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morganroot92 · 30 days ago

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Steady - Benjamin “Dex” Poindexter x Rookie FBI Reader

summary: As a new FBI agent, you’re paired with Dex for your first mission manning a sniper’s nest. Your aversion for each other has you both struggling with staying on objective and following the rules.

warnings: Gun, unprotected sex, smut, semi-public sex, bruises, scratching, strong pull out game

a/n: first smut let's goooo

w.c: 3,400

You were new to the unit.

A fresh graduate from Quantico, you proudly wore your badge of Special Agent for the FBI with a smile. The other agents had been welcoming and kind; throwing out tips about the rugged New York streets, helping with the overwhelming paperwork— and even assigning a more experienced agent to show the ropes and keep a watchful eye on you.

Agent Benjamin Poindexter.

Even the name gave you chills.

When his dark eyes glared at you for the first time, greeting you with a raspy voice and that smug smirk, you knew it was going to be rough.

Unlike the other agents, Dex wasn’t that enthusiastic on helping a rookie.

Cocky and independent, you could tell he hated you.

It ruined his order of things.

He would always send you down to fetch his coffee or do some other chore he couldn’t be bothered with, anything to get you away from him. Yet whenever you weren’t next to him, obediently waiting and ready for the next task, you could feel his piercing gaze from a far, just in time to see him quickly look away when your eye caught his.

You could really feel his stare when he was assigned to man the sniper position with you.

One of your first ever real missions; keeping watch during a high profile event where some underground crime network might attend, of course you were thrilled— until you found out you were going to be stuck with Dex all night.

The job was easy, if things went south while the other agents were in the building, the sniper would take out the problem from an isolated distance.

The kind superior he was, Dex of course gave you the honor of being the sniper—which was really just lookout and a punishment for ruining his night. The bright streets of Midtown were alive with distant sirens and pedestrian chatter echoing off the buildings. Too bad you had to enjoy it on a cold rooftop lying stomach down on the ground next to the one guy who hated you the most.

Six feet of Dex was towering next to you, completely engulfed in his work and eyes rarely leaving the building through his telescope. Your bones had began to ache— your hips had been digging into the floor for the past hour and your arms were tired from gripping the rifle, which was positioned on a tripod at the edge of the roof. You were becoming dizzy from the height, multiple stories and the cold concrete being the only thing separating you from falling whenever the wind shifted.

It was late, but you didn’t know how long this event was going to last and if things were going to even get exciting. As far as you knew, you would be stuck like this next to Dex until dawn.

After a while of staring at the windows and entrance, you began scanning the New York skyline, trying to name as many familiar buildings as possible.

Just when you were adjusting the sights to see the Brooklyn Bridge, a rasped voice pierced the silence.

“Do you even know how to handle that thing?”

You pulled back, looking up to see Dex had lowered his telescope and was now watching you.

“If you didn’t know if I could handle it, why give me the gun?”

He only shook his head. “Stop messing with it, its not a toy from your training.”

“I’m not.”

Your objection was no use. You could see that smug look in his eye through the dark, peering down at you like an ant near his boot.

“Then take a practice shot, rookie.”

A nervous feeling formed in your gut at the future criticism that was bound to happen.

“We’re not authorized to fire unless its for approved force.”

Dex was almost surprised at your defiance. “I’m your superior, you can do what I say or leave. There’s not going to be any action anyways.” He sighed, putting the telescope back in the sniper case, crossing his arms over his chest with a patronizing smirk. “Now c’mon, lets see if you’re really the hot shot you think you are.”

You swallowed your pride for a moment, looking back into the scope and gripping the gun steady. You brought the sights back to the area, scanning the nearby rooftops for a target to hit.

There was a low groan of annoyance when Dex landed on his knees next to you. He took one close look at your form and position and scoffed.

“Lower.”

You rolled your eyes, shuffling your hip against the hard floor. “I can see.”

“No-” A rough hand pushed your shoulders, knocking your chest to the ground and nearly your jaw. “Here.”

You gritted your teeth to stifle the whimper at the hit to your ribs. “I got it.” You managed to hiss, nudging your shoulder to get his hand off of you.

“No, you don’t.”

Before you could fit another snide remark in, arms wrapped you— caging you to the ground and gun.

His broad forearms were on the concrete floor on both sides of you, biceps flexed and brushing against your numbing arms. Dex’s chest was hovering just above your flexed back, shifting his weight to draw closer to the scope.

His head loomed over your shoulder for his eye to reach down the sight, so close you could feel his breath on your cheek— hot and raspy. His knees were anchored to the ground next to you, the holsters and buckles of his belt dug into the side of your leg, your hip brushing his waist.

He felt close.

Way too close.

You were now pushed nearly face forward into the ground, your superior almost completely on top of you and so close you couldn’t tell if it was his heartbeat you were hearing or just the blood thundering in your ears.

You had no choice but to try and slow down your breathing and not make a noise every time you felt him touch you. You kept your eye through the lens, not even realizing his hands were reaching for yours until you felt them wrapped over the sides of the weapon.

Dex moved the gun around on the ground, just enough to find the new target as you laid there in a daze.

“Right there,” he whispered. “You see that billboard?”

You could only manage a small nod as you felt your breath catch in your throat. The large billboard was on the building parallel from you across the street, featuring a model posing in the newest collection of a fashion designer; big blue eyes peering at you through the dark night, sparsely illuminated by the bright lights on the street level.

“I want you to hit the eye, got it? Right in the middle.”

His hand brushed against yours as he reached the scope, adjusting the ring until it was in perfect focus for the distance and looking right into the model’s pupil. Rough skin cradled your own as he gently moved your loosened grip around until he decided it was right.

“Deep breath,” His right hand disappeared from your own as it reached back, gently resting on your back below the end of your vest.

The vision in the scope seemed to blur and fade away for a moment as he brushed it lower, sending a shiver straight through your body from the contact. You obeyed, stirring the night air into your nervous lungs as his hand pressed deeper into you the more you inhaled.

“Just like that.”

He assured, yet it sounded more like a growl than a whisper.

His index finger lightly applied pressure over your own, pressing on the trigger. You breathed in tandem with him, your back brushing against his tense chest as the heat between your bodies overwhelmed you more than the cold air ever did.

He let out a deep exhale against you, pushing your finger down as your body jolted against his, a shot ringing out into the night and piercing the eye perfectly in the middle.

You could finally breathe again when the sound of the shell clattered to the ground and snapped you from the trance, a sheepish smile formed on your face as you admired the perfect hit.

You pulled your eye from the scope and looked over your shoulder to suddenly become face to face with Dex.

His jaw clenched, a flicker of something raw flashing behind his eyes. The grip on your hand tightened, just slightly, like he was holding onto restraint by a thread.

A soft gaze— his dark eyes glinting with the reflections of city lights. It was out of character seeing Dex look at you like that.

He must’ve realized he was staring at your lips— his adams apple bobbed as he swallowed, “Good.”

The praise lingered in your ear, whistling in the wind and reverberating in your mind.

His lips hovered inches from yours. You could feel his breath ghosting against your skin, every inhale shared in that narrow space. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to find a reason not to do it, trying to remember what lines he wasn’t supposed to cross.

But then his hand slid further down your back—deliberate, grounding, possessive.

He hated that he was stuck with you.

He hated that he was always partnered with you. He hated that he couldn’t get your body out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

He hated every single second he was near you. And he hated that he couldn’t stop himself.

Your lips brushed.

A mistake.

You gasped softly, and that was all it took—Dex’s mouth crashed into yours like he’d been starving for it, rough and hungry and angry at himself for wanting it this badly.

His hand gripped the side of your neck, tilting your jaw up and holding you like he was afraid you’d pull away, the other still pressed firmly into your back, anchoring you in place— slowly skimming lower down the curve of your spine and over your hip.

Your breath hitched and his smirk pressed into your lips.

You kissed him back just as desperately, your teeth grazed his lip— you weren’t sure if it was punishment or need—but it made him moan against you, breath hitching as he pushed you further into the rooftop floor.

A hand hooked under you, flipping you to your back and pulling you by your hips away from the edge and the gun as you struggled to regain your lost breath. Dex loomed on top of you, straddling your body with his knees on each side of your legs.

His belt clinked as he shifted above you, his weight pressing into you harshly. One hand slid up your shirt—calloused fingertips exploring every line and curve like he had to memorize, methodical and precise , just like how he handled the gun.

You moaned into his reconnecting kiss, your hands clutching into his hair.

Your conscious returned for a moment and you managed to breath out a plead.

“Dex—the mission-”

“Fuck the mission.”

He practically ripped your vest off from the sides in one brute stroke, tossing it the dusted concrete next to you.

He leaned back just enough to rip the rest of your shirt over your head, his eyes dragging over your body like you were something he couldn’t believe he’d kept his hands off this long. There was something frantic in the way he moved now—like weeks of tension had finally cracked open all at once.

His eyes stayed on you as he shrugged off his vest, tossing it next to yours and pulling his shirt off in one brisk motion. The warmth of his chest hit yours, your fingers digging down his neck to his back, pulling him against you.

A deep groan escaped him as he dropped his head to your neck, gently biting your sensitive skin as his arms hooked under your back, lifting you from the cold concrete to unclasp your bra.

A trail of heat led from your collarbones to your breasts as Dex kissed your exposed skin, fingers caressing over your peaking nipples and gripping your ribs as he trailed down your torso.

You were breathless and flushed, looking down to see Dex’s arms flexing as he manhandled you to lift your hips, tearing off your pants as you kicked off your boots in desperation.

The cold night air brushed at your bare legs, but it was nothing compared to the burn his mouth left as he trailed kisses along your jaw, down the slope of your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make your pulse stutter.

Your back arched off the concrete as his hands dragged down your thighs, rough palms searing into your skin with every possessive touch as he reunited his lips to yours.

This wasn’t the same Dex from a moment ago, complete control and smooth precision—this was chaos breaking through, hungry and shaking as he grappled your body with a wet mouth and trembling hands.

You whimpered as his belt dug into the thin fabric of your panties, sending a sensitive throb in between your legs.

“Dex-” You breathed out as his hands gripped your thighs. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Shut up.” He growled, spreading them wider as he pressed his hips against yours. “They’ll call if they need us. Right now, I need this.”

He looked down at you from half lidded eyes as his fingers hooked under your waistband, dragging them down as your bare legs moved to cling to his hips.

Dex grunted as he leaned back on his knees, towering over your vulnerable form as his fingers undid his belt— never breaking eye contact as he freed his straining cock, stroking the pre-cum over bulging veins.

In one swift, harsh motion he pinned your hip in place and thrusted inside of you, stealing the air from your lungs as you managed a breathless whimper, fingers digging into his tense shoulders to stabilize the blinding pressure that pierced your body. Dex began a rhythmic pace, digging deeper into you with each movement, grinding you into the ground as the silent rooftop filled with the raw noise of your bodies slamming together.

“Oh, fuck—” Your hand reached for his stomach, nails trailing down firm abs to his v-line as you clutched at his skin, palm pressing into his tense muscle.

His outstretched arm holding him up from the ground next to you buckled for a second, breath catching in his throat as he hovered closer over you.

Dex brought his mouth to yours, your moans mixing together with a sloppy kiss.

You were ruining each other, abandoning all sense of the mission to fuck each other senseless, the rooftop dissipating as his body slammed against yours. Your muscles strained to keep up with his movements, hips bucking and back arching.

His mouth bit into your neck, sucking at your pulse and hand pushing into your hip so hard you knew it would be a black bruise by morning. He was fast, desperately driving deeper to reach both your climax’s before you were caught. The anticipation was driving you mindless, resisting the impulse to let your eyes fall back by keeping them locked on Dex.

Your moans were erratic, high pitched and needy as tension in your body became overwhelming against the friction. You whimpered incoherently as your fingers clung into his shoulder, a plead to continue. He grunted as your nails dug into his skin, obeying with a sharper thrust.

You cried out as the orgasm shook through you, your hold on Dex being the only thing keeping you grounded. He groaned with his last thrusts, trembling as your pulse around his dick sending him over the edge.

Dex tore himself away, spilling hot cum over your belly and dripping down your thighs as you both struggled to catch your breath in the cold night air. Hot pants rippled through the quiet, your chests heaving as you gasped for air. Dex collapsed back onto his knees, muscles twitching and abs trembling with rapid breaths and covered with red welts left from your nails.

Your eyes locked in the dark, staring at each other in awe as you resisted regret. You swallowed, remnants of his spit trickling down your throat as his hand flinched close to your skin.

“Poindexter.”

The static of the comms tore through the silence. “We’ve got movement.”

Dex didn’t move, breath rasping as he looked down at you.

“Dex, do you copy?”

The sudden wave of shame and cold air rippled over you as Dex pulled away, harsh reality pulling you from your lust induced trance.

He switched into sniper mode in an instant, like a trained command and subconscious pull of routine. All distractions of the mission fell away.

He would curse himself for abandoning procedure, for falling through and giving in— to you.

As you breathlessly stared at the dark sky, Dex was already at the edge of the roof, pants zipped and in position, one knee down cradling the gun in his arms— eye trained down at the street.

“Suspect exiting through west side.”

He was back in his domain, grip steady— the same tight force around the gun like he’d used on you.

But metal doesn’t bruise.

He gripped it harder, forcing it down as he breathed out. A sharp roar of the gun rippled in the night. Dex jolted with the weapon, the end jabbing into his tight uncovered shoulder, red marks decorating the skin.

A yelp pierced the air from below, a man screaming echoing across the street as sirens lit up.

After a few seconds the comms crackled back on. “Nice shot, Dex. We got him.”

He lingered with the rifle, his bare back glistened with sweat in the faint light, flexed muscle trailing from his shoulders to his biceps as he moved with rapid breaths.

A finger trembled over the trigger— like it was taking everything in him to resist the urge to plunge the next shot through the bastard’s skull for so selfishly interrupting your moment.

He had to follow orders. Keep the suspect alive.

Not like he was good at following them— not when a second body laid breathlessly naked behind him.

Finally, he pulled himself from the gun, keeping his eye on the scene below, refusing to look back at you. With practiced ease he dismantled the rifle, stowing it back in the case as he retrieved his shirt and vest like nothing had ever interrupted the job.

You managed to tug your clothes back on, wincing as the fabric clung to skin smeared with cum and dirt, every movement a sharp reminder of what had just happened.

“Transporting suspect to Mass General—shot obliterated his kneecap. Recon at lobby.” The comms buzzed and clicked off.

As you clipped your vest into place, Dex loomed over you—one hand gripping the case handle, the other securing his belt with a harsh tug.

Without warning, he grabbed the strap of your vest, hauling you up with one arm until your toes barely scraped the ground.

His face lingered inches from yours, looking down at you. “You don’t tell anyone about this, got it?” He rasped, low and cold. “Not a fucking word.”

You nodded fast, breath caught in your throat before you could mutter a promise.

Then, without warning, he kissed you—sloppy and raw, more claim than affection. He pulled back just enough to flash that crooked grin.

“Good girl.”

He let you go, sending your half tied boots staggering for a grip on the floor as he brushed past you. You looked back at the empty roof, red and blue lights cascading through the dark from below, revealing the emptiness— proof nothing had ever happened.

The only evidence left now marked both of your bodies in reddening lines and darkening bruises.

You followed Dex down with a lowered head, praying he wouldn’t turn around and see your creeping blush and smile.

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morganroot92 · 30 days ago

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left behind, still yours

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he pulls back, sliding his hands beneath your shirt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you stir—eyes fluttering open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“don’t… don’t do that.” you plead.

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

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

his rhythm falters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

a strangled moan tears from his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i missed you.”

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morganroot92 · 1 month ago

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"youre such a weird girl" yeah but you still wanna hit lmao you do right

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morganroot92 · 1 month ago

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Wilson Bethel in Daredevil S03E12

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morganroot92 · 1 month ago

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I fucking love this LMAO, and the church scene too! Dex has an amazing sense of humor

Daredevil

#daredevil #charlie cox #wilson bethel #matt murdock #bullseye #marvel #benjamin poindexter

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morganroot92 · 1 month ago

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#needthat

dex in his bullseye outfit breaking into your apartment.

all you can see is his eyes wide and crazed, his hands twitching at every sight and sound from outside.

chest heaving from the adrenaline while being in the city, blood trickling down his eyebrow as he makes his way towards you.

not even exchanging a word, he grabs you, turning you around and man handling you to angle your hips up and pressing your upper back into the bed.

his gloved hand comes to yank down your sleeping shorts enough to access the curve of your ass and your cunt between your thighs.

his other hand fumbles with his belt undoing the clamp and unfurling the strap, next his button and then the metallic noise of his zipper before pulling the waist band down enough to free his cock.

half hard as he pressed it against your ass, a soft groan emitting from him as he softly grinds against you. fingers finding the valley of where your thighs meet your hips, holding you firmly there as he slowly grows harder.

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morganroot92 · 1 month ago

Text

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

⎯ ☆ ⎯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

maybe he was just feeling particularly territorial tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⎯ ☆ ⎯

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