Military!Dex who has zero actual social skills in the barracks, but the second anyone asks about home he lights up like a damn Christmas tree. He’s that guy pulling out his wallet to show off picture after picture of you — you smiling at the camera, you in his old hoodie, you kissing his cheek. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” he brags, voice full of rare, genuine pride. The other guys tease him for being whipped, but he doesn’t care. Talking about you is the only time he feels normal.
Military!Dex who will never, ever admit to you that he sometimes hires private eyes to keep tabs while he’s deployed. He tells himself it’s just worry. He’s halfway across the world with a rifle in his hands and nightmares in his head; he just needs to know you’re safe, that you’re waiting for him, that no one’s trying to take you away. Every report that comes back saying you’re okay lets him breathe a little easier.
Military!Dex who used to nervously twirl a challenge coin between his knuckles to keep his hands busy and his mind steady. The day he decided to propose, he replaced that coin with your engagement ring. Now when the anxiety creeps in, he spins the ring on its chain around his neck instead — a constant reminder of you, that you’re his, that he has something worth coming home to.
Military!Dex who writes you letters that are almost painfully honest at 0300 when he can’t sleep. He never sends the ones where he sounds too broken. Instead he sends the ones where he tells you he’s counting down the days, that he’s being careful behind the scope, that he’s trying to be better for you.
Military!Dex who fucks you like crazy the second he’s back on American soil. The insecurity hits hardest after long deployments — he’s convinced you could do better, but the way you look at him and the way you moan his name keeps the darkness quiet.
Military!Dex who keeps a photo of you tucked inside his helmet. During long, silent hours on overwatch, he pulls it out and traces your face with his thumb. You’re the only thing that makes the violent thoughts fade. His reason to keep his aim true and his mind intact.
ꫂ᭪݁ Includes: (800 wc) ..... f!reader, mentions of violent thoughts & ptsd, pwop, p in v, missionary position, creampie, est relationship. takes place when dex was in the army as a sniper.
"Clank. Clank. Clank."
The sharp metallic rhythm of dog tags against the wooden floor pulled you from sleep. Dawn light filtered weakly through the curtains of the small off-base apartment you shared. There he was, on the floor beside the bed in nothing but low-slung gray sweatpants, muscles flexing and glistening with a light sheen of sweat as he powered through perfect push-ups.
Every controlled drop and rise of his body made those tags clank. The sound was familiar now, almost comforting. You knew what it meant. The adrenaline from training always mixed with the ghosts he carried from the field—long hours behind the scope, the weight of every perfect shot, the violent thoughts that never quite left him. Working out was his anchor. It quieted the noise from his childhood, the darkness that still lurked at the edges of his mind. He wanted to be better. For you. You were the only north star he’d ever had.
His sharp eyes flicked up as you stirred, rolling over to face him. The moment your gazes locked, his rhythm faltered for half a second before he pushed up smoothly to his knees. “Hey baby,” he murmured, voice rough from exertion. “Sorry if I woke you.”
You smiled sleepily, reaching out. “It’s okay… as long as you’re here with me.”
The months he’d been gone had been brutal. The worry never really left you—knowing he was the best sniper they had didn’t stop the fear that something in his head might finally crack under the pressure. But right now he was here, solid and real and looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered.
Dex rose to his feet and climbed onto the bed, crawling over you with that predatory grace. He slowly dragged the covers down, revealing the thin nightie that barely covered your chest and thighs. His gaze darkened, hungry but still carrying that fragile edge beneath it.
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then lower—trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck and across your collarbone. One strap slipped easily off your shoulder under his fingers. He tugged the silky fabric lower, exposing your breasts, and groaned softly as he latched onto a nipple, sucking and licking until you arched into his mouth with a quiet whimper.
Dex didn’t waste time. He shoved the hem of your nightie up around your waist, yanked his sweatpants down just enough to free his hard length, and reached for a pillow. He lifted your hips and slid it beneath you, angling you perfectly.
Then he was on you, hands braced on either side of your head, caging you in as he pushed inside in one smooth, deep stroke. You gasped at the stretch, and he immediately started fucking you into the mattress. Every thrust hit deep and perfect, the pillow letting him grind even further.
His dog tags dangled right above your face, swinging with every powerful snap of his hips like a hypnotic pendulum. You reached up, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him into a messy kiss. When he pulled back for air, you tilted your head up and gently caught the tags between your lips.
Dex’s eyes widened, breath hitching. You held his stare—exactly the way he needed—and bit down softly on the cool metal, tongue brushing against it.
“Fuck…” he breathed, voice cracking with raw need. The sight made something in him snap. His hips drove harder, faster, pushing into you while he kept his eyes locked on yours. He couldn’t look away. He wouldn’t. You kept biting his dog tags, moaning around the metal, eyes glassy with pleasure as he fucked you exactly how you both needed.
The coil in your belly tightened unbearably fast. Dex’s rhythm started to falter, his control fraying at the edges. “Please don’t ever leave me,” he gasped against your mouth as he started to come, burying himself as deep as he could, hips jerking with every pulse.
“I won’t, baby,” you cried out, clenching hard around him as your own orgasm crashed over you. “I’m right here—Dex—right here.”
You trembled beneath him, tears of overwhelming pleasure slipping from the corners of your eyes. He stayed inside you, panting, forehead pressed to yours while the aftershocks rolled through both of you. After a moment, Dex reached up with shaky fingers and lifted the chain from around his own neck. Still buried deep in your pulsing heat, he slipped his dog tags over your head, letting them settle warm against your chest.
“They look better on you,” he whispered, voice thick with something dangerously close to vulnerability. His hand splayed possessively over the tags now resting between your breasts. “Stay right here with me.”
You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close as the early morning light grew brighter around you.
