I just saw someone say "there is no ethical consumption under capitalism" as an argument for boycotting AO3
Babe AO3 is a nonprofit. They do not exist under the ethics of capitalism. Fanfiction is legal because no money is ever exchanged around it. (All the money given to AO3 is used to maintain their servers and pay their lawyers to help keep fanfiction legal.)
Fanfiction is one of the few things in this world - probably the one singular form of entertainment that does not exist within the confines of capitalism. So by your own logic, even if you hate some of the content on AO3, it's inherently the only ethical thing to consume in the whole world.
virgin fbi!dex who cries during sex because hes just sososo infatuated with you and cant believe he's actually inside of you. virgin fbi!dex who then cums way too early, only to cry more because he thinks you'll be mad and leave him forever. then he's crying more because you're just so nice to him, telling him you'll stay if he keeps fucking up. now hes crying cause it hurts in a good way. and hes crying because hes crying. just a total weeping mess omg
crying doesnt look like a real word after typing this
hes sooo :((
so weepy and sensitive to everything around him. hes crying because hes crying, then hes hard again because youre talking to him so softly and reassuring him. now hes crying bc hes hard and feels like a perv :( poor baby
he wouldn’t even be crying for any real reason, he just feels so good because he’s making you feel good. he is so eager to please you, he would do anything if you just ask. he worshiped the ground you walk on, the fact that someone like you gave him a chance? he didn’t know how he could have ever gotten this lucky.
you even wipe away his tears, “shhh baby, don’t cry, you’re doing so good” and it makes him whine and shake so hard you feel it shift the mattress.
when you finish he’s still teary eyed, hunched over you and looking like a lost puppy. “i did good, right? tell me i did good, please, you think im a good guy, right?”
he doesn’t even think of being called good boy. doesn’t even crave it. he just wants you to tell him he is really one of the good guys, how he couldnt possibly do anything bad.
creator's note: he is ALWAYS whiny in bed, no matter what hes receiving. and, no, i am not speaking from experience (i totally am).
warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), porn w/o plot, oral sex (male receiving), overstimulation, power dynamics, inexperienced sub! dex, slight begging, praise kink, slight rough handling (hair pulling, tight grip), not proofread.
word count: 1.5k
He’d never admit it, not outright. Not to you, not to anyone. But the second your knees hit the floor in front of him, Dex goes quiet in a way you’ve never seen before—like someone reached inside and flipped a switch.
The kind of quiet that isn’t peace. It’s heavy, taut, vibrating under his skin.
He’s sitting on the edge of your bed, hands gripping his own knees so tightly his knuckles blanch, jaw working like he’s chewing over words that won’t come. And you—well, you’re looking up at him with that calm, steady gaze that always undoes him, hands sliding up the insides of his thighs slow, deliberate, until you feel the twitch of muscle under your fingertips.
“Relax,” you murmur, soft but firm, like it’s not a request.
His breath stutters. He tries. God, he tries, but his body is a live wire. It’s the kind of thing you can feel more than see, a trembling tension wound through every muscle, like he’s not sure whether to shove you away or pull you closer.
And when you tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, when you free him from the thin cotton and watch his cock bounce against the flat of his stomach, flushed and leaking, his brain just…short-circuits.
“F-fuck,” he breathes, voice cracking on the word.
Your mouth curves in a slow, cruel smile as you glance up at him, eyes sharp and steady. “Language, Dex.”
The way his throat works around a swallow, the desperate bob of his Adam’s apple—you’ve got him, and you know it.
You take your time about it, stroking him once, twice, just to feel the weight and heat of him in your hand. He’s hard already, so painfully hard it makes your own chest ache to look at him. You can feel him twitch against your palm, his hips jerking like he’s fighting himself.
You lean in and lick a slow stripe up the underside of his cock, from the base to the leaking head. Dex chokes on a sound—something high, strangled, completely unguarded. His head tips back, eyes screwing shut, a sharp line between his brows like the pleasure hurts.
You hum against him, low and pleased, and his hands finally leave his knees, hovering awkwardly in the air like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
“Touch me,” you say, soft but cutting through the haze he’s in.
His hands land in your hair almost instantly, tentative but needy, and when you take him into your mouth—slow, letting him feel the wet heat of you, the careful drag of your tongue along the underside—Dex makes a sound that’s almost broken.
It’s not words. It’s never words with him, not when you’ve got him like this. Just noises—sharp, ragged, punched out of him.
“Ah—God—f-fuck,” he gasps, hips jerking up before he catches himself, knuckles white where they’re tangled in your hair. “Mmh—”
You take him deeper, swallowing around him, and the noise that tears out of him is pure desperation. It’s almost pathetic, the way he’s trying so hard to hold still, to be good, but his thighs are shaking under your hands, muscles jumping every time you hollow your cheeks and suck.
You pull back just enough to breathe, slick spit connecting your lips to the flushed, wet head of his cock, and he makes this helpless sound, high and keening, like you’ve just killed him.
“Look at me,” you tell him, and his eyes snap open immediately—wide, glassy, blown-black pupils swallowing up blue.
“Fuck—please,” he chokes out, voice wrecked, but you don’t let him finish. You take him back down, slower this time, drawing it out until he’s trembling so hard you can feel it in the way his hands tighten in your hair, like he’s begging for mercy he can’t put into words.
Every little twitch, every broken noise, every sharp gasp is yours to take, and you savor it—slow drags of your tongue, the wet glide of your lips, the obscene slurp when you pull back just enough to breathe again.
You hum around him, the vibration making him jolt. Dex sobs. It’s quiet, choked, but it’s there, raw and desperate, spilling out of him in a way he doesn’t even notice because he’s too far gone.
His thighs are trembling now, every muscle strung tight like a bowstring, and you know—God, you know—he’s close. The erratic twitch of his hips gives him away, the frantic edge to his breathing, the way his grip in your hair has gone from tentative to bruising.
“Please,” he rasps, voice breaking. “Oh God, please—don’t—don’t stop—”
You don’t.
You take him deeper, swallow around him, and when he falls apart, it’s with a wrecked, strangled cry, hips jerking despite himself, every line of him locked tight for a split second before he’s spilling down your throat.
It’s messy—God, it’s so messy. He’s shaking, gasping, muttering half-words that don’t make sense, like his brain’s completely fried.
You keep going, slow and lazy now, letting him feel every aftershock, every twitch of oversensitivity that makes him whimper and twist but never actually push you away.
“Too much,” he finally manages, voice barely there, high and pleading, but you don’t let up, not entirely. Just enough to make him sob again, sharp and raw, until his head tips forward and his forehead rests against your shoulder, shaking.
His weight folds over you slowly, like gravity finally got its hooks in him. His breath is ragged and hot where it ghosts over your neck, his forehead damp against your skin. You can feel his hands still tangled in your hair, trembling, unsure whether to hold on or let go.
“Shhh,” you murmur, easing back just enough to let him breathe but keeping your hand on him, a lazy, loose grip that makes his hips twitch helplessly. “Easy, Dex. You’re alright.”
A broken little sound spills out of him—half a sob, half a plea—and you almost smile. He doesn’t even realize how much he’s giving away right now, how wide open he is in this moment. His usual sharp edges, his barbed wire and teeth, are just…gone. What’s left is trembling and raw and achingly soft.
“You—” His voice cracks, barely audible against your shoulder. “I can’t—fuck, I can’t—”
“You can,” you interrupt, calm and steady, and you tighten your fist around him just a fraction, slow and measured. “You will.”
His body jerks like the words hit something deep, his thighs clenching under your hands. He makes another of those wrecked noises, strangled in his throat, and you can feel him trying—trying—to hold still, to be good for you.
But he’s already oversensitive, the sharp edge of his first orgasm bleeding into something deeper, sharper. His hips twitch despite himself, tiny, involuntary movements that give away just how close to unraveling he still is.
“Please,” he whispers, hoarse and quiet, almost like he doesn’t want you to hear it. “I can’t—s’too much—”
You tilt your head just enough to catch his glassy, ruined stare, pupils blown wide and rimmed red. “You can take it,” you say softly, not unkind but firm enough to leave no room for argument. “You’re gonna take it for me.”
The breath he drags in is sharp and shaky, like it hurts. And then—God—his hips roll, desperate and mindless, into your hand.
“That’s it,” you murmur, coaxing, your thumb stroking lazily over the slick, sensitive head. “Just like that, Dex. Be good for me.”
He’s not making words anymore—just broken, high-pitched sounds, whimpers and sharp gasps that tear out of his chest without his permission. His hands tighten in your hair again, his forehead still pressed to your shoulder like if he looks at you, if he really sees what you’re doing to him, he’ll shatter completely.
And maybe he will.
Because when you twist your wrist just right, dragging your fist down slow and tight, his whole body jerks like a live wire. His breath stutters, sharp and desperate, and then he’s spilling again, a second orgasm ripped out of him so fast and hard it’s almost painful.
The sound he makes this time isn’t sharp or ragged. It’s quiet. Shaken. Like something broke loose inside him and he doesn’t know how to put it back together.
You ease him through it, gentle but unrelenting, stroking him until the last tremor fades and he’s slumped completely against you, boneless and wrecked. His breath hitches in little aftershocks, and when you finally let go, his cock soft and spent against his thigh, his hands slip free of your hair like he doesn’t even have the strength to hold on anymore.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of his breathing—uneven, shaky, the quiet, stunned silence of someone who’s never been undone like that before.
Then, softly, so soft you almost miss it, he murmurs, “…fuck.”
A laugh hums in your chest, quiet and fond, and you press a kiss to the side of his temple. “Language,” you murmur again, teasing, and the sound he makes in response is somewhere between a groan and a whimper.
“You—” His voice is rough, frayed. “… I don’t—”
“I know,” you soothe, a hand sliding up to tangle in his hair, gentle now, grounding. “I know, baby. You’re okay.”
His throat bobs as he gulped.
Because God help him, he’ll always be (more than) okay around you.
he wouldn’t even be crying for any real reason, he just feels so good because he’s making you feel good. he is so eager to please you, he would do anything if you just ask. he worshiped the ground you walk on, the fact that someone like you gave him a chance? he didn’t know how he could have ever gotten this lucky.
you even wipe away his tears, “shhh baby, don’t cry, you’re doing so good” and it makes him whine and shake so hard you feel it shift the mattress.
when you finish he’s still teary eyed, hunched over you and looking like a lost puppy. “i did good, right? tell me i did good, please, you think im a good guy, right?”
he doesn’t even think of being called good boy. doesn’t even crave it. he just wants you to tell him he is really one of the good guys, how he couldnt possibly do anything bad.
Tags: Sub Dex - Female reader - Inexperienced Dex - Oral sex ( f receives ) - Panty kink - Panty licking - Panty eating (?) - Praise kink - Established relationship
There was nothing better than a cloudy afternoon in your apartment, the world outside muted and grey, while inside you had warmth, comfort, and the company of your boyfriend with a movie humming faintly in the background—something neither of you were really watching anymore—as you're sitting on the sofa, legs open, perfectly at ease, happy and relaxed, letting him do…
Well, that strange thing he’s been obsessed with for weeks now.
He's on his knees between your thighs, shoulders tense with effort, face buried right where the heat radiates from you. He hadn’t even touched your bare skin yet, just pressing his mouth to the thin cotton stretched over you. Your panties, damp from the earlier teasing were soaked through now, clinging to your feverish skin. His tongue moves against the barrier testing and pushing, little slow strokes that make you twitch because of the ticklish sensation that travels up your core to every place under your skin.
Then, as if something snapped loose in him, the licks came faster, so sloppy, as though he couldn’t believe you are letting him do it, as though he was scared you will take it away if he doesn't devour you every second.
At first, he seemed awkwardly harmless when he asked—shy, almost tripping over his own words. Typical Dex.
Up until then, your relationship hadn’t crossed the line of kisses and hesitant touches, so when he finally deigned to ask you that, your smile spread without you meaning it to. It wasn’t that you were shy—you knew eventually you’d ask him yourself—but there was something disarming about the way he rushed to get the words out, as if the idea had been gnawing at him for too long to keep inside.
The weight slipped off your shoulders in the moment he said it, he saved you from being the one to break that invisible wall first. Just a quiet, offhand question slipped between laughs during a silly conversation full of intimacy.
You could still hear his voice in your head, low and a little rushed, which made you think that if he said it too clearly it might sound like too much. And yet the request had been simple enough, almost innocent, if not for the heat behind it.
That way, he wouldn’t have to keep sneaking around, wouldn’t have to “borrow” your panties the way he had been doing—thinking you hadn’t noticed or that his little secret was safe.
The truth was that you had noticed. Of course you had, and the thought of him alone with something that belonged to you, so desperate enough to do that, all of it was too tempting to just stare at him as if he was a weirdo, that's not how you are, you're hyperaware of the fact you enjoy your awkward freak and you can't bring yourself to judge such act covered in worship.
“Dex,” you murmur, fingers curling into his hair, tugging just enough to make him look at you, “you know you can take them off, right? At this point you’ve kind of already eaten them.” The words slip out with a breathless giggle, the fabric clinging to you sticky and soaked from his persistence.
He doesn’t stop right away. He presses his mouth harder, trying to drink through the thin barrier, and there's a desperate noise vibrating against you when you finally tug him back, his lips are swollen, slick with spit and the product of your satisfaction.
“Yeah I know,” he says, voice a little muffled. He swallows hard before admitting, “but I don’t really know that,” his breath hitches, his cheeks flushing deeper, and he shifts like he’s embarrassed by the confession but can’t help himself.
“I like… I like how they taste like this, I also want to try more, but you'd probably be disappointed,” that last part comes with a breathy, nervous laugh that has you smiling.
He presses his mouth back to the soaked spot, dragging his tongue slowly over it until your breath stutters in your chest. The pressure isn’t nearly enough, not with the fabric still in the way, but watching him try to rut against nothing while he licks and sucks greedily has your whole body burning. He’s a mess somehow—hips jerking, shoulders tight with restraint, mouth working like he thinks if he just tries harder he’ll get to the sweetness beneath.
“You could never disappoint me,” you murmur, encouraging. “Besides, you already know some tricks,”
The small compliment makes him finally look up at you, pupils blown wide, lashes trembling with every desperate blink. His lips shine, wet and swollen, and he looks undone just from this. You giggle when he just stares at you like you just said something that he will never forget.
“Not that look…” you tease, laughter breaking the tension for a heartbeat.
He answers with a quick, clumsy lick against the damp fabric just where your clit is swollen beneath the material, like a puppy desperate to please, earning another little sound from your throat.
“Alright,” you exhale, your thighs twitching, the teasing burning into frustration, “this is too much. I’m gonna teach you Dex—so you can do it good and please me properly—because you’re making me go crazy here.”
Your words make him shiver, his hands tightening on your thighs like he’s bracing for a lesson he’s been waiting his whole life to take.
“Are you sure?” his voice makes your chest tighten, makes your pulse race in sync with the steady throb between your legs. You give him the smallest nod, and it’s all he needs. His face lights up, so grateful it nearly breaks you. “Okay… okay, thank you,” he whispers.
The way he looks at you makes your stomach flip, he always looks at you like you're something divine and painfully sacred that he still can't believe is by his side.
You can’t wait to show him what he’s capable of, to coax out that potential he’s so desperate to prove. With a quick hand, you hook your thumb into the band pressing against your swollen heat and peel your panties aside, just enough to expose the slick ache he’s been tormenting himself over all this time.
The moment your cunt glistens in the dim light, his breath catches audibly. His eyes go wide, pupils swallowing the pretty hazel, lips parting like he’s about to pray. He stares at the way you shine for him, mesmerized, a wet sigh escaping from you as the cool air kisses your bare skin. His gaze flickers up to your face, only to fall again, drawn helplessly back down.
“Now,” you say softly, steadying his focus, guiding his hunger with a fingertip pointing where you want him. Your swollen clit, just a little below it, “start here with your tongue, yeah? Just a slow lick, baby.”
“Mhm,” he nods quickly almost trembling with the weight of your instruction, leaning in with both of his hands gripping your thighs.
He obeys instantly, no hesitation at all. His tongue drags up your folds with a shaky gasp, slow just like you told him. The sound of it—his raw need bleeding into every movement—makes you shiver. By the time his tongue slides up to touch your clit, your whole body is already leaning into him, greedy for more. His hands clutch your thighs like he’s terrified you’ll push him away, knuckles straining white.
“Good boy,” you murmur, your voice dropping lower, syrupy-sweet with approval. The effect is immediate—he has to take a moment to whine, then lick his lips to continue.
“Just like that,” you guide, and he follows before you even finish speaking, desperate to earn more of your approval. His tongue circles your clit in quick little swirls, messy but effective, each one sending sparks dancing through your belly.
Then he slides lower again, down to where you’re dripping, where your body pulses and clenches with every teasing touch. He pushes the tip of his tongue inside, shallow, but still enough to make your breath catch, to make your thighs tighten reflexively. He doesn’t linger long—only to taste a little bit of what's inside, enough to make you gasp—before moving back up to your clit, the rhythm is not overwhelming but it is intoxicating. Every pass feels better than the last, his tongue applying the right pressure, dragging the sweetest ticklish ache out of you until your lips part in a bitten-back moan.
He’s learning you on instinct alone, desperate, eager, and it’s already making you dizzy.
“Dex,” you gasp, tightening your grip on his hair “Please start sucking, your lips... Use your lips,” twitching and panting feeling pathetic, but no more than him because he nods so quickly, closing his lips around your clit making a little pout that makes you close your eyes and moan.
His muffled mhmm vibrates right against your clit, and the sound alone makes your legs tremble. His mouth doesn’t leave you, not even for a second—he’s latched on now, fully addicted, tongue moving in frantic little circles that border on sloppy but feel like heaven. Every desperate flick drags another wave of heat out of you, and when he sucks—lips pulling tight around your swollen nub—your cunt clenches against nothing, aching, your body trying to grasp at something that isn’t there.
The pressure is relentless, his tongue alternating between circling and pressing, abusing that bundle of raw nerves that has your hips rocking helplessly against his mouth. The broken moan that rips out of you only spurs him on, he groans louder, shamelessly, the sound spilling directly into your skin, feeding off your reaction.
He’s lost in it—lost in your taste, in the tug of your fingers in his hair, in the way you guide each quick movement like you’re conducting him. You don’t even have to look down to know what’s happening to him; you can feel it in the tremor of his shoulders, in the tiny twitch of his body pressed so close to your legs. He’s rutting against the air, straining for friction he can’t have, so turned on it’s almost painful, but he refuses to pull away from you.
The sight alone—his mouth worshipping you while his own body trembles with need—makes the burn inside you coil tighter, ready to snap.
Your free hand drifts down, resting on your lower belly, fingertips grazing your mound. His eyes flicker to the movement, wide and intent, but his mouth never falters against you. Then, suddenly, his grip shifts—he releases your thighs, and the absence of that bruising hold makes you whimper at the loss. Before you can even complain, his hands are sliding higher, thumbs pressing delicately to either side of your labia.
The breath catches in your throat when he parts you open, spreading the slick skin. He pulls back just enough to look, his mouth hovering, his eyes locked on you, on your most intimate part he needs to see. Adoration softens every line of his face, and the way he drinks in the sight makes you tremble.
“What are you doing? Don't do that… keep going,” you whine, the petulance in your own voice making heat rush to your cheeks, shame curling under the desire. You sound like a begging spoiled child.
He licks his lips, eyes flashing up to yours, caught between guilty and awestruck. “Sorry. I just wanted to see,” there's a very awkward pause, “...wow.” The last whisper is reverent, ragged, and before you can scold him again, his mouth is back on you.
This time he starts lower, licking and sucking at your entrance, his thumbs still holding you open so he can taste every drop. You shudder at the hot, sloppy attention, gasping when he drags his tongue back up and catches your clit again between his lips. The combination makes you arch, your back bowing against the sofa, hips rolling forward to feed him more.
Obscene wet sounds echoing between you as he works. Your body pushes into his mouth again and again, giving in completely while he laps and sucks like he’ll never get enough.
Nothing stops until the pressure inside you finally snaps. Your body seizes against his mouth, your cunt pulsing around his tongue just as you told him to fuck you with it. He does—shoving it as deep as he can, sloppy and relentless, his nose rubbing against your clit, smelling your natural scent that makes him leak inside his pants. The combination has you crying out, thighs trembling around his head, heat spilling over his tongue as he drinks down every second of your release.
It takes everything in you to push him back, gasping, overstimulated, your body still twitching from aftershocks. He resists for a moment, groaning into your folds like he’d happily drown there, but when you tug his hair firmly, he pulls back. Thin threads of saliva and your slick joining his lips to your cunt, he stares up at you like you’re his vice, his drug.
“Wait—please, please, again, again,” he whines with his pretty voice breaking, his face still close enough that his breath fans over your flesh.
You shift on the sofa to glance down at him properly. He’s still moving his hips against nothing, rutting air like a desperate animal. He must be so hard it aches, but he doesn’t reach for himself, doesn’t even think to—his whole world is focused between your thighs. The sight makes you chuckle, a giddy little sound of satisfaction, because you’ve never seen him look so undone.
“Yes,” you breathe, stroking his hair, rewarding him. “Yes, you can do it again.”
The joy that breaks across his face is pure, grabbing your panties, tugging them back over your swollen cunt, covering you again. And he dives in again, pressing his mouth to the damp fabric like it’s his altar, licking and sucking through the soaked cotton as if he can’t bear to let you go bare for too long.
“Weirdo,” you purr while stroking his hair and he starts giving little kisses to your puffy cunt, loving how the soaked fabric feels against his lips.
“Don’t be mean,” he mumbles against you, words muffled by the constant, sloppy way his mouth keeps working over the damp fabric. The vibration of his voice only makes your thighs twitch tighter around his head.
“I’m not…” you coo, tilting your head, watching him like he’s the sweetest, dirtiest thing you’ve ever owned. Then, with a sly grin, you drop the bait. “You know… if you come just from this, I’d let you keep them. You could lick them whenever you want.”
You wink at him, voice dripping with tease, and the effect is instantaneous. He almost chokes on his own breath, groaning into you, eyes squeezing shut as though the promise alone might undo him. His hand jerks downward, clutching himself hard through his jeans, desperate for some kind of hold to keep from blowing too soon.
The sight of him—mouth glued to your cunt, nose pressed into the damp cotton, one hand trembling as it grips himself like a lifeline—makes your chest tighten with wicked delight. He’s so close, you can feel it in every frantic lick, every needy sound he pours into you.
You know it, he can definitely reach that edge, and after all, he deserves it for learning too fast.
Hellooo I just read your loser Dex works and it was divine you write him so pathetic and that's all I need. I was wondering if you could write about virgin Dex coming untouched only for a few kisses then being a total embarrassing mess for thinking he ruined the moment but we like it too much and end up giving him a handjob that makes him cry.. I love your works
pairing: benjamin poindexter x reader
18+ ! cw: f!reader, sub!dex, handjob, dacryphilia, overstim, bit of degradation, alcohol consumption, implied age gap (he’s older), accidentally calling dex kid?? (wc: 2.4k)
a/n: urghk i live for tormenting this man 😵💫😵💫 thank you for the request! masterlist
The bottle was sweating in your hand. Dex saw the rim catch by your teeth, a lazy bite with some abrasion that was making something in his stomach turn over. Had it been an hour since you’d invited him up? Two? It didn’t matter. His mind felt stretched thin as he watched you get drunker by the minute, your eyes turning dark in the low light of the apartment. Playing the part of the polite guest, he’d taken off his jacket and loosened his collar. Waiting for instruction, he was perched now on the edge of your couch, as if proximity to you alone might make him combust.
His glass sat on the table beside him, untouched and gleaming.
“I thought you said you’d have one,” you said, twirling your bottle by the neck.
“You said you were going to get drunk. I said I’d keep you from doing anything stupid.”
“Oh, stupid now, am I?”
You watched in amusement as his practiced smile faltered, the worried little notch by his brow carving itself deeper. His eyes flicked towards your legs, which were heat-glossed with drink, and now nearly bare due to the hem of your dress riding up. Then back to your face, a bit too late. Your smirk told him you’d seen everything.
“Feeling nervous, Dex?”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You look nervous.”
“I’m not.”
“Mm,” you sighed, long and luxuriant, leaning into the space between you until your knees brushed his. Your face was hot with a pleasant buzzing in your cheeks. “It’s cute though, watching you try not to freak out.”
Dex blinked rapidly, his lashes catching the light. He gave a little half-laugh, the playful twinkle back in his eyes, and his mouth tugged up into a smile that suggested he wanted to ask what you meant.
“Like… Big, strong g-man like you,” you tilted the bottle again, watching him squirm at the compliment from the corner of your eye, “you’ve tackled worse things than me, surely. But you’re sweating like a sinner in church.”
“I’m not,” he said again, voice coming out hoarse. If his face was pink before, he was now positively red.
“No?” You reached out and traced your fingers down his forearm. All casual like, your nails running across the pale hairs. “So what would happen if I asked to kiss you?”
He swallowed, lips parting then closing, and when he looked at you his pupils were dilated wide, a slim ring of hazel around pure black. He was scrambling for something suave to say, something charming and effortless that would keep you looking at him like this. But nothing came out. You perplexed him constantly, and he could barely think, let alone speak. For a heartbeat you were sure he’d bolt instead, but then he gave the barest nod.
You leaned in until your mouth slanted against his. He made a sound, a soft noise, and kissed back and…
Well, it was bad, honestly.
He knew it was bad. His lips were dry and stiff against yours. You pulled back and giggled at the face he was making–eyes screwed shut, brows drawn tight like he was waiting for it to hurt. So you kissed him again and finally it clicked, and– and it was phenomenal. This time your tongue slid into his mouth warmly, tasting faint salt and breath mint. Swiping over the ridge behind his teeth and deeper, grazing the roof of his mouth and he groaned, startled at how fast the sensation shot down, thick and electric straight into his cock.
Dex was trying to keep up. Trying to not fuck it up. But when you pushed further, he let you, groaning at the lewd sounds of you mapping the soft places of his mouth. He didn’t know what to do with his hands so they hovered, hesitant to settle for fear that if he touched you, he’d ruin the mirage that was somehow forming in front of him and you’d disappear.
You pulled back with a soft pop and stared at him. His lips were distractingly shiny.
“Wow,” you breathed.
“Wow,” he said back, dazed.
“Ever been kissed like that before?”
He shook his head. “No.”
You smiled and shifted closer, your fingers ghosting along the inside of his thigh, nails teasing just by the seam. Dex held very, very still. If he moved, even breathed a fraction off–
“How about this?” you murmured. “Has anyone ever touched you here?”
He exhaled sharply before responding. “No, not really.”
“Not really?” You raised a brow, dragging your knuckles along the seam of his jeans. Right next to the outline of his hardened cock.
“I mean, I’ve touched myself obviously, but I haven’t–” He wanted to crawl inside himself. The conversation was getting a bit too personal for his taste, not to mention how closely you were touching him now, how pathetic his words were sounding in his own voice. Had he been reduced to this? He’d taken so many in custody, acted decisively without mercy but now he couldn’t find it in himself to regain that control, not with your scorching breath burning his skin. “But no, no, I uh– no one’s, um…”
“Not even a little?”
He shook his head.
You kissed him again, rougher this time, earning a gasp from him. Now he couldn’t ignore the way his trapped cock throbbed in his jeans. Without breaking the kiss, he shifted subtly, trying to adjust himself without you seeing—but the friction made it even worse, and when you put your hand on his chest, the sensation of your nails through the fabric of his shirt made him see stars. You were everywhere. The heat of your thighs against his, the unbearable awareness that there was nothing but your panties under your dress, how soft your tongue was in his mouth. The smell of your skin. Another press, the weight of your hand on his chest, and his whole body seized.
“Wait– wait, oh fuck–”
He didn’t even realize what was happening. His hips rocked up, chasing pressure and you felt the tension tremor through him. He jerked once and his head dropped back, gasping, the sensation on the inside of his thighs sharp and pulsing like the heartbeat of an insistent animal. The sinews of his neck stood out in stark relief. A long, guttural groan tore from his throat as his cock pulsed and pulsed again, the wet mess soaking into his pants in hot, sticky surges.
You blinked.
You looked down, then back up at him.
“...Did you just…?”
“No, I–”
“No, I–No, I?” you repeated, low and amused, mimicking his stammer. “Use your words, Dex.” Swinging your thigh over his to straddle him properly, you dragged your hand down from his chest to his waistband and thumbed the silver button of his jeans. A little below it, a darkened stain was already blooming through the denim.
“Let’s try that again. If I unbutton your pants right now, am I gonna see cum or not?”
He looked at you finally, and the shame was so thick in his face his whole body was glowing red: his cheeks, the sultry skin down his throat, the tenderly pink rims of his ears. His eyes were wide and wet.
“Yes,” he said, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to. Fuck, I’m sorry, I—” He curled in on himself, as if he wanted to physically shrink from your gaze. “I’m sorry, I should go. You’re drunk. I don’t wanna take advantage of you.”
You couldn’t stop your laugh. “‘Take advantage’? Dex.” You pushed him back down by his chest, your other hand finding his jaw. Your thumb seemed to fit perfectly into the delicate indent of his cleft chin. “Honestly, do you think you’re the one in charge right now?”
He whimpered. There was absolutely no way he was in control—clearly not of his body, certainly not of you—and there was no other way to describe it but refreshing, his mind completely clear and his body pliant, all yours to do with as you liked. Your hand caressed his thigh again, cupping the soaked, twitching bulge properly now, thumb skimming over where the fabric clung taut. Your fingers popped the button open in one deft motion, and he made a pained sound, shame and arousal tangling thick as syrup in his throat.
“Well? Do you?”
“No,” he managed hoarsely.
“No?” The zipper slid down with a slow, satisfying rasp. “That’s more like it.” You slid a hand inside, feeling the sticky fabric of his briefs clinging to the curve of his half-hard cock while peeling the layers of obstructive cloth down. His cock sprang free, and there was a thick string of cum clinging to the tip, stretched from the slit down to the waistband. You caught it with a fingertip and smeared it lazily down the shaft.
“Fuck me,” you breathed, genuinely impressed. “You really made a mess.”
He turned his face away in shame, but his hips lifted into your touch. You curled your hand around the shaft, stroking through the mess he’d already made, and he groaned deep in his chest. Under you, his body was burning up, sweat gathering under his arms and at the small of his back. His cock twitched in your hand, completely hard again and drooling a slow bead of clear precum, as if the humiliation had been enough to get him back there.
“Did you not hear me? I said you made a mess,” you said, stroking him slow and steady, slicking it with his own cum. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
“I-I’m sorry,” he panted.
“You’re sorry but you’re still hard.” You tightened your grip, twisting your wrist a little at the head. “You came already, didn’t you? Why are you hard again?”
“I– I don’t know–” His head dropped back and he whimpered, biting down on his wrist. His face was contorted with pleasure. “Please, I- I can’t again so soon–”
“Yeah?” You kissed the freckle on his cheekbone. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No, no…” He shook his head wildly, hiccuping a sob. He hadn’t known when he started crying, but tears were spilling down his reddened cheeks as his cock twitched sensitively in your hand. “Don’t stop…”
You licked a tear from the corner of his mouth. It was salty and hot on your tongue.
“I know, I know,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his as you jacked him off between your legs. The rhythm never faltered and his cock was pulsing again, twitching under your hand. “I know it’s too much. You’re doing so good for me. Don’t fight it.”
He was trembling under you, his lashes clumped and newly dark with the wetness of his tears. You let your palm glide over the oversensitive head, gathering the slick with soft fingers. Then you dragged them back down the shaft up and down again, letting your touch circle the slit. Your head was buzzing now. The booze and lust blending. God, he was pretty like this—this bulky, tightly wound man you’d kissed stupid, now reduced to nothing beneath you.
“Close? Already?”
“I– I can’t,” his voice cracked, “there’s nothing left, please–”
You circled your thumb right under the head and he whimpered loudly, hips jerking up helplessly into your palm. His cock spasmed in your grip, a shuddering twitch that drew a few final pulses from him. Milky beads drooled pathetically from his slit, a bit less than before, thinner and wetter slicking your fingers. He was gasping, his whole body gone limp with the second release. His cock gave one last twitch, and you knew that was it: he was completely spent.
You brought your sticky fingers to your mouth and sucked them clean, nice and loud, just to watch him squirm at the sound of it. It was bitter, a little sweet.
“Nicely done,” you said, smoothing a hand down his chest. “You took that so well.”
Chest heaving, Dex swallowed hard, blinking up at you. The compliment was working its way into him, you could tell with how his face softened at the praise, red-rimmed eyes going hazy. You leaned forward, brushing your thumbs under his eyes, wiping away the tears that had started to itch at his cheeks. His skin was still burning, damp and hot. “Is there anything you want, baby?”
He mumbled something low under his breath, barely audible.
“Louder, Dex,” you commanded, and he tensed, his throat working as he tried to gather the courage.
“Can you– can you kiss me again, please?”
His voice was so small, desperate and sweet and full of need. Afraid to even ask. You couldn’t help laughing. He was so much older than you, it was absurd how he sounded so young just then, reminding you of the twitchy hesitance you’d seen from the first guy you’d ever dated, the one who came in your hand after senior prom and apologized for twenty straight minutes.
“Fuck’s sake, kid.”
It just slipped out– it didn’t even make any sense. His entire face went red, flinching at the word like you’d slapped him, blinking hard and looking away.
“Nevermind,” he muttered.
“No, no– hey.” You tilted his face back toward you, cupping his jaw, thumb swiping his cheek again. “C’mere.”
You kissed him, slow and deep. His mouth moved against yours with shy, grateful eagerness, him melting into it, every tense muscle in his body finally softening.
You pet his head gently, smoothing his sweat-matted hair back from his forehead. He didn’t want to move, face still red, cheeks blotchy with the drying tracks of his tears. The air between you felt molten sweet with the buzz of alcohol and the stink of sweat. His jeans were still open, boxers soaked, but none of that mattered right now.
Kissing the tip of his nose to make him smile, you murmured, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
You curled yourself closer into him, letting your weight settle with your palm flattened over his chest. His heartbeat felt calm. You wondered if it was as steady as it really seemed, or if your own was thudding just as loud you couldn’t tell the difference.
You giggled into the curve of his neck. “So, then… That’s a yes to a third date?”
benjamin poindexter x gn!reader ( cw: gunplay, allusions of murder, sub!dex )
"Do you really think you deserve to die like this, Dex?"
He chuckles and starts to cough, blood splutters out of his mouth in drops. He is slumped forward, the pain of his bullet wound visible in his torso, hands cuffed to the metal frame of the pathetic excuse of a bed.
There is an amused look on his face, the creases around his eyes more visible. He notices the gun in your hand, staring at it with a raised brow as if he was daring you to use it.
"If you are not gonna shoot me, then why are you wagging it around for?"
You charge forward and put your foot directly on his bulge, feeling his hardness beneath your boots as he moans out shamelessly, craving the harshness of you. A crazed smile takes over his face, like this is all he wants, like he won everything.
It annoys you to see him win.
You put the tip of the gun directly on his forehead, between his brows. He smiles even wider as he leans into it, his bloody teeth biting at your nerves. He squirms under your foot, trying to feel you up through his pants and your boot. He even closes his eyes as he breathes out slowly, like this is soothing him, relieving him from his pain.
"Please." he says, smiling. It would have sounded wrong on his mouth if he wasn't saying it for you.
You wonder if he is begging for your touch, or your sweet penance of death. You can't make it out as you stare into his hooded hazel eyes, at your mercy.
"Open up." You blurt out suddenly, pressing the tip of the gun against his lips.
He is obedient. He always is, for you, when you two are like this, sharing the same damned space, same damned air. He parts his lips and looks up at you through his wet eyelashes, putting his tongue on display.
Your breath comes out heavy, chest tightening at his easy show of submission. Your fingers tighten around the grip of the gun, feeling the metal warm up from your palm.
You slowly bring it down, watching his hazel eyes follow the barrel. You cup his scarred cheek, his eyelashes flutter at the contact. When you put the tip on his tongue, he sighs out dreamily, expression relaxing into a pleased state as he bucks his hips up to your foot.
The tip of the gun rests against his tongue for a while. Teasing, waiting, mocking.
Your fingers trace the scar on his cheek. A boiling feeling takes over you, a deep jealousy over every new and old scar on his body. Being able to mark him, change him in a way that cannot be taken back.
You push the gun further in his mouth, feeling his jaw loosen for you.
You can scar him, actually. If you pull the trigger, you can scar him beyond this world.
But you won't. You won't because he doesn't deserve to go out like this. You can't because you relish in making him suffer, making him submit. Seeing him in front of you, beaten, bruised, bloodied, begging and whining. Making him yours. He was far too important for you to lose.
Does that make you bad? Irredeemable? Beyond saving?
He starts to slowly bob his head on the barrel of the gun, his cracked lips puckering around it, and you press your foot harder on his cock, feeling it press down hard. He starts to hump against it like a dog, feeling the pain and pleasure of your touch at the same time. When he whines loud as his voice cracks, a shiver starts running through his body, brows furrowing upon his tightly closed eyes.
You don't care. You don't care if you are beyond saving, if you are not deserving of repentance. When the only thing that feels right is him, you cannot begin to care.
You hear the metallic sounds of his handcuffs clashing with the bedframe, trying to free his hands with no luck, fighting the urge to touch you, feel your warmth beneath his dirty, dirty hands. He starts to burn, burn all over, not being able to stop the rapid building of his peak.
"Open your eyes. Look at me." You slap his cheek, feeling the tip of the gun press against it. "Look at my eyes." You pull his hair, yanking his head back slowly. His sweaty skin glistens as all of his muscles start to strain, signaling his indomitable end. "Don't you dare look away."
When you press the gun further, he starts to gag, hips pathetically bucking up against your foot at the same time. You caress his hair, his neck, and finally, when your hand touches the beginning of the scar of his spine, his wide eyes lock onto yours as he starts to cum in his pants, shaking against you. You caress his skin as you chuckle and coo at him mockingly like he was a poor dog.
His breath gets ragged as he humps out the remnants of his orgasm against your foot, his eyes going glassy and red, never looking away from yours.
You pull the gun out of his aching mouth, it glistens with his saliva and blood, and toss it to the floor as you cannot care where it lands. Your hands start to pet his face again, feeling his sweat and heat. He huffs out a content sigh, finally closing his eyes.
"Say thank you, Dex."
He lays his forehead against your shoulder, not putting all his weight like he was waiting for you to scold him. When you don't say anything, even showing the mercy of putting your hand against his nape, he lays against you, and feels your damning warmth through your shirt. He feels bad about dirtying it, dirtying you. But feeling you against him is always number one priority, always sacred.
"Thank you." He sighs out as he puts his nose against your neck and inhales your scent. You smell so sweet for someone so cruel. "Thank you."
Content warnings: Benjamin Poindexter x fem!reader, angst, no use of y/n, pain kink, sex as a coping mechanism, refusal of safe words so dubcon(?), toxic, dacryphilia, sub!switch!Dex, choking, dry humping, probably ooc.
The whine that left him was different than the others. Less heady. Much more guttural and dismal.
You run your hand along Dex’s chest. Soothing over the blood beaded red marks you had left there not moments ago. Slightly smearing it in the process.
“Colour Dex.” You cut through his heavy breathing. Your "play fight" having elevated to something much more physical.
His whole body shudders at your touch. Normally he would lean into the sting of your fingers over the deep scratches. Shake at the sensation. This however, was more like a flinch to get away rather than a flinch of anticipation.
“G- green.” He mumbles through bloodied teeth. His lips swollen from more than just the aggressive kisses you both had shared.
“Dex…
“No just- fuck-just hit me again.. Please.” He makes his plea a point by rutting his jean clad hips up against you. Forcefully pushing his zipper to the seam of your underwear. Rocking you towards him. He sounds different than normal too.
Your brow dips, catching yourself to lean over him. Hand by his head. Your knuckles already blooming into a harsh maroon colour from where your fist made contact with his jaw.
Tears streak down the corners of his eyes, accumulating at the hairs on his temples. Large consistent droplets that keep a steady stream. He does cry sometimes during moments like this. But something in your gut is telling you this isn’t like the other moments.
“I think we’re done with this for tonight.” You say gently. Slowly moving off of his lap.
His hands rapidly fly to the sides of your thighs. Tugging you back on him. A distressed sound heaving from his chest.
You wobble at his strength.
“I’m not gonna hit you again, Dex.”
Dex’s grip on your thighs tighten, pressing you harshly down on his crotch. You could feel how hard he was. The teeth of his zipper biting into the sensitive skin between your legs. You hiss, chewing into your lip.
You push at his shoulders, sitting back to alleviate the pressure.
One of his large hands slip from you, roughly grasping around both of your wrists before you could react. Placing your curled fingers around his throat.
“Ben.” you warn, which only spurs him on. Pressing the meat of your palms harder to the strong muscles of his neck until your hands inevitably ring together. Thumbs resting just above his Adam’s apple.
His pulse battered against your twitchy digits. His grip on your wrists tightening as he grinds up into you again, making you shiver. His expression is that of desperation. Eyes hooded and glossed over, unable to focus properly as he stares off. Squeezing your wrists, putting more pressure on his own neck. Making you use him to stay upright. Your body weight anchoring him to the floor.
His grip suddenly fists at the leg of your underwear. Wrenching the material forward, making you buck on top of him. The seams audibly snapping at the rough tug.
Every nerve in your body was on fire. The hot mess of desire and worry mixing thick in your brain. You knew what Ben was like. Knew before you became allies. Knew what he liked. He likes this. But this seemed less about the game of it all and more about something else.
“Sweetheart.” You shift over his hips, eliciting a choked exhale from him as his hazy eyes flick towards you, red and puffy. “You want this, yeah?”
His chest heaves, throat bobbing under your grasp.
You tighten your fingers ever so slightly. Letting him feel the pressure without choking him any more than he was already doing to himself through your hands.
“C’mon Dexy whats wrong?” Again, you rock into him. Each hitch of your core over his eliciting tiny sounds that escape from his lips. More tears roll down his face. Sweat beading on his forehead, cheeks flushed. He looked abysmal.
“Just need this.” He practically mewls. His cock throbs underneath you. The stiff feeling of his zip yet again catching your clit causing goosebumps to shiver over your skin.
Breathily you mumble little curses. Digging your grip that bit tighter, lightly pressing your thumbs just under the soft spot beneath his chin where you know is tender.
“F-uck.” Whimpering, his hands go limp. Unknowingly letting the weight off of himself. Now just resting on your wrists, feeling your hands on him. Legs twitching, face red and damp. He inhales deeply, air rushing freely through his lungs. His head lols to the side, tears running over the bridge of his nose.
This time, as you ease your hands off of him. He lets you. Red marks spread over his throat, purpling slightly. Wordlessly you skim your knuckles over his forehead, pushing the sweaty hair away from his face.
“Ben.” You curl your fingers at his roots. Making him whine. Making him look at you. “What. Colour. Are. You.”
He doesn’t respond. Only rolling his hips in little motions to keep the friction on his cock. Hands slipping in between the both of you. His shaky fingers undoing the button and zipper on his jeans. “Fuck me.” He pleads.
“I wont unless you tell me whats wrong.”
He huffs defeated, but desperate. Eyes still glazed over with want and humiliation.
“Need to not think.” He slips the tips of his fingers into the hem of your underwear. “Need you- need you to make me not think.”
“Is that what you want?” You lay your palm atop his. Running the pads of your fingers over his scabbed knuckles.
He nods, swallowing. Like it was painful to do. His gaze on your navel. Watching your stomach as you breathe heavily.
You shove your hand into his underwear abruptly, his whole body jolting as you grasp him. Running the soft of your thumb over his leaking slit. You slip him from his pants. The cool air hitting his cock as you pump him a few times.
His arms lay flat on the carpet below him. Panting every time you caressed the underside of his head as though you were playing with him. Studying him. Your gaze like hot beams of a magnifying glass on a sunny day. And when you finally, finally pull your panties to the side and slip his head past your folds, he cries out. An almost pained look waving across his sharp features as you sink down on him. The delicious stretch making you feel full as you meet him to the base.
You didn’t let him adjust. Starting up a quick pace. The backs of your thighs dropping on top of his heavily. Slick dripping from you, soaking into his skin.
Dex’s back arches. Little scratchy ah’s escaping from his throat with every rough grind down on his hips. Screwing his eyes shut, a heavy dip of his brow causing a deep crease. You take his throat back into your grip. Your hand clutching tight to the pressure points on either side while the other takes his face. Chin pressed between your thumb and pointer, tipping his head back to look over him. Leaning into his space.
He throbs inside of you. Your walls squeezing around him as you rock yourself harder. Changing the angle until you feel the dull, satisfying nudge of his tip at your cervix. Your nails digging into his cheeks, crescent moon indents forming on the thin skin.
Dex lets out a cry, a true abashed sob. Waterworks starting up again, hands flying to your waist to cling at your skin. Fucking you down onto him as his hips meet you halfway. Familiar heat bubbling low in your stomach.
“That feel good?” You muse, shaking his head, getting him to look you in the eyes. Blinking away his tears to focus on you, a little mewled ‘yes’ slips past his lips.
He was quite possibly the most pathetic you had ever seen him. Sure, the punches, the smacks and scratches turn him to putty under your feet. His need for you to mark him, etch your name into his sternum until it scars between his ribs worn evidently on his sleeve.
You choke him harder. Puffed strained breaths vibrating under your hold. Deep blush over the high points of his face flushing down to his chest as he chokes down his sobs.
But more than that, Ben has the innate need to be made feel whole. That every touch, every overwhelming and painful sensation that he could feel meant something.
His thrusts begin to grow sloppy. Your skin dimpling under his tight hold. You’ll have bruises for sure. But so will he.
You grind against him as he thrusts. Holding his hips up to push as deep as he possibly could until there was a dull ache deep within you. Rocking you desperately, lifting your knees off the carpet.
You let yourself go. Gushing over his tensed thighs. Rolling spasms of your cunt catching Dex in an overwhelming trap before his own release avalanches into devastating hiccups. Head rushing from lack of oxygen.
You release him from your hold. Watching as his chest heaves ragged. Trying to catch his breath through heavy sobs. His arm coming up to cover his eyes with the crook of his elbow.
Your waist was tender. Sore from where he hooked himself to you.
“Ben.”
He wipes his eyes with his forearm. “Yeah, i know.” Letting the limb fall deadweight to your bent knee.
Biting the inside of your cheek, you watch the man underneath you squirm.
“You okay?” Just like before, you sooth your hand over his chest. The scratches now scabbed over and tender.
He sighs into your touch. His thumb brushing across the indents he left on the skin of your waist. “Dunno.” Tears still rolling down his cheeks.
You inhale deeply. Straightening yourself to catch his chin affectionately with your fingers. “I don’t want to do that again.” You whisper, leaning over him to kiss the side of his mouth.
He whines quietly. “I know.”
“I mean it Ben.” You wipe over his temples. Raking your fingers through the tear soaked hair there.
“I can handle it baby.” Voice wobbles at your soft touch.
“I don’t care.” Lifting your leg to the side, you move off of him. Another pathetic little sound leaving him as he slips out of you, the absence of your weight making him unconsciously reach for you. Laying down on your back next to him, you clasp your hand around his.
You want him to enjoy himself. And usually he does. However this was scary. Using you as a means to an end. Something for him to ignore whatever thoughts bombarded his pleasure.
Dex turns his head away from you. Staring up at the high ceilings of his apartment. His throat on fire. Eyes heavy and raw.
“Okay.” He rasps. Grip tightening around your hand possessively. Small, pitiful quirk curling at the side of his sharp mouth at your stern words. He likes how serious you get with him. Worrying about how he feels during sex. How he feels in general.
Like he belongs to you.
I have never written something like this before so i’m a bit out of my depth with this. The content warnings are probably wrong so please let me know if they are so i can update them!
pervert dex who takes photos of you sleeping and jerks off to them
god this is my weakness. stalker, creepy, pervert dex 😵💫 THANK YOU. lmk if you enjoy hehe <3 as always comments and reblogs are super appreciated xoxo
im looking at you
benjamin 'dex' poindexter x reader, bullseye x reader
cw: possessive, stalker and voyeuristic behavior, dex takes pictures of you without consent, perv!boyf dex, hints of sub!dex, masterbation. content is 18+, MINORS DNI
he doesn't know what he would do if you were to find out about it, theres really no reasonable justification as to why he keeps doing it
specially now that he's your boyfriend
and the thing is- dex doesn't think you would understand either, that months before you ever gave him the time of day, before you were even aware of his existence, these kind of pictures were the only thing he had
the only thing that could satisfy his need for you when he was laying by himself in bed, surrounded by the cold and dark of his apartment, his hand pathetically shoved down his underwear, tugging at himself mercilessly, tormented and enchanted by the way you were smiling at strangers all fucking day as he stalked behind you
back then they were horridly blurry pictures, taken from outside your window and across the street with a professional camera, zoomed in to a degree that distorted what he can now capture so fucking beautifully and up close with just his phone
the softness of the skin, the texture of your hair, the detailed fabric of your night shorts, the peaceful and unknowing look on your face, your enticingly parted mouth
its just too good of an opportunity to pass, theres an itch that needs scratching
dex shuffles awake at night to stand at the foot of his bed, his breath shaky and nervous, dick painfully hard as he snaps picture after picture of your sleeping form
sometimes he’ll even reach out to carefully grab at your ankles to reposition you the way he likes, to expose more of you to him, he smiles something vile and disgusting when he’s satisfied with his work and taps on that little white button on his screen
its no wonder that dex’s collection has been growing at an alarming rate ever since you’ve started staying the night at his
.
dex’s phone vibrates mere moments before he was about to spill ropes and ropes of his spent all over his hand, your name uttered in shameless desperation from his mouth
he was doing it again, jerking off to the most recent picture he took of you sleeping, his new favorite one if the way he was close to coming in only a few minutes of tugging at himself was any indication
dex answers the call with a frustrated groan when he hears you greet him at the other end of the line, far too cheery in your tone, he can also hear the muffled booming music from the bar you’re at and that makes him seethe with jealousy
“i thought you said i wasn’t allowed to call" dex argues with an angry cock of his brow and a twitch of his jaw that you cant even see
it was his punishment, because the last time you went out with friends dex kept calling you several times during the night, asking where you were at all times, who you were with, what time you were planning to head back, if you wanted him to come pick you up...
“you’re not” you answer simply, firmly “doesn’t mean i cant call you, dex”
dex huffs out, something resentful but also incredibly turned on, your commanding voice, the control you wield over him, the thought of you wanting to speak to him even when you're out with friends, its enough to make him resume his tantalizing strokes around his dick
but then-
“what are you doing?” you ask him so suddenly that his hand immediately pauses mid stroke, panic floods his entire being, he know you’re far away but for a moment he felt as if you were watching him through his window
y'know- the same way he's done with you countless times before you started dating, and still to this day
“looking at you” dex answers impulsively, at a loss for anything else to say when he's drunk on the impending release of tension from below his abdomen
its not a lie but not completely the truth either
he immediately regrets his words though, he scrunches his eyes shut in embarrassment of his little slip up
“looking at me?” you answer, kind of angry at him, but still far less put off and weirded out than what he expected “dex are you following me again?”
dex’s breathing falters at your disapproving tone, his brows worry but his hand keeps stroking, faster, so much harder
“no i- i meant- i'm looking at a picture of you” he answers, his voice tight with restraint as he stares at pixels of you on his laptop screen
he really is just digging a deeper hole for him to die in
“oh? what picture?” you ask immediately, he can practically hear the way you're smiling too, so obviously aware of the fact that he's touching himself
“you know um-" dex blinks a few times, rattled at your insisting inquiry, he brings up his hand momentarily to nervously run it all over his face "the one i took of you the other day at the park when we-“
“oh really?” you interrupt, your knowing laugh makes dex immediately break out into a cold sweat
“so not the one you took of me while i was sleeping? you’re not jerking off to that one?" you ask, your voice syrupy sweet even when you're accusing him of something so nasty
dex has to take a moment to breathe, his eyes go big as he stares into the emptiness of his room in shock, he sits upright while his leaking, painfully hardened dick is now neglected
"wait, baby- i can explain-" dex stutters, his voice wavering in utter humiliation and panic
“you’re gonna have to get more sneaky about it if you want me to let you keep taking those photos dex"
And now that I'm all caught up on daredevil and born again...
SUB DEX! PLAYING RUSSIAN ROULETTE AS FOREPLAY! THREATENING HIM WITH A GUN WHILE FUCKING HIM! THEN FIRING A SHOT INTO THE GROUND BESIDE HIM INSTEAD! WHINY BOTTOM DEX, COCK OR STRAP WILL DO!TEARS IN HIS EYES AS HE BEGS FOR MORE! DEX BEGGING FOR READER TO SHOOT HIM! "You think you deserve to die?" "Fuck, yes, please" "only I get to tell you what you deserve"
DEX FACE DOWN ASS UP! WRIST TIED TO HIS ANKLES! CRYING AND MOANING INTO THE FLOOR AS HIS PROSTATE GETS POUNDED! MAYBE A BOOT ON HIS HEAD! ACTUALLY SCRATCH THAT, DEFINITELY A BOOT ON HIS HEAD!
Making a fake gun hand gesture 👈 to dex while teasing him one night before bed but he just wraps his lips around your finger and groans like a whore
GOD. OH FUCK!!!! this ask singlehandedly made me want to start writing about him fr!! eeE as always let me know if you enjoy xoxo
eyes up here baby
benjamin poindexter x reader, bullseye x reader
cw: reader finding out that dex's into gunplay (shocker!!!), dry humping, SMUT. content is obviously 18+, MINORS DNI
it was only meant to be a silly, teasing gesture, something to bring dex's wandering eyes back on your face
something to snap him out of his reverie as his razor sharp focus remained aimed at your center, hypnotized by how it was grinding so fucking beautifully over his stiffened and clothed crotch
"eyes up here baby" you murmured with a teasing smile, placing your index and middle finger right below his jaw, your thumb kept upright
when you push his head upwards with the 'fake gun'- the reaction is far more visceral than what you anticipated though
his eyes immediately get glassy as they meet yours with a sharpening intensity, a crooked and dreamy smile takes over his features, a short, breathy and ecstatic laugh escapes from his mouth
dex's hips instinctively rise up to increase the pressure of your grinding on top of him, his body taken over by some kind of primal instinct, one of his hands going to grab harshly at your hips to hold you captive on top of him
"oh god, fuck..." you whine, high pitched and surprised with the increasing and almost punishing friction of him against you
meanwhile, in a daze, dex goes to grip at your wrist to bring your hand upwards an towards his face, slowly, tentatively, like he doesn't want to scare you off just yet
without ever breaking eye contact he eventually places your middle and index finger right in between his brows, giddily staring up with near black eyes as you fight to keep your rhythm on top of him
"maybe use the real thing next time" he comments with a teasing cock of his brow, like he's making fun of you for even pretending to act threatening at all
but theres something about he way his gaze has darkened, something that tells you deep down he's probably already itching to take out the weapon that sits in his bedside drawer to place it in your trembling hands
the thought of it is enough to have you near panting in wild exhilaration, a want you hadn't realized was even there starts taking shape inside you, it nearly makes you dizzy with how fast the ache to do what he is suggesting becomes impossible to ignore
his mouth opens in awe when you press your digits so much harder against his forehead at the same time you unconsciously increase the speed of the back and forth of your hips
"yeah?" you ask, high and heated, just as fucking lost in the fantasy as he is, your teeth showing in a smile that borders on crazed "is that what you want?"
you dont even think about the way your hand still remains in that silly 'fake gun' gesture, how you trail it over his temple or down his cheek until it eventually reaches the edges of his mouth
"you dont want me to tell you what i want" he grins before wincing momentarily when he thinks he might just spill inside his underwear at a particularly intense drag of his dick against the fabric of your night shorts
"show me then" you tease, but theres a hint of on actual command hidden in there somewhere
your fingers were just shy off his bottom lip when his mouth closed around the digits, dex was quick to do it as soon as the request was coming out of your mouth
he takes them so far down and past his tongue that his nose nearly bumps against your thumb, the moans he elicits around them is nothing short of obscene
he sucks harshly, groans pathetically, he scrunches his eyes shut and you dont have to ask for you to know that he's imagining the barrel of a gun is abusing his mouth
