follows you back to the bedroom without a word. You help him peel off the sweat-damp shirt, the fabric clinging to his back. He doesn’t look away, even when you’re focused on buttons and zippers, as though a blink would risk losing you. You find him a soft tee, clean shorts; he lets you guide his arms through the sleeves, his movements pliant but shaky.

The sheets are cool when you lay him down. He immediately reaches for you, palms sliding to your hips, pulling you down with him before you can straighten. His eyes are locked to yours. “Stay,” he whines, the word half a breath, half a command.

You settle beside him, threading your fingers through his hair. “I’m staying.”

He presses his forehead to your collarbone, arms cinched tight around your waist, his heartbeat thudding against your ribs. You feel the tremor still inside him, the way he fights closing his eyes, lids fluttering but never dropping all the way. His gaze keeps darting up at your face, worried you’ll sneak out again.

“Sleep,” you coax, brushing his temple with your thumb. “It’s okay.”

He shakes his head minutely, nose brushing your skin. “If I close my eyes, you’ll leave.”

You don’t try to argue. You’ve already learned what that does, words against a storm only scatter into noise. He won’t believe you right now anyway. Instead you exhale slowly, the sound soft against his hair, and let your palms slide beneath the hem of his shirt, fingers finding the heat of his back. Skin to skin. He inhales sharply, not in surprise but in relief, muscles shuddering under your hands as if you’d just turned on a light in a locked room.

His breathing stays uneven. Yours isn’t much better. The alcohol still fuzzes the edges of everything, and closing your eyes makes the ceiling tilt, but you do it anyway, palms splayed over the plane of his spine. Neither of you speaks. He holds you as if that will keep you from dissolving. You hold him as if that will keep him from breaking.

You don’t tell him it’s okay. You don’t tell him you’ll stay. You just stay.

started 9.28.2025. finished 9.29.2025

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©️ monicfever 2025