#dex x reader

[kyamiia]

need dex to fuck my stupid virgin cunt till i bleed all over him

[bullseyegoon]

HE LOOKS LIKE HE WORKS WITH HIS HANDS AND SMELLS LIKE MARLBORO REDS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[amberlynnmurdock]

The First Time

Pairing: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Reader

Genre: FLUFF, angst, SMUTTTT 18+!!!!

Summary: Dex and his neighbor become good friends, so much so she only trusts him to take her virginity.

Based off this anon message

Note: I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT BUT HERE IT IS I HOPE YOU GUYS LOVE IT

She’s the purest thing he’s ever known, and she lives right down the hall from him. Dex liked to keep his space neat and tidy; it was never dirty or out of order. He never allowed anyone into his space. Dex valued his privacy and, even more so, his alone time, despite feeling the lows of such often. Everything was a routine he had to strictly follow: wake up, shower, get ready for work, work, come home, be alone.

She ended up fitting into his routine, somehow. Only someone as pure and kind as she could find her way into Dex’s space--and so easily, too. She had recently graduated from New York University with a degree in forensic science and was living alone for the first time. 

He’ll never forget when she started talking to him in the elevator, one rainy evening.  

“What floor?” He asked her.

“6,” she replied. It was the same as his. Dex clicked the elevator button. 

“You work for the FBI?” She couldn’t help but notice the large letters on the sleeve of his navy blue jacket. Dex typically took it off before going out in public, but that day’s mission had exhausted him so much, he forgot to. 

“Yes,” Dex answered and shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to friendly conversation with strangers. It was natural for him to have his guard up. 

“That’s cool,” she sighed. “I just graduated from NYU last year. I got a job at the 15th Precinct in their forensics department, but working for the FBI is a dream of mine. Do you like it?”

“It’s tough,” Dex said. “It pays the bills.”

The elevator dinged. If he weren’t on the same floor as her, he’d be happy. He let her exit the elevator first and trailed slowly behind her. She waited for him so they could walk in tandem. He sighed, realizing he had no escape. 

“Do you mind if I come by sometime and ask you questions about your job? I’m new to the area—new to living here, and I’d like to know that I have a personal FBI agent to call a neighbor and—friend,” she smiled at him. Dex squinted his eyes slightly, amused by her outgoing personality and interest in his job. He wasn’t particularly a fan of being put on the spot like this, but seeing the way she looked so hopeful at him—who was he to say no? 

“Sure.”

And that’s how she ended up sitting across from him at his kitchen table, notebook on her right side, a cup of decaf coffee on her left. It had been like this for a year now—like clockwork, she was at his door at 11 PM, sometimes even later (depending on when he came home from work) to talk about his day and ask questions about anything related to his job. Dex grew to look forward to these late-night conversations with her—it was oddly reminiscent of his meetings with Dr. Mercer. 

Now, he knew these weren’t therapy sessions, and if anything, he was the one giving her advice and information, but it was comforting to talk to her about his day. He found comfort in explaining his job duties and answering any curiosities she had. She was kind, probably the kindest thing in his life right now, and he needed that. He found it harder to sleep if she didn’t come by and spend an hour with him talking about his job.

“Wow,” she breathed. “So when you guys detain whoever you need to, how soon does forensics show up to the scene?”

“They’re already on their way before we even lock the handcuffs,” Dex said. He watched as she scribbled something in her notebook. He only recently noticed how attracted he was to her—he only ever saw her at night, and she was always, more often than not, in her pajamas. He started to take notice of her rotation. Last week, she had light pink polka dot ones on. Tonight, she’s in a plain light blue set. Next was probably her black silk ones. It was always in her natural state that he saw her. No makeup, disheveled hair. Friendly smile. Curious and his favorite part, attentive, eyes. 

He rarely ever saw her during the day. He was up at the crack of dawn going to the headquarters, and she was always in three hours later. She always came home before him, and when she’d hear Dex’s familiar knock on her door, she knew he was ready for their nightly catch-up. 

Neighbors catching up…friends, like she said one time. That’s what they were, Dex supposed. 

He didn’t think of this as an almost every night thing. After the first few nights, he let her into his apartment, Dex thought it was a done deal. On the fifth night, just as he was about to get in bed, he heard a knock at his door. 

“I brought ice cream,” she was holding two tubs of Ben and Jerry’s in her hands, and squeezing her notebook under her arm. “Mint chocolate cookie or strawberry cheesecake.” 

Dex grabbed the mint chocolate cookie from her grasp and let her inside with a tired smile. 

He had also grown a bit protective over her as her neighbor. 

He remembered one time he got home from work at 10:30 PM—earlier than usual. He knocked on her door three times—it was his signal that he was ready and home—but there was no answer on the other side of the door. Dex pressed his ear against it and listened for any movement or sound. Nothing. He checked his watch and saw it was nearly 11:00 PM. It wasn’t like her to not be home already.

He pulled out his phone and called her. It immediately went to voicemail. 

Dex clicked his phone off and rested it on his lips. The increasing heaviness in his chest was something he only felt when he was on missions—he was anxious. Is she okay? 

Something inside of him locked, or maybe, unlocked at the thought of her never coming home. The thought of her never sitting across from him at his kitchen table ever again. It unlocked a feeling he kept hidden away as best as he could, despite it being the most constant thing in his life. Feeling abandoned—left behind. Alone. 

For the first time in his life, Dex didn’t want to be alone.  

Dex was too numb to go back into his apartment. He pressed his back against the wall of the hallway and slid down to sit on the floor. He decided he would wait there until she came home. 

After an hour of staring into nothing, but mentally replaying all the times he’s had someone leave him, the elevator doors dinged. Dex was too tired to look at who it was, too afraid of disappointment if it wasn’t her. He kept his eyes forward. 

“Dex?” She started walking faster towards him. “Are you okay?” Dex whipped his head up and immediately stood up on his feet. 

“Yeah,” Dex nodded, his voice feeling thick and dry. “I was—worried. About you. Your phone…”

“It died,” she explained. “And I forgot my charger. I ended up staying late to finish up some work. You waited for me here?” She asked with a hint of a smile on her face.

“Yeah,” Dex nodded, meeting her eyes finally. She still looked as wide awake as ever, full of energy and positivity he wished he could emulate. Something compelled him to wrap his arms around her and bring her close in an embrace—so he did. He sighed in relief. “Don’t forget your charger again,” he said in her hair. 

“I won’t,” she pulled back, suddenly catching on to the seriousness of his tone. “Rough day? Is it too late to talk in your apartment?”

“Not if it’s too late for you.”

It was strange, the effect she had on him. It only grew more intense after each night together. Dex watched her carefully now, across from his table. He couldn’t remember the lat time he let someone get close to him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed himself to connect with someone since Dr. Mercer passed away. It was the first time he possibly found a new North Star. He hoped this one wouldn’t go out. 

She brought a warmth to his apartment that it was lacking before. He never spent time at the kitchen table unless it was the morning and he was having his coffee before work. He never thought he’d spend most of his nights here, with her, talking about his day and duties as an FBI agent. She was part of his routine now. And if there’s anything about Dex, it’s that he doesn’t like when his routine is disrupted. 

“Can I ask you something we haven’t talked about before?” She looked up from her notebook and placed her pen down on the table. Dex shrugged his shoulders. There wasn’t much he wouldn’ttell her at this point.

“Anything,” he said.

“Have you ever had to kill someone?” 

It took a lot to catch Dex off guard. But this was a question he wasn’t expecting to be asked so blatantly. 

“In the line of duty, obviously,” she followed up quickly, responding to his reaction. 

Dex held her gaze—he didn’t want his answer to drive her away. In case it did, he wanted to memorize the way she was looking at him right now. The hopeful curiosity. The kindness without judgement in her eyes. He broke eye contact and sighed. 

“Yes,” Dex said, rearranging the napkin holder in front of him. 

“Because you had no choice?”

“Yes,” he lied. 

She shook her head. Not in disapproval, but in disbelief. “I can’t imagine that. Do you—do you remember the first time you had to?”

Dex does remember his first time killing someone. But it wasn’t in the line of duty as an FBI agent. It wasn’t even when he served time in the army. 

It was when he was a child and had dreams of becoming a baseball star. The memory flashed in Dex’s mind as quickly as the baseball ricocheted off the fence and hit Coach NAME in the head. 

“I do,” Dex said. “It was a cartel member. We had the group where we wanted them, but one guy wouldn’t give up the fight. He grabbed for a weapon to shoot at my partner—Nadeem—but I got to him before he could do anything more.”

“And by got to him, you mean…”

“Mmhm,” Dex hummed. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I know it’s not easy work. I know these things have to happen. But I wonder, are you okay? Knowing that that happened? And what you had to do?”

“I’m okay,” Dex said, and he wasn’t sure if it was a lie or not. “It was either him or Nadeem. They train you to think fast in those situations. You can’t waste time.”

“I’m really glad I chose the science side of it all.” She leaned back in his chair, and he liked how she made it look so casual. He wanted to mirror her but didn’t. “I don’t know if I could handle it like you do.”

“We make the mess,” Dex said, leaning forward. “Your side cleans it up.”

“That’s an interesting way to put it,” she replied. “Accurate.”

Dex sipped his coffee. “Anything else you’d like to know, Ms. Forensics?”

She smiled at the nickname. “I guess… out of personal curiosity… what did it feel like? Taking a life like that? Even if the guy was bad.”

Dex twisted the mug in his hands. Truthfully, it made no difference to him. But what would she want to hear?

“It’s hard,” Dex said. “Really hard. But these situations aren’t black and white. We have a job to do. We have to protect people. Protect our own. That’s what matters at the end of the day.”

“I see,” she said, nodding her head. “Do you have counselors at work you can talk to?”

“We have to undergo a psych-eval every once in a while.”

“That’s good,” she pressed her lips together. “Well, if the counselors aren’t always there for you, just know that I am, Dex.”

And there it was—that sweetness he had become so accustomed to. He couldn’t imagine his nights without it now. Dex smiled a little and focused his gaze on the table. 

“It’s late,” she said after a few moments of silence. “I think I’ve run you dry for tonight. Got any plans this weekend?” She asked him this all the time, and Dex always had the same answer for her.

“No,” he said. “Catching up on sleep, maybe.”

“Me too,” she began to close her notebook and collect her pens, to Dex’s disappointment. 

“You can come by tomorrow night,” Dex said with hope in his voice. “If you’re not busy and you feel like talking.”

She smiled a little and nodded her head. “I’d like that. Maybe instead of me asking about work, we can just hang?”

Dex took her empty coffee mug and wiped a coffee stain with the pad of his thumb. Her question echoed in his head. 

“I’d like that,” he answered, meeting her tired eyes. “Maybe I can ask about your life and work for once.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be getting much,” she laughed, and Dex hoped she was kidding. “But I’ll do my best to highlight the interesting parts.” She began her walk to his door, notebook in her hand. Dex unlocked it from behind her, gently brushing his arm against hers by mistake. He took a step back to give her space.

“Good night, Dex,” she whispered. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

“Good night,” he softly said back. He watched her as she walked halfway down the hall to her apartment. He always waited until she was inside and locked the door before going back and retreating to his bedroom. When she was, he closed his door and locked it. He was alone again. 

◎◎◎

Dex wasn’t worried about having her over until the reality finally settled in and he realized that she would be coming over in a different context than usual. He couldn’t remember the last time he hosted something for someone and had food ready—this was possibly his first time ever. When he came home, early for a Friday night, he checked his fridge to see if he had any snacks and felt silly for it—of course, he had nothing, except a carton of milk and some eggs. 

He went back out to the corner store and paused in the middle of the aisle. What did she like to eat? He only remembered the time she brought ice cream to his place. He went to the freezer and grabbed the same flavors of Ben and Jerry’s she had once brought: mint chocolate cookie and strawberry cheesecake. Dex balanced the two cartons in his hands and went through the chips aisle. He wasn’t sure what to get, and the options were overwhelming. He settled on a jar of salsa, French onion and guacamole—that way, she’d have more than one option. He also grabbed two kinds of chips: salted and hint of lime. He also threw in a container of chocolate chip cookies. 

After leaving the store, he realized that she may be interested in drinking something. He wasn’t a drinker at all—alcohol didn’t mix well with his medication—so he didn’t have a clue of what she may like. Wine? Beer? He found himself inside the liquor store, even more overwhelmed by the options. When was the last time he was in a place like this?

He grabbed one bottle of red wine (Pinot Noir), one bottle of white wine (Sauvignon Blanc), and one bottle of rose for good measure. At the counter, he saw a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels and grabbed it. 

Dex had his hands full on his way back to his apartment. He’d never had this much food in his house—the bags practically filled his counter. He laid every snack out but paused midway—they wouldn’t be sitting at his kitchen table. Maybe on the couch? Dex began to move all the snacks to the coffee table. He placed each dip in a bowl and had two more bowls filled with each type of chip he bought. He left the ice cream in the freezer. He put the chocolate-covered pretzels in a smaller bowl. 

Then, he put each bottle of wine on the counter so that when she first walked in, she could choose. Dex finally sat down on his couch and checked the time. It was almost 10 PM. She should be home soon.

◎◎◎

His apartment felt cold and dark until she finally graced it with her presence. She was in her black silk pajamas, as Dex correctly predicted was next in her rotation. When she first walked inside Dex’s apartment and saw the line up of wine and snacks, she couldn’t help but smile at how endearing it all was, especially the hopeful look on Dex’s face as he watched her take it all in. 

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” Dex said, scratching his neck. “So I got a bit of everything.”

“It’s okay,” she looked at him, this well-trained and tough FBI agent who looked like he spent the last hour stressing over salted or hint of lime chips and ended up getting both. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I wanted.”

Dex sighed in relief. “I also got different wines you can choose from.”

She looked at each bottle. She was naturally inclined to reach for the red. But she wanted to make sure Dex had a say in the matter, too. “Which do you prefer?” She asked him.

He shook his head. “Oh, I don’t drink. I got that for you. All of it’s for you.”

“Well, if you’re not drinking, then I’m not either,” she said smiling. “I do want to dig into those chocolate-covered pretzels, though.”

“They’re for you,” Dex said.

She walked over to his couch, but Dex stayed standing by his kitchen table. He didn’t take a moment before to take in how different his apartment looked whenever she was in it. Before, everything looked as tidy as it needed to be: empty coffee table, couch lacking warmth, unused empty bowls. But she graced his apartment with her presence by making it feel comfortable. A couch is meant to be sat on, a coffee table meant to have snacks, and bowls meant to have food—just for her. He’s never seen his place so lively and it’s all because of her. 

It was like watching a science experiment in real time. The cause and effect. The hypothesis and results. Except, he felt in the thick of the experiment and the results could be a wild card. He was just happy to witness it happening. How she was so good at making it all feel so comfortable. He liked having her around. Dex wanted her to stay a while. 

“Well don’t be shy, Dex,” she patted the seat next to her on his couch. “Come stay a while.”

Dex laughed and made his way to his couch. He felt like a stranger in his own house. How should he delicately handle this new context of hanging out? He was used to her having a notebook and her doing the talking. He felt the pressure and was afraid he wouldn’t live up to expectations. 

He sat down next to her—not too close. A comfortable distance. He reached for a salted chip and dipped in the guacamole first. During training, they taught agents to start conversations with witnesses or suspects casually. He felt he could apply those tactics here, with her. 

“So,” Dex began, chewing his chip of guacamole, “first thing’s first. How was your day at work?”

Dex didn't know he had it in him, to curate and carry a conversation as long as he did with her. He asked her things about her life he didn’t know before—how she got into forensic science, where she’s from, who she used to be. She’s only 22—she’s got her whole life ahead of her, and she’s only getting started. 

When she revealed her age, Dex was slightly taken aback. The thought never crossed his mind but now that he knew she was a bit younger than him, he felt that sense of protection he had over her grow in size. All those times she had come home late, he never knew she was vulnerable like that. Maybe it was wrong to think that way… she’s independent and lives on her own. She can take care of herself. But it doesn’t have to be that way. 

Still, he had to know something. 

“My age… you’re not uncomfortable?” Dex asked in a small voice, avoiding eye contact. 

“No,” she shook her head. “Not unless you are.”

“I’m not,” Dex answered quickly. “It never crossed my mind to ask how old you were. I didn’t think there was that much of a difference.”

“Seven years is nothing,” she shrugged. Most of my coworkers are that or even more.” 

“I just want you to be comfortable,” Dex admitted. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to be here.”

“I want to be here,” she said. “I like talking to you. You’ve told me a lot about the FBI. That’s not the only reason I like talking to you, though.”

“Why’s that?” Dex couldn’t help but ask. 

“You’re nice to me,” she simply stated. “I got lucky that you’re my neighbor. I feel safe.”

“Even though you know my line of work isn’t always sunshine and daises—even though you know what I’ve done,” Dex said in a low voice, “You still feel safe?”

“You’ve given me no reason to think otherwise,” she said softly. “You’ve shown me one side of you. I’m shocked you haven’t figured out I’m trying to get to know all of you, Dex.” 

Dex held her gaze and felt something blooming slowly in his chest. “What else do you want to know?”

“We can save it for another time. You asked me here tonight because you wanted to get to know me,” she nudged his shoulder with hers, the first physical touch they’d shared all evening. 

“That’s right,” Dex said with a small nod. 

“Your turn,” She said with a welcoming smile. Dex took a deep breath. Truthfully, he felt the basic questions had run dry. He knew all there was to know about her on the surface: how she got into forensic science, where she studied, where she’s from, where she works. When he was serving time in the army, the comrades he was with often sat in circles in their tents and started playing games like Never Have I Ever or Would You Rather? He didn’t want to play those games with her now, but he wanted to get to know her on a deeper level. Those games typically made people reveal things about themselves. If she felt so safe around him, Dex didn’t see any harm in asking more personal questions. 

“Do you remember what your prom was like?” Dex asked with a sideways smile. 

“My prom?” Her eyes lit up at the question to Dex’s relief. He nodded. “Oh my, gosh, well, yes. It was such a weird time for me. I actually didn’t have a date my junior year, but senior year I did. I was the worst prom date.”

Dex smiled, trying to live vicariously through her experiences. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“It’s true. I had a crush on someone else so by the end, I ditched my prom date and went to a different party. But I had so much fun with my friends. I miss the freedom of being that young,” she smiled. “Good music, free food. Sneaking alcohol at the after party. What about you?”

Dex looked away from her and shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t go to prom. I didn’t technically have a prom.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. The institution Dex grew up in threw a makeshift prom for the seniors, but it didn’t have good music. It had free food that came from the cafeteria they ate at every day already. And absolutely no alcohol by any means. And Dex didn’t have a date. “I remember sneaking out to leave early and head back to my room.” 

“Room?” She questioned.

“I grew up in a Boys’ Home,” Dex lied again. “They invited other homes for orphans but it was awkward. No one really knew anyone. I swore off events like that after that.”

“When’s the last time you went to an event?”

“Probably then.”

“Dex,” she said his name, “we’ll have to find an event for us to go to and change that.” Dex smiled. He’d only consider it for her.

“What color was your dress?” He asked her. 

“White,” she said. “With a bunch of sparkles. My friends gave me shit about it, saying white was for weddings, but I didn’t care. I loved my dress. It was an off-shoulder dress. I felt like a princess.”

Dex tried to imagine it in his mind. White—fitting for her. 

“I’m sure you looked like one, too,” Dex said quietly. “Have you ever traveled outside the city?”

“Of course,” she smiled again. “I’ve been for Orlando, Boston… the entire east coast, pretty much. Outside, I’ve been to London.”

“London,” Dex said impressed. “Did you like it?”

“I did but, it’s got nothing on New York. Where have you traveled?”

“I’ve only ever traveled for the army,” Dex answered. “Nowhere exciting. And definitely not for vacation.”

“We’ll use up your PTO days soon,” she nudged his knee with hers. Dex liked the hopefulness in her tone—the idea of what she was saying coming to fruition one day. And he liked that she said we. 

“Do you remember your first heartbreak?” Dex asked her. 

“Oh, Dex,” she sighed. “Who doesn’t? It happened recently in college. About around the time I was a freshman. Of course, I fell for a guy who was older than me. He had me in the palm of his hand for an entire year… until he graduated and dumped me like that. I was so head over heels for him, but it taught me a great lesson. Never put your life on hold for someone else.”

“That’s true,” Dex said. “I’m sorry he did that to you. That must’ve been hard.”

“It’s okay,” she shrugged. “I hardly think about it now, unless someone asks me. Do you remember yours?”

“Yeah,” Dex replied. “Like you said, who doesn’t?” 

“What was it?”

“It’s not a typical heartbreak.”

“It’s all the same feeling.”

“I guess it would be when my parents died,” Dex said, meeting her eyes. “And then I was put in that home when I was a kid.”

“Dex, I’m sorry,” she whispered, scooting closer to Dex on the couch. His right leg was now resting against her left leg. She put her arm around his back and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Dex whispered back. “It was a long time ago. It made me capable of being on my own at an early age.”

“Do you have other family?” She asked, pulling back to look at him. 

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s just me.”

“Well,” she said instantly, “now you’ve got me.” 

Dex wanted to tell her that she couldn’t say things like that to him unless she really meant it. But he didn’t want to get serious about it all—didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

“Do you remember your first kiss?” She asked him in a lighter voice. Dex laughed. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “I had no idea what I was doing. It was awkward. And wet. You?”

She laughed against him. “I had a similar experience. It was so strange at first. I honestly hated it. I felt too young to kiss like that.”

“Yeah,” Dex nodded, trailing off, thinking of another question to ask her. He opened his mouth to say something, wondering if it may be too far, or treading a thin line of what boundaries they already had. Her leg was still pressed against his, but her hands were to herself now. “Do you remember… your first time?” He asked her.

Silence at first. So much silence that Dex had to look at her to make sure she was okay. Her eyes were focused in front of her, avoiding his. He’s never seen her like this—quiet, unsure. Dex wanted to rescind the question immediately and apologize for overstepping a boundary. But then, she gave him a small, ironic smile. 

“No,” she answered, shaking her head. Dex thought of every possibility in his head that could make her not remember something like that—having sex for the first time—and each possibility raised concern in him until she finished her answer. “I haven’t had my first time yet.”

It was Dex’s turn to go silent. He looked at her expression—she was trying her hardest to keep an indifferent look, but Dex sensed a tinge of embarrassment from her, and even sadness. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more: that she was a virgin or that she was capable of emitting an emotion he knew all too well. He wanted to kick himself for triggering that emotion out of her. 

“I’m sorry,” Dex squinted his eyes, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “You’re not judging me, are you?”

Dex looked at her in disbelief. How could he judge a girl like her? Dex has killed people before—not in the line of duty. He’s used lethal force; he’s been abandoned. And she thinks that he would judge her over not having ever had sex? Dex felt hollow in his heart for a moment—that she thought for even a second he would ever judge her for something like that. She, who is so kind and sweet—pure—someone Dex is positive he isn’t worthy of having so close to him. She scares him in a lot of ways because of that. But somehow he’s earned her trust. No, there’s no world where Benjamin Poindexter judges her. 

“Never,” he breathed out, moving so he was facing her. “I could never judge you for something like that. There’s no shame in it.”

“Sometimes I feel that way, that I haven’t experienced something so intimate before,” she said behind a sad smile. In a lot of ways, Dex hasn’t experienced something so intimate before either. Yes, he’s had sex—but the sex he’s had with partners never felt intimate. It just felt like sex. Soulless, empty, physical. He always felt emptier inside after. 

“It’s okay,” Dex comforted her. “It’s not always intimate.”

“It’s not?” She asked him, furrowing her brows. “I don’t know. It seems intimate to me.”

“It is,” Dex nodded, “it can be. But it has to be with the right person. Otherwise, it’s just an act.”

“I don’t want it to be that way,” she admitted, breaking eye contact. “Just an act. I can’t—I’m too sensitive to just do it. It has to mean something. I think that’s why I’ve waited so long. Not because of religious reasons. I’m not waiting for marriage. I just want my first time to be intimate. I want my first time to mean something. I want it to be real. I’ve heard so many stories from my friends saying guys just leave them after they get what they want. I’m not strong enough for that.” 

“I understand,” Dex said softly. “I get it. But please know I could never judge you for that. If you don’t judge me for not being pure.”

“Pure,” she laughed, “is that what you think I am now that you know that?”

“No,” Dex shook his head. “I knew you were pure from the moment I met you. I didn’t need to know anything else about you to know that.”

“Why do you say that?” She asked.

“Because,” Dex struggled to find the words. He looked at his hands, her knees, her curious expression. “You talked to me so easily that first night in the elevator. So open. I’m not—I’m not used to that. You were kind. I could tell you were a good person. I—I need that in my life, __,” he said, almost pleading like she was halfway out the door when she was still sitting on the couch next to him. 

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” she whispered. 

“I let you come over every night to talk about my job because you wanted to,” Dex began to say, “but I also let it keep happening because it has kept me sane. Talking to you. Being with you…” he broke eye contact again. “You tell me I make you feel safe,” Dex spoke again. “You make me feel that way, too.” But when Dex says that she makes him feel safe, he doesn’t mean safe from the other people in the building or even New York City. She makes him feel safe from himself. 

“I’d never want to do something to make you go away,” Dex continued. “I want you around,” he whispered. “I want you to stay.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she shook her head. She placed her hand on Dex’s knee. Dex slowly brought his hand to cover hers. This was the first direct contact they’d ever had—holding hands. Dex looked at the image—studied how his hand fit perfectly on top of hers. He twisted his fingers so they intertwined. Without thinking, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. She let him. He kissed her knuckles again, then the back of her and, then her wrist, and soon Dex was peppering kisses all the way up the length of her arm, pushing her sleeve up. 

“Dex…”

He rolled her sleeve down and held her hand again, waiting for her directive. When she gave no protest, Dex moved her hair behind her and kissed her neck. She gently pushed his chest away from her, but only to look at him. His eyes were dark, full of intensity. She leaned in and closed the space between them, kissing Dex and Dex kissing her back. The moment their lips touched, they both knew it was long overdue. Dex placed his hands on her waist while she held him on his shoulders. His tongue made his way into her mouth and she welcomed it gladly. Dex squeezed her gently and pulled back, resting his forehead on hers, out of breath.

“When’s the last time you’ve had a kiss like that?” She asked. Both of them had soft laughs escape their lips.

“I think that was my first time,” Dex admitted against her lips, “my first time wanting to kiss someone like that.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” she smiled. 

Dex kissed her again, gently pressing her to lay down on his couch. She did so she was laying on her back, with Dex leaning over her. She pushed his chest away again, indicating she wanted to speak.

“Dex, I want you to be my first time,” she said.

“What?”

“I want you to take my virginity,” she told him. Dex pulled back completely now. He had to sit with what she was asking him. She leaned up again in concern. “I want it to be with you.”

“__,” he said her name, rubbing his eyes closed. As much as he wanted that, Dex wasn’t sure he was worthy. He wasn’t worthy to be in your presence alone—but to take that from you, the very thing that could change everything—he wasn’t sure he was worthy of that either. You were so good and so pure—to give him that responsibility is to give him the power to potentially ruin that. He couldn’t stand the thought of ruining something else that was so good in his life. 

But if it wasn’t going to be him, it was going to be someone else. And the thought of someone else doing this to her—ruining her purity—cut him to the bone. As quickly as his attachment grew in his chest, jealousy did too, at the thought of someone else doing it to her. 

Selfishly, he wants to be the one to taint her. Unselfishly, he doesn’t want to ruin what she is. 

“You don’t want me,” she shook her head and bit her lip, avoiding eye contact.

“That’s not true,” Dex said. “I do want you.”

“Then why aren’t you saying yes? Why aren't you taking me right now?” 

“Because like you said before,” Dex whispered, taking her hands again. “You want it to be special. You want it to mean something. Rushing into it on a spur of the moment thing won’t make it what it should be.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and Dex had never seen her so emotional. It made his heart hammer in his chest. He shifted so he sat closer to her. He kissed her forehead. 

“I want you,” he reassured her. “But not right now. You should sleep on it. Really think if you want it to be me. I’d hate to ruin a perfect night by us jumping into it right away.”

She avoided looking at him, but deep down, she knew he was right. 

“Okay,” she whispered. “I will.” 

He kept looking at her until the look of worry faded from her face. All that was left was exhaustion in the form of half-closed eyes and soft breathing. Dex nudged her with his knee. 

“What do you say we call it for tonight?” Dex asked. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “I should go.” 

Dex walked her to her door. As she unlocked it, she turned around to say goodnight again, and as if on cue, Dex twisted her into his arms and gently pushed her against the wall of the hallway, kissing her deeply. He locked her there, between his arms, a leg separating hers. She placed her hands on his chest to steady herself. When he pulled back, he looked away, as if the mere sight of her would make him come completely undone. 

Silence followed her into her apartment. Dex retreated back to his, and while she was no longer gracing it with her presence—he felt her everywhere. 

◎◎◎

Dex sat at his kitchen counter. His mind was too clouded by his thoughts to focus on anything—his thoughts that were consumed by her. He didn’t realize that by giving her a choice in thinking about what they talked about, he was at the mercy of that decision. 

If she ended up not wanting it to be with him, how would that change their relationship? Would she stop coming over? Worse—would she never speak to him again? Dex could’ve easily given her what she wanted in that moment, but at the same time, he didn’t want to ruin what they already had. What had easily landed in his lap without him having to do anything. 

On the other hand, if she did still want it to be with him… well, where do they go from there? Not to mention that he would be the one to take that purity away from her—and not in the sense of virginity. But in the sense that someone like him, someone who has killed and is capable of doing much worse, gets to be inside her for the first time. He didn’t feel worthy to be in her presence like that, to be the one to alter her experience with intimacy forever. If she still wanted it to be with him, he would make sure it was special and intimate like she wanted it to be. 

But he’s afraid that if this happens, he’ll never be able to let her go. It sounds wrong, but he would feel a sort of possession over her. He was protective over her already; after this, he would be downright territorial. His past lovers have all been with people before him…she would be the first he’d ever be with who hadn’t been touched before.

Touched. Dex felt a cramp in his hands thinking about touching her for the first time. He’d want to map her entire body out; take in how beautiful she looks completely naked. He’d be the first to see her like that. He hoped he’d be the last. 

There was a knock at his door.

Dex paused before getting up. It could all change in this next moment. He wasn’t sure which he was hoping more for. He took a deep breath and walked to the door. 

There she was in all her glory—her hair had brushed out, messy curls and was pushed to one side, like she had just nervously fixed her hair. She was in a new set of pajamas—pearlescent silk white. She met his eyes for a fleeting moment before looking down—Dex could still she still felt embarrassed, or ashamed. For whatever reason. It should be him who felt like that.

“It’s okay," Dex spoke first. “Whatever your decision is."

“I want it with you, Dex,” she looked up at him with worried eyes. “But if you don’t want it with me, then—“

“Come in,” Dex opened the door for her to step inside. She immediately stood in the middle of his living room as Dex shut and locked his door.

She was holding herself—arms around her stomach, avoiding eye contact. Dex wasn’t used to seeing her so unsure of herself; he was used to seeing her positive, confident, smiling. Looking at him with hopeful eyes. What did he have to do to calm her nerves?

“I want this with you,” Dex said softly, approaching her slowly. “I just want to make sure you truly want this with me.”

“I do,” she affirmed. “More than anything.”

Dex placed his hand on her cheek, studying her features before everything changes. She was right about something—sex is an intimate act. Sex changes things. He knows how it has changed things for him, but he’s not sure how it will change things for her. He wanted to remember what she looked like before the act—before he changed everything. He caressed her cheek with his thumb. He didn’t want her to feel worried. It was written all over her face.

“What are you scared of?” He asked her.

“It hurting,” she said meeting his eyes. 

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Dex began, “it’ll hurt at first. But then it won’t. What else are you scared of?”

“Making a mess,” she broke eye contact again. “I may bleed.”

“Don’t worry,” Dex shook his head, whispering. “It’s not a mess you’ll have to clean up. Anything else?”

She bit her lip and met his eyes again. “I don’t want you to stop talking to me after it’s done. I don’t want us to do it, and then that being all that you wanted, and then you stop seeing me or hanging out with me.”

Dex furrowed his brows in disbelief. Here he was, afraid of the same thing, unknowing that she too shared the same fears. Dex would never stop talking to her after it’s done. She knows she’ll be attached to him after—little did she know that Dex would be infinitely more attached to her, for separate reasons. He may be taking her purity, but she’s giving him something worse: hopes that he may find newfound purity in himself. 

“___,” he said her name, meeting her eyes. He caressed her cheek some more. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. Once this happens—it won’t be possible for me to let you go.” 

She took a long shaky breath. “Okay, Dex. I trust you. I—I think I’m ready.” 

Dex continued to caress her cheek as he held her gaze, witnessing her eyes soften in comfort—safety. Trust. “Okay,” he said. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

She blushed in the most adorable way. Avoided eye contact, bit her lip. She nodded. Dex placed two fingers under her chin to lift her to look at him. Dex slowly leaned down to meet her lips with his. And when they finally touched, she fell right into him. 

Dex cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand, holding her steady in place as he kissed her. He teased her lips with her tongue, and she opened her mouth to let him in. He started off slowly…sweetly. When she took his hands and moved them to hold her waist, he took it as a sign to deepen the kiss. His tongue danced against hers as he practically inhaled her with kisses. His strong hands rested at either side of her waist. 

They both pulled back out of breath. Dex leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closed. 

“Let me lay you down,” Dex said in a low voice. She nodded against him and let him lead the way to his bedroom. 

She sat at the foot of the bed in the center. She started to shake uncontrollably—from nerves, the AC in his room and from the reality of what was about to happen.

Dex knelt between her knees in front of her. He took her hand and held it in his. He kissed her knuckles and felt her shaking. He looked up at her. 

“This is for you,” Dex reminded her. “It’s okay.” 

“I’m just nervous,” she said. “I’ve never been completely naked in front of anyone.”

“I’ll ask you if I can do anything before I do it,” Dex said. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” she nodded. She was taking deep breaths to calm her anxiety. Dex kissed her knuckles again. He placed both her hands on her legs. 

“Can I touch your shoulders?” He asked. 

She looked confused at first, but nodded anyway. Dex placed his hands on both her shoulders, softly caressing her with his thumbs. He moved his hands down both her arms slowly, feeling the softness of her silk pajamas. When he reached her hands, he held them both. 

“Can I unbutton your shirt?”

“Yes,” she breathed softly. 

Dex nodded and slowly started to unbutton her shirt one by one. He kept his focus on the buttons—nothing else—definitely not the goosebumps rising on her skin and definitely not at her hard nipples through the shirt. When he was done, only the center of her torso was exposed. She leaned back on her elbows and Dex leaned forward more between her legs, which were now spread a bit more. 

Dex could see her heart pounding in her chest. He took right hand and kissed her knuckles. He met her eyes.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” Dex reassured her. She shook her head. 

“I don’t want you to stop.”

Dex kissed her hand again. “Can I touch you?”

“Anywhere,” she said in a small voice. 

Dex slowly began to trail his hand up the length of her torso, from her stomach to her collarbone. He slipped a few fingers under neath her shirt, dangerously close to her left breast. Dex looked at her once more for permission. All he needed was a small nod to let him know it was okay—and she did. Dex slowly traced his fingers over her breast, feeling her soft supple skin react to his touch—goosebumps, her nipple hard in the palm of his hand. Dex took a deep breath to control his own feelings of arousal—feeling her breast in his hand, realizing he was the first person to ever touch her like this. Dex squeezed her breast lightly and traced his pointer finger underneath her breast, feeling the curve of her soft skin. He pushed the shirt away, exposing her completely. He did the same thing on her other side with his other hand. He slid her shirt completely off and she closed her eyes, leaning fully back. 

“You’re beautiful,” Dex whispered. “You’re soft and perfect.” 

She opened her eyes. “Touch me more.”

Dex scooped her in his arms and lifted her further up his bed. He knelt between her on the bed and traced his hand on her stomach again. An intrusive thought crossed his mind—would she let him come inside her? Would she want to feel his seed that deeply inside her, knowing the risk? Dex felt his cock harden at the thought of coming inside her for her first time. 

He took a deep breath and crossed the thought away. He placed both his hands on her breasts and gently squeezed them again. He leaned down and kissed the skin between her breasts. She closed her eyes in pleasure. Dex kept his hands on her waist and slowly kissed his way to her right breast, kissing it before taking her nipple in his mouth. He licked and sucked her hard nipple, gently wrapping his lips around it and starting a motion of licking and sucking. He swirled his tongue around her nipple and kissed her breast. He did the same thing on the other side.

  “How did that feel?” He asked her. 

“Good,” she answered in a breathy voice. “Really good.” She was still shaking. Dex was starting to love the idea of him making her shake like that. 

“Good,” he said. Dex began to pepper kisses down the length of her torso, holding his hands on either side of her waist. She breathed deeply and pressed her head into his pillow, bracing herself for whatever was next. He played with the hem of her pajama pants and looked up at her with a slight sense of urgency. 

“Can I take these off?” Dex asked. 

“Yes,” she breathed, closing her eyes. 

In one single slip, Dex took her pajama pants and underwear off, completely exposing her to him. Dex gazed at her sex which was slightly glistening from how wet she was, and then he noticed her slightly shaking again. He placed his hands on her thighs and kissed her on either side, trying to hold her steady. 

“It’s okay,” Dex whispered. “Just tell me if you want to stop.”

“I don’t,” she said. “I’ll stop shaking soon.”

Dex secretly hoped she wouldn’t. He slowly slid his right hand over to her inner thigh and began to draw small circles. He slowly inched his way over to touch her pussy. He ever so gently placed the pad of his thumb on her clit, mimicking the small circles he just drew on her thigh before. She shivered at his touch and Dex watched her carefully. He mindlessly kept rubbing her clit as he watched her expression change from tense to relaxed. 

“That feels really good,” she whispered. 

“Let me know how this feels,” Dex said in a low voice. He slowly knelt between her legs, pushing them farther apart. He placed his entire mouth on her pussy and began to lap slowly at her slick folds. He started from the bottom and licked slowly up to her clit. 

“Oh,” she moaned in a slightly pitched voice. Her legs shifted against Dex’s head, which was welcomed. Dex continued to lap at her wetness, completely putting his entire mouth on her sex. He pulled back momentarily to insert one finger in her tight pussy. She gasped at the tension, grabbing onto the fitted sheets. Dex reached his other hand up and took her hand, indicating that she could hold onto him. He pulled his finger and met his lips to her pussy again, this time moving his tongue around faster than before. His lips were locked on her wetness, and he began to feel himself get lost in the way she felt against his mouth, like this was his last meal on earth. She squirmed against his face, breathing deeply. She reached to pull on his hair to channel how he was making her feel. His hand gripped her thigh while the other held onto her ankle. 

Dex focused his sucking on her clit and he paid mind to how she was breathing—he didn’t want her to come yet. Her eyes were closed, mouth half open, brows furrowed together. With his lips still on her pussy, Dex looked up at her and locked eyes for a moment with her before she closed them again and sighed into his pillow. He took one last lap at her wetness before pulling back and kissing both of her inner thighs. 

“Dex…”

“You okay?” He licked his lips. 

She only nodded, slightly disappointed by how cold she felt now that he wasn’t touching her. Dex could sense she wanted more. He could sense she was ready. He took off his shirt and pants, exposing himself to her. He couldn’t remember the last time he was bare in front of someone, but he didn’t care—all those times before didn’t matter. Only now did. 

His cock was hard, pre-cum leaking at the tip. Dex was slightly surprised that she reached down to touch him, gently running her thumb over his tip. He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. He placed his hands under the small of her back and lifted her up his bed, so she lay perfectly in the middle. He was hovering over her now—his cock dangerously close to her wetness, but not touching. They looked at each other for a moment, Dex looking deeply into her eyes—he couldn’t tell what she felt. Fear, anticipation, aroused? A mix of all three, he supposed. Because it’s exactly how he felt, too. Knowing that after this, their entire dynamic would change. For better or worse. 

She spread her legs wider and placed her hands on his face. Dex leaned down and kissed her gently. 

“You still want this?” He asked her.

“Yes.” She swallowed hard. “Please be gentle.”

“I will,” Dex nodded, his hot breath hitting her skin. He pushed a strand of hair away from her flushed face. He kissed her between her eyebrows. 

Dex slowly lined up his cock at her entrance and rubbed his tip against her folds, getting himself wet with her pussy. He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw. Her eyes were closed, but he watched her as he ever so slowly tried to push himself inside her. He was too big for her to enter easily, and she was too tight for him to go any harder. She said gentle, and that’s exactly what he did. She took a sharp intake of breath and her heart was beating hard against her chest. Dex could sense her anxiety and kissed her forehead again as he tried to push himself inside her more. Slowly, inch by inch, he pushed himself inside her tight pussy, and in one quick thrust, Dex was completely inside her. They both reacted in their own way—Dex letting out the deepest sigh he’s ever taken, and her gasping for air from the pain.

“Dex, Dex,” she whispered in a slight panic.

“Shh,” Dex was trying to keep himself focused but it was hard to while he felt her tight pussy completely encase him while at the same time soften her worries. “It’ll get better. I’m going to go back and forth.”

She nodded and kept her eyes shut, a pained expression on her face. Dex felt incredible inside her, but this wasn’t about him. It was all for her. 

He slowly pulled out, and she could feel the difference immediately. He felt so big inside her that when he almost pulled out, she felt so empty—she needed to feel him like that all the time. Close, inside, tangled up with her softness. 

When he pushed back in, he couldn’t help the moan that slipped out of his lips. She was shaking, and her shaking at his cock inside her, ignited something primal in him. He was the first person to ever feel her like this and make her feel this way, and that thought alone spurred Dex on to keep thrusting inside her. She was completely soaking and he could feel her start to mold to his cock.

“Dex,” she whispered his name, “it’s starting to feel different.”

“How?” He uttered out while he still slowly went back and forth inside her. 

“Good,” she opened her eyes finally and met his dark ones. “Really good. I—“

“You want more?” Dex asked, and it was his turn to close his eyes.

“I want more,” she nodded. 

Dex wasted no time in speeding up his thrusts inside her. He went even deeper, feeling the tip of his cock touch the back of her cervix. He was imprinting his size on her. She knew she would feel him for days after. She felt so velvety, soft, wet and tight around his cock, Dex’s mouth was half open and his eyes were closed as he continued to thrust inside her.

“More, Dex,” she sighed.

His arms were under her, and hers were around his shoulders. Dex kept one arm under her and held onto his bed frame to get a better angle at fucking her, because now that’s what they were doing. Dex pounded inside her tight pussy, wetness and possibly blood coating both of them and his sheets. He watched her as she closed her eyes, mouth half open, as he continued to fuck her into being all his. He didn’t know what he liked more—being inside her or watching how much she enjoyed him being inside her. She fluttered her eyes open for a moment, meeting his, and Dex instantly closed his eyes. He retreated his arm back from the bed frame and scooped her in his arms, pressing his forehead against hers. 

She closed her eyes again and had an expression of arousal, her eyebrows knitted together and her mouth slightly open. She opened her eyes and suddenly felt very aware of what was happening between their two sexes—it was a mix of wetness from her and something else more runny—blood. Her cheeks flushed red in embarrassment, Dex could tell, and she tried to look between them as he kept thrusting his cock inside her, unsure if she should allow herself to feel good or worry about the mess she’s making. 

Dex followed her line of view and blocked it with his dark eyes. 

“Look at me,” he whispered. “Look at me. How do you feel?”

She met his eyes and sighed heavily, “But Dex—“

“Don’t,” he pressed his forehead firmly against hers, continuing to pound into her, feeling the tip of his cock touch the back of her cervix. “Focus on me.”

Focus on him she did—the way he was hitting her g-spot repetitively made her spread her legs wider and push him in even more. He filled her up so completely, so well, she was sure to feel him for days. 

“Oh, God, Dex,” she moaned, louder than before, “something’s happening—“

“Let it,” Dex whispered against her lips, closing his eyes and focusing on hitting her sweet spot. “Come for me, __. Come for me…come for me…”

“Dex!” Her pussy convulsed around his cock as she finally reached climax for the first time. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly against her, holding on like she was holding on for life. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest and she lost her breath and regained it as she held onto his warm body. He was still inside her, thrusting more gently now. He kissed her neck, kissed the skin behind her ear, kissed her forehead and kissed her lip as he continued to move inside and out of her.

“Oh,” Dex whispered against her lips. “I’m right behind you—“

“Inside me,” she said in a whisper, “please.”

Dex closed his eyes as he felt himself release his seed inside her tight pussy, feeling it coat all over her inside, he was shaking against her. It was her turn to kiss him, to bring him back down from his own high. 

He laid his entire body weight on her, which was welcomed. His cock was still inside her, resting, until he slowly pulled out of her. She held him tighter. He breathed her in deeply, kissing her shoulder. She ran her fingers through his dirty blonde hair. 

He pulled back, gazed in her eyes for a moment. 

“Let me get a towel,” Dex said softly. 

He pulled the sheets over her and when he came back, he cleaned between her legs as best as he could while she fell asleep. Dex threw the towel in the hamper, a clean, perfect throw, and crawled back under the sheets with her. He pulled her in tightly, and she molded against him like she was meant to be there. It may have been her first time, but he was certain this was his first time feeling the attachment in the aftermath. He hoped this wouldn’t be their last.  

[midnightslark]

Sorry i cant go out with you rn, I have a crush on Wilson Bethel and it’s taking up a lot of my time

[polaris-daydreams]

the art of noticing

pairing : benjamin poindexter x reader

warnings : extremely suggestive below read more, not outright explicit in detail (cause im not talented enough for full on smut lol) but just to be safe, don't read if below 18 !! quite a few religious themes/imagery too.

a/n : hii ! i've never written fanfiction before let alone anything spicy but the dex brainrot was too strong so please bear with me. special thank you to @kyamiia for inspiring me and letting me expand on the idea based on this, and to @babyangeldex for being THE sweetest ever with her encouragement, especially on me wanting to write for the first time !! credits for the header images goes to @bullseyelover, THE no1 bullseye fan hi i love you !! hope you enjoy fellow dex lovers <3

dex notices things.

it started even before you guys got together.

dex's eye for details only intensifies when he crawls his way into your heart. your home. your shared home. it was one thing being able to look through the glass of your apartment window, studying your routine. timing his sips perfectly to yours, anticipating that look of bliss when the coffee hit just right. pretending that faraway look and smile out the window was directed to him, reserved for him.

now though, dex doesn't have to be delusional anymore. there's no need to time his drinking with yours because he is making your coffee and spending the mornings with you. he knows just how you like it. he's memorised all your morning routine steps, catalogued every small tick in your face when you eat your breakfast, has your glossy eyes from watching your favourite romcom seared into his brain. he knows how to see that satisfied and "on cloud 9" face. how to be the reason for that pleasure.

when you laugh at dex's poor attempt of a joke, really laugh with your eyes crinkling in the corner, he thinks his heart stops. he thinks this is it. the sound of an angel come to gently lead him towards the afterlife, with the way your laughter wraps around his body like the soft embrace of an angel's wings.

so it makes perfect sense for dex's penchant for noticing to seep into your shared bedroom too. he needs to remember everything, he needs to file away every little sound, every facial expression. keeps it in the folders of his mind, locked away for nobody else to see. only unlocking these memories when he's hard at work, away from his angel. clings to the image of you, the sound of you like a lifeline. counts the seconds down to when he can finally lock up his place of worship again because you're back in his arms. but its not just for himself, to keep his hunger satiated. its for you too. so he can replay your reactions to everything he does and says. analyse what made you feel good. what can make you feel even better. let you float up to the same high he gets from watching you, being with you. don't worry, he'll be there to catch you in his protective embrace when you land back down.

the first time he sunk to his knees for you, he never took his eyes away from you. couldn't bear to, not when your face was so beautifully contorted in pleasure, pleasure he was giving to you. the rising pitch of your voice, the up and down movement of your chest, the low tilt of your eyes to keep that eye contact with him going. when you absentmindedly reach for dex's hair, tugging the short hairs at the back while begging with that sweet saccharine voice of yours,

"pl- please dex, i can't anymore. i need, ohmygod, i need it please, i need you dex"

it takes every. single. cell. in dex's body to not roll his eyes to the back of his skull and finish in his pants then and there. his years of military training, experience as FBI-SWAT all lead up to this moment. to practice that honed skill of restraint. he can't let go until you have, until you've reached that peak. when you do, you collapse backwards with a heaving chest. dex unclenches his bruising (posessive) grip on you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. not to waste a single drop, he licks his hand clean while slowly standing back up from his place of worship.

the sight that greets dex has him believing in God.

your hair is tousled just above your head like a halo.

your eyes that look up at him are completely glossed over, a single tear slowly cascading down the right side of your face.

your smile, oh, your sweet loving smile. directed at him, only him as if he was the answers to your prayers.

those aren't what drives dex over the edge though, oh no.

its you.

you looking like the epitome of an angel.

slowly hiking up your legs, opening them up shyly.

"more? please, dex?"

if this is how dex dies, he believes its worth it.

a/n : thank you so much if you've read to the end <3 !! this is very very beginner so pretty please be nice if you reblog with comments/ramblings, though i'd still appreciate any kind of support with likes/reblogs/comments hehe. (also yes i wrote this on my phone on drafts, and nearly got a heart attack when the draft vanished and accidentally uploaded before i was done so if you saw ... no you didnt)

[deniable-masterpiece]

guys this is me writing on my macbook

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

benjamin ‘dex’ poindexter + animalistic, primal sex = some real nasty filth.. 18+ fem!reader. 807 words cw. spit, usual filth,creampie. mdni I am actually ovulating rn so im scientifically and justifiably horny

⎯ ☆ ⎯

dex had you right where he wanted you, in every sense of the word. 

body and mind completely and utterly in tune with him above, your focus still quite sharp despite it being over an hour in. 

you lay beneath him on his bed, ankles lazily crossed over his lower back — both hands pinned above your head by his singular one. tight grip to ensure they stay in place. his other hand rests firmly under your jaw, palm pressed to your throat to keep your head tilted back. essentially allowing him free-roaming access to you.

his face is close, open mouth ghosting your chin as he breathes heavily against it. his cock continuing to skillfully, orderly, drill into you, a precise pattern of each thrust naturally being put into place over time. sweaty, sticky skin practically fused together.

every snap of his hips elicits deep, guttural pants from you, each roll of his dick knocking all the more sense out of you. you truly were going cockdrunk and dex loved it. he loved to watch the lust cloud your eyes, to see them grow heavy and flutter closed. to watch your brows knit and twist, to watch all of your internal feelings rise to the surface — allowing him to see on your face just how good he’s making you feel.

he nips at your chin, holding the fleshy boney point between his teeth for a few seconds before sealing it with a kiss. soothing over it with a small tender act. he adjusts over you, face getting closer to your own.

“you’re all mine,” he utters, eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes.

his thumb itches upwards and begins to run along your lips, pad tracing your parted mouth — his eyes following the movements. he applies faint pressure to your bottom row of teeth, the action silently instructing you.

“open up,” he whispers, never once faulting in the rhythm of his thrusts. 

you do as asked and open your mouth up more. he lines up with you and spits onto your tongue, the lewd act like he’s claiming ownership. continue to brand you as his despite no change being made to your relationship. 

maybe he was just feeling particularly territorial tonight.

he closes your mouth in a similar way to how he opened it: thumb pushing your lips together, holding it there for a moment like he was getting you to swallow. he taps your cheek as if to offer you silent praise, dark eyes keen as he watches yours light up beneath him.

dex presses a quick half kiss to your lips and sits back on his heels, simultaneously releasing your arms and face in the same motion. you waste no time reaching for him, your fingers wrapping themselves around his wrists, holding onto him as he in turn holds onto you: grasp firm on the sides of your waist, grabbing and dragging you to meet his thrusts. 

his gaze leaves yours and diverts down to the lewd view below, his eyes intently following the messy plunging of his cock into you. and while his attention remains solely on you, yours does him. you watch the flexing of his biceps, the way the muscles bulge and tense, the veins that run the expanse of his arms growing more and more prominent.. 

he finds himself growing lost in you, the way you feel and the way you sound all hindering any remanence of his control. he was growing pussy drunk, completely and utterly disorientated within you.

you too shared a similar, very similar, experience. the new angle hits into you differently, the change pushing you further and harder towards the edge. and without much time to prepare, you reach it again for the umpteenth time tonight. cunt convulsing and clamping around him with your climax, hips jittering and grinding against him.

your orgasm knocks him off his tracks and he joins you mere seconds later. head tilting backwards, deep, full pants falling from his lips — the intensity of it all stripping him of breath.

his drilling winds down to an eventual halt, cock stilling inside you before he pulls out. his eyes lower to watch the rather vulgar, messy display: his cum slowly seeping from your cunt, leaking down and onto his sheets. and he saves yet another mental image for safekeeping.

dex eases himself into you once more, cock growing soft and sensitive from its extensive use. and with the full length of his dick nicely snuggled inside again, he hovers over you, propping his weight on forearms beside you. 

the darkness in his eyes subsides and what replaces it is far sweeter, far more tender. he soothes over the marks he had made earlier on: sealing kisses into the reddened patches along your chest and neck, replacing the hurt with something much more gentle. 

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[vigilantekisser]

rough sex with bloodied up dex pretty please🥺

backslide

a/n: THANK YOU FOR THIS IT’S LIKE YOU READ MY MIND!!!!!! been writing a lot of sub!dex lately so i wanted to change it up just for fun!! also, giggling drooling curling my toes at the stuff sitting in my inbox.. my summer term is starting in like a week so i wanna get as much of them in!

18+!!! cw: mild dubcon, dark!dex?, mentions of blood, knifeplay, rough sex, choking/breathplay, dacryphilia, filth, emotionally unhealthy relationship ig, reader has female anatomy (wc: 1.8k)

masterlist | ao3 mirror

You don’t hear the knock, and it occurs to you too late that there probably wasn’t one. When the door swings open, you barely look up from the bed where you’re curled beneath the blanket, the lamplight casting long bruises on the walls. You don’t have to; you know it’s him. 

How it had come to this, you aren’t exactly sure. He wouldn’t answer when you begged to know where he went on nights like this and you learned, quickly, to stop asking.  To reason him out of existence was enough, you’d decided. But no mental bridging could erase him from the doorway of your bedroom with blood on him, on his mouth both dried and fresh and clotted at the corners. His shirt’s soaked through with it—someone else’s, you hope. Hands flexing at his side, crimson stains up to the knuckles. He looks a little scared right now, and more than a little scary.

“Dex,” you say.

A shadow of an expression—he looks uncomfortable—passes over his face. Sauntering forward, a silhouette separating itself from the dark, he says, “Tell me to leave.”

His smell is manly and unpleasant, and the bile climbs up your throat. Under it, impossibly, your stomach flips with intoxication. Here’s what you’re going to do, you tell yourself, you scream and beat your hands on his chest and push him away, punish him for leaving, for coming back. But in two strides, he reaches you and he’s leaning down and he’s sliding a hand under your shirt to remove it, and you let him. His palm is flat over your stomach, breathing heavily against your neck.

“I need you to tell me no,” he says, so low you strain to understand. “Say stop and I will.”

Your lips part but nothing comes out. As if in perfect perception his hand finds your ankle and he drags you forward so your hips are hanging off the mattress now, coaxing a yip out of your mouth, his body crowding you. Dex kneels, his grip on your thighs parting them decisively, and you’re met with his dirty face between your legs. Two lurid thumbs of purple under sullen eyes—you almost don’t recognize him.

“Say no,” he repeats sternly. His mouth brushes your knee, your inner thigh. Where his face and hands touch you it smears blood, then his breath finds the heat between your legs, the cotton of your white underwear damp and flimsy between you. “Tell me you don’t want this.” 

His tongue presses through the fabric, slow enough to make you squirm. “Mmh?” A hum, prompting you to speak. 

“You’re ruining my underwear,” you say lightly, a futile attempt to steer him back to softness. His grip hardens on you, and you can’t help but arch when his teeth catch the hem of your panties. You force out an answer: “I can’t. Want you–”

“No,” he growls and tugs it aside, breath sticky now against bare skin. He licks once, slow and sickeningly good—it does feel good, fuck, you’re so scared you’re not even wet yet, coiled too tight and tense—and as if to punish you further he stops and pulls back.

“I’m past saving,” he says, unfairly pretty under flaxen lashes, “so don’t try. I don’t need your pity.”

Still knelt before you, he fumbles at something at his side. You see it in the dim light—a slab of metal with serrated teeth—his knife. He presses it to your thigh and fixes it inside the seam of your panties, the metal cold and harsh against the soft, goosebumped flesh of your pelvis. His other hand grips the fabric for leverage, and it comes apart in one long, loud rrrip. The sound makes your head pound violently.

You’re completely bare under him now, your heart jackhammering against bone.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks again, voice firm like he’s reading you your rights. He drags the tip of his knife down the inside of your thigh, “Yes or no?”

“No.”

“Do you trust me?” His knife has traced all the way to your pubic mound, down, almost at your clit, touch so light it almost tickles. “Yes or no?”

Your breath catches.

“...no,” you whisper.

His smile’s a crack that fractures his face open. “That’s my girl.”

He drops the knife and stands back up, tearing his shirt off, sweat glistening over dried blood and raw skin healing badly on his torso. It must hurt all over, you can tell by the way he flinches when he scrambles at his belt, but if it’s anything to go from it only makes him meaner. Roughly, Dex shoves your thighs apart and spits once on your pussy, filthy and speckled with blood, and shoves himself in all at once with a choked sound. You scream, hands scrambling for purchase, eyes watering from the stretch. It’s dry and deep, and his hands grab your hips like he’s trying to force you deeper onto his cock.

“Dex— Dex, fuck, slow down–!”

His hands find your wrists and shove them behind your back, holding them there, pinned hard. Your legs are trembling from the shock of his depth and every thrust is mean, calculated. You don’t know when you start crying, but tears spill hot down your cheeks soon enough. “S’too rough–please, hurts, wait–”

His breath hits your cheek, licking at your tears. “Then tell me to stop.”

You shake your head. “No, don’t wanna…”

He pulls back halfway. You think, for some stupid naïve reason, that he’ll ease up—but he slams back in, hips cracking against you so hard you hear the sound before you feel it. Your scream cuts off in a choke. He does it again. Again. And then—without warning—he hooks his arms under your calves, bends you hard back on yourself, and starts fucking into you at an angle so vicious it feels like your spine might snap in half.

“F-fuck yes—” You’re barely coherent, every thrust knocking more air from your lungs, “Hurts, Dex— feels so good—”

The bed jerks, your back folding into the mattress. He’s sweaty, pouring heat, and it’s mixing with the blood on him, slicking between your bodies, smearing down your stomach, soaking into your skin. It stains your thighs, your cunt, the pristine white of your sheets now blackened with red.

Here you are, split open. Marked.

“Fuck, you’re pretty,” he groans as you preen at the compliment and your cunt pulsates around him, “Sweet girl like you into this kinda shit?”

He pulls at the knife at your side. “C’mon, tell me,” he says, pressing it idly on your cheek, “want me to stop, huh?”

“Mph– no, Dex, no!” you cry, brain static-white and brilliant with sensation, not even sure what it is you’re refusing, all of it bleeding together. No, don’t hurt me? No, don’t leave me?

No, don’t stop? 

He grabs your face, forcing your mouth to his in a filthy, fast kiss, tongue sliding over yours and mouth filling with blood and salt. It’s bitter and you gag a little, nose wrinkling, but it doesn’t let up. When he pulls away your face is wet, and you rub a hand blindly at your own face: sure enough, it comes up red.

“Why’d you even come back?” Your voice doesn’t sound like yours, plaintive and thin under the rasp of his breathing. “You left, you—” Fuck, you give up. “Come back, please, please.”

Buried into your neck, he grunts something that might be your name and you sob harder, nails scratching his back in raw, angry lines.

“No, gotta… hear it,” he pants, pulling back. “Need you to tell me it’s wrong.”

“It’s not, it’s not,” you wail, “want you, please, I…” His form is blurry through your tears. “I love you.”

Ding ding ding, the alarm bell in your head rings. Wrong fucking answer.

His face twists into a disgusted expression.

“Poor… fuckin’… angel,” he laughs dryly, every word punctuated by a snap of his hips deeper into you. His voice is clear and rough, that signature all-American brutality rasping through every word. “You would’ve taken me as I was, huh?”

You try to nod. Another thrust, harder, crueler.

“I fucked it up, didn’t I?”

His hand closes around your throat, thumbing the thickness of the muscle there until your whimpers cut off. You try to croak something out—“Please”—and it occurs to you, by the hot flash of his gaze, that the disgust is for himself, for the parts of him you still deem worthy of kindness. He’s thrown it all away for the native urge of violence, and he knows he can’t go back. 

“Fucked it up and you’re still here.”

I love you.

Stupid, stupid girl you are—you still want him.

He’s so large and overwhelming, his weight crushing so heavily above you that your world narrows to just his face, his sordid half-smile. You can’t breathe. Your cunt pulses around him. 

Sweat’s stinging his open cuts, pain fueling him more as his hips slam down into you, soaked in blood and slick. You’re boneless under him, your arms pinned useless at your sides. Flinching with every thrust, you can feel the raw flexing of his muscles, and the gravity of his body is drawing tighter like a bowstring about to snap.

“Too good for me,” he’s saying trance-like as he fucks you, breath hot against your temple, “so good, so good…”

And fuck, it’s too much and he’s so heavy on top of you, folded underneath him, immense pressure into your core. You feel it first in the clenching of your stomach and further down then up, up—everything going blinding, shuddering, your used pussy contracting around him as you come hard and helpless.

He moans—ragged, cursing breathlessly—and then he’s coming too, cock pulsing thick and hot as he spills inside you, still fucking through it like he can’t stop, won’t, not until he’s scraped himself raw against you.

Your legs ache limply as he rolls off of you. He’s breathing like an animal, collapsed next to you on the bed. After some pause his mouth presses against your temple, unsure.

It’s an alien attempt at tenderness, you know this much: This is what people do after fucking, see, I know. I’m a normal person, look, just like you.

And he’s looking down at you, your stained body, your copper-browned sheets. He could strike you across the face now, he thinks, just once, to snuff out the affection you have for him. Do you a mercy. Do you one last favor, he’s still capable of that. 

Instead, Dex says: “I don’t know why I came back here.”

It’s the most honest he’s been all night.

You turn to stare at the ceiling, feeling his spend trickle out of you. The sweat and blood’s turning tacky, the grime from his body gritting your sore limbs.

No, no, no. 

Fuck this, you’re gonna have to put your sheets in the laundry again.

a/n: fics ive written where someone comes home bloody counter: 4,, ding ding ding, i need help! was def not thinking about that vamp!dex picture while writing

[lovelybucky1]

your dex one shot is so good omg. i need him.

if you’re the object of dex’s affections, he’ll do whatever it takes to get you to notice him.

your boyfriend was killed in a freak accident; he somehow caught a stray bullet in the street. it’s a tragedy, but you were thinking about breaking up with him anyway.

you also haven’t heard from your best friend in two weeks. you know she was going on a trip but it’s unusual for her to go this long without texting you at the very least.

to make matters even worse, you got laid off from your job. they said something about an anonymous tip about some illegal behavior which makes no sense, but they spit out some legal jargon and had you out the door before you could ask any questions.

but at least your new neighbor ben is nice. he moved in just last week and he introduced himself with a plate of fresh-baked cookies. you invited him in and split a bottle of wine, over which you ended up pouring out your whole life story, but he carefully listened the whole time.

you felt bad because you did all the talking, but he assured you it wasn’t a problem. “you’re a great storyteller. i bet you could make the phone book sound interesting.”

as things started to go wrong in your life, ben was there for you to lean on. he was so supportive and caring, willing to do anything for you. it’s crazy that someone as great as he is could be single. you’re considering making a move, but you’re afraid he might reject you. after all, he seems like the perfect guy.

[district4widow]

left behind, still yours

summary : dex can’t let you go after you broke up with him. spiraling into obsessive stalking, one night he breaks into your apartment while still you’re asleep.

cw : [reader is hinted as black] (mention of brown nipples / POC friendly) somnophilia/ dubcon / stalking / mild-choking / masked sex / fully clothed penetration / emotional vulnerability / self-worth issues / possessive dirty talk / creampie / messy feelings (typical delulu dex) not proofread mb yall

he can’t stop replaying your last words, your coldness cutting deeper than any punch. the way you said you needed space, freedom from him. freedom from the chaos he carries like a second skin. but the truth is, he’s not ready to let go. not yet.

tonight, something inside him snaps. a decision he knows is reckless, dangerous, but inevitable. he can’t stand another night without touching you, without reminding you — and himself — that you’re still his.

he’s dressed for the night like a shadow of himself. black tactical pants, worn but functional. a fitted black hoodie with the hood pulled low, the fabric soft but concealing. on his feet, silent black military boots that grip the metal of the fire escape like a second skin. his mask — the old black one with the angular lines — covers his face, hiding the desperation in his eyes but not the raw need twisting in his gut.

he moves with practiced precision, scaling the fire escape like a ghost, every metal step cold beneath his fingertips. the city hums quietly around him, the distant sirens and buzz of late-night cars fading behind the wall of silence he wraps himself in.

the window to your apartment looms ahead—half open, just like you always left it when you went to sleep. he slides the glass up with barely a sound, muscles coiled and tense as he slips inside.

dex stands just inside your apartment, the faint glow of the city bleeding through the cracked window you left open, a tiny flicker of hope that maybe this is some sign—that you’re still waiting for him in your own way, even if the silence says otherwise. his heart pounds, heavy and erratic, like it’s fighting against the weight of what he’s about to do. every instinct screams at him to stop, to turn back and respect the space you’re trying to carve out for yourself without him, but some desperate part of him clings to the fact that the window was open—maybe you wanted him here. maybe.

inside, the air smells like you—your shampoo mixing with the faint hint of the lotion you always keep on your nightstand. his pulse pounds as he takes in the quiet sanctity of your bedroom, the soft rise and fall of your sleeping form beneath the blankets.

this is his moment. the place he’s been craving, stalking, aching for. and now, finally, he’s here.

you’re lying in your bed, skin warm beneath the thin cotton sheets, the soft curve of your tummy just visible, the swell of your breasts rising and falling with your breath. your brown nipples, dark against the smoothness of your skin, catch the faint moonlight slipping through the blinds. your thighs spread lightly beneath the covers, familiar and soft, everything dex always loved.

you don’t hear the door open, don’t feel the weight cross your threshold — but dex is here. masked and fully clothed, the smell of his cologne and sweat lingering around him, he moves carefully, reverent almost, like you’re some fragile treasure he’s terrified to break.

he kneels beside the bed, watching you sleep, voice low, a rasping whisper. “you’re so fucking beautiful.”

he then climbs on the bed, over you. his hands twitch, uncertain, hovering just inches from your skin before he finally lets his fingertips ghost over your bare shoulder, trembling like a prayer. he’s terrified that the smallest wrong move will shatter this fragile moment—your breath, your sleep, the thread of trust left between you. the warmth of your skin under his touch pulls him in, raw and tender and achingly familiar, and he leans closer, letting his face bury in the crook of your neck, drinking you in. your scent is everything he’s missed—honeyed, soft, the way it clings to the curve of your collarbone and wraps around him like a lifeline.

his hands move up, trembling but reverent, to cup your full breasts, his thumbs brushing over your clothed nipples, aching under his touch. he wants to worship you like a temple, slow and soft and careful, but the hunger beneath that tenderness claws at him, pulling him deeper into desperation. his lips find the skin below your ear, sucking lightly, murmuring your name like a prayer, a plea.

his hands reach out first — trembling as they brush your thick thighs, tracing the soft curve of your tummy, the part he always loved. his fingers curl around your waist, pulling you closer to him in the dark.

he pulls back, sliding his hands beneath your shirt.

then his lips find your chest — full tits rising and falling with your steady breath, brown nipples hardening beneath his mouth. he sucks one gently, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, reverent and needy.

his voice cracks when he whispers, “i missed you,” barely loud enough for you to hear, but it’s everything he feels—an ache that’s been gnawing at his ribs for too long. he’s torn between worship and want, between fear of breaking you and the primal need to claim you again. he hesitates, his hands trembling on your skin, caught in the storm of his own conflicted desire, draw a quiet moan even from your sleep.

they wander, worshiping your curves, the way your body fits like a goddamn prayer beneath his fingertips. his voice starts to ramble, desperate and tender, a broken confession whispered against your skin.

“you were waiting for me,” he murmurs, lips barely grazing your skin. “i know you were waiting, baby. i’m here now.”

he knows this isn’t like before. you’re not waiting, not really—not now. but he’s desperate to believe that maybe this touch, this breath, this moment is still yours. and slowly, trembling, he moves lower, trailing kisses and soft sucks along your neck, your collarbone, until he’s pressing his forehead against your skin, silent except for the frantic beating of his own heart.

you shift slightly but don’t wake, his worship continued — his mouth finding your other nipple, sucking harder, rougher now, his desperation bleeding through every touch.

his cock presses hard against your thigh, strained in his belt.

dex’s hands slide lower, over your belly—soft, just a little round where he always loved to rest his palm—before slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, fingers tracing the slick heat between your thighs.

he pushes your shorts down slowly, loving the way your skin reacts even without waking. thick thighs spread, exposed and soft, waiting. breathing shallow, fingers trembling where they ghost the curve of your hip beneath the blanket.

slowly, reverently, dex slips his fingers beneath the edge of your panties and shifts them aside, his breath catching when he sees the warmth glistening between your dusky thighs.

he slides a hand beneath your body, lifting your hips gently and after unbuckling his pants, he presses the tip of his cock through your slick folds. you’re still asleep, he lines himself up, hand stroking gently down your thigh, grounding himself. and then — with a low, shaky sound — he pushes in, slow and deep, his whole body trembling as your warmth welcomes him like home.

his voice breaks in a low, trembling whisper. “i love you. please ever don’t leave me again.”

he fucks you slow at first, savoring the feel of you so warm and tight, the way your body yields beneath his. then faster, desperate, nearly choking on his own need.

his hands cup your cheeks, thumb stroking tenderly as he buries himself deeper, moaning your name like a prayer.

you stir—eyes fluttering open.

“dex? what the… what are you doing?” you ask, voice raw, half-dreaming.

dex’s mask hides his face, but his voice is soft, trembling, pleading. “you were waiting for me… you always used to. you said i could always find you in your sleep. remember?”

he rocks into you again, deeper, harder this time — like the rhythm itself is an anchor.

“i know you still wanted me. i know you were waiting.” his voice is rough, torn at the edges. “i watched you fall asleep. no one else is here. it’s still me. it’s always me.”

his hand moves up to your throat, not squeezing — not yet — just holding, thumb stroking along your jaw like he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

you’re wet, so fucking wet for him, even half-asleep, and he takes it like proof. like permission. like you were aching for this too.

his hips grind in deeper, a soft whimper catching in his throat when he feels your walls tighten.

“god, i missed this pussy,” he groans. “so fucking soft—always take me like you were made for it.”

your breath catches again, half from his words, half from the way his cock keeps hitting that spot that makes your toes curl. he’s still fully clothed, the texture of his hoodie rubbing against your exposed stomach, the weight of him holding you down in the way you used to love.

“why did you leave me?” his voice cracks as he thrusts into you, slow and deep, his mask damp against your skin. “why the fuck did you walk away?”

you blink up at him, breath hitching, the stretch of him inside you grounding and unbearable all at once. you don’t answer right away, not because you don’t know — but because saying it out loud might shatter something permanent.

“don’t… don’t do that.” you plead.

“don’t shut me out. you said i could come to you. you said i could have you like this.” he begs, almost choking on it.

your hands come up, fingers brushing his jaw beneath the mask, the heat of his skin trembling under your touch. “i didn’t leave because i stopped loving you,” you whisper. “i left because you looked at me like i was… pure. like i was something holy…i couldn’t take it anymore.”

his rhythm falters.

“and i’m not, dex,” you breathe, lips parting around the truth. “i’m not that. i’m fucked up. selfish. angry. i’ve done things—thought things—i didn’t want you to see.”

he lets out a ragged sound, like a sob and a moan tangled together. “don’t say that. you’re mine. you’re everything.”

you shake your head against the pillow, tears catching in your lashes. “i couldn’t keep letting you love me like i was some perfect thing. it felt like lying.”

he thrusts deeper, desperate, his gloved hand coming up to wrap around your throat with a gentleness that shouldn’t make sense. “then don’t be perfect,” he growls, forehead pressing to yours. “be broken. be angry. be fucking cruel. just don’t leave me again.”

your eyes lock — and there’s nothing left to hide.

you reach up without thinking, fingers brushing the side of his mask. “take it off…”

he stills — just for a second. then he presses deeper, choking on a breath. “you sure?”

you nod, eyes meeting the black fabric. “i want to see you. all of you.”

his hand lets go of your throat just long enough to pull the mask up and off. his face is flushed, eyes glassy with emotion, jaw clenched like he’s holding back something dangerous.

you cup his cheek, and he leans into it like a starving man.

“you came back,” you whisper, and there’s no anger in your voice. just heat. just heartbreak and admiration.

“i never left,” he says, voice shaking. “you tried to lock me out, but you’re still mine. i know you are.”

his hand returns to your throat, squeezing just enough now to make your breath hitch, his other palm sliding down to your stomach, pressing gently where he’s filling you so deep.

you whimper, thighs tensing as he starts fucking you harder now — no less loving, just desperate, rougher, his control slipping.

“say it,” he pants. “tell me you’re still mine.”

you can barely breathe, barely think with how full you are, how he’s choking you and touching you and claiming you like you’re his goddamn oxygen.

“baby,” you whimper, softly, like it’s sacred. “i’m yours. i’m so fucking yours.”

“i’m not going anywhere ben…not now. not ever again.” you promise, body clenching around him.

a strangled moan tears from his throat.

and you don’t say anything — not with words. just a gasp, a moan, the way your legs wrap tighter around him. the way your body arches into his like your skin still knows the shape of him even after all that distance.

you squeeze around him again, and that’s all it takes for him to break.

his body convulses as he spills into you, hard, messy, overwhelmed. his head drops to your shoulder, mouth open against your skin, clinging to you, his breath hitching like he can’t get enough air.

and even after, he doesn’t pull away. just breathes you in, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other around your waist like he’s never letting go again.

a few moments pass. after catching his breath, he tears away from the crook of your neck, for a moment, he just stares—like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your face, to convince himself this is real.

you smile — tired, aching, you still look at him like he hung the stars. your palm presses to his cheek.

“hi,” you whisper, like it’s the first time. like you’re seeing him all over again.

he pulls back just enough to catch your gaze, a slow, shaky smile curling at the edge of his lips. “hi.”

you lean up, kissing him so slow and sweet it makes his chest cave. no lust. no desperation. just the kind of softness that says stay. he kisses you again — slow, lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world now. and when he finally pulls back, you whisper against his mouth :

“i missed you.”

[dissolvedprincess]

Just finished DD season 3 and DD : Born Again. Dex is just..my oh my..he’s a beautifully flawed character that i’ve grown to adore. This is my first time writing a character with his nature and i am still fumbling in the dark a little bit, so it might not be the best. But trust that i will be doing more research on him. For now, enjoy! (Please mind the content warnings!)

Honeydew

꒰ Poindexter/Bullseye x Fem reader ꒱

✷ CW : 18+, nsfw, dub-con, one sided phone sex, (m) masturbation, creepy dex, manipulation, mentions of stalking

𖥔 Summary : She calls Dex in the middle of the night expecting comfort, blissfully unaware of what’s happening on the other end of the call.

𖥔 HONEYED HEART SERIES

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

(Not proofread)

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷

Dex’s eyes snaps open to the blaring noise of his ringtone. Sculpted muscles promptly flex as he sits up. His well trained body adjusts easily to the abrupt change in his system, senses already going into high alert.

The permanent crease between his brows deepen as a stabbing migraine creeps up from behind his strained eyes.

It wasn’t a rare occurrence to be called for in the middle of the night or any hour of the day. He’s committed to this kind of life, to this job. The stability of it keeps him in a tight leash, preventing him from spiraling too far. He finds it beneficial, in way. Even if he finds some parts of it unsavory.

He grabs his phone from the bedside table, nostrils already flared in anger. The rapid motion of his hand almost knocks over a framed photograph. Although it was nudged only slightly from it’s usual perch, Dex takes the time to adjust the frame back into place, not an inch too far, not an inch too close. Her face is the first thing he sees as the day starts and the last thing before the day ends. It has to sit just right.

He swipes a thumb over her face with a satisfied curve of his lips as he finished shifting it back into place.

The graininess of the photograph couldn’t dim a smile that bright. He remembers the day vividly. The way his eyes burned a hole through the group photo he just received over mail. It didn’t look right, too crowded, too distracting. He recalled scrambling to find a pair of scissors, despite already knowing where he usually puts it. His hands shook as he frantically pulled on each drawer.

Then there it was, in the second drawer to the far right.

The tightness in his jaw slowly lessened with every snip. Further and further separating her from the rest of the group. He didn’t need anyone else in the picture. Because nobody else sees him like she does, Dex swears it.

She has him wrapped around her finger without her knowing.

If it was up to her right now, she’d tell him to calm down, to follow her inhales and exhales. Like back then, whenever he fell victim to an anger or panic that came on so quick and fast it left him reeling.

“Breath Dex. Come on, i’ll do it with you. In….”

So he does, he inhales as much air as his lungs can hold.

“Hold it.” She’d put a well manicured hand on his chest to further steady him. Dex always feared that she’d feel how fast his heart raced every time, and if she did; she never mentioned any of it.

“And…Out….Good job honey.” Honey. It’s her favorite nickname to call people. He fondly remembers her saying it almost 30 times a day. Dex knows, he takes a mental note of it every time he overhears her in a conversation with a coworker or when she’s gently persuading a stranger to let go of the gun.

In his head, he keeps recordings of her voice in it’s own vast room for all the different ways and tones she uses to call him ‘honey’.

‘Hi honey.’

‘I got you honey. It’s okay.’

‘You’re better than this honey, you know that.’

It proves to be effective as the bubbling anger that threatened to spill over before, subsides with the long exhale he let out.

“Thank you.” His voice echoes back in the empty room. Dex feels a lifetime lighter now, with the ghostly pressure of her hand on his chest.

His thumb then absentmindedly pressed the green button and holds the phone up to his ear; dark eyes still trained on her face.

“Hello?”

Dex feels a shiver run down his spine at the sound of a split second inhale. He’d recognize it anywhere.

“Hi Dex. Sorry for calling so late honey. Were you asleep already?”

They were introduced to one another as colleagues. The connection they had was strictly professional, but it was the mutual desire to help people that drew them closer, or so he told her. Because that’s the main rule that she abides by in life, so he has to act accordingly.

But no matter how much every interaction leaves him more and more greedy for her attention. Their relationship never went anywhere outside of the center and it wasn’t long before she left to pursue a different life outside of it, a life without him.

Each and everyday felt like being stuck underwater. He couldn’t even bear to put on the same face when it no longer felt beneficial to keep up the facade. So he left to join the army, for some semblance of stability, then the FBI.

Years went by and the job does him well.

Well enough to the point where he decides to finally do something about his relationship with her. He figured she’d need him around, to keep her company, to keep her safe. More so because she is adamant in seeing the good in people.

‘Not everyone in the world is out to get you honey.’

Then the stalking began, and after months of careful planning, they got into each other’s orbits again after she accidentally bumped into him in a crowded subway station.

“Oh my god! I can’t believe it’s you!” she exclaimed with a hand over her mouth.

“I know. What a nice surprise.” He looked down at his feet, then back up again to look her in the eyes, bashful. “I’m pretty sure it’s meant to be.” He finished with a smile he’s perfected over time.

It’s a given, wherever his north star goes, he follows. Nothing could’ve kept him away from her for long.

“I was awake anyway. Please, It’s alright. You must have your reasons.” Dex tries his best to prevent the excitement from bleeding too much into his tone.

“You’re too kind Dex. Always have been.”

Dex hears it over the phone, she’s smiling and he instinctively mirrors it. Force of habit. She brings it out of him, he thinks. Work days are long, hard and demanding. He finds himself smiling only when he’s meeting her for a friendly meet up over coffee or when he’s watching her from 60 feet away, mostly on Tuesdays. A day specially reserved only for pizza nights.

“It’s nothing. Is there something you need?”

He’s laying back down against the pillow again, body completely relaxed. Although this time, he’s pushed the duvet off, leaving him bare from the waist down; clad in just boxers. He shivers as the cold air settles on his bare skin, but it won’t be long until he’s warm again.

“I don’t know how to start this honestly.” She responds with a nervous chuckle.

“I have time.” He assures her.

“Okay. It’s just that...i’ve been feeling more anxious than usual.”

His hand twitched as heat starts to pool between his legs.

“What kind of anxious thoughts?”

“It’s ridiculous, i’ve just…um.” She heaves a heavy exhale. “I don’t think i’m a good person, Dex.”

Dex smirks and slips his hand into the gap between his heated skin and his boxers.

“What makes you think that?”

“Nothing major happened honey. I was just thinking…Gosh you’re gonna say that i’m crazy or something.”

“I would never say that to you. You know me.”He holds back a moan as he palms his arousal.

“Yeah, yeah you’re right, you wouldn’t.” She pauses briefly and Dex could clearly see an image of her nervously chewing on her lips. “I couldn’t stop thinking about the center recently. It’s been years since i left but i can’t seem to stop feeling like it’s eating away at me somehow.”

The phone is hot against his skin as its squeezed between his cheek and his shoulder. He pushes another hand down to aid in freeing himself from the tight confines of the fabric.

“Elaborate. What part of it is eating away at you?”

The line comes out perfectly smooth and natural, exactly like Doctor Mercer. Observation has always been key.

“The guilt. I think.” Her voice is small, like a scared child, hesitant on wether or not she should admit it.

“Guilt? Why does the word come to mind? You were always the best at it out of all of us.” Gently, slowly, Dex begins to tug at his dick. Fingers slip along sweat damp skin, sliding up to the head to give it a light squeeze, before pulling back down.

“I’m not sure why exactly.” She hums and he waits, it’s a habit she does often whenever she needs time to think something through.

“Take your time.” He speaks up to mask the wet-smacking noises of his pumping hand. Dex is big. Thick. His hand can only wrap around his girth comfortably because his palm is just as broad.

“I think….i don’t feel like i’m helping others enough. Not as much as i used to, at least.”

“I see. I’m sorry to hear that, that must be really hard.” Dex’s hand begins to twist as he strokes higher up his dick. Loose skin and slick glans drag against him, getting sloppier with every pump of it. “Fuck.” He hissed.

“What was that? Are you okay honey?” His dick throbs at the sound of her concerned tone.

Another smirk finds its way onto his face again. His hands slow now to tease himself, so much so that his thighs shake with every brutally slow, tight pull that has white dribbling from between his knuckles. Dex’s broad chest shudders as he lets out an over exaggerated exhale.

“Sorry, it’s nothing. Just a migraine.” He forces out, his eyes squeeze shut and his teeth clench so tight. He’s so fucking close.

“Oh Dex…I didn’t know. Don’t apologize hon, it’s my fault for calling so late and waking you up.” He likes it whenever she gets all sickly sweet like that.

“You did nothing wrong. I would’ve told you if i didn’t want you calling me.” His hand speeds up again. Every stroke of it sends sticky sounds into the air.

“I suppose that’s true.” She’s smiling again and he imagines a faint blush appearing on her cheeks.

“And about what you said earlier. It must be a lot to deal with on your own, I’m glad you called me.”

She sighs dreamily and responds, “Yeah, it is. But it’s nice that i have you to vent to.”

“I hope it helps you when i say that you are a good person. I can attest to that.” Dex holds out a grunt as he jacks just the end of his dick, twisting his hand. “You just can’t see yourself the way i do.” The sight of her face comes up in his head again, he imagines the words causing her face to twist in shock, only to quickly melt into something that screams fondness.

His hand moves faster at the sound of her giggle, and pre bubbles over, making the slide even better.

“Aw honey. That’s- that’s very sweet of you. I can’t believe you see me that way.”

“Of course i do. You are always good to me. So good.” She doesn’t catch how breathless he sounds, too preoccupied by the sound of her racing heart.

“Well, for the record, i think you’re a good person too Dex.”

No, i’m not.

The first spurt of cum practically shoots out as he comes. He briefly lets go of the phone to put a tight grip over his mouth. Every pull of his fist draws more and more cum from the messy slit. Unexpected laughter comes bubbling up from his belly and he can’t stop himself. Euphoria washes over him as cum drooled all over his stomach.

“Don’t laugh! I’m serious!” The sound of her own rings through the phone.

With a clean hand he rubs a finger over his closed lids as their joined laughs naturally die down. The phone is once again squeezed between flesh as he reaches over for a tissue; eager to have her voice as close as possible.

“Christ.” He groans. Dex tries his best to clean himself, balling up the used tissues and skillfully throws them into the trash bin at the corner of the room.

“Shit, the migraine again?”

“Yeah. It’s fine though, it’ll pass.” He says as he pulls his boxers back on before walking over to the bathroom.

“You better go back to sleep soon okay?” There it is again, the coddling tone— babyish. Though her voice was partially drowned out by the insistent sound of rushing water. Once the water is off, Dex wrings his hands together and wipes them dry with a towel.

“Okay. I will.”

“And one more thing before you go.”

Dex stops his hand from further shuffling in the medicine cabinet to give her his full attention.

“Thank you for tonight. I really needed it.” She says.

A familiar ache spreads over his chest again as he replies, “Yeah. Me too.”

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷

Thank you lots for taking the time to read! I’m really nervous about this one aahhh! Let me know what you think and don’t forget to like and reblog if you enjoyed it!! <3

[shadowbriar]

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter — Your Initial

Synopsis: After one too many mistakes, too many sour outcomes he had to bring to the boss' door, Dex knew that the thin safetynet he thought he was under was just a mere imagination.

wrote this on my phone cause I'm out on a trip. will fix each and every mistake once I get my hands on a laptop.

Dex' hands roam around her body as if they haven't travelled every inch of her skin. His kisses were desperate, needy, and more vigorous with every pause of breath he took. His figure pins her against the shelves, doing its best to eliminate as much space as possible. The storage room was crammed enough as it is, but even with the close proximity, there seems to be planets between them, still.

His head was pounding. The ringing in his ears would only grow even louder with each text he received from the Kingpin. He knew that he's messed up. Too many tasks left unfinished, targets slipped, and businesses unsealed, that it would only be a matter of time until he gets some disciplinary action. Until he would become another name in Fisk's list. Until he, or worse, she, would become the one chased by the crosshair.

At first, Dex revels in the power he gained when Fisk scouted him. He enjoyed the freedom he had, standing above the law as he unleashed the worst kinds of horror to anyone he needed to take care of. But after one too many mistakes, too many sour outcomes he had to bring to the boss' door, he knew that the thin safetynet he thought he was under was just a mere imagination.

There's nobody he could turn to, no enforcement that he could seek help from cause everything was owned by Fisk. Everyone works for him, whether or not they realise it.

"Dex, hey," she calls softly between their kisses, her giggles trailing her voice "I'm not going anywhere, we can take a breath for a minute,"

He forces a smile, "Why, you don't enjoy my kisses?"

"On the contrary, I adore them a lot," she replies, resting her hands around his neck as she takes a soft peck to the tip of his nose "which is why I'd very much prefer to savour it,"

Dex nods, placing a kiss to her forehead.

She watches him intently. The hue under his eyes was looking more noticeable. Fatigue was dripping out of him, and that displeased frown was etched on his lips. Something was bothering him.

"Trouble sleeping?" she begins to ask, her fingers combed through the blond strands of his hair "has Hattley been giving you a hard time?"

"You can say that," Dex sighs, leaning into her gentle touch "there's this.. task, that I keep on failing, and I'm pretty sure they're going to hang me by the neck if I fail again the next time,"

"What kind of task?"

He chuckles, shaking his head, "You know I can't tell you, it's confidential,"

"You and your mysteries," rolling her eyes, she comments with a slight frown "you know, maybe it'll make you feel better to shine light on some of these secrets,"

He remains silent, watching her with no expression.

"Starting with us, maybe? We can stop going to storage rooms and just.. you know, be a normal couple out in the day," she coaxes, her finger now travels down to his undereye, gently caressing the bags that were more visible than the usual "maybe that'll give your mind a little more peace?"

Dex lets out an exasperated sigh. The muscles on his jaws were tensed now, veins more visible on his forehead. He was conflicted. He knew just how much it meant for her, to be out in public with their relationship, but it would only serve as putting bounty on her head. At this point, he couldn't even be too sure that their relationship was still a business of two. With Fisk's eyes on every corner and Murdock's alien abilities, Dex could only do so much to try and keep her under wraps.

Silently, he places his hands on her cheeks. The gesture was firm and a little authoritative, but she remains silent and follows his lead. He eyes her straight, a total contrast to the gentle and uncertain stare she gives back at him.

"I love you," he begins, his tone dogmatic as if it was a universal fact "I would burn the world to the ground, if it means saving you. If it means keeping you safe from all those filth on the street. There is no one, and I mean by no one, that I would not sacrifice for you,"

Her brows knit, confused as to how their conversation could take such a turn.

"I just— With everything going on, Fisk on that hotel, Daredevil going rampant, I just don't think putting us out there would do us good,"

"What does Fisk and Daredevil have to do with us?" she questions, clearly at lost on what he's trying to say "if you're worried about my safety, I have my gun with me at all times, and I doubt I'll be in any of their priority list. I'm just a nobody,"

"But you're not a nobody to me, and I'm not willing to take that risk," he argues adamantly "look, we can have this discussion some other time, okay? Not now,"

It was obvious that she has more words to spill, more arguments to give, but the despair Dex shows was a little too concerning for her to prolong the discussion, so she surrenders with a nod. Forcing a smile and placing a kiss to his cheek to help untangle the tension on his muscles.

Dex smiles a little, showing gratitude for the gentle gesture before his lips find their way back to her neck, "What's your plan tonight?"

"I don't know, nothing on the schedule yet," she answers.

"How does a dinner date, sound? Been a while since we visited that favourite restaurant of yours,"

"Yeah? Tonight?" she asks, intrigued "wouldn't they call you to watch over Fisk?"

Dex pauses his kisses, lips pursed as he gives it a thought, "They haven't called me for anything, so I should be free for the night," he pulls her closer by the waist, the corners of his lips turning upwards as that gleeful grin returns to her face "so, what do you say?"

"Pick me up at seven?"

He nods, his finger reaches to the 'D' initial hanging on her neck that he got her a couple months back, "You got it, Princess,"

—-

Dex' hair was dishevelled. The first few buttons of his shirt were undone, eyes bloodshot from the panic that's starting to poison his veins. He knew that he's jabbed on the beast a little too frequently lately, but he never would have imagined that he needed to fix everything now.

The stoic welcome in Fisk's tone was gone when he entered the suite. There was a sense of disapproval in the superior's expression, a little more firmness in the order he's given that it shook all the confidence Dex has left in himself. As if there was a silent hidden message that he should understand: last chance, or he's out for good.

Now Dex may never fear for his safety. He's far more capable to eliminate anyone, let alone defend himself, but with Fisk and all the bidding he's done for him, Dex couldn't be certain of the degree his boss would be willing to commit should he make another mistake tonight. And with her in the equation, he knew that there could never be a risk small enough to overlook.

And so he remained quiet when Fisk gave him the mission to go to the abandoned building on the other side of town. There, on the twenty-second floor, he would find a parcel in the middle of the empty ballroom. The parcel itself was of nothing. His main objective was to neutralise Matt Murdock who would be on the move to get his hands on the parcel first and bring his head to Fisk.

There was some knot tightening in his stomach, telling him that something wasn't right when there's a whole meeting with Fisk's past allies downtown. Every criminal, every drug lords that has ever worked with Fisk would be in that building and Dex knew just how crucial it is for his boss to strengthened his crew. Most of the bureau agents are sent to secure the event, and he was fairly certain that he would be called last minute to add another layer of protection for the meeting, yet here he was, running back to his apartment to get the daredevil suit before having to run to the other side of town.

His thumb dials for her number the moment he gets to his apartment. It was 6:24. There would be no chance for him to followup with that dinner now and the last thing he needs to wrap the night with is standing her up for a date he initiated.

"Hey, Princess," Dex greets when his call went straight to voice mail "listen, I think we have to do a raincheck with that dinner tonight. Something came up with Fisk and I can't bail myself out. I'm really sorry, I'll make it up to you, okay? Call me back when you get this. Bye,"

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should send another voice message just to tell her that he loves her. Something about today makes him want to say it a million times more than yesterday. Neither of them were ever this clingy. The word typically only roll out of their tongues when they were dancing on the bed, but there's this urge to be more vocal about what he feels for her today. A certain kind of need that he was never familiar with. And if Dex was an honest man, he'd admit that this feeling scares him shitless.

Pushing his pride aside, he types in for one last text before he opens his safe and put the daredevil suit on.

I love you, call me back. D

—-

When Matt got to the abandoned building, his confusion only grew bigger as the ticking he heard from the parcel was just of a decoy. It was just some cheap electrical circuit with materials of a bomb yet none of the circuits were connected to each other. Next to it was a gold necklace with the initial D. It evidently belongs to someone as the perfume of its owner was still strong on the item, yet Matt couldn't recall anyone who wears such personalised scent.

Before Matt could give his ponder a little more time, Dex' throw of a blade nearly hit the back of his head had he not move in time. The two men then begin to entangle themselves into a real fight, kicking the parcel and its content during their commotion.

Dex' punches were getting more and more violent. His scream animalistic and the beating of his heart was so erratic Matt wonders if it would give in first before he could actually knock the phoney vigilante down.

"You smell like her," Matt notes when he got a whiff of the scent from Dex.

"Who?" Dex asks but his tone was more of a demand. From the corner of his eye, he could see something gleaming under his foot. The gold necklace was reflecting the dim light of the building and when he picked the item up, Dex blood went cold "how did you get this?"

"It was in the box with that fake bomb," Matt answers through his cough of blood.

Dex grabbed him by the collar, spitting on his face, "I swear to God if you touch her—"

"It was in the box," Matt repeats, his tone steady and unwavering "It was Fisk,"

Dex dropped Matt to the ground with a loud thud. He takes a few steps back, letting the new information to sink in. The necklace dangling by his hand feels heavier by the second. Every horrific scenarios start to play in his head. What was the necklace doing here? How did Fisk get it? What's happened to her?

Abandoning his mission, Dex frantically runs out of the building. He couldn't care less about failing another task, about facing the consequence of his ill-delivered results. He tosses the daredevil helmet away as he jumps into his car. He rummages his bag, desperately trying to find his phone as he ignites the vehicle.

"Pick up, baby, pick up," he desperately prays as his foot steps on the gas.

"Dex? Hi, I was just—"

"Where are you?" he cuts in, yelling at her in panic "tell me, where the hell are you right now?!"

"I'm at the town business meeting thing with everyone else," she explains, her voice slightly distorted from the bad signal "The whole bureau was sent to secure this meeting. I was just about to call you cause Hattley said you should be here too. Where are you?"

"Baby, listen to me, okay? I want you to listen to me carefully, get out of that damn building, okay? I'm on my way there, I'll be there in a minute just— Get out of that building now,"

A confused scoff escaped her lips, brows now furrowed from the illogical demand he was making, "What are you talking about? I'm literally in charge of the main event, I can't just leave the building,"

"They put you— What?"

"I know, it's crazy. It should've been Ramirez, but Hattley said he's needed elsewhere so they appointed me last minute,"

Dex was pulling his hair by now. He should've seen it. Fisk puts her there while driving him as far as possible so he could put her in the open. Taunting and mocking him with just how little control he has over his life. Dex was never in charge of anything, it was always Fisk, and Fisk only.

"Dex, are you there?" she asks after a minute of his silence "listen, the meeting is going to start anytime soon, so I won't be on my phone—"

"You're not listening to me! Get the fuck out of that building now!" Dex yells in frustration "run out of it, jump if you need to, just fucking get out of there!"

"I can't jump out, I'm literally on the twenty-second floor!" she argues, completely missing the irony of her position "what is wrong with you?! Just— get here and we'll talk about it, okay?"

"No, there's no time! Just listen to me, please," he begs, choking on his own tears now as he's starting to see the building she's at "please, I'll explain everything later, just get out of there for now, please. I love you, please, listen to me,"

She was starting to feel conflicted. The event is starting any minute now and she would never see any bigger opportunity to secure her position in the bureau more than now, but the begging Dex makes is twisting her chest. He was full on crying and choking out of his words now, and it's certainly not a familiar thing for her to see. Something was wrong and she might be in the middle of it.

"Okay, okay, I'll come out," she finally gives in, moving her feet to the exit door "The things I do for you, Benjamin Po—"

Her words hung on the air as the ground shook. Dex watches with his own eyes how the building that was just a few blocks away from him exploded. Fire catches up as soon as the blast happened and within seconds, the whole building collapse from the violent destruction.

People were running away from the scene as the air turns dusty and grey, yet Dex jumped out of his car to run closer. His feet burns, tripping from all the debris that now laid on the road from the explosion. His eyes stings, but he couldn't look away from the blaze that has engulfed the building. He watches as fire dances against the concrete walls, turning everything it touches burnt and ashen.

And as Dex' feet gave in, as he kneels on the road a few metres away from the building, he knew that he is out for good.

[amberlynnmurdock]

Dressing Room

Pairing: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Reader Insert

Summary: Dex takes guarding your dressing room at Lululemon a little too seriously.

Genre: FLUFF and a little angst

Note: I'm sorry if this isn't my strongest! I felt like writing a cute little something for Dexy since he's BACK!!!! <3 <3 my DDBA thoughts will have to be another post. ENJOY!

Dex guards the door with his arms crossed in front of him, suspiciously eyeing every person who walks by. It’s reminiscent of the missions he’s been placed on in the past—guarding the door for witness protection, guarding the door of a criminal. It's the same concept, really. Make sure no one gets to whoever is behind the door he guards. Deathly stare at anyone who even glances in his direction. 

A bead of sweat trickles down his back from the heat in the room. Every muscle in his body tenses at every sound he hears. Boots scuffing the wood-paneled floor, paper ripping—all send his heart rate skyrocketing and his eyes scanning the room obsessively for any kind of threat. It was important to him that he be aware of anything and everything. It was important to him that people know he sees them. 

An older woman approaches him. Before she can say anything, Dex holds out his hand to stop her. 

“This dressing room is occupied,” he says in his FBI agent authoritative voice. His eyes darken at her audacity. The woman cowers at his stern, unfriendly look and quickly walks away with shirts draped over her arm—as she should, Dex thinks. 

“Sir,” a male voice comes from his side. “I’m the manager. You don’t work here. I’m going to have to ask you to not scare our customers in the dressing room if you’re not trying anything on. There’s no reason for you to be standing here.” 

No reason? Dex looks at the man but hides his incredulous look. Dex has every reason to be standing in front of the dressing room you’re in—he has to make sure you’re safe. 

“I’m waiting for my girlfriend,” Dex states without a flinch, tightening his arms in front of his chest. 

“You can wait for her on the couches in the middle of the room,” the manager explained calmly. “You don’t need to guard the door.”

Frustration bloomed in Dex’s chest. What was so hard to understand? “Yes, I do. I need to make sure she’s safe.” 

“Sir, this is a Lululemon.” 

“Dex?” You open the door ajar to peek at Dex, standing in his FBI-esque stature, arms crossed and deathly glaring at anyone and everyone. Now, the manager fell victim to such a harsh glare. When Dex heard your voice, it was the only moment his expression softened. He looked at you attentively, as if the manager wasn’t there. “Could you tell me if you like this jacket?” 

Dex looked from you to the manager beside him, watching him suspiciously. When no one said a word, you sighed in exasperation and looked at the manager.

“Can my boyfriend please help me in the dressing room? He’ll be out once I get his opinion.”

“Sure,” the manager said. “But please also tell him to stop scaring our guests away.”

“I will,” you flashed a smile at him as he walked away. You uncrossed Dex’s arms and grabbed his hand, leading him into the dressing room. You shut the door, and Dex beat you to locking it. 

“Dex,” you said softly. “Why are you scaring people away?” You asked with an amused smile on your face. You were used to him being protective—you found it very endearing that he acted somewhat like your personal bodyguard, even if you were at a casual establishment like Lululemon. Dex’s face softened as he sighed.

“I just want to make sure no one will walk in on you,” Dex said. “I’m sorry if I was aggressive.”

“No, it’s okay,” you laughed, giving his upper bicep a gentle squeeze. “I appreciate how protective you are over me.”

Dex shrugged. “I just want you to be safe.”

“I am safe,” you affirmed. “Whenever I’m with you.” 

Dex smiled and held your gaze for a moment. You shrugged and tugged at the seams of the jacket you tried on.

“Well, what do ya think?” You asked him, breaking eye contact to look at yourself in the mirror. Dex was still looking at you, but as if snapping out of his thoughts, he looked at your torso and analyzed the jacket. 

“It looks perfect on you,” Dex said, meeting your eyes in the mirror. 

“Thank you, Dex. Do you like the black? Maybe I should try on the blue. Could you get me the light blue one out there? It’s called the Define jacket.”

Although he was captivated by how you looked, he still registered your command. “I’ll find it.”

He left you in the dressing room as he made his way back out to the main floor. The manager who scolded him before stared him down, but Dex wasn’t intimidated—he’s had much worse foes. He ignored his glare as he made his way to the table that read: Define Jacket. He found a light blue one in your size. 

Dex walked back to the dressing room area and stopped in his tracks when he saw your dressing room empty, door wide open. His alertness set in as his heart rate skyrocketed again, and this time, he was reminded of every person in his life who’d abandoned him without warning. His parents, his therapist… and now, you. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing someone again. A deep heaviness settled in his chest, a deep sense of longing he hadn’t felt in a while overcame him at the missing sight of you. Where did you go? Dex could barely hold onto the jacket he grabbed for you. 

Were you taken? He knew this would happen—he shouldn’t have left you alone. You, your kindness, he knew could be taken advantage of so easily. He didn’t care that this was just an establishment—nowhere is guaranteed safe. That’s what they taught him in training. Suddenly, he felt an intense resentment towards the manager who berated him for standing in front of your door. This is why he “scaring” guests—this is why he was protecting you. 

No, Dex thought. It’s nobody’s fault but his. It’s his fault you slipped from his grasp—it was always his fault. The minute he found the person who took you from—Dex was already planning the ways he’d make them pay. He’s counting each hanger that hangs inside the empty dressing room—it’s how many times he’ll throw it at whoever took you from him. There wasn’t any sadness at your disappearance anymore—he felt rage. Fixated on the hangers and how easily they would slip from his fingers. 

“Dex,” he heard you call his name, and just like that—as quick as a switch—all his anxieties disappeared. Something fluttered in his chest. There you were, standing in front of a large mirror, trying on a light blue tennis dress. Your hair was disheveled from throwing the dress on, but you looked beautiful in Dex’s eyes. Angelic, even—just looking at you brought a feeling in Dex he’s not used to. At first, it was scary, but then it was just…silent. Peaceful. Only you were capable of making him even taste that feeling. “Come here,” you said. 

Dex does as he’s told but doesn’t just stop to look at you and give his opinion—you could wear anything and he would think it’s the loveliest thing. Dex wraps his arms around your waist and holds you tight against him—his fears from before coming to the front of his mind. He thought he lost you. He can’t experience that feeling again.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent. He feels you tentatively wrap your arms around him, embracing his hold. 

“I’m sorry,” Dex said, “I thought you were gone.”

“Gone?” You giggled against him. “Where would I have gone?”

“I don’t know,” Dex mumbled in your hair.

“I’m right here.” You pulled back from his embrace to brush your fingers through his dirty blonde hair. 

Dex suddenly couldn’t meet your eyes—ashamed of his paranoia and for thinking the worst. “I got your jacket in blue,” Dex muttered, holding up the soft article of clothing on his arm. 

“Thank you,” you said. “Do you like this dress on me? Your opinion matters to me, you know.”

His opinion matters to you. He matters. Dex looks at you again, and then he takes a step back, fully realizing the image in front of him. You looking at him like he’s the most important thing in the world, and he looking at you like you’re the most beautiful—because you are, to him. 

“It’s perfect,” Dex says quietly. It’s all he can say. The adrenaline of his paranoia from before exhausted him. You knew him well enough to know he was fighting an internal battle. And he was trying his best to hide it from you.

“Take a seat, Dex. I’m all finished up here. Let me change back into my clothes, pay and then we’ll go home,” you said softly. You pressed a soft kiss on his cheek and guided him to sit on the couches in the middle of the dressing room. 

Dex sat down at your command. In front of him was the mirror—he met his own eyes and quickly looked away. When you closed the door to your dressing room, Dex quietly got up to instead sit in front of your door, on the couch that faced it. He waited for you patiently there—just in case. 

[midnightslark]

BREATHE

Pairing: Benjamin “Dex” Poindexter x reader

Warnings: Panic attacks, teensie bit of angst

@nocturnal1slut asked “Maybe something with dex having a panic attack and reader comforting him?💕”

Summary: You return home to find Dex curled up beside his bed, broken glass littered everywhere. In a moment of self deprecating panic, you comfort Dex.

Notes: First post! I hope you enjoy, please leave your thoughts and any requests you have! ^^

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The silence of the apartment was unexpected as you unlocked the door and stepped inside, the lack of lights being on casting the rooms in a shadowed darkness. A frown furrowed in your brows as you took a step further inside, pausing at the sound of glass crunching beneath your shoe.

Broken glass? This was a sight that didn’t come often, but when it did, you knew that something was wrong.

“Dex?” You softly called out, leaning down to place your bag by the door, softly shutting it as you kept your eyes darting around the place. You couldn’t help the way your stomach nervously clenched, your chest following suit in the same tight, anxious manner.

You carefully stepped around the broken glass the best you could, eyeing the glint in the darkness as you navigated your way through. You knew that if there was danger, your best bet would be to keep the lights off.

If anyone ever breaks in, keep the lights off. No one knows the apartment better than you. Dex had once told you that, before rambling on about how he’d protect you and if anyone tried to hurt you, he would deal it back but a thousand times worse. You knew he wasn’t lying and it it’s own way, it was sweet.

You slithered past the counter, quietly slipping a knife out of the holder as you eyed the place further. If someone had a gun, you’d be screwed, but it was better than nothing. At least Dex would be proud that you tried to defend yourself but also really, really mad that he couldn’t be there to defend you himself.

You checked behind the couch, found nothing and quietly headed towards the bathroom. Before you entered, the sound of a sniff from the bedroom made you stop in your tracks, your lips softly parting as you listened out for the sound once more. When it came again, you knew you hadn’t imagined it.

And how much it sounded like Dex.

“Dex?” You softly called out again. You didn’t hesitate to head towards your shared bedroom, freezing in your tracks at the sight before you.

Dex sat curled up against the side of the bed, his head in his hands as his breathing came out in shudders, like he was struggling to pull air through his lungs.

“Dex-“ You breathed out, quickly sliding into the floor in front of him, placing the knife down and lightly grabbing at his wrists, feeling the way he was shaking beneath your hold.

“D-don’t.” He whispered, keeping his head in his hands, not daring to meet his gaze.

“What’s wrong?” You softly asked, your thumbs reassuringly rubbing across the skin of his arms. He was shaking beneath your hold.

“Don’t do that- don’t ask me that.” He lightly snapped. You softly frowned, knowing this. Knowing him. This projection, this self deprecation was something familiar to you. You’d seen it many times.

“Hey.” You softly spoke, tapping the backs of his hands that covered his eyes with your thumbs. “Hey, look at me.”

He let out a soft, defiant noise. A sense of conflict in his tone as he took a deep, shaken breath in, his whole body shaking. He softly shook his head, fighting himself before he pulled his hands away, his eyes still shut. He took another shaken breath in before meeting your eyes with his red ones from between his brows.

You tried not to have a reaction to the sight of blood across his features, a black eye already forming around his left eye. Speckles of blood across his cheek that was likely not his. You kept a soft expression, keeping his eyes on yours.

“Hi.” You softly smiled, grabbing his hands in your own, his grip loose. “You wanna talk to me?”

He stared at you for a moment. His gaze flickered between your eyes and the floor before he softly shook his head, a scowl forming on his lips. His chest kept its rapid pace, breathing hard through his nose as he fought through his emotions.

“No- just- I don’t wanna do that.” He whispered. Your chest lightly ached at the look on his face, the lack of trust. As if he didn’t recognize you, as if you had betrayed him.

You understood why he felt that way. He’d been abandoned by so, so many people. Just as many had betrayed him, made him think he wasn’t worth anything. You’d never let him feel that way again, not as long as you were around.

“Hey- hey. It’s me.” You whispered, trying to place yourself in his view so that he could see your eyes. See the truth within them. “It’s me.”

“Y/n- I can’t-“ He whispered again, desperation clear in his voice.

“That’s fine.” You gently squeezed his hands, relieved when he returned a soft squeeze back. “You know what you can do for me?”

He met your gaze.

“Breathe with me.” You softly smiled. “Come on, handsome.”

You removed your right hand from his grasp, placing it in the middle of his chest. In a motion of demonstration, you took a deep breath in before letting it fall from your lips in an equal manner. You could see the reluctance in his eyes before he took in a deep, but unequal breath, but he was still trying.

You took in another deep breath, feeling the way his chest raised beneath your palm before easing into a more even release. The shuddered nature of his breath slowly eased into a normal pattern, the tension in his features fading away as the panic in his body released.

“There we go, that’s good.” You whispered.

He placed a hand on top of the one resting against his chest, curling his fingers around it and pulling it to his lips, his eyes falling shut for a moment as he just breathed deep, taking in every drop of you as it brought him back to calm. He gently brushed his lips against your knuckles, the warmth of his breath tickling your skin.

Before you could say another word, his hands wrapped around your hand and upper arm and he tugged you towards him, pressing your cheek against his shoulder as your legs collapsed under you and your body fell subject to his needy grasp. You let him hold you close, finding your own comfort in the action.

You couldn’t help but softly smile as he let you back in. You knew this, you knew him. It wasn’t anything personal. He’s just been hurt a lot.

His fingers delved into your hair, drawing gentle circles as if he was comforting you in return. Your eyes trailed across his features. His now open eyes were staring ahead and the panic across his features seemed almost entirely gone, his breathing now steady. His heart was beating softly under your ear, a steady and even pace.

You placed a gentle hand on the bicep of one of the arms that was wrapped around you. You drew gentle circles, bringing him to a state of calm. Your breathing came to a sync, a guiding force to ground him. To show him that there was someone here to care for him. That you cared for him.

His head finally turned to meet your gaze, the tension in his face gone and replaced by something softer. The furrow in his brows was now because of something deeper, a grateful expression that filled his entire demeanor. He took in a deep breathe, bringing his hand stroke his knuckles against your cheek.

You softly smiled, leaning into his touch.

He leaned forwards, both of your eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he pressed his lips against yours. You relished in the feeling, glad to have him back with you in this feeling of trust and care. He let the kiss linger before slowly pulling away, pressing his forehead to yours for a moment before pulling back to meet your eyes.

“Th-thank you.” He softly uttered.

“You wanna talk to me?” You softly tried again.

He softly nodded, pulling his gaze away from you for a moment as he took in a deep breath. There was a clear hesitation on his face. He knew that he should say it, say what he was feeling even if it was hard, really hard.

“Today was… really bad. I had a job to do and I promised that I would succeed, that i’m worthy. I can handle anything. I never miss, I never ever even waver but today..” He took a deep breath in, his breathing shaken. “I failed. It was a stupid mistake. And these thoughts.. they were in buzzing around in my head about- about-“

“It’s okay.” You softly encouraged, gently stroking a line across his jaw to tell him to keep going, but to breathe.

His eyes met yours and that look in his eyes made your heart ache. He softly frowned. “I started thinking about you. How I felt like I hadn’t just failed the FBI but also you. I should have done better- I could have. It should’ve been perfect. I wanted it to be perfect for you.”

You softly smiled. “Dex, I don’t want you just to do things to make me happy, you know that. You didn’t fail, not to me. It’s just a small mistake-“

“It’s not small- it matters to me. Okay?”

“Okay.” You whispered, gently dragging your finger across his jaw again.

His eyes had reddened, his lips parted as he fought to stay composed. “I thought that it would cost me. That I’d lose you because of it. When I came home- you weren’t here. You were gone for so long and I thought… I thought that i’d been right. That you’d left.”

“I didn’t. I’m here, i’ll always be here.” You softly promised.

“I know.” He whispered. “But a part of me didn’t believe it and I felt like I deserved it. That it was gonna happen eventually. You’d leave, just like everyone else.”

You frowned, turning his gaze to meet yours with a gentle nudge. “Dex, I’d never do that. I promise you. I know you’ve been hurt a lot and I would do anything to fix that, to give you the life you need. I can’t change anything but i’ll do everything in my power to make sure you know that I care about you. More than you realize.”

He let out a sigh of relief, gently nodding. You really hoped he believed your words entirely, you wanted him to see that you really meant those words. That every utterance was a declaration of truth.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” He breathed out.

“I do.” You lightly teased. “And it’s a good thing i’m not going anywhere.”

“You better not.” He spoke. You could sense in his tone that he was serious, a darkness in it that only you really understood. You knew what would happen if you somehow left him, if he was left alone. The chaos that would unfold. The people that would get hurt.

You leaned forwards to press another soft kiss to his lips, letting your fingers curl around the back of his neck and into the short hairs that sat there. You could feel the small shiver as he melted into your touch. His hand curled around your hip, his fingers pressing into the soft meat.

His hand pressed to the floor between you two and his movements paused as he touched the handle of the kitchen knife you had brought in here as a method of self defense in case of some crazed intruder. He pulled away, eyebrows comically furrowed as he glanced down.

“Why did you have a knife?” He softly asked, a light sense of worry in his tone. He was worried you’d brought this in to defend yourself against him.

“I thought someone broke in.” You sheepishly admitted.

He smiled, his eyes scanning your face with an amused admiration. “You and I both know they’d be dead before the window opened.”

You smiled and nodded, letting out a gentle laugh in unison with his as you leaned forwards to press your lips to his again and let your bodies melt further into each other. You let him guide you downwards, your spine pressing to the cold floor as he cupped your face.

You would never hurt him. You would never let him face abandonment again. You’d show him the love he deserves, no matter what it took.

[everlastingdreams]

Dropping a quick short list of the Daredevil stuff I've written in the past. Showing my Into My Bloodstream series some love because that thing helped get me into longfics. (And this may be the excellent time with the new show and all.)

Ben Poindexter x Reader : Into My Bloodstream series:

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35

Dex x Reader Sugar Crush series:

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28

Foggy Nelson x Reader:

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not.

Daredevil x Reader :

Love Is Blind

The Spanish Disaster

Fight ‘Em ‘Till You Can’t

A Falling Star part 1

A Falling Star Part 2

Hearts On fire

Final Masquerade

Under My Skin

[souliebird]

[[dance of the little swans]]

Hi I wrote my silly Dex x Reader fic but from Matt's POV :)

Past!Matt x Reader , Dex x Reader. Angst. So much angst. It's all angst. Lots of talk about killing :) But it's Daredevil & Bullseye so. Panic attacks.

~3k

I'm taking this less seriously than other writing but I tried.

Summary: Weeks after a bad break up, Matt finds out you are Benjamin Poindexter's new North Star

It has been nearly five weeks since Matt last heard your voice.

You had been upset he had missed the opening night of the ballet you had been a dancer in and Matt had been angry you couldn’t understand his work as Daredevil couldn’t be scheduled into a planner.

He doesn’t remember the fight that much - it had been an extremely long and painful night involving the Hand and he had gotten a pretty decent concussion - but he does remember coming back to his apartment to find every trace of you gone and your key on his coffee table. It had been clear you had left him and Matt’s bitterness and anger at Everything had him making the decision that he wasn’t going to chase after you.

Maybe, if hadn’t been so stubborn and bullheaded, he would have let himself patrol by your apartment. He had avoided everywhere you liked to frequent and it was easy to not think of what he was doing. He hasn't had a moment's rest in months between his day life and nightlife. He kept himself too busy to let himself think about you.

Maybe, if he didn’t have the Devil in him he would have tried to call you. Foggy and Karen pestered at him until he snapped and threw his cell phone through a wall. They didn't mention you after that and he assumes they think you were avoiding them.

Maybe, if he wasn't such a fuck up.

Maybe, if he had done anything.

Check in.

Talk to you.

Maybe - just maybe - he would have realized your apartment has been empty for weeks.

That your phone goes straight to voicemail.

That you had dropped out of your production and hadn’t shown up to your gym since then. None of your friends had seen you.

He had filed a missing person’s report and it had been Mahoney who flatly told him you weren't missing - you had willingly decided to disappear. You weren't breaking any laws - all your bills were up to speed - so there was nothing to be done.

Case closed.

Maybe, if he had listened when Karen had insisted something was wrong he would have pushed more, but you Left and he could not take it.

Maybe, just maybe.

Matt stands frozen at the edge of Hell’s Kitchen with his heart in his throat, listening as your sweet, light laugh mixes with that of Benjamin Poindexter’s.

He knows you know all about Bullseye. Matt has told you all about Bullseye.

He knows you know his name, his face, what he did, what he does, and that the man should be locked away where no sunlight can ever reach him. Matt knows you know every detail about Benjamin Poindexter because he has sat up in bed with you countless nights telling you about his nightmares about the man.

That monster shouldn’t be walking down the street with you, with his arm slung around your shoulder like you have some sort of casual relationship with him. You shouldn't be smiling and leaning into his hold, talking about nonsense and holding boutique shopping bags while he hides various weapons under his clothes.

You shouldn't be so intimate with Benjamin Poindexter.

You shouldn’t be anywhere near him.

Matt wants to run to you and pull you from Poindexter, then beat the man to a pulp for daring to even look at you, but he can’t move. He can’t move because he doesn’t understand why any of this is happening. It feels like his brain is breaking - or like his body has just had a factory reset and he needs to reboot.

“Do you want a coffee?” you ask Poindexter - exactly like you used to ask Matt every time you passed a coffee shop. It is sweet and tempting and incredibly clear that you are the one who wants coffee. You always want coffee.

Poindexter lifts his arm - checking his watch, Matt thinks - before answering in his faux Civilian voice that hides the monster he is, “it’s almost nine.”

“Like that means anything,” you fire back, your voice so light and happy as you bump your shoulder against Poindexter’s chest. “Please?”

The man laughs, almost sounding genuine with it and Matt’s hackles raise. He wants to storm over and rip out Bullseye’s voicebox, but he remains rooted to his spot in his Rage.

“You know I’ll never deny you anything, angel.”

Poindexter pretends to be a gentleman - he opens the door to the coffee shop for you, and when you get to the counter, he asks for a medium drip coffee and your preferred order. He pays with cash while Matt tries to not let out a feral scream.

He shouldn’t know how you take your coffee.

He shouldn’t have his arm around you.

He shouldn’t be calling you ‘angel’.

Matt finally gets his body to listen to him and he crosses the boundary out of the Kitchen, racing across rooftops and trying to figure out how the hell to get you to safety. Poindexter would have no qualms about killing you and everyone in the area and he can't allow that to happen.

He needs to lure the danger away from you.

But you don't seem to get you are in danger because as you wait for your coffee, you press yourself against Poindexter’s side again.

“Do you want to finish watching that movie?” You ask softly and Matt can practically taste the sweetness in your voice. He lets himself growl at it.

“I don't know, are you going to stay awake for it?”

“Dex!”

Matt hates that he can hear you smiling. He hates he can hear Poindexter smiling.

Then so suddenly it all changes.

Matt's best guess is you see something on the TV that is playing in the shop, as you are facing that way. Your heart starts pounding in your chest while the rest of you tenses up.

Your lower lip wobbles as you shakily gasp out the most terrified sound Matt has ever heard in his life.

His heart shatters at the word that slips from your lips.

“Dex.”

Bullseye is already moving.

He grabs you by the arm before you finish saying his name and he's three steps already towards the door. The barista looks on with confusion as the both of you practically run out the door, leaving your coffee behind.

The Devil in Matt roars to life and he pushes body to move faster.

Whatever you saw on the television is driving you into a full blown panic attack. Bullseye is marching you down the street at a brisk pace and you are right at his heels, clutching onto him almost as tightly as he is clutching onto you.

You keep repeating his name quietly, pleading and begging - but not in fear of him. You are asking him to help you.

You want his protection.

And Matt doesn't understand. He doesn't understand how you could ever be in the same space as Benjamin Poindexter. How you could interact so easily with him.

What had he done to you?

Stockholm syndrome wasn't supposed to be real but he knows Poindexter is an excellent manipulator. He tricked the FBI all those years into believing he was a person instead of a monster.

“It's going to be okay,” Bullseye firmly tells you. Gone is the fake ‘aren't I charming?’ voice. This is the hard voice of the man who killed Father Lantom without blinking an eye. The hand that isn't holding you is already holding three throwing knives and his eyes are darting around, looking for any excuse to use them.

He will mow down anyone in his way.

And Matt's still too far away to stop him.

By The Grace of God, no one tries to intervene.

It's not uncommon to see people running down the street, especially in a busier area like this. To anyone who might be bothered by the running, you just appear to be in a hurry.

Matt follows you deeper into Midtown and - to his great surprise - an upscale hotel. With actual security. You have to flash your key card at the entry before they will open the door and he is honestly surprised Bullseye doesn't kill the guard.

He ends his chase in the building across the street. He will need to figure out a way in without causing a scene.

He can't let Poindexter kill more people.

You quickly end up in the elevator, and Matt just stands there as you go higher and higher into the sky. The suite you swipe your door key at is around the corner from the stairwell and Matt doubts that by chance. Bullseye probably has every centimeter of the place mapped and it isn't going to be easy to get in.

Matt becomes lost in his planning, forgetting to focus on the fact you and Poindexter are now alone.

He doesn't expect it when you rip his heart out by swirling around and throwing yourself at Poindexter.

He, of course, catches you because he was already reaching for you. He crushes you to his chest with one arm while the other buries itself in your hair. He presses his forehead to the top of your head, which is hidden against his neck.

He silently squeezes you in the tightest bearhug he can without hurting you while you weep. You crumble apart the seams and Matt can do nothing.

He is rooted to the roof of some department store as the man who almost ruined his life cradles the lover who walked out on him.

He cries along with the both of you.

He cries because he feels betrayed.

He cries because he doesn't know how this came to be.

He cries because he doesn't know why you are crying, but Benjamin Poindexter does.

Only when your body starts to give out and your sobs slow does Bullseye speak. His voice is raspy - he has been crying as well but Matt doesn't give a fuck about that - as he begs, “Please let me kill him. Please. I'll be quick, I'll be good. No suffering. Please. Let me kill all of them. Please.”

The words jolt Matt from his own thoughts and his breathing stops, waiting for your reply.

“No,” you mumble, sounding so broken and exhausted. You dip your head and nuzzle yourself into his chest while he still holds you in a tight grip.

Matt can tell you've had this conversation before.

He’s starting to go numb inside. He doesn't understand what is going on. He doesn't understand why you are acting like this.

What had that monster done to you to desensitize you to death? Why didn't this bother you?

“Why?” Bullseye demands, his anger starting to become uncontrollable. His voice is getting hard and he still has blades in his hands.

Matt needs to move, needs to stop him.

But he just stands there and listens.

You sigh, then step impossibly closer to Poindexter - you've slotted yourself completely between his thighs and your head is tucked under his chin. It's almost as close as you can be with clothes on and without fucking. The monster responds by filling any missing holes by hugging you that much tighter.

You are going to be covered in bruises.

“It will hurt more,” you barely breathe out. “If he's gone, it will hurt more. If he's just…. If he's just there, I can.” You are nodding as you are talking, like you are trying to convince yourself of your words.

Matt doesn't understand why you are trying to reason with Bullseye why Matt shouldn't be murdered in cold blood.

This isn't who you are.

What did he do to you?

“I can,” you start again, “just ignore it. Hell's Kitchen just doesn't exist. That's what we said, yeah? It's not there.”

Matt’s weeping again.

What has happened to you in these five weeks that you sound so broken?

How could he have allowed this to happen? He was so sure he had been abandoned yet again that he let his Anger overshadow the fact that he was supposed to protect the people he loved.

He had purposefully ignored you and this was his sick punishment.

God had seen his wickedness and had sent the false Devil to punish him.

But it wasn't enough according to Poindexter.

“He deserves to be punished,” the man spits. “He hurt you. Let me kill him. I'll choke the life out of him. All of them.”

What did he do?

What did Matt do?

He missed a ballet performance - which is a little hard to follow without sight - so he could stop some lingering members of the Hand from getting dragon bones. He didn't deserve Death for that, however horrible he felt about it.

“It will hurt more,” you repeat softly and Matt does not understand this argument. You should be very clearly telling Bullseye not to kill Matt.

“If they are gone it will hurt more.” There's a beat of silence, then you ask in an almost sultry whisper. “Do you want me to hurt more, Dex?”

Matt understands what is happening.

You know how to manipulate Poindexter right back. You know you're his North Star and you know exactly what that means to him.

Morality won't work on Bullseye - he has no morals - but he is a practical slave to his obsession.

That's how you keep him from killing Matt.

Matt doesn't know if he should be grateful or if he should throw up.

This isn't you, this isn't how you act. Matt doesn't know what is wrong with you and that angers him and scares him.

You aren't pretending to be his North Star. You aren't saying the right things to keep him on the right path. This isn't an act.

Your words are true.

For whatever reason, you want to avoid Matt and cuddle up to Bullseye instead.

“N-never,” Poindexter stutters out, his entire demeanor shifting into something more submissive than aggressive. “They aren't going anywhere.”

“Thank you.” You are genuine in your words and Poindexter seems to sense that. He relaxes just slightly, and after a moment, pulls his head back so he can place his forehead against yours.

“Let me make you coffee. You go shower. We’ll watch your movie until you fall asleep on me. In the morning, we'll go anywhere you like.”

Matt's stomach turns as you start to pluck at Poindexter’s t-shirt. You've stopped crying, but your voice is still wet when you mumble, “I don't want to go out tomorrow.”

“Then we'll stay in.”

Matt drops to one knee as you pull away from Poindexter and head towards the shower. Your movements are sluggish and he's pretty sure you are starting to turn on auto-pilot.

Something about the idea of spying on you bathing doesn't sit well with him, so he focuses on the monster still in the bedroom.

Poindexter waits until the water starts before he moves. Then, in lighting fast steps, he's across the room and screaming into a pillow.

Matt doesn't care about his grief or rage. He just knows he needs to hurt Bullseye enough that he can be arrested and put back into a very deep hole.

Once the monster pretends to be a man again, Matt just keeps sitting there as Poindexter starts making coffee in the hotel provided pot. The grounds are store bought from a little bakery down the street from your old gym. They are your favorite.

Once the coffee is going, the shopping bags are unpacked - they had been dropped when you had entered the room. Poindexter shakes out everything, then neatly refolds it before setting all the garments in the laundry bag in the closet. His moments are precise.

Calculated.

OCD.

Your shower ends far quicker than expected. Less than five minutes from the door closing to the door opening.

You step out of the bathroom with your hair wet and completely nude. Your soap is scented like honey and oat. It's organic. It clings to your skin.

You haven't used it since you learned about Matt's senses.

The Devil in Matt's chest seeps down to his fists and they begin to shake as you walk towards Poindexter, who is openly oogling you. His eyes go right to your chest and he swallows like a nervous teenager.

“Can I have your shirt?”

The question is shy and hesitant and honest and Matt wants to break each and every one of Bullseye’s ribs.

Poindexter gives you his shirt like it was an order and he is a Good Soldier. You pull it on, and wearing only it, take the monster’s hand and lead him to bed.

There is no sex, despite what Matt was expecting.

You curl up, your head on his chest, and turn on a movie.

You fall asleep within minutes and Bullseye lays there and watches you sleep for the remainder of the film.

Matt sits and keeps his senses focused on nothing else.

After the credits roll, Poindexter rewinds the movie back to exactly the point where you fell asleep before turning off the TV.

He's surprisingly gentle as he moves you to be sleeping on a pillow instead of his bare chest. He tucks you in under the blanket, then after a moment of hesitation, runs the back of his index finger over your cheek. “Good night, angel. I'll keep you safe.”

Matt's going to make sure to cut off his hand the next time they encounter each other.

Poindexter turns off all the lights then moves to stand in the most defensively strategic point in the room. He falls into the relaxed stance of an ever alert soldier guarding the most precious of treasures - like he expects someone to come and he is ready for them.

Poindexter stays at his post all night and only when the sun start to rise is when Matt's feet finally move.

As he returns to his apartment, Matt begins to question if Benjamin Poindexter is going to be the one to Damn him.