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dex just couldn't help himself.. not when he's finally got you alone, all dolled up and pretty for him. the slight tremble in your legs only spurred him on, bringing one of the knifes on his hilt out and trailing the tip down your neck.
"mm, such a pretty girl for me, yeah?" he'd smile sweetly, searching your nervous eyes and watch your pupils blow. dex would slowly undress you, keeping the knife close and pressed to your skin. he liked the way you'd jolt at the sensation, causing goosebumps to erupt on your skin and soft whines to slip past your lips.
after laying you down, he'd bring the sharp knife to the hem of your panties. "been lookin' forward to getting my hands on you," he'd practically growl, tearing at the fabric. all you could really do was whine, core throbbing. the mix of fear and adrenaline created an awful pit of lust in you that only dex could satiate. and dex knew that well.
when he finally tears your panties off with his knife, he'd settle himself between your thighs and drag the cold metal up your body, stopping with the blade pressed painfully against your throat. "gonna be a good girl for me, 'kay?" he'd say softly to you, watching the way your eyes welled with tears and the way you go to nod before you think better of it.
all you can get out is a breathless "yes," before dex is pressing his cock into you, knife dangerously close to biting into your skin.
Dex was unfamiliar with the concept of physical touch and romance until he begins dating a seamstress that has rendered him desperately hungry for more and he begins to understand why most people found dating enjoyable.
CW: SMUT, Fluff, implied that he's older, readers features are never stated, no use of Y/N, inexperienced Dex but it's not stated, he's a freak. HE'S FILTHYYYY!!!!
Word Count: 7k
AN: I don't have a dad so that probably explains why I like Dex so much... Dex having no play is cannon here.
To Dex, the physical topography of another human being had always been a calculus of vulnerability. His mind was a machine, capable of mapping the dimensions of an enclosed space within milliseconds and identifying the precise trajectory required to sever an artery. He understood the mechanics of the anatomy; he knew exactly how much pressure it took to snap a collarbone or drop a grown man to his knees. But touch and affection? Affection was a foreign, deeply distressing dialect. It was a sensory input that rendered his internal programming entirely mute. He knew every ligament in the body, where to assault to cause torment but God forbid he uses his hands for softness.
There was a profound, quiet irony in a man of his age and lethal competence being so utterly paralyzed by the simple proximity of soft skin. Hell, he almost pitied himself for it. For decades, the concept of a romantic relationship hadn’t been relegated in his mind. It had been buried beneath layers of institutional survival, psychological trauma, and the crushing weight of an existence spent entirely on the defensive. Dex was not a lover and he had never been, affection and care was unnatural to him.
He could still recall the sharp, sterile scent of the office belonging to his first therapist, the singular human anchor he had at the fragile age of sixteen. He had cared for her, though his developing mind lacked the emotional framework to define what care actually meant. To Dex, care was synonymous with structure. It was the methodical way she re-aligned his straying thoughts, the unnatural patience she extended far beyond the boundaries of her hourly compensation. That was the closest Dex ever got to care. And when death claimed her, his internal architecture had shattered into something feral and defensive. Standing beside her hospital bed, looking down at her failing form, he had chosen to weaponize his grief, hissing that he hated her. He didn’t hate her for who she was, but for the betrayal of leaving him entirely alone in a world without parameters. After that care became just another word without meaning to him.
Then came Julie.
Julie had been an exercise in aesthetic symmetry. She was safe, correct, and perfectly aligned with the script he desperately tried to perform. Dex had cared for her in the same detached, appreciative manner you might have for a beautiful painting in a museum. Admired from a calculated, safe distance, entirely devoid of genuine visceral heat or want. He never wanted Julie, despite how it might have looked, Dex wanted to be her. How easily life came to her was just so fascinating to a man like him. He remembered the exact moment she had offered him a farewell hug at the Suicide Hotline Center, just before he transitioned into the stark world of the Bureau.
The physical contact had been an absolute shock to his nervous system. And he remembers it even now years later. First came the ice, a sudden, freezing sensation that trickled down his spine the precise millisecond her palms pressed against his biceps, his body mistaking the gesture for an ambush. His muscles had coiled instantly like overwound springs, his vertebrae stiffening in a violent protest against the proximity. But then, right before he could pull away, the ice had thawed into an invasive, confusing warmth. Before his mind could categorize or fixate on the sensation, she had already retreated, leaving him standing in the corridor, thoroughly deregulated by a three-second interaction.
That brief, fleeting embrace had been the absolute zenith of his experience with physical intimacy. Dex didn't do hugs, or anything else for that matter… His subsequent, half-hearted attempts at dating in his early twenties had been a disastrous blur, locked away like radioactive material in the darker corridors of his subconscious. The entire experience had felt extremely uncomfortable, unfulfilling, and complicated in ways that insulted his intelligence.
The sheer volume of unwritten variables was maddening. He had to speak enough to demonstrate engagement, but not so much to appear self-absorbed. Connection required vulnerability, but a fraction too much was classified as forward or desperate. He couldn't request another date too quickly or too frequently without crossing into the territory of predatory. Touch was a minefield; it was deemed acceptable only if initiated by the woman, yet society dictated that a man should assert dominance and assume leadership. Hold her hand, the script said, but don't apply too much pressure to suggest control. Open the door for her, but don't infantilize her or imply incompetence.
By his third official date, Dex had quietly withdrawn from the field entirely. The sheer unpredictability of the social ritual was entirely too volatile for his psychology to parse. He vividly recalled sitting across a woman in a dimly lit restaurant, completely incapable of processing a single syllable falling from her lips because his entire focus had been hijacked by a fork. Her elbow had accidentally nudged the cutlery, leaving it misaligned by less than half an inch from the knife. The asymmetry had screamed in his mind like a siren, drowning out her voice, preventing him from formulating the carefully curated, charming responses necessary to foster romantic banter. He had stared at the silver, suffocated by the lack of order, and realized he was entirely unfit for the performance.
So, he surrendered the idea. He locked his focus onto the FBI, dedicating his life to a rigid, bureaucratic institution that allowed him to believe he was doing good for society while keeping his demons safely behind bars. Years had dissolved into the background of that singular pursuit, and the concept of dating became an obsolete idea of a past life.
Even more now that his world had been violently upended; he had broken out of the prisons meant to contain him, shed the skin of a government puppet, and stripped away the illusions of the system. He was older now, his features hardened by violence, but he was entirely free from the invisible snares that had once dictated his value. Standing in his late thirties, Dex felt a strange sense of selfhood that had completely eluded him in his twenties.
His daily routine remained his mandatory sanctuary, waking up exactly the same hour, executing a flawless military tuck on his bedsheets, consuming a balanced breakfast before physical regimen, and then work. But the internal shift was tectonic. He no longer walked through the streets of New York like a fraudulent actor trying to mimic human behavior and integrate himself into civilization. He knew the truth now: there was no grand order to life. There was only the winding, bloody path he had been carved out to walk. He no longer craved the external validation of a badge or a supervisor’s praise to consider himself a whole entity. He was fucking Bullseye.
And the concept of a "North Star", the desperate need for a perfect, external moral anchor to keep him sane, had been forcibly buried deep within a vault next to his most violent, unpacked trauma. Though sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, a phantom tension would ripple through his chest, an instinctual tug toward the comfort of connection, but he would quickly dismiss it as mere human biology. He didn't need a North Star. His life was already perfectly illuminated by his own design. Or so he continuously told himself.
Until he walked into your boutique.
The shop was situated a short distance down the asphalt stretch of Hell’s Kitchen, a stark, hyper-feminine building in an otherwise gritty neighborhood. The interior was an absolute assault of pastel pinks, a visual sensory overload that normally would have triggered his defense mechanisms, but the hand-painted sign outside promised custom tailoring services. And Dex needed his belongings fixed the moment he noticed imperfections.
He carried two specific items across the threshold that afternoon. His utilitarian jacket that had suffered a tear against a rusty fire escape during the previous night's "hero work," and a pair of heavy tactical gloves that needed the seams to be adjusted for a better grip.
You'd been seated behind the polished wooden counter, a needle held between your hand, your hair slightly disheveled as you worked. When you looked up and saw the tall, broad-shouldered man standing in your doorway, your face had broken into a smile so massive, so genuinely warm, that Dex had felt an involuntary, almost evolutionary impulse to mimic the expression. He stood perfectly rigid as your small, incredibly nimble hands took the damaged fabric from his grip, your fingers tracing the torn nylon of the jacket with a professional, practiced ease.
When you looked up and informed him that the repairs would only take sixty minutes, his sharp brows had risen in mild intrigue at your efficiency.
"I work fast," you had offered, your voice bright and entirely unbothered by his silent, imposing intensity.
Dex returned to the shop precisely the sixty-minute mark, not a second early, not a second late. You were already waiting for him at the counter, the jacket neatly pressed and the jagged tear now entirely imperceptible, executed with a level of craftsmanship that deeply satisfied his need for perfection. Then he slid his large hands into the resized tactical gloves, flexing his fingers to test the tension of the thread.
Whether you had recognized the subtle Bullseye emblem stamped into the leather, you made no verbal indication. Instead, you merely bit your lower lip, your gaze tracking the movement of his hands before you boldly, without an ounce of hesitation, reached out and gripped his gloved hand. Your fingers guide his, pointing down to the specific cross-stitch where you had loosened the seams to accommodate his knuckles.
The ice returned instantly. It danced down the length of his spine, a freezing jolt that made his chest tighten. But as your warm skin remained pressed against the heavy material of his glove, the sensation mutated into something remarkably pleasant. Dex let out an involuntary exhale from your touch as your index finger trailed a slow, deliberate line down the length of his hand. Was this flirting? No, this was her job….
"If you need it bigger I can make that possible," you offered softly, your eyes lifting to lock onto his with a quiet, grounded confidence. And Dex paused, taking in the intimacy of your closeness. Okay…. Yeah, this was flirting. He deduced at its baseline before he found himself engaging.
Dex couldn't understand the sequence of events that followed, birthed from that moment alone. His memory, usually so linear and mathematical, became a blur of transitions. And normally the haze would eat away at him till he lost his mind, if it weren't for the fact that the stages that followed were extremely enjoyable. All he knew was that the rigid wall of his isolation had suddenly breached, and he was taking you on a first date. Then a second. A third. A fourth. The unwritten variables that had paralyzed him in his youth seemed to dissolve in your presence; you didn't demand a script, and your effortless need to keep talking filled the awkward silences he usually created. Dex was thankful for it. He was thankful for all of you.
By the time the fifth date happened, you were both standing inside the threshold of your private home. And Dex was fucking ecstatic. The realizations hit him in waves during his nightly routines: life was simply greater, sharper, and infinitely better with your existence woven into it. Within the calculated grid of his mind, he had rapidly come to view you as an essential, non-negotiable component of his daily structure. A connection he needed desperately to maintain that he was fully prepared to execute any measure necessary to ensure you stayed. You were kind, sweet, and giving in a way that defied his understanding of human nature. How were you so willing to offer the world everything you had without demanding anything in return?
Because he couldn't comprehend it, he studied you. He watched you with a hyper-attentive, microscopic focus that would have terrified a normal civilian, tracking the micro-expressions of your face, the cadence of your breaths, and the specific pitch of your laughter. And you let him. To you, that intense, unblinking gaze didn't feel like surveillance; it made you feel entirely seen and warm.
Dex had learned you. He played every single card in his hand with absolute precision to ensure he kept your favor, but you made the act remarkably easy. He found himself wanting to give the world to you, a new directive that lingered constantly. While on missions, he's doing this to make the city better for you. He had to come home safe because you'd be so devastated if anything happened to him. You needed him in your life so he had to make sure no wounds took over his body. These thoughts progressed over time, though they were already brewing the minute he stepped out of your boutique. Dex brought you a perfectly curated bouquet of flowers on your very first date, quickly logging the fact that you flourished when things were done for you. From that moment on, his chivalry became non-negotiable. He opened doors before your hand could even approach the handle; he pulled out chairs to the exact angle required for your comfort; he even leaned across the console of his vehicle to buckle your seatbelt for you, his large frame momentarily shielding you from the world. A thought that appears constantly in his mind at night.
And now, those correctly executed actions had granted him entry into your sanctuary.
Walking through the door of your brownstone, his analytical eyes immediately deduced that you and your work were a singular entity. The space was less a traditional home and more an active studio. A heavy, vintage treadle sewing machine sat prominently in the center of the room, positioned directly in front of the television, while two antique, velvet-upholstered couches framed it on either side. Dex made a silent, permanent mental note of that specific layout: the tool of your labor received absolute priority over comfort.
As he looked around Dex noticed your affinity for older things immediately, your eyes lingering on aged, well-maintained pieces of history. A part of him wondered if that was why you liked him so much and despite himself, the thought amused him. His gaze drifted to the expansive dining room, noting how every single high-backed chair had been pushed flush against the perimeter of the walls, completely away from the central table to maximize workspace. A deep, quiet part of his psychology deeply admired the dedication. He understood the obsession with craft, the way you spoke about fabrics and patterns with radiant love. He was identical to you in that regard, though he remained hyper-vigilant about never revealing the bloodier details of his own craft to you.
Dex paced silently behind you, his broad shoulders squared as his eyes continuously darted around the rooms, absorbing the atmosphere of your home while you led him toward the kitchen by the hand. His frame was tense, his muscles vibrating with a low-grade current of electricity. He still wasn't accustomed to the physical touching. He liked it, he liked it with a terrifying intensity that scared him, but his brain lacked the programming required to properly receive it.
And bless your heart, you were so unbelievably touchy.
You were a creature of constant physical contact. There was always a soft arm looping around his rigid bicep, a gentle palm resting against his. A constant, natural inclination to latch onto his massive frame and cling to him as if he were the only solid object in a moving world. He reciprocated in the only ways he knew how, squeezing your hand back with a carefully measured amount of pressure, standing perfectly still to accept your weight. But Dex still hadn't learned how to articulate or manifest his own physical desires. He didn't know how to be the one to close the distance. He didn't know how to reach out his large, scarred hands, wrap them around your waist, and pull you against his chest without an explicit invitation. The script hadn't given him those lines yet.
So instead, he simply allowed himself to be a passive monument of muscle and bone, letting you pull him toward the kitchen island for wine and cheese after your date. The night got more enjoyable, but then again, every moment was enjoyable with you. But this is even more so. You trusted him enough to let him into your space, liked him so much that you paid attention whenever his glass was empty.
"I have a secret," you admitted suddenly, your face flushing a deep, radiant pink after you drained the remainder of your second glass.
Dex raised a single, sharp brow, holding his own glass perfectly steady as he waited for the disclosure. He ignored the sudden, rhythmic thumping of his own blood pumping violently in his ears. He couldn't quite determine if the sudden spike in his heart rate was the result of the alcohol or a sudden surge of anxiety. Given his high tolerance, it was likely the latter.
"I hate wine," you hiccuped, a small, breathless sound. You didn't feel that inebriated but Dex had a skill for making you feel drunk.
Dex’s cold blue eyes widened slightly in genuine surprise. Without a word, his large hand reached out and gently but firmly took the crystal glass directly from your fingers, a low, rumbling chuckle vibrating in his chest as the absurdity of the situation caused a bright laugh to break from your lips.
"Why didn't you say anything," he asked, his gravelly voice dropping an octave as he placed the glass down on the exact center of a stone coaster.
"Because it was a nice gift and also because I wanted to be with you longer," you reasoned smoothly.
You stepped away from the counter, your short frame moving into his immediate personal space. Slipping effortlessly between his extended legs as he sat perched on the high barstool, your body completely filling the void between his knees. Before he could process the proximity, your arms looped entirely around his broad shoulders, your hands resting against the nape of his neck.
Dex sat up just a fraction straighter, his entire spine locking into a protective line. A hesitant, unpracticed hand rose from his side, his large palm resting against the fabric of your dress to support your lower back, his fingers trembling slightly against your skin.
"I like having you around..." you admitted softly, your voice heavily laced with an intoxicated, sleepy haze as you looked up at him.
"I like being around," Dex nodded, his gaze boring into yours with an unblinking, absolute intensity.
It was the most fundamental truth his mouth had ever uttered. He liked being around you so much that the mere concept of physical separation had become an agonizing friction in his daily life. There were moments during his long, solitary hours on a rooftop or following a lethal assignment where the craving to see you grew so violent, so overwhelming, that he had seriously contemplated abandoning his operation just to stand outside your window. But the rational, highly defensive side of his mind, the piece of him that vividly remembered the trembling panic in Julie's eyes, always managed to reassert control. He wouldn't risk breaking what you two had.
"Will you be around forever?" you asked, your voice dropping into a soft, vulnerable register that sounded almost like a plea.
Dex felt a sudden, blinding flash behind his eyes, a sensation so sharp and radiant it felt as though stars had detonated within his skull. A terrifying wave of duty and existential purpose crashed through his mind, rewriting his internal directives in an instant. This was his calling. This was his permanent assignment.
"I'll be here forever," he nodded, his voice carrying the heavy, unyielding finality of a death warrant.
He barely had a single microsecond to process the violent rush of devotion flooding his veins before you leaned in, and your soft lips met his.
Dex froze.
He froze in a way he had never experienced in the heat of lethal gunfire. He hesitated with a sudden, paralyzing vulnerability that his mind was completely unequipped to handle. Bullseye did not hesitate; Bullseye was a creature of pure, instantaneous reaction. But Dex, Dex was entirely lost here in the quiet of your kitchen, his lips pressed flat against yours, his breath catching in the back of his throat as the delicate warmth of your mouth completely shattered his being.
His mind scrambled for data, for a past memory or a set of instructions to tell him what to do with his hands, how to move with you, how to breathe. The sheer sensation of your mouth against his was too vast, too unaligned with any grid he had ever mapped. He wanted to deepen the pressure, wanted to sink his fingers into your hips and drag you so close that the space between you ceased to exist, but the terrifying lack of instructions kept his body entirely locked in stone. He was a starving man paralyzed by the sudden appearance of a feast, terrified that a single incorrect movement would cause the illusion to vanish.
It was only a brief, agonizing second of contact. It was over far too quickly for his liking before you were gently pulling back, your eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks.
"You never got much love huh?" you hummed out, your voice dipping into a sad, incredibly tender melody.
Your small hands didn't retreat; instead, they began to preen over his tense shoulders, your fingers sliding upward until your nails began to slowly, methodically comb through the short hairs at the base of his scalp.
An involuntary, deeply guttural groan tore itself from the very bottom of Dex’s throat, the sound surprising even himself. His eyes rolled back, his lids fluttering shut as a wave of intense pleasure rippled through his nervous system. He liked that. He liked that with a feral, addictive desperation. Whatever you were doing with your hands, it was dismantling the static in his brain.
"No," he admitted, his voice a broken, raspy whisper in the quiet room, his head naturally sinking into the guiding pressure of your palms as you continued to adore him.
Your lips moved forward again, finding the hard, unyielding line of his cheekbone. You pressed a soft, lingering kiss directly over the jagged scar near his cheek, the exact spot you always claimed when you were saying goodbye, and Dex felt his entire body shudder under the impact. Then, your kisses migrated downward, tracing the sharp angle of his jaw before your mouth found the sensitive, hot skin of his neck.
Dex’s hands lost their hesitation, his fingers curling tightly into the fabric of your dress as he decided, with absolute certainty, that he liked this even more.
"Don't worry. I'll fix it," you murmured against his skin, your breath hot and reassuring even in your heavily tipsy state.
“Pretty girl like you gonna fix a man like me,” Dex mused out, exhaling in amusement as he welcomed your kisses by granting you more of his neck. You hummed in delight and he noted that was the correct response.
“I'd do everything for you, Dex,” you admitted into his neck and that seemed to do it. Every rigid order he told himself to act like a gentleman broke as he pulled you into his chest, turning his face as if begging for you to grant him another kiss.
And you do.
This time he reciprocated the contact eagerly, fuck it, thoughts can be damned, Dex let his body lead now. His kisses were harsh and demanding, desperate in its undercurrent but you enjoyed it. You tasted faintly like wine and something minty and he finds himself deepening the kiss. His large calloused hand found the thin straps of your bias-cut dress, hastily pushing it down the slope of your shoulder before he froze. He was being too forward, too much, too–
Before he could spiral, you whined into his mouth at the lack of movement. A harmonious plea that he's never had the privilege of hearing before. And Dex's eyes fluttered, that sound went straight to his straining cock evoking a groan against your skin. Emboldened hands pushing the dress down only to pull back momentarily, breaking the kiss despite not wanting to. He'd rather shoot himself than stop kissing you, but he needed to know that what he was doing was okay. And by the blissful state of your eyes, you were more than okay with this, with him. And so he allowed his gaze to wander, darting down to the exposed skin of your soft breast.
His gaze locked onto your hardened nipple before his hand slowly moved, not giving himself time to overthink. His thumb grazed the sensitive peak in experimentation, Blue eyes watching as your chest stuttered, his gaze darting up to meet yours in calculation on how to proceed. You were waiting for him, letting him take the lead and explore, and God did he want to map out every shape of you. He wanted to know what made you arch and squirm, what made you sing his name in praise. But Dex was a man rendered stupid in the unfamiliar vastness of your body, so hands stayed motionless as they had done nothing but take and punish all his life. He'd do it slow, he decided, after all, his hands were not meant for this. For worship and caress.
But his mouth would be.
Not breaking eye contact with you, his lips found home on your skin, latching onto your nipple. Humming as you arched your back, your pliant body gravitating into him. You liked that, he learned, so he did it harder. Teeth grazing the sensitive peak before sucking it into his mouth hard.
His free hand wanders to your other breast, thumb circling the clothed nipple there while he devotes himself to the first with his tongue. It’s messy, uncoordinated, Dex isn’t a gentle lover, he learned as the need progresses. His brave hand slips under your dress, pushing fabric up further to expose more of your body as his kisses migrated down your sternum.
“D-Dex.”
The breathy sound made him freeze and he recoiled immediately as if burned. He waits for the storm only for you to eagerly pat him on his shoulder, signaling you wanted him up.
“Room, please…. I-i don't want it here…” you say almost shy and he obeys immediately, standing up and holding you dear.
“Yeah? Sweet girl,” the term endearment escaping his lips catches him by surprise just as much as him kissing your forehead does. But he doesn't dwell on it long as he grabs hold of your hand and leads you upstairs where he already knows where your room is.
The silence of the space was only intensified once you both entered your bedroom. Dex pauses, taking a moment to appreciate the image of you standing there, waiting with earnest eyes and swollen lips. You looked so vulnerable, your dress wrinkled and breathing heavy as you let him assess. He welcomes your softness and realizes that he owes it to you to be vulnerable as well.
With a firm, certain, grip, he turns your body around, your stomach flutters in expectation as lust filled eyes land on the made bed. Only the inevitable force never came, you weren't shoved face down into the mattress in pure heat, instead Dex is moving your hair aside to fall on one shoulder. And that impacted your core more than any barge ever could. So you remained standing there, ignoring the heat in your stomach as the brooding man you'd come to know gently unzipped the back of your dress. Pushing the fabric down your hips, a hum escapes the claimant as he turns you back around with even kinder hands and you melted.
Sure in your intentions, you begin to unbutton his shirt and he watches you in the moment. Sometimes you often wonder what goes on in Dex's mind, but here you're certain that whatever thoughts that hammered in his head were anything but pure. When the fabric of his shirt meets your dress on the floor, a barely suppressed smile threatens to take over your face and his features silently requested for context, amused in your glow.
“You're so big,” appreciation dripped from your words, reinforced by your hands steady on his chest. Pride and something smug consumes Dex’s internal framework as he reaches for your bare waist, pulling you into him. Fuck. He liked how that felt, loved the feeling of you two skin to skin.
“That why you're always so touchy,” he huffed. It was a poor attempt to regulate himself from these overwhelming emotions. Still riding the dopamine high from your appraisal.
“Yes,” you nodded shamelessly.
At that a raw exhale breaks free from his mouth, falling in ardor before he's guiding you down to the bed. Dex’s gaze is locked on yours, at your body barely covered in cotton underwear as he prowls towards you on the duvet. Your presence was the single grounding planet in the uncharted stars of his nebula, an innate need to keep his focus on you and solely you to avoid getting lost in the orbit of his thoughts. Waiting patiently as exploratory hands trailed over your body, thumbs brushed over your nipples just once, before migrating down to your torso, eventually finding home on your hips.
Lips parted but nothing fell from them as words failed him. Instead blue eyes darted up to meet yours as his fingers deliberately tugged your underwear, not fully, not even an inch down, just enough to get your attention and silently ask for permission.
Your body moved on its own, hastily squirming under his broad stature and pushing the thin fabric down your legs. The man over you had been the only thing plaguing the recesses of your brain for the past few weeks, consuming you with such unbidden thoughts. Anything would be done for him at this point. You barely got to kick the drenched cotton off before Dex's palm landed flat on one thigh, pushing it down hard against the bed and spreading you open for him. With a fluttering stomach so intense, your body fell back as you took in his state. Half dressed and tightly coiled, muscles pulling in restrain as he remained pinning your thigh down. His attention was locked onto you, or more so, your dripping cunt and an involuntary need to shut your legs was met with even more resistance from him.
He didn't appreciate you trying to hide from him, evident in his warning gaze. Without a word, his palm trailed up, the desire and craving to touch you won out in him. And suddenly hands that had only known violence was caressing you so softly and attentively, figuring out the definition of what it meant to be a lover.
God you were so wet and warm and soft and all the good things in the world…
Dex noticed your breathing growing more labored beneath him and instinctively he leaned back to watch you more, away from the disadvantage of being tucked into your neck. Your pupils were blown out, starry eyed as your brows creased and a pout settled on your lips. His fingers moved on their own as he watched, a new desire to pull more of those darling expressions from you forming. And as he sunk two cruel digits into your slopping wet heat, satisfaction invaded his senses as he took in your reaction. Your mouth parts in ecstasy, a sound Dex immediately knew he loved fell from your lips as your body arched up into him. And then that begging pout graced your features again, looking down at where his fingers fucked you.
So perhaps intimacy was everything people made it out to be, and so much more when it's with you. Dex was beginning to understand it now, the insatiable need to constantly be touching your person. Fuck, he doesn’t think he could ever go back to the way he was before. So fucking hesitant, unsure with anxiety that dibilitated him. He refused to be so rigid again, not when the sounds of your desire and need were music to his ears. He loved this, loved it in a way that was beginning to align with his new idea of normal. He could get used to this, to touching you, to fucking you.
Whining in protest as his fingers pulled away, your hands gripped at his chest in agony. Complains at the tip of your tongue before halting completely as you hear him begin to take his jeans off. Humming in delight as he strips. And fucking hell…. You were well aware of Dex’s large frame, it was one of the first things you noticed about him, second to the attractive scar on his cheek. But seeing him like this was something different entirely and you couldn't help yourself as you preened over his naked form again. Palms gliding the expansive plains of his back, brushing down his abs and strong chest as you sucked on his neck. Though judging by the expression on Dex's face, he didn't mind you playing. He let you have your fun until eventually pulling your lips off of him with a gentle hand at the back of your neck. A protest happened beneath him as you tried to chase after his body before stopping, noticing his hand on his member. And that shut you up real good.
Dex gently guides his hardened cock onto your dripping core. Rubbing his swollen head up and down your drenched skin before slowly sinking into you. A gasp falls from your lips followed by a desperate cry of want. His breath comes in rough bursts through his nose, focused entirely on you beneath him. How you take it, how you sound, how tight you feel with every drag out and push back in. The plains of his anatomy strained with tension as he exhaled in contentment. Dex thought he had come to know comfort, in the way you'd lean onto him during walks, how you raked your nails through his hair earlier. But this exceeded that in every capacity, comfort was a juvenile word to express how this felt like home. He's barely halfway through and already has to stop and compose himself. He let out a hiss, halting all movements as you clenched around him.
The sudden, full stretch makes you mewl out a sharp, startled sound And Dex freezes instantly, his entire body locking up. Has he hurt you? Was something wrong? He’s buried to the hilt now. It’s a lot. Too much all at once. A wave of something almost like guilt hits him, he hadn’t meant to scare you, but the sensation is… God.
"Shhh," he soothes automatically, instinctively brushing your cheek with his thumb despite how wrecked he feels right now.
You leaned into his touch, seeking for more and he's relieved. Needy palms finding a place on his biceps as you squirmed, looking down at where you both meet. Dex follows your gaze, watching his hardened cock buried deep in you. Yeah… that’s a lot.
"Tell me what you need," he murmurs, thumb brushing away another stray tear. "We can stop. Or go stupid slow.”
You let out a laugh that bled dangerously too close to a moan and Dex makes the decision of the latter for you. The first thrust is deliberate, deep and controlled, testing your reaction. The second follows, then a third, each one creating a filthy rhythm that fills the quiet room. He slowly fucks into you in a sedate, gentle manner. But gentleness is short-lived. His movements quickly grow faster till he was fucking you in a steady eager pace. Skin slaps against skin, joining the song of moans that you sing. The bed creaks under the weight, every movement is amplified in the hushed space. Rapture floods through you as any other thoughts that weren't Dex quickly subsides, giving way for your focal. Everything felt right in the world as he molded your body to his.
It was almost too much, his body caging yours in as his hips moved relentlessly. You knew you wouldn't last much longer if he kept going like this. But Dex was a man of intention, he took you like it was the only thing worth doing in his life.
The press of your hand against his pelvis, pushing, cunt trying to get him closer yet you were pulling away at the same time, sends conflicting signals straight to his dick. Your thighs around him squirmed, a telltale sign you're overwhelmed. Dex groans but doesn’t let up; if anything, he presses down harder on you with his hips, pinning yours in place.
"Take it," he rasps no room for argument. His skilled thumb lands on your clit, relentless despite the overstimulation threatening both of your bodies. The sound that left you was obscene and filthy as your head lulls back and Dex is quick to grab hold of your thigh and pull you closer towards him.
The new angle hits perfectly, your entire body jerks, a broken moan escaping as you tense around Dex’s hips. He learned you almost immediately from the very first second his fingers were inside you, he found where to target instantly. And now he abused that information.
He feels it, the way you clenched around him, and his own control wavers. But he holds on, focused solely on your pleasure, chasing every twitch and whimper with relentless precision. His lips find yours again in a messy, open-mouthed kiss as he pounded into you with controlled hits. A sound so similar to bullets in the air echoed at the impact, the wet sound, obscene, unfiltered, hitting him like a lightning bolt. Every thrust is accompanied by that slick, squelching noise: your arousal mixing with his movements. Dex learns that he loved that sound, it satisfied a part of his brain in a notion he couldn't understand but he knew that it fueled him even more. Dex's hips stutter for half a second at the realization of just how drenched you are for him.
A groan rumbles from his chest as he picks up speed, fucking you till you saw stars. A melody of moans and gasps filled the room with a symphony of skin heard with it. The walls welcome the sound with open arms as the atmosphere feels too hot and too heavy. You try to grab at the bed sheets despite Dex's tight grip on one of your wrists, you need something to ground you as you neared. Too much. It was all too much. Seamlessly, he laced his fingers with yours, still holding you down onto the bed but his grip softened.
You reciprocate the touch, tightly squeezing his hand as you feel the pressure capsize and your thighs shake in hot waves. You cry his name out, your back arching off the bed from the pleasure. His cock still sliding in and out of your dripping cunt, desperate to join you in your release, ignoring the coil of his muscles. He loves the way you say his name, so breathy and blinded by ecstasy. Dex breathes into your neck, the sensations becoming too much before a loud groan breaks his focus and he spills ropes of his cum into you. Immediately you primp under him, satiated and spoiled but your accord for touch remains ever present as you gently brush your nails up and down his back. And that sends him collapsing down onto you. Not that you seemed to mind as he heard a loud gleeful laugh beneath his large frame.
Dex exhales, long and slow, moving to stare at you. He’s not used to aftercare. Not with anyone. But here he is gently moving off you and tucking a throw blanket around your shoulders like you're something fragile. A calloused finger brushes a stray hair from your forehead, an absurdly tender gesture for someone who just fucked you into oblivion but you welcomed it.
He learned an entirely new vocabulary that night, and the education continued to expand exponentially in the weeks that followed.
He discovered, through application and obsessive cataloging, that he liked touch. He liked it an immeasurable, terrifying amount. He grew to absolutely love the specific jolt that occurred when you wake him up in the morning by lazily raking your nails across the broad, scarred expanse of his bare back. He loved the domestic weight of you playing with his hair while he sat on the living room floor, or the frantic, heavy way you would cling onto him when the city noise rattled the brownstone windows.
Methodically, his analytical mind began to solve the puzzle of how to return the same favor. He'd mapped your body with the same precision he applied to his targets, but with an entirely different objective.
He learned how to execute a kiss without needing an explicit verbal invitation, his large hands learning the exact amount of pressure required to tilt your chin upward to meet his mouth. He figured out how to use the immense, terrifying strength in his palms to gently massage the deep knots out of your shoulders after you spent a twelve-hour day hunched over the antique sewing machine. He studied the micro-movements of your muscles, tracking the specific shivers that rippled through your frame when his thumbs traced your collarbones, logging every sigh and hitch in your breath as data.
He figured out, with a profound, quiet sense of internal victory, that you loved every single form of physical touch imaginable, so long as it came entirely from him.
And he decided then, he loved intimacy.
AN: He's so fucking hot like i just can't!!! ! I haven't written smut in like 3 years so I didn't know what I was doing lol. Let me know what you guys think! Also you being a seamstress was entirely self indulgence because I go to fashion school lol.
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putting a gun to your ex boyfriend, turned fugitive’s head because he decides to break into your apartment and riding his cock is not how you expect to spend your night… but your ex is BENJAMIN POINTDEXTER !
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 CONTENT WARNINGS: sex at gun point, rough sex, stalker! ex boyfriend! fugitive! dex, MINORS DNI ノ dominant! fem! reader, dirty talk, praise kink, riding, ass slapping, male whimpering and crying during sex, unprotected sex, gun play, big dick! dex!
AUTHOR’S NOTE: god this is so hot lmao. this is inspired by the scene where karen puts a gun to dex’s head because he’s so hot in that scene. this is lowkey so toxic but idc!
dex missed you.
and you? despite saying you didn’t miss him… you missed him.
but you dealt with dex for a good year and a half; he was a toxic piece of shit that never knew boundaries, he thought the epitome of romance was stalking you outside your windows and threatening everyone who came into contact with you. and secretly? he’s been running around as the murderous bullseye… but god forbid you so much as look at the male waiter at a restaurant.
the main issue tonight? uh, dex kinda broke out of prison… and now, he’s running across hell’s kitchen, looking for an apartment to break into and spend a little night in. he knows the apartment buildings that have unoccupied apartments that he could easily break into— but the police are hot on his trail, but that didn’t scare a man like pointdexter.
he knew your apartment like the back of his hand; even if he hasn’t been allowed to be in it since your break up with him seven months ago.
climbing on your fire escape, dex listened the police sirens in the distance, somehow these idiots are going the opposite way, it makes dex chuckle as his palms find each level of the escape with ease.
“absolute idiots…” he mutters, swinging his leg around the fire escape and climbing into it, seeing his reflection in your window. “what a waste of citizen’s tax money.”
he remembers that one of your worst habits was forgetting to lock your window— always focusing to lock the front door and the bedroom window that the living room window remained unlocked on some nights… and deep down, he hopes you learned your lesson but he tests this habit again.
he kneels down as the wind softly blows, the orange jumpsuit crumpling against his muscles as he presses his palms against your window… and stupidly, it opens for him.
“oh sweetheart.” he mutters, tilting his head as he pushes up the window and slithers into your apartment. “i thought you were smarter than that… leaving this window open.”
dex is able to get into the apartment and shuts the window, doing what you didn’t do and lock it as well… and with his back turned, he listens to everything and in the soft, quiet apartment… the sound of a gun cocking is louder than ever.
in the doorway of the living room stands you; in a nightie you wore because it was comfortable, holding a 9mm pistol to the man in your apartment.
“put your hands up.” you order him; you can tell it’s a man, the back muscles and the hair give it away… you also notice the orange jumpsuit and the black numbers on the back of him. you try to hide the fear in your voice— fear will only get you killed.
dex couldn’t help but giggle at his words, turning his head to look over his right shoulder… but he does what you tell him to do, putting both hands up. “whatever you say, sweetheart.”
oh fuck me. it’s you. your mind talked to you… you knew it from the giggle and even before his voice entered the apartment— it’s dex. of course it’s dex.
“what the fuck are you doing here, dex?” you ask him, stepping closer to him as your left hand flicks on the ceiling light fixed at the middle.
dex smiles like a kid on christmas— this wasn’t exactly how he planned on trying to reignite this relationship, but of course, nothing in his life is planned. “i simply needed a place to stay tonight, prison guards are hunting me like a rack of lamb… not trying to hurt you, baby.”
you groan at his excuse. “turn around.”
and dex does what you say; turning around to face you.
he clicks his tongue seeing you all over again, looking you up and down like it’s the first time he’s seen you. like you’re the prettiest woman he’s ever seen— and to him? you are the prettiest woman.
“time hasn’t taken away your beauty, baby.” he mutters, keeping his hands up and that stupid smirk on his face.
you keep the gun up however— this wasn’t how you expected to spend your night; holding your crazy ass ex boyfriend up at gunpoint, but here you are. “do you ever shut up?”
dex “thinks” for a second before responding. “nope… but that ain’t the gun i saw last time i was here.” he observed. “did you get a new one?”
“doesn’t matter. why are you here?” you say, completely disregarding his questions.
“just needed a place to hide.”
“so you’d drag me down with you if the police were to find you. they’d think i’m harboring a fugitive, dex.”
he shrugs his shoulders, looking down at your thighs peaking out from the nightie. “well… i could’ve easily broke into someone else’s home… but where’s the fun in that? and besides, i’ve been thinking about you, pretty.”
you don’t know if he’s being annoying or if your body enjoys this type of flirting— with the way your heart feels faster than it should be and that lower heat in your belly curling with need.
dex can practically see how your mind is running. “what? you enjoy this, baby? you enjoy the fact that the man you’re holding up at gun point is flirting with you? c’mon, sweetheart.”
“just shut up and leave.” you order him again, motioning to the window with the gun, keeping both of your hands on the gun’s handle.
dex looks back at the window before looking at you again, tilting his head as a shit-eating grin appears on his face. "you know you don't want me to leave... i've missed you, sweetheart."
frustration mounted in your body as his words continued to enter your ears. you didn't want to hear it from this man. this man who stalked you for so long, who didn't let you breathe in the confines of your relationship. the same man who breathed down your neck about literally anyone— man or woman, he trusted no one.
he continues to speak when you refuse to. "you know i would do anything for you, baby... anything." his voice convinces you... but this is dex we're talking about. "i escaped prison just to see you babe, ain't no regular joe is doing that... especially for a beauty like you."
you look at him, getting a genuine look at the man before ordering him around again. "you're gonna make my time dealing with you worth it, asshole." you tell him as you point the gun over to the couch. "lay on the couch and keep those fucking hands to yourself."
he immediately grins at your request, taking slow steps not to scare you away towards the couch, laying on his back and keeping his hands by his head. "yes ma'am." he says as he lays down.
he lays down and you walk towards him, the gun never leaving its position as you get close to the couch. he looks handsome but you don’t let yourself think about it too much.
“answer this question and if you lie, i swear to god, dex.” you begin. “during the seven months we broke up… did this dick go into anyone else?” you ask, pointing the gun to his crotch.
just the sight of you pointing a gun at him gives him a boner— but the demands? the questioning? just the confidence with the gun? oh dex wants to moan out loud. he shakes his head. “nobody, baby, swear to god.”
"good... good boy." you say as you keep the pistol up. "pull your pants down. boxers included."
dex grins as he lowers his hands, lifting his legs as his thumbs go into the waistband of the orange prison jumpsuit, tugging them down as well as his boxers— the plain white pair with no name brand that the prison offered because apparently, having a bunch of men walk around with no underwear in a prison is "wrong" and "nasty".
he pulls down his pants, his happy trail visible. it's messier than it usually is, you remember it was clean last time you saw him, but it wasn't a complete mess. it was thicker and had more hair yes, but not like the amazon down there.
but all you focused on was his cock; which was rock hard.
and you couldn't stop your next words. "did you really get hard when i pointed my gun at you, dex?"
dex nodded quickly, getting his pants down to his knees as he puts his hands back by his head, fingers brushing against the couch. "of course, i was, baby, you looked sexy with this piece of metal." he says, pointing to the gun with his left hand. you appreciated that he followed your orders and kept his hands up.
you groan out loud at his words; of course this dickhead got hard when being held up at gunpoint by a sexy woman. but you don't say anything, only having your right hand hold the gun as you put your left hand close to his mouth. "spit."
and he spits, letting his spit land on your palm. he smiles after his line of spit lands on your palm.
you smile and right before he could say anything, you wrapped your hand around his cock and began to stroke him. dex immediately moans and arches off the couch at the simple touch of your hand again after seven months.
"oh f-fucking hell, baby." he moans, keeping his hands up as they dig into his blonde hair, gritting his teeth as you stroke his seven inch cock with a lazy hand, the gun still pointed at your hand.
you press the barrel against the side of his head as you order him again. "take off my underwear."
he nods as his hands shoot forward. for a man as scary as bullseye, pointdexter was one whimpering son of a bitch. his fingers push up on your nightie, feeling the underwear and pulls it down without hesitation. he moans as you squeeze on the base of him before stroking back up to his tip, watching the underwear drops to your ankles as the barrel continues to be pressed against the side of his head.
"there you go..." he mutters, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. "god, you look so pretty in this piece of nightwear." he says, feeling the soft material of the red nightie you were wearing. it was a comfortable piece of clothing that you enjoyed when nights got cold like this. "been dreaming of seeing you like this."
you can't help but feel flattered by his words. you know, you shouldn't but still... there was love in your heart for him, even if the way you saw him again wasn't really the best way. you stepped out of your underwear as you move, stopping your movements on his cock for a moment to straddle his hips and feeling his cock slap against your left thigh.
of course, dex's eyes remained fix on you as you straddle him and you lift your body, your left hand grabbing the base of him and lining up with your folds.
without hesitating for a moment, you slowly begin to sink down on his cock, moaning as each inch of dex’s cock enters your walls, stretching you out further and further. “dex… mhm— dex, ngh… fuck.”
dex fucking whimpers at feeling his cock dragging against your walls, pussy warm and completely melting him from the inside out. “baby… baby… oh fuckkkkk.”
you press the gun harder against his temple as you feel all seven inches inside of you. “fuck handsome… never felt so fucking good before.” you whimper, beginning to slowly ride his cock.
he groans, throwing his head back as he tried his hardest to not touch you— he didn’t want you to suddenly stop or worse, shoot him in the hand— but at this point? he’d love to be shot if it’s by you. “please baby, l-let me touch you… please, this body is fuckin’ beautiful, pretty woman— let me.”
you tilt your head down at him as you ride him harder, your walls opening up for him as you get a consistent rhythm on his cock. “oh you want to touch me? huh?”
“yes yes yes.” he blabbers, groaning as his cock twitches inside of you. “lemme touch this pretty body of yours.”
acting like you’re thinking for a minute, you tap the top of the gun under his jaw as you raise your brows. “since you can’t shut up… go ahead, but no controlling my pace… you can touch but not get me to go faster.”
dex lets out the most pathetic whimper as his hands go down and touches your body… and immediately? his hands don’t know where the fuck to touch.
“ohhhhh god, thank you so much, baby… thank you.” he whispers as both hands wrap around your thighs, squeezing them as you put the gun back to the side of his head.
dex’s fingers grip your skin tightly as each rock of your hips on his cock makes him closer and closer to his ever slow growing orgasm. his cock twitches again and his balls clench— it’s pathetic how close he already is at cumming, you haven’t even got close yet and here he is… needing to cum, but he didn’t say anything.
but it showed on his face with his heated cheeks, messy hair, and his eyes closing with need. “dex, baby, open your eyes and lemme see.” you whisper, tapping the gun on his cheek.
he snaps open his eyes as his right hand slaps your ass with need. “sorry, sorry… just— just feels so good, baby.”
“oh i know it does.” you reply, riding quicker on his cock, feeling your breasts bounce in your nightie as you squeeze your thighs around his hips. “that’s why you’re moaning like a little bitch f’me.”
dex doesn’t even try to challenge that; mass murder, mean ass man… whimpering over you bouncing on his cock like this? oh fuck yes he’s moaning like a whiny bitch. “please baby… oh fuck… for fucks sake, darling, keep bouncing like that.”
yet, even with you in control, you follow what he says and continues your bounces, tracing his jawline with the gun as your finger plays with the trigger but never close enough, dex sticking out his tongue and licking the gun when the weapon passes by his lips.
dex leans his head back, bringing his right hand down on your ass again, the loud smacking sound fills the living room. he watches you with awe, star-struck at the sight of you bouncing on his cock, mouth watering at seeing your boobs bouncing in your night wear.
he’s so fucking struck by the sight of you that tears prick at the corner of his eyes as tears begin to escape his eyes, completely in a sea of pleasure and the feeling of your body.
you smile at seeing dex cry for you; it’s cute seeing him cry like this. “crying for my pussy, huh?”
he nods his head, not caring to push the tears away, both hands gripping your hips. “absolutely— absolutely, baby, pussy feels fucking amazin’— so warm and so- so- so good, hun.”
you tap the gun against his cheek to get his full attention, you speak. “we’re gonna— fuck— we’re gonna cum together, cum for me dex and i’ll cum for you, handsome… c’mon.”
this motherfucker doesn’t waste another second.
the moment you bounce down on him one more time, all of his inches going into you as he cums right as you cum, both of your bodies being pumped full of pleasure.
your eyes roll back and arches in the air as his fingers dig deep into your hips, cock twitching as he rips out a groan, beginning to unload inside of you.
your hand let’s go of the gun— part time because of love and mostly the pleasure of your orgasm makes the gun slip from your hand— it falls to the couch cushion as both of your hands dig into his broad chest, curling into the orange jumpsuit as you grind on him.
dex grabs your ass with both hands, looking at you as he cums inside of you, watching you grind on him in overstimulation. “fuck baby… fucking hell… pussy still loves me, huh?”
“sh-shut up.” you respond to him, bending down and pressing a kiss to his lips, feeling him kiss back.
he chuckles as he looks over, seeing the gun. “look at that… the gun is finally off your hands…”
“do you want me to shoot you right now?” you challenge him, looking at him very unimpressed, eyebrows furrowed as overstimulated groans leave your mouth.
he shrugs, pressing a kiss on your neck. “as long as it’s done by you, sweetheart.”
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ⓘ KENTLUV3R’S WORK. all my fanfics (not the characters) is my very own, coming from my own efforts and my time. do not copy my work, rewrite it, shove it through an ai machine and shit out slop, and don’t repost to wattpad/ao3/c.ai!
( 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 ) benjamin poindexter x black cat!reader. scratching , reader has claws , mention of blood , unprotected sex :p that’s kinda it, other than sex obviously. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.
Dex is everywhere—his weight pressing you into the mattress, his breath hot against your throat, his cock buried so deep inside you that you can feel him pulsing with every ragged inhale. His hips roll into you with a rhythm that’s almost cruel, each thrust forcing a gasp from your lips, your back arching off the bed like you’re trying to escape—or maybe just take more.
“That feel good?” His voice is a low murmur, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his hand slides from your waist to your thigh, hooking your leg over his hip. The angle changes, and fuck—his cock sinks even deeper, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl and your claws itch to come out and play.
“Yeah,” you breathe, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough. Your fingers tangle in his hair, yanking hard enough to make his scalp prickle, before they slide down to his back—broad, muscular, begging for it. His skin is slick with sweat, the perfect surface for your claws to dig in.
And then his free hand finds your clit.
His thumb is rough, calloused, and he doesn’t tease—he attacks. Circles, pressure, the perfect amount of friction to send sparks shooting through your nerves. Your body tenses, your breath hitching as pleasure coils tight in your gut. You’re so close, and the way he’s fucking you—hard, relentless, like he’s trying to brand you from the inside out—only makes it worse.
His thumb flicks, just right, and the dam breaks.
Your claws snap out, sharp and eager, and you rake them down his back without warning. The burn is immediate, searing lines of fire blooming across his skin. Dex hisses, his body jerking forward, his cock twitching inside you as the pain shoots straight to his dick. “Fuck—Jesus fuck—” His voice is a groan, half-pleasure, half-pain, and you can feel the way his cock hardens even more, like the burn is the best fucking aphrodisiac he’s ever had.
His hips stutter, his thrusts turning erratic as he chases his own release. “Again,” he demands, his voice rough. “Do it again.” And you do, because you love the way his body reacts—the way his muscles tense under your nails, the way his breath hitches, the way his cock throbs inside you like it’s begging for more.
You drag your sharp nails down his back again, deeper this time, and Dex groans, his hips snapping forward as he bottoms out inside you. His tip nudges that spot, the one that makes your vision whiten and your body clench around him like a vice. You come hard, your claws digging in as your orgasm rips through you, your walls milking his cock as you ride out the waves of pleasure.
Dex isn’t far behind. His breath is ragged, his body trembling as he slams into you one last time, his release spilling inside you with a groan that sounds like it’s been torn from his throat. He collapses on top of you, his skin slick with sweat and a bit of blood, his cock still twitching as the aftershocks hit.
“Fuck,” he pants against your neck, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You ruin me.”
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Perv! Adrian, who first met you at work and started keeping an eye on you as you walked to your car after a late shift because he wanted to make sure you were safe.
Perv! Adrian, who became very protective over you very quickly, stepping in between you and a customer when they had the nerve to yell at you, even checking up on you afterwards.
Perv! Adrian, who follows you home that night to make sure you were alright.
Perv! Adrian who quietly checks around your house to make sure no one (else) is stalking you, because in his mind he is just protecting you. Who else is better suited at protecting you than the Vigilante?
Perv! Adrian, who was going to leave, but heard your muffled voice and thought something was wrong, so he crept up to your bedroom window to check on you.
Perv! Adrian, who knew it was wrong, but couldn’t tear his gaze away when he saw you lying on your back, legs spread wide to give him the perfect view of you playing with yourself as you kept on moaning.
Perv! Adrian, who couldn’t help but touch himself through his pants as you sped up.
Perv! Adrian, who completely lost it when you moaned his name, pulling himself out and quickly stroking himself while being entranced by the wet slick coating your fingers.
Perv! Adrian, who came within seconds, letting out a whimper with your name, catching your attention.
Perv! Adrian, who quickly tucked himself back into his pants and sprinted back to his car around the corner, only taking a moment to catch his breath when he was sure you didn’t follow him
Perv! Adrian, who felt guilty the instant he got back into his bed, but couldn’t help but imagine how good it would feel to have you moaning around his cock while you moved your hand to work whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth, cause you definitely wouldn’t be able to.
Perv! Adrian, who tried to act normal the next day he saw you, but he just came off as nervous, which was normal to you when he was around you
Perv! Adrian, who swore he would never do that again, but kept on finding himself jerking off outside your window to you moaning his name every other night he while he was ‘protecting’ you
i just know dex would absolutely love cockwarming. he wants to be close to you so bad. if he could go his whole life never separating from you, he would. i feel like he wouldn't really get the point of cockwarming at first. i mean, moving is a pretty big part sex and giving each other pleasure, why would he just want to sit there?
then you convince him to try it and he just immediately loves it. because somehow he's even closer to you than he was before. how much closer can you get than being literally inside you? it's almost like being a part of you.
the first couple of times that you do it, he doesn't have the patience. dex tries his best but you just feel so good. after a couple minutes of being inside you, dex starts bucking his hips into you. groaning into your shoulder about how he's "sorry, just feels so good inside you. can't help myself. you make me go crazy."
dex's favorite time do it is during mundane times. he loves how intimate it feels. it becomes such a normal thing that he doesn't even ask, it's just an unspoken thing that you can tell he wants whenever he holds you close and pulls your hips close to his. fingers sliding beneath your band to check if your wet before he pulls your panties and shorts to the side and slides into you.
when he's had a rough day, dex finds you and immediately melts when your gentle hands touch him. tentatively wrapping his arms around you while his lips find yours. mumbling against them how he "needs to be close" to his girl so bad. so you lay down with him, brushing his hair back while his head rest against your chest. all his stress dissipating as he closes his eyes and imagines that he's part of you.
and at night, when the two of you curl up to go to sleep. sometimes you'll invite him to slip his cock into you. the two of you drifting to bed with him still inside you.
you feeling so deliciously and satisfyingly full from the feel of him. dex feeling so warm, it makes him so good inside to know you want him so badly too that you'll let him stay inside through the night like this.
*: ꔫ :* thanks for reading! use the link below if you'd like to see more of me <3 homepage.
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a/n. it's been more than a year since i wrote anything, so this is kind of an experiment and i'm rusty af. enjoy!!
it should have not surprised you, yet you never thought a man with a raging ocd and always in need to be in control of everything can allow his mind to shut off and get rid of the ability to form a thought.
he is not even aware that he is overstimulating you. his mind is blank, only coming back to his senses (not really) when he feels a slight pain shoot through his skull as you grip his hair tightly and push his head away, whimpering in both pain and pleasure as his drool – a mix of his spit and your juices – drips down from his mouth to your pussy.
but he doesn't stop. not when he stares at you with unfocused eyes. not when he tries to understand why the fuck would you push him away. not when he can't even remember how long he has been in that position.
the only function his body is able to handle is pleasuring you. he dives back in, his mouth sealing itself on your pussy lips like a vacuum as he sucks and twirls his tongue, slurping and practically making out with your clit. his big and strong hands hold your thighs open. you won't get away from him. ever. all you can do is take what he gives as he pushes your body closer to him and continues overstimulating the fuck out of you.
hours have passed since you officially lost the count of orgasms he gave you, and neither your please and pathetic whimpers and nor your glossy eyes will make this man stop the pleasant torture he gives you.
you just taste so sweet, and he is so obsessed ;)
# benjamin poindexter masterlist. | main masterlist.
CW .✦ ݁˖ Fem!reader, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie
The room filled with the soft sounds of your lovemaking and the rhythmic creaking of the bed. Each thrust of his hips against your ass sent shivers through you as Clark presses kisses to your exposed neck, occasionally biting down and sucking gently. “You like that, don’t you?” he murmured softly, his voice hardly more than a whisper. You let out a soft whine in response and Clark scoffs, “Of course you do,” his voice laced with a gently teasing tone. His hips continue moving in a slow, steady rhythm, filling you completely with each thrust.
You choke out a moan, your body trembling as Clark puts one leg up on the bed, the new angle allowing him to reach impossibly deeper inside your gummy walls, filling you in a way that made your vision blur and your brain feel fuzzy. “Too much?" he asked and you could only nod weakly, your hands gripping the bedsheets for dear life.
Without much warning, Clark pushes your face into the plush pillow beneath your head, muffling your sweet moans, as your walls flutter uncontrollably around his cock, signaling your impending orgasm. His own release building rapidly as his balls slap against your clit with every deep thrust.
Your orgasm crashes over you suddenly, your walls clamping down on his thick length like a vice. Clark groans loudly, feeling your pussy squeeze him perfectly. "Fuck, I'm gonna..." Before he could even finish his sentence, he was coming hard, filling you completely with his milky seed.
Clark stays buried deep inside your spent hole, his cock still twitching inside you as you both come down from your highs. With a gentle nuzzle against your ear, he murmurs, “We're not done yet, sweetheart. Just getting warmed up, and you know I can go for hours if I want to.”
A/N .✦ ݁˖ Was going through writer’s block while writing this so I hope it’s still up to par !! If you enjoyed this, support me by reblogging and do not copy, steal or put this into Al.
