𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑓𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑑.ᐟ.ᐟ

you were trigger-happy. you loved to act as if your skin was made of concrete, letting dex direct you away from the danger. and he also knew just how antsy you were to hold his knives.

"please, dex." you begged, having stayed up late to see him come home covered in sweat and blood.

"you know the answer, sweetheart." he huffed, grunting as he peeled the compression shirt from his aching muscles.

"i will be so, so careful."

"answer's still no."

after a while, you had given up begging and pleading. you thought you would get your opportunity if you acted responsibly enough. but dex was cautious of you; where you acted invincible, dex acted as if you were made of glass. he wouldn't even let you wash the knives when you would do the dishes. he did every home improvement project, only asking you to hand him tools as you sighed in boredom beside him.

but your moment quickly arose. dex had been out tirelessly fighting, protecting you by removing scum from the earth. ridding these assholes of their lives to keep you safe, because he was good. truly good. and you enabled him; you told him so every night when he would return. he would crawl into bed, tell you off for still being awake, and let you lull him to sleep with your whispered praise.

then the morning would come, and it was business as usual. you lived to push dex's buttons, because that's what you did best. and he wouldn't have it any other way.

dex got sloppy in his routine of washing his suit in the middle of the night, cleaning his weaponry across the coffee table, locking them into his safe before he let sleep take him for the night. he would stumble through the door, into his darkened apartment, and fumble his way around until he sat on the edge of the bed.

to him you were asleep, you hadn't stayed up to wait for him tonight. he was exhausted, he wanted nothing more than to climb into bed beside you and envelope you into him. perhaps he could put it all away in the morning, he woke up before you every day anyway. it hadn't taken much convincing, so his suit was laid over the edge of the tub in the bathroom, and his holsters of weaponry laid over the dresser.

it hadn't taken you long to wake up with his arms locking you against him. your bladder was nigh on bursting, the warmth and comfort of dex couldn't overpower the sudden urge to pee. so you slinked out of his grip, his eyelids fluttering as they did with any ounce of movement you made.

"where you off to, sweetheart?" he croaked.

"bathroom." you whispered, shuffling across the floor towards the bathroom. and upon return, your eye met the twinkle of glare atop the dresser.

your gaze bounced between dex sleeping and the dresser with every step you took to approach it. your fingers dragged over the blades tucked tightly into their holsters, retrieving one from its sheath. it was sharp, your finger trailed along the grooves until it met the point. you hadn't expected it to be so sharp, you weren't sure what you were expecting at all really. it was a knife, used to kill. the edge of it so sharp, creating a surface cut on your palm.

you hissed, dropping the blade as it clattered on the floor. dex was quick to shoot upright, eyes darting around the dark room for the noise. you had never seen him move so quickly, switching the lamp on with knives in each hand. where the fuck were they hidden?

"dex." you cried, clutching your palm. the blood trickled down your hand, wrapping to gather at your wrist.

"what happened?" dex panicked, striding over to take your hand into his, assessing the cut for any serious problems. "why were you touching my knives?"

"i was curious."

"how many times did i tell you no, hm?"

you sniffled, eyes fixed on the floor. where a few drops of blood surrounded the knife.

dex said nothing, and that stung more than any cut or scrape he'd patched up on you. he dragged you to the kitchen, sitting you on the counter as he cleaned and bandaged your cut with tired eyes and shaggy hair. you wanted to say you were sorry, that you shouldn't have touched them.

"dex."

"yes, sweetheart?" he spoke softly, fumbling around the cupboards for your favourite mug. pet names were a good sign, he wasn't mad. well, he wasn't too mad.

"i'm sorry." you whispered, yes on your freshly bandaged hand.

"i bet you are." he laughed, a dry, blunted laugh. he handed you your mug, filled halfway with some water. "drink this for me."

even when he took you back to bed, you hadn't been bent over his knee to count your spanks, instead tucked safely into his arms to return to sleep. you had successfully gotten away with it, you got to play around with his knives, albeit hurting yourself in the process. and you hadn't suffered any dire consequences, in fact, getting dex to patch you up had been a sweetly intimate moment.

the comforter had been pulled from your body, exposing your skin to the cold autumn air. dex stood at the end of the bed with his arms folded, muscles prominent through his navy blue shirt. every shirt fit him so well it was—

"up."

"hm?"

"you heard me, sweetheart." he gestured his head to the door.

you padded groggily behind him, rubbing your eyes with your non-bandaged hand as he led you toward the living room. his weaponry laid perfectly across the coffee table. your mind was not yet awake enough to use initiative.

"got a task for you whilst i'm gone." he spoke, pushing on your shoulders to sit you down on the couch. "since you want to mess with my knives so bad, you can clean 'em for me."

"what?"

"clean 'em for me." he repeated. "still got dirt and grime all over, need 'em to be real clean for tonight. got that?"

"i don't wanna do this, dex." you whined. "i said i'm sorry."

dex bent over to kiss the top of your head, ruffling your hair as he pulled his keys from his pocket. "can't let you think touching my knives is okay. s'dangerous, sweetheart."

you huffed, taking the cloth folded neatly beside you, grabbing the first of the array of knives.