Crush, Crush, Crush
Pairing: Thunderbolts!Dex Poindexter x Thunderbolts!reader (ft. brief appearances from Bob Reynolds and John Walker)
Summary: You and Dex have danced around your feelings for each other for months. Now, you’re finally alone together in the Tower—and you have something important to ask him.
Word count: 7k
Tags/warnings: fluffy af!!, friends to lovers, confessing feelings, first kiss, cuddling, a teeny hint of freak4freak (reader’s manipulation to get Dex alone), splash of angst with Dex's self-loathing, swearing, thoughts of suicide (Dex)
AN: Can be read as a one-shot or as a prequel to “Heart’s Desire.” Title from the Paramore song of the same name: “I noticed your eyes are always glued to me, keeping them here and it makes no sense at all // Don’t you know, baby, we’re all alone now? Give me something to sing about // Let’s be more than this”
Also I’ve written three fckn first kisses for this man with three different readers, someone send help he has bewitched me!! My next fic for him shan’t be that though lol. Plz enjoy :)
When people said hope was a dangerous thing, they usually meant it metaphorically. But in Dex’s case, hope had very literal, dangerous consequences.
Like finding his North Star’s corpse in a freezer. Getting his spine pulverized. Being sent away to a mental institution and having meds shoved down his throat. Winding up in prison and thrown into gen pop as a former FBI agent who couldn’t use his hands.
Knives, bullets, fists—usual instruments of danger and violence—weren’t threats that typically scared him. But hope and trust? Those, he had learned, were the deadliest, the ones he needed to watch out for.
They were the most dangerous because they disguised themselves as harmless.
So he swore to himself that he’d be more careful, that he would never believe in anyone, in anything else other than the feeling that he got while watching a body slump to the floor, knowing he had put it there.
But then he met you. And it all went out the window.
It had been just a flicker at first, a light, humming warmth that went through his body in your presence. And he thought that was weird, but he also wasn’t stupid—he definitely thought you were pretty, so he just chalked it up to that at first: basic attraction. Something vaguely reminiscent of the feeling that emerged around the guy who sat in front of him in high school biology, of the cute brunette in his class at Quantico.
But there were clear differences.
To start, unlike with those people, he actually talked to you. And you talked to him. A lot.
And then, there was the actual feeling itself, one that rapidly transformed from just a mere trace in his body into something much deeper and dizzier and electrifying, one that flooded his head and veins and left him grinning like a fucking idiot whenever you interacted with him.
A feeling that quickly became accompanied with a clear thought whenever he saw you, quietly at first and then firmer, more confident:
“Mine.”
So once again, he found himself hoping. But this time, it truly was different—it didn’t feel anything like the hope he had with Julie or Fisk or Vanessa.
The hope he had when it came to you wasn’t born out of a desperate need for salvation or survival. It came from something much sweeter, something that made being alive feel like a gift to him instead of a curse.
It came from the fact that he liked you. Really, really liked you.
And there had been a lot of moments—ones that he’d seared into his consciousness, ones that he replayed constantly before he fell asleep, ones that he’d thought of when he pretended it was you he felt in the dark instead of his hand—that had him believing you felt the same way about him.
And boy, was he reeling with that hope.
Whenever you tried to make him laugh, whenever you invited him somewhere, whenever you looked at him during missions with that look that seemed like more than pure professional admiration, whenever Yelena said “your boyfriend is lurking again” and you didn’t correct her, the corner of your mouth twitching upward.
Dex eagerly collected any and every word, smile, and touch from you like a hungry stray; willing to survive on even the most minute signs of affection from you that came to him.
And sure, he was constantly starving for more, but he tried to stay steady in the knowledge of the grand design unwinding in its own time.
Because he’d figured it out: the real reason he didn’t die when Matt pushed him off that building was because he still had to meet you.
It wasn’t just that he wanted you two to be together, the universe clearly wanted it, too! You and him, that was destiny. It had to be. No other explanation could or would make sense to him, and he clung to it like a life raft, letting that belief and those shared moments with you buoy him through the storming tides in his head.
But those tides were strong, and they’d been there a lot longer than he’d known you; a crashing cacophony of self-loathing and fear that no amount of medication had ever been able to erase:
You’re just a freak. An animal. How could she ever want you?
You don’t deserve her, and she knows it. Everyone knows it. You don’t deserve anything good.
You're pathetic. She'll never feel the same way about you.
So, as much as he was dying to, he hadn't been able to make a move and tell you how he felt. Because if the voice in his head was right and he’d gotten it wrong, that his soulmate actually didn’t feel the same way about him, he might as well put the gun back under his chin again and finally pull the trigger.
So there he was, stuck as ever and laying in bed with the first Assassins Anonymous novel (he had overheard you telling Bucky how much you liked it and joking that you were offended you hadn’t been consulted as a subject matter expert), when he heard a rhythmic knocking on his door.
He closed the book and put it on his nightstand, curiosity filling him as he went to open it.
His heartbeat shot up instantly as he took in the sight of you standing there, smiling at him like it was the easiest thing in the world.
“Hey. Wanna hang out? I made pizza.”
There it was, that feeling in his chest: a floating, thrilling, elated sensation exclusively reserved for you.
He half-smiled, hesitating just to make sure you didn’t react like it was creepy, before he widened his grin more fully, beaming back at you.
“I’d love to,” he said sincerely.
“Good,” you said happily, and he followed you down the hall toward the kitchen.
As he rounded the corner, the smell of risen dough and garlic heavy in the air, he was hit with a forcible reminder of the last time he “got” pizza with a girl: Julie.
But this time, the girl actually knew it was happening. In fact, you initiated it. And he smiled to himself, pleased by that clear progress—he was one of the good guys, after all.
You slid some slices over to him on the counter.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” You turned to the fridge, grabbing two beers, and before you'd even fully turned around, you suddenly whipped one bottle at him, only for him to catch it easily.
You faced him fully and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the frustrated pout on your face.
You were so fucking cute.
“Goddammit,” you huffed.
“Nice try," he replied, smirking, and you sighed, motioning for him to hand the bottle back to you.
“You know, what, Poindexter," you muttered with a grin, grabbing a marker from the counter and scribbling "MIGHT EXPLODE" on the beer before you put it back in the fridge, grabbing him a new one and shoving it to his chest. "One of these days, you’re gonna slip up and get distracted, and I will revel in it.”
“Won’t happen.” His eyes met yours. “I don’t focus on anything else when I’m with you.”
You made a small “hm” sound in the back of your throat, your smile going from a playful grin to something softer.
“Still not gonna get me to quit trying to get ya, though,” you replied, patting him on the shoulder as you walked past him, his body instantly going electric from your touch.
You took two steps toward the patio door but then suddenly turned, placing your pizza and beer on the counter and turning toward the hall.
“Where are you going?” Dex asked.
“Forgot my hoodie.”
Oh, hold on. He could do something about that.
“Wait,” he replied quickly, putting his own pizza and beer on the counter next to yours, tugging his dark grey quarter-zip off and over his head, and tossing it at you.
You caught it and looked at him curiously.
“You sure?”
He nodded, biting down on the corner of his lip to try to keep his entire face from splitting open with a thrilled grin.
"Thanks.”
Well, that was it, you’d officially broken his brain, throwing his sweatshirt on so casually like you were made for it, like wearing his clothes in front of him was a simple, everyday occurrence instead of an earth-shattering miracle. It’s perfectly oversized on you, the hem skimming dangerously close to the bottom of your already-short bike shorts.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked, jolting him out of his reverie, amusement evident in your tone as you rolled up the sleeves slightly.
Shit. He’d clearly been staring at you like you were the best goddamn thing in the world. Because you were.
“Like what?” he asked, feigning ignorance.
“Like seeing me in this just made your whole day.”
His response came to him like lightning, and not for the first time, he was so fucking glad he was off his meds, because a) he was able to think of a response like this in the first place and b) he could let it roll off his tongue without hesitating.
“It didn’t,” he said quickly. Then he smiled, eyes fixed on yours. “It made my whole week.”
For once, you didn’t have a playful retort or some sarcastic comment to offer. You just tried and failed to fight back a smile, your eyes briefly flickering to the floor and then up to his again.
"Huh. Good to know."
Holy shit, were you blushing? He stepped closer under the guise of picking up his pizza and oh yeah, you absolutely were—the most delicious pink hue spreading across your cheeks.
You were fearless and funny and nothing ever seemed to rattle you. But somehow, Dex had, in the best way possible.
He’d never been more proud of himself in his miserable life, allowing a smug smile to bloom across his face as you turned your back to walk to the door.
But as he followed you, he realized something strange: the whole time he’d been talking to you, no one else had interrupted. Which was basically unheard of, living in the Tower with six other mostly reformed killers with too much time on their hands and a penchant for getting overly involved in each others’ lives.
Huh. Weird.
He walked out onto the patio, further surprised to see that no one else was there other than you—and it was a nice early summer night, a slight breeze rolling through while the sun casted the last of its golden rays on the Tower, sinking lower in the sky.
He sat down next to you on one at one of the picnic tables, his train of thought temporarily derailed by the sight of you in that fading sunlight. Sitting there in his sweatshirt with the brightness inside you reflected back on your face, warm and vivid and glowing.
You were so beautiful.
He could kiss you. He should kiss you. He wanted to kiss you, more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
But he couldn’t. Not yet, anyways.
“Fucking coward,” his brain sneered at him.
“What’s up?” you asked, and he knew he’d been staring at you again while lost in his thoughts. So he pivoted, trying to seem remotely normal and coming back to what’d confused him before he sat down.
“Where is everyone?” he asked, biting into his pizza.
“Oh, we’re the only ones here,” you replied, taking a sip of your beer. You started counting on your fingers. “Bucky’s in DC, Bob’s at NA, Lena and Alexei are at paint night, Walker’s seeing his son, and Ava’s at a concert.”
You did the cutest little shimmy, clearly pleased, and Dex smiled.
“Someone's happy about that.”
“I am,” you sighed dreamily, closing your eyes. “I feel like a mom with the night off from parenting. No one’s screaming. No guns accidentally going off.”
“Or fire alarms,” Dex added.
“That too,” you replied with a laugh. You smiled and took another sip of your beer, sparkling eyes now fixed on his. “And it’s just me and you. So yeah, ‘course I’m happy.”
Dex catalogued your comment among the vast mental stack he’s accumulated, all the potential scraps and shreds of evidence that you might possibly like him back.
You’re happy being with him. Just him. You invited him to hang out. Fuck, you’re even wearing his clothes.
What more was he waiting for?
He hummed in the back of his throat, surreptitiously moving an inch closer to your side.
“Same,” he replied. “We’re lucky everyone had shit going on at the same time, huh?”
Your grin was mischievous as you bit into your pizza, shaking your head.
“Oh, luck had nothing to do with it.”
Dex stared at you, confused. His brain whirred as he took in your face again, smiling like you had the world’s best secret.
Did you … do something? To get him alone?
You couldn't have, though, right? No fucking way.
But why else would you be grinning like that? You knew something he didn’t.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his pulse quickening with anticipation.
You held up your finger as you finished chewing, taking another sip of your beer before you looked at him dead on, smiling.
“I mean I knew Bucky would be in DC this weekend and Bob had NA tonight, so I built everything from there,” you said happily. “I told Alexei about paint night because I knew he’d bug Yelena until she agreed to go with him. I caught Olivia after she came back with Walker and their kiddo from the park and told her how he’d love to see their son more and how much he’d been talking about him—he wasn’t really, but I knew it would soften her up, so that was easy. Ava was trickier, but she doesn’t say no to free, and I have an old contact who does security at the Garden now. He hooked me up with a ticket to the Hayley Williams show tonight.”
You took another sip of your beer, clearly pleased with yourself.
"You're welcome."
Dex stared at you a lot, but that was nothing compared to how he was looking at you now.
“You … you manipulated everyone’s schedules so we could spend time together?" he asked, voice cracking slightly from the effort of trying to keep himself from cackling maniacally with glee or just passing the fuck out entirely. "Just you and me?”
“I did," you replied smoothly. “Which brings me to my next point, because I need to ask you something important and I didn’t want to deal with everyone dropping in every two minutes.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”
Oh, fuck.
A bizarre mix of excitement and panic hit Dex like a bus, his pulse climbing further. Because on one hand, this very much sounded like you’d been waiting for him to kiss you. Which was good, great, fucking spectacular!
But what wasn’t spectacular was the fact that he’d been so focused on what would happen if he kissed you and you didn’t want it that he never stopped to consider the opposite: what would happen if you did want it but he didn’t deliver.
And you didn’t sound upset, just curious, head tilted slightly with a soft smile on your face. But it didn’t change the fact that you had wanted something from him, and he hadn’t given it to you.
He’d disappointed you.
No, no, no, no.
And he couldn’t handle it, couldn’t bear the thought of letting you down in any way.
So, time to finally be honest.
“I’ve wanted to,” he said quickly. “Constantly.” You looked pleased by that, and, partially reassured, he continued, sighing slightly. “But if I did, and you didn’t want it, I wouldn’t know what to do. I’ve never … felt this way about anyone else." He smiled grimly. "Didn’t know I could, honestly. So, if I ruined it, I would just…”
Kill himself? Stab everyone in the tower and burn it to ashes? Knock you out, bind your hands, drive you somewhere far away where he can talk sense into you and show you that you’re supposed to be together?
“Crash out?” you offered.
“Yeah … something like that.”
“That’s fair,” you said kindly. “But have I really not made it obvious that I have feelings for you?
Dex shrugged, shaking his head with a half smile.
“It’s felt like that, sometimes, but I, uh, I wasn’t sure.” A humorless chuckle escaped him. “I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with being … wanted.”
You slid closer to him on the bench, your knee brushing against his, the smell of your perfume nearly sending him into cardiac arrest.
“Well, I’ll just be extra crystal clear for you, then.” You cleared your throat dramatically, the prettiest smile on your face as you locked eyes with him. “Dex, I have had a massive fucking crush on you basically since the day you walked through the door. I think you’re thoughtful and funny and smart and insanely attractive, I really like spending time with you, and I think about you all the time. Does that help?”
“Yes.”
The whole time you were talking, Dex tried—and failed—to fight back a giant grin, wild delight and relief coursing through him.
He hadn’t been imagining things. He wasn’t crazy.
You liked him, too.
It really was destiny.
And now, he stared you down, his heartbeat pounding in his head as he tried to prepare for what he’s about to do. His hands twitched unconsciously and he hoped they didn’t start shaking, concentrating on where he needed them to land, how to account for the slight angle of your head, the exact distance between your mouth and his.
“Good,” you replied softly. Your smile took on its usual playful form once more, your eyes briefly flickering down to his mouth and back up again. “So what are we gonna do now, hm? Are you gonna finally kiss me, am I kissing you, do we need to rock, paper, sciss-“
And Dex answered your question before you could finish, surging forward to finally meet your mouth with his, his hands grabbing desperately, possessively at the sides of your face.
Despite envisioning this moment hundreds of times, nothing he ever thought of could’ve come even close to this: how soft and warm and fucking perfect you felt against him, how you tasted—the lingering trace of hops and citrus on your lips.
Real and really his.
Then, there was his physical reaction, like a match dropping on a line of Roman candles, sparking and lighting up every frayed and fractured part of him; warm and blinding and beautiful heat ripping through his body.
And he couldn’t help but grin for a second against you, absolutely on fire with the knowledge that he was kissing you, he was kissing you, he was finally fucking kissing you.
And you were kissing him back.
There was no other word for it, he felt sanctified. He’d been searching for absolution in the Church, when all it took was your touch, your mouth moving against his and your hands gripping at his shoulders, the sweetest little sigh leaving you, to make him feel brand-new, forgiven.
And he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would die before he let that feeling—or you—slip away from him.
When you both finally broke apart, breathing heavy with matching grins, Dex knew exactly what he wanted to say to you.
“I wanna take you out,” he said breathlessly. “On a real date.”
“What, my gourmet Aldi pizza and IPAs don't count?”
He heard the clear sarcasm in your tone, but couldn’t fully register it, his whole body still floating and dizzy from the oxytocin surge with his brain stuck playing catch up.
“What? No, that’s not what I’m- I didn’t realize that-”
But he stopped himself, taking in the shit-eating grin on your face.
“I’m sorry,” you giggled, patting his cheek affectionately. “You’re just so easy to mess with.”
Dex shook his head, chuckling, his hands going to your waist, testing for your reaction, and you leaned into the embrace.
“Oh, I get it, you think you’re funny.”
“I know I’m funny.” You smirked, your voice dropping as your hands found their way to the back of his neck, gently scratching through his hair. His eyes closed reflexively, biting back a soft moan in his throat. “And I know you like it.”
His grip on you tightened.
“Yeah, I do,” he muttered. “Now, c’mere.”
You obliged instantly, letting him lose himself in you further as he kissed you again, tangling his hands in your hair and nearly dying at the little “mm” you made as he did, your fingers tugging at the front of his shirt.
He would’ve rather passed out from the lack of air than separate from you again, but unfortunately, it seemed like you still needed to breathe, and you pulled back, your eyes somehow filled with both tenderness and hunger.
“You’re amazing,” he murmured.
“So are you,” you replied sincerely. You pulled one of his hands gently from your waist, interlacing it with your own. “Look, I know I joke around a lot and can act like I don’t take things seriously-"
“Really? I never noticed.”
“Shut up," you said, smiling. "I just, yeah, I am actually really glad this is happening. You just made my whole week, too. My whole year, if I’m being honest.”
You took a deep breath.
“It's weird for me to feel … nervous about things, but I do, sometimes, with you. It's different. But it's a good different. I know it means I really care about you. Us.” You squeezed his hand. “So circling back, yeah, I’d love to go on a real date with you. Because my sad pizza and Walker's beer absolutely does not count."
“Where do you wanna go?” Dex replied instantly.
You hesitated for a few seconds. “I know it’s kinda dumb but, Coney Island?" you asked slowly. "I’ve always wanted to go on a carnival date, and it just never happened.” Your smile came back in full force. “And there’s no one better to go with than the guy who can literally win me anything I want.”
Dex nodded vigorously, testing his luck and planting a kiss on the top of your head.
“You got it. Tomorrow?”
"Works for me.”
Suddenly, you yawned, glancing down at your watch.
“Wanna crawl into bed with me? I’ve now got a hot date tomorrow and I don’t wanna be tired for it.”
Dex’s eyes widened.
Bed. Bed with you. You and him. Jesus Christ.
There was no hint of anything sexual in your tone, he could tell you meant it literally, so he didn’t need to start completely hyperventilating. And of course he wanted to, he’d cut off his own fucking hands for the chance. But there was a small problem:
He hadn’t planned for this.
He had had time to prep for how he wanted to first kiss you, spending an obscene amount of time studying scenes from movies, but he had just logically assumed the next point from that would be your first date together—not cuddling up in bed.
But he’d also rather carve out his eyes with spoons than pass up your offer.
There was only one option left:
He’d have to … wing it.
He swallowed, only capable of nodding dumbly.
“Whose place?” you asked, half-laughing.
“Yours,” he blurted immediately. Your eyebrows raised slightly, and he tried to add as casually as he could, “I’ve just never been in your room.”
“Really? Huh. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” You poked him in the chest. “But not one fucking comment on my organized chaos, Mr. Clean.”
Dex smiled. “Fair enough.”
As you both walked back inside, Dex grabbing both of your plates and half-drunk beers, he was surprised he didn’t float all the way there, so buoyantly euphoric from the past hour with you.
You waited for him near the hall, and testing his luck again, he took your hand in his.
You smiled, and as you went to lead him down the hallway, Bob suddenly rounded the corner, staring down at this phone.
And the most broken part of Dex fully expected you to drop his hand, to try to keep what’d gone on between you two a secret.
But you didn’t. Instead, almost like you were reading his thoughts, you gave it a quick, reassuring squeeze.
“Hey, Bob,” you said lightly. “How was your meeting?”
Still typing, Bob started to answer.
“Hey, it was good, we talked a lot about gratitude today,” he paused, putting his phone in his pocket and finally looking up. “Which is always a nice-“
His eyes went from you to Dex to your intertwined hands and back up again.
“Wait, are you guys dating now?”
“Yeah,” you replied happily, the lack of hesitation in your response lifting Dex’s spirits even further.
"Oh, nice!” Bob smiled softly. “It's funny, seeing you two, because I was just texting one of the girls from my homegroup. Kinda want to ask her out, but I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Nerves.”
"Huh,” you replied, staring up at Dex. “That sounds very familiar."
He smiled back at you before looking at Bob.
"Do it. Don't stay stuck like I was.”
Bob chewed at the corner of his lip.
“But what if she says no?” he asked.
“But what if she says yes?” you asked gently.
Bob groaned, but he smiled a bit.
"Ugh. Guess I need to do it, huh? Thanks, guys."
“Updates tomorrow, please!” you called out as you passed him, pulling Dex with you.
“You got it.”
Dex’s heart raced during the rest of the walk to your room. You only dropped his hand to scan yours on the biometric lock.
It opened.
“Ta-da!” you announced.
And Dex couldn’t help but smile, because your room mirrored you perfectly: bright and cheerful and slightly chaotic, a colorful amalgamation of art prints and photos decorating most of your space.
And yeah, it was a little messy, but he didn’t really care—being invited into your inner sanctum was like a free invitation into your head, and he eagerly took in even the most mundane details, absorbing it all like a data analyst.
The almost-empty perfume bottle on your dresser. The crinkled photo of yourself as a kid that you’d taped to the corner of your mirror, gap-toothed and bright-eyed and sitting on the curb next to your skateboard. The stack of books on your nightstand. The spell vials glimmering with different colored powders.
All tiny glimpses into who you were—ones that were normally reserved for your eyes only.
And you were sharing it all willingly with him.
"This is physically painful for you, isn't it?" you teased, grinning, mistaking his engrossment in your everyday objects for shock at the lack of order.
Dex shook his head.
"No, no, it's not bad. It’s nice. It’s you.”
"Thanks. But hey, if you ever want to clean my room for me, have at it. Just not today."
A task for him to complete for you!! He’d do it perfectly. He immediately started mentally rearranging your space, visions of neatly labeled storage bins and cleaning sprays dancing in his head.
You walked in front of your vanity, Dex’s eyes following you as you did that curious thing that girls did: flipping your head over to gather your hair up in a messy ponytail.
You started taking your earrings out, and Dex was fucking delighted to have a front row seat for it. It was such a simple action, but this behind-the-scenes look into your world felt so blissfully intimate, domestic, that he couldn’t help himself.
He walked over behind you, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist while you took the other earring out.
“Hey, you,” you hummed. Dex could you see you look up at him in the mirror in front of you, one reflecting back his own image—the happiest he’d ever seen himself look. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” he murmured, dropping his head to kiss your the side of your face. “You’re just beautiful.”
You smiled, suddenly looking shy.
“You’re sweet.” You turned around and cupped his face in your hands. “And also very handsome.”
You kissed him once more and then promptly hurled yourself onto your bed, bouncing slightly before you snuggled under your covers and patted the mattress next to you.
Which was incredibly inconvenient because, as soon as you did it, Dex apparently forgot how to walk.
He had thought about this, you, so much. But he could also only count the times he’d been in someone else’s bed on one hand, and it had never been in anything resembling a real relationship.
Being invited to lay down and fall asleep with you had weight, gravity—it mattered. Maybe even more than sex, in some ways. And he had to get it right. But he wasn’t entirely certain how.
Ok, let’s at least start moving, dumbass.
He was trying his best to act nonchalant, like he had done this a million times before instead of approximately three, the mattress shifting under his weight as he laid on his side and looked at you, mirroring him.
“Hey,” you said brightly.
He tried to smile back, hoping he didn’t seem like he was completely out of his depth. “Hi.”
Thankfully, you set the map for him to follow, instantly hooking one arm around him as you nestled into his chest, your legs brushing against his. He wrapped his own arms back around you, and as soon as he did, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“You know, for having like 2 percent body fat, you’re very comfy,” you said, your voice slightly muffled against him.
Dex chuckled quietly, relieved.
“I'm glad."
And then, for once in his life, he let himself settle—grounding himself with the scent of your hair, the warmth of your body, the gentle expansion of your ribs under his hands as you breathed. The way your fingers traced lightly near his spine.
This was more soothing than any tape or exercise Mercer ever gave him, any CBT or DBT technique he’d ever tried.
You were the missing piece he’d been looking for all along.
The adrenaline kick from earlier was now fading, morphing into something softer and steadier, and Dex found himself getting drowsy in the quiet and comfort of you tangled up with him.
“Dex?” you asked suddenly.
“Yeah?” he replied, shifting slightly so he could look at your face, instinct taking over and bringing his hand to cup your jaw.
You hummed contentedly at his touch, your eyes filled with warmth as they met his.
“This was worth the wait,” you said quietly, smiling.
Dex echoed the sentiment wordlessly, his lips immediately moving to yours once again, drawn to you like the tides shifting with the moon’s magnetic, cosmic pull.
And you kissed him back like you needed him. Just like he needed you.
He could die here like this.
Then, you tucked your head back into him like he was the world’s best pillow, passing out within minutes.
He totally planned to watch you sleep for an hour or more. But it seemed like the universe was driving his “plans” for the evening, and he couldn’t help but start to fall asleep, lulled by your presence in his arms, the predictable cadence of your breath.
Now that he finally had you, his buzzing mind could rest. At least for the night.
—
The next morning was the best start to a day that Dex had ever had. He relaxed into the soft morning light illuminating your room, the smell of your sheets, your still-sleeping form next to him.
You’d gotten too far from him in your sleep, though (a whole five inches away) and he pulled you back against him, wrapping his arms tightly around you.
“This was always meant to be,” he murmured against you quietly, skimming his lips across your shoulder blade. “You and me. Forever.”
And he just stayed there like that, content in breathing you in, vaguely wondering if he could get a strand of hair off your head to keep without waking you up, when the sound of someone screaming suddenly pierced the air.
“GODDAMMIT!! WHO SHOOK UP MY BEER AND PUT IT BACK IN THE FRIDGE?!"
Fucking Walker.
Dex’s veins instantly went molten with anger—how dare this asshole interrupt his perfect morning with his perfect girl?
You stirred against Dex at the sound, trying to sit up but failing in his tight embrace.
“The fuck is he yelling about?” you mumbled.
“He tried to drink the beer you threw at me.”
You groaned. "I left a note!” You managed to wriggle around in Dex’s arms to face him, your eyes still barely open. “Baby, can you please go shut him up?” you said sleepily.
Baby.
Dex had never understood that as a pet name—it seemed infantilizing and also, babies were screeching and sticky and helpless. It didn’t exactly seem like a compliment.
But hearing it fall from your lips, oooooh boy, did that change his mind entirely. Pride and delight filled him; it was proof that you knew he was yours, it was sweet and possessive all at once.
And, to his surprise, it also turned him on, and he had to breathe deeply and try to focus on what you’d asked him instead of the soft skin on your neck where he wanted to sink his teeth in, the feel of your chest against his.
“‘Course I can … baby,” he mimicked happily, pressing a kiss to the underside of your jaw.
He moved to get out of bed when, suddenly, your hand caught his wrist. “Not permanently, though,” you added.
Dex smirked.
“But where's the fun in that?" he asked, and he caught a flash of a grin before you shoved your head back into your pillow.
He grabbed a pen off your nightstand, tossing it lazily in his hand before he headed to the hall, listening for Walker’s stomps around the kitchen. Then, he launched it at the wall, knowing it would ricochet perfectly to his intended target.
"OW, what the fuck?! Dex?!" Walker yelled, bewildered.
Angry footsteps echoed down the hall toward him, and Dex grinned as he leaned casually against your doorframe.
Walker stopped abruptly as he got to Dex, beer dripping from his hair.
“That's not your room."
"Very astute,” Dex replied coolly.
"So you guys are finally dating, huh? Good for you,” Walker said sincerely. His irritation resumed at once, though. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to talk to your girlfriend.”
Girlfriend.
For the second time that morning, Dex was nearly taken down by a mere word. Walker was right. He had a girlfriend, now.
And that meant he was your boyfriend—a boyfriend who was sure as shit was not going to let this guy into your room.
As Walker stepped forward, Dex’s hand shot out to the edge of the doorframe, blocking him.
Walker chuckled darkly, his head tilted, challenging.
“Oh, we're really doing this?"
Dex smiled in response, the kind of smile that normally sent grown men screaming in the opposite direction, but Walker held his ground.
The faintest buzzing started ringing in Dex’s ears, but instead of making him feel out of control, it locked him in, focused him.
He was protecting you. Being a good boyfriend.
"Oh, we really are,” Dex replied, his maniacal grin growing further.
He wasn’t gonna kill Walker. He was just gonna warn him.
Don’t try to fuck with my girlfriend.
But then, he heard the shuffle of footsteps behind him.
"’S fine, break it up, I'm up, and it’s too early for aggravated assault anyways,” you yawned, running a hand across Dex’s back before you looked at Walker with exasperation. “Chill, dingus, it's your own fault you can't read. Also, why are you drinking at 7 in the morning?"
"It's the weekend, don't judge me.” Walker frowned. “What do you mean I can't read?"
You shook your head.
"I'm judging you wayyyy more for being illiterate than day drinking. I wrote "MIGHT EXPLODE" on that bottle in giant black letters."
"Huh. Didn’t notice,” Walker grunted. “Stop stealing my beer."
You looked offended.
"I didn’t steal anything, you told me I could have some the other day!” You shook your head. “You know what, no, I’m not doing this, I have a date today and it’s gonna be a great day, and you’re not gonna start off my morning with this shit!”
The faintest trace of glimmering red now danced around your fingertips, and as Walker’s eyes widened, so did Dex’s smile.
“So take your cranky vibes and vamoose!”
And with your last word you flicked your hands carelessly, sending Walker careening down to the opposite end of the hall.
“I HATE WHEN YOU DO THAT!!”
"SO STOP GIVING ME REASONS TO! GO SHOWER!!” you yelled back, taking Dex’s hand and pulling him back into your room as you slammed the door closed.
You dragged your hands down your face, shaking your head with disbelief, before you turned to look at Dex, your expression instantly brightening.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
"Thanks for trying to protect my sleep. How'd you sleep?"
"Good, for once. Thanks to you."
"Good," you replied, smiling. Then, you surprised him, taking his face in your hands and kissing him deeply, his hands finding your waist. Despite his treasured morning routine, Dex was 100% willing to throw it out the window if it meant he could spend his entire morning like this with you instead.
Then, you surprised him again—but not in a good way.
You glanced down at your watch.
“Ok, we’ve got like 30 minutes to chill before I have to kick you out.”
Dex’s stomach dropped. What the fuck? Did he do something wrong? Were you upset with him? Would you have been happier if he actually did maim Walker?
“Why?” he asked quickly, his grip tightening on your waist, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
You smiled at him, which was a good sign, but it just bewildered him further.
“Because I have so much to do before our date!" you said, clearly excited, and Dex felt the stranglehold on his lungs loosen. "I gotta eat, I gotta workout, I gotta shower, I have to go tell Lena and Ava that we have a date tonight so we can have our girl celebration," you paused, taking a dramatic inhale, “Then I gotta make them come shopping with me for something to wear, get our nails done, lunch at some point, come back here, hair, makeup, and then I need at least a solid 10-15 to pace around nervously like a lunatic. Ya know. Basic first date stuff.”
You grinned. “And you can’t tell me you don’t need time to meticulously research everything you can about Coney Island, and the weather, and, I don’t know, fucking trade winds and whether it’s a full moon tonight and if that'll impact your planning at all.”
Oh goddammit, you had him. He’d been so focused on you that he wasn’t thinking clearly. He had a real-life date to plan! His brain started spinning through 18 different topics and questions at once—where was he going to get you flowers from and should he pack beach chairs just in case you might want to swing down there and what the actual fuck was he supposed to wear to a carnival date?!
He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“You say that like being prepared is a bad thing.”
“It’s not." Your grabbed his hand, pulling him back to lay in your bed, and Dex happily followed. You cupped his face in one hand, thumb running across the scar on his cheek. "It’s a very you thing, and it’s endearing. Slightly bananas, but endearing. Now c'mere," you said, opening and closing your hands, grinning. "I want more snuggles from the formidable Bullseye!"
And he couldn't help it, he laughed, pulling you against him as you giggled.
So, this was what happiness felt like—what safe felt like.
“Formidable Bullseye will do anything you want," he murmured with a grin.
He felt bolder, more confident now, spurred on by your affection and excitement over your date later, and he grabbed your face with one hand and kissed you as hard as he could, finally letting go of some of the restraint and doubt that had plagued him.
And through it all, that one simple, beautiful word humming repeatedly in his head:
Mine, mine, mine.
"I'll keep that in mind,” you replied as you broke apart, smiling, and Dex was thrilled to hear that you were a little breathless. “But right now, this is perfect.”
And with you happily in his tight embrace and your first date on the horizon, Dex couldn’t agree more.
—
Taglist: @yesshewrites1 @ateliefloresdaprimavera
