#ermmmm

it was the first time you’d truly seen caleb’s metal arm out, staring intently at it from across the room. he’d shown it to you a couple times, never keeping it in its raw form too long when you were around. your eyes are wide as you take in every detail and whir, caleb doesn’t notice until it’s too late, shame filling him as he tries to hide the cold limb behind him.

“I’m sorry I’ll put it away-” he scrambles, you immediately shake your head, crossing the room and placing your hand on the cool material, it send a shiver down your spine as your fingertips trace every ridge.

caleb notices the lust in your gaze immediately, something dark twisting in his stomach as he takes in your flustered state. for a moment he’s too stunned to even come up with any thoughts, let alone speak.

“it’s- is it uh- waterproof like this?” you ask, face burning, shame out the window as you feel a familiar heat pooling between your thighs at the thoughts running in your head.

Gambit: No, I don't want to sleep with you chéri.

im hoping that this one might be my past life, my lord i know enough to get my facts right

No thankyou for all these older bf requests I love this, BAD!!! Toxic behavior, 18+ cause I’m a whore sorry I couldn’t help myself guys wtf

Dex is uncomfortable. He has been since he walked in, but you really wanted this, said you needed this. And it’s better than you going out to a bar, alone, which makes no sense and isn’t even a feasible thought in his head. So the next best thing was him coming with you.

Hand in hand, your skirt shorter than he’d like because he’s getting unfairly distracted when vigilance is required, and god, the stares.

It makes him sick, deep in his gut and in his bone marrow. But then your perfume wafts past him in the stale, humid air of the building and warmth blossoms. It calms his pulse to feel yours pounding in your palm.

The stools are uneven, half kilter and it’s making his spine ache a little. He gets you a Malibu pineapple and himself a water, grateful for the fan blowing against his sweltering skin. His eyes cannot stop flitting everywhere around you, and you’re staring at him like he’s doing something worthy of such a lovesick expression.

Your ankle interlocks with his, pulling his foot off of the edge of the stool and swinging your legs together. Then you pull his heavy hand in your lap and your skirt is as soft as your fingers.

“Did you know this building has been here for over a hundred years? One of New York’s oldest.”

Your voices sweet, curious tone slashes through the chatter like a break in the fog. He quirks his brow, shakes his head. Your thumb rubs soothing circles on his scarred knuckles.

You’re about two and a half drinks in and your fourth topic down before you start squirming in your chair, telling him you have to pee.

He immediately gets up, opens his hand out for you to grab and your cheeks lift to your eyes with the smile spreading across your face. You giggle, and he’s confused. Cause you get up and cross your arms, staring up at him through your lashes.

“Dex, I can go to the bathroom by myself,” he drops his hand, stares at you like you have two heads. You don’t giggle again, because he looks like a hurt puppy. Instead you reach out to squeeze his arm, soft fingers against taut, rigid bicep.

“It’s right around the corner bub. I’ll be fine.” And now you’re so close he can feel your breasts against his sternum and the pineapple juice on your mouth. He grunts.

“Just be quick, yeah?” He softens the edge in his throat at the last word, tries to make it sound less possessive. But I mean really, anything could happen in just a minute. He considers every worse possibility the way the strangers around him are deciding what their next appetizer might be.

You kiss his chin, nodding your head fervently before turning on your heels and moving through the small, but intoxicated crown to the restroom hallway.

He tries not to look like a total creep, eyeing the bathrooms and every person going in and out. He keeps having to crane his neck in order to have a clear view of the door, and -

A glass shatters behind him. His eye twitches and on instinct he turns around, pupils dilated and his nerves standing alert in a way that’s been engrained in him through training and trauma alike.

A wobbling man picks up the shards with so much shake in his grip he can’t even manage to fully pinch one between his thick fingers.

Dex lets out a an indignant huff, rolling his eyes at the situation because he cannot be that reactive when he’s out with you. He can’t get distracted like that ever again. Especially not over someone dropping their fucking whiskey glass.

And then he turns back around. And you’re there, barely out of the hallway and he feels the blood rush to his face, his hands, all throughout his temples.

He can’t be much older than you, if not the same age. And you’re clearly trying to get past him but he’s blocking the way subtly, the way someone does in a public space where their proximity can seem like a mere coincidence.

Dex has worked a long time on something close to composure. Not quite, and it’s not perfect, but he does his best - really, he does. But he just can’t see you try to get away from this guy anymore.

The toothpick is small enough to not injure the boy too badly, just slashes his ankle and lands on the floor beside his shoe with a few droplets of blood. His reaction is a bit over the top, he’s hissing and looks down at his skin like he’s been shot.

Dex captures your eyes not even a second after, you’re beaming, tipsy with amusement and shock, taking this opportunity to move around the stranger and then bound over to your boyfriend with a disbelieving laugh already leaving your mouth.

“You just - oh my god, he’s acting like he just got stabbed.”

Dex can’t smile yet, can’t soak in the fact that you think it’s funny and that makes his heart ache a little in a way that makes him want to take you home right this second.

“I should’ve. He wouldn’t leave you alone, look at him he’s - he’s searching for you.”

His eyes are dangerously intense now. The type of intense that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up and your skin get hot underneath the surface. Dex is completely locked in on this goofy stranger, and you’re starting to worry that he’s getting too in his head for the night to end well.

“Hey, look at me not him.” You gently grab his chin, scruff welcoming against your fingers and those crows feet by his eyes immediately soften a bit at the whiny lilt in your voice.

“He didn’t touch me. Just a little flirting, just words, and you handled it. So don’t be upset, be with me.” Your bottom lip is so plush, so wet when you pout it just enough to make his insides feel fuzzy.

You’re very good at this. Disarming him, becoming so sickeningly sweet and merciful and desperate for his affection that everything else fades to background noise.

But Dex can’t let it go that easily. Not yet.

“Did you tell him you were with me?” He quirks a bushy brow, jaw ticking. He asks it not with accusation, but with challenge. You move even closer, between his thick legs where they’re spread on the bar stool. You’re almost at an even height since you’re standing.

“Of course I did,” goosebumps erupt on his skin when you lean in, fingers tangled in the short hair at the nape of his neck and your warm breath against his ear.

“Told him my boyfriend would kill him if he didn’t stop talking to me, swear it.”

He stills, fingers finding your lower back and scrunching the fabric of your shirt between them like he needs something palpable to remain here on earth. You can see his pulse beginning to pound underneath his jaw, the crimson flush blossoming across his cheeks.

You can see how it makes him feel, how intensely hungry he’s looking at you now. How devoted and proud.

“Yeah? Perfect, that’s perfect baby. You’re so good.”

He’s not stupid, he knows you well enough to expect the way you’re staring at him through low lidded eyes. The way your chest is rising and falling far too rapidly, just like his from such a short sentence.

He sees the way you squeeze your thighs together, too. It makes him hum low in his throat, licking his chapped pink lips while he gives you a once over.

It’s too intense, too overwhelming and you find your own gaze dropping to his lap. A thick tent bulges from behind his zipper.

Oh.

“Look at me.” He says it so low you almost don’t hear him at first. You wiggle yourself closer, attempting to hide his hardened cock from anyone else’s view. He lets you, cause now you’re pressed against him and that’s all he ever really wants.

“My sweet girl, I’ll take care of you.” He cups your cheek, slides off of the stool and you’re forced to look further up at him. You suddenly feel too hot to think, to walk, to do anything but stare and listen.

“If you could see yourself, see the way you’re looking at me right now,” his smirk grows, thousand watt grin behind a broad mouth.

“I can’t have everyone looking at you when you’re like this, baby. Probably soaked through, huh?” He’s leaned down to your ear this time, and the small sound that leaves your mouth is all the confirmation he needed.

He’s right. Of course he is. And he smells really good and looks even better and fuck, you should’ve known the night was going to end up like this.

You grab his hand, big and heavy and rough in your own, and he pulls you to his side like he’d be happy having you stitched to him.