fbi!dex was such an ASSHOLE. and what's funny is how he thought he was too smart to fall for fisk's shit and then proceeded to fall the fastest anyone has ever fallen
Buck would be so unbearably toxic in a relationship. He'd definitely track you, he'd probably give you a debit card with an allowance he'd top up every month
and i think the way that he is possessive is very different from the way that dex is.
dex feels like he needs to be wherever his partner is a majority of the time vs buck who could handle it as long as he has some way of checking in (notifications from the banking app to see what you spend, where you spend), the tracker on your phone, some man tailing you from a distance.
he is a very very busy man, to a fault. he probably makes you sit in his lap after a long day and tell him everything you did. i don't think he would let you forget that he paid for it all.
if his partner goes clothes shopping, i can see him making them try everything on for him.
Benjamin Poindexter never raised his voice at you.
He got sharp sometimes. Quiet and distant. His jaw would lock up so hard you thought his teeth might crack, but yelling? That wasnāt Dex. Dex controlled himself with brutal precision because he knew exactly what happened when he didnāt.
Which was why the second it happened, the entire apartment went dead silent.
āCan you just stop talking for one second?!ā
The words hit harder than they should have.
You froze in the kitchen doorway, still holding the glass of water youād brought him.
Dex stood near the table, shoulders tight, breathing uneven. There were dark circles under his eyes, his FBI jacket half-unzipped, hands trembling faintly from exhaustion. Heād barely slept in two days. Barely eaten. Every muscle in his body looked wound too tight.
But the second he saw your faceā
He broke.
āNoāā
The anger vanished instantly, like someone ripped it out of him.
His expression collapsed into horror.
āNo no noā¦ā
The glass shook slightly in your hand as Dex stumbled toward you too fast, panic flooding his features.
āI didnāt mean that.ā His voice cracked immediately. āI didnātāI wasnāt yelling at you, I justāā
He swallowed hard, eyes already watering.
Youād seen dex kill a man without blinking.
But this?
This destroyed him.
āIām sorry,ā he said again, quieter now. Desperate. āPlease donāt look at me like that.ā
You hadnāt even realized you looked hurt until he said it.
Dex grabbed both sides of his head like he was trying to physically stop himself from unraveling.
āIām sorry,ā he repeated shakily. āIām so fucking tired and everythingās loud and IāI took it out on you and I swore Iād never do that.ā
His breathing became uneven.
Then the tears started.
Not dramatic nor manipulative. Just terrified.
He looked at you like he genuinely believed one wrong move would make you leave.
āPlease say something,ā he whispered.
The glass barely made it onto the counter before he caught your wrists carefully, almost afraid youād pull away.
āI didnāt mean it,ā he kept saying, voice breaking more each time. āI donāt want to hurt you. I would never hurt you.ā
āDexāā
āI know what I sound like when I lose controlāI didn't mean it I swearā A tear slid down his face and he looked furious at himself for it. āI know what I am when I get like this.ā
Your chest tightened.
Because beneath the exhaustion and panic, there it wasā
Fear.
Not fear of being alone.
Fear of becoming someone dangerous to you.
Dex lowered his head suddenly, gripping your hands tighter.
āIām trying so hard,ā he said quietly, crying now without even hiding it. āIām trying so hard to be good with you.ā
That did it.
You pulled him into you immediately.
His entire body jerked in surprise before he folded against you like he was holding himself together by threads alone. One arm wrapped around your waist so tightly it almost hurt while the other covered his face.
āIām sorry,ā he mumbled against your shoulder over and over again. āIām sorry. Iām sorry.ā
You ran your fingers through his hair carefully.
āYou scared me for a second,ā you admitted softly.
Dex let out a broken sound that was halfway to a sob.
āI know.ā
āBut Iām not leaving.ā
He went still.
Then he finally looked at you, eyes red and wet, like he didnāt quite believe what he heard.
āYouāre not?ā
You shook your head gently.
Dex stared at you for a long moment before pressing his forehead against yours, breathing shakily.
āDonāt be nice to me right now, slap me, punch me...ā he whispered painfully. āI donāt deserve it. You're being too kind to me.ā
Your thumb brushed under his eye.
āGood thing I decide that. Not you.ā
For the first time all night, his shoulders finally loosened.
(MDNI ā semi-explicit descriptions of sex, flirting, public nudity (sort of), Shane is an asshole and a fuckboy and an idiot, reader makes him work for it, not proof read, blurb that got too long)
1.7k
āāā
Shane Maguire is used to getting the women he wants.
He knows heās no Prince Charming. Heās rough, acerbic, and often covered in a thin layer of dirt and sweat. He also knows that heās six-foot-something with a face thatās nice to look at, and to the right woman, this more than makes up for his flaws. To the right woman, heās just her type.
So, when he wants it, sex isnāt usually hard to come by. A few generic compliments and the cost of one drink are all heās expecting to pay for your time ā and body ā when he sees you sitting alone at the bar one quiet evening.
He takes the seat next to you, wonders aloud what a pretty woman is doing by herself on a Friday evening. You give him a half-smile, reserved and suspicious.
His conversational skills arenāt exactly honed to a point, but he usually doesnāt need to talk for long before he can get to what heās really after.
Youāre here for a couple of weeks. Youāre interested in hiking this trail and that one. Youāre pretty sure the raccoon living under your rented cabinās porch has got it out for you. Blah blah blah. He talks as much as he thinks he needs to before he can ask to accompany you back to your room, voice low, intentions clear as spring water.
At the proposition, your eyebrows scrunch. You turn to your drink, eyes forward, arms crossing over your chest.
āNo, thanks,ā you say.
But Shane is a man familiar with the hunt. He tries to cover his tracks.
āWe donāt have to do anything but sit and talk,ā he says with an easy smile. Disarming. Coaxing a doe back into his sights. āSānot often I get to enjoy the company of such a beautiful woman.ā
āI wasnāt born yesterday,ā you say shortly. āI donāt do hookups. Theyāre not worth the trouble.ā
Ok. So you like to be pursued. Shane loves the pursuit ā for as long as he has the patience. The stubborn purse of your lips and the way you turn your nose up at him is doing something to that primitive part of his brain.
He leans into your line of sight again, lets you see that dirty blonde hair, the broad slope of his shoulders. Those redeeming qualities.
āI can make it worth your time, sweetheart,ā he promises. āAs much as you want to give.ā
Your eyes do an up-and-down over his frame. His final judgement. āIām not entirely sure you know or care where the clit is.ā
For once, Shane is speechless. A deer caught in your headlights. An arrow straight through the heart of his poor ego. You stand with the barest hint of a smirk on your face, satisfied with your kill, and walk out the door with a swing in your hips as he stares at you like an idiot.
The first thought he has is well fuck you, too. The next, while he lays awake on his scratchy blankets, is that your assessment of him may not have been so far off the mark. Itās an ugly parasite of a thought. One that has him rethinking all of his past sexual encounters. The recurring pattern: brief and self-serving.
Get her clothes off. Get her underneath him. Touch what feels good. Grind. Grope. Release.
Whether or not she finds that release as well . . . Heās certainly not stopping her, but itās not exactly on his list of priorities.
The thought makes a home in the burrows of his mind.
No matter how he tries to squash it, extract it, it stays hidden in those dark crevices.
Some stuck up woman is not going to get in his head like this. Heās a good lay. Obviously. Heās got the body count to prove it. And sure, maybe those one night stands tend to stay that way ā one night only. But thatās how he likes it. He could have you screaming and soaking your sheets if he wanted to. Obviously.
He imagines it. You bring him back to your room. He gets your clothes off. Gets you underneath him. And then he . . . And then he . . .
Fuck. What would he do?
Touch you. Right. Women love his hands, big and rough and steady.
Put his mouth on you? Admittedly not something he makes a habit out of. But how hard could it be? To bring his mouth down low and stay there, winding you up tighter, tighter, until that coil springs loose.
He likes that thought. Likes it a lot, actually. Your pretty face screwed up, the pout of your lips parting, your soft body arching underneath him. He likes the thought enough that he spills all over his hand to it, sweat soaking through those scratchy blankets.
When he sees you at the bar the next night, his palms are sweaty. He makes a joke about bumping into you there again, something about getting bitten by the same snake twice. Stupid. You blink up at him with those unimpressed eyes.
He offers you something thatās half-way to an apology, which is more than just about anyone else gets from him, even if you donāt know well enough to appreciate it.
The hikes you mentioned yesterday ā he can take you. He knows the best ones, the best times to do them. And maybe he looks a tiny bit pleading while he offers. Only a little bit. His heart didnāt grow too much overnight.
You let the offer linger in the air. Gaze assessing. Fingers toying with the straw in your drink. And then the corner of your mouth tugs up, barely.
āSure,ā you say simply.
So there he is, escorting you through the park like some lovestruck puppy. Itās embarrassing until he remembers that thought again ā your soft skin, your pretty mouth, your taste on his tongue ā and then heās teaching you how to identify plants and pointing out hidden wildlife like heās a regular tour guide.
You want to see the sunrise, heāll show you the best view in the park. You want to grab something to eat, heās already got his wallet out. You want to go swimming, he knows the perfect spot, and when you peel off your t-shirt to reveal the scrap of fabric you call a bikini, heās on his knees thanking God for finally smiling down on him.
He sits by the bank while you swim circles in crystal clear water, sunlight sparkling off the drops clinging to your skin. He doesnāt even pretend not to stare at the soft curves of your body. Heās an animal, a mongrel, a dog licking his lips, and heās never been interested in pretending to be something heās not.
You swim up to the bank before him and come to rest on your arms. Beads of water drip from your neck to the swell of your breasts, and he keeps his stupid mouth shut because he knows better by now. Youāre saying something to him but the words are just noise in his ears, because you lean forward and your breasts are pressed up against your arms, the rounded tops of them swelling over the cups of that bikini.
You say his name and his eyes snap back up to yours. He has half a mind to feel guilty until he sees the knowing smile on your face.
Youāre doing it on purpose.
You like this. You like him.
The realization makes it worth it when he has to walk you back to your cabin with a chub. You step inside the dimly lit room and he waits at the doorway because you still havenāt invited him in, and heās developed a sudden interested in being a very good boy.
āThanks for showing me that swimming hole,ā you say.
āAny time,ā he says. Behind your back, your hands are fiddling with the strings of your bikini.
āI know youāre working tomorrow,ā you begin, and with a tug of your fingers the bikini strings fall limp. āBut I was thinking maybe we could hike up to that ridge. See the stars, like you were talking about.ā Your hands rise to work on the knot around your neck.
Shaneās heart drops straight to his ass. āYeah,ā he says, dumb, as that last knot tugs loose. āYeah, we can do that.ā
You hold the bikini top between two pinched fingers, breasts bare, skin glowing with the soft sheen of sweat.
āGreat,ā you say. āText me when youāre done with work.ā
A release, and the bikini top drops to the floor with a wet splat.
He couldnāt tear his eyes from you if he tried. You, naked from the waist up in your doorway, cast in the warm light of the sun. Bare skin flushed and beautiful. The moment lasts an age and an instant.
Heās a dog. An absolute dog, and you must have a soft spot for mutts because you give him all of a generous 10 seconds to salivate while you stand there, half naked, in front of an open doorway, with nothing but his body hiding you from the rest of the world.
Your fingers wrap around the door handle, and Shane pries his eyes away from your chest in time to see that satisfied smile again.
āBye, Shane,ā you say, and shut the door.
He stands on your porch like an idiot for a full minute before he finally turns to make the trek back to his camp. The walk is long and miserable. Boots heavy. Pants tight.
When he makes it back to his tent he reaches straight for the beat-up cooler, swipes a hand into the icy water, and wipes it over his heated face.
Youāre evil. Youāre killing him. And heās going to march right back to your cabin tomorrow night and take you to see the stars, just like you asked.
The folding chair groans as he sinks into it, a cold can of beer cracking open with a familiar hiss.
You want to be pursued. Shane loves this pursuit. He takes a long drink and thinks of tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, and what new skin you might show him then. Where he might put his hands, if heās lucky.
Where he might do all those things heās been thinking of, rehearsing in his mind, and hoping youāll enjoy them as much as he will.
What you said that night you met: heās going to prove you wrong.
And since heās feeling so nice, he wonāt even make you admit it. Heāll accept your apology in the form of you moaning his name.
He leans back in his chair, beer cold in his hand, stars twinkling overhead like the water sparkling off your skin.
Shane tends to get the women he wants, and right now, he only wants one.
When he has you, heāll show you why you should only want him, too.
