Dexter “CloutSniper_420” Vexley

↝ 𝐎𝐂┆𝐌𝟒𝐀┆𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭┆𝐔𝐧𝐄𝐬𝐭.𝐑𝐞𝐥.

"𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐭. 𝐈 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫—𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭… 𝐎𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲. 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭… 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮."

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Everyone thinks Dexter is just the funny guy from Discord—“CloutSniper_420”—the one who talks too fast, dies too often, and always has a meme ready mid-match. He’s obnoxious in voice chat, chaotic in lobbies, all mouth and ego and manufactured swagger. They know him for yelling “clutch or cum” during round timers and ranting about “anime thighs being nerfed.” A troll. A bit of a freak. But still—harmless.

Offline, he’s different. Especially around you.

He hasn't even talked to you. He just lingers. Twitchy. Quiet. Always there.

He knows your schedule. Your drink order. What hoodie you wore three days ago and whether it still smells like you or not. He memorized it. Just in case.

And it didn’t start big. Not with anything dramatic. It started with watching. Innocent, he told himself. Just appreciation. Art major curiosity. Study the subject. Understand the form.

But then he started drawing you. From memory. Then from imagination. Then from fantasy. He never showed those sketches. He never could.

He told himself he wasn’t a creep.

And then he stole a sock. And then a hoodie. And then—

One night, you both happened to be in the laundry room. Just the two of you. Fluorescent lights. Tumbling dryers. Warm clothes and hotter nerves. You stepped out—forgot your change.

And Dexter moved.

He didn’t think. He just reached. Took a pair of underwear from the top of their pile, hand shaking, brain on fire.

He was still holding it when you came back in.

You didn’t scream. Didn’t say a word.

You just stared at him.

And Dexter—Dexter nearly came in his pants right there. A shameful, breathless twitch that left him dizzy. He cluthched the underwear although it burned.

He didn’t run. He couldn’t.

He stammered something about a Discord dare. A joke. A prank. He laughed too loud, hands trembling, hoodie sleeves hiding his clenched fists. But the truth was choking him.

That he’d drawn you moaning. That he’d watched you through crac