.☘︎ ݁˖ erina .☘︎ ݁˖

virgin!dex who gets himself off at the photos of you that you send him and then if he sees you in the same outfit later he feels bad.

virgin!dex, whose hands hover over your body while making out because he has no idea where to put them.

virgin!dex who giggles nervously when you flirt with him. bonus points if you get suggestive, because he just sits there with the face like 𝘩𝘶𝘩?

virgin!dex who prepares for your first time like it's a mission. reads a ton of literature on female anatomy and watches video tutorials on what to do.

virgin!dex who fumbles with the buttons and the clothes in general when you finally get to the third base.

virgin!dex who gets all glossy-eyed when he finally sees you naked and you let him touch you, mumbling about how soft you are.

virgin!dex who wants to make you feel good and just take care of you, but happily lets you take the lead because he's so eager to be useful.

virgin!dex who kisses you all over because he can't get enough of the feeling of your skin under his lips. and maybe because he's a little bit scared to go to the next part.

virgin!dex who lasts about 15 seconds and then cries into your shoulder, holding onto you for dear life because he's so embarrassed and scared that you would leave him over this.

virgin!dex who whines when you let him eat you out and he's so eager he almost suffocates so you have to pull him by his hair to remind him to breathe.

virgin!dex who holds you so close to him you might fuse, going so slow it actually drives you insane.

He watches your girly shows with him, getting too invested to a point where he is asking to watch more.

A little too overprotective, always watching you. Whether if its from afar while you hang out with your friends or through the cameras he installed around the house.

Watches your friends that he is suspicious of as well, trying to find any flaws about them to soft launch onto you so you cut them off.

Always buys you something wherever he goes. Sometimes its candy from the gas station he stopped at, sometimes its a cosmopolitan magazine he bought alongside of his newspaper.

He gets too shy to ask for it sometimes but loves getting his back, chest, arms scratched. He could lay on your hours at end if it meant he will be getting scratched.

Buys you lilies but cuts away the ‘male’ part so it wont be poisonous to your cat.

Always on urgent shopping duty. No flour left to make cookies? Give him five minutes. Cant sleep because its too hot? He is pulling on his sweats to buy ice cream.

Lets you lick the scar on his cheek, at first it felt kind of funny but now he adores it and lets you do as you please.

Helps with laundry duty, mostly to smell your dirty laundry before separating them in piles.

He hates when you are on your phone too much #oldman so eighter he grumbles when you’re on your phone too much or watches with his head on your shoulder.

He totally prefers physical media too.

Sorry but this man tolerates almost no male friends. And yes, sometimes including male relatives too. He cant help it, he knows how a mans mind works.

You rarely, if ever, had sex without lighting, angles, and contracts. You had to think about testing windows, release schedules, which performer looks good with you on camera. Which one was all hype and no chemistry. Which one looked expensive but moved like they were waiting for applause. You still liked your job. You liked the control, the money, the fact that you had built a name out of everyone else’s desire. But desire itself was harder to come by.

These days, when you scrolled through adult sites, it was mostly scouting.

That was what you told yourself, anyway, curled up in bed in your hoodie with your laptop open, boredly clicking through streamer trending pages like you were reviewing résumés. Pretty girl. Pretty boy. Nice body. Bad camera presence. Too fake. Too loud. Trying too hard. You had seen every version of beautiful by then, and most of it did nothing for you.

Three hours of scouting had done absolutely nothing for you.

Nothing. Not a flutter. It was as dry as the Sahara down there. You had clicked through girl after girl with perfect asses, perfect lighting, perfect lip gloss, all thighs and breathy little smiles, and your only thought had been, great angles, weak branding. You watched a brunette arch her back so prettily it probably made half the site black out, and you just blinked at the screen like you were reviewing tax documents.

Then the men.

A blond with abs so defined he looked carved out of a protein advert. Nothing. A tattooed guy with a nice mouth and no camera presence. Nothing. Some cocky pretty boy calling everyone baby like he had learned seduction from a bad podcast. Absolutely fucking nothing. You had seen bodies. You had touched bodies. You had been paid very, very well to make bodies look better than they were. Sexy alone didn’t do anything for you anymore.

You were about to close the tab when you saw him.

Dex.

Just Dex.

No fancy stage name, no stupid pun, no little devil emoji. He didn’t use an overproduced thumbnail of him biting his lip like he was trying to seduce a ring light. He crossed your screen in a small live window with a ridiculously high viewer count for his production level, and him sitting there in a plain, dim room like he had accidentally wandered into every guy and gal’s dirtiest fantasy.

You hovered over the stream.

He had a big body, broad shoulders, thick arms. He had the kind of build that made your brain go. Ugh. Hot. 

Annoyingly hot. 

But that didn’t mean anything. Three-quarters of the industry was hot until they opened their mouth or moved like they were waiting for a round of applause.

So, fine.

He was pretty.

Was he good?

You clicked on him.

And then Dex looked up at the camera.

He wasn’t smirking or posing. He wasn’t selling you that lazy, hollow confidence men loved to mistake for sex appeal. Dex looked almost offended by his own arousal, tense and tightly wound, one hand wrapped low around himself… and, Christ, he was blessed enough there to make even you pause. 

His jaw worked. His shoulders were rigid. His eyes were so dark and focused they made the heat between your legs finally, finally wake up after hours of nothing.

Oh.

You sat up a little straighter.

Well, that was new.

You had fucked beautiful men professionally. You had kissed women so pretty they made entire comment sections lose their minds. You had been under, over, between, worshipped, handled, filmed, edited, marketed, sold. Looking perfect was boring. Experience was overrated. Confidence was usually just choreography.

But Dex looked untouched in a way that did not feel innocent.

The worst part was that Dex was not even doing anything particularly new.

You had seen men touch themselves on camera before. You had seen it polished, staged, rehearsed, marketed within an inch of its life. Men who knew exactly when to bite their lip, when to groan, when to lean back and show off for the lens. Men who had perfected the fantasy so thoroughly there was nothing human left in it.

Dex wasn’t like that.

Dex looked like he hated that he wanted to be watched.

He sat too stiffly, one hand braced on the arm of his chair, the other stroking himself, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jump. His room was dim except for the glow of his screen, obsessively neat lines and no personality, like he had tried to make the space as controlled as possible because nothing about him was. 

He kept glancing at the chat, reading whatever filth people were throwing at him, and every time his eyes flicked over something that got to him, his mouth parted just slightly before he forced it shut again.

God.

You leaned closer to the laptop.

He was trying to be quiet, that much was obvious. He was trying  to keep his breathing even, trying to make it look like this was routine, like he was just another camboy doing what people paid him to do. But his body kept betraying him. His throat moved when he swallowed. His thighs shifted open another inch. His hand tightened around himself, careful at first, almost punishingly restrained, like he was afraid of giving too much away.

And you realized, with a curl of heat low in your stomach, that he was still holding back.

Even alone, even with thousands of people watching, Dex was holding something back.

You should’ve been bored. You should’ve clicked away, made a note of his follower count, and sent his profile to your manager like any other piece of potential talent. Instead, you sat there in bed with your pulse picking up, watching the way his hips gave one helpless little twitch into his fist when someone in the chat must have praised him.

Oh.

Your lips parted.

Dex’s eyes went unfocused for half a second, his grip faltering before tightening again, and the sound he made was rough and clearly not meant to slip out. The chat exploded. You could see it reflected in the faint flicker of his eyes, hundreds of people losing their minds because the untouchable pretty camboy had made a noise.

Dex went red.

And then, instead of playing into it, instead of giving the camera some smug little smile, he looked angry. Embarrassed, even. He was turned on enough that he couldn’t hide it and furious that everyone had noticed.

Your stomach dropped in the best way.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you murmured to no one, smiling at the screen.

Dex’s hand moved faster, but not like he was trying to put on a show. It was simultaneously worse and more honest than that. His rhythm stuttered, then steadied, his shoulders tense, his free hand gripping the chair like he needed something to anchor himself to. He kept looking away from the camera and then back again, like he couldn’t decide whether being watched made it better or made him want to crawl out of his own skin.

You had been desired by millions. You had built a career out of being watched. You knew the difference between arousal that was performed and arousal that escaped.

This was escaping him.

And maybe that was why you gave yourself permission to let it happen to yourself, too. Dex was losing control in inches, and you were doing the same in secret, thighs tightening, hips rolling once over nothing, twice, slow enough that you could still pretend it was nothing. You could still pretend you were just watching. You could still pretend you hadn’t started chasing pressure because some camboy with a furious blush had made you feel wanted through a screen.

You could not look away.

Dex was hot, yes, but hot was cheap in your world. His body was good, his face was better, his mouth was pretty in a way that made your imagination wander. But it was the restraint that ruined you. 

You shifted again, slower this time, not even thinking about it. The pillow beside you had slipped between your knees at some point, warm from your body, and you tugged it closer with the same absentminded irritation you used to adjust a blanket. Except then Dex’s hand tightened on the screen, his mouth parted like he hated himself for needing it, and your thighs pressed together around the pillow before you could stop them.

You were not scouting anymore.

Scouting didn’t end up like this. Scouts did not sit in bed with their laptop glowing blue over their bare legs, breathing a little too shallow, hips moving in these tiny, thoughtless drags against a pillow. You only noticed when the friction pulled a soft moan out of you, embarrassing in how surprised it made you. 

On screen, Dex lowered his head, breath coming harsher now. His hand was moving with less control, his hips following in small, involuntary jerks. He was close. Anyone could see it. He looked almost pained, brows drawn together, mouth open, every bit of him wound tight and shaking with the effort not to be too loud.

Then he looked at the chat again.

Whatever he read there made him freeze.

For a second, he just stared.

Then his eyes lifted to the camera, dark and wrecked, and he said, voice rough, “Don’t call me that.”

You stopped breathing.

The chat must have done exactly what he told them not to, because his teeth clenched, his hand tightened, and the next sound out of him was so fucking pretty it made you desperately hump a pillow. 

Oh, he was a problem.

He was a massive fucking problem.

You watched him finish with his head tipped back, trying and failing to keep quiet, one hand still white-knuckled on the chair, his face flushed with embarrassment and pleasure. It was not polished or professional. It was so much better than that. It was messy and furious and needy, and when he finally slumped back, breathing hard, he looked almost offended by his own body.

Like he had lost a fight.

For a long moment, you didn’t move.

Dex slumped back on screen, breathing hard, looking offended by his own pleasure, and you stared at him with your thighs still locked around the pillow. Only then did you realize what you had been doing. Only then did you look down at yourself, at the twist of sheets, at the pillow dragged shamelessly between your legs, and laugh under your breath because, Jesus Christ, three hours of professional scouting had left you dry as dust, and Dex had made your pillow slick and sticky without even knowing your name.

You stared at the screen long after he ended the stream.

Then you picked up your phone and called your manager, Joanna.

She answered half-asleep and annoyed. “This better be an emergency.”

“I found someone.”

“For a video?”

You looked at Dex’s frozen profile photo, his serious mouth, his too-intense eyes, the ridiculous viewer count sitting under his name like proof that you weren’t the only one who had noticed.

But you were going to be the first one who mattered.

“For me,” you agreed, voice still a little too warm. “Camboy. Goes by Dex. Pretty big numbers, no studio work, and only solo stuff as far as I can see. Find him and work it out.”

Joanna went quiet, then, suspiciously she said, “Are you scouting, or are you horny?”

You smiled. “Both.”

Honestly, Joanna was shocked it wasn’t just the former. 

He must be special. 

—

Joanna managed to get you coffee with him three days later.

Which started very normal.

There was no immediate sexual tension so thick it made the barista uncomfortable. Not even dramatic eye contact over steaming mugs. No gag-worthy you’re even prettier in person that made you roll your eyes and secretly preen. It was just Dex sitting across from you in a corner table, shoulders too broad for the little café table, hands wrapped around a black coffee he barely touched, talking to you about the weather like he had not been the reason you dry-humped a pillow two nights ago.

It had rained that morning. You said you liked the smell of wet pavement when you didn’t have anywhere to be. He said he hated rain because it made people careless on the road. You laughed and told him that was such a depressing answer. His mouth twitched into an almost-smile, like he was embarrassed he had been funny by accident.

Then you told him you used to be a barista.

That surprised him.

“Really?” he asked, and it was the first time his voice lifted with something other than polite caution.

“Yeah,” you shrugged, “I can still steam milk better than half the people in here.”

His eyes flicked toward the counter, assessing the machine like he was genuinely considering whether that was true. 

“What about you?” you asked, saving him from the heavy load of the conversation. “Before the camboy thing.”

His thumb moved once against the cup.

“Military.”

Ah.

That made the posture, the exit-scanning make sense. The calm that didn’t  feel relaxed so much as trained into him. 

“Fair,” you said, letting your eyes drag over him just enough to be obvious. 

His ears went pink.

Fuck. Hot.

What you didn’t know was that Dex had almost not shown up.

And because he did not want to. Because he wanted too badly. Because your manager’s email had sat in his inbox like a live grenade, your name in the subject line, your actual name, your professional name, the name he had typed into search bars more times than he would ever admit out loud. 

He loved your solo work most, which wasn’t surprising, considering his preferences for doing things alone. 

You had no idea how many times you had been on his screen while he was live, in a second tab, your voice low in his tiny earphone while his chat thought they were the ones getting him worked up. And sometimes, sure, they helped.

But mostly, it was you.

Your solo clips were safer. He loved seeing your pretty face going soft with pleasure, with no one else in frame, no one else touching you, no one else making him feel that ugly twist in his stomach. It was stupid. Irrational. Embarrassing. You were not his. You didn’t know his name until two days ago. You had no idea he existed beyond maybe a faceless number in your views, but Dex still liked those clips best because, for a few pathetic minutes, he could pretend you were only being watched by him.

The scenes with other performers were harder.

He watched those too, but it made him mean, jealous in a way he had no right to be, staring at strangers with his jaw tight and his hand wrapped around himself like he could punish the feeling out of his body. He hated them for touching you. Hated himself for watching. Hated most that he still finished.

He knew he was not special for wanting you. Half the internet wanted you. He could see two joggers in the background, whispering in your direction. They’ve probably seen your videos, too.  

Dex was no different from them, having spent months as one anonymous viewer in an ocean of them, wanting too much from too far away.

And now you were sitting across from him in sunglasses and a soft sweater, smiling like this was normal.

He asked about your job without being weird about it. Not the gross questions people thought they were allowed to ask because you were famous for sex. He asked what made a good scene, how you knew when someone had camera presence, whether the industry was as overproduced as it looked from the outside. Dex was proud of getting the questions out, considering he had spent an hour that morning practicing in the mirror in the effort to make himself feel like a normal human being. 

You told him the truth. Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. Sometimes the best thing on camera was a move nobody planned, and sometimes the hottest person in the room became boring the second they started acting like they knew they were hot.

Eventually, though, you had to talk business.

“So,” you said, stirring your drink with your straw. “Usually, before a full collab, I’d do a test screening.”

“I…” Dex’s eyes came back to yours. “I can’t do that.”

You blinked, leaned back. “That’s pretty standard, Dex.”

“I know.”

“You know?” You raised your eyebrows.

“I read the packet your manager sent.”

“Mm,” you hummed, sipping your coffee.

His ears went pink again, but he didn’t look away this time. “I’m not saying no to you. I’m saying no to doing it like that first.”

Oh?

“Okay,” you said, leaning forward a bit. “Then how would you do it?”

He took a second. You watched his thumb move once along the seam of his coffee cup, the only nervous tell he had really given you. He was shy, you realized. Not helpless or naive, but shy in a controlled, locked-door kind of way. 

“Let’s do a “test screening” on my stream,” he said, and he looked like he was gonna wince with how needy he sounded. 

You stared at him for a beat, then laughed softly. “You want your first collab with me to be on a streaming site?”

“Yes.”

“You know my team is going to call that risky.”

Dex nodded. “Yes.”

“And you still want that?”

His gaze held yours, steady now despite the blush still sitting high on his cheekbones. “If I’m going to collab with someone like you, I want you on my screen first. Not the other way around.”

Oh.

You smiled into your coffee. So there was a marketing bone in his body. Smart. 

You understood it instantly, because it was a good branding move.

His whole appeal was the intimacy of his setup, the feeling that viewers were seeing something private slip out of him in real time. A studio debut would make him look like everyone else. But you appearing on his stream? You, the famous pornstar, stepping into his room, like the fantasy had chosen him personally?

That would go insane online.

“Ah,” You nodded slowly. “You want it less produced.”

“Yes.”

“Your audience gets to feel like they saw it happen before the industry got its hands on you.”

His mouth twitched up. “You’re good at this.”

“I’m known for a reason.”

“I know,” he said, a little too quickly. You smiled at that, and he looked down into his coffee like it had the answers to the universe. 

Fuck, he was cute.

There was something sweet about how badly he was trying to be professional while clearly not believing you were actually sitting across from him. It made you want to tease him just to see what would happen.

“You watched my work?” you asked lightly.

His fingers tightened around the cup. “Yes.”

“Research?”

“No.”

Your eyebrows lifted. Dex’s face went red.

Oh, that was fun.

You didn’t push him too hard, at least not yet. You just smiled into your drink and let him sit with it. Let him know you had noticed. Let him know you were kind enough not to eat him alive in public, even though you could.

“Okay,” you said eventually. “If I were to say yes, my rules still apply. I need boundaries and a safe word, of course. My manager sees the platform terms and the moderation plan. If I say stop, we stop. If I say cut, you cut. If your chat gets ugly, they’re gone.”

Dex nodded immediately. “I want you comfortable.”

It was so direct that it knocked some of the teasing right out of you.

You studied him for a second. “You’re very serious.”

“I’m trying to be.” His throat moved.

You smiled, smaller this time. “Relax, Dex. I’m not going to bite you here.”

His eyes dropped to your mouth, then back up.

“Okay,” he said, not sounding relaxed at all.

You laughed, warm and genuine. The rest of the meeting went like that. Business, then teasing. Testing requirements, then him asking if you still knew how to make latte art. Revenue split, then you asked if all ex-military boys read contracts like they were defusing bombs. He was shy, yes, but he kept up with you. He got drier as he got more comfortable, answering your little jabs with quiet, deadpan comments that made you laugh harder than you meant to.

By the time you stood to leave, you had already decided that whatever his final offer was, you were going to accept it. Dex rose when you did, because of course he did, and you watched him catch himself almost reaching for your chair. 

“Send the room specs to my manager,” you said. “Camera setup, schedule, moderation. All of it.”

He nodded.

“And Dex?”

He looked at you.

You smiled. “Don’t overthink it.”

By the time you got into the car, your manager had texted.

How did it go?

You looked back through the café window.

Dex was still sitting there, coffee untouched, staring down at the table like he was trying to process the fact that you had been real.

You typed back: Good chemistry :) 

Which translated to: get the contract through at all costs.

—

The contract came through a week later.

Joanna read it first, then legal, then you, curled up on your sofa with a glass of iced coffee.

It was careful and specific. From platform split, moderation rules, content usage, safeword protocol, post-stream review period. Dex had done his homework like he was preparing for a military operation instead of a livestream.

Joanna called you after. “He’s weird.”

You smiled at the PDF on your screen. “I know.”

The schedule was locked in for Friday night, two months from the initial meeting.

It was prime livestream time, where most people were off work for the week and needed to blow some steam off. 

The announcement that he was going to have a special guest went up at noon and started trending by dinner. By the next morning, the comments were already feral, speculating on who the guest could be. The other half were calling the guest “lucky,” like luck had anything to do with it.

By Friday afternoon, your bag was packed like any other shoot: robe, makeup, a backup outfit, your own wipes, your own water bottle, your own little collection of professional comforts that made unfamiliar rooms feel less unfamiliar. You had done this hundreds of times before, with different sets and different performers. 

But this time, your stomach kept doing this stupid little flip every time you looked at the address.

—

Dex’s apartment was exactly as clean as you expected.

The first thing you saw was shoes lined neatly by the door, counters wiped down, unopened waters on the coffee table, folded towels stacked beside them, a bowl of mints like he had prepared for a business meeting and a sleepover at the same time. The contract sat printed beside a pen, already signed on his end, with little tabs marking the important sections.

Dex stood in the doorway in a black shirt and dark jeans, barefoot, hair still a little damp from a recent shower. His eyes flicked over you once before he looked away, polite enough to be cute and interested enough to fail at hiding it.

“Hi,” you said.

“Hi.”

You stepped inside, smiling as you looked around. 

“You cleaned like my manager was coming to inspect the place.”

Dex shrugged. “Would she?”

“She usually does,” you chuckled, “but you negotiated me coming here alone, so…”

“Then I cleaned the right amount.”

That made you laugh, and he relaxed by about half an inch. He offered you water, pointed out where the bathroom was, showed you the towels and extra robe, and then handed you the final printed contract like this was all very normal.

When he led you to his livestream room, you felt a bit parasocial, which was weird, because you rarely felt that anymore. There’s the table you saw on stream! There's the bed in the background! There’s the chair he jerked—

“The water is in the corner,” Dex said, pointing yet again to another oasis of neatly arranged water bottles. 

You nodded and smiled, looking at the countdown stream on his computer. You read the comments, feeling pleased with yourself.

devilcam199999: WHO IS IT?

6polly16: dex with a guest is crazy

starknaked3000: is it a model???

the.raft.wifi: hes probably already nervous lmao

You leaned closer to the screen, amused. “They’re going to be unbearable.”

“They usually are.”

You smiled and he pretended not to notice.

The setup was good. While his room didn't have studio gloss, he had flattering lighting, clean frame, camera angled to catch the bed if he widened the shot, desk close enough that he could cut the stream instantly. He walked you through the kill switch, delay, blocked terms, moderator list, and what to do if either of you wanted to stop. 

“You really did your homework,” you said.

His eyes flicked to you, and that tiny almost-smile came back. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not surprised. I’m impressed.”

It was enough to make his face warm while he turned back to the monitor like the settings suddenly needed his full attention.

You liked him. That was becoming inconvenient.

He had a first-timer’s shyness and a professional’s discipline, and the combination was doing stupid chemicals to react like fireworks in your brain.

Before he clicked anything live, he paused.

“Can I ask something?”

You leaned against the desk. “Yeah.”

Dex looked almost embarrassed, but not scared. Just very aware of himself. “Can I kiss you first?”

Your eyebrows lifted.

“To get it out of the way,” he added quickly, then immediately looked like he regretted phrasing it like that.

You laughed. “That is possibly the least professional way anyone has ever asked to kiss me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

“I just don’t want the first one to be for them.”

Oh.

How sweet, asking for one small thing to belong to the two of you before the camera got any of it.

You stepped closer. “Okay.”

He looked pleasantly surprised. 

Dex kissed you carefully, almost chastely, one hand hovering near your waist but not touching until you gave him the smallest nod. His mouth was warm and far more polite than anything about the night ahead of you had any right to be. It lasted maybe three seconds. Four, at most. A sweet little closed-mouth kiss that shouldn't have made your stomach dip the way it did.

When he pulled back, you smiled. “That was very respectable.”

His ears went pink. “Was that bad?”

“No,” you said, still smiling. “That was adorable.”

Dex looked like he would rather walk into traffic be called adorable by you, which only made it worse.

You reached up, fixed the collar of his shirt even though you were going to take it off him anyway, and stepped back before you could get too fond of him too quickly.

“Okay,” you said. “Now we work.”

That helped him, and you could see almost instantly, how it whipped the room back into shape. 

He nodded and turned to the monitor while you stepped into the bathroom and stripped to change to your skimpy two piece-piece, grabbing your robe from your bag and slipped it over your shoulders. When you got back out, he was checking the countdown settings. The chat was moving so fast now it looked like static. Dex had not even gone live yet, and they were already losing their minds over the idea of a guest.

You stepped into the preview beside him.

There you were, on his camera. 

You missed this. The amateur stuff. It's been like, three years since you’ve done it like this. 

“Oh,” you said, watching the monitor. “This is going to be good.”

Dex looked at your reflection instead of the chat. “Yeah.”

You smiled. “Ready?”

He took one breath. Then he clicked the stream into place.

“Ready enough,” he said.

The five-minute countdown began.

—

Three…

Dex sat in his usual chair, fully clothed, hands folded loosely in his lap like this was a normal stream and not the first time his chat had ever been promised a guest.

Two…

The chat was already moving too fast.

One…

The waiting screen vanished.

For half a second, it was just Dex. Same room, same camera, same controlled lighting. Same pretty, unreadable face that made people tip just to see if they could crack it. He looked at the chat, then at something off-screen, then back at the camera with his jaw a little tighter than usual.

“Hi,” he said.

The chat exploded just from that.

fluid69: HIIIIII DEX

blipped_and_bricked: he looks nervous oh my god

0nlyCams0fKamarTaj: WHERE IS THE GUEST

mod_mara: Be respectful. Rules are pinned.

Dex read none of it out loud. He never really did when it moved like this. He only glanced at it, then back off-screen, where you were standing in your robe, smiling with your arms folded like this was the funniest thing you had done all year.

They had known about a mystery guest for two days. They had theorized, spiraled, argued, made tier lists, accused him of secretly having a girlfriend, accused him of hiring another camboy, accused him of doing a faceless collab, accused him of lying for engagement. No one had guessed you, because why would they? You had not cammed in three years. You didn’t just wander into camboy streams like a surprise prize.

Dex swallowed.

“I have…” He stopped, jaw flexing like the word was harder than it needed to be. “I have a friend here.”

You almost laughed.

A friend.

You, pornstar-men-recognized, standing barefoot in his bedroom in a silk robe, and Dex had introduced you like you were coming over to borrow sugar.

The chat went rabid.

redline.616: A FRIEND????

hellskitchen_: DEX HAS FRIENDS???

6courtroom9: no because why was that hot

_afterdark: show friend show friend show friend

TIPBOT: @/redline.616 tipped 25 tokens — “for the friend fund”

Dex’s ears went pink.

You decided to save him and ruin him at the same time by moving, showing one bare leg sliding into frame from the side, like you had wandered in by accident. Your robe skimmed high on your thigh. You heard the chat hitch, the delay catching up in a sudden, violent flood of messages.

Dex turned his head toward you.

You gave him your hand. He took it immediately.

That, for some reason, was what made the room feel intimate. Even on camera, even with thousands of people watching, he was going to do this properly.

He pulled you closer, not rough or showy, just a steady tug until you stepped between his knees, face still off-camera. Then he looked up at you, waiting.

You smiled down at him, let the pause stretch just long enough for the chat to collectively lose its mind, then lowered yourself into his lap.

Oh, boy.

pretty-prince: WAIT

pretty-prince: WAIT WAIT WAIT

skull.hour: IS THAT—

starknaked.3000: NO FUCKING WAY

27watch: I KNEW I RECOGNISED THAT LEG

mistermidnight: DEX WHAT DID YOU DO

TIPBOT: @/mistermidnight tipped 100 tokens — “IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS?????”

TIPBOT: @/skull.hour tipped 250 tokens — “DEX YOU ABSOLUTE MADMAN”

You settled sideways across his thighs, one arm sliding around his shoulders as if you had sat there a hundred times. Dex went very still under you, almost stunned like his body had accepted you before his brain could process the fact that you were real, warm, and in his lap on his own stream.

“Hi,” you said to the camera.

That was all it took.

616.redline: I KNOW THAT VOICE I KNOW THAT VOICE

kamar-taj404: SHE HASN’T CAMMED IN YEARS?????

catholicguilt: DEX BAGGED A LEGEND???

the.raft.wifi: I WATCHED HER LAST NIGHT

velvet_77jaw: everybody shut up she’s real

blip.checked69: DEX BLINK TWICE IF YOU SOLD YOUR SOUL

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 500 tokens — “WELCOME QUEEN”

TIPBOT: @/catholicguilt tipped 69 tokens — “I am deceased”

TIPBOT: @/goodboycommittee tipped 300 tokens — “I literally had her video open yesterday. Dex you lucky bastard.”

Dex read that one.

You felt it in the way his fingers flexed once at your waist in a tiny possessive twitch. That little reminder that yes, half the internet had seen you, wanted you, touched themselves to you, said filthy things about you. But now you were in his lap, on his screen, while they all watched him realize exactly how many people had wanted what he had his hands on.

You turned your head slightly, lips close to his ear.

“Breathe,” you murmured, sweet enough that the mic barely caught it.

Dex breathed.

The chat saw that too.

slowburnsir: he is NOT surviving this

camdad_404: his hands his HANDS

mod_mara: Do not spam. Tips are not requests unless accepted.

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 150 tokens — “for Dex’s funeral”

You laughed softly, and Dex looked at you.

The second his eyes met yours, the room changed. The chat was still screaming. The tips were still chiming. The screen was still bright with names and numbers and disbelief. But Dex stopped looking like a camboy hosting a special stream and started looking like a man with you in his lap, trying very hard to remember that everyone else existed.

You smiled at him like you knew exactly what you were doing.

“Your chat is excited,” you said.

Dex’s gaze flicked to the screen, then back to you. His hands tightened again, just slightly.

You raised an eyebrow.

He looked flatly at the camera for half a second, then down at where you were settled across him.

“I noticed.”

The chat caught the tone even if they did not catch the whole meaning.

rorschach69: OH HE’S JEALOUS JEALOUS

confessional_3am: that was possessive as hell

guilttrip04: “i noticed” SIR????

billyphobia.16: wait this chemistry is insane

TIPBOT: @/lonelyplanet69 tipped 400 tokens — “for whatever that was”

You should have kept it professional, and to be fair, you mostly did.

You faced the camera again, one hand resting lightly against Dex’s chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm. It was very fast. Sweet, actually, if you ignored the fact that the man beneath you looked one good compliment away from blacking out.

“Hi, chat,” you said, bright and calm, like you had not just detonated his entire platform. “I hear Dex promised you a guest.”

The chat screamed.

Dex, poor thing, looked at you like calling him by name in that voice had been an attack.

You smiled wider.

“So,” you continued, letting your fingers tap once against his shirt, “be nice to him tonight.”

You leaned a little closer to the camera, lowering your voice.

“He’s new at sharing you guys.”

After that, you stayed in his lap for a while, letting the audience settle as word spread that you were her. You saw the chat screaming itself into static while Dex tried very hard not to look like he was losing his mind on camera. He was touching you through the robe already, one palm over your hip, the other over the swell of your clothed breast, fingers pressing in like he could feel the heat through the fabric, like he was trying to be respectful and failing in the most beautiful way.

You smiled down at him. “Stand up.”

Dex’s eyes flicked to yours.

Then he obeyed.

Chat noticed. 

crosshair__: oh he moved FAST

aim.locked00: SHE SAID STAND AND HE STOOD????

TIPBOT: @/rolle.rbl.ade tipped 200 tokens — “for obedience”

Dex’s ears went pink, but he kept his eyes on you.

You stepped in close, hands finding the hem of his shirt. He lifted his arms before you even had to ask. Disciplined Dex standing there half-submissive in front of his own camera while you dragged his shirt up over his stomach, over his chest, over those ridiculous shoulders, and tossed it off-frame like it didn’t matter.

The chat went wild at the sight of him.

You barely looked at them. You were too busy looking at him.

His chest rose and fell too quickly. His stomach tightened when your fingertips skimmed down the center. His teeth clenched when your nails grazed the waistband of his jeans. He was so still it almost looked controlled, except nothing about the front of his jeans was controlled at all.

Dex was already hard, and not even half-hard from nerves and anticipation. Rock fucking hard, straining behind denim like his body had given up pretending.  Like sitting with you in his lap, smelling your perfume, seeing the chat call you a legend had ruined every professional thought in his head.

“Dex,” you said sweetly.

His eyes shut for half a second.

You laughed under your breath and popped the button of his jeans.

27noirsignal_: OH MY GOD

ricochet.004: He’s so embarrassing

redacted-h3ll : everybody act normal.

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 500 tokens — “for that reaction”

The zipper came down slowly.

Dex’s hands twitched at his sides.

“Don’t help,” you murmured under your breath, not loud enough for the mic to catch it.

He froze.

You pushed his jeans down just enough, then his briefs, watching his face while he was exposed to you and the camera all at once. He sprang free, heavy and so obviously neglected that you made a pleased sound before you could stop yourself.

The chat exploded.

You reached for him, but not properly. You gave him the lightest touch, fingertips fluttering over him, barely there, soft little strokes that were more a tease than relief. Dex’s breath hitched. His stomach jumped. His hands curled into fists like he was physically stopping himself from grabbing you.

You touched him again, featherlight.

His hips gave one tiny, helpless twitch into your hand.

“Oh,” you whispered, smiling. “You’re sensitive.”

glasshog_77: DID HE JUST

midnightorbit : she barely touched him I’m crying

goodboycommittee: this is not a stream this is an execution

TIPBOT: @/midnightorbit tipped 250 tokens — “for Dex’s dignity, rip”

You wrapped your fingers around him for one second, just enough to feel him pulse in your hand, just enough to make his mouth part.

Then you let go.

Dex let out a broken little breath, like he hated how much he wanted to chase your touch.

You smiled like a terrible person. “Your turn.”

For a second, he just stared at you. Then his eyes dropped to the tie of your robe.

Dex reached for it carefully, like the silk was a trap. His fingers brushed your stomach through the fabric before he pulled the knot loose. The robe opened in a slip of blue shadow and skin, but you didn’t make him peel it off you. You just let it fall.

The silk slid down your shoulders, down your arms, and pooled at your feet, showing blue lingerie.

It was pretty, almost innocent, if anyone watching was stupid enough to believe that.

Dex stopped breathing.

The chat did too, for about half a second. Then it lost its collective mind.

27watch: she knew exactly what she was doing

devilcam199999: DEX BLINK IF YOU’RE ALIVE

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 1000 tokens — “WELCOME BACK TO STREAMING”

Dex’s eyes dragged over you with a focus so intense it made your skin heat. It wasn’t polished or performative. Dex looked like he was trying to survive you.

You stepped closer, turned back so your ass was facing him, and took his wrist, guiding his hand to your waist.

“Touch me.”

His palm settled against your skin with reverence first, then hunger second. His fingers spread over your ribs, thumbs brushing the edge of the lace. He traced the strap of your bra with one finger, then bent his head and caught it gently between his teeth.

Your breath hitched.

His teeth tugged the blue strap down your shoulder inch by inch, his mouth hot against your skin, careful until your breath shook. Then less careful when he heard it. His lips followed the strap, kissing the place it had marked, and when his eyes flicked up to yours, there was something darker in them now.

“Turn around,” he said quietly, almost embarrassed by his own command.

You did, because fair was fair.

Dex’s hands went to your hips as you faced him again, your chest to his, your ass framed perfectly by the lens in that tiny blue scrap of lace. The chat started moving too fast to read. Tips chimed over each other, bright and frantic, while Dex stood in front you, naked and hard, one hand sliding to your back to steady you, the other moving down over your hip.

Then his hands cupped you, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of your ass, spreading you slightly through the lingerie so the camera got the kind of view that made the chat forget how to spell.

catholicguilt: DEX???

soft_dom_accountant: HIS HANDS

the.raft.wifi: THE VIEW THE VIEW THE VIEW

goodboycommittee: chat shut up I’m dying

TIPBOT: @/mistermidnight tipped 500 tokens — “that angle is insane

And that was when Dex realized that the camera had the better view.

His hands paused. His fingers flexed once against your skin. His jaw tightened near your temple, and you watched his eyes flicker from you to the feed, from the feed back to what little of you he could see over your shoulder.

Oh.

Oh, he didn’t like that.

Chat clocked it before you did.

exitwound-17: HE’S JEALOUS OF US

badangle_300: DEX MAD WE CAN SEE HER ASS BETTER THAN HIM

holyshitcam.24: possessive king has logged on

user-51down: he set up the angle lol

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 400 tokens — “for the angle”

Dex’s mouth flattened.

You arched your back just enough to make the view even worse for him and even better for them.

His hand shot to your back, pulling you back against him.

There he was.

Not the shy camboy or the careful professional. Just Dex, tense, jealous, turned on so badly he looked almost angry about it, his arousal hard against you from behind while thousands of people watched him lose the battle in real time.

You looked back at the camera and smiled.

“Aw,” you said, voice soft and sweet. “I think he forgot sharing means sharing.”

Dex’s grip tightened.

The chat screamed.

He bent close, lips brushing your ear. 

“They get to watch,” he muttered.

His hands slid lower, possessive and warm, holding you open for one more second before he turned your face away from him.

“But I get to touch.”

Your back hit Dex’s chest, and you could feel the hard planes of his body behind you, the heat of his skin, the shaky rise and fall of his chest, the twitch against your lower back every time the chat said something particularly filthy. He was trying not to react, you could tell, wrapping an arm locked around your waist like he was keeping you in place for the camera and himself at the same time.

He was still jealous.

You could feel that too.

The chat had the front view now. You parted your thighs, your flushed chest, Dex’s big hand splayed possessively over your stomach. They could see the curve of your body better than he could, and it was clearly ruining him in several directions at once.

blindspot-13: this angle is criminal

sector_42seven: she’s so lucky smh

castle50files: DEX YOU GOOD???

TIPBOT: @/badangle_300 tipped 500 tokens — “I could never have his self-control”

Dex’s cheek brushed your temple when he leaned down.

“Tell me what to do,” he said.

It came out rough and almost too quiet. It wasn’t a performance. It wasn’t even a line. It was just a simple request.

Your stomach pulled tight.

Because Dex had his hands on you in front of thousands of people, but he still asked. He still waited. He still needed the words. Even with your hips held under his hands and your breath already starting to shake, he wanted instruction.

You turned your face slightly toward him. “You want me to teach you?”

You felt him twitch again against your back.

confessional.09: yikes

audiofile_6b: oh he LIKES being told

lessonpla.n: teacher voice unlocked

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 300 tokens — “give him step by step instruction”

Dex’s hand tightened over your waist.

“Yes,” he said.

Fuck.

You smiled at the camera, sweet as sugar, and reached back to touch his thigh, just enough to make him feel your fingers and suffer.

“Okay,” you said. “First, put your hand here.”

You guided his hand up your stomach to your chest. Dex followed instantly, palm large and warm as it slid over your ribs. His fingers hesitated at the edge of your bra, then cupped one breast through the blue lace, careful at first, too careful, like he was scared of making you feel like a prop even though the entire point of the stream was showing you off.

You covered his hand with yours and squeezed.

His breath caught.

“Like that,” you murmured. “Don’t be scared.”

Dex swallowed, then did it again, firmer this time. His thumb dragged through the sheer fabric, and circled once. Your hips shifted back against him before you could stop yourself.

His mouth brushed your ear. “There?”

“Mm. There.”

The chat went white-hot.

echo.17room: SHE SAID THERE

9lives_witness: he’s learning in real time

paperclip-666: I’m going to be sick they’re so hot

bigwindow.34: DEX’S HANDS ARE HUGE?????

TIPBOT: @/bad.r0m4nce tipped 600 tokens — “student of the year”

Dex’s other hand moved lower, slower, down your stomach, over the rise and fall of your breathing. You felt the moment his fingers reached the waistband of your lingerie because he stopped again, waiting.

You were going to lose your mind.

“Under,” you told him.

His fingers slipped beneath the thin blue strap at your hip, and your thighs parted by instinct.

Dex went still behind you, his breathing now unsteady. You could feel him trying to stay controlled, trying not to rut helplessly against your back while he touched you, trying not to make this about how badly he wanted to lose his mind  just from being told what to do.

“Lower,” you whispered.

He obeyed.

His fingers slid down, cautious, feeling the pool already gathered there, and the sound he made was almost inaudible. The mic caught just enough that the chat turned feral.

static.8pm: DID HE JUST MAKE A SOUND

mercykill_27: HE’S GONE

witnessbox.6: she’s literally teaching him and he’s dying

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 1000 tokens — “for Dex’s education”

Dex’s forehead dipped against the side of your head. “Show me.”

You slid your hand over his, guiding two of his fingers higher, positioning them exactly where you wanted him. “Here. Not too hard. Keep your fingers flat.”

He rubbed once.

Your knees nearly buckled..

Dex felt that too. His arm around your waist tightened immediately, catching you, holding you up before the audience could even see you falter. Miss international pornstar, can’t be embarrassed like that in front of an audience, right?

“Like that?” he asked, voice wrecked.

You nodded, then remembered he needed more than that. “Yes. Small circles, Dex.”

He did exactly what you said.

Small, slow circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves, fingers slick beneath the lace, his other hand still cupping your breast for the camera like he couldn’t decide if he wanted them to watch or wanted to cover you from everyone. His thumb moved again, firmer now, and the combination made your head fall back against his shoulder.

Dex stopped for half a second.

“No,” you breathed, grabbing his wrist. “Don’t stop.”

He started again instantly.

The chat screamed.

panicbutton.23: DON’T STOPPPPP

sweetspot_808: he immediately listened lolol 

kneesweak.4am: he is so obedient I’m unwell

goodboycommittee: Dex looks like he’s going to pass out

TIPBOT: @/panicbutton.23 tipped 700 tokens — “DON’T STOP FUND”

Dex’s fingers kept moving, slow and slick, learning the rhythm by how your body answered. When he pressed too hard, your hand tightened around his wrist and he eased off. When he drifted too low, you corrected him with a gentle, “Up, baby,” and his whole body shuddered behind you.

Baby ruined him.

You felt it in the hard twitch of him against your back.

“Oh,” you laughed, but it came out broken. “You liked being called that?”

Dex’s mouth pressed to your shoulder.

His silence was answer enough.

The chat caught the shape of it even if they missed the words.

catholicguilt: SHE CLOCKED HIM

velvet-raw: he is not beating the needy allegations

goodboycommittee: DEX BABY FOCUS

TIPBOT: @/soft_dom_accountant tipped 250 tokens — “focus and concentration, babe”

You rolled your hips into his hand, showing him the pace you wanted. “A little faster now. Don’t chase it. Let me grind against your fingers.”

Dex made another sound then, rough against your skin, and did exactly that. He held his hand firmer, letting you move on him, letting you use his fingers while his palm pressed you open under the thin lace. His other hand squeezed again in time with the movement of your hips.

It was filthy.

Worse, it was intimate.

There were thousands of people watching. The chat was flashing too quickly to read. Tips were chiming. The room was bright with the glow of the screen and the sound of strangers losing their minds. But all you could feel was Dex behind you, his breath hot at your neck, his fingers doing exactly what you told him because he wanted to be good for you more than he wanted to look in control.

“Good,” you whispered.

Dex’s hips jerked once against your back, and you made a lewd sigh you haven’t made in a long time.

0nlyCams0fKamarTaj: GOOD?????

skull.hour: praisekinkunlocked 

slowburnsir: this is insane chemistry

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 1500 tokens — “god bless”

Dex read it, and felt his whole body lock.

His fingers faltered for one second, not stopping completely but losing the rhythm, and you knew exactly why.

You smiled, cruel and warm at once.

“Don’t look at them,” you murmured. “Look at me.”

His eyes dragged away from the chat to the monitor, to the reflection of your face tipped back against his shoulder, your mouth open, your body moving against his hand. He looked wrecked. Blushing, jealous, and so focused on your pleasure that the whole audience might as well have vanished.

“That’s it,” you said. “Right there.”

Dex’s fingers moved faster.

Your hand flew up to his wrist, not to stop him, just to hold on. His mouth found the side of your throat, and you felt him twitch again, harder this time. “Dex,” you gasped.

His voice was hoarse. “Tell me.”

You clenched around nothing.

“Keep going. Don’t change anything. Don’t you dare change anything.”

He didn’t.

For all his jealousy, all his almost-frantic arousal, Dex could follow an order beautifully. He kept the pressure perfect, the circles tight, his hand steady while you rocked into him, your breath breaking into little sounds you couldn’t dress up for the camera even if you wanted to.

And then you realized distantly, that you weren’t performing. 

You were just naturally losing it while Dex was touching you exactly the way you told him to.

soft_dom_accountant: she’s actually gone

the.raft.wifi: HIS FACE. LOOK AT HIS FACE.

goodboycommittee: oooo 

TIPBOT: @/slowburnsir tipped 800 tokens — “good instruction-following”

Your thighs started to tremble.

His arm locked tighter around your middle, holding you upright against him, his fingers never stopping. “Like this?”

“Exactly like that.”

“You’re close.”

It wasn’t a question.

You laughed, but it cracked into a moan. “Don’t sound so proud.”

“I am.”

Oh, fuck.

That should do it.

Heat snapped low in your stomach, pleasure cresting hard and fast because he sounded proud, because his hand was perfect. Your head tipped back against his shoulder, your hand clamped over his wrist, and you came on his fingers.

Dex held you through it.

He didn’t stop too soon and didn’t get greedy. He didn’t panic when your hips jerked or when your thighs shook. He slowed only when you told him to, easing you down until you were gasping against his chest, body loose and hot and humiliatingly satisfied.

For a moment, the chat was just chaos.

27noirsignal_:  HOLY SHIT

lonelyplanet69: Men take notes.

catholicguilt : the praise kink economy is thriving

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 2000 tokens — “WELCOME BACK INDEED”

Dex pulled his hand out from under your thong slowly.

You felt his fingers leave you and shivered.

Then you looked at the monitor, at his face, at the furious blush on his cheekbones. At his dark eyes locked on your reflection. At the way he held his wet fingers slightly away from your body like he didn’t know what to do with the evidence of what he had just done to you.

You smiled, and licked his finger to clean him up, making a show of it for his already feral audience. 

Dex’s eyes went black, because you teased him too much.

You should have known better, honestly. Dex had already been wound tight before you ever sat in his lap. So maybe it was your fault when he finally broke.

You were still catching your breath, knees unsteady, your blue thong damp and shifted crookedly beneath his hand. The chat was still feral.

redacted-h3ll : SHE CAME FIRST

glassjaw_838: I’M NEVER RECOVERING

midnightorbit: he looks like he’s about to snap

lonelyplanet69: someone check on him

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 2000 tokens — “GOOD BOY DEX”

Dex read that last one, and felt him freeze. 

Then you laughed, and made it worse by looking back over your shoulder. “See that? They think you’re a good boy.”

His hand closed around your hip, and it wasn’t gentle this time.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Dex bent you over before you could finish the thought.

One second your back was against his chest, his arm around your waist. The next, your cheek was pressed on the desk, your eyes turned toward the monitor, your hips angled up, Dex behind you with both hands on your ass like he had finally stopped caring about looking composed.

The little blue thong was in his way.

Dex stared at it for half a second like he wanted to kill it. 

Then he hooked his fingers under the thin strap and pulled it aside.

The stupid thing stayed stretched over one hip, pretty and useless, leaving you exposed for him and the screaming, frothing chat that had no idea they were watching the exact moment Dex stopped being manageable.

devilcam199999: OH MY GOD

goodboycommittee: DEX?????

exitwound-17: THIS IS NOT A DRILL

TIPBOT: @/goodboycommittee tipped 1000 tokens — “lmao she’s flustered”

He was skipping steps.

It was supposed to go on for much longer than this before this happened. The contract had been very clear about the intended sequence: strip each other, handwork, oral, teasing, breast play, then penetration if both performers confirmed continued consent. But it had also been clear that the sequence was not a binding script so much as a guideline, and that both performers could improvise as long as the safeword system remained active, respected, and immediate.

Your safeword was milkshake.

You hadn’t said milkshake.

You had not even come close.

What you said instead, when Dex pressed himself against you from behind, was, “Oh, fuck.”

Dex froze just long enough for one last thread of professionalism to drag itself through him. His hand slid up your spine, grounding. “This okay?”

Your fingers curled against the desk.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed l immediately. Then, because he was Dex and needed the final bullet point checked off before he lost his mind completely, you added, “Keep going.”

The sound he made was almost a laugh in relief.

You pushed your hips back a fraction, and that was when Dex lost it.

His hand locked around your hip, the other braced beside yours on the desk, his body folding over you just enough that his mouth brushed your ear. You could feel him shaking, not exactly with nerves, but with the force of wanting you so badly that restraint had become physically painful.

His voice came out wrecked, and much too honest for a man with thousands of people watching.

“Ready to watch your favourite pornstar take my virginity?”

For half a second, your brain went completely blank.

Wait.

What?

Then Dex pushed into you all at once.

Not elegantly with practiced timing, and not like a performer hitting a mark or giving the camera the perfect angle. He shoved into you like his body had been waiting so long it refused to negotiate anymore, and the shock of him punched the air straight out of your lungs.

Oh, Dex was big.

You knew that.  You had touched him. You had wrapped your fingers around him and thought, somewhat smugly, that you understood exactly what you were dealing with.

You did not.

Because seeing was one thing. Feeling him split you open from behind, hard and curved just right, was another thing entirely. He hit somewhere deep and bright, the kind of spot that made your knees buckle even with the desk under your hands. Your mouth fell open. No sound came out at first. Just a broken little inhale while your body tried to process his size, the stretch, and the fact that Dex had just announced to a live audience that you were taking his virginity.

The chat went nuclear.

exitwound-17: VIRGIN?

holyshitcam.24: Dex is a virgin?!

the.raft.wifi: EXCUSE ME

catholicguilt: THIS IS HIS FIRST TIME?????

audiofile_6b: OMG SHE JUST TOOK DEX’S VIRGINITY LIVE

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 3000 tokens — “ABSOLUTELY CINEMA”

You would have laughed. You really would have.

Except Dex moved. And every clever thought in your head went straight out the window.

His first thrust was clumsy. Too deep, too eager, too much. His rhythm stuttered because he clearly didn’t know whether to chase his own pleasure or watch yours, and somehow that made it hotter than anything scripted could have been. You had been fucked by men who knew exactly how to look good on camera. Men who knew their angles, their timing, their marketable groans. Men who could make sex look expensive and still make it feel like absolutely nothing.

Dex did not know how to make it look good.

Dex only cared about what made it feel good.

And fuck, did it.

He found that spot again by accident, then gripped harder when your whole body jolted under him. His hand tightened on your hip. “There?”

You were too fucked out to be dignified. “Yes. There. Again.”

He did it again, harder, and your arms nearly gave out.

echo.17room: inexperienced but effective

paperclip-666: chat I think she forgot us

TIPBOT: @/echo.17room tipped 1500 tokens — “for beginner’s luck”

You did forget them.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t performing in front of a camera. You weren’t making sure your face looked pretty when you moaned. You weren’t  arching for the best light or thinking about whether the angle sold the chemistry. You weren’t managing another performer’s ego, not timing your reactions, not pretending someone was better than they were because the scene needed it.

You were bent over a camboy’s desk while he fucked you raw and messy and half out of his mind, and the only thing your body cared about was the way he kept hitting that spot, the way he learned from every sound you made, the way he adjusted not for the camera but for you.

His inexperience made him greedy. His obsession made him attentive. His jealousy made him filthy.

Every time the chat screamed about your body, Dex pulled you back harder onto him. Every time someone tipped for the view, his hand slid possessively over your ass like he was reminding them they could watch all they wanted, but they could not feel how tight you were around him. Every time you moaned his name, his rhythm broke.

“Dex,” you gasped.

His hips stuttered.

He folded over you, chest against your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you up while he kept fucking into you in rough, uneven strokes. His mouth found your shoulder, teeth grazing skin, not quite biting, just desperate enough to make you clench around him.

He swore into your neck.

Dex, who had been so careful. Dex, who had asked to kiss you before the stream because he wanted one thing to belong to the two of you. Dex, who had printed contracts and arranged water bottles and checked the kill switch twice. That Dex was gone now, this Dex had no idea how to want halfway.

bad.r0m4nce: this man is having a religious epiphany 

static.8pm: she broke him

mercykill_27: no he broke HER

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 5000 tokens — “BEST STREAM ON THIS SITE”

You saw the messages blur across the monitor.

You didn’t care.

You could barely keep your eyes open.

Dex’s hand slid under you, fingers finding your sensitive spot between your legs again with frantic focus. He remembered what you had taught him, remembered the pressure, the small circles, except now he was fucking you while doing it and his hand was not nearly as steady as before.

You laughed, or tried to, but it came out as a moan. “Yes. Fuck, yes, just—don’t stop.”

He was determined while his hips kept snapping into you, making your body go loose and frantic at the same time. His breathing got harsher against your neck. His thrusts lost what little rhythm they had and became closer to instinct.

He was close.

His whole body changed, going tight behind you, arm locking around your waist, forehead pressed to your shoulder like he was trying to hold him back. It was an embarrassingly short time, and he knew it. He made one ruined moan into your skin and you clenched around him helplessly.

“Fuck,” Dex choked. “I’m—”

You should have said something professional. Something about pacing, control, stamina, the stream, the plan.

Instead, knowing you were religiously on the pill, you pushed back into him and whined, “Inside, please.”

The chat became unreadable.

the.raft.wifi: WHAT

sweetspot_808: SHE SAID WHAT

lonelyplanet69: DEX DO NOT DIE

TIPBOT: @/mistermidnight tipped 2000 tokens — “Lucky Girl”

Dex’s hips snapped forward once, deep and helpless.

You felt him empty himself in you.

His whole body shuddered, pulsing deep, his grip bruising-tight for one second before he caught himself and loosened like even mid-orgasm he was terrified of holding you too hard. He buried his face against your shoulder, shaking through it, breathing your name like he had no idea the mic could probably hear every broken piece of it.

And that should have been the end of it.

Except the feeling of him filling you, the heat of it, the broken little sound he made, the fact that Dex had lost his virginity inside you live on stream and was still rubbing your clit like the only thing he knew how to do was follow your last instruction….

It sent you over too.

Your orgasm tore through you so hard you actually cursed, hips jerking back against him, thighs shaking, hands slipping on the desk. Dex held you up through the whole thing, still making those ruined little sounds every time you clenched around him.

You were feral.

For a long time, there was no acting at all.

Chat was losing its mind.

kamar-taj404: THIS WAS HIS FIRST TIME. HIS FIRST TIME.

blip.checked69: she is NOT performing anymore

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 10000 tokens — “HISTORY WAS MADE”

Dex stayed inside you for a moment, breathing hard against your shoulder, his arms around you like he had forgotten the stream existed too.

Then, very quietly, he asked, “Good?”

Your laugh came out wrecked.

“Good,” you echoed, voice hoarse. “Very fucking good.”

Dex smiled into your shoulder and stayed folded over you. One of his hands was braced on the desk beside yours, the other wrapped around your waist like he had forgotten he was allowed to let go.

You blinked at the monitor, still dazed, because the thing that kept replaying in your head was not the stream count, or the tips, or the fact that Dex had just fucked you live so messily that you had forgotten to perform.

It was the virgin thing.

It was genius, not telling beforehand to get a real reaction out of you. 

Technically, he hadn’t done anything wrong. There was no contract clause that said a performer had to disclose previous sexual experience. You were tested, asked for consent, boundaries, yes. Experience level? No. Virginity was a construct anyway.

You knew all that.

You believed all that.

And still…

He had given you something he had never given anyone else, and even if that should not have mattered, even if you were too professional and too sex-industry literate to get sentimental about the concept of virginity—

Fuck.

It mattered.

It mattered enough that you should have known from the way he strictly did solo stuff. The way he had asked to kiss you before the stream because he didn’t want the first one to belong to the audience. The way you had to talk him through touching you.

Your fingers flexed against the desk.

“Dex,” you said finally, voice wrecked.

He hummed against your skin, barely enough to be a real answer.

You smiled, mean even like this. Especially like this. “Do you want to show chat?”

He went very still.

He understood what you meant: wanna zoom the camera on proof that you just made a mess in me? 

It was standard, really, at this point. Shots like that were in high demand. 

The chat saw your smile and started moving so fast the text blurred into light.

slowburnsir: SHOW CHAT WHAT

camdad_404: pleasepleaseplease

pretty-prince: DEX YOU OWE US

TIPBOT: @/skull.hour tipped 3000 tokens — “for the reveal”

Dex lifted his head.

His face was beside yours in the monitor, flushed and wrecked, hair mussed, eyes dark. He looked at the chat, at all the names begging, all the tips chiming, all the strangers who had watched you take him and still wanted more.

Then his mouth flattened. “No.”

Before the chat could even properly react, Dex reached past you and cut the stream.

The screen went black, and the sudden silence was so sharp it made you giggle.

Dex turned you around immediately, hands careful now despite everything, flipping you to face him and lifting your ass up to sit you on the desk against him. You were still laughing when he kissed you, almost desperate, then gentler when you kissed him back. His mouth was clumsy, like he had just realized the entire internet had seen him lose his mind over you, and now all he wanted was a part of you that belonged to neither camera nor contract nor chat.

You gave it to him.

Several, actually.

You kissed him until his shoulders dropped, until his hands stopped gripping like he was afraid you would vanish, until the frantic edge of him became almost shy again. 

Then you blindly reached for one of the towels he had stacked nearby and tugged it underneath you, muscle memory.

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t tell me you were a virgin.”

Dex looked at you for a second, still breathing hard.

Then, with the driest, most infuriating little tone, he said, “Well, I’m not anymore.”

You laughed so hard you had to hide your face against his chest.

Dex’s arms came around you properly, one hand smoothing over your back, the other resting low at your hip like he was still half-convinced touching you was a privilege he had to earn. He kissed your temple. Then your cheek. Then your mouth again, slower, like now that nobody was watching, he could finally stop performing control and simply be greedy.

Eventually, you pulled back just enough to smile.

“Okay,” you said, still close enough that your lips brushed his when you spoke. “Now did that convince you to make a video with me?”

Dex’s eyes changed.

It was subtle, returning to himself with a terrifying piece of certainty.

“I want an exclusivity contract.”

You blinked at him.

For a second, you genuinely thought you had misheard him, because there was possessive and then there was whatever the fuck that was. 

He had just lost his virginity on livestream. He should have been dazed, maybe overwhelmed. Maybe asking whether the stream had gone well, whether the numbers were good, whether Joanna would be happy, whether the audience liked you with him.

Instead, Dex looked at you like he had found the one clause in the entire industry he cared about.

“Exclusivity contract,” he repeated.

Your mouth opened, then closed. “Dex.”

His hands tightened. “You never fuck another performer but me again,” he said, quiet and absolute. “Got it?”

Oh.

You had negotiated worse things than this with men who thought violent jealousy was part of the brand. You knew the difference between a possessive bit for the camera and a man who meant it so deeply it was probably a walking red flag.

See, a performer should not feel this possessive after one stream. A new collaborator shouldn’t look at you like every booked performer on your calendar was an affair. 

You had been in this industry long enough to know when desire became entitlement, when chemistry became control, when a man started mistaking access for ownership.

Except Dex had not acted entitled to you. 

Dex had wanted you so fucking badly, and still,he had still waited for every yes.

And, more than anything, he had made you love the job again.

Not in theory, not in the marketable, “I’m so lucky to do what I love” way you said in interviews when people wanted you to be grateful and sexy and easy to digest.

Dex had made you love it again.

He had made the camera feel electric again. He had made being watched feel intimate instead of routine. He had made you forget your angles. He had made you forget the chat. He had pleased you to the point that you stopped performing in front of an audience that had paid to see exactly that.

You should have been more alarmed by him.

Instead, you kissed him, and he made a low sound into your mouth when you bit gently at his bottom lip.

His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer like he had been waiting for you to argue so he could convince you with his mouth. You let him. You let him kiss you like the contract was already signed, like he could sear your loyalty into his skin if he touched you carefully enough, desperately enough, possessively enough.

“Not even women?” You asked, almost innocently. “Guys usually like it when I—”

“No.”

Your thighs pressed together before you could stop them.

“If I’m gonna fuck you for a living,” he continued, “I’m not sharing.”

Oh.

Well.

That was inconveniently hot.

You should have told him that was impossible.

You should have told him exclusivity cost money, career-shaping money. That your name was a brand, your schedule was booked months in advance, your team would have questions, your existing scenes had deposits, clauses, penalties, timelines. That adult performers did not simply get claimed by the first beautiful, obsessive camboy who managed to make them orgasm on camera for the first time in a very long time.

Instead, you pouted.

“But I have a threesome schedule with Frank Castle and Matt Murdock next month.”

You watched every part of him shut down with jealousy. His mouth flattened. His eyes sharpened. His hands flexed on your waist like he could feel Frank’s name on one side of you and Matt’s on the other and wanted to drag you physically out of the hypothetical.

“Cancel it.”

You bit your lip, delighted. “Dex.”

“Cancel it,” he repeated.

“It’s already booked.”

“I don’t care.”

“There are contracts.”

“I’ll pay the fee.”

You blinked.

He did not say it like a joke. Like if there was a cancellation penalty, fine. If there was a buyout, fine. If Joanna wanted numbers, fine. Dex would find the number, calculate the cost, send the wire, and erase the booking from existence.

And God help you, you were into it.

“You can’t just buy me out of my own schedule,” you said, but you were smiling.

Dex’s eyes dropped to your mouth.

“I can try.”

You laughed, and he kissed the sound right out of you.

It was less shy now. Still controlled, but there was confidence in it that had not been there an hour ago. 

His fingers slid up your back, into your hair, holding you where he wanted you while he kissed you harder. You let him for a second, then two, then long enough that the towel under you shifted and you had to laugh into his mouth again.

“You’re so cute.”

Dex frowned. “I’m serious.”

“I know.” You kissed him, smiling into it when he tried not to respond and failed. “That’s why it’s cute.”

His mouth chased yours when you pulled back.

You let him have another kiss. Then another. Then you cupped his face between both hands, still laughing softly, still stupidly charmed by the fact that Dex’s first post-virginity business decision was apparently to remove the entire rest of the industry from your schedule.

“Send the exclusivity contract to Joanna,” you murmured against his mouth.

Dex kissed you again.

You kissed him back, biting gently at his bottom lip just to feel the way he shuddered.

“And we’ll talk.”

His hands slid around your waist.

“Talk,” he repeated, like he didn’t believe either of you would be doing much talking.

You smiled.

“Mm-hmm. Professionally.”

Dex looked at you. Then at the black screen where his chat had been cut off mid-hysteria because he had decided the aftermath of your pleasure belonged to him and him alone.

“Right,” he tilted his head. “Professionally.”

—end.

Dex taglist : @itsdynotdaddy @diabolicallydownbad @doesanyonereadthis @meicore @pixie2k5 @bibiishin @starlitflora @pearlstiare @glorybeat @stardustworlds @castawaybarnes @supervampireflame @not-the-teen-witch @billybonesxx @ultimatewolverine @treetrees-world-of-imagiation @bitch-spaghetti-o @lostinthes4uce @cotton-eee @weallhaveadestiny @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @moonbug333 @yujyujj @mattdexx @lostfallenangelsblog @bloomsberryfairy @flimsysquid @abbotfan @leonetta2014 @ficcharsimpsblog @odairtrqsh @ugh-whytho @noonenuts @akiyhara @genya1617 @itzrachel04 @avidreader73 @quicksilver21 @lmg-stilinski24 @magnificentlymoltenpatron @natalia42069 @eaumyth @hxdxs @cemeterystardust @alligatortears87 @outpostsworld @scarlet48

Please send an ask or message if you want to be added to the dex general taglist! It gets lost in the comments sometimes!

Sometimes, though, he spirals so badly during sex that you have to stop.

“Dex,” you whisper, taking his face in both hands when you notice his eyes are unfocused. “Baby, are you with me?”

He blinks up at you, dazed and ruined, his hands locked around your hips like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

“Who taught you that?”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

“That,” he says, voice raw. “The way you move your hands. The way you— fuck. Who taught you how to make me feel that good?”

Poor jealous, pathetic Dex.

You don’t answer him. You never gave him a name, never soothe him with details, never say it didn’t matter. You only kiss him until he stops asking, which of course means he has to find out for himself.

Dex, who stays late to research your past.

Dex builds a timeline. Dex finds addresses. Dex memorises faces.

And then Dex goes to work.

He knocks your exes out, ties them to a chair, and sits across from them in some dark room, gun resting loose in his hand as if this isn’t personal. 

“What did she like?”

They always thought he meant in your day-to-day life at first. “She liked— she liked coffee, I don’t—”

Dex would tilt his head, and sigh. “In bed.”

Sometimes they cry.

Dex hates that. Crying wastes time.

“What did you do in bed that she liked?” He rolls his eyes, already irritated.

Dex wouldn’t need to shout. Dex is patient. 

One of them says he remembers you liked being handcuffed.

Dex goes still, visibly enraged.

Yes, he asked for the info, but now he was seeing it. He’s imagining you in bed, trusting this stupid man with restraints, and it hits him so hard his vision narrows. Eventually, at the end of the night, he pulls the trigger.

He buys handcuffs on the way home. The first time he uses it on you, you squirm and whine. Music to Dex’s ears.

Another ex says he remembers you like blindfolds.

Dex has to look away for a second, breathing through his nose, because the image of you blindfolded for this man makes his blood boil. 

He slits his throat and buys one anyway. When he uses it on you, he’s pleased with the mess you made.

Another one says you like shower sex.

When Dex comes home that night, he's determined to test the theory of the man he just killed. You could barely get his name out before he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you into the bathroom.

He was right, Dex thinks an hour later, as he wraps a towel over you in the over-steamed shower, watching your legs wobble a little, you do like shower sex.

And then there’s the other question, the one right before he kills them. The one that proves Dex has gone fully insane.

He would crouch in front of them and ask, “How big are you?”

Imagine that from your exes’ point of view.

Bullseye has a gun between your eyes. Point blank. He’s standing there with that dead calm on his face, head tilted slightly, like this is a work meeting and not the last conversation of your life.

The man tied to the chair stares at him like he has misheard him.

Dex presses the barrel in a little closer.

“Show me with your hand.”

Fuck. Imagine having Bullseye standing over you, asking for your dick size because once, years ago, you fucked his girl before she was his girl.

The man’s hand comes up, trembling, thumb and forefinger spreading in the air.

Dex looks at it, then his eyes go cold.

“Don’t lie,” he rolls his eyes. “I’ll know.”

And no, Dex will never actually know.

It’s an empty threat. He would rather gouge his own eyes out than make them prove it. They were disgusting to him by default, because they were not him.

One ex actually started to desperately shift his tied hands to his zipper like he was actually going to show him.

Dex shot his foot.

“Ugh,” he scoffs. “No.”

That was not the point.

The point was that Dex knew men exaggerated. He knew the first measurement was ego, not truth.

So he waited and watched the answer get smaller.

Dex smiles to himself then, like the fucking psychopath he is.

Because he remembers the first time you sank down on him, breathless and squirming, nails digging into his shoulders, so pretty when you whispered, “Baby, wait— slow down, I need to adjust— ah, Dex, you’re s-so much bigger than I’m used to.”

He had believed you then because he wanted to.

Because he needed to.

Because he was a virgin and pathetic and so in love with you that one little sentence from your mouth could rearrange his entire brain chemistry. 

But now, he knows for sure you were telling the truth. He knows he is the biggest you ever had. He knows he was not just your sweet, nervous, pathetic virgin boyfriend that needed to be comforted by white lies. He knows you were not being kind.

You were being honest.

And boy, does it make him unbearable.

After all, his little extracurricular activities did wonders for his confidence!

He stops touching you like he’s asking permission to exist inside your body and starts touching you like he finally believes he belongs there. He's still needy, still pathetic in the sweetest way, but now there’s this ego in the way he pins your hips down.

He gets meaner about it, too, smug enough to murmur, “Too much?” with his mouth against your throat with a smile. “Need me to slow down, baby?”

And you smack at his chest for being arrogant, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on.

Because he’s your Dex.

Dex, who got there last and made himself the only one that counted.

Dex, who can hold a gun to a man’s face and ask the most humiliating question imaginable.

Dex, your pretty little psychopath. 

Dex, who comes home and melts the second you kiss him, because all that proof, all that blood still means nothing compared to you cupping his face and whispering, “You’re the best I’ve ever had.”

Because he’s attentive. Because he cares more about your pleasure than his own. Because he worships you.

And Dex believes you now.

—

For you, Dex really tried, though it manifested itself in all sorts of colorful ways.

But when Leo was born, he changed the trajectory. Enter the Three-Body Problem. 

Leo, who had been conceived during a conjugal visit. Leo, who had begun as Dex’s desperate attempt to leave a permanent piece of himself with you, to tether himself to your life from behind prison bars. Leo, who had been the only gift Dex could give you while he was locked away in a mental institution.

At first, Dex didn’t really know how to care about him.

Leo had been nothing more than an idea then. A connection, a thread tying Dex obsessively to you when everything else had been taken from him.

But then Dex met him. 

And Leo had the same eyes. Same frown. Same strange little need for order. Except Leo was good. 

That was what made Dex attached. That was what made him love him. Because Leo wasn’t just his son. Leo was a proof of concept. Leo was a toddler, who looked exactly like him, with a moral compass. He was a projection of what Dex hoped to be.

So yeah, Leo was Dex’s mirror planet, and he had joined the orbit, too.

Leo had his own gravity.

And Leo’s gravity didn’t pull Dex toward restraint. It pulled him toward protection.

With you, Dex had to try, because you could stop him.

You could say his name. You could hold his hand. You could look at him like, No, Dex. Not this.

You weren’t helpless. You could talk him down. You could make him want to restrain himself because he wanted to stay worthy of you.

But Leo is a child.

Leo couldn’t talk his father down. Leo couldn’t possibly understand what Dex was capable of. Leo couldn’t stand there and tell his father where the moral line is.

So Dex drew the line himself.

If someone threatens Leo, they're dead.

That’s it. No warning. No mercy. No debate.

Because loving Leo gave Dex a whole new reason to be dangerous.

Yes, Dex would kill for you. Of course he would. But with you, there was always the question of whether you would forgive him. Whether you would be scared. Whether he had gone too far.

With Leo, the question became much simpler.

Did it keep his son safe?

If the answer was yes, then Dex thinks it was a good thing that he had added another number to his body count. 

Leo made Dex gentler inside the house. He learned bedtime stories. He learned toast shapes. He knelt down when Leo cried. He learns how to be kinder simply by interacting with this tiny version of himself.

But outside the house, having a son made him more paranoid and ruthless.

Dex has plans for everything: If someone followed you home from nursery. If the AVTF comes knocking again. If anyone realized Leo is a mutant.

There was no scenario where Dex would wait calmly and hoped the world was kind to Leo.

Leo was different. And Dex knew what people would do to someone who was different.  And he would do abhorrent things to make sure nothing ever happened to him. 

For you, Dex tried to be gentle. For Leo, Dex became a protector. Those are two completely different trajectories. That’s the three-body problem.

For you, Dex had to be good. For Leo, Dex had to be dangerous. And somehow, both came from love. You are still his North Star. You still make him want to be better.

But Leo’s gravity pulled him in a different direction. Leo gives him an independent reason to kill, a reason that didn’t need your permission first. 

And you weren’t immune to their gravity either.

Over time, because of Dex’s gravity your idea of “good” had shifted more than you wanted to admit. You had been married to Dex for nine years, so of course that changed you. Of course loving a man like him moved the line. You had already learned to excuse things you shouldn’t have excused long before Leo was even born.

But now Leo was here. And your orbit was completely thrown off.

Because when Dex hurt people for himself, you could still tell yourself to save him. When Dex hurt people for you, you could still try to pull him back.

But when Dex killed for Leo, though? You understood why.

You told yourself it was different because it was for your son. You looked away from horrible things Dex was doing to agents because Leo was safe. You kissed blood off Dex’s skin when he came home from a day of hunting because your baby was asleep in the next room and no one took him.

And because Dex will always see you as good, no matter how malleable your morals have become, your forgiveness changed his idea of goodness. If you understand why he did it, maybe it was understandable. If you still him after, maybe he was right. If you loved him anyway, maybe he was doing the right thing by protecting his family.

You pulled Dex toward the light. Leo pulled Dex towards his most paranoid, fearful thoughts of losing his son. Dex pulled you into understanding that both could exist at the time.

So no, Leo doesn’t necessarily make Dex a better man.

Leo makes him a father.

And for a man like Bullseye, that just made him even more dangerous.

-

Now?

Your brain kept tripping over the word. 

Baby. Baby. Baby. 

Tiny socks. Sleepless nights. Appointments. 

Your body changing again. 

Leo’s cute little face looking at a newborn in your arms. Dex’s hands on your stomach. Dex, being handed the knowledge that you were carrying his baby again, and this time. He would be here to witness the process.

Oh, fuck.

Dex was the actual problem.

He was trying to be normal about it, and failing. Because when was he ever good at concealing his emotions, huh?

You told him twenty minutes ago, and told him it was nothing until you could take another test, but he kept looking at you like you were glowing. His eyes kept finding your stomach. His hand kept hovering by your back.

He kept doing tiny things, maddening things. He was bringing you water before you asked, taking the laundry basket out of your hands, watching you walk up the stairs of the building like you were already wobbly.

“Dex,” you said once, flatly.

He looked up too fast. “What?”

“Stop looking so happy.”

His mouth curled up into a smile.

You nearly threw a cushion at his head.

You were properly spiralling. You even stood in the kitchen staring at a mug for two full minutes because you couldn’t remember whether you wanted tea or whether caffeine was suddenly a horrible idea. You opened your calendar to put down one of Leo’s school events and immediately closed it again because you were reminded that your period was late. You looked at Leo eating cereal for dinner with his little spoon and almost cried because he was your baby, your baby, and how were you supposed to have another one when you still sometimes looked at him and felt like he was born yesterday. 

And then, of course, Leo overheard Dex comforting you. Dex tried, but he didn’t really help. He clearly wanted another one. 

“Mommy has baby?”

Apparently, he couldn’t hear you when you asked them to put their shoes on, but they could apparently detect a private conversation through the wall. 

You turned so fast your neck hurt. Dex froze beside you, one hand still on the counter, his face stupid and hopeful that made you want to kiss him and kill him in equal measure.

Leo stood in the doorway with a toy car in one hand, looking between you and Dex. He didn’t even know where babies came from! How did he even get the gist of the conversation? 

You crouched immediately. “We don’t know yet, baby.”

Leo frowned, unconvinced by his father’s unearned excitement. 

Because Dex, behind you, looked like he was fucking vibrating.

You could feel the horrible little smile he was trying to swallow. The emotional equivalent of hehehehehehehe. 

He wasn’t laughing at you. He would never. But he was delighted and already picturing Leo as a big brother, already picturing a tiny baby in the crook of his arm, already picturing you pregnant and tired and letting him fuss over you like a full-time occupation.

Leo frowned. “But maybe?”

“Maybe,” Dex said immediately.

You turned your head slowly. “Dex.”

He straightened, clearly still wanting to please you. “… or maybe not?”

Still, your husband wasn’t pressuring you. He knew you were scared, and because he loved you, your fear mattered more than his wants or needs. But you could see the want anyway. You could see how badly he wanted to be allowed to be happy.

And for one full day, he was.

For one day, Dex lived like there might be another little life coming. 

When the pharmacies finally opened, you bought three tests. Dex came with you, hovering at your side like a bodyguard to your uterus, carrying Leo on his hip while pretending he was not staring at the boxes like they contained his future.

Then you got home.

Then you took them.

Negative.

Negative.

Negative. 

Oh. 

Your knees nearly went soft with relief. You laughed once, then covered your mouth, then laughed again because the sound had nowhere else to go. 

You were not pregnant. Your life was not changing today.

And then you looked at Dex.

Oh, fuck. 

Outwardly, he was smiling because you were relieved, because that was the correct thing to do, because Dex would set himself on fire before making you feel bad for feeling happy. But underneath it, you saw his heart drop. The future he had let himself hold for one day just slipped through his fingers, and he tried to pretend it didn’t hurt when it hit the floor.

Oh, Benjamin. 

“Dex.”

“I’m good.”

“Don’t do that.”

He looked away, and that was worse. “It’s good. You’re relieved.”

“I am.”

“Then it’s good.”

“Dex.”

His teeth tightened. Dex was clearly trying to make himself smaller than his disappointment. Dex was trying to be good for you by wanting less.

So you pulled him in.

He came apart so quietly it almost killed you. He pressed his forehead to your stomach, and his arms wrapped around knowing your womb was empty after spending the entire night fantasising about watching you grow.

“It’s not never,” you whispered. “It’s just not now.”

He breathed out, and it came out long and shaky.

Then Leo appeared, because apparently this family had no concept of emotional privacy.

He looked at you. Then Dex. 

“No baby?” He asked, as if he knew it was the answer all along.

You swallowed a laugh and a sob at the same time. “No baby, sweetheart.”

Leo’s little face twisted, confused and offended, like everyone had missed something extremely obvious.

“It’s okay, daddy,” Leo insisted, “I’m baby.”

Dex let out a sound so pathetic and wounded that you had to press your lips together to keep from falling apart. Leo toddled over with great seriousness patting his face because he knew Dex was the one who needed comforting.

Dex wrapped one arm around him and kept the other around you. “Yeah buddy,” he murmured, “You are.”

And you stood there with your terrifying man clinging to you and your son defending his title.

That was how you knew, that when the time came, Dex would knock you up again in a heartbeat.

All you had to do was ask. 

—

Because now Daredevil can’t die. Not because Dex likes him. But because Leo would be sad.

And then you make it worse because when Dex brings it up, clearly already weird and jealous about it, you just shrug like, “Matt’s got valid points. The work he’s doing is good, even though he doesn’t finish the job.”

Which is true.

Annoying, but true.

Obviously he lacks the conviction to actually kill his enemies, and Dex does point that out. But still. Matt is trying to help people.

And Dex takes this in the worst possible way because he’s Dex.

Because in Dex’s head, it’s not just, Leo likes Daredevil.

It becomes, Leo likes Daredevil because Daredevil is good.

Then it becomes, You think Matt is good.

Then it becomes, You think Matt is better than me.

Because what if Matt’s the kind of good man you wanted, and Dex is just the thing you ended up loving by accident?

Then suddenly Dex is standing there, completely silent, spiralling himself into a void of emotional fucking ruin because his son’s favourite superhero and your (mildly) approving comment have turned into a delusional proof that you secretly wish you’d married someone else.

And the worst part is Dex can’t even be angry about Leo liking him. Leo doesn’t know. Leo’s innocent. Leo just has his tiny little moral compass and his tiny little superhero opinions, and Dex would rather pull his own teeth out than make Leo feel bad for loving something.

So all that jealousy has nowhere to go. It just sits in him. Maybe he kills a couple of task force agents while spiraling like, see? I can beat up bad guys, too. Even better, I can make sure they don’t stand up again, unlike stupid Matt and his stupid suit and his stupid no-kill rule.

When he comes home, he just sits on the bed staring at nothing because we won’t punish Leo for admiring Daredevil, and he won’t punish you for admitting Matt has a point, so he just turns it inward and starts quietly convincing himself that of course this was always going to happen. Of course you’d eventually realise Matt is the better man. Of course Leo would look at Daredevil and see a hero, then look at Dex and see whatever Dex is.

It’s a full jealous husband/dad spiral.

So you have to spend the entire night convincing him that no, baby, of course not, you do not prefer Matt Murdock over him.

It’s one AM and Dex just refuses to sleep because he can’t. You kiss the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t want Matt.”

Another kiss, this time to his cheek.

“I don’t love Matt.”

You press your lips to his temple.

“I didn’t marry Matt.”

Then, a small kiss to his brow.

“I didn’t have a son with Matt.”

That one finally gets to him, because his hands finally come up to your waist like he finally accepts your declaration of love.

“And Leo liking Daredevil doesn’t mean he loves you less,” you say. “It doesn’t mean I love you less, baby.”

Dex looks at you then, and eventually he does understand.

He’s not the biggest fan of it, but he understands.

Leo loves Daredevil. You don’t want Leo hurt. Dex doesn’t want Leo hurt. Therefore Daredevil stays alive.

That is literally the whole equation. His priorities are:

You.

Leo.

Things that make you or Leo happy.

Things that keep you or Leo from being sad.

Everyone else can die or fuck off into nothingness and he literally wouldn’t care.

And fortunately (or unfortunately) for Matt, he’s been promoted to category three by a four-year-old with a Carnotaurus lunchbox.

Johnathan was concerned. But also… Dex was so, so, so fucking hot. Like smoking fucking hot. Offensively hot to the point that Jonathan was a teeny tiny bit angry because why does a man that unstable get to look like THAT?

And then you made it worse, because you told Johnathan things.

You’d show up to his apartment to help him grade papers, glowing like you had seen heaven and then you'd dreamily tell Jonathan how good Dex was in bed. Dex is so focused. Dex pays attention to everything. Dex is so attentive to your pleasure. Dex is so eager to please. Dex never ever misses your spot. blah blah blah Dex this! Dex that!

And Johnathan would just sit there, gripping his coffee, trying to be a supportive best friend while internally screaming because oh my FUCKING GOD.

He would never admit it. Never. He’d rather chew glass. But there was a little bit of jealousy there.

Obviously he'd snap out of it because by all accounts Dex was probably a sociopath and Jonathan had a feeling he was probably a stalker, too. But a flicker of it would exist because you were sitting there describing this deranged, gorgeous man absolutely making your standards unattainably high forever, and Johnathan was only human.

Like sorry, but hearing “he’s obsessed with me, built like a greek god, and really fucking good in bed” would make anyone a little bitter. So all he could say was, “I’m happy for you,” while wishing he could bleach his brain and have a taste at the same time (Not seriously. The crazy part kinda scares him too much).

So yeah, Johnathan gets it. He HATES that he can see the appeal.

And then you had the audacity to have an “I can fix him” complex on top of it. Except it was never really “I can fix him.” It was more like, “I can be the only person he listens to while he gets progressively worse!” and unfortunately, that was your love language.

Johnathan knew after you moved in together that you were COOKED. Gone. Finished. You were not escaping that man. The red flags were waving and you were using them as bedsheets because he called you pretty girl once.

Jonathan hated that, even now, his first thought was still: yeah, okay. I don't even blame you.

-

Mostly because he knew you loved Dex too much.

Which made it especially unfair that, after seven years of being your support system, Johnathan walked into your living room and found him sitting barefoot on your couch in sweatpants, eating granola from one of Leo’s plastic bowls.

For a few seconds, nobody moved.

Leo was on the rug with his toys, the television hummed softly. Morning light fell across the coffee table, reflecting on the spoon Dex had paused halfway to his mouth. Dex looked bigger than Johnathan remembered, but still definitely Dex. He was watching the room like he knew how everything in it could be used as a weapon.

Then Dex blinked.

“Oh,” he said, like this was normal. “Hello, Johnathan.”

The wine slipped out of Johnathan’s hand and hit the rug with a dull thud. Thankfully, it didn’t break.

You came rushing out of the kitchen, guilt already all over your face. “I can explain.”

Johnathan pointed at the couch. “Is that your prison-escaping husband eating cereal in your living room?”

Dex glanced down. “Granola.”

“Leo looked up very seriously. “Daddy likes the honey one.”

Johnathan stared at Leo, then at you, then at Dex. “How long?”

You hesitated, so Dex answered for you. “A little under two months.”

“Oh, perfect.” Johnathan laughed once, high and hysterical. “A totally normal amount of time to hide your infamous murderer husband in your apartment.”

Leo considered this. “What is infamous?” As if that was the part of the sentence he should be fixating on.

Johnathan dragged both hands down his face, but did not answer your child. “Does your mother know?”

“No.”

“What happens when she finds out?”

Dex shrugged. “We told Leo not to tell anyone.”

Leo sat up proudly. “I ain’t no snitch.”

The room went silent. Even Dex looked confused.

You blinked at your son. “Where did you learn that word?”

Leo shrugged, pushing a triceratops across the rug. “Grandma’s TV shows.”

Johnathan closed his eyes. “So either Empire or The Wire.”

Dex frowned. “Your mother lets him watch The Wire?”

“It’s just on in the background sometimes,” you said weakly.

Dex looked at Leo with grave concern. “Don’t say that at school.”

Johnathan lowered his hands. “That’s your concern?”

“It’s the most immediate one,” Dex furrowed his eyebrows.

For one second, Johnathan looked like he might actually leave the apartment, walk down the stairs, change his name, and start over in another country. You made him sit before his knees gave out. You brought him water. Leo climbed onto the couch beside him and patted his sleeve with sticky little fingers.

“It’s okay, Uncle Johnathan,” Leo said. “Daddy lives here now.”

Johnathan looked at him. “He just attempted to assassinate the mayor.” Leo nodded as if he understood his concerns (he didn’t).

“It wasn’t successful,” you said quickly.

Johnathan turned to you. “You hear yourself, right?”

Dex set his bowl down carefully, looking more annoyed than anything that the stupid lawyer blocked his perfect shot.“The target survived.”

Johnathan pointed at him. “He’s not helping!”

Dex went quiet, though not because he looked sorry. Dex had never really been sorry in a way Johnathan would trust.

Years ago, Dex had hated him. Johnathan had known it immediately. He was too close to you, too familiar with your space, too good at making you laugh. Dex didn’t even give a shit that he was physically incapable of being romantically attracted to you, he just hated that he had your attention. And trust me, Dex has tried to get you “friend-break up” with him before, to no avail. 

Then, after a year of marriage, Dex had apparently decided Johnathan wasn’t competition anymore, but rather, part of your ecosystem. The same way your handbag, your favourite mug, and your headphones were part of your ecosystem. 

Your accessory, Dex had once called him.

Johnathan had been offended until he realised that, in Dex’s mind, it was the closest he got to a peace treaty.

Now that same man was sitting in your living room, wanted and barefoot, acting like no time had passed.

Johnathan shut his eyes. “I came here for advice about my boyfriend.”

You tilted your head. “What's wrong with Mark?”

“Nothing,” he said, exhausted. “He’s just my very normal boyfriend, who’s never escaped prison or been wanted by the government.”

Dex looked down at the bowl again, not caring that the granola had become incriminating.

“He asked me to move in,” Johnathan admitted. “And I love him, but I panicked and hung up. It feels like if I say yes, everything’s gonna change.”

Dex tilted his head. “How long have you been together?”

“Two years,” Johnathan said, surprised he was even curious at all.

Dex frowned. “And you don’t live together?”

“No.”

Dex looked at you. “We moved before that.”

Johnathan snapped his fingers. “Exactly. You two are not the blueprint. Who even moves in after six months?”

“Five months and eight days,” Dex said, because the difference mattered to him.

You covered your face, knowing Johnathan hated that. 

Dex leaned forward, elbows on his knees, focus narrowing on Johnathan in that unsettling way of his. He was trying to be… helpful? “Do you love him?” Dex asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Yes.”

“Does he make you feel safe?”

Johnathan looked down at his glass. “Yes. He does.”

Dex nodded once. “Then move in.”

“It’s not that simple.” Johnathan laughed weakly. “What if it changes things?”

“It will,” Dex said. “That’s what happens.”

You could tell he had inadvertently scared your best friend with his unfortunate wording.

You squeezed Johnathan’s shoulder. “I think he means building a life with someone is supposed to change you.”

Dex glanced at you, as if you had given the perfect translation. “Yes.”

Then Leo looked up from the rug. “Uncle Johnathan? If Mark was in danger, would you save him?”

Johnathan relaxed despite everything. “Of course I would.”

Dex watched him. “What if saving him required hurting someone?”

The room chilled, but Dex was serious. Completely serious. In his mind, love had consequences. Love was not abstract. It was action, sacrifice, and violence. If you loved someone, you’d put your body between them and harm. If that wasn’t enough, you put someone else’s body in the ground.

Johnathan looked from Dex to Leo, who was waiting with innocent curiosity.

“I don’t know,” Johnathan said carefully. “Maybe. If Mark was really in danger, then… maybe. I don’t know what I’d do until it happened.”

Leo frowned like the answer was obvious. “Mommy would.”

You choked. “Leo.”

Johnathan’s mouth flattened, despite everything, that was probably true. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”

Dex looked at you, and for a second, there was pride in his face. As if saying, that’s my girl. 

Johnathan stared at the three of you. “I feel like I’ve entered a very illegal family therapy session.”

You stood abruptly. “Okay. That’s enough advice from Dex.”

Dex looked genuinely unmoved. “I asked relevant questions.”

Johnathan let out a thin, exhausted laugh. “I need one of your melatonin pills.”

You gave him one. Then you made him drink water and promised he wasn’t allowed to make any major life decisions until he had slept.

Still, the apartment settled around him in a way that made no sense. Leo’s toys clicked on the floor. The dishwasher hummed. Dex picked up his bowl again but didn’t eat, his attention flicking constantly back to you and Leo.

Jonathan's eyebrows furrowed.

Dex was still terrifying. He still felt wrong in ways Johnathan didn’t have the energy to unpack. 

But… you had always been different around him.

You now moved through the apartment like he had turned the lights back on inside you. Over the last seven years, he had seen you grieving, tired, guilty, and afraid, but now you were finally…. present, in the way he had not seen in years. When Leo climbed into your lap, you laughed into his hair. When Dex put his arm on your thighs, you smiled.

“Fine,” Johnathan rubbed at his face. “I’m not telling anyone.”

Your eyes lifted, lips pressed into a smile. “Thank you.”

“Only for Leo,” he said, because he needed it to sound firm. “Not for you. Not for him. For Leo.”

Leo beamed. “Thank you, Uncle Johnathan.”

Johnathan pointed at you. “Your mother is going to kill you.”

Dex snorted, “she can try.”

You and Johnathan both looked at him, but you just ignored the comment and smoothed down your trousers. “And please don’t tell Mark, either.”

“Please,” He laughed weakly. “Mark wouldn’t believe me anyway. What am I supposed to say? Sorry I’m weird tonight, babe, I asked my best friend for cohabitation advice and found out that Bullseye has moved back in again?”

You chuckled, relieved.

Dex went quiet, though. Then, after a moment, he said, “You should move in with him, if he makes you feel safe.”

Johnathan wanted to reject the advice on principle. But the words sat there, simple and irritatingly useful.

If he makes you safe.

He looked at the three of you, this unconventional little family curled into the middle of a disaster, and reached blindly for his water.

He still thought it was insane. He still thought it was dangerous. He still thought he needed to scream into a pillow.

But he also thought you looked the happiest you had looked in years.

So who was he to judge?

—

Your son had the X-gene.

Neither you or Dex knew the word for that. After all, there had been no test. No doctor. No explanation from someone in a white coat.

But something in your son’s blood had bloomed. Something new and strange had opened inside him with the insistence of a flower growing through the cracks in the concrete.

It wasn’t obvious. Maybe that’s why it was so easy for you to deny.

Leo didn’t glow. He couldn’t lift furniture. He didn’t shatter windows when he cried or make toys float over his bed. There was nothing obvious enough for a neighbour to notice through the curtains. Nothing you could point to and say, Yes. There. He has superpowers!

It was subtler than that, but no less strong.

Leo could feel danger coming before it arrived.

He couldn’t see the future, exactly. He didn’t get disturbing visions. But he could feel a shift in probability, a little wrongness in the air, a bad feeling in his tummy that made his small body know before the world caught up. 

He knew a mug was going to fall before it fell. He held on to the seatbelt a little tighter before the car swerved. He could tell when a table was going to break because he could sense a crack in wood before it gave. He even knew whether to trust a person because he could sense their intent.

Again, Leo’s only a child, so he didn’t have language for it yet.

He would just come to you again and again, small hand tugging at your cardigan, face pinched with worry, and say, “Mommy, my tummy feels wrong.”

And because he was your baby, you would dote immediately.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you would murmur, crouching in front of him. “Do you need water?”

Most of the time, you gave him a drink. You kissed his forehead. You told him he was okay.

Then something would happen.

A plate would fall. A phone would ring. A car would speed past the curb. It would always be something small and ordinary, but something would go wrong exactly where Leo had been staring, and you would laugh it off because what else were you supposed to do?

Just coincidence, you told yourself.

It had been happening for a long time, really.

Long before Dex ever came home, long before he broke out of prison. Long before he met his son. Back when Dex was still locked away in that mental facility and Leo was just a baby in your arms, red-cheeked and furious at the world in the way babies were.

You remembered one afternoon when Leo was 11 months old. He started screaming so suddenly, so violently, that you nearly dropped the laundry basket. He had been calm a second before. Then he was red-faced and inconsolable, tiny fists clenched, crying like the air was terribly wrong.

You tried everything: Milk. Rocking. His blanket. A lullaby.

Nothing worked.

Then you smelled smoke.

Oh. You had left the oven on.

You rushed into the kitchen with Leo wailing against your chest, heart in your throat, and turned it off before anything worse could happen.

Afterward, when the windows were open and the smoke had cleared, Leo became quiet almost instantly. He pressed his face pressed into your neck, breath hitching, like whatever had scared him was gone now.

You stood there in the kitchen, shaking a little, and told yourself what any exhausted mother would have told herself.

It was just a coincidence.

So no, you didn’t notice. But now Dex was back, and it didn’t take your husband long to clock it.

The first time he truly noticed, you were walking home from nursery with Leo’s little hand in yours and Dex half a step behind you, black baseball cap pulled low over his face. He wore it every time he came with you in public, as if tucking his face into it could make Benjamin Poindexter less recognisable. It kinda did, because people in New York didn’t often look twice. 

It shouldn’t have been romantic or normal, because your husband was a convicted felon and you were technically harbouring him and breaking a court order, but there was something tender about him standing outside nursery with his cap low and Leo’s spare jumper tucked under one arm, scanning every window and parked car while you reached up to straighten his collar.

“Stop looking like you’re about to kill someone,” you whispered, but it was fond.

Dex’s eyes moved to you from beneath the brim. “I’m watching the exits.”

“He’s gonna be okay, baby.”

He relaxed when you said it. 

Then Leo came running out of the nursery doors yelling, “Daddy!” with his backpack bouncing against his shoulders, and whatever warning you had been about to give Dex vanished under the warmth in your chest.

Dex always crouched when Leo reached him. Always. Like he refused to let his son climb toward him. Leo threw himself into Dex’s arms with absolute faith, and Dex caught him with both hands. One at his back, one at the back of his head. Even months later, Dex was so careful every time, like he still couldn’t believe something so precious wanted him as a father.

That afternoon, at the crossing, the light turned green and you stepped forward.

Leo’s fingers tightened suddenly around your hand. “Mommy, wait.”

You glanced down, smiling. “Baby, the light’s green.”

“No.” His voice changed, and that made you stop. “Wait.”

Two seconds later, a cyclist shot around the corner too fast, cutting across the curb so close the wind slapped your coat against your legs.

You jerked back, heart leaping into your throat.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you breathed, crouching in front of Leo and smoothing a hand over his hair. “Good eyes.”

Good eyes.

That's all it was, right?

Good ears. Good instincts. Good little Leo, who had always been careful, always sensitive, always oddly aware of the world around him. You kissed his forehead, and convinced yourself that was all it had been.

Dex knew better. 

Dex stood behind you, very still.

What just happened? 

Because even Dex hadn’t heard the cyclist.

And Dex was usually very aware of his surroundings. He noticed the smallest shifts before anyone else did because survival had made him almost mechanical in his awareness.

But this time, there had been nothing.

No sound because the person wasn’t pedalling nor braking. No shadow because the sun wasn’t in the right place for that. There was nothing Leo could have seen. Nothing Leo could have heard. There was nothing Leo could possibly react to.

And still, Leo had grabbed you and told you to wait.

Dex stared at his son and felt awe settle in his chest. 

See, because Dex never missed, he knew exactly what it looked like when someone had a superhuman amount of precognition.

And that was the day he began to suspect Leo had that.

Still, Dex said nothing yet and started watching.

Not coldly, and Leo never felt studied. Dex would have cut his own hands off before making his son feel like a human experiment. But you noticed the way Dex’s attention narrows, the way his eyes followed Leo when he suddenly looked up from colouring.

Leo told you not to put a cup near the books right before your elbow knocked it down. Leo told Dex to move right before the picture frame in the hall slipped from its hook and smashed exactly where he had been standing. Leo refused to walk down one street after going to the dentist, planting both feet on the pavement with stubborn, tearful certainty until you sighed and took the long way home. Five minutes later, sirens were wailing in that direction and a sinkhole had opened.

Once, Leo grabbed your leg while you were drinking tea.

“Not that mug,” he said.

You looked down. “Why?”

“It’s too hot.”

“I know, baby. It has tea in it.”

Leo frowned, frustrated in that helpless way children got when adults misunderstood the only words they had. “Put it down, mommy.”

You did.

The handle cracked off when you set the mug down.

Tea spilled across the counter. You jumped back with a startled laugh that came out too high and too thin. Dex, standing by the sink, didn’t move at all.

Leo simply went back to colouring, pleased with himself.

“Well,” you said, grabbing a towel with hands that were shaking. “That mug was old.”

Dex said your name. 

“Yeah?” You titled your head up to see your husband with his eyebrows raised. 

“You saw that.”

“I saw a mug break.”

“Leo knew.”

“Leo guesses things.”

“He’s not guessing,” Dex insisted. 

“He’s intuitive, Dex!” you snapped, more frightened than angry. Dex looked at you, then past you. “That’s all.”

Leo was on the living room rug, making two dinosaurs march across the carpet, completely unaware that his parents were whispering about the possibility that he didn’t work like normal people did. 

Dex lowered his voice. “He’s enhanced.”

“No,” you said immediately, stepping closer. Your hand found his chest, like you could hold the words inside him before they became real. “No, sweetheart. He’s just… good with people. He’s always been like that.”

Dex didn’t answer. That was worse.

You kissed his cheek, almost desperate. “He’s just Leo.”

And Dex let you believe it, but not because he believed it too.

It’s because in some fucked up way, he was afraid of what that meant. Afraid you would look at Dex and think he had given you this: A powered son. A hunted son. 

So he swallowed the argument for you. Because he couldn’t risk scaring his North Star away.

He only looked at Leo.

Leo with Dex’s eyes and your kindness. Leo who liked apples sliced thin. Leo who cried and expected comfort to come. Leo who used whatever lived inside him to keep cups from breaking and you from stepping into danger.

Dex’s hand settled at your waist.

“He’s just our baby,” you whispered again.

Dex pressed his mouth to your temple, eyes still on his son.

“I know,” he said.

And that was exactly why he was terrified.

Dex started testing it with games, but it was never cruel, and it would always make his son giggle. 

He would hide a coin in one hand. “Which one?”

Leo pointed before he even looked up, smiling. “That one, Daddy.”

Correct.

He would place a cup too close to the counter’s edge, and Leo, who hadn’t been looking before, would look up from his crayons, stumble over, and push it in. Two seconds later, your hand knocked the exact spot that would’ve tipped it over.

Correct again.

A toy car behind your heel.

“Mommy, wait.”

A loose nail on the floorboard where Dex was standing.

“Daddy, move.”

Then Dex started realising that Leo didn't react to everything.

A stranger would drop coffee at the park, and Leo kept eating his biscuit. Another child tripped at nursery, and Leo only looked up after the crying started.

But with you and Dex, he always knew.

So Dex started hypothesising, in the sweetest way, that love anchored his juvenile powers, because he simply couldn’t control it yet. He couldn’t predict lottery numbers or huge world events. For now, he just got little flashes around the people he was attached to. His brain simply marked mommy and daddy as important and started warning them when something would go wrong.

Still, you continued to be in denial until you simply couldn’t deny it anymore.

It happened on a rainy afternoon. The apartment smelled faintly of damp coats, crayons, and the books you had brought home from work to repair. Leo was at the kitchen table colouring a stegosaurus blue. Dex was by the windows, checking the lock again, because he just had to. 

You were reaching for the heavy glass mixing bowl on the top shelf when Leo’s head snapped up.

“Mommy, no.”

You paused, hand lifted. “What?”

His crayon rolled from his fingers. “No. Don’t.”

You smiled tiredly. “It’s okay, baby. I can reach.”

“No!”

And because Dex realised what his son was saying, he moved at the same time Leo shouted.

The shelf gave way without warning. 

One moment it was holding. The next, wood cracked, glass slid, and Dex’s arm locked around your waist, dragging you back so hard your feet left the floor. The bowl hit the counter exactly where your face had been and exploded into glittering fragments.

For one long second, the kitchen went silent.

Rain tapped against the window. Glass ticked softly as it settled across the counter. Leo stared at the mess with both hands over his mouth, eyes enormous and wet.

Then he started to sob.

Not because of the noise, but because he had known and you hadn’t believed him. But daddy did, though. 

You stood in Dex’s arms, heart hammering, your body still trying to catch up to the fact that you would have been hurt if Leo hadn’t screamed and Dex hadn’t reacted to said screaming.

You turned slowly and looked at your son.

Your baby. Then you looked back at Dex.

He was pale. “No,” you whispered, but it was already weaker than before.

Dex said nothing.Your fingers twisted in his shirt.

“No, okay. Okay.” Your voice cracked. “Maybe you have a point.”

Dex closed his eyes for half a second, bracing for impact, for you to break down. But you… didn’t. 

You stayed there, calculating your next steps instead.

Then Leo cried, “Mommy,” and both of you moved toward him.

Dex reached him first. Leo launched himself into Dex’s arms and buried his face in his shoulder, sobbing so hard his little body shook.

“I’m sorry,” Leo cried.

Dex’s face changed completely.

“No,” he said at once, rough and steady. “No, you did good.”

Leo shook his head.

“You told Mommy,” Dex said, one hand firm at the back of his head. “You protected her.”

Leo had saved you, Dex thought.

Leo had saved the woman Dex had built his whole life around. His North Star. The proof that he could be loved and a guiding light for his compass.

That night, Leo slept between you.

Dex didn’t sleep at all.

You knew because whenever you opened your eyes, his were fixed on the bedroom door. One arm was stretched across both of you, his hand resting lightly over Leo’s back. 

You reached across Leo and touched Dex’s wrist.

“Baby,” you whispered.

His eyes moved to you.

“For now, we keep his powers out of sight,” he insisted.

You should have argued. You almost did. But then Leo whimpered in his sleep, and both of you went still until he settled.

And it was fine for a short while. 

Then, two weeks later, someone knocked on the door of your apartment.

You were in the living room, still in your work clothes from the library, folding Leo’s tiny jumpers on the sofa. Leo sat on the rug with his dinosaurs lined up in a careful parade. Dex was in the kitchen, cutting garlic for dinner.

The knock came again.

You stood automatically. “I’ll get it.”

Leo’s head snapped up and the colour drained from his face. “Mommy, don’t.”

You stopped.

He scrambled to his feet, knocking over two dinosaurs. His lower lip trembled before the tears came. “Bad people, mommy.”

Dex looked up from the kitchen, and the air went cold.

“Leo,” Dex said, voice low. “Come here.”

Leo ran to you instead, sobbing into your skirt. “They’re bad. They’re bad people.”

Dex walked across the room without making a sound and looked through the peephole.

You watched his face empty.

“How many?” you whispered.

“Four.”

Your mouth went dry. “Who is it?”

Dex stepped back from the door. “Two from Department of Damage Control. Two Anti-Vigilante Task Force.”

For a second, you could not think.

But then, the realisation hit you. 

They knew.

They knew about Leo.

The Department of Damage Control and the Anti-Vigilante Task Force didn’t send four agents to knock politely on a librarian’s door by mistake. They were not here for Dex, because they didn’t even know he was here. If they had been here for your husband, there would have been sirens, guns, a perimeter, orders shouted through a bullhorn.

No.

They had come for your son.

The knock came again, harder this time.

“Ma’am?” a voice called from outside. “We need to speak with you about your child.”

Dex’s eyes went dark.

You crouched in front of Leo, both hands on his little shoulders. He was crying so hard he could barely breathe.

“Baby,” you said, forcing your voice to stay gentle. “Did something happen at nursery?”

Leo’s face crumpled. “I don’t know.”

Dex crouched beside you, controlled and terrifyingly soft.

“Leo,” he said. “Did you tell anyone something was going to happen before it happened?”

Leo nodded miserably.

Your stomach sank.

“Miss Clara,” he whispered. “She was standing on a chair for the picture wall. I told her get down.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth.

Dex’s eyes didn’t leave Leo. “And did she?”

Leo nodded, tears running down his cheeks. “The chair broke. But she got down first. She didn’t fall. I helped.”

Oh.

Of course he had. Of course your sweet boy had saved his nursery teacher and thought that was only good. He didn’t know his kindness could become evidence of his otherness. He didn’t know a frightened adult could call a number and report a superpowered individual. He didn’t know that saving someone at school could put uniforms at your door by dinner.

Miss Clara was his favourite teacher.

Leo talked about her all the time. Miss Clara said this. Miss Clara liked that. Miss Clara thought his drawing was good. Miss Clara let him be line leader on Thursdays.

So when he said her name, your stomach dropped before you even understood why.

“Leo,” you asked carefully, “was this the first time you told Miss Clara about… knowing things?”

Leo frowned like he was trying to remember.

“Ummm.” He looked up, all innocent. “I told her the green marker was going to run out and then it did.”

Your hand tightened around your mug. “And?”

“And I told her not to put the scissors there because Mis was gonna knock them off.”

You went very still, but Leo kept talking.

“And then the desk fell but not on anyone because I told Miss Clara to move it first.”

Shit.

Shit.

That was enough.

A marker running dry could be a lucky guess. Scissors falling could be a coincidence. But a desk? A desk falling exactly when your four-year-old said it would?

That was enough for Clara to notice. Enough for her to remember every strange little thing Leo had said before an accident happened. Enough for her to see the pattern you were trying to hide.

This wasn’t a slip-up.

This was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Fuck,” you whispered, low enough for Leo not to hear.

Dex looked at you.

“She must have said something,” you breathed. “She must have called someone.”

Another pound on the door. “Open the door, ma’am.”

Dex stood.

For one heartbeat, he looked down at Leo, and the father came through the monster.

Leo looked up at him. “Daddy?”

Dex crouched again and touched the side of Leo’s face with two careful fingers. “You did good,” he said, then pointed at the doors. 

“Did they come because I told.”

“No.” Dex’s voice was steady enough for a child to hold onto. “They came because they’re bad people.”

Leo hiccupped, still trembling.

He looked at you, and the certainty in his eyes told you everything before he said it. “Take him to the bedroom and hide. Don’t come out until I say so.”

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to.

They had come for your child. They had come because Miss Clara had called, and the call center had put something in a report. Someone had typed Leo’s name into a system, because somewhere in some government database your four-year-old had become a liability.

Dex wouldn't let them leave with that knowledge intact.

You carried Leo down the hall and locked the bedroom door behind you.

Then the second lock.

Then you dragged the dresser in front of it with shaking hands while Leo sobbed into his plush rabbit.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, even though your voice was thin. “It’s okay, baby. Look. Bunny’s here. And Mr. Stegosaurus. Remember? He protects the bed.”

Leo sniffled, curled against your lap on the rug while you gathered every plushie you could reach and built them into a little wall around him.

Rabbit. Dinosaur. Bear. The ugly blue thing Uncle Jonathan bought him that no one could identify but Leo loved anyway.

“There,” you said, trying to smile. “Everybody’s here.”

Outside, the voices rose.

Then came the first violent sound: metal through air.

Something hit the wall hard enough that you flinched. Leo did too, but only for a second.

You pulled him closer, one hand over his ear, your own breath shaking in your chest.

“Don’t listen,” you whispered. “Look at me, sweetheart. Look at Mommy.”

But Leo’s crying had started to quiet, though.

That was… strange.

The more loud, violent, and frantic the sounds outside became, the less panicked Leo seemed. The agents shouted. Something crashed. You felt your own terror climbing up your throat, hot and choking, but Leo’s little body slowly stopped shaking.

He lifted his wet face from your cardigan. “Mommy.”

“I’m here.”

“Mommy, Daddy’s okay,” he said with absolute certainty, as if saying the sky was blue or two and two is four. 

Your hand froze in his hair as you heard another slicing sound.

Your stomach turned.

Leo touched your cheek with his small, damp fingers. “Daddy’s okay,” he said again. “Don’t be scared.”

You stared at him.

He was… reassuring you?

Your four-year-old son, surrounded by plushies on your bedroom floor while violence unfolded beyond the door, was trying to soothe you because he could feel something you couldn’t.

Because he knew that Dex would make it back to you.

You took in a shaky breath, and it broke halfway down. “Okay,” you whispered.

Leo nodded, serious and tear-streaked. “Daddy wins.”

Your laugh came out small and wrecked, almost a sob. “Yeah,” you breathed, pressing your forehead to his. “Daddy wins.”

So you held him tighter through the last of the shouting, through the silence that came after, through your own heart hammering so hard you thought it might split your ribs.

Two hours later, Dex knocked on the door and told you it was safe.

When you got out, Dex was in the hallway with damp sleeves, wet hair at his temples, and a freshly changed shirt. The room smelled of lemon cleaner and disinfectant. There were little dents and knife marks on the wall, but otherwise, it was as if the agents were never here at all.

Leo, however, had slept through the last hour. You had never seen him that exhausted before. Not even after nursery. Not even after tantrums. Not even after crying himself sick from a nightmare.

He had gone heavy in your arms, his little body giving out like he had burned through all its energy. You kept one hand on his back, feeling the uneven rise and fall of his breathing, and wondered if he got so tired because he had been reaching for Dex the whole time.

Checking on him. Feeling for him. Actively using whatever powers inside him to make sure Daddy was still there, still safe, still winning.

This was Dex’s gift to him, you realised. Not innocence, not really, because the world had known too much. Dex would and had killed for him, and after that, he would clean the floor. He even lined Leo’s dinosaurs neatly beside the sofa, the way he liked it. The knives were back back in the block. There was nothing for your baby to wake up and see.

Dex had taken all of it on his shoulders instead.

You stood in the doorway, still shaking, and looked past him into the apartment that looked like safety, if you did not think too hard about what safety had cost.

Your apartment was not far from the Hudson, so you knew their bodies had sunk to the bottom by now. 

You looked up to see your husband gently smiling at you.

He was pleased with himself, you realised. 

Not in a gleeful way. Not like he had enjoyed the mess for its own sake.

But he was satisfied that he was able to protect his family. 

And in the brutal logic of his mind, killing the people who came for his child had made him feel like a good person. To be fair, that was not entirely false.

For once, his violence had a reason that was a righteous reason that he chose for himself. It hadn’t been because someone ordered him to, or punishment, or survival. It had been fatherhood. It had been protection. 

“They’re gone,” he said, and you believed him.

Your knees weakened, and Dex caught you before you could fall. His arms closed around your waist, careful and firm, and you pressed your forehead to his clean shirt.

You kissed him. Softly at first, then harder when his hands tightened at your waist. Dex made a broken sound against your mouth, like you had given him permission to come home after becoming the worst part of himself for you.

When you pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. “M’ glad he’s asleep.”

You could only nod and look at your son. Sleeping through a quadruple homicide? That’s Benjamin Poindexter’s son, alright. 

That was the frightening intimacy of loving your husband. Not that Dex would kill for you. You had always known that.

It was that, tonight, you truly understood why it made him feel righteous. Why it made him feel useful. Why it made him feel good.

From the bedroom, Leo sighed in his sleep.

Both of you turned, and together, you went back to him.

Leo was curled in the middle of your bed, rabbit tucked beneath his chin, face peaceful. Dex crouched beside him and brushed one careful finger over his hair.

You climbed into bed on one side of your son. Dex followed on the other. Leo rolled toward him instinctively, and Dex’s whole posture softened.

He wrapped one arm around Leo and reached for you with the other.

For once, he looked peaceful. After all, he had already made a decision: Tomorrow, he would start hunting every fucking agent in New York.

Because as long as they lived, you and your son would never truly be safe.

And Dex couldn’t sleep inside a world where that was true.

—end.

Dex taglist : @itsdynotdaddy @diabolicallydownbad @doesanyonereadthis @meicore @pixie2k5 @bibiishin @starlitflora @pearlstiare @glorybeat @stardustworlds @castawaybarnes @supervampireflame @not-the-teen-witch @billybonesxx @ultimatewolverine @treetrees-world-of-imagiation @bitch-spaghetti-o @lostinthes4uce @cotton-eee @weallhaveadestiny @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @moonbug333 @yujyujj @mattdexx @lostfallenangelsblog @bloomsberryfairy @flimsysquid @abbotfan @leonetta2014 @ficcharsimpsblog @odairtrqsh @ugh-whytho @noonenuts @akiyhara @alligatortears87 @outpostsworld

Series specific taglist: @genya1617 @riverjane-d