v a l e n t i n e

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.

you were no exception, at first. you were just the sweet girl he would run alongside at a stupidly early hour. the two of you avoiding the world around you, except for each other. he didn't mean to make a friend of you, you had done most of the heavy lifting in your conversations. you invited him to coffee, he shuffled closer to you in the movie theatre as a way to repay your sweetest affection, he walked you home after every day spent together.

that heavy feeling sat in his chest, the poison in his ears telling him to "just kiss her", "just invite her in", "just ask her out". every urge telling him to be selfish, curb that craving he felt, settle his sleepless mind and satiate that yearning for you.

and he would wish he never did.

having you beside him felt great. it gave him undeniable purpose, a reason to get out of bed and tuck his sheets in. because no matter what the day threw at him, no matter how shaky his mind felt, he would return home to you. taking space in his own, smiling back at him as if you could hear the voice in his head and loved him anyway.

you would let him lay against your chest of an evening, your body beneath his on the couch as you both pretended to watch the movie you spent an hour choosing. you were fighting your eyelids to stay awake, your fingers occasionally halting in their trails along his scalp before jolting yourself awake and resuming. but dex laid awake, your heart pressed against his ear, the rhythmic beat matching his own. his jaw loosened, his shoulders dropped, that ache in his back ceased.

his problems, his fears, they all disappeared when he had you caged between him and whatever soft surface you deemed appropriate. but nothing had ever gone swimmingly in his lifetime, not for long anyway. his mind drip fed him venom, which would cling to his lungs all day.

"dex," you frowned, reaching a hand over the kitchen table to grab his, "you okay, sweetheart?"

he was now, you had pulled him from the mist of blue smoke back to the bubble you both resided in. but it would always be there, and it would be whenever he stared at you for too long. feeling gratitude for his North Star had always ended in feeling fear, dangling from a ledge to always remind him how much he had to lose.

"yeah," he choked, raising his brows at you with a forced smile, "i'm okay. just thinkin' 'bout you."

and you never pushed. you took his word for it, letting him practice grounding himself. but you never let him stray too far, to a place he wouldn't come back from. in some weird way, that's why you worked so well. you knew you were dex's salvation, he whispered it to you once when he thought you were still asleep. but you knew he was an adult, a capable one at that, and could learn to ground himself. for the most part.

the nightmares begun after a week of losing you to late nights at work. he would sit on the couch in silence, his mind too loud to watch tv or read a book. until you would slump through the door and sit in the dark with him, eating leftovers in silence.

his nightmares translated into his real life. dreaming of coming home to a wrecked apartment, following a North Star into turning new york upside down just to find you. dreaming of chasing after you as you ran away from him in total fear.

he clung to you, moreso than usual. like a lovesick puppy at your feet, asking to shower with you, come with you on your errands, begging to spend more time inside you. he would purposely hold out on coming inside you because he needed the connection just a moment longer.

"dex." your voice came like a siren call, always accompanied by a hand on his cheek. looking over at him like he was a vase made of broken parts. "you know i love you, right? more than words can say."

"course, i do." he tried playing it cool, a shrug, a quick glance away, a cocky performance to hide his bleeding heart. "and i love you. i'd kill for you."

you always giggled at that comment, though it was entirely true. he would kill anyone without hesitation for you. he would make the journey of odysseus if it meant you were waiting for him. there were not yet scientific explanations for the way you sat between his ribs, commanding his every action. good or bad.

the nightmares had reached their peak when he donned his bullseye attire, playing the hero and killing the bad guys. until he'd lost himself in that damned blue smoke once more, fighting through it to find you curled on the floor. so pretty as you always had been, hair sprawled over his thighs as he cradled you. his sharpened knife stuck in your sternum. blood pooling around the metal, trailing down the sides of you.

it felt real. so real. your necklace with the black rope and red pendant sat just above the blade, the necklace he bought you when you wouldn't stop staring at it online. your blue nails, the ones you had painted last week that you used his bicep as a background for. it had to be real, didn't it? had you finally realised who he was? had you stumbled upon his nightly activities when you were passed out in bed? was it all over?

startling himself awake was an uphill fight, and he made a silent vow to listen to matt's words of gospel more often. because if god was real, and had brought him out of his mind, or brought you back to him. he was worth believing in. he clung to you like the room was blanketed in snow, limbs shivering even with the sweat that glazed them.

"dex." you mumbled.

your voice. you were here, his name on your tongue could be his salvation alone.

"dex." you repeated. "what's going on? are you okay?"