summary: cuddling with Dex and finding his spinal scar
wc: 1.2K
pairing: ddba!dex + gn!reader (fem!reader tag for reach)
cw: mentions of death, mentiones of injury, mentions of surgery, gender neutral reader, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n
a/n: this one was requested by anon, first half is their prompt (we're basically co-writers yuppie), enjoy✨
You're sprawled on the couch with Dex on top, full from lunch, warm, sleepy. It's your first time fully cuddling with him, it took a bit of adjusting to find a comfortable position but now you're both in heaven.
One of your hands is on his shoulder, the other running through his hair. Everything is going great, he's relaxed enough to melt, until the hand that was in his hair brushes too low and finds the start of the scar along his spine and he freezes. Full on, body locked stiff, eyes wide, suddenly very awake and aware of your hand and what it touched.
His brain starts doing what it does, running laps around all the different scenarios in which you find out about his scar and feel disgusted that you ever even touched him or looked his way. He starts panicking internally, trying very hard to not break down on top of you, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating or uncontrollably crying.
While that happens, you've noticed the shift and are trying to check on him.
"Dex?"
"Are you ok?"
"Sweetheart, can you hear me?"
It takes you holding his face in your hands, lifting it up until your eyes are level, and you calling his name two more times to get a reaction. And what you get is the most heartbreaking sound you've ever heard. A mix between a whine and a sob. His breath is short, his eyes glassy. He's waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the rejection, but he really doesn't want it to come.
He didn't think it would get that far, so fast. He didn't have time to come up with reasons, excuses, stories. All he has is his scars and his frozen brain refusing to dig him out of the ditch.
You don't even know what's wrong yet, all you know is that you were caressing his hair and his neck... and then you remember the odd texture you felt, and it clicks. It wasn't the tag of his shirt.
You ask if you hurt him, start apologizing, and he blurts out "you're ok with it?" As if a scar was optional, or gross, or embarrassing. And all you want to do is reassure him, hold him close, tell him that his painful experience isn't something that should push people away just by sight or touch.
“Am I okay with what, love?” you ask carefully, wanting to gently nudge him towards the answer rather than just assume things. He huffs, hiding his face into your shoulder. The words come out muffled as he nuzzles deeper. “You know what…” he replies in a sheepish, teary sound, clenching the fabric of your shirt between his fingers.
Poor thing, you thought to yourself, can't even bring himself to tell you what's bothering him.
“Hey…” you coo, treading through his hair with gentle fingers, your other hand stays on the small of his back, steady and grounding. “Tell me, baby, what's wrong?”
“It's th- the s- the scar…” he stutters out, trailing off on the last syllable. His body is tense with embarrassment, breath shaky and uneven. You snake your arms tighter around him as you press him closer to your chest, letting your warmth seep into him through your skin and clothes.
You feel your shirt dampening and the wet fabric clinging to your collarbone but you pay it no mind. Right about now your thoughts were occupied with your big strong boyfriend sobbing into your shoulder because of some mysterious scar? “What scar, sweetheart…? Please, tell me, I- I really wanna help…” you murmur into his hair, pressing your lips to his head between words.
Dex sighs and finally manages to gather some courage to mumble: “The one… mhm… on my back…” Your eyebrows fly up in realisation. Ah, there it is. “Can I see?” you probe carefully, still hugging him tight, as if letting your grip loose even slightly would lead to Dex disappearing into thin air. After receiving a weak nod from him you hook your thumb under the collar of the simple gray tee he was wearing and lift the fabric enough to expose the skin of his back to your sight.
There it was. The long-ass scar which started at the nape of his neck, going down his spine and ending at the tailbone. Straight line right through the middle of his back, obviously from a surgery, an old one, but still more pinkish that the surrounding skin, with tiny bumps on either side, where the sutures had been.
Oh. That's the scar. Your breath must've hitched at the sight because Dex tensed up even more in your hold with a pitiful whimper. You let go of the fabric and pull him closer.
“Hey, it's alright… it's alright…” you continue to coo at him like one would at a stray kitten. “It's just a scar… Wanna tell me how you got this one? Hm?” You still cradle him like he's fragile, still murmur reassurances into his ear, still don’t run away in disgust.
At that Dex's sobs get louder, body shaking in embarrassment. Is he supposed to tell you the truth? How he, the best sniper of the FBI SWAT squad, excelling every test including intellectual ones, got fooled by a stupid obese crime boss, whose life he so foolishly saved just doing his job well, into being his pawn assassin? That the said crime boss got the person, whose proximity was keeping him sane, killed off? And that when Dex tried to get revenge on that boar-sized fucker, he broke Dex's spine like a twig, instantly paralyzing him? Tell you that he was laying there in the puddle of his own piss and shit the whole time before the ambulance arrived, not sure if he’ll be able to walk again? Maybe he should tell you how the general anesthesia didn't work well and how he woke up in panic on the table, face down, with surgeons fussing over his vertebrae while the only thing he could see was the OR floor?
The flood of memories washed over Dex's mind, bringing a new load of tears to his eyes. His broad frame shaking in your arms while he hides his face shamefully in the crook of your neck. He can't help it. The pain. The wreckage. He never mourned his past before, never felt the need to. Or maybe didn't want to be seen as less strong or brave by you. But here, in the safety of your embrace… all pretence is stripped away, leaving him a wailing, trembling mess.
Oh god. No no no. Your heart is clenching at the sight of your boyfriend spiralling because of some stupid scar. You feel your own eyes well up with tears. Poor baby. You hug him even tighter, tilting your head to nuzzle your face into his hair. You were pressing frantic kisses all over the top of his head, crying silently with him and murmuring something between kisses. “It's okay, baby, it- shhhh, it's okay… I love you, love you so much… I love all of you, with all your scars and wounds and whatnot… I have scars too, y'know? I'll show you… we can be bruised and broken together… I promise, it's okay…”
Dex's sobs finally subsided and he carefully lifted his head to look at you with wet red-rimmed eyes.
It's been a while since you've left the comfort of your bed, your phone forgotten on the nightstand, buzzing with yet another missed call from Dex. Sheets are wet with your sweat, the air is stale and humid. You're kneeling in front of the toilet, body tensing with spasms, your lunch leaving your stomach with terrifying speed. How long have you been hunched over the bowl? You totally lost track of time. Your head is pounding, your skin is burning and your guts certainly decided to kill you today. What was it that you ate? You can't remember. Does it even matter at this point when all of it is in the bowl in front of you? Ew, don't think about it. Too late. Another spasm leaves you gagging but nothing's coming out. Empty, at last.
You run your tongue across the backs of your teeth to collect the remnants of your vomit and spit them into the bowl before pressing the flush button and collapsing onto the bathroom floor. Cold tiles cooling your hot skin, solid and unwavering under your cheek. You've been drifting in and out of consciousness for a while before you heard a frantic clinking of the keys from the outside of your apartment door. The lock turned once, twice before opening with a soft click; a tall figure stepping inside cautiously—Dex.
“Babe?” he asks carefully, taking his shoes off. You can only whine in response, too exhausted to move, fingers twitching against the tile. He stalks into the bathroom, gasping at the sight of you spread like a starfish on the floor. “Baby! What happened?” he questioned, examining your sprawled out form. He sits on his hunches next to you and brushes a stray strand of hair from your wet forehead. “Did you fall?”
A weak groan left you.
“No. I'm laying here willingly.” you quipped with a sigh. “I'm… unwell. Sweated all over the sheets… I think I ate something bad… I'm feverish and… and I threw up. Like, a lot. Can I please just die in peace…?”
Dex let out an unexpected snort at your whining. Like hell he's gonna let you die! You must've gone insane. He'll save you from the embarrassment of dying on the bathroom floor all sweaty and stinky and with an aftertaste of your own vomit lingering in your mouth. He's not a knight in shining armor—oh no!—he's just a good boyfriend like that.
With a huff of warm air from his nose, Dex rolled you over onto your back. “Alright, listen up, little miss. I have a plan. It's a good plan and you're gonna follow through, okay?” You nodded. Dex grinned, pleased with your compliance. “Mhm, good girl. First, we're gonna clean you up, then I'll change your sheets and give you medicine… You'll take a nap and when you wake up… I'll make you soup. Nuh uh, don't look at me like that. It's gonna be a good soup—it's good for your gut health. You trust me, right, baby?” Another nod from you, another content smirk from him. “Good. Now let's start with our plan…”
Dex stood up with a grunt and helped you sit, propping you up against the wall. Then he reached into the storage closet to grab his folding shower stool. Ever since he got his spine broken and then reconstructed with cognium it's been a hell of an exercise for him to take showers standing up. Sure, he built some muscle, strengthened his muscular framework and stuff, but his back was still aching. And who wants to stand while showering anyway? He unfolded the stool and placed it securely onto the shower floor. Shook it a little. Yup, all good. Nice and sturdy.
“A throne for the princess!” he proclaimed proudly, sliding you up the wall with his hands secured under each of your armpits. You gave him a weak giggle and dropped your forehead to his shoulder. “Silly…”
Dex chuckled and shook his head. “No ma'am. I'm just trying to hype you up. Because you feel bad. And because I love you, dumbass.” You gasp in mock offense. “‘M not a dumbass…”
A kiss landed onto your temple before you even had the time to register the movement. “‘Course you're not. You're a royal dumbass. Now will you do me an honor of letting me undress you, your majesty?” You were helpless against his charm, really. “Yes. You may undress me now, peasant.” You snickered with a smirk on your face. You leaned your head against the wall and let your eyelids fall closed, letting Dex unbutton your pajamas and slide them off your body, followed by your underwear, leaving you bare to the cool air.
He then scooped you gently into his arms and carefully seated you onto the stool. “There… Now I'll bathe you and you'll be all nice and clean and smelling good. Alright?” Dex asked, cupping your face in his palm after turning the water on. You nodded yet again, soft and pliant under his watchful gaze. “Good girl. Now open wide…” You obliged and opened your mouth to let Dex pour some water into it. “Swish it around.” You sighed, swishing the water from one side of your mouth to another, letting it wash off the gunk that was haunting your senses. Dex was busy with wetting your toothbrush and squeezing toothpaste onto the bristles. “Spit.” You spat the dirty water and immediately felt Dex shoving the toothbrush into your mouth. “You'll have to brush your teeth yourself, like a big girl you are. I'll take care of the rest. You can do it, right?” Enthusiastic ‘mhm’ fell from your lips as you got to work while Dex started wetting your hair to wash them.
You slumped a little, focusing solely on your main task of thoroughly cleaning your enamel and making sure to reach the farthest molars, enjoying the feeling of Dex's fingers on your scalp, lathering your hair in shampoo, which was quickly turning into fluffy foam. “No conditioner this time, I'll just spray them with a leave-in later, alright?” You nodded. Dexie knows what's best for you and you trust him. You sit quietly through him rinsing your hair, the suds and water running down your shoulders, chest and thighs. Nice. He then takes the toothbrush from you and makes you rinse your mouth before lathering a loofah up with your shower gel and starting to wash your body. Then he leaves you on your own for a while to go change your sheets and open the windows to let the fresh air in, letting you sit and revel in the feeling of running water kissing your skin. When he came back, you were smiling like an idiot to yourself, giggling quietly.
“What's s'funny, babe?” Dex inquired, dumbfounded. You can't help but just snicker in response. “I feel like a jungle monkey.” He snorted at that. “A jungle monkey? Well, that's new… Now come on now, we need to dry you off and give you meds. Yeah? Yeah.”
Next couple of minutes were a bliss of you getting absolutely pampered by your boyfriend: him patting your body dry and wrapping your hair with a towel, applying your lotion for you, even dressing you in a fresh pajama set; he then carried you to your freshly made bed and gave you meds that made you sleepy and you absolutely dozed off lying sideways on the bed while he took care of your hair—spraying the leave-in, blow drying them and then braiding them carefully. When he finished, he rotated you so you lay the normal way and retreated toward the kitchen to make you the soup that he promised.
Half an hour later your peaceful slumber was disturbed by the shuffling and the rich aroma tickling your nostrils. Your nose twitched slightly as if trying to smell better and find out what that was. Dex emerged from the kitchen with a bowl in his hands and padded carefully into your room, placing the bowl on the nightstand. He wakes you up gently to present you the masterpiece that he created—a bowl of miso soup! You try to be a brat at first and tell him that you don't need a soup because you're not five and… and he shushes you with a kiss to your forehead—actually checking for fever. All the fight got out of you eventually and you ended up surrendering and letting him spoon feed you. Good girl.
summary: your weird coworker turned out to be... intriguing
wc: 857
pairing: nerd!dex + gn!reader (fem!reader tag for engagement)
cw: mentions of suicide
After finally hanging another call, you lean back in your chair, stretching your stiff muscles and cracking your joints. Lunch break!
Your eyes land on the young man in the next cubicle—your coworker Benjamin, or “Dex”, as he calls himself. Whatever.
Your gaze drifts slowly across his desk. It looks so… neat. Almost empty compared to yours—filled with trinkets, cute anti-stress toys and sticky notes. His desk was squeaky clean, not a particle of dust on it. The only thing present there—except for the monitor, keyboard and script chart—was a notebook in which Dex was doodling incessantly. Well, doodling is not exactly a word you would use to describe what you saw there. Complex schemes with arrows and numbers, some calculations… And he was actively solving an equation now, while still on the call! With a person who wants to kill themselves and is calling to get help! Bruh…
You turn your head to give him a look just to see that he's already watching you. Uh oh. You quickly avert your gaze. Lunch. Yeah. Then you scramble from your chair and head to the break room. Phew. Maybe he didn't notice. Maybe you just see things. Aight, you don't have time or mental capacity to think about stuff like that. Especially on a shitty job with eleven bucks hourly wage. Though, just to make sure, you cast a quick glance at his cubicle once again only to be met with an unwavering gaze of two dark hazel eyes. Ugh, bro, come on… Your eyebrows shoot up for a mere second before you school your features back into the nonchalant look and hastily retreat toward the vending machine. Weirdo.
After taking a deep breath you make yourself look interested with the range of sandwiches and pre-packaged salads. Of course your stupidly handsome blonde coworker wasn't looking at you, he only has eyes for Julie! Hold on, handsome? Woah, not so fast. You shake your head, trying to push away the thought of Poindexter's face, of his warm looking eyes, his sharp smile, his strong hands— Nope. Nuh uh. Not doing that. Gosh. Do you want a chicken sandwich or ham-and-cheese one? Fuck, he always smells so good… Or maybe a Caesar salad? Or maybe all of the above? And Dex's bicep around your neck as a dessert… Huh? Damn, you seriously need to collect yourself.
Just as you chose your lunch for today, pressed all the right buttons and prepared to pay, you realized that you forgot your wallet. You sighed, bracing for the walk of shame to get it, annoyed at yourself for wasting time on thinking about your weirdly hot colleague when the clear “ding!” pulled you back into reality.
Tall fuckass gorgeous doe-eyed chiseled-face blonde idiot loser of a man in his stupid hoodie and with his lopsided grin was standing right beside you near the vending machine with a credit card in one of his stupid big hands. Ughhhh. Did he just…? Oh hell no.
“Why did you—” you start just to be unceremoniously interrupted by the “thump” of the sandwich falling into the tray. Sigh.
“You're gonna get it or what?” Dex wonders in a hushed tone, a trained smile stretching his lips unevenly. “I don't have all day, y’know.” That phrase sounds familiar. Is it from a movie? Yeah, who cares…
“Uh… Thanks? I guess…” you mumble, crouching to retrieve the damn sandwich. You didn't mean to look up, of course you didn't. And you certainly didn't mean to look at your coworker's crotch that was conveniently situated just in your line of sight. And let's just say… those videos from TikTok about catching prints that you used to be giggling at paid off tenfold. Fuck. Look away look away look away!
“Ahem… thanks again. I forgot my wallet and—” you stumble through the excuse while rising to your feet just to be met by Dex’s poker face. “I mean, uh… I'll give the money back, I swear. Cash or transfer?”
He stares at you, dumbfounded. “There’s no need for that. I was just…” he paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek and blinking rapidly, brows furrowed in thought. You choose this moment to help him finish the sentence.
“...you were just trying to be a gentleman?” you suggested with a soft smile. His shoulders relaxed immediately as he sighed in relief. “Yes! That, exactly that! A gentleman. That's what they do, right…?” he asked in a whisper, blinking at you helplessly yet again, as if he was waiting for a clue. You chuckled at that. “I don't know, you're the first one I met.” You both giggled then, holding onto the vending machine for support. “Alright,” you chuckled once more before turning to go, “I'll go secure a table to finally eat my lunch. You can join if you wanna!” Dex nodded as you left, smiling to himself and feeling his face grow warmer each second.
You sat at the break room table, unpacking the sandwich and paused as the thought occurred to you. Did you just flirt with your coworker? And most importantly, did he just flirt back?
tags: @angelsuvi @bloodandcigarettes001 @clawxmoon @fae-of-prey @guzzlebuddie @gildedfawn @he-artshaped @honeybeechestnut @n3ptoonz @poinandshoot @poindihxter @poindextersgirlforever @strangelure @tanya-is-dead @the-ghost-bird @whosjunglejim4322 (I really need to make a Google form for the taglist sheesh)
If you want to be added to the taglist, fill the form here.
cw: slight angst, anorgasmia, masturbation, handjob (m!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, basically porn with a pinch of plot
Stroke.
Another stroke.
Come on, Dex.
Grunt.
Come on, Dex.
Next second, he's spilling over the bathroom tiles with a hitching breath, but nothing. Nothing creeps from his stomach up his spine and into his brain. Nothing soothes his weary mind and body with white-hot pleasure. No warmth, no stars behind the eyelids, no shivers, no buckling of the knees. Nothing.
Fuck.
Dex lets out a deep sigh and leans his forehead on the shower wall. Ever since he got prescribed new medication all of his attempts to coax an orgasm out of himself have been fruitless. And now he just stands here under the warm spray, shoulders slumped, already softening shaft still in his hand as he squeezed it tighter trying in vain to feel anything in his brain. Nothing. His face crumpled as he slid down the wall to sit in the tub, water from the showerhead still running gently over his body. Faint sobs were shaking his frame now, tears running down his cheeks and mixing with the water and his spent that was pouring smoothly down the drain.
Broken.
Useless.
Good for nothing piece of shit.
You can't even jerk off like normal people.
Vile.
Disgusting.
Another violent sob rippled through his body, his shoulders shaking, tears and snot running down his face.
What is wrong with me?
And just like that, nights were changing, but not his inability to climax.
Until…
The first time you even joked about sex he was petrified. Not just because he was a virgin—it was a big reason nonetheless—but because of his… little problem. What if you would laugh at him? Even worse, what if you would hate him?
That's when he started learning. Educating himself to compensate for his inexperience and this defect of his with knowledge. Sleepless nights of him reading and watching and writing things down and practicing his movements… His poor pillows really saw everything.
Eventually, the time had come. The two of you were heading home from some kind of party your friends were throwing—a concept not entirely foreign for Dex, but still surprising enough that someone has considered inviting him to one. Both of you were holding hands and giggling; you—because the cocktails made you tipsy, Dex—because he was just so happy to be here and spend the evening with his girlfriend.
After Dex walked you home, you lingered in the doorway, batting your eyelashes innocently at him.
“I thought… hic I thought that maybe you could stay…?” you murmured, fidgeting with your fingers. How could he refuse when you were looking at him so sweetly?
A couple of minutes later, both of you were making out on your couch, one of your hands groping his pectoral, the other one tangled in his hair, pulling on the blonde strands.
“Mhmmm, Dex…” you whine into the kiss, grinding your hips down slowly onto his growing bulge. “You're so handsome, it's unfair…”
Dex can't help but whimper softly at the praise, hands grabbing everywhere he can reach; he ends up sliding them under your shirt, his lower stomach tingling at the feeling of your soft skin under his palms.
“Nghhh, want you…” you moan against his lips. “Want you so bad… I know… shhh… I know that it's spontaneous, but… please, baby…” you continue murmuring sweet nonsense against his skin, trailing kisses from his lips to his chin and placing the softest smooch on his dimple, up his jaw and down the column on his neck, pausing at the juncture where it meets the shoulder. You suck a faint mark on the skin there, nibbling it lightly with your teeth before soothing it with your tongue.
Dex's mind was in a haze. He didn't remember how he returned the kisses with equal fervor, didn't remember how he unbuttoned his shirt and unzipped his jeans, didn't remember how he ended up in your bed with only his boxers on and a very prominent wet spot on their front, too.
Fuck.
It's happening.
It's really happening.
You pawed at his pecs then trailed your palm down the ridge of his abs and stopped just under his navel, fingertips teasing the trail of darker blonde hair leading down where you were shamelessly staring with a seductive smile. Dex freezed. Shit. Fuck. What if I won't… What if she'll hate me… What if…
As if you sensed his nervousness, you leaned forward and kissed him, slow and passionate, licking into his mouth with a soft moan. That seemed to shut his thoughts right up because he began rolling his hips against your thigh, searching for any friction he could find. He gasped when your hand found its way under the band of his boxers, fingers closing around his already hard and leaking cock.
“That's it, baby…” you cooed at him, swiping the pad of your thumb over his sensitive tip. “Lemme help ya… just like that…” you whispered, stroking him achingly slowly.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Thumb swipe, followed by the hitching of Dex's breath.
Down…
This delicious torture didn't last long. Just like Dex. He spilled over your fingers, making a mess of his briefs and shaking almost imperceptibly. Both of you knew that premature ejaculation was a thing, but he was still embarrassed, tears of shame stinging his eyes. Nonetheless, there was something else too. Your hands felt different from what he felt touching himself. Your skin was soft, your grip gentle, your movements unpredictable. But that's not what has drawn his attention. Not the thought of your hands. But the feeling in his brain. It felt fuzzy and tingly at the same time. And then, under the haze of shame, the hunger woke up. He needs to find out. He needs…
Next thing you know, you're rolled over, Dex is hovering over you, leaning down to press a slow kiss to your lips.
“Need to… to make you feel good… please let me…” And oh do you let him. He does a great work of warming you up—though you did not exactly need it, you were already soaked. Does all by the book—what a good boy!
You're already whimpering and shaking after a few climaxes when he finally—finally!—slides into you, the girth of him stretching you deliciously, sending the waves of heated pleasure all over your body and making the pressure in your belly coil tighter with every movement. Dex was ecstatic—the warmth of your silky tight walls hugging him so snugly and making him twitch just slightly inside of you.
“Ohhh, godddd…” he moans into your shoulder, mouthing at the softness of your skin, his thrusts are slow and deep, just like you both need it. Dex guides your legs to wrap around his waist, adjusting the angle to push deeper, kissing your cervix with his tip on every thrust and hitting that spongy spot inside. The two of you right now are a tangle of limbs, sharing one breath and moaning into each other's mouths.
The pleasure was building slowly, but surely. The ah's and oh's spilling from your lips were getting higher and louder as Dex just kept hitting that damn spot. Your head fell back as you weren't holding your moans anymore. Your nails raked down his spine, leaving red marks as he railed you so good… And he wasn't ashamed to make noises too. Every time he bottomed out he let out a low grunt, but when he dragged his length back through your warm slick it pulled the nastiest moan right out of his lungs.
“Ba-abe… ah… my sweet girl, are you… ohhhh… are you close…?” he managed to mumble almost incoherently. You were drooling at this point, not being able to figure a word out of your mouth and that's when he knew you were there.
“Ahh, Dex… mhmmm… Dex… ohhh… ah, ah, ahhhh…!”
The only word you could muster through the intensity of your climax was his name. And that's when he snapped too. His hips bucked forward once, twice before they locked as he spilled into you right in time with the damn fireworks going off in his spinal cord and exploding into his mind, drawing intricate colorful patterns on the very back of his eyelids, making him feel like he was falling into the softest cloud.
Changing those fuckass meds was a brilliant decision, after all.
virgin!dex who writes you love letters that are all fluff at the beginning but quickly descend into filthy description of his desires. safe to say none of the letters were sent.
virgin!dex who burns from the inside out ever since you guys met and he couldn't really put the name on that feeling. but once he feels the growing tent in his pants at the very thought of you, he knows for sure.
virgin!dex who has wet dreams about you, waking up in the middle of the night all sweaty and with a sticky mess in his briefs.
virgin!dex who palms himself slowly through his shorts whenever he's on the phone with you, breath hitching as he bites his lips raw to not let out a pathetic whimper, while you continue rambling about your day absolutely unsuspecting.
virgin!dex who uses his FBI connections to stalk you on social media and such. accidentally finds your boudoir photoshoot and explodes internally.
virgin!dex who finds analog pictures from said photoshoot at your apartment when you invite him over for movie night. usually he's not fond of stealing, but tonight is a special occasion, so he takes one. one wouldn't hurt, right? you won't even notice.
virgin!dex who tucks the stolen picture in his wallet later, but not before he gave it a spritz of perfume he bought earlier.
virgin!dex who frantically shaves every time you hang out just in case.
virgin!dex who watches tutorials on fingering, practising on the orange. his poor fingers after that…
virgin!dex who struggles with anorgasmia because of his meds but somehow the feeling of your soft walls around him instead of his hand works wonders.
virgin!dex who moans so loud he gets a noise complaint from the neighbors later.
virgin!dex who comes home from your first date, struggling through the stairs on wobbling legs, lower abdomen aching, and literally throws himself on the bed and humps the pillow desperately, sniffing his own shirt because it smells like your perfume from the goodbye hug you gave him.
virgin!dex who then lies on his stomach and pants like a tired puppy, clutching the sheets in his hands.
virgin!dex who washes his messy sheets in the cold water, sniffling out of embarrassment.
virgin!dex who asks you about your perfume. not because he's polite but because later he'll buy it to spray his pillowcases. for, uh… reasons.
virgin!dex who then religiously buys everything from your skincare and such because he wants to smell you on him every. damn. second.
virgin!dex who shakes like a leaf and nods stiffly when you ask if you can go down on him the first time.
virgin!dex who squeezes his eyes shut because the feeling of your mouth on him is just too much.
virgin!dex who cries when you start gagging on his thick length (he feels guilty, duh) but makes no move to stop you because it's too good.
virgin!dex who stares at you in horror when you suck him dry and swallow the load.
virgin!dex who gains a little bit of confidence after the first time and slowly cuddlefucks you in the morning to the point of overstimulating you because he just can't stop. how could he? you feel so smooth and wet and tight around him.
virgin!dex who tries his best not to ogle you in a bikini when you go to the beach the first time, but steals a few glances and goes embarrassingly hard.
virgin!dex who starts stuttering and shaking if you stand too close to him or even press into him, especially when you guys kiss. and if you tease him about it, he becomes flustered and blushes pretty.
virgin!dex who gets himself off at the photos of you that you send him and then if he sees you in the same outfit later he feels bad.
virgin!dex, whose hands hover over your body while making out because he has no idea where to put them.
virgin!dex who giggles nervously when you flirt with him. bonus points if you get suggestive, because he just sits there with the face like 𝘩𝘶𝘩?
virgin!dex who prepares for your first time like it's a mission. reads a ton of literature on female anatomy and watches video tutorials on what to do.
virgin!dex who fumbles with the buttons and the clothes in general when you finally get to the third base.
virgin!dex who gets all glossy-eyed when he finally sees you naked and you let him touch you, mumbling about how soft you are.
virgin!dex who wants to make you feel good and just take care of you, but happily lets you take the lead because he's so eager to be useful.
virgin!dex who kisses you all over because he can't get enough of the feeling of your skin under his lips. and maybe because he's a little bit scared to go to the next part.
virgin!dex who lasts about 15 seconds and then cries into your shoulder, holding onto you for dear life because he's so embarrassed and scared that you would leave him over this.
virgin!dex who whines when you let him eat you out and he's so eager he almost suffocates so you have to pull him by his hair to remind him to breathe.
virgin!dex who holds you so close to him you might fuse, going so slow it actually drives you insane.
virgin!dex who gives you a crygasm and then fusses over you because he's worried he hurt you, but you reassure him and he hugs you tighter, stroking your hair and your back.
Characters: Joaquín Torres, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes
Tags: fluff, gen, no romance!, sfw
Word count: 1.7K
Summary: Joaquín comes back from the hospital and the surprise awaits him...
Content warnings: none, maybe just a cuteness overload
Author's note: proofread kinda sorta, but English is not my first language, plus it's my first work in English, so please be kind in your critique 🫂
Warm spring sunlight already started crawling across every surface at Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling, painting the walls and the floors in yellow and orange, eventually reaching the windows of Captain America's office.
Sam Wilson, the third wielder of the legendary vibranium shield, was sitting at his desk and sending occasional glances at the second one, usually occupied by Joaquín. But, due to the accident near the Celestial Island, Sam's wingman, best hacker and just a charming fella, Joaquín Torres was spending his time mostly horizontally at the hospital, getting his fair share of physical therapy and shitty hospital food.
Thankfully, the doctors assured Sam that the young man will be out in no time. That gave him enough hope to not worry his ass off. After all, the young body heals faster, right?
Right now Sam was free from any missions and that could mean only one thing – paperwork. Gosh, he hated that stuff. Especially when right now there wasn't anyone who he could share the comfortable silence with. Body doubling really worked wonders for both of the winged heroes.
Sigh.
𝙁𝙤𝙘𝙪𝙨, 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙨𝙤𝙣.
Sam hunched over the desk, writing yet another report, rubbing his neck anxiously, when his phone buzzed with the incoming call.
𝙏𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙨🐤
Sam picked up immediately, eager to hear the news from his teammate.
“Mornin', Falcon Junior. You good?”
Joyful chirping coming out of the speaker filled Sam's ears, making him pull the phone away for a moment. He shook his head, trying to suppress a laugh. That boy... Sometimes he's like an actual bird, really.
“Woah, slow down, Quin. Your old man can only understand this much.” Sam pleaded with a fond smile. Thankfully, Joaquín understood the assignment and actually slowed his happy rambling.
“Sam, Sam! They said that they'll let me out next week!” He announced proudly. “My physical therapist said that I've been an exceptionally good boy and I can finally leave the hospital, but I'll have to visit PT sessions every week. Is that okay? I can return to the base, right? Right? Please please please, say that I can!”
Sam actually beams at that and lets out a small giggle.
“Yes, 'course you can, Quin! 'Course you can. Do you need me to pick you up or anything...?”
A week later, still rugged but pretty much alive Torres was finally sitting at his desk and rambling about new video games that were released since his hospital trip started and that he was eager to play.
“Oh, by the way.” Sam perked up with a proud grin. “You know you're being promoted, right?”
That made Joaquín stop in his tracks and gaze up at Sam with the most surprised expression of all times.
“Really?!” He asks, a dopey grin splitting his face. “Bro... If you're kidding you gotta tell me right now! If it's April Fools' or something, I swear…”
“Funny that you mentioned that... Because the ceremony is on the 1st of April, actually…” Sam retaliated with a wide smile. “Get your service dress uniform ready! And don't worry, I'll get you on April Fools' one way or another.”
“Buck, I need advice from someone experienced. No, that's not about... Oh my god, you're impossible…” Sam sighed, rolling his eyes and gripping his phone firmer. “I need your help with pranking Torres on April Fools', alright? I really could use some words of wisdom from the past, if you catch the drift.”
Bucky on the other side of the line snorted. “You should've started with that. And I'm not that old, you know... Do you have any ideas already?”
“Well, first I was thinking of messing with his computer desktop, you know, setting the screenshot as the wallpaper and hiding the icons. But that could be not safe, even considering the fact that the kid is a tech prodigy. The sticky note on the back is not nice, he has a promotion ceremony that day, I can't risk him getting publicly humiliated at this important date. I need something innocent yet silly enough to make him laugh. So, waddaya think?”
“He's getting promoted?”
“Yup.”
“Good for him. The kid risked his life for the sake of all of us. Well…”
Bucky hums to himself, then presents a brilliant idea. “How about a good ole whoopee cushion?”
“Seriously?” Sam whips an eyebrow up, puzzled.
“What? It's a classic!”
“Fine. Whoopee cushion it is, then. But you'll have to be there.”
“Me? Why?”
“Well, do you want to see Torres fall victim to your genius prank or not?”
“Dammit... Fine, I'll be there.”
“Yessss!” Sam exclaimed giddily, pumping his fist into the air. “See ya then, Buck.”
“Only Steve could call me that.”
“Yeah, yeah... Because he knew you longer and he had a plan. But now I have a plan!”
“It's my plan.”
“Whatever. Be there at 8 AM sharp, sarge, don't be late!”
And there it was. The big day.
Sam and Bucky already gathered at the office, both looking sharp and fresh. Bucky in a suit, Sam in his service dress uniform.
“Huh, Wilson, never thought I'd have a chance to see you in 1620, but here you are…” Bucky mused, tapping the desk with vibranium fingers. Sam chuckled low, shaking his head.
“Shush, you... I'm not the man of the day, y'know. Speaking of which... where is he?”
As if on cue, the office door creaked open and Joaquín slowly walked in, smiling nervously and fidgeting the peaked service hat in his hands. Both men let out a low whistle. And honestly? The reaction was well-deserved.
Torres was standing tall, the uniform fitted him perfectly. Three silver-coloured buttons with Hap Arnold wings and silver mirror-finish “U.S.” lapel pins on his coat were shining bright, bringing out the glint in his dark eyes. Both the coat and the trousers were pressed and spotless, the soft dark blue shade of which—accompanied with the light blue shirt—was complimenting his tan skin. The silvery metal 1st Lieutenant rank insignia—which soon will be changed to Captain one—was pinned onto both of the epaulets of his coat. And, just to add some more charm to it, a ½ inch wide sleeve braid loops precisely 3 inches from the cuffs of the coat sleeves.
Sam's jaw dropped. He was wearing a similar uniform, but surely his wasn't looking so chic.
“Damn, boy... Have you escaped the runway just to bless us mortals with your presence?” Sam hummed, nodding appreciatively. Bucky was silent, yet he nodded along. Joaquín giggled at that, shuffling around and giving them a slow spin.
“Well, Torres, you look so good that I suggest you do everything today: get promoted, graduate from somewhere, propose and marry a pretty lady while you're at it…” Bucky added.
“Bucky!” Sam and Joaquín both yelped in unison.
“What? Just sayin'...”
Despite Sam and Bucky's humorous remarks Joaquín was still fidgeting nervously, a light sheen of sweat covering his forehead. Of course, Bucky's supersoldier nose immediately picked up a trace of adrenaline and cortisol in Joaquín’s scent.
“Hey…” He cooed gently. “What are you nervous about, kid?”
Joaquín gulped and pinched the bridge of his nose before muttering low. “The oath of office. I keep messing up the line about ‘mental reservation or purpose of eva… eba… evasion’!”
“It's alright, really.” Bucky replied calmly. “Everyone's nervous about the oath and promotion in general. You should've heard Wilson's heartbeat when he was giving his big Captain America speech…”
“Barnes’s right, Quin. You can do this. Calm your nerves, take a seat.” Sam added, glancing at Bucky with an absolutely shit-eating grin, which Joaquín would've noticed if he wasn't so distraught, and gestured towards the computer chair where, under Torres's usual orthopedic cushion, was carefully tucked a rubber whoopee cushion, waiting for its time to shine, per se.
“Thank you, Sam, you're so thoughtful…” the young man mumbled, lowering himself into the chair, careful not to wrinkle his trousers. When he finally fully dropped with a sigh, he was met with a god-awful, embarrassing sound of flatulence that echoed off the office walls.
PBRRRRRRRRRRRRT!
For a long moment after that—deafening silence. Sam and Bucky exchange concerned glances and then… Joaquín snorts. Then giggles. Then laughs out loud, clutching his stomach and doubling over.
“Bahahaha..! Fu— Haha..! Ughhhhahahaha! Bruh— Ahahaha, Dios mio… Brooooo, seriously? Tee hee..! A fart prank? That's…hahaha…Captain America's level of humor?” Joaquín was laughing-crying at this point, tears of joy falling from his lashes and running down his cheeks.
“It was his idea!” Sam retorts shamelessly, pointing in Bucky's direction.
“Me?! You called me, asking for advice, Wilson!” Bucky huffs indignantly.
“Oh my god…” Joaquín wheezes. “You two… are insufferable… Woo… Damn it… Alright, I need to calm down…” He finally exhales just to fall into the pit of giggles right after.
“Well, happy April Fools'! It's the only joke for today, Quin. You still have your promotion ceremony soon. Need help with that oath?”
“Good morning everyone! We're pleased all of you could join us as we recognize one of our own, first lieutenant Joaquín Torres, on the occasion of his promotion to captain…” The ceremony officiant's voice boomed across the ceremonial hall, echoing in the ears of the present guests. Everyone's attention was glued to the young man on the stage who was trying to keep a serious demeanor despite the happy grin splitting his face, making his cheeks ache.
“Attention to orders,” the officiant continued after the comment from Torres’s superior officer. “The president of the United States, acting upon the recommendation of the secretary of the Air Force, has placed special trust and confidence in the patriotism, integrity and abilities of first lieutenant Joaquín Torres. In view of these special qualities, and his demonstrated potential to serve in the higher grade, first lieutenant Torres is promoted to the grade of captain, United States Air Force, effective the 2nd day of April, two thousand and twenty seven, by order of the secretary of the Air Force.”
The hall erupted with ovations from the present Airmen and such, while Sam, prompted by the officiant, stepped forward to do the honor of pinning Joaquín's new rank insignia onto his coat. And then came the time to take an oath of office. And it was brilliant. Because sometimes a little bit of genuine laughter might actually help to calm your freaking nerves.
guys- forced proximity with dex, like that one scene where karen and matt had to hide from him in the crypt
being almost nose to nose with him in the tight and constrained space you chose to conceal yourselves in
it's the first time you're forced to see the pretty scar on his cheek up close, all the hardened edges and small details of his handsome face impossible to ignore at this distance (or lack thereof)
dex keeping you captive with his arms on each side of your body, you can barely breathe without your chest grazing his, you're feeling the way his body is growing tense and all amounts of nervous at being so damn close to you
every time you exhale you feel like you might make a sound or perhaps a squeak at the suffocating yet hilarious predicament
dex's mouth and brow quirking at you when you accidentally scooch a little closer as you were ironically trying to put some much needed space between you both
teasing you to deflect the attention away from the hardening bulge inside his pants, whispering low and mocking "i thought you said you hated me" with a playful frown on his face, squinting eyes zeroed in on your trembling mouth as you answer "i- i do"
even though you roll your eyes at him, the truth is you're already questioning everything you've ever believed you felt about benjamin poindexter, even more so when his distractions prove to be futile against the hardness of him poking at your leg
If you could ask Wilson Bethel anything about Dex, what would you ask? 🤔 I may be able to find out for you this weekend. Please (im begging!) leave your burning questions for him in the comments! 🫶
gracieabrams
vaporwave
stormborns
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