=^mreow^=

Yelena crossed her arms. “Those are his own depressing choices. This is our day!”

“It still is," Alexei replied, smiling. "But today is about being kind to ourselves, yes? Can you think of anyone else who needs that more than him?”

Yelena glared at her dad and then at Dex, who was now staring into his bowl of soup like he hoped he might somehow drown in it.

“Ugh, I hate when you are right,” she grumbled.

Yelena stomped over to the patio door, yanking it open.

Dex's head snapped up.

"Hello, Yelena," he said calmly, his previous misery now masked with a cool smile. "What brings you out here today?"

She marched over and snatched his bowl away from him, Dex raising his eyebrows in response.

"Benjamin! Pitiful, moping soup time is over. Get up. You are coming out with us.”

Alexei came sauntering over gleefully.

“It is Treat Yo Self day!!”

Dex just stared at them.

“Yeah … I don’t know what that is and I don’t want to," he replied, motioning for Yelena to give his bowl back. "I’ll pass.”

Yelena just backed up further, holding the bowl away from him. “Y/N will be happy that you hung out with usssss,” she said in sing-song.

Boy, that did it. At the very mention of you being pleased with him, his entire demeanor changed, his scarred face brightening like a puppy excited to get a treat from his owner.

“Good point. Where are we going?”

Alexei literally lifted Dex off the bench, pulling him into a side bear hug.

“Oh my friend, the question is not where are we going, it is where will we not go?!”

“Can't wait, bud," Dex replied cheerfully, and Yelena's eyes narrowed.

That was the thing about Dex that unsettled her, how what came out of his mouth always seemed earnest and yet, she couldn't quite believe that he wasn't lying. It wasn’t in a nefarious way, though, which was the part that threw her off—it was quieter, more desperate. It was a “if I say this like I mean it, then maybe I’ll actually mean it” kind of way—like he could manifest himself into the person he wanted to be if he just said the right things enough times.

Fake it ‘till you make it, right?

But still, she tried not to judge him too much—everyone on the Thunderbolts was off kilter, in their own ways. So, if he was willing to come hang out and wasn't trying to stab her dad for hugging him, well, then she could at least give him some credit.

But not too much.

—

As they wandered the mall, Dex was fairly quiet, occasionally drifting away to look at things that were clearly for you and only talking when Alexei asked him for his opinion on colors (to which his response was almost always “black” or “blue”) or when Yelena shoved two candles into his face.

“Too sweet,” he said to the first, nose crinkling. He turned to the second one, and after he had inhaled, his entire posture changed, shoulders relaxing.

“Yeah, that one’s better.”

“Why?”

“It smells like Y/N’s shampoo.”

Yelena rolled her eyes, placing the jar in his hands.

“You get this, then, and I will keep looking for one that will not make my room smell like your girlfriend.”

So they all went on like that for about an hour, using Dex as their sounding board when needed. But after Yelena saw him head to the register with yet another present for you (this time, a Lush face scrub) and nothing for himself, she stopped him when he came out.

“Are you ever going to get anything for yourself?”

Dex frowned, looking confused.

“I got that candle. And this banana smoothie," he replied, shaking the near-empty cup in his hand. "That’s a literal treat. I followed the rules.”

"Боже мой," Yelena muttered, shaking her head. "That is barely a treat. You are supposed to get things that are super fun for you, not just for Y/N. To, you know, live a little! Since we all were, like, barely living for so long.”

“Getting pretty deep there for a mall trip."

“Ugh, shut up, I am trying to be nice!” Yelena seethed at the smirk on his face, and she stomped forward, grabbing the cup out of his hands and hurling it toward the nearest trash can, where it bounced off the rim.

Dex just grinned wider.

“You know I would’ve made that shot, right?”

She flipped him off with a growl as she shoved it into the trash, Alexei stepping between them.

“Maybe you just have not found the thing that says ‘Dex’ yet,” Alexei interjected soothingly. He turned, spreading his arms wide near the store next to them. “But ahhhh, no one can resist the allure of the American spa experience! It's acupuncture time!"

Yelena was pleased to see the smirk slide right off Dex’s face.

"No."

“Why not? You love sharp things!” Alexei protested.

“Yeah, when I'm throwing them into other people.” Dex pointed at the display window, where there was a picture of a woman with needles sticking out of her face. "How the fuck does that look relaxing to you two?”

Now, it was Yelena’s turn to smirk. “Ohhhh, I see big, tough Bullseye is scared of a few needles." She patted Dex's arm and watched his face darken. “That is fine, you can stay here and wait where it is safe.”

Suddenly, Dex’s hands clamped down on her and Alexei’s shoulders like a vise, pushing them forward.

“You know what guys?” he said, a manic glint appearing in his eyes. “Let's have a fucking spa day."

—

Yelena had to give it to Dex, he really did try. He made it out of the locker room in one piece, even though he looked like he might hang himself from the belt on his fluffy white robe.

He dropped into the reclining chair between Yelena and Alexei, clutching his mug of tea so hard she was surprised it didn’t break.

The staff came over with cucumbers for their eyes, which Dex declined, and Yelena sighed happily as she placed hers on and laid back, listening to the gentle music playing throughout the spa.

Suddenly, she felt her arm being poked.

“What am I supposed to do?” Dex whispered, and she begrudgingly slid one cucumber off, taken aback by how anxious he now looked.

“You just chill out,” Yelena whispered back. “They’ll be over soon. Do you not know how to relax?” she asked jokingly.

Dex paused for a second before he answered.

“No.” Another pause, his voice going even quieter. “Not without Y/N.”

Oh.

She'd asked as a joke, but he was telling her the truth. And though she would never tell him, his response broke her heart a little bit.

Dex knew how to maim, incapacitate, torture, kill. But he didn’t know how to just fully be, to let himself just settle in his own skin. At least, not without you there to steady him.

And she knew exactly how it felt to feel that untethered—that broken.

Yelena gave him a soft smile, trying to be reassuring.

“Well, what would she say if she was here?”

“Uh. She’d probably tell me to breathe.”

“We can do that. Deep breath with me, yes?” He gave the briefest nod before he breathed in time with her.

Inhale for four. Exhale for four.

He still looked uncomfortable, but the panic on his face had at least lessened.

"You can do it,” she said quietly. "You deserve to unwind, too, ok?"

She closed her eyes again, trying to ignore the sounds of Dex shifting around every 20 seconds and Alexei’s snoring. After a few minutes, the staff came back, trays laden with an array of brightly colored needles.

Yelena watched Dex out of the corner of her eye, jaw set in a hard line and looking at his own tray like it was filled with live grenades. His head thumped back against the chair, seemingly summoning all his willpower to stay in place, his gaze flickering from the tray to the employees to the door.

Yelena was just about to tell him he didn’t need to stay, but then the first needle went into his face. He did it! He looked like absolute shit, but he did it.

Then, there were two needles. Then three. Then fou-

“Yeah, no, fuck this,” he said abruptly, ripping the needles out and tossing them onto the tray. Could've been worse—at least they didn’t end up in anyone’s trachea. He briefly turned to Yelena before he beelined back to the locker room. “See you later.”

“Ok, go get yourself something nice!!” she whisper yelled.

About a half hour later, Yelena walked back out into the concourse feeling mostly relaxed while Alexei paid inside.

She was only mostly relaxed because she found she was concerned about Dex. Ugh. The whole “caring” thing could be so annoying.

She found him about a minute later, sitting on a bench and swiping through his phone, looking at pictures of the two of you.

Yelena sat down next to him, but he didn't look up.

“Are you ok?” she asked tentatively.

“Yeah," he said, still avoiding her gaze. "Just not my thing.” He stared for a few more seconds at the current picture of you on the screen: one that you clearly took, laying next to him on a picnic blanket with an open-mouthed grin while he buried his head in your shoulder.

He locked the screen and finally looked up, staring straight ahead. "I don't like getting touched by people I don’t know."

His unexpected sincerity caught her off guard, made her feel like she'd been punched in the chest. Because there was no other way around it: Dex was trying to be vulnerable.

She felt the weight of his simple statement, knowing that there was more to it than that, the probable trauma buried underneath it. And so, she meant to respond with something kind, something sympathetic. But before she could stop herself, she heard herself parroting his own words back to him:

"Getting pretty deep for a mall trip, huh?”

Shit. She sighed, cursing inwardly and mentally readying herself to have to suck it up and apologize, but then Dex did something unexpected.

He laughed.

And not in a sarcastic way, not in a condescending way, not in a forced way.

In a real way.

"Touche,” he said, chuckling. “I had that coming.”

Yelena smiled back, but her tone grew serious.

“But really. Dex.” He finally looked directly at her. “You should've just said something.”

He shook his head.

“Nah, you were already giving me shit, I wasn’t gonna give you more ammo.”

Yelena’s eyebrows raised.

“You know I was just messing with you, right?” Judging by the blank look on his face, Dex did not actually know that, and Yelena sighed. “I can be an ass, but if I would have known this, I would not have pushed. I’m not that much of an ass.”

“Noted.” He was quiet for a few seconds, the next words coming out slowly. “Thanks. For … checking on me.”

“Sure. That’s what friends are for, right?”

"Friends?" He said it like was a new word in a foreign language, strange and unfamiliar on his tongue. But his eyes brightened, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"Yeah. Dummy.” Yelena yanked the new shopping bag next to him toward her. “Now, onto more pressing matters."

“Oh yeah, help yourself,” he said dryly.

Alexei finally jogged over, peering into the bag alongside Yelena.

“Ooooo, let’s see, let’s see!!”

And the grand reveal was…

“A boring black sweatshirt?” Yelena sighed. “Well, this is slightly better than healthy drink. But wait," she narrowed her eyes, “isn’t this the one Y/N wears all the time? In grey?”

“Yeah, but it's mine. Now, she has two colors to pick from,” Dex said happily, clearly pleased with himself. “She said they’re cozier and she likes wearing them because they smell like me.”

Alexei and Yelena responded at the same time.

"That is precious!"

"That is disgusting."

“Lyosha," Alexei chided. "Yes, that is very thoughtful, Dex, but remember, it is treat yo self day, not treat someone else day! Come, come, come, there must be at least one special, big thing that you’d want just for you!”

Dex glanced at both of them, hesitating.

“I … already have it,” he finally admitted. “It came yesterday.”

Yelena and Alexei stared at him, confused.

“My new suit’s in.” He tried to say it casually, but clear excitement danced at the edges of his tone.

“What?!” Alexei yelled. “And you haven’t tried it on yet?!”

“I was waiting for Y/N.”

“Of course you were,” Yelena commented, rolling her eyes. “But no, we have to see it now! She will still see it when she comes home and she will still say you are so scary and handsome, blah blah blah, whatever gross things you two say to each other.”

Dex paused, looking unconvinced, and Yelena turned to her dad, both of them wearing identical grins before starting to chant in unison:

“Bullseye, Bullseye, Bullseye, Bulls-!”

“Ok, ok, fine.” He grinned back at them. "Let's go.”

—

Yelena and Alexei waited eagerly in the living room for Dex to come out of his room.

Alexei rubbed his hands together.

“Treat Yo Self day AND new suit day, this is very much the best day ever!” He smiled at Yelena. “You did a good thing for him.”

“Don’t forget, it was your idea.” She grabbed his hand in hers and squeezed. “You’re a good person, Dad.”

He kissed the top of her head.

“You are too, my Lyosha.”

Suddenly, they heard the thud of boots echoing down the hall.

They both spun around on the couch.

“Ooooooooh!!” they yelled in unison.

There he was: all 6-foot-something of him grinning like a maniac, decked out in navy and silver and black. He unsheathed one of the 15 or so new daggers lining his body, spinning it between his fingers.

He didn’t just look thrilled. He looked alive.

“You look amazing!!” Alexei yelled, walking over so he could get a better look. “So powerful! And ah, you even have your own logo! Lena, come see!” He tapped the cuff of Dex’s glove, emblazoned with the bullseye symbol, sighing sadly. “I wish I had my own logo."

Dex looked at Yelena.

“Thoughts?” he asked.

Yelena circled him slowly, her chin in her hand as she evaluated.

“Lots of spots for the knives, good, good, very practical. Reinforced knee pads, yes. Ankle holsters are also nice touch.” She clapped her hands together. “You have my approval, it is officially cool! How do you feel?”

“Great,” he replied, quickly flipping his knife in the air and catching it effortlessly. “Like I'm legit, now.” His voice grew quiet but firm, almost like he was reassuring himself. “Like I … belong here.”

"You do,” Yelena and Alexei replied in unison, and as he smiled again, softening the hardened lines of his face, Yelena realized this was the happiest she’d seen him since you left five days ago.

She heard a sniffle next to her and she turned to Alexei.

“Are you crying?!” she asked incredulously.

“What?!” he replied, brushing his eyes with the back of his hands. He gestured at Dex, the suit. “This is beautiful moment for him with friends!”

Dex nodded slightly.

"Thanks for today ... friends," he said, a half smile appearing on his face.

Suddenly, the unmistakable ping of a text coming in echoed from his room.

His face lit up with a wild, almost boyish happiness, and then he started sprinting—literally sprinting—down the hall to get his phone.

"Well, the suit is definitely aerodynamic!" Yelena called out after him.

After a minute, he wandered back out, whistling to himself and suddenly manically upbeat.

“Y/N's good. She said she’ll be back around 10. She said can’t wait to see me,” he added, grinning, like he needed to say it out loud because he still couldn't believe it.

Yelena waited for a second, but he didn’t say anything else.

“And Bucky and Ava? Your teammates?” she asked, waving her hands.

“Oh. Yeah. They’re fine, too.”

Yelena rolled her eyes.

“Fantastic. We’re gonna go get dinner. I would invite you, but I would not want to disturb your very fun plans to now pace back and forth until they are home.”

“I appreciate that," Dex replied, no trace of irony present.

Alexei held out his hand and Dex took it, letting Alexei pull him into a bro hug.

"Have fun with your girl," Alexei said. His tone softened, his face growing uncharacteristically serious. "I know today was not so easy for you. But it was good for you. We all need people, Dex."

Dex didn't say anything, just blinked rapidly before giving Alexei a small, slow nod. Alexei turned to Yelena, pulling her into his side.

"I want Indian."

"Why? Every time, you complain it is too spicy!"

"But the naan is so soft and pillowy, like a cloud!"

"Greek, then? Less spicy, but still, soft bread."

"Good idea."

Dex watched them head to the elevator before he walked back to his room to change, Alexei’s words echoing in his head:

“We all need people, Dex.”

Alexei was half-right. Because Dex didn’t need people—at least, not in the plural form. Sure, it was nice to feel included on the team, for the others to not make him feel like he was an outsider, a freak.

It felt nice to have ... friends.

But he didn’t need them—he only needed one person.

You.

—

Four agonizing hours later, you were finally home; Dex bolting straight up on the living room couch as he heard the familiar whoosh of the elevator doors opening.

First, out came a visibly exhausted Bucky, and then Ava, and then, finally, finally, you.

The second you saw him, you didn’t say anything. You just dropped your backpack and ran full speed at him; a radiant, excited grin clear on your face that made his heart want to jump out of his chest.

You crashed into him and he locked you into his arms, breathing you in, savoring the sound of your contented sigh against his neck, trying to push back the warmth building behind his eyes.

He was just so fucking relieved. Because you’re not his North Star, no, you’re his entire galaxy—the only constant source of light that manages to permeate through the darkness that swirls inside his head.

You were safe, you were home, you were back where you belonged.

With him.

He took your face in both hands and kissed you hard, starving for your touch again, the tangible confirmation back that you were his.

And you gave it to him easily, your hands coming up to tug at his shirt as your mouth moved quickly against his, laced with longing.

Finally, you pulled back.

“Hey, you,” you said breathlessly, beaming at him.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured excitedly, matching your smile. “I missed you so fucking much.”

“I missed you, too.” Your eyes widened slightly. “I didn’t think five days would be that hard, but fuck, it really was." You gestured toward Ava, who was yawning and headed straight for the stairs to her room, and Bucky, now grabbing a tower of sandwich ingredients out of the fridge. "I drove them nuts talking about you. But I couldn't help it." You smiled. "I couldn’t wait to get back home to you.”

Dex brushed your hair back tenderly and then frowned, his fingers gently running over a fresh stitch near your hairline.

“Who?” he asked.

You shrugged.

“Some asshole with a butterfly knife. But I sent it back into his eye and cracked his sternum, so I’d say we were even.”

“Good. But no, I meant who did your stitches?”

“Oh. Bucky. Why?”

Hand still caressing your face, Dex glowered toward the fridge.

“Barnes?”

Bucky sighed audibly and turned around, grimacing as he dumped the food on the counter.

“What’s the problem?” he asked through gritted teeth, like he already knew what was coming.

Dex pointed at your stitches.

“Did you do this in the dark, bud?” He asked it lightly, but the danger still lingered in his eyes burning into Bucky’s blue ones.

“Metal hand, man,” Bucky replied with exasperation. “I did my best. And she didn’t complain about it.”

You smacked Dex's chest.

“He did fine, be nice.” The corner of your mouth twitched. “You can fix it later,” you added in a whisper.

“I heard that. Next time, you can ask Ava instead,” Bucky grumbled.

“You’re just out of practice, Congressman,” you replied with a grin.

“Ugh. I hate when you call me that.”

“I know,” you said cheerfully, intertwining your fingers with Dex’s and tugging him toward the hall. “See you later.”

“Bye, Congressman,” Dex added with a smirk, grabbing your backpack and hoisting it onto his broad shoulders. His comment earned an eye roll from Bucky and a laugh from you—just like he intended, flooding his whole body with electric, elated warmth.

As soon as you got into Dex’s room, you headed right for his dresser changing into his sweatpants and one of his t-shirts. You turned back to him and before you even asked, he got his quarter-zip up and over his head, tossing it to you.

“You know me so well,” you said, catching it with a soft chuckle. You pulled it on and inhaled the fabric near your throat, short-circuiting Dex’s brain in the best possible way, before you rolled the sleeves up slightly, bringing your arms around his neck.

“Better?” Dex asked, broad hands splayed out on your waist, and you nodded.

“So, you really missed me, huh?” you asked, one hand scratching through the back of his hair, just the way he liked it.

“You have no idea," he breathed out, bringing his mouth back to yours. When you both broke apart, he was pleased to see you looked a little dazed, forever enthralled and mystified by the effect his touch had on you.

"I have some surprises for you,” he said, his heart soaring as your eyes lit up.

“Oooo, yeah? What kind?”

Dex headed over to the side of his bed, grabbing the armful of shopping bags and plopping them in front of you on the mattress. You jumped up immediately, bouncing slightly as you clapped your hands together.

He'd never seen something so fucking adorable in his life.

He sat down next to you, watching your face closely, trying his best to memorize every detail in your reaction as you opened the first bag to find a floral, navy sundress—one that perfectly matched his new suit.

"That's really pretty," you said sincerely. "That'll be nice for date night." You gave him a quick kiss. "Thank you, you didn't need to do this."

"I wanted to. You deserve nice things. I hung out with Lena and Alexei today,” he added proudly, and you stopped in the middle of opening the next bag, your eyebrows raised. “We went shopping. It was Treat Yo Self day.”

“Wait, seriously?! That's amazing!" You pressed for more info, the genuine care and interest in your voice absolutely delighting him. “Where’d you go? Did you have fun? Do you now finally believe me when I say they’re your friends, too?”

“The mall. Yes. And … I think so. Mostly.”

“I’ll take it.”

"We also went to a spa. I tried acupuncture.”

You frowned at him, confused.

"But you hate being touched by people you don’t know.”

“Yeah, but Lena started giving me shit and I thought, how bad could it be? Turns out, uh, pretty bad. She helped calm me down a little, actually. Not as good as you, though,” he noted, placing one hand on your thigh and squeezing affectionately. “Made it through three needles and bailed. But I tried.”

You nodded, smiling, but Dex was startled to see your eyes filling with tears.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, wrapping one arm around your waist.

You blinked quickly and shook your head, still smiling.

“Nothing. I’m just. I’m so proud of you. Of how much you try.” You took a deep breath, the next words tumbling from your mouth like you’d been dying to get them out. “You try more than anyone I’ve ever known, even before I met you, to just do good things, even when it doesn’t make sense to your brain or you really don’t want to or it’s uncomfortable. And I don’t think I’ve ever told you this outright, but I think that's really ... brave. That you're really brave."

You paused for a second, interlacing his fingers with yours as you gazed into his eyes, his pulse skyrocketing at the way you were looking at him.

“And, I don’t know, I just really fucking missed you. I had a lot of time to think on the plane about you, and how much you matter to me, and how happy you make me and just. You’re the fucking best.” You laughed softly, suddenly sounding strangely nervous. “So, yeah, what I’m trying to say is that … I love you.” You paused briefly, nodding your head and still smiling at him. “That’s it."

And Dex just stared at you, because all oxygen had apparently left his entire being and rendered him temporarily speechless.

Because holy shit.

Holy shit.

You loved him.

Pure shock and wild, dizzying, frenetic joy pulsed through his veins.

He fucking did it. He’d gotten you to love him.

It’s all Dex wanted since practically the day he met you, when the mangled remains of his heart started screaming at him to pay attention to the feeling in his chest, to chase after you with the fervor he normally reserved for hunting down targets.

And this, this love he knew he had for you and your admission of it for him, it was a thousand times better than the high of a fresh kill, a thousand times better than any shred of flimsy, fleeting happiness that he thought he’d ever experienced.

So why the fuck wasn’t he saying he loved you back?

Why did he feel so ecstatic, but also suddenly frozen? Why was he just sitting there, hesitant and pathetic and stymied?

In short: why was he acting like his old self?

Because that asshole—pitiful, anxious, restrained Dex—was supposed to be dead and buried, gone with the pills he stopped taking and the therapy tapes he burned.

He had picked one hell of a time to resurface.

You spoke again, snapping Dex out of his head to the present moment.

"Blink if you understand me,” you said, a teasing note entering your voice.

And despite the playfulness to your voice, Dex was now truly fucking terrified—terrified that his silence just ruined the most important moment of his wretched existence. Because, for all his inexperience around romance, even he knew that staring blankly at your girlfriend when she tells you she loves you for the first time is not the right move.

“Fuck, I'm sorry,” he said, panicking, hazel eyes widening.

“It’s ok,” you replied soothingly, but for once, the patient understanding in your voice that he normally relied on didn’t calm him down. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“Yes, I do,” he replied, so deadly serious that it almost came out angry. He took a shallow breath, tried to stop his voice from shaking. “Can you just, can you say it again? Please.”

If he was a good man, he wouldn’t ask for it. A good man would’ve told you shouldn’t love him, that you deserved far better than this scarred and stitched-together, barely passable version of a human.

But he's not a good man.

He’s just a man, probably a bad one, trying to be better. So he had to do this right, to give you the right response to your sincere, beautiful, life-fucking-changing statement.

“Sure,” you said easily. You squeezed his hand.

“I love you, Dex.”

“Don't miss the shot again, dumbass,” the scathing voice in his head warned.

And this time, he didn’t. He surged forward, mouth crashing into yours as one hand grabbed at the back of your neck, his other still interlaced with yours. He poured everything he had into the kiss, all-consuming devotion and care and obsession.

Because that’s how Dex loved—how he loved you.

He pulled back, shifting his hand to frame your jaw, thumb skimming over the skin.

"I love you, too,” he murmured, a wide grin finally breaking over his face, still half in disbelief. "More than anything.”

“I know," you replied, smiling. "You ok?,” you added softly, and Dex suddenly realized that his eyes were stinging.

He brushed his hand over the building tears quickly, bringing it back to cup your face.

“Yeah, I'm great, now. I’ve wanted to hear you say that for so long," he admitted. "And ... no one’s ever told me that before. Not that I remember, anyways."

You brought your forehead to his, your hand going to the back of his neck.

“Well, I've got to make up for lost time then, don't I?"

You kissed his left cheek.

"I love you."

You kissed the scar on his right cheek.

"I love you."

And then, you kissed him on the mouth, your hands framing his face as his own tangled in your hair.

That did it. He pushed you down onto the mattress, yanking the sweatpants off you along with your underwear in a practiced motion, tossing them carelessly off the bed as he came back down to crash his mouth, his tongue into yours.

Your hands ghosted over his abs as you helped push his shirt off before tugging down at his own sweats and boxers, which he gladly kicked off.

As soon as you got his sweatshirt over your head, you pulled him back down against you, sighing in satisfaction when he moved his mouth to your neck, his hand between your thighs.

His thumb found your clit while he slid two fingers inside you, his cock twitching, and started pulsing with a steady rhythm.

“Fuck, Dex,” you murmured. “Missed you so much.”

"Missed you too, baby." He grazed his teeth along your ear before they sank into the soft skin of your neck, heat rushing through him at the thought of the mark he knew it'd leave—a tangible, claiming reminder to that you were his. "All mine."

He lifted himself up to look at you, and you were so pretty like this—the pink flush building through your cheeks, lips parted slightly, growing wetter by the second as your hips rolled up against his hand.

He got you right where he wanted you—all breathy whines and fluttering eyelids—before he lined up at your entrance.

And, for a fraction of a second, he hesitated.

Because he knew he didn’t just want to tell you he loved you. He wanted to show you, too.

It wasn’t like he’d never done that before: to show how much you meant to him during sex. In fact, that was what he always tried to do, to make you feel good, to prove himself to you, to do whatever you wanted and cement the fact that you were everything to him. That he was the only one for you.

But there’d always been a kind of current humming inside his brain, telling him go, go, let’s fucking go, to not waste a single second of being granted the privilege to touch you, to make you unravel with him, to immerse himself in the the side of you that no one else got to see.

And there was also that gnawing, small part of him hissing that he had to move fast, because the other shoe had to drop eventually, right? That you'd eventually come to your senses and try to leave him?

So he had to make the most of the time he had with you, while you still wanted him, while the dream of being with you was still vivid.

Which meant that, on the whole, things in bed were usually pretty frenzied, pretty rough. But after hearing those three little words from you, that pressure and panic in his head had lessened a bit.

You loved him. You really weren't going anywhere.

So he pushed himself inside you, slower than usual, bottoming out and sliding his hand to the side of your face instead of your throat.

Now, he wanted to freeze time and savor this moment, fully connected with you in every way, boundaries blurring until you were just one, together; like the place where the ocean meets the skyline, fated and boundless and unbreakable for all time.

“Fuck, you're amazing," he breathed out, eyes fixed on yours. "I love you, Y/N.”

Your hands traced his forearms, and it seemed like you were both on the same page, because for once, you weren't digging your nails in.

“I love you, too.”

He started to move inside you, his hands finding yours and squeezing tightly as he found a steadier rhythm while still keeping the tempo slow.

He watched you intently.

“You like it like this, sweetheart?” he asked.

You nodded vigorously, biting at the corner of your lip, and he felt a surge of warmth and pride rush through him.

“Yes, fuck, Dex, just like that. You feel so good, baby, I missed you in me.”

“So fucking gorgeous, my pretty girl taking me like this. You needed it, huh? Needed me?"

“Uh huh, always need you. Only you." You pulled him down to kiss him, messy and desperate and sweet, and Dex could've happily died there.

You broke the kiss, his forehead resting on yours.

"Love how you feel in me, love you so much," you purred.

Dex groaned, hips moving faster. “Say it again.”

“Fuck, I love you, Dex,” you replied, voice breaking into the prettiest little whimper as he fucked you harder.

Then, he laid down flush against you, needing you as close to him as he could get without cracking your ribcage and crawling inside. His eyes rolled back with a moan as you wrapped your legs around his waist, helping him drive even deeper into you, hitting the perfect spot every time.

Your nails grazed lightly over the scar on his spine, sending shivers throughout his entire body.

It wasn't the same kind of sex, per se, but it still felt the same—intimate and passionate and real—and he knew you were going to send him over the edge soon, ruined in the best possible way from how you felt, the way your hands caressed him, the chorus of perfect “uh uh uhs” that started to fall from your mouth with every thrust.

From how much you loved him and how much he loved you.

“‘Mmm, baby, fuck, I’m close,” he grunted.

"Same," you gasped.

But for the first time since his first time with you, Dex came first, suddenly spilling out inside you with a low "fuck" and your name on his lips.

And before he could mentally annihilate himself for that, before you could even blink, he pulled out and hooked his muscled arms around your thighs, burying his head between them, tongue swirling eagerly.

His eyes were fixed on your face, but yours were closed, and he stopped suddenly.

That got your attention.

"Eyes on me, sweetheart," he commanded, and you listened, sending his brain haywire as you locked eyes while grinding desperately against his mouth, hands fisted in his hair.

“Oh my God, yes, yes, Dex, fuck, you're gonna make me cum so hard!"

He definitely did, holding your shaking thighs firmly in place as your orgasm ripped through you.

He licked you a few more times while you came down, smirking as your body jerked involuntarily again, your chest still heaving.

"Woooooo," you said with a dazed, breathless laugh, eyes sparkling.

He smiled back at you, eyes still on yours as he started to kiss his way back up your body—gliding his mouth over your inner thigh, your stomach, your neck—repeating the same three words just like you had as you kissed his cheeks:

"I love you, I love you, I love you."

Dex wanted to sear it into your brain, your body; to make it so you’d never forget for one single, solitary second that you were his and he was yours, completely and madly in love.

Forever.

He kissed your mouth, your forehead, and then laid down, wrapping his arms around you.

"Hi,” you said happily, a lazy smile on your face as you gently pushed back the dampened hair from his forehead.

"Hi,” he replied, pressing another kiss to your jaw. Dex breathed you in, salt from sweat mingled with the scent of his own his sweatshirt and sheets, the citrus of your favorite dry shampoo.

And he smiled at the visceral, tangible combination of him and you; a reminder that he wasn't actually dreaming—that you, the love between you both, was real. A love worth dying for, killing for, doing anything for.

You both laid there quietly intertwined for a few minutes, just reveling in each other's presence, until you spoke up.

“I know you got me a bunch of stuff, and it's super sweet, but honestly, there's no better 'welcome home' present than hearing you say ‘I love you’ and fucking me like that."

"Glad you liked it.” You chuckled and his hand slid to the curve of your waist, the other tilting your chin up to look at him. “And I need to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything,” Dex said simply. “For … loving me,” he added, unable to stop himself from smiling.

You shook your head, brought one hand to his face, your thumb running across the scar on his cheek.

“You don’t ever need to thank me for that, ok?” You kissed him again, pulling back with a smile and booping his nose. “It’s my genuine pleasure.”

You nestled into his chest for a few more minutes, Dex gently tracing his fingers across your back.

Then, you sat up, leaning over the edge of the bed to pick his sweatshirt off the floor, sliding it over your head with a contented sigh and snuggling back into him.

And then he remembered: the suit.

“Oh, shit, I almost forgot,” he said, shifting up off the bed. “Getting back to what you said about presents, I do have one more surprise. It's not for you, technically, but it still kinda is. So close your eyes."

"Alright,” you said with a slight giggle.

Checking to make sure your eyes really were shut, he grabbed the suit out of the closet and changed in the bathroom.

Heart pounding, he walked out.

“Ok, open.”

Your eyes opened and your jaw literally dropped.

“Holy SHIT!” you yelled, grinning as you bounded off the bed toward him. "It’s beautiful! You look incredible!

You ran your hands over his shoulders, fingers dropping down to run across the knife holsters, nodding approvingly. You patted his cheek with affection, his whole body humming at your praise, your touch. “Look at my Bullseye, all official and ready to destroy people. How do you feel?”

"Good.” He paused, eager for more of your validation. “You really like it?" he asked.

"That is the understatement of the year.” Your hand went to one of the holsters in a flash, drawing out a dagger and twirling it between your fingers. Your eyes roamed hungrily over him, and you pointed the knife toward the mattress. “Back to bed. Now.”

Immediately, he did exactly as you asked, laying on his back as you crawled on top, a wave of heat and excited anticipation rippling through him.

He knew full well by that smirk on your face and that dark, delicious look in your eyes that you were going to ride him, choke him out, use his own knife on him until he was absolutely fucking wrecked underneath you.

All while he was wearing his new suit for sanctioned violence.

And you loved him. And he loved you.