pluto is my planet

"i need absolution. i've betrayed people. i've betrayed myself."

his voice skittered across your skin like a flat stone across still waters. the hairs raised on the back of your neck.

your kind eyes widened as the large man turned around to face you, sporting a knife between his fingers. the flickering candlelight from the altar distorted his features slightly, but you made out a wide, jagged scar across his right cheekbone. his brow made a crease in his forehead as curious, fiery eyes studied you. he was in his late thirties or early forties, years decorating his skin. you tried not to entertain the thought that he was handsome.

"can you absolve me of my sins?"

you cleared your throat, heartbeat thrumming in it. "uh, i'm afraid only priests can do so—"

the stranger grinned something wicked, still spinning the silver weapon expertly in his hands. he held it out into the rays of light to purposely catch your gaze. "i'm not too picky."

your eyes stole to the confessional tucked away along the right wall of the church.

"yes. somewhere quiet."

he lumbered toward it, steps heavy on the marble floor like his skeleton couldn't handle the amount of muscle on his body. you followed dutifully, still on your guard given the presence of the knife.

it was late in the evening, almost morning, so the church was mostly empty save for a few lost souls remaining scattered among the pews. the sun had set hours ago, so only the candlelight from the altar lit the room, reflecting off the stained glass windows pleasantly. this was typically when you'd come to pray, but as you were a novitiate, you could use all of the guidance opportunities you could get.

your hand closed around the knob of the left side door and turned, pulling it open to be hit in the face with the scent of myrrh. you nearly coughed, instead letting out a gasp when the stranger slipped in the left side compartment behind you.

"don't worry, i closed the other door."

the smirk on his face stretched too easily. if you weren't nearly a nun, you were certain you'd have put hands on him.

"excuse me, sir, you must go—"

a raised thick eyebrow silenced you as he turned fully towards you. "ain't going anywhere, sister."

you sighed, realizing defeat, and sat down on the bench cushion a few feet away. "i'm not a nun yet. you needn't call me 'sister.'"

"that's why you're in white?" dex remembered sister maggie's black veil well.

you nodded, gaze falling to your twiddling fingers. your veil was stark white, contrasting to the rest of your benedictine black habit, covering your hair and ears to promote modesty. it also signified that you hadn't yet taken your final vows as a nun.

"what brings you to our congregation seeking penance?"

you met his eyes, peering up through your bare eyelashes, and dex's rusty heart stumbled in his chest. after weeks of watching you from afar, he was stunned close up. the tip of the knife he was playing with sunk into his left index finger and he barely registered the pain, entranced by your natural beauty and sincerity.

dex was acutely aware of the amount of space he took up in the confessional room. quite frankly, it was most of it. he loomed over you, craning his neck to fit into the room properly.

something about the way you were looking up at him from your seat had dex's buzzing mind wandering toward desire — something he rarely indulged himself in.

christ. a nun, dex? really?

the taboo of it all had dex's blood pumping faster in his veins. he cleared his throat. "i wish to be free of this guilt."

"guilt for what, mr…?"

"call me dex," he said, moving a few inches further into the confessional. his scent invaded your nose: a clean, woodsy, musky fragrance.

the red and black gems clinked together on the silver rosary chain as you clenched your left fist tight around it, making the sign of the cross over your chest. you kissed your fist, eyes closed, murmuring a silent prayer to st. teresa of calcutta for guidance to help serve others. she had never led you astray before. you willed yourself to take a steady breath and look dex in the eye.

"how does this go…?" dex trailed, baiting you to give him your christian name. you gave it willingly, voice dancing along the incense-threaded air. he repeated it, chewing on it like sinful bubblegum.

you crossed your legs at the sound, squeezing your thighs together, creating accidental, delicious friction under your skirts. with your hands folder over the top, you were certain it went undetected.

you didn't know benjamin poindexter.

he certainly knew you.

dex's eye twitched with the effort of remaining still. his gaze — now hooded — dragged slowly, intentionally, from your clasped hands up your torso, as if he could see straight through the black scapular and habit that covered your holy skin. you felt exposed; laid bare for his hungry eyes to behold you.

clearing your throat, you felt a stubborn blush creep up your neck as dex's focus reached your face.

"t-typically, in confession, a priest will sit on this side while the patron receives penance from the attached room." you gestured to the screen that separated the rooms on the left wall.

"why would i want to go in there to repent when the pretty girl who's gonna save my soul is in here?" he asked, a wild glint reflecting in his eye.

you let out a nervous laugh, blush creeping higher and higher.

dex fell to his knees like a sack of bricks and you swore you heard them crack against the wood floor beneath the worn persian carpet. he held out the small throwing knife to you with both hands in offering, desperately blinking up at you. your delicate fingers closed over his, softly folding over the blade edge as if he were trustworthy.

your sweet voice was melodic in dex's ears. "you'll begin with: 'forgive me, father, for i have sinned.'"

he swallowed, watching your carotid pulse in your neck a little too attentively. his pink tongue darted out to wet his lips, a smirk growing on them. he couldn't believe his own boldness.

"forgive me, father," he repeated with a deep sigh, near short of breath, mind far from christ, "for i have sinned."

"when was your last confession, dex?"

"i've never had the honor, sweetheart," he chuckled, smirk widening at the thought. "you'll be taking my confessional virginity."

your complexion burned shades darker, averting your bashful eyes at his insinuation. your voice squeaked when you spoke.

"oh, okay, well in that case, you may state that for his lordship's ears."

"gladly." you got a perfect view of his muscular throat as dex's head tilted back, adam's apple bobbing. you'd reprimand yourself later for wondering what it might feel like under your lips. "it's my first time, big 'G'. thanks again for sending me your loveliest angel."

dex threw you a charming wink and your lips twitched into a smile.

"i-i thank you f-for your kind words," you stammered.

dex's hands, brandishing the knife and holding your own with a grip you could've escaped, eased into your lap. his chest brushed your knees from his position kneeling on the floor, only centimeters apart now.

"forget about it."

a beat passed. "and if i don't want to?"

another stretch of silence. this time longer, as dex tried to wrap his mind around the situation he found himself in. his greenish gaze bore into yours, flaying you alive layer by layer. a long-forgotten, now-forbidden feeling stirred in your core.

"then don't."

the air in the compact room seemed to still, as if bating it's breath in anticipation. you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

"i won't," you whispered, reaching out cautiously to trace his cheek scar. dex froze, soaking in the feeling of your warm, soft, little fingers dancing patterns on his abused skin. he couldn't breathe — not with you touching him, looking at him like he mattered. you could tell he wasn't used to grace.

"tell me your sins, baby," you coaxed softly, comforting him the best way you could think of.

a quiet groan slipped from that back of dex's throat before he could stop it, one of raw pleasure from the pet name.

"hnn…fuck."

"language," you challenged with a dignified, raised brow, despite the disgraceful wetness dripping onto your panties.

"yes, ma'am," dex responded, vast shoulders straightening slightly. his voice rumbled through you deliciously. your knees pressed into his abdomen with how close he leaned now.

benjamin poindexter's eyes flickered back and forth between your kissable lips and the ornate crucifix carving in the wall behind you, and that was the moment he was certain he was going to hell.

you cleared your throat, shifting in your seat again, trying to subtly relieve the tension between your thighs. dex, with his hawk eyes, saw every movement for exactly what it was.

and it was true what they said about him: he did get obsessed fast.

"my sins…" he mused.

"tell me," you prodded eagerly, eyes wide open in youthful anticipation. "tell me the first one that comes to mind."

dex's blonde brows knit together as if he were in pain, leaning into your hand. "wanna kiss you."

your mouth made an "o," plump lips giving dex horrific ideas. you swallowed slowly, feeling sweat begin to bead under the heat of his gaze. shame gnawed at your ankles like a stray animal.

dex pulled you by the wrist within an inch of his face. "now, you can be honest. you can confess. d'you wanna kiss me, sweet girl?"

your teeth sunk into your fat bottom lip in indecision, guilt paralyzing you. what would god think?

"yeah, that's it, i know you do. you can say it, honey. it won't leave this room. you can say you want me, too, 's alright."

a pitiful, borderline-submissive "yes" fell from your divine mouth and dex felt religious all of a sudden. a sick smile settled on his handsome face, eyes fluttering shut in a moment of absolute peace. he was on the righteous path—he was certain.

with no warning, his mouth swept yours up in an exchange of breath and lips and teeth and tongue. you moaned into the kiss — by god, when was the last time you were properly kissed?

the hand you had on dex's cheek slid back into his graying-blonde hair, fingernails gently scratching his scalp. he steeled himself to hold back a moan.

you broke away first, fingers wrapped in rosary ghosting over your swollen lips like a salve. "shit."

dex laughed.

a real, honest-to-christ-himself laugh.

and when the light caught his white, bunny-like smile just like that as he glanced back to you, cupid released his bow, and you were done for.

"tell me," dex's straight nose nudged yours, teasing, "how about you pray for us while i kiss your neck a little?"

"yes." the word tumbled out and you couldn't have stopped it. you were blushing to your hairline by now.

god help you.

dex grinned, highlighting his handsome crows' feet. before you could blink, he switched your positions, so you were now sitting on his lap and he was sitting on the confessional cushion. with no room on the sides to settle properly, your knees bit into his tree-trunk thighs. you heard the thunk of the knife as it fell onto the carpet.

he wasted no time before his lips were back on yours and your head was spinning. your lips clashed together, mouth opening wider so his tongue could dip in and explore. you whined softly into him as an experiment, feeling dex's hold on your waist get tighter, lips get hungrier.

dex's sinful mouth tore across your jaw with abandon. you unconsciously ground your hips against his rhythmically. his cock stirred, already half-hard. shame had you nearly in tears, the stimulation from grinding only adding to your frustration.

he groaned against your delicate skin, tongue licking and swirling, teeth skating and biting over the sweet spot on your neck he found. you arched your chest into his frame.

his whispered plea traveled straight to your cunt, "pray, baby."

you squeezed the rosary beads around your left hand — an anchor of reality — as you looked up and begged st. francis to forgive you on behalf of god. surely he knows better than anyone that you're simply following god's path as it's been laid out for you.

"o-our father, who art in heaven, h-hallowed be thy name."

your voice wavered with pleasure, though somehow not missing a beat even when mischievous fingers teased the hem of your skirt, flirting with your ankle.

"thy kingdom come." a shaky breath loosed through your chest.

"thy will be done, on earth as it is in h—" you bit the inside of your cheek to suppress a moan at the friction against your core, exhaling sharply through your nose. dex smiled against your tender skin. "heaven."

"…'and lead us not into temptation,'" he chorused with you, kissing and suckling just below your ear.

"'but'…what?" dex cooed patronizingly, kitten-licking your earlobe. you were a mess in his arms, purely pliant for him to use and you both knew it.

your traitorous lower lip wobbled as you finished the prayer with him:

"but deliver us from evil. amen."

his cock throbbed below you and dex pulled his leeching mouth off you. a chill raced down your spine at the way his blown pupils drank you in, getting a glimpse of the thing that shifted just beneath his skin and near-black eyes.

you didn't flinch, dex noted.

the calloused fingers playing at your ankle dragged upward, slipping under the fabric and ghosting over your nylon-covered skin, testing the waters. your lashes fluttered shut at the sensation, a gasp stealing into your lungs.

"i confess," dex sighed, "i want more than your lips."

your eyes shot open, brow furrowed in confusion. why? what could he want from you?

before you could raise your concern, dex's hand trailed up your calf, sending electricity through his touch. you were breathless as you maintained eye contact with him, noses inches apart, breathing the same air. your skirt bunched around your waist as dex burrowed further under it, dragging his enormous hand over your knee. your blasphemous core churned and you ground down onto his zipper. the metal bit into your cunt, pulling a moan that sounded like angels singing from you. dex grinned in triumph, climbing higher on your thigh until he reached the lacy edge of your stockings.

his hawk eyes snapped to your thigh, a slow, wolfish smile gracing his features. he looked back up at you without raising his head, words low and broken in your ears.

"tell me you're wearing a fucking garter belt."

he reached the strap connecting the alleged belt to your stockings and hummed down at you, like you were food to play with. a finger slipped between the strap and your smooth, holy skin, and pulled it away just far enough to snap back against your skin audibly.

fth.

it echoed loud — too loud — in the confessional. you bit a sigh as he soothed the reddened skin with brushes of his thumb.

"i may be," you whispered, inhaling sharply as he released the taut strap against your thigh again.

fth.

"fuck," dex sighed, nearly vibrating in restraint. he crashed his mouth to yours before he did something he probably wouldn't regret.

dex's lips were suffocating on you, not realizing his punishing intensity, but dutiful as you were to your congregants, you took what he was willing to give. his rough grip on your plushy thighs would certainly leave bruises in it's wake, but desire had you drunk enough that you couldn't care less.

his soul needed this. you could feel it.

perhaps it truly was god's will that brought the two of you together.

that's what you told yourself over and over again, trying to drown out the whine that stretched through the silence when dex pushed your hips away from his and slipped his hand the remaining distance downward to cup your cunt.

oh.

"shh, stay quiet, pretty girl," dex bit out, feeling blood rush to his cock at the feeling of the soaked lace. "you don't wanna get caught, do you?"

you shook your head 'no' fervently, but felt your cunt betray you, clenching around nothing at the idea.

"mm, maybe you do?" dex teased, cocking his head like a curious dog. you continued to deny it despite your hips' constant bucking, chasing any friction you could get.

his rumbling laugh seemed to echo through you as his fingers ghosted over the bead of your swollen, covered clit. your breath caught in your throat, sparks of pleasure blinding you as dex studied your reactions intensely.

"right there, honey?"

"yes," you exhaled, floating. utter pleasure washed over your face, creasing your brow. dex had the sudden realization that expressions of pain and pleasure are nearly identical. how interesting, the human condition, he thought.

with a smirk, dex set a steady rhythm of circles against the small bundle of nerves.

"feels so good, dex, please don't stop," you whispered.

he groaned sensually, bathing in the praise, thrusting up into nothing. "yeah?"

you nodded your head, a soft sob escaping you. your nails dug into his solid biceps in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to muffle your sweet moans. his methodical fingers kept their pace, the pressure delicious on your clit. your hips stuttered as you felt a tightness build in your abdomen.

"please," you begged.

"tell me what you need, sweetheart, use those words."

"more," you said, nearly in tears, "just need more…please…"

dex wasted no time, sliding his middle and ring finger beneath your ruined panties and deep into your desperate pussy. a gasp stole into your chest, throat turning raw. he curled his thick digits toward him, gently stroking the spongy muscle that had your back arching and eyelids fluttering again.

"yeah?" he goaded, "you like that?"

your answering, breathless "yes" made goosebumps erupt on dex's flesh. each sigh and whine from your lips erased any remaining self-doubt in this unfamiliar territory.

his warm, large palm pressed wonderfully against your aching clit, creating the perfect friction when he thrust and curled his fingers inside you. the stimulation was mouth-watering. you clung to dex's broad shoulders, nearly riding his fingers, babbling praise against his neck.

"so good, dex, p-please don't stop."

another chuckle. "i won't, baby, don't worry."

your core felt taut, as if it were an elastic band with too much tension. the pleasure had you taking down big gulps of air, discipline being the only thing standing between you and the moans that threatened to expose you both.

his fingers worked you right to the edge, then you were one, two, three strokes too close, and a panicked look crossed your features. the pressure was too much.

"it's okay." dex's lips brushed the shell of your ear as he spoke. "it's okay, honey, you can let go. you're allowed to feel good."

having permission to turn off your guilt was liberating. pleasure mounting fast like a damn ready to break, you turned your head to look him in the eye. your mouth hang open as you rode the waves of your orgasm all over his hand.

"that's it," he encouraged, voice hoarse, "keep cumming, good girl. that's it."

you didn't feel entirely in control of your own body, as if someone else were jerking your hips against the callouses of his palm. a white-hot sensation exploded within you. the high was overwhelming to your senses; the pleasure deafening. sound tuned out of your ears for a few moments as you squeezed your eyes shut, determined to not let shame ruin the moment.

dex slowed the pumping of his fingers to a halt inside you, feeling your slick walls flutter around him. he barely registered his hips thrusting in tandem with each drag of his digits. it was heaven—your warmth—and dex wanted.

how many of his fantasies involved this? his expert fingers between your holy thighs? he may have lost count. a smirk slid onto his handsome face at the thought that it was between him and god.

he was straining painfully against his jeans' zipper, cock stiff and leaky. a shaking hand guided your smaller one to rest on his bulge. you should have known he'd be well-endowed.

"you feel what you do to me?" he whispered hoarsely.

"yes," you breathed.

his lustful gaze met yours, pupils blown so wide his eyes appeared black in the candlelight.

"can you pray for me, sweetheart? while i fuck you?"

a pathetic noise left you then; somewhere between a whine and an "uh-huh", which, in the end, sounded like a high-pitched "huh." your cheeks blazed in embarrassment, but dex was all smiles.

"yeah?" he teased, nodding as he planted kisses to your cheek.

"please," you managed, mirroring his nods. "please."

"fuck," dex cursed. he pushed his hips out, nodding encouragingly as you undid his belt buckle and zipper. he slid his jeans and boxers out from underneath him, halfway down tree-trunk thighs.

mother mary.

"you're stunning," you complimented, and it might have been a trick of the light, but you swore color reached dex's scarred cheeks. "it's true: he made us all in his perfect image, of course, but you are…something."

a coy smile met his pink lips and your heart did a flip in your chest. he wasn't used to flattery, you could see it.

frantic eyes tracked your movements as your soft hand closed around his girthy cock. your cheeks burned feeling his slight twitch at your touch. you watched pre-cum dribble down his thick shaft and swallowed the mounting spit in your mouth.

you met dex's captivating eyes once more and lifted yourself, adjusting to sit just above the tip of his cock. he kissed you with a passion you felt from the inside, hot tongue licking into your mouth. strings of wetness fell to cover him, tip teasing your clit and entrance methodically.

you felt like the whore of babylon as he parted your lips beneath your panties and pushed inside past your reborn virginity. sex in a confessional. what the hell were you thinking? god would never forgive you.

then again, he hadn't seemed to forgive you for much of anything recently. what was one more sin?

you grasped the edge of your white veil and pulled it clean off. letting it fall behind you, you leaned into dex. in turn, he sank you further down on his length, stretching you from the inside.

"dex," you whispered between sweet gasps. your fingers grazed his lips, hovering just centimeters from your own.

sweat slid down his forehead, the heat between you two in the confined space overwhelming. his mouth hanged open, cock throbbing inside you as he struggled to breathe. it struck you in that moment that you may be taking his virginity, too.

"it's okay, sweetheart," you said, pressing soft, gentle kisses to his mouth. he deserved a good first experience, too, as far as you were concerned. your hand stroked his hair on instinct as you began slowly moving your hips against his. "it's okay. it feels good for me, too."

you paused, letting him adjust to your heat. now was as good as any to pray for him, for both of you, at this point. your sweet voice was saintly in his ears:

"hail, mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee. blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, jesus. holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.  amen."

dex let out a sob as you began moving again and you slapped your unoccupied hand over his big mouth. surprise lit up his face at your aggression, reading the don't get us caught in your gaze. his dark eyes twinkled with something akin to approval. you felt the edges of his lips curl beneath your palm, so you took that as permission to do as you pleased.

and god certainly knew you would. you threw your head back, bottom lip tugged between your pearly whites, as dex bottomed out. his tip kissing your cervix, one arm slithered around your waist to pull you tight against him while his other hand rested on your hip. you lifted yourself slowly until only that aching tip remained inside, feeling the thick veins along his cock pulse. dex let out a low groan, vibrating against your hand, as you pushed back down and he hit deep inside once again. desperation knit his brows together, coloring his doe eyes something beautiful. he looked like a fallen angel; lucifer if he begged for forgiveness.

you built a gradual rhythm as you rode him. dex thought none of the church choirs in the world sounded as good as the little moans slipping out of you, the delightful harmony of wet sounds from where you two met sending shivers down his reinforced spine.

he pulled your hand away from him, only for a moment.

"this what you needed?" his deep voice was wrecked, cracking at the high point in 'need.' you felt yourself clench around his cock at the sound. "this what you meant by 'more'? just needed to get fucked?"

you nodded enthusiastically, only able to manage a quiet "mhm." your mind was as scrambled as your eggs this morning. your grip tightened in his hair as he watched you heatedly, intently, breath coming out in sharp, short pants through his straight nose.

dex craned his head, mouth meeting the spot just below your ear. "i know it feels good, baby…i know…i know."

your arms lost their fight at his words, wrapping around his shoulders in comfort and surrender as he met your thrusts. you muffled your uncontrollable moans against the smooth skin of his neck.

"f-fuck, that's it, honey, don't stop," he whispered. "please, just don't stop."

you could only sob promises into his leather jacket that you wouldn't as you bounced up and down on him. the musky, salty fragrance of him invaded your nose and you drank it in, pressing closer like you couldn't get enough. dex found a wicked grin creeping onto his features at the pleasure you derived from his body—from him.

how many times had he not found sleep until he had a hand around himself, stroking at the thought of you and your righteousness?

his north star.

a shattered moan left him then. the poor thing so drunk on pleasure that he didn't notice how close he already was.

"shit, i'm…" dex wheezed. you were nodding, grinding on the panties that bunched near your swollen clit.

"me too, dex." hearing your broken voice had him on edge.

"oh," he moaned, eyes rolling back until they closed. dex could only whisper now. "so close, so fucking close…need you…need you to cum, baby."

"yeah?" you teased, echoing his tactic from earlier. he whined in response, bucking wildly, muscles flexing. your hips began to shake as that elastic sensation tightened in your core, each stroke hitting your g-spot, rubbing your clit delectably.

your fingertips sank deep into dex's arms, trying to anchor yourself to him. he welcomed the biting pain from your nails, surely leaving crescent indents beneath his shirt.

"just a little longer," you nearly wept, "you can do it."

"i-i can't," dex groaned, "'s too good."

"yes, you can," you encouraged, trailing sweet kisses up and along his strong jaw: now ticking, grinding hard in patience. if there was one thing dex was used to, it was patience. maybe he could edge himself inside you, hovering on absolute bliss, the masochism written all over his pretty face. after all, he had waited this long. dex steeled his remaining self-discipline and nodded, arms lifting your waist, up and down, just so, to hit the spot inside you hard enough to have your toes curling in your mary janes.

the sight was more erotic than dex could have ever imagined: you, hair loose on your shoulders, arms thrown around him, rosary tickling his ear, as you rode him, habit dress still on, with shaking legs, your pace becoming sloppy, and that same, beautiful look on your face as you neared orgasm once again.

"dex, i'm…" you exhaled, hovering on that cliff you so desperately wanted to tumble over with him.

"that's it. go 'head, angel, cum all over me."

the filth of his words and tone of his voice—the raw command in it—had your walls gushing around him instantly. dex crashed his sinful mouth to yours to swallow each others' moans as you came simultaneously. you cried out against him, pussy soaking, milking him. a warmth filled you from within, his cock throbbing while his balls emptied.

a thin layer of sweat covered you both as you fought to catch your breath. euphoria had your head in the clouds, resting your forehead gently against his. dex shuddered in your arms, his whole body twitching with pleasure. you thought he looked the most handsome like this: relaxed, without a sneer or scowl to be seen, his beautiful face free of worry.

he let out the softest of whines when you met him with a chaste kiss. your arms tightened around him, cradling his clear head gently. dex leaned into you, then, as well. his tongue explored your mouth lazily as your shaking pace slowed. the buzzing plaguing him earlier was silent now, chased away by sweet release.

dex felt obsession crawling under his skin like it was sentient. his desires were suffocating him and he could only get one thing straight: he wanted you, this, forever. he was on the divine path, now certain that you were a part of it. even better, a willing part of it.

your lips left his and pressed against his slick forehead in forgiveness.

“god has forgiven your sins. you may go in peace.”

a low chuckle sent a shiver through you. the pleasure coursing through his veins fueled his boldness. "i ain't going anywhere, sweetheart."

the bright smile that touched your lips was undoubtedly an act of god, dex thought. he could get used to it.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

a/n: hey guys i'm going to hell! pls forgive me for the amt of blasphemy. this wasn't requested i'm just a fucking freak. god 2x02 had my head SPINNING i couldn't write this fast enough but i wanted it to be Perfect, so i've been working on this for a minute. was this tew much? *elijah wood voice* maybe!

either way i hope u dexxed it. ;) #we'reback

pls lmk your thoughts! and as always, asks and requests r opennn! :)

xoxo, b

poindextergirl™ 2026. do not feed my work into ai, repost, or translate my work. reblogs are very much appreciated! ♱

So the first time he saw the scar running down your spine… Yeah. No. He would go silent.

You just finish getting changed, maybe, after a third date. Nothing explicit had happened between you more than a cute little kiss after the second date, because honestly Dex would take it at your pace. He would do whatever to get closer and closer to you, because you were his North Star! He’d earn it. 

Anyway, you were on your third date. You got rained on out of nowhere and your apartment was right around the corner. You'd take him there and you’d change out of your blouse to a tank top.  

And Dex would see it when you turned around, halfway through saying something, and then he’d just… stop.

And then he saw your back.

That scar. And something in him just went..

Oh.

Oh, there you are.

Oh, that’s why.

Because Dex wouldn’t see it as a coincidence. Dex doesn’t believe in coincidences when it comes to you. Dex believes in patterns, signs, impact points. 

So when he saw that scar to match his… 

It doesn’t even have to be perfectly identical, maybe. But close enough. You had a mark where he had a mark. You were standing in front of him, with this healed line down your back like the universe had written mine on you in a language only he could read.

Dex would decide immediately, that God, if there is one, had gotten bored of subtlety. The universe finally looked at him and went, Fine. You want proof? Here.

And reach out, moving to stand behind you with his hand hovering over your back.

You’d be like, “Dex?”

And he wouldn’t answer.

Because sorry, babe, he was busy having a spiritual crisis and an obsessive attachment episode all at once.

His fingers would touch the scar so carefully at first. Two fingers, barely there, tracing the length of it while his breath went shallow behind you. Like he was looking at proof. Like someone had handed him a religious artifact and said, see? You were never the only one. 

Then once the shock wore off, once his brain processed that you had been marked too… Yeah.

He’d get weird.

“Who did this?” 

And you would tell him honestly. Maybe it was a surgery, an accident. Some old thing, something boring, something interesting, whatever. You could tell him it was nothing dramatic and he would think, wrong. Nothing about you is nothing.

He would hear you. He would understand the words. And then his brain would politely throw them in the trash.

To Dex, the details would become decorative, because the origin didn’t matter as much as the symbolism did.

You had a scar down your spine. He had a scar down his spine. And he was supposed to believe that you just happened to be his North Star? 

Nope. Not a chance. This was fate. 

That was basically marriage to him.

And you’d probably laugh awkwardly because Dex staring at anything for too long was always a little unnerving. “You alright?”

He wouldn’t answer right away. His head would be too full.

The stars would align for him. 

This was a sign! Why else would you understand him so well? Why else would you look at him like he wasn’t too much? Why else would your hand fit in his perfectly like you had been made specifically to pull him out of whatever pit he was crawling into?

Dex would absolutely decide this meant something. No, actually, he would decide it meant everything. It’s basically the world drawing a line down your back and then drawing one down his and saying, there. Now find each other.

He’d get so quietly insane about it too. Not in a loud way, he wouldn’t start rambling. He’d just become gentle for the rest of the night.

And then that night, you would let him sleep in your bed because a storm was brewing. And nothing really happened except for a lazy, giggly kisses, but Dex didn’t mind. In fact he adores it because he was still trying to process everything. 

And later, when you were half-asleep, you’d feel him there again, his fingertips tracing that healed line 

“You never told me,” he’d murmur.

And you’d say, sleepy, “It never came up.”

Which would make his chest twist.

Because to you, it was just a scar. To him, it was a prophecy.

And then you’d cuddle for the rest of the night.

Dex didn’t get less insane about it once the relationship became comfortable.

A year in, after every physical line and emotional line had already been crossed, after he learned by heart what you sounded like when you fell apart for him, he’d still hyperfixate on it. 

You would have moved in together by then, which was the best decision of his life. Not only did Dex get to wake up next to your beautiful face every morning, but he also got access to all these small, domestic moments that kept making him melt.

You brushing your teeth in one of his shirts. You walking around half-asleep. You bending over the kitchen counter while your shirt rode up your ass, high enough for him to see the start of that scar.

Yeah. Good luck.

He would be behind you immediately, and he wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it anymore.

He’d have one hand on your waist. The other sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, finding the raised line of your scar like it was muscle memory. Like his hand knew the way home before his brain caught up.

And then his mouth would follow.

He would press his lips to your scar like he was trying to pray through his teeth. Every kiss had intention behind its like he was holding himself back by a thread and letting you feel every second of restraint. He’d drag his mouth down your back so slowly it would make you forget how to breathe.

He wouldn’t be saying anything at first because he would still be thinking insane shit about fate. 

You would feel him smile against your spine and know, instantly, that he had become worse.

“Dex,” you’d say, half-warning, half-laughing, because you recognised that look. And he would just hum against your skin like you had interrupted worship.

Excuse you. He was in church.

His hands would settle on your hips, not rough yet, but firm enough to remind you that he was there. That he knew you. That he had memorised you.

“You match me,” he’d say, wild and wrecked.

And you would roll your eyes because of course he would say it like that. As if you did it on purpose. As if  you went out and got yourself scarred just to complete some deranged soulmate diagram in his head.

“I didn’t exactly plan it.”

“I know.”

But see, that made it better. The lack of planning only proved the point. Planned things could be fake. This simply can’t be.

And oh, you loved it.

You would pretend you didn’t, obviously. You would act like he was being insane. You would tell him he was reading too much into it. You would make a whole performance out of being the reasonable one in the relationship, as if you weren’t just as bad, just more socially acceptable about it. You’re just better at passing for normal in public.

But then his mouth would find your scar again and you would arch. His fingers would trace the line and you would go quiet. He would kiss lower, slower, and your little argument would die in your throat like it had never stood a chance. He would turn around and you would kiss his scar, too. 

Because maybe he had a point.

Maybe it did mean something.

And once he noticed that you were starting to believe, there was coming back from that.

Because now the obsession had consent and symbolism, which was basically gasoline to Dex.

And you’d be like, “You are so weird about this,” while feeling the same weirdness rub off on you, as if it was contagious 

And he'd just shrug, shameless.

Dex would happily be weird about you. He would make a home in being weird about you. He would light candles in it. He would build a little cathedral inside his mind and put you at the centre of it, spine scar and all.

Anyone else would tell him that matching scars did not mean destiny.

But you’d look over your shoulder at him, all smug in the exact way he liked best, and say something awful like, “So what, you think we’re divinely ordained now?”

And Dex would look at you like you had just handed him a loaded weapon.

“Of course,” he’d say. As if it was ever in question.

Then he would press his forehead between your shoulder blades and just breathe there, like he had found an altar.

Like every terrible thing that had ever happened to him had led to this exact moment.

To your shared bed, in your shared home

To your warm skin under his lips.

To the realisation that maybe, just maybe, he had not been made wrong.

Maybe he had been made to recognise you.

—

Note: Anon!!! This request is so special to me!! I, too, have a scar on my back, but mine is from a bodyboarding accident!! I was caught in a wipeout and my back got scraped pretty deep against a rock, and it was insane how it just dragged down almost perfectly in the middle. But yeah I never thought to write about this, so thank you for requesting.  🫶