benjamin poindexter who melts whenever you guide his hands yourself. he's already touch-starved, already eager to have his hands on you, but knowing exactly what you like is even better. he wants to learn every little preference. every small adjustment teaches him something new, and he memorizes it all. more than anything, he wants to know exactly how to make you feel good. your pleasure always comes first in his mind.
you take his wrists, drawing his palms flat to your shoulders. sweet. innocent. a kiss pressed to his jaw, a smile warming his skin before you drag his hands higher. you spread his fingers against your collarbone. they spasm. his throat clicks.
wanting to test that reaction, you lift his hands again, winding them around your throat.
“wait… baby… i might-” concern cuts through his voice.
you cut him off. “i like it.” a smile plays on your lips.
he nods slowly. “okay… okay.” the words slip out. his eyes drop from your face to his hands locked around your neck. the sight makes his cock ache. he bites his bottom lip, subtle.
you hum, pressing his grip tighter. "looks pretty?”
a shaky exhale. “so pretty.”
then you slide his hands lower. down your sternum. over the swell of your breasts. you press his palms into your curves, squeezing his fingers so that he squeezes your tits. a quiet moan from you as you keep your eyes locked with his. he’s watching intensely. focused on your reaction, on the way your hands move his.
then he takes over. he kneads your tits exactly how you taught him. you let go of his hands, fingers sliding down his wrists, just holding him. letting him work your breasts. no surprise he makes you feel this good.
bullseye is indeed very skilled with his hands.
the sight of you moaning, looking down at him as he shapes your tits, makes his cock jump.
“you like that, baby?” nervous. managing. his fingers graze your nipples, then pinch soft through the fabric of your clothes. earning a whine from you.
you nod, your hands drifting back down his biceps, your fingertips skimming over the firm lines of his muscle. a laugh nearly escapes you at how nervous he sounds. neither of you breaks eye contact.
your hands cover his again. you guide them down your waist, over your hips, along your thighs. he squeezes automatically, gently pulling you closer.
his hands massage your thighs, stroking up and down. your pussy clenches, slick and hungry, aching for him to go higher.
you moan lightly as your cunt pulses. you pull his hands up, curling his fingers around the waistband of your shorts. you work his grip, making him tug them down slowly, agonizing, along with your panties. he’s just as eager as you.
you pry his fingers off the waistband. stopping him just short of baring you. a tease. his fingers twitch as you push his hands back down, settling them on your hips. they stay there. patient. waiting. hope flickers in his eyes. maybe you’ll want his hands to go even further. maybe even deep between your legs.
warnings: none...i think? Dex is a bit toxic #whowouldveguessed
You were... difficult.
Being difficult is probably the best way to describe this, at least in other's eyes. Because you overthought every damn outing, every meeting, every holiday that would be. Every worse scenario that there could be? You thought of it. But there was that problem. You didnt voice it. You let those thoughts consume every inch of your mind and then let them settle like a heavy weight on your chest until you couldnt take it anymore. Then would come the crying in bed at nights. Showing up to work without an ounce of sleep because of how bad it had gotten.
So, maybe, it wasnt being difficult on purpose.
It was that overthinking making it difficult.
And being painfully... painfully awkward in some situations.
It wasnt like you wanted to stare blankly at the client, in the cafe you were working in, for around two minutes because your brain couldnt comprehand what they were ordering (though, it was simple caramel latte, that's not the point here). Important thing was to able to get out of such situations with your head high, maybe a little smile, perhaps a light laugh. But no. You asked three times. Three times. Three times before your brain came out of that fog. Bravo.
On most days though, you were... nice to have around. After you acquired some sort of routine that helped ease your overthinking? And after taking some herbal pills to calm down your mind at work? Hell, some might even say youre life of the party. Even if that routine was drinking a glass of wine (that you didnt even like) every night.
One Wednesday, you were working your usual shift at the cafe. Slower day, actually. Staring at the front door, zoning out, got boring quite fast at such days. People mostly ordered simple coffees, so.
But then he walked in. Tall, broad shoulders and dark blonde hair. You had seen him around few times before, he usually had that... closed off aura around him. But he sometimes made jokes with you...small talk, with that sharp smirk. He was, to put it lightly, handsome.
Was he making a pity talk with you? Maybe.
It wasnt that hard to notice awkwardness in people, appearently.
But pity talk from a man like him?
You might just start posting videos online, whining about being bad at social interactions, if it meant it came from him.
Pathetic, of course, but at least you were honest with yourself.
You didn't realize you were blankly staring at him, lost in your thoughts, until he cleaned his throat. Time to snap out of it.
"What can i get for you today?" You asked sweetly. That sweet tone used for customers everyday... because, well, Karma is real.
"Decaf, just decaf." He answered in quite polite way. But his face remained blank. Like a sad cat, in a way. You gave him a nod and then went to make that decaf. Then that awkward silence creeped in again.
So, time to make a small talk. Clear your throat and—
"How's your day, sir?"
"Dex." You stared at him for a second. Your brain fogging up suddenly. As if what he said wasnt understandable. Everyone else would actually get that he was telling you his name. And on good days? You probably would too. But lately your brain was your own enemy. So, instead of giving a simple smile and nod?...
"Your day is... Dex?"
Good God. Good Lord.
What you said hit you like a freight train. Like a bullet, actually. And maybe bullet would be way more pleasant than this situation. Because how can anyone be so stupid? Geniually.
But Dex laughed. He actually laughed and nodded, shrugging.
"Guess you could say it like that." He agreed. You stared at him with an open mouth for a moment...then, your pursued your lips. No words. Just pure embarassment as you passed him his decaf.
"...That'll be five dollars...Dex." He gave the money and left with a nod.
For you? Probably overthinking that encounter for next two weeks at night.
For Dex? A small victory. You finally knew his name. And after three months of stalking, observing through your apartment windows, drinking overpriced coffee? He could finally go forward with this.
With you.
He didnt mind that awkward moments of you.
Crying moments of you.
Spacing out moments of you.
Because they made you YOU.
You.
Kind you. Misunderstood you.
The clumsy you after work at 6 pm.
The wine drinking you.
Dex didnt mind it all. Not even a little bit.
He wasnt Perfect, either, was he?
You were good. Did things he wouldnt even think of.
Gave whipped cream in cups for dogs for free when customers brought them along.
Gave a sweet smile to shy kids.
Gave money to charity every month, even if you didnt earn that much.
Gave money to homeless, even went out of your way to give them something hot to drink in the winter.
You just gave, gave, gave... and Dex would gladly take whatever you were willing to give and more.
Sometimes he just wished he could...tear into that kindness of yours. To isolate it purely for him. To isolate you. To isolate your thoughts so you wouldnt overthink things.
The only thing that geniually pissed him off was your obliviousness to some things.
You didnt notice that his small talks always were somehow complimenting you.
Or that he sometimes sat in the cafe on hours for end, just... observing.
He wanted to know you so badly. He wanted to know every detail. Every thing that made you that little bundle of nerves.
So, to punish you, he would often do things that would fuck with your mind.
Knock on your door then quickly leave.
Throw a small rock against the window of your apartment at night.
...He liked you paranoid. Not wine and pill dimmed. Because that meant you were thinking.
Maybe wishing he could come and save you? Gods, he would. If only you'd use that head of yours correctly.
But it was alright. He could make his girl think real properly.
Frighetened minds think miles a minute.
So, you were thinking really fast when, after leaving your shift, a masked man snatched you into a valley and put a cloth to your mouth.
Maybe you werent overthinking.
Maybe all your life you were just preparing for what was about to happen.
Maybe everyone was wrong about you, including yourself.
But Dex now made sure no one would actually find that out
Okay thats all bahaha ill probably delete it in the morning because i dont even know what was the point here!!! I was wine sad and wanted to try writing bye
