pairing: carmy berzatto x fem!reader (requested by: @kpopgirlbtssvt)
summary: when Carmy goes to propose, everyone at the bear pitches in to make it a special night
warnings: none!
words: 1k
a/n: ahh, my first time posting writing in quite a long time! definitely nervous, but I loved writing for Carmy, especially since it's 4 days until season 4! anyway, I hope you enjoy!
oOoOo
Carmy felt as though he could throw up. Granted, being in the middle of opening a restaurant on a six month-timeline made him want to throw up often, but especially in this moment. He looked around the room at all the people who cared about him. Richie and Fak arguing about where to put the flowers. Tina and Syd bringing out the food. And Sugar keeping a watchful eye on everything.
In that moment, Carmy reached into his pocket, feeling around for the small box. It had become his nervous tick over the past few weeks. Making sure the ring - your ring - was still there. It felt heavy in Carmy's hand, and he couldn't resist taking one more peak at the ring. Hopefully, the last time he would like at it before it found its new home on your finger.
It was Tina who snapped Carmy out of his thoughts. "Let me see the ring again, Jeff." she smiled."
Though he had already shown her the ring, Carmy obliged and angled the box towards Tina. "Now, I just have to pray she says yes."
"Nah, I know she's gonna say yes. You two are strong."
"Thanks, T."
A few hours later, you pushed open the door to The Bear, looking around. "Carmy?" you called out when you didn't see any of the normal bustle for this time at the restaurant.
Walking further into the space, you gasped when you saw a candlelit table framed by your favorite flowers. The door to the kitchen opened softly off to the side, and you turned and saw Carmy.
"Uh, hi." he smiled, running his hand through his hair for what looked like the nth time.
"Hi." you echoed, heart warming at the sight. "So, what's all this? Doesn't look like family to me."
"Right, you're, uh, you're right." he spoke slowly, taking a few steps towards you. "But, I, uh, did have some help."
You took a moment to take a closer look at the table. Not only were your favorite type of flowers, but also all your favorite foods. You smiled softly and turned towards your boyfriend. "What is going on?" you giggled. "It isn't our anniversary. It's not my birthday. It's not your birthday. So, what am I missing?"
"Do I need an excuse to treat my girl to a nice dinner?" he asked, pretending to be wounded by your words.
But Carmy pushed forward and pulled a chair out for you. He gestured for you to take a sit, pushing it back in as you sat. After a quick run to the kitchen, he brought out the main course and took the seat across from you.
The two of you ate, laughed, and caught up. Though you saw him every day, opening The Bear had taken a lot out of him. It was nice to just be with each other. No stress, no menus, nothing.
Eventually, Carmy reached out to grab your hand in his calloused run, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. He gave you his signature, nervous grin, his curls falling in front of his eyes. "Hey, you, um, you look really beautiful tonight."
There was no way to stop your face from heating up at his words.
"And I hope you know how much I love you." Carmy continued.
"I know." you whispered, squeezing his hand.
"I'm glad." he took a deep breath. "I know this shit with the restaurant has been crazy recently. And I know I haven't been there as much as I should be." he rushed on so you wouldn't interrupt. "But you're on my mind every second of the day. Even when I should be worried about the menu, or plates, or literally anything else, I'm thinking of you.
"It's been that way since our first date. And I have no doubt it's going to stay that way. I want to be by your side for everything that comes next. Restaurant or not. You're my rock, babe. I don't know what I would fucking do without you." he chuckled.
He reached into his jacket and grabbed a small box before shifting to one knee. Your heart was practically in your throat as you watched the scene unfold before you. It was impossible to stop the tears that welled in your eyes.
"Carmy-"
"Just wait, please? Let me get this out." he paused, only continuing when you nodded. "There's a lot I'm not sure about in my life, but the one thing I'm damn sure about is you. So, y/n, will you marry me?"
There was no need to take time to think over your answer or to worry about being eloquent. "Yes! Yes, I'll marry you, Carmen Berzatto."
"Fuck, really?" Carmy asked, feeling emotional himself, as if he hadn't expected you to actually agree.
When you repeated your response, he fumbled with the ring, almost dropping it. But he managed to keep hold of it and gentle slid it onto your left ring finger. He took a moment to admire the way it looked there, praying he would never see it off. Looking up at you, he smiled, knowing he was the luckiest man ever.
"I love you." you whispered, pulling Carmy up so you could finally hold him.
"And I love you."
As the two of you leaned into kiss, you yelped in surprise when there was a barrage of cheering and yelling that came from the kitchen. Whipping your head in that direction, your head falling against Carmy's shoulder, laughing as you saw your friends - your family - pour into the dining room.
"I told you I had help." Carmy whispered in your ear, chuckling himself.
It didn't take long for the two of you to became separated as Sydney and Sugar gushed over your ring and Richie and Fak were clapping Carmy on the back. Despite the chaos, it was perfect, and you paused to savor the moment. Carmy managed a glance at you over his shoulder and winked. Yeah, you knew everything would be alright.
summary: some thoughts of dex allowing you to put on sunscreen and then end the night with a bloody face
warning: fluff, sub dex x female!reader
dex plays being the tough guy. spending a night in bed with a fever, shivering but breaking out in a cold sweat, and unable to breathe? he’ll be fine with an aspirin and staying home. he doesn’t mind seeing a little blood if he cuts himself fixing the sink — “but stop for a second and press the paper against it. you don’t have a fingernail on that finger!” “it’s no big deal, i'm not going to bleed to death, but i will if i keep hearing that dripping” — and he’ll get mad if you suggest him going to the doctor for the knee he’s been complaining about for the last two years every time he sits down and stands up.
however, it’s a different game when it comes to you. he tries, but… he’d rather sleep on the couch when you’re the one with a cold; he doesn’t mind in the least running down to the pharmacy for you, restocking your herbal teas (he swallows his thoughts about the futility of alternative medicine, since he doesn’t support modern medicine either). he even makes you sit down if he hears you groan from the kitchen as you bend over to get the laundry out of the washing machine. he has this hyperactive radar, and you’re the center of it.
he doesn't even have the nerve to contradict you. if you say he needs to regulate his circadian rhythm, he'll follow your lead and spend more time in the sun without complaining—other than through his silent expression. if you say he should start stretching to relieve the back pain he claims he doesn't have, he'll do it.
that's just how it is: dex operates based on what you tell him he needs to function.
so, if you catch him on one of the first days of summer with the bottle of sunscreen that you always carry in your bag he’ll just let out a deep sigh through his nose, looking away as he feels a cold, greasy texture on his face.
“forget about going out wearing just a cap. you’re a white, blond guy strolling around in the middle of the afternoon, i don’t want to have to peel your shirt off your skin with tweezers.”
“this is silly, and we’re wasting time,” he says, dragging a chair away from the table to sit in the entryway, waiting for you to finish while staring at the ceiling. “i’m not going to die.”
and you don’t skimp on the cream, tracing your fingers along the curves of his jaw, the veins in his neck, and the angle of the scar that runs down his cheek. especially there. he doesn’t cooperate, but he doesn’t stop you either.
now he tilts his head to the left and blinks, his gaze half-absent. your hands, so soft, too sweet, well-manicured and delicate, envelop him like clouds.
“i know, and it’s not like you’re going to die from putting on some sunscreen,” you scold him, moving the hand you have under his jaw to turn his face to the other side. “take it. remember to reapply it in an hour, okay? i know it’s sticky, but it’s better than aloe vera on sunburned skin, trust me.”
“mhm,” he grunts, getting up as you step away and closing the door behind you, following you out onto the street.
but unfortunately—and obviously—the only one to reapply sunscreen was you, standing in front of the mirror in the public restroom.
when you got home, you couldn’t help but smile at his pain when dex took off his white t-shirt and revealed red streaks of skin on his biceps and neck.
“i told you so,” you laughed.
“yeah, right. and who was the first one to fall asleep without thinking about the sun moving?” he argued, annoyed, as he headed for the shower.
“well, the same one who put on sunscreen!” you laughed, peeking at him. “and the one who fixed your ability to sleep!”
“that’s arrogance, and it doesn’t suit you,” he said, closing the bathroom door and turning on the cold water full blast so he wouldn’t have to hear you laugh.
a few days later, he started developing a rash, complaining about his clothes rubbing against his back and asking you for something to relieve the itching.
“it doesn’t matter, you don’t need it,” you shrug. “you’re not going to die from this, are you?”
“come on, please! i wouldn’t be like this if it weren’t for you.”
“you’re still too stubborn to admit you are stubborn, huh? you should swallow that pride a little so you don’t choke on it.”
“baby, please!" he sings. "I’m flaking!”
dex follows you down the hall, picking at the skin under his fingernails as he scratches.
now, shrouded in the cloak of night and standing before a mirror that reflects a haggard image—his temples drenched in sweat, thick streaks of blood running down to his chin, and his swollen lip—that's when he thinks back to that sweet moment when you scolded him for not putting on sunscreen
he wonders what you would say if you saw him like this.
(you aren’t dead, just asleep. he’s simply too afraid to wake you and ask you to clean the wounds he’s inflicted on himself.)
Behind the Mask. // [benjamin poindexter x reader]
WORD COUNT: 2.5k.
SUMMARY: You’re the only person on a corrupt task force who knows the "Daredevil" they’re hunting is actually your co-worker, Special Agent Poindexter. But between the embedded corruption and the way Dex looks at you, you're starting to realize you'd rather be on the wrong side of the law with him.
TAGS/WARNING: enemies-to-lovers vibe, but really it’s just forbidden love, sorta nsfw makeout at the end, reader has no specified gender.
A/N: i haven't caught up on the born again seasons yet, so i'm sorry if stuff doesn't add up, or is inaccurate. it's also my first time writing kinda dirty, let's hope it's enjoyable to read anyway lmao.
The briefing room feels smaller today, the air heavy with stale coffee, the sour breath of the men around you, and the thick, suffocating sense of doom that comes from knowing they're being hunted.
"It's him. Again."
The words don't even need to be said. For the past few weeks, the mission hasn’t changed: Catch the Devil. That’s what the press calls him now that he’s started dropping bodies, but you know better. The team is chasing a red silhouette, a guy whose face is a mystery to everyone.
Except, of course, for you.
It happened three weeks ago. You found him in the stairwell of a crime scene, breathless and wiping blood from his knuckles, wearing his FBI windbreaker like a disguise.
You two had locked eyes for five seconds. You saw the frantic, almost breached look in his gaze before he smoothed it over with something innocent. You should have reported him right then. You should have told the captain that the man leading the investigation was the one committing the murders.
After that, the "hunted" and the "hunter" roles had blurred until they were practically non-existent. It started with a rooftop in Hell’s Kitchen. A night when the commanding officer told you to provide overwatch for a raid that was doomed from the start. You had him in your sights, the crosshairs steady over his heart, and he had simply... looked up. Instead of running, he leaned against a brick chimney, pulled up his mask, and winked.
Since then, it has become this dangerous, addictive game of hide-and-seek that the rest of your team was too incompetent to notice. And the weight of that secret has been heavy on your chest ever since. But you don't keep his secret because of the attraction, though it’s there. You keep it because you’ve finally seen things from his point of view.
You joined this task force to be a good soldier — a savior. But the corpses Dex is dropping aren't random. One by one, your teammates end up in dumpsters, and the deeper you dig, the more you find the rot; your boss isn't a hero; he’s a Fisk asset who contributed to destroying the one thing keeping Dex sane: his North Star, Julie. And no matter how much you wanted what you did to matter, your boss's corrupt intentions were infiltrating every mission. Between the mounting civilian casualties and the way he held no guilt for any of them, you’re starting to think that maybe this isn't the best place to be the nice guy. And Poindexter always knew that.
Which is why you were the only original member left.
On the battlefield, it’s almost planned. Whenever his eyes land on you, the world seems to blur. He throws a shard of glass or fires a round that whistles past your ear, only to find the throat of the corrupt officer standing directly behind you. He doesn’t miss, and he doesn’t do mercy, making the fact that you’re his only exception a terrifying curiosity.
When the distress signal comes from that motel off 42nd Street, you know it’s a trap, but your new squad is too fresh-faced and arrogant to see it. They actually think they have him cornered, failing to realize that Dex doesn’t get cornered unless he wants to be.
As you step out of the cruiser, the neon motel sign flickers "VACANCY" in a stuttering rhythm. Your stomach rolls as you realize he’s finally calling you to him.
You check your sidearm and feel the inutility of it. After all, you’re not really going in there to arrest a serial killer anyway. You’re going in there to meet the man who decided, for reasons known only to his fractured mind, that you are the only thing in this city worth leaving unharmed.
The plan is, predictably, a masterclass in stupidity. Scatter. Check the rooms. Interrogate the traumatized residents to see if a man armed with knives and forks happened to skip past their peepholes. Because that’s exactly how a world-class assassin spends his Friday night: taking a brisk walk in a lobby.
You are beyond done. Being the only person with a functioning brain on this team is exhausting, and please do not even mention how the pay isn't high enough to deal with this much concentrated idiocy.
Instead of shouting or kicking down doors, you walk down the hallway, following your instinct that makes you feel like a cold finger is tracing your spine. At the very end, a door sits slightly ajar, flickering lights and cold air hitting you in the face as you get closer.
You step inside. Nobody is in your sight yet. Just the hum of a cheap coffee maker and the smell of a roast that is surprisingly high-quality for a place that definitely has bedbugs. You find Dex standing by the kitchenette, leaning against the counter; he’s been expecting you since the second you stepped onto the property.
"Want some?" he asks, lifting a mug.
The sheer audacity of this man.
You stand there, arms crossed, staring unimpressed. The "good guy" mask is on tight, but the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth almost gives his real face away.
"You're not really good at hiding," you say, skipping the pleasantries, nearly scolding him. "What if one of the geniuses downstairs decided to actually do their job and found you first?"
He takes a slow, deliberate sip, watching you over the rim of the mug before he starts walking toward you with that predatory grace he usually masks with a civilian slouch. "If by 'somebody else' you mean your collection of useful idiots? Sure. They could have," he concedes, taking another sip, "but there’s really only one person on that team I know that is attracted to the dark side."
He stops just a few inches too close, smiling that innocent, boy-next-door smile that makes your skin itch.
"And oh, I don't mean me," he adds, his voice dropping an octave. "I mean the room. It’s perfect, isn't it? Tucked away. Rear end of the hallway. Objectively, it’s a terrible place for a masked assassin to hide." He hops up onto the wooden table. "But for an innocent citizen like me? It’s perfect."
"Right," you mutter, rolling your eyes. "You're deluded."
"And you're late," he counters, his smile widening into something completely smug. He checks a non-existent watch on his wrist. "I almost thought you’d lost your touch. Or worse, that you were actually listening to your boss."
You scoff, your eyes drifting past him to scan the room for that infamous red suit — the one your team is so obsessed with that they’ve probably memorized every stitch of the fabric. But you don't see it. Instead, your gaze lands on a duffel bag that sits zipped halfway open.
Spilling out of the bag isn't red spandex; it’s something matte black, sturdier, and looking far more lethal. You catch a glimpse of a cowl with a stark target logo centered right on the forehead. It’s different, a far cry from the "Devil" everyone thinks they’re hunting.
But distraction finds you before you can ask about it. The harsh light from the kitchenette hits him just right, revealing the fresh damage on his face. There is a narrow slice near his eye and a long one across his cheek. But your gaze gets stuck on the one near his mouth. It’s a messy split that looks like it hurts every time he breathes. You reach out and brush your thumb against the raw edge of the cut.
"You know, these aren't helping the 'innocent' act," you remark. "You've taken too much of a beating to look like a regular guy, Agent Poindexter."
"You care about me now?" he hums cockily.
"I should be the one asking you that," you retort. "Every time we go up against each other, I’m the only one who walks away without a scratch. You shoot at me, but the bullet always finds the guy three inches to my left. And I know you’ve got an agenda. Because you’re—" you pause, trying to find the right words. "You're not exactly the 'falling in love' type, and… I am not very lovable either. You could kill me right now because I know what you look like. So why am I still breathing?"
He doesn't look away. "You don't belong on that team. You’re a good soldier being used by Fisk’s dogs. You hate them. You’re more like me than you want to admit."
You let out a scoff. "Right. Because not liking my coworkers makes me a lethal vigilante?"
"You're here." He slides off the table, his boots hitting the floor with a heavy thud. He steps into your space. Way too close. "You’re not calling it in. You’re not reaching for your cuffs. Your hand is right there, but you’re too busy touching my face to bother with the radio."
He reaches out then, but he doesn't touch your skin. Instead, his fingers find the heavy vest you’re wearing. He traces the edge of the Kevlar and hooks a finger under the strap near your shoulder, pulling you just an inch closer.
"This thing," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "It doesn't fit you. It’s too heavy. It’s built to protect people who wouldn't hesitate to throw you to the wolves the second you stop being useful."
He looks down at your hands, then back up at your eyes. You should be pushing him away. You should be reaching for the handcuffs like he said.
"You don't know me," you snap, the defensiveness sharp in your voice. "So stop acting like you do." You hate how easily he’s dismantling you. It feels like an attack, mostly because he’s right.
"Oh, I know you enough." He tilts his head slightly. "I know you wake up at 5:00 AM, but you don't actually get out of bed until 5:15. I know you hate the fluorescent lights in the breakroom because they make your head ache, so you spend your lunches in that park three blocks away, sitting on the bench with the chipped green paint. The one without any cameras."
You freeze. Though not in fear.
"I also know that you keep a spare key under the loose brick near your planter," he adds on, his voice a low, confident hum.
Your thumb is still resting near the corner of his mouth. You don't pull away. You know you should run and shout for your team. You really should be afraid of him right now.
"You know, in the real world, most people call that a restraining order," you smirk.
"You aren't 'most people.' You haven't moved an inch. Your heart rate hasn't even spiked."
He’s right. You are calm. Heck, you’re into it. The fact that he spent his free time memorizing your life should be a red flag, but here you are, turned on.
"You wanted me to know," you realize, the pieces clicking into place. "That's why the door was open. You wanted me to see the work you put into this. Into me."
"I wanted you to see that I’m the only one who knows exactly who you are," he whispers. "And I’m still here. I’m the only one who’s actually on your side."
He’s unhinged and obsessed. And he’s right, once again. You’re just as messed up for finding this romantic. He notices that too. That dangerously smug smile creeps onto his face. He knows exactly how much this is turning you on. And he’s waiting for you to break, his eyes searching yours with a desperate hunger.
"They're going to find us soon," he whispers, his breath hitching as he watches your eyes.
"What, you scared you’re gonna get caught?" You ask, trying to keep the sarcasm in your voice, but it comes out breathier than you intended
"No," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "I just don't like the idea of anybody interrupting me while I’m finally getting what I want."
For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. Two people who should be enemies, trapped in a room that smells of betrayal: you to your team and he to his ulterior motives.
All it takes is another cocky quirk of his lips for you to grab his collar and yank him down. When his lips hit yours, he slams you back against the table edge hard enough to knock the wind out of you. His hands aren't gentle either; they lock onto your waist like he’s trying to anchor you. You’re clawing at him, pulling him in closer — if that's even possible.
You aren't being careful. You want his shirt off. You fumble with the buttons, yanking at the fabric until you can get your palms flat against his chest. He’s hot, his skin is mapped with scars, and his heart is slamming against his ribs. He lets out a low, rough groan against your mouth, his hands sliding under your shirt and gripping the skin of your back.
You fall back on the table, pulling him between your legs. You dig your nails into the muscle of his back. He groans at the sting, but he’s smiling against your mouth, leaning into the sweet mixture of the twisted pleasure from it. For a minute, his duties and the guys downstairs don't exist. It’s just the two of you, two broken things fitting together in the dark. He’s heavy and solid, pressing the unmistakable length of his hardness against you, a wordless demand for everything you’re willing to give. The friction alone is enough to make your body crave more than just a stolen kiss. You’re reaching for his belt when the heavy, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of boots echoes from the hallway.
"Room 214, clear! Moving to the end of the hall!"
Dex stops mid-breath. "Fuck," he rasps. He drops his head onto your shoulder, his chest heaving. You’re both burning with a restless heat that makes you want to drag him to the bed and ignore the sirens.
"They're here," you whisper, struggling for air. "Seriously, you couldn't have done this a bit earlier?"
He pulls back, eyes dark. His mouth is a mess, swollen and red. He looks… wrecked but controlled. "This isn't over," he says, heavily annoyed that the moment was cut short.
"Well, I hope so," you grumble, pushing him toward the window. You reach for your radio on the counter, and he reaches for the duffel bag. "Now get out of here. I'm not in the mood to arrest you tonight."
Right before dropping down into the dark alley behind the motel, he stops at the ledge. He doesn't give you a kind "see you later" smile — rather a look that's confidently arrogant, as if he will meet you again soon.
Seconds later, your team swarms in, guns leveled. A flashlight beam cuts across the room, landing right on the table you both almost made babies on.
"Hey! Did you find him?" a voice shouts from behind a ballistic shield as the rest of them scan the other rooms.
"No," you say, forcing your breathing to even out. You keep your face blank. "Bastard got away again."
God, you're a terrifyingly good actor.
Down on the street, Poindexter is already walking away, whistling a low tune to himself. He’s still got that rare, flustered smile on his face — a promise to himself that the next time he manages to get you alone, he isn't going to stop.
synopsis dex makes good on his word and finds you at the diner. and god, do you really want to stop hearing that song over and over.
notes a part two to this but can be read as standalone! i had a lot of fun writing this one.
tags fluff, humor, slight stalkerish/possessive behavior from dex but not too serious, mention of suggestive photos, brief description of hairstyle, dex works for mr. charles, count the number of times the word photo appears
wc 2.0k
series masterlist • previous part • next part
There were three things commonplace in your Saturday morning routine.
The earthy aroma of your foamy latte, the shuffling newspaper of the man in the booth behind you, and the fizzling melody emitting from the jukebox that was threatening to give out any moment in the corner of the diner.
You were organizing printed out photographs taken during your recent trip. They were spread out on the table in front of you like cards on a casino table, your lips curved into a smile as you reminisced on each memory.
Your best friend with her arm around you, the sun basking on your grinning faces. It was taken in the morning just as dawn was breaking on the beach. Another taken in the darkness at a foreign club, your skin illuminated by pink and red neon lights. You were so plastered that you pulled some of your friends onto the tiny karaoke stage for an impromptu concert.
A small laugh shakes your shoulders. One that’s immediately interrupted when you hear the jukebox begin to stutter in the middle of its current song.
Not again. You groan as the familiar guitar strums filter into the diner. The one that looped and looped and never stopped. Now you know it was futile to hope that it would have been fixed while you were away.
“Maybe it’ll only play once this time.” Yeah right.
You rubbed your temples, at your wits end with this damn song.
Unbeknownst to you, a few tables down, someone had been observing your every move since you entered the diner. He had been seated at the counter, anticipating your arrival for your morning cup.
Dex hadn’t even needed to turn around to know it was you walking through the door this morning. Just the hands of the clock on the walls pointing to the right numbers, recognizing the exact cadence of your favorite pair of shoes on the vinyl floors when the glass doors opened.
It had been about two weeks since he returned from handling some dirty work for Mr. Charles. Since touching back down in New York, he had swapped out his noon diner visits for morning ones, effectively syncing his routine with what you had mentioned yours to be on the plane.
He still remembers the surprise in your eyes when he revealed you’d been in the same place everyday, only missing each other by a few hours apart. It was a coincidence, but certainly not an unwelcome one in his opinion.
Your nervousness seemed to melt away the more you spoke to him and he was so used to the opposite reaction. Years of being in the military, then FBI, before ending up as Bullseye gave him that effect on people even when he tried to make them feel at ease with practiced speech and small talk.
You, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind it much.
It took you about one week after him to start coming back into the diner once you returned from your trip.
Dex didn’t want to show himself to you right away; he just wanted to see you as you were. Catalogue your coffee and complicated breakfast order to memory. Watch your reaction to the broken jukebox you ranted to him about. Try to understand how someone like you took comfort in him.
He could still feel the weight of you on his shoulder. How your hair tickled his skin. The rhythm of your breathing as you slept, even over the sounds of his music and the plane’s engine.
Dex’s body tensed when he saw you stand from your table, the quarter he was shuffling in his hands pausing too.
You trudged to the corner of the diner to the jukebox, jamming a coin into the slot and pressing a combination of letters and numbers on the keypad.
Instead of the godforsaken song actually changing like you requested it to though, it looped. Again.
You gave the thing a light frustrated kick but straightened up when you saw the newspaper man lean over his booth and give you a judgmental stare.
Instead of letting you return to your booth defeated, though, Dex found himself standing from the counter seat and making his way over to you.
You hadn’t noticed him until he held the quarter in his hand out to you, and it glinted at you.
“Need another quarter?” He said it like he was coming to your rescue–which he was.
“Oh, it’s you–Dex, right?” Your expressive eyes lit up in surprise like he knew they would when you saw him again. Your gaze then fell to the quarter pinched between his fingers. “Uh, yeah, the machine ate mine.”
You moved to tuck your hair behind your ear before remembering you had tied it back this morning, and your hand fell to your side instead.
Oops.
You bit your lip trying to conceal a bashful smile. Maybe he didn't notice your nervousness.
Dex inserted the quarter to the machine and pressed the keypad again, the same combination he had seen you enter from afar.
“Let’s see if it actually works this time.” He mirrored your smile.
“I hope it does. I really don’t want to hear that song anymore.” You chuckled and pointed behind you towards your booth where you left your items unsupervised. “Did you want to join me?”
He thought you’d never ask. He followed you back to your booth and slid in across from you.
“Oh, sorry, I’ll gather these up.” You seemed flustered as your hands quickly swept up the prints, “I just got these printed and I was looking through them.”
Dex was a little surprised you just left them unattended. Anyone could have walked by and swiped one without you noticing.
“No, don’t worry about it. Are these from your trip?” He pointed to one that showcased you standing in front of a popular monument.
“Oh, yeah,” you laughed, looking down at the photo. “I was hungover in this one, actually.”
“I thought you said you weren’t going there to party,” he said with the ghost of a smile on his lips.
You hated that he seemed to remember your conversation on the plane better than you did. Then again, at least you were saving yourself the embarrassment of recalling what you said to him when you were nervous about the flight.
“I was trying to save face in front of a stranger. So what, everyone parties.” You held up the photo of you in the club with a smirk on your face. “It was a bachelorette trip, anyway. Or did you forget that detail conveniently?”
Of course he hadn’t forgotten. He remembered everything you said down to the tone of your voice when you said it. He was looking down at the rest of your photos, trying to memorize every single one of them that had you in it.
You posing in a flower garden with a bouquet of daffodils in your hands. You in an aquarium holding a plush shark from the gift shop. You…scantily clad on the beach.
His blood ran hot under his skin.
Before he could get another look at that one, your hand had smacked down onto it, palm covering it.
“Oh god, I forgot that one was here.” The words tumbled from your lips in a hurry, voice thin as you tucked it underneath another photo, hiding it from his view.
Dex cleared his throat awkwardly, “right. Seems like you did a little bit of everything on your trip.”
You were still avoiding his eyes. The photo wasn’t just a regular bikini picture or something. You weren’t nude but it had definitely been taken for…artistic reasons.
He instead focused on that aquarium photo again.
You were grinning wide in front of a giant fish tank, carrying the plush in your arms like it was a stray cat or something. He wondered if you put it in your bedroom when you returned from your trip.
Before either of you could break the stretch of silence, there was a sudden resounding quiet in the diner. No strumming of that same guitar you’ve heard for the past hour, no lyrics that were ingrained on the insides of your brains…
Just silence.
You both shared a confused glance, and then, the mesmerizing tune of synths instead flooded in through the speakers. It was the song you requested. Or at least, the one Dex requested after the poor excuse for a jukebox ate your quarter.
Your lips stretched into a grin. “Hear that?”
“I hear it.” Dex was just as amused as you were. Even he thought the jukebox was a lost cause.
When you began flipping through your photos again, he wondered how long he could keep you talking about your trip. Would he be able to stall you here the whole morning? Maybe stretch it out until lunch?
But his plans were ruined once his phone vibrated in his pocket. It was ‘work’ which he couldn’t just ignore to his dismay. If they did send someone after him for bailing, he could easily deal with them but he didn’t want to risk the little structure he finally rekindled in his life.
Especially now that he had decided to add you into his routine.
“I have to get going,” he said with an air of reluctance as he stood from the booth. It’d have been easier to leave if you didn’t pull your lips into that adorable pout when he did.
“That’s a shame,” you sighed, slightly disappointed. “But I’ll see you around, right?”
His lips slanted into an easygoing smile. “You definitely will.”
When you returned to your apartment that night, you were on the phone with your best friend. You were discussing your trip together, a glass of wine in one hand and the collection of printed photos in the other.
“Did you print out that one of us when we went to dinner altogether?” Your best friend's voice crinkled jubilantly on the other line.
“I printed all of them out. They had a deal to print 20 for dirt cheap.” You shuffled through the collection of photos and frowned. “Hold on.”
“What is it?” She asked.
You looked down at the rows of five you spread out on your dining table. One of the rows only had four photos.
“There’s one missing.”
You knew you shouldn’t have been so careless at the diner. Spreading photos of yourself out all over the table and then leaving them unsupervised to change the music in the jukebox.
Or it could have slid off the table, slipped between the booth seats–it could be anywhere, for anyone to find. It made you feel exposed.
“Which one is missing?” She asked on the line.
Hopefully the missing photo isn’t…oh no. Your beach photo.
Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the city in the evening glow of street lights and aroma of cigarette smoke, Dex was climbing the fire escape to his apartment balcony after a tough job.
He removed his mask, stepped inside, and then pulled a folded photograph from the pocket of his pants.
He took a pin and stuck the photo onto the wall beside his front door, smiling at it. It had ended up in his pocket as he was leaving the diner. It was his favorite in the bunch you showed him, even if he couldn’t quite pin down why.
There was just something about the way you were smiling in front of the fish tank, illuminated by the glowing blue behind you as you held tightly onto that chubby shark plush that made him want to have it for himself.
You breathed a sigh of relief when you spotted your racy beach photo among the collection on your table. At least it wasn’t that one that went missing. Although, you did look exceptionally amazing in it if you do say so yourself.
Warmth rushed to your face remembering how you accidentally let Dex get a peak at it. You probably wouldn't mind it if that photo somehow ended up with him...
“No idea.” You said into the phone, sitting on your bed beside your new shark plush you bought during your trip. “I’ll cross reference it with my camera roll later.”
Dex was sure you wouldn’t miss it too much.
a/n i imagine the song requested together is i'm not in love by 10cc.
you're too young for me!dex who's so hesitant on getting into a relationship with you at first, so he doesn't implicate what you two are, yet. but dex so desperately wants you to belong to him and him only. he tries so hard to be subtle but his obsessiveness get the best of him, you're on his mind 24/7, what else is he supposed to do?
olderbf!dex who knows exactly how dangerous his attachment has become and absolutely hates himself for it. he goes home after every date and sits alone in his apartment replaying the moments with you over and over again - every time you reacted, smiled, pouted, blushed. dex also replays conversations in his head for hours afterward, dissecting them word by word, trying to figure out if he sounded strange or too cold or too interested.
olderbf!dex who is actually really shy when he's around you. you start to notice his ears getting red every time you give him a small innocent kiss, or when you say something sweet and kind to him. he's surprised you care, even if it comes natural to you, dex doesn't understand what's so likable about him.
olderbf!dex who thinks less of himself and doesn't think he deserves someone so perfect like you. the man just gets so tense whenever he finds you in his bed, comfortably laying in his pajamas when he gets back from work. his heart is pounding in his chest, tired eyes filled with wonder on what to do with you.
olderbf!dex who loses all his composure when he sees you talking with a guy your age at the function - both of you smiling. he inspects, you seem like you're laughing at something he's saying. fuck. dex curses himself, overthinking immediately taking over his whole being.
olderbf!dex who seems so stressed while driving you back home, hands forcefully digging into the steering wheel. he avoids eye contact the whole time, dryly responding to you who clearly enjoyed the night. although, you don't miss the death stare and angry expressive eyes.
olderbf!dex who falls apart the second you step a foot home. he's trying so hard not to mention the younger guy but it just slips in the conversation. you already know why he's mad, but you can't take it seriously, trying to tease. dex is dead serious, though.
olderbf!dex who's voice trembles when his thoughts gets the best of him. he so desperately wants you to reassure him you're not leaving him, dex just can't put that into words and starts blaming you, like you were lying to him the whole time. the conversation slowly turns into a heated argument which makes you storm out of his house middle of the night.
olderbf!dex who starts shaking the second the door slams and he's left alone. you don't feel like talking to him for a few days, wanting for him to realize he messed up and put the blame on you for something so stupid.
are you ignoring me?
please, just answer me.
desperate!dex who deletes the message, then rewrites and deletes it again in a span of a minute. he eventually sends it and then spends the next hour convincing himself not to check whether you’ve read it. when you don’t answer a text for too long he’ll find himself checking things repeatedly. locking and unlocking doors, counting steps, rearranging objects. anything to quiet the anxiety crawling beneath his skin.
I'll be good
I know you're home. open the door.
olderbf!dex who's ready to get on his knees if only you forgive him. you observe him: he looks tired - eyes dark, red and teary, he hasn't slept, he's blinking too hard, his hair is a mess, knuckles white from digging at his own palms. dex's completely dissociated but focused on you at the same time, breathing deeply and loudly, it's like you can hear his heart pounding.
olderbf!dex who's voice trembles while he explains himself. you decide to forgive him and put the argument to the side for his sake, and also because you got what you wanted. dex exhales loudly when he gets to hold you, finally getting you back. he's going to make sure not to upset his pretty little girl next time.
Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures (ONE SHOT)
Benjamin Poindexter x Reader
TAGS/WARNINGS: none
Synopsis: You find out that Dex is Bullseye and ask for some space while you mull things over. Dex cannot handle space, he needs you. And so? He begs.
“No, nonono, please-” Dex is moving towards you, eyes desperately searching yours, hands reaching for you. “Please, I can fix this, just let me fix this-”
“Dex,” Your eyes fall shut and you’re pinching the bridge of your nose, exhaustion evident. This is unbelievably overwhelming and fuck’s sake, you just need to be alone so you can think clearly.
“Baby, please,” He’s pleading with you, moving from the chair he’s been sitting in for the last thirty minutes so he can try to stand in front of you but you hold your hand out to stop him.
“Dex, stop, please, I can’t do this right now,” There’s an edge to your voice, frustration painfully evident as you move to turn away your boyfriend. Was he that still? You honestly weren’t sure anymore.
“Y/N, please,” he sounds desperate, eyes wide with panic, breathing laboured as he continues to try and station himself in front of you. He’d spent the better part of the hour explaining that he was, in fact, the masked killer Bullseye.
He’d been tucked into your living room chair, palms pressed flat to his knees as he explained, in detail, what his second life was like. You’d stood there, arms crossed, body rigid, as you mulled over what your boyfriend had told you.
So not only had he hid a secret identity from you, but he was also, essentially, a villain.
Great.
And the worst part? It made so much god damn sense. How had you not seen it? Were you really that fucking blind? Or had you hoped, prayed, that you’d finally been dating a good, decent man?
You knew that Dex had killed, yes-he was in the FBI, of course he’d had to. But killing out of necessity was very different than a criminal paying you because they put a hit on someone. The late nights, irregular bruising and body aches made so much more sense now. Yes, some part of you figured he was doing vigilante work but this wasn’t vigilant work.
It was straight up immoral.
Dex had tried to keep this a secret. He hadn’t wanted to, but this had been so good. He had been so good. He liked this relationship, had fallen in love with you, and was happy. Coming home to you had proven to be as adjustment he looked forward to. It had made him feel…normal. He didn’t have to pretend around you: he had his outbursts, his moments of panic, felt the need to keep things organized and in their place, and you were always so kind about it. He’d been put in his place by you, of course, but he’d been trying. He wanted this, needed this, needed you. But the look on your face now left him feeling scared, terrified even. Fear rose like bile in his throat and he felt his heart beating frantically in his chest, like a caged bird beneath the confines of his ribs.
The wretched, angry animal in him was clawing at his insides, begging to be set free.
She can’t do this to me. She can’t leave.
You’d been standing with your arms crossed the entire time he’d been talking to you, and god he’d been trying so hard not to shake or sweat but the hardened look on your face was making it difficult not to. And now you wanted space? Time to think? So you didn’t understand him like you’d said you did. If you’d actually understood him, knew him, cared about him, then this would make sense. You’d be understanding.
Why weren’t you understanding?!
Sweat had gathered on Dex’s temples and he swallowed loudly, palms facing you, terrified you were suddenly scared of him after realizing what he was capable of.
“Please, just-” The panic was evident in his usually calm, level voice. “Let’s just sit and talk. If you let me explain-”
“Benjamin,” Your voice is curt, short and nearly halts him in his tracks. “We have been talking. That’s what this was. You explained yourself and I asked for space.”
Dex felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack. The need to fold in on himself was beginning to chisel away at whatever was keeping him standing in front of you at this moment.
He could feel the tremor in his hands as he fought the urge to lunge forward and pull you into him. He couldn’t let you have space. Then you could leave him, decide it was better to be apart, and what if you didn’t want to see him again? What if you broke up with him? What was Dex supposed to do? Nonono, he needed you. He needed you.
Dex’ breathing was sharp, his heart in his throat as he moved to block your path again, his hands still out, palms facing you, showing he was safe.
I’m safe baby please.
I’m safe.
Safe.
Your face twisted and Dex could see your frustration with him quickly shifting into anger. He was overwhelming you, he knew that, but he couldn’t stop. This awful, awful ache in his gut made him feel like he was drowning and you hadn’t even left. What would he do if you did? What would he do if you said you needed space and actually took it?
He tried to keep himself from reaching for you, from touching you, from pulling you into him and making you listen and just fucking understand him.
He side stepped when you moved, planting himself back in your path.
“Dex-” A warning.
“Please, just-” He could hear how desperate he sounded, and maybe he should have cared but he couldn’t. “Don’t leave. Can we please talk? About this? Please?”
An exasperated sigh left you, and Dex watched your lip curl in a way it only did when you were reaching your limit.
“I know you said you needed space,” He rushed to explain himself, muscles tense as he prepared to physically stop you from moving away from him. “I just think we need to go over some things a little bit more.”
“Dex, did you lie to me?” It was curt, short, abrupt.
He froze, eyes boring into your own.
He swallowed.
“Yes, but-”
“That’s all I needed to hear,” You’d thrown your hands in the air, eyes rolling as you turned to move away from him again. “Please leave now. I just need some time to myself-”
Dex should have been embarrassed at his desperation. Honestly, he’d never even imagined he’d end up in a relationship let alone love someone the way he loved you.
He needed you.
You’d guided him. Hell, he’d even worn the mask exponentially less because he wanted to be around you so often. He wanted to be more like you, to love you, to protect you, to own you. You were his and only his.
So he did what any sane man would do: Benjamin Poindexter dropped to his knees and begged.
“Oh god,” it escaped you in a startled whisper.
“Please,” His voice was strained, brows drawn together as if it pained him to speak. His hands were on his thighs in front of him, flexing, as if he was forcing them to remain there. “I-I’ll do anything Y/N, just-just don’t leave.”
It was pathetic, he was pathetic. Begging on his knees in your apartment, pleading with you to just give him another chance.
His chest was heaving, sharp breaths escaping him as he gazed up at you. He looked wild and barely contained, and you could tell in that moment that even if you tried to make him leave, it was more than likely that he’d simply refuse. Or linger in the area. You hated how much you loved that about him.
“Benjamin,” It escaped you in a startled sigh, blinking rapidly as you gazed down at your boyfriend. You’d never seen him so distraught, so desperate.
It made your chest and pussy ache.
“Please,” His voice was hoarse. “I…I can’t do this without you.” Dex leaned forward on his knees, tentatively reaching towards you. “I’ll do whatever you ask me to. I’ll be good, I promise.”
Your hand came up to cover your mouth, lashes fluttering in surprise at how earnest he was being. You really had only wanted space…just-just some time to think. The realization that Dex was Bullseye was heavy. And, truthfully, you knew that this was manipulative. Dex could, absolutely, be manipulative. But he was also desperate and possessive. And honestly? Pathetic.
You loved that about him.
“Dex…” It was soft, the way you said it, and Dex moved to wrap his large, warm hands around your thigh, drawing you closer to him.
“Baby, please, I need you,” It was rushed, whiny, “I-I can fix it, just let me fix it.”
“Dex,” You started, eyes fluttering shut as you turned your face to look away from him, overwhelmed by his demonstration. “You can’t stop being yourself, and this is-”
He looked anguished. “I know I upset you, I know I lied and I promised I wouldn’t-” His hands were flexing around your leg, demanding, fingers almost bruising. “I fucked up. But I need you Y/N.”
Fuck.
You lifted your gaze to the ceiling for a moment, cursing yourself under your breath. Were you really going to cave? Fuck, it was so hard not to with him. He was so…Dex.
When you finally looked down at him again it almost made you catch your breath. His lips were parted, cheeks a soft hue of pink, brows drawn together and hair moussed. He was a wreck, begging on his knees for you, his hands wrapped around your leg. He’d moved closer so that your foot was resting between his knees now as he gazed up at you.
“Don’t make me leave,” His voice cracked as he spoke and you nearly wailed in frustration.
“Fine,” It was a soft murmur and you reached out to gently smooth his hair back from his forehead. “You can stay. Just…calm down, okay?”
Dex’ eyes fell shut, face immediately shifting into one of relief as he leaned into your touch.
“Thank you baby,” He managed, and when he gazed up at you, you nearly caught your breath. “I promise I’ll behave.”
He pulled you closer to him then, crowding around your leg as he began planting open mouthed kisses atop your thigh. You could feel his tongue and teeth dragging along the skin as you continued to rake your fingers through his hair.
“Thank you, thank you,” He kept whispering between kisses, hand hand smoothing up the back of your thigh as he drew you even closer to his body.
Just friends...right? ~ Benjamin 'Dex' Poindexter x Fem!Reader
☆゙ Word Count: 11.2k
☆゙ Content: After Born Again s2, Dex is with the CIA. Reader is his handler. He's basically trying to make more friends. Fluff. Dex is clearly a cat guy. Friends to lovers. Smut. Dry humping. Vaginal Fingering. Minors DNI!
☆゙ A/N: Been going through imposter syndrome every time I write Dex's dialogue. Please enjoy!
3. 2. 1...and the mission is done.
The knife sticks into the target’s skull real good, giving Dex a second to pull it out and wipe the blood on his black pants. Red pools around the head, drawn to make a larger pool in the center of the warehouse.
“Dexy, my boy! Is it done?”
“Yeah…it's done.” He says to Mr. Charles, sliding each knife back in their harnesses.
One, two, three, four, five wait…where's six? The missing knife sticks out from a tire of a military truck, right where a dead rogue officer's body lay.
Dex effortlessly slides the weapon back where it belongs. “I lost a knife. Need to get a new one.”
“Well, you know where to go. Your girl should be up by now.”
“She’s…not my girl.”
“Ah, you know what I mean Bullsey. We got you one of the best handlers in the team, you can call her whatever you want.”
He grimaces, torn between the nickname and the idea that you’re his. It’s only been a month since starting this job. Working with the CIA and under the one and only Valentina De Fontaine has its perks. He’s able to get a stable income for killing “bad” guys. A place he can call home again without eliminating someone to get it.
As long as he took his meds.
Valentina insisted after making sure he could still do his job medicated. Dex didn’t complain. He finally has what he wanted back so desperately. It’s just now it’s under his own conditions. For the most part.
Now all Dex needs is camaraderie.
Something similar to what he had with Ray back in his FBI days. Hopefully, without the killing him part.
“You’ll know when your next assignment is.” Is the last thing Dex hears before communication goes silent. He gets ready to text you about the knife when a message beats him to it.
‘I heard you need a new knife.’
‘Yeah. Lost one during the mission.’
‘I got you.’
That’s it. No other follow-up message, asking him about his mission. You are all business with hardly any talk.
It’s not like you’re difficult to deal with. When Dex joined the team, everyone joked about how easy it was to talk to you behind the professional barrier you put up. Like you want to leave work and everyone else in it when you go home each day.
Dex didn’t see a problem with that. He’s the same way. Well, was. He’s trying not to make the same mistakes as he did back in the FBI. He had people to talk to, but hardly anyone was in his corner. He didn’t want it to happen again. You’re one of the closest people he can make that effort with.
After a sixteen-hour flight and a forty-minute drive because he wanted to stop and get breakfast, he made his way to your office. Waving to the other team members, his “squad”. Just to provide support if he needs it. Dex hands them a bag filled with breakfast sandwiches and a tray of coffee.
“Hey, wait a minute.” Dex’s coworker, Alana, notices the separate bag and iced coffee with whipped cream and caramel drizzle, “Who’s that for?”
“Someone more important than you guys.” He snorts at the collective groans.
“Yeah sure, butter up the handler.” Jason says, taking a bite out of his sandwich.
Dex rolls his eyes, “So, what I’m hearing is to not bring donuts next time.”
Everyone immediately shuts up, thanking him for the food before gorging on it.
You’re stationed far in the back, in a large, box-like area. Surrounded by glass. No one would be able to miss a single thing you’re doing. Maybe you like it that way.
Dex catches your eyes through your glasses, a small wave in his direction. Then you dart to the food in his arms and quickly stand up.
“Oh my god is that food?”
“Yeah. Iced coffee and a breakfast burrito, right? With extra salsa?”
You blink, thoroughly surprised. “Whoa, yeah. That’s…on point.”
You typically come in ten minutes early to set up. Eating your burrito while typing on your computer with one hand. So effortless. Seamless. Like you’ve done it a million times before, but with no one to pay attention to you.
He went on a whim that you’d missed breakfast, and he’d swoop in to save the day.
“I figured since it’s early and you probably haven’t eaten yet…”
“Didn’t you have a long flight? I know you’re tired.”
He shrugs. He is, but he wanted to score some brownie points first. Raise the imaginary scale in his head that shows your relationship with him is getting better. He likes to think he earns ten points because of it.
“Thank you.” You smile, “I didn’t eat yet. Was running late. Slept in.” Dex nods, watching you take a sip, gloss staining the straw when you give a thumbs-up, of approval. “I have your knife. I just need to report the missing one and you’re good to go.”
The new weapon is right next to your computer mouse. All in its sheath. Dex could come clean about not actually losing the knife, but he’s managed to make you happy today, so he doesn’t.
“I didn’t mean to lose it.”
“It happens.” You wave him away. “I had a feeling you might lose them due to your abilities. You can’t miss, but that doesn’t mean you can’t lose weapons. It’s…actually pretty funny when you think about it.”
He releases a short laugh to match your amusement. Ah, so him losing his knives is funny. Good to know. “I’ll try not to next time.”
Dex shifts once the new knife is in his possession. What else can he bring up to express he wants to expand on his relationship with you? The momentum from bringing breakfast lowers with each millisecond that passes. And this is the most he’s gotten with you besides going over mission reports and providing him gear.
Was it really this hard back in the FBI?
“No troubles during the mission, right?” You ask, looking up from the screen.
“No.” He immediately clears his throat, “No problems. Target went down easy, everything…worked. Didn’t have to use my gun. Yet.”
“Nice.”
The corner of Dex’s lips twitches upwards, “I appreciate the high-quality gear. I don’t have to make do with kitchen knives anymore. They’re for cooking not for combat.”
“While I agree with you there, when you first came in, you were not using kitchen knives for weapons, Dex.”
“They felt like it.” You snicker and he knows five more points are added to the score. This is good. He should leave before he overstays his welcome. “I’ll see you around.”
Now to go home, shower, and rest.
It takes approximately fifteen minutes from headquarters to his apartment. The clean, sterilized scent relaxes his shoulders as he drops his duffel bag. Before he can get ready for a shower, his phone vibrates. A message from an unnamed user.
‘$10,000 is wired into your account.’
Life is great.
Dex needs to be careful. He knows everything can turn around in an instant if he didn’t dot his i’s and cross his t’s. Make sure the safety isn’t on before he lands the kill on his target.
Making friends is his own mission in a way. He watches them; their routine, what they like, don’t like, what they would die for, what they can’t live without. Anything to break down the walls and be receptive to change. Before he swoops in and makes the change for them.
With you, you’re very simple.
There’s not much on in any of your social media pages. Besides the occasional selfie, where you show where you went long after you’re gone. You’re a homebody, as people like to call it. You hardly go anywhere if it’s not work or home, as he’s seen for the past couple of days following you.
No, this wasn’t stalking.
During a meeting the day after, you commented that you didn’t like how dark it gets early. You make a weird face to lighten up the mood, but Dex knew from your bunched shoulders that you’re uncomfortable. He didn’t want his future friend to be uncomfortable.
It’s why he was watching you from afar, making sure you got home safely. There are no missions and he’s done all the bird watching and cat feeding in the world.
It’s what a good person would do.
He likes that you’re so simple. It’s what he has in common with you. You don’t need to go to ten different locations in two hours. It’s just you and your dog, Lady.
Dex gets the reference when the dog greets you at the door every day, tail breaking the speed of light. He’s never taken too kindly to dogs, but it’s something else to talk about - something to get you to open up.
He rehearses what to say to you on his way to work. Mr. Charles organizes routine marksmen tests, just to make sure the medication isn’t losing Dex’s sense of skill. He never likes the tests. It shows there’s still a hint of doubt from him. Whether it’s the CIA or Valentina herself. But it’s an excuse to see you again and start conversation.
In the weapons room, targets spawn across the makeshift scene. A park, similar to Central Park, where the bad guys are amongst the civilians. All decorated with a giant, red target. He needed to hit one with at least 95 to 100% accuracy.
Easy peasy.
“I was thinking about getting a pet.” Dex says after his knife hits the target dead on. A screen in front of him beeps 100%.
“Oh? You think having a pet is okay? Sometimes you’re gone for days…almost a week.”
“Yeah. I think it’s a good step to quality companionship. I even have a lonely neighbor so it would be good for her if she wanted to stop by and watch it if I’m gone.” Two knives hit the targets by the picture of a mother carrying her child. Two more beeps with 100%. “Besides, I didn’t have a pet back during my FBI days. Think it’s because I was too…I don’t know…”
“Wired?”
Dex blinks when he bounces the knife off the floor to another target by a tree. “Huh, yeah.”
You hum, watching him hit another target. “If you think that’s the right step, go for it. Pets are great company, especially the ones with personality.”
“Speaking from experience?”
Another target, another beep. “Yeah. I have a dog named Lady. She’s cute, busy as hell, but she helps keep me sane.”
“So I shouldn’t get a dog.”
You laugh and Dex likes how it goes up in pitch. “A chill dog, maybe. But you scream cat person to me anyway. Maybe a hamster.”
“A hamster is a smaller target…” He flings three knives at three targets spread throughout the crowd. Each blade hits that tiny red dot dead center. “But a cat might be good. They’re more independent.”
“Exactly. Perfect fit for you.”
One last target and the 100% pops up as if he hasn’t been getting them this entire session. You whistle at the perfect accuracy, noting them down on your tablet. Dex should go, but then the statuses of acquaintances would remain. When he should take the next step.
“I was thinking about going to this shelter on 38th and 10th. Heard they have a lot of animals there.”
You perk up, lips curling upwards in thought. “Oh hey, that’s like ten minutes from me.”
“Oh?” Dex matches your surprise, “Wow, that’s…wow. I was planning to go on Saturday if you’d like to go with me. Give me tips?”
You pause, shifting where you stand. The lack of eye contact is apparent that you didn’t want to go with him to the shelter. As a bonding moment. He probably came on a bit too strong. He should’ve just left it at he was planning to go on Saturday, leave the opportunity to invite yourself be up in the air.
“That sounds fun.” You say, “I don’t have any plans.”
“Great.” He flexes his fingers, not wanting to smile so wide that his face hurts.
Ten more points to the friendship scale.
The shelter opens at 9 am, but he wanted to get there at 10 just so it didn’t look odd. Plus, it gives you time to eat some breakfast. Not rush as much to meet up with him. He didn’t want you to hurry because of an outing he suggested.
He stands right by the shelter at 9:55 am. Early enough to scope the scene out and to bail if you don’t decide to show. The crowd wasn’t too bad. A handful of people coming and going, only a third leaving with a new companion.
Dex is serious about having a pet. Another friend in his life to prove how well it's going. He just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.
You arrive at 10:01. You’re panting, clutching two smoothies. “I’m sorry! The line at the cafe right beside my building was a little backed up.”
“You’re okay.” He takes a banana-orange smoothie. He wasn’t expecting you to notice him. Since when did he bring up the fact that he likes bananas?
“Heard you boasting one time about the banana milkshake back at a diner you went to. So I had a feeling you’d like bananas.” You say, like you’ve read his mind, sipping your smoothie.
“Ah. Thanks.”
So, you’re paying attention to him, too? Interesting.
Inside the shelter, clipboards are lined up across the desk, slightly crooked. Some employees, dressed in scrubs, lead other people to the back while some man the desk. In line, Dex nudges his finger against the clipboards he can reach, lining them up straight. Perfect.
“You think you’re gonna find your forever friend here?”
Dex nods, “This shelter has excellent reviews. The animals are well cared for here.”
“Still, you can always go to another one if you can’t find a pet.”
“Will you come with me if I can’t find one?”
“Sure. We can turn it into an adventure.”
He smiles a bit. Now he hopes he can’t find a cat here. If it meant more bonding time with you. And enjoying how great you smell today. Like a clean spring? It matches the cool weather.
“Hi!” The receptionist greets, “Are you two lovebirds looking into adopting today?”
Lovebirds? Wait…
“Oh!” You laugh, immediately getting rid of any awkward air. “We’re not together. We’re just friends.”
Friends? Already? Whoa, that was fast.
“Yeah. Just friends.” Dex doubles down, laughing with you. He likes how yours fits his own. “She’s helping me find a pet.”
“I’m so sorry.” The receptionist fans her face, embarrassed. “You two just looked so cute together. Sorry, about that.”
You’re tugging on your blue scarf, your laugh taking a nervous flit. Dex takes the clipboard and fills out his information, ignoring the faint blush on his cheeks.
It was bound to happen. Men and women becoming friends can be easily mistaken for romantic interest. He didn’t want you to think any more than that. It’s already great enough that you think you’re friends.
And all it took was shopping for a pet.
“Did you mean it?” Dex asks after getting a ticket number. He had to wait to be called and go into the back. “Are we really friends now?”
“Ah.” You fix your glasses, taking an unusually long sip from your straw. “I guess we are. I don’t know, I just didn’t want that lady to assume.”
Yeah, that makes more sense.
“Right. I get it.”
Two points go down in the friendship scale, but it didn’t mean defeat. It wasn’t a great space to announce your friendship to him anyway. Dex wants it to be more memorable than that.
When he’s called, he follows the employee to the back. A sterile mixed with animal smell hits his nose—the dogs are off to a huge area to the left, with a play area outside. Cats were to the right. All in cages with another smaller area that leads outside and inside.
The employee remains on standby as he browses through the selection of cats.
Each one, big and small, fat and tiny, all in cages. It’s a lot, almost too many to deal with. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
“This is…a lot of cats.”
“I know.” You cosign, “Let’s start by reading the descriptions first and go from there.” You carry his smoothie. Just so he can focus on the task at hand.
Dex goes through the cats available. Hardly any kittens or younger cats. A lot of are older from teens to adult life. Some were given away from an abusive household or because an owner died and no one wanted to care for the cat. Each one locked away in hopes of finding their forever person.
Can he be that type of guy?
His track record with animals hasn’t been the greatest. Killing birds for fun in his youth isn’t worth telling anyone unless he wants to be looked at differently. He doesn’t want to. A cat he can handle. He likes them. They’re hardly bothersome.
Maybe that’s why he likes the one who hardly pays him any attention.
Clover. An all-black Maine coon. She’s licking her fur, not giving him the time of day. The description says she’s not very sociable, but can get comfortable in any home. Great. Just what he wants.
“Really?” The employee says, opening up the cage to let Clover out. “She really is what the description says. It’ll be amazing if she notices you’re there.”
“I’m sure.”
The employee carries Clover to the play area just so he can get acclimated with her. Maybe change his mind once he sees how she acts.
It never came.
Clover does a gentle brush to Dex’s leg before sitting beside him, grooming herself. All mundane, like she doesn’t care much about what’s going on in her world. He gets it. Kind of. She does let you pet her head, leaning into the touch before going back to do what she’s doing.
“Well, you like her?”
“Yeah.” He says, giving a little scratch on her head. “Told you cats are independent.”
“Yeah…I see.”
After signing some paperwork, getting a complementary basket filled with cat treats, food, litter, and toys, Clover is put in her cage and to her new home.
Dex doesn’t point out how you actually follow him back to his apartment. He’s expecting you to go your separate ways back home. But no, you walk with him. Take the train, sit next to him while he carries his new cat.
“Do you need to get any more cat stuff?”
“Nah. I bought plenty.”
A cat tower, a litter box, and an automatic feeder. Just in case he’s gone longer than usual.
Dex lets Clover out of her cage and she steps out slowly. Looking around at the new scenery, her new home. She makes a point to rub against his leg again, then yours, before exploring the house. The cat tower isn’t out the box yet. He wanted to put it up after the shelter.
“Congrats on your new baby.” You say, watching Clover jump on the couch and lie in it. “May she keep you company.”
“She will.”
You motioned to the boxed up cat things in the corner, “Want help with that?”
“Oh, uh…sure. If you want.”
“Of course. I asked.”
Dex lets out a laugh before motioning you to the pile. Your head glances over at the simplicity of his apartment. The single, clean couch. The TV is centered directly in the living room, aligned with the coffee table. His bedroom is off to the left, a decent size. Not too big or small.
Just enough for him. And Clover.
You help set up the cat tower. It’s placed right beside the entrance to his bedroom. A cat bed goes on the foot of his bed, but he has a feeling Clover might not use it. The automatic feeder is also set up, but took a while as the instructions aren’t clear. You come to save the day though, setting it up so she’s fed every eight hours.
The light hits his eyes through his curtains. It’s a little past one and neither of you has eaten yet. A lot of the groceries in his fridge are only good for one. He can try to add another portion though.
“Wanna get food? I’m kinda craving a sub.”
Dex perks up, “Yeah. There’s a bodega a block away from here. Although, I’ve never tried.”
“Well, we can try today.” You grab your coat and bag, blowing a kiss to Clover who’s currently asleep on his rug.
Dex chuckles, “She likes you.”
“And I like her. She’s actually perfect for you. Mysterious, calm…”
“You think I’m mysterious?”
You hum, hands in your pockets as you two stroll down the sidewalk. “When I first met you, yes. But it was just because of your persona. You have to know what you look like when you put the suit on.”
He does, but he never thought mysterious. He preferred menacing.
“I guess I should think about that for the future.”
You shake your head, “No, it’s okay. I’ve gotten to know you now and I don’t see you as mysterious. Well, not as much.” When you two go in the store and place your orders, you continue the conversation. “I’m surprised you didn’t see me that way. Since…I’m…you know…”
“You’re all business. I get it. You deal with dangerous people and you don’t want to take work with you.”
“You’re…not work, Dex.” You state, getting closer to him. He doesn’t mind the closeness. It gives him a chance to smell your honey scent again. “Not anymore. I should try to know the people I handle. Make sure I’m taking care of them.”
“You are.” He says, full body towards you so you know he’s serious. “I wouldn’t know where I’d be without you.”
“Still alive but using kitchen knives.”
Dex chuckles at your joke. You really mean it. You are putting in effort just like he is. So you do want this to turn into friendship.
He takes in that high when you two go back to his apartment. Eating your sandwiches, letting you get a sneak peek of how particular he is in his home. Making sure the dishes were aligned perfectly after doing the dishes. How he organizes his books on his bookcase by size. Big, medium, and then small. The pillows on his couch perfectly fit against the cushions.
Well, until Clover pushed them off.
Overall, he can call this outing a success. He got a cat and he has a better understanding of you. Good enough that he can use when he sees you at work.
Whenever Dex comes in there’s always something in his hand.
It varies depending on the time of day. If it’s early in the morning, it’s your usual breakfast order. In the afternoon, he gets you a lemon scone and warm green tea. Late at night, pizza or maybe Chinese if you have to work late.
Every time he’s met with a smile from end to end, saying thank you for whatever gift he gives you that day. Genuine appreciation. It leads to you talking to him for a while. First about Clover, but then it shifts into hobbies. Like his books, what bird he saw today, if he’s going to watch the upcoming baseball game.
He always answers with care, never lying to you. He returns the attention. He asks about Lady, what’s happening in the TV show you’re watching, or if there’s anywhere you wanted to go, so he can go with you. Natural conversation.
The days when he comes in feel better. He gets to see you, talk to you, and pretend to understand who you are as a person. How you talk about the close relationship you have with your mother, how you like being alone a lot, and it takes time for you to hang around other people. Dex gets it.
It’s why he ignores the teasing comments from the team, pointing out how close you two have gotten. He doesn’t mind, even when you’re clearly embarrassed at the obvious attention. But don’t discredit it. Which was…interesting.
Dex doesn’t bring it up, not when he’s alone with you during the trek to your apartment. The city still gets dark sooner, and your discomfort never changes right when it’s time to go. So he makes sure he’s there when you get off, taking you home every time. Your shoulders lower whenever he’s beside you, proof that you’re relaxing in his presence. As a true friend.
He meets Lady, who is true to what you’ve said about her.
She greets him like a new friend, jumping at his waist, letting out little yips of excitement. You laugh, mentioning she’s finally meeting the new person she’s been smelling lately. And she likes what she sees.
Dex takes the dog’s excitement as a good sign. He was hoping she did like him, knowing dogs had a sense of someone’s character.
“Oh, you’ll be hearing from me soon about a mission.” You say, watching him play with Lady. “Charles said it’s important so we gotta take this seriously.”
“Okay.” He says, throwing the ball so Lady can chase after it. You shift in your boots and he pauses throwing the ball again to look at you. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” You immediately say, “I just uh…want you to be careful. I’ve never said it before so I want you to know. Stay safe.”
Your eyes glimmer against the kitchen light, filled with concern. Dex tilts his head before fixing himself. “I will.”
He’s…hardly seen that before. Worrying isn’t lost on him; he’s witnessed it countless times throughout his life. But towards him, it was rare. And it felt…good. Like he needed to care, so you didn’t worry any more than you had to.
You shouldn’t need to worry about anything. Ever. As long as he can help it.
The mission is overseas. The target, Adrian Murini, is holed up in a grand hotel in Brazil. A broker and a witness for an upcoming trial connected to a governor who can overthrow it with his testimony. Security is locked tight, and Dex has to be close to make the kill.
You supply him with his gear and make a joke not to lose another knife while he’s out there. To ease the stress at the thought of him going to some dangerous place. You know he can handle it, but it makes sense to be worried about your friends.
The flight is long, the hotel is less desirable, despite being ten minutes away from the target’s. Adrian is stationed in the middle of the hotel, on the 16th floor. It was off. Dex would’ve liked a prime number instead.
You send him plans of the hotel layout, and he’s able to get access to the security cameras. Five guards in the room, two stationed outside. There’s a switch every six hours, and they’re in the adjoining hotel next door.
The new knife you gave him is in his right holster. The easiest to reach, the one that can quickly get him out of trouble if he needs it. Dex smiles when your face pops into your head. His friend. You’re probably still worried and will be that way until he’s back at headquarters.
He sends you a text, hoping to distract your racing mind.
‘Send me a picture within eight hours. Smiling.’
He chuckles at the eyeroll emoji before a message says, ‘Eight hours is too long.’
‘Six then.’
‘Four.’
‘Five.’
You stop texting for a minute. He figures you got pulled away. One of the team members is asking you something stupid, like how to work the coffee machine again.
It’s his cue to leave anyway. The window to get Adrian is closing and Dex plans to kill him right after dinner. Where his body won’t be discovered for a while and Dex can get out more easily.
Another message and he opens it before walking out.
He freezes. His eyes go as wide as they can past the irises of his mask. Your face is bright, clear, and radiant. A smile that takes one of his knives and aims right at his chest. You’ve…never looked that way before.
‘You’re pretty.’
Dex immediately sends without a second thought. It’s possible to say that about women friends without it having an underlying reason. Right?
He doesn’t look at your message, not when the notification pops up. He has a job to do. And you’re waiting for him to come back. He didn’t want to keep you waiting.
Dex finds a way in the hotel through the workers’ entrance, right when most of the staff are busy serving dinner. He slips through pristine white shirts and smooth black skirts, avoiding cameras until he has a way up the stairs. Hardly anyone uses them, so he counts the floors until sixteen arrives.
Here’s the fun part.
The guards by the door didn’t stand a chance. Two knives sink into their neck without a delay and he catches their bodies so they won’t make noise. Dex slips in with the room key. The guard's position never changed, so he hurls a knife at the guard at the door before he can notice him. The second one faces the window so an easy kill.
Slinking past the mini kitchen, Dex grabs the guard that’s by the target’s bedroom and slits his throat. As he bleeds out, staining his suit while his body jerks, the last guard comes out of the bathroom. Where a knife is between his eyes.
He opens the main bedroom and the target quickly stands up, hands raised.
“P-Please. Don’t kill me. What I can do will change the fate of this country for decades. Maybe centuries.”
Dex doesn’t speak, eyes tracing the room. A half-eaten dinner of lamb and rice, TV low and playing whatever action movie is on. He takes a closer look and sees it’s a racing one. He’ll have to ask you if you’ve seen that one.
“Whatever they’re paying you, I can double it. Triple it even.” Adrian sputters, his slender form quaking in his pjs. “You look like a man who has sense.”
“Not anymore.”
Two knives hit Adrian square in his chest and head. Dex catches the body and places it neatly on the bed. Then snaps a few pictures.
See? It all worked out in the end.
Dex walks out, a bullet hits his shoulder. One of the guards. He must’ve gotten out for another rotation. But it’s too early.
“I have the suspect, repeat I have the sus-”
A knife knocks the gun out of the guard’s hand. Another hits his neck. Dex quickly runs out of the room right when the rest of the guards see the mess he’s made. Shots are fired and he’s bolting down the stairs. His shoulder stings, blood leaks from his wound and leads a trail. He’s been shot before, but it still fucking hurts.
He makes a call to you, sharply inhaling to hide the pain. “I need the closest safe room.”
“What happened?”
“Got shot in the shoulder. I’m fine.” He doesn’t want you to worry. Even when he had a close call.
There’s no panic in your voice, just urgency. “There’s one two miles away. It should be enough to get you away from the heat. There’s also supplies there to patch you up.”
A guard goes up in his direction and a knife stops him.
“Thanks, sunshine.”
“Dex-”
He cuts the call. He’ll bring up how rude it was of him later. He just needs to get out alive first.
Police arrive on the scene, and guests are clamoring due to the sudden noise from above. Dex cuts down any other guard in his path, bursting through the back doors. Sirens ring in his ears when he breaks into a nearby car, driving it off and away from the scene of the crime.
Blood trails down into his suit, getting all over his chest and arm. He shakes his head during the drive to stay awake. He can’t pass out. Not like this.
The safe room is at an abandoned house.
Dex opens the bulky, metal cellar doors, quickly going inside and lock it tight. There, he gives you another call, panting.
“I made it.”
“Thank goodness.”
The safe point had a cot, some supplies in a drawer, and a mini fridge. He pulls off his shirt, mask coming off with it, before digging through the list of supplies. The bullet went through so no need to worry about finding it.
“Tell Charles that the mission went well.” He hisses when alcohol spills into his wound, “He’ll like that.”
“I’ll tell him later. Where did you get shot at? Do we need to send a medic over there?”
“No, it’s fine. It’s just my shoulder. Bullet went through clean.”
“You’re not doing this by yourself.”
“I’m not.” Dex grabs some bandages, “You’re here with me.”
“I’m not physically there.”
“But I can hear your voice so it’s good enough.”
He grins at your sigh, holding back any other noises to prove how much pain he’s in. He means every word. A friend like you at his time of need? He couldn’t ask for anyone else to be here. To keep him company.
“I’m telling Charles you need a raise.”
“Like Valentina will say yes to that.”
“She will after a strong recommendation from me.”
Dex chuckles, finishing bandaging himself up. He washes his hands by the makeshift sink and digs into the fridge for something to eat. There wasn’t much besides a fruit cup and water. It’ll have to do.
He takes two painkillers and lies on the cot. Distant sirens are heard nearby, but they shouldn’t find him. He got rid of the car a few blocks back and made sure to go through the grass to lose the blood trail. He wasn’t going to stay here long anyway. He needed to go back home.
“Stay with me.” He says, not giving you room to say no. “I need to hear you.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything. Just…don’t hang up yet.”
Silence lingers on your end. For a moment, Dex thinks you might’ve hung up on him. “I checked on Clover earlier.”
“Oh? How’s she doing?”
“Okay. She was on your bed before I left. I think she misses you.”
“I miss her too. I’ll be home soon.”
“You will. I’ll make sure of it.”
He smiles, knowing you can’t see his face on the other side. “You’re the best.”
“Keep flattering me. I also like matcha from that cafe up the street.”
“Noted.”
More silence, but it’s comfortable. Your breathing on the line lulls him in a way. He leans against the screen, picturing you right beside him. Checking out his bandage, brows lowering with worry. Your lips in a cute pout.
He thinks back to your picture and blood rushes to his cheeks. “Did you wear makeup today?”
“No. Why?”
“Nothing…” He mutters. “You just looked…nice.”
“You said pretty.”
“You did look pretty. And bright.”
His stomach churns at your giggle, “Thanks.”
Even your laugh is nice. It always has been. He doesn’t know why he’s noticing it now. He might’ve took too many painkillers.
“It’s clear you’re not going on a mission any time soon.”
“I know…”
“Which is good. We can hang out more often.”
“Yeah? And do what?”
“Whatever you want. It’s only right since you got hurt on the job.”
“Of course.”
As expected, Dex had to take some time off from missions until he heals.
The doctor gave him two weeks to make a full recovery and to take advantage of resting and relaxing. Not to do much physical labor to increase the recovery time. Dex shouldn’t like that. His work involves helping people, getting rid of the bad ones to make the world a better place. Now, he can’t do that.
If this were eight years ago, he wouldn’t know what to do himself. In all the get-well cards and flowers, it hardly meant anything in his empty apartment. But there are visitors.
His team stopping by to check up on him, give him food, update him on what’s been going on in the office. Saying they missed him. He missed them too. Especially you.
You who is always at his place before anyone else. Who gives more food than he needs, make sure Clover has everything she needs in case he can’t give it to her. It was funny. It’s not like he was hit by a car or thrown off a building. He is still capable of taking care of himself. But you, how you try to take care of his needs before you work, it’s…He doesn’t know how to describe it.
His heart thumps faster than normal whenever you’re there. When you’re close. So close he can smell the peach scent from your lotion. That makes him want to lean in closer for more.
When you dress, it’s all very nice.
Despite the colder air, your style with sweaters, jeans, and boots looks good on you. Splashes on orange and brown every time you come over. He wants to say how good you look, but doesn’t. The reaction you had when he called you pretty was unexpected. And don’t get him started on the nickname.
You bring light to his life like the sun, rays peering past the suffocating darkness that surrounds him. Sunshine was…harmless. Obviously, you didn’t think so.
He just got good at being friends with someone. He didn’t want to mess it up because you look prettier than usual. Smell better than usual.
Dex just wants to take walks with you and Lady. Enjoy the park with just the three of you. Lady running after the ball he throws, you laughing at how fast she’s going. He wants to make you laugh like that all the time.
When you’re exploring a new restaurant, he likes when you coax him into trying your food, wanting him to enjoy whatever you just ordered. He doesn’t miss when he eats from your fork and then you use it, not caring that it came from his lips. He simply watches, a question about their evolving relationship lingers. But nothing is said. Just laughs and your lovely smile.
“Charles is thinking about taking you out again.” You say, scooping some cheesecake and eating it.
Dex follows how your tongue swipes across your lips, catching any whipped cream. “I need to get back in the game again. Makes sense he wants to take me out now that I’m healed.”
“The doctor cleared you yesterday.” You grimace, shoving another bite in your mouth. “You shouldn’t rush back into things again.”
“Don’t wanna get rusty.” He locks onto the spoon you hand out to him to try the cheesecake. Dex slowly nods, like he’s making an important decision in his life. He takes the piece, lime and graham crackers dancing on his tongue. He doesn’t leave your face when you lick the spoon, diving in for another taste. “I’m useful. Don’t want anyone to think otherwise.”
“No one will. I’m just saying it’s okay to take a few more days off.”
Dex chuckles, “So, you can have me all to yourself?”
“Yes.” You wink, eating another piece.
“Careful. If you keep this up, the team will think we’re dating.”
Your brows raise, “Oh? Is that what people are thinking? That we’re dating?”
It was meant to be a joke, but you’re asking with such intrigue that makes him shift in his seat.
“No, well…you’ve heard the jokes. The teasing. Everyone thinks we are, but we both know it’s not serious.”
You snort, “Jeez, you don’t like the idea of dating me, Dex?
“I didn’t say that.”
“It’s okay if you are. I get it, I don’t do much. I just work and go home and sleep. I’m boring.”
Dex scoffs, “You’re not boring. I like that.”
“But not enough to date me.”
“Do you want me to go out on a date with you?”
“Maybe.”
“So, let’s go on a date.”
You blink, dropping your spoon. The room gets small. Suddenly, he realizes there’s a lot of people in this restaurant and he just dropped that he wants to go out with you. What the? How the hell did this happen?
“Shit.” Dex shakes his head, “I didn’t mean to-”
“You didn’t mean to ask me out?”
Silence. Just you and him staring at each other.
“No, I didn’t.” He covers up, unable to see you past the rapid blinking, “We’re…just friends. Right?”
“Right.” You force a smile, but he immediately sees that its fake. Not the one that makes you glow every time he sees you. Crap.
Dex pays for dinner and walks you home. Hardly anything is said, besides work, him mentioning he was going to bring breakfast tomorrow. Nothing about what happened in the restaurant. That he didn’t want to date you.
It’s not that he didn’t. That would just mean you two won’t be friends anymore. Just more.
He’s never had more before. He can’t think of the last time the opportunity of having more was given to him. This was too different. He’s already doing a lot by having a pet, making the effort to make friends without disguising himself as someone socially acceptable in society. What will this mean? If he became more with you?
Dex isn’t sure. Not when he’s in the headquarters in the next day, bringing breakfast as usual. You take your usual order, saying thank you with a smile. You’re still faking. Even when he tries to make conversation with you. You indulge, but don’t go further as usual.
He doesn’t like that.
When he offers to visit Lady, you shut him down, saying you’ll be tired later. He pretends to understand.
Were you looking forward to going out with him? Dex didn’t see why. He’s boring. He’s the one who needs help in reclaiming his mind. You? Anyone would be lucky to go out with you. So out of all people…why him?
A mission to Canada does little to stop his rushing thoughts.
You’re doing your job, as you’ve always done when you handle him. This time it’s brief. No follow-up questions, jokingly telling him not to lose another weapon, text him to be careful. It feels off. Weird.
‘No picture?’ He sends a brief text, lingering by the front door of his hotel room. Not running out to kill his target yet.
‘Now? Don’t you have a target to eliminate?’
‘I’m early. There’s plenty of time for a picture.’
‘If you’re early, you can kill the target now and get the next flight out.’
‘Not until I get a picture.’
There are three dots, then it’s gone. It pops up again, then it’s gone. Dex’s heart slowly creeps, almost like when he’s about to catch his prey. But this time it’s waiting for the moment of truth. To see if you’ll indulge him or not. Have proof that you’re not mad at him.
Five minutes and nothing.
Of course. The friendship is gone now. Points have been erased from the board and the sign flips from friends to acquaintances. All his hard work. Gone.
His phone vibrates and he immediately opens the message. It’s you but…very different.
You’re looking up at the camera, showing off more of your body. Your blouse is unbuttoned, not too much to show off more than you want, but just enough to see your cleavage. You’re wearing a push-up bra and everything is…highlighted. Defined. Did you always wear push-up bras?
Your lips are parted, your eyes wide. He doesn’t know what to say. You look nice. No, more than nice. Nice doesn’t apply in this instance. Same thing on why he doesn’t think you look pretty. You’re more than that.
‘You look sexy.’
Dex doesn’t leave yet. Not when his phone vibrates once more. He doesn’t look at it. What he said starts something he can’t help but start. It’s the truth, you look sexy. The rising tent in his cargo pants is proof enough. Good thing he’s early.
After taking care of himself, killing his target in a park, and take the next flight back home, he can’t stop looking at the picture. And your response to his comment.
‘Thank you. <3’
Is that what you wanted? To be noticed by him? He’s always noticed you, even before the restaurant fiasco. He just…doesn’t know what to do.
Dex isn’t sure what will happen once the friendship twists into something more. It’s because what if you think he’s too much for you? Friends is one thing, being involved requires more commitment, feelings he isn’t sure he’s felt before. Or in a long time.
Are you sure you want that?
When he’s back in the office for debriefing, making sure you send all the important details to Mr. Charles, neither of you brings up the picture. You’re still dressed similarly to what you sent him, your chest profound under the blouse, work pants tight on your legs. Your glasses resting on the tip of your nose, increasing the desire to step forward and push them up for you.
“Are we still on for the film festival this weekend?”
Dex perks up, lining his eyes back to yours. “Yeah. Starts at ten, right?”
You nod, still writing down notes on your tablet. “I have our passes, so don’t worry about that.”
“Okay.” His eyes trace down your frame again. He should bring up the picture and ask what that’s about. But what would he want to hear? “Are you excited?”
“Yeah. Are you?”
“I am.”
A pause. You’re done with the mission debrief notes, sending them out to Mr. Charles with the tap of your finger. Your glasses are still low, your shirt is still intentionally unbuttoned. He should leave. He should leave.
Dex moves forward, pushing up your glasses from the bridge with his finger, making sure it settles perfectly across your face. Your eyes go wide, staying still as he doesn’t move back from his previous spot. Just staring at you. “Why are you doing this?”
“What am I doing?”
He sharply inhales, accidentally taking in your honey perfume. “This…looking like…this.”
You look down at yourself, “Just trying something new. You don’t like it? Thought you’re supposed to support me as my friend.”
“I am.”
“Besides calling me sexy yesterday.”
Dex shakes his head, “I meant it.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Nothing.”
“Okay. Then…” You motion him to leave your office. Looking like that. Shit.
He doesn’t move, nor do his eyes. You don’t either. A staring contest that may appear playful to others, to Dex, he’s trying to decide. Whether to leave or to take that next step. To be more.
Friends don’t call their friends sexy. Unless they have an underlying intention.
For Dex…he didn’t want to show his intention in here.
“I’ll see you Saturday.”
The film festival took place on the west end of Central Park.
The air was cool enough for people to huddle up in jackets and blankets outside, ready for the movie of the night to play. Aisles of stalls with food, movies, CDs, and games to help pass the time before the main event.
He wasn’t sure if it was going to be enough of a distraction.
When you met up with him by the entrance, nervous was the first thing he felt since he started this relationship with you.
Your ivy green sweater dress, tights that match the color of your skin, and black boots that dreadfully stopped at your knee. A breeze blew past you, banana and vanilla make him lean into the air. As an excuse to not lean on you.
He should’ve expected you to dress like this. Well, you’ve always dressed like this, but now he wants to keep looking at you. Admire how enticing you look.
“You look handsome.”
Another hit to his heart. Dex was hoping you didn’t notice he put in more effort himself to look nice too. The brown and navy blue suede jacket, black shirt, black pants are a dead giveaway.
“Thank you. You look…great.”
“Not sexy, huh?” His lips part at your teasing but you laugh it off, “I’m joking. I won’t mess with you anymore tonight.”
“Right.” He narrows his eyes, a mix of playful and suspicion.
The movie didn’t start for a few more hours, so he browses with you. Endless selections of DVDs and CDs from some vendors. You browse with intention, aiming to pick out some you need a physical copy of. Some for him, too.
“I think you’d like rom-coms.” You say, going through a huge bin filled with classic movies. “There were so many good ones back in the day.”
Dex peeks through the pile, a mountain of DVDs pushed by your hand. “What makes you think I’d like rom coms?”
“Because experiencing love and laughter is one of the best feelings in the world. Try it.” He doesn’t disagree, but continues watching you go through the pile. Close, making sure you don’t fall in and helplessly flail. “Got it!”
You turn and you’re right in his face. He could practically make out the pores on your skin. Dex takes a step back, not wanting to make the day uncomfortable already. You don’t say anything, but show off the case you picked up.
“Bride and Prejudice?”
“It’s so good. I used to watch it a lot when I was little with my mom.”
“Well, if you’d think I’d like it…”
“You will.”
Before checking out, Dex skims over to the pile of DVDs again. “I’ll pick one for you too.”
You lean over his shoulder and he tries to refrain from pulling you closer. Hold you under his arms. “Okay. What are you thinking?”
He picks up Ninja Assassin and you nod at the choice. “Of course it’s an action movie.”
“We need some variety.”
“Ah so we’re watching these after the festival?”
Dex hums, not realizing this is lowkey an attempt to get you back to his place. Or yours to continue the outing. “Maybe.”
You roll your eyes at his answer.
After the DVD shop, you wanted to browse some CDs, bringing up his CD player. Dex mainly uses it to listen to Dr Mercer’s recordings, indulging in a little bit of jazz classics or two. They were a dollar each, so fair game to you. He doesn’t say anything when you pick up case upon case in your arms. Full of a wide range of genres: jazz, rock, early pop, and r&b. Things you think he’d like.
“I hope it’s enough to add to your CD collection.”
“You don’t have to buy me all of this.”
You raise a brow, “Why not? We’ve been meaning to get you more music anyway.”
“Yeah, but…” He trails off, words that might offend you on the tip of his tongue. “You should get some music for yourself.”
“I hardly use my CD player anymore, Dex, come on.”
Dex grimaces, letting you pay for them.
It’s not that he didn’t want them or the movie. He’s sure he’ll like everything you pick for him. It feels as if you’re trying to get on his good side, like you ever left it. As proof that, despite what’s happened before, you two can still be good friends.
It doesn’t sit right in his stomach. Dex isn’t sure if he can classify this as a friendship anymore. The sway of your hips, how his heart upticks when you point at a new stall in awe. That sweet scent makes him follow you wherever you want to go.
Friends don’t think of each other like that.
In fact, this feels like a date more than a hangout. Maybe he should treat it as such.
“Hey,” He takes a step forward, easily holding your hand, “I saw a stall that sells great tacos. You hungry?”
Your eyes go wide, darting down to where your hands connect and his eyes. “Uh, yeah, yeah I’m getting there.”
“Great.” Dex leads, taking you to the food stand. Your face hardly changes and you don’t let go either. At least until you’re at the truck and you pretend you need to get your wallet out. But he’s paying, as a gentleman should on a date.
He likes this. It’s more natural. Just right.
You don’t bring up the hand holding and Dex doesn’t pry. Your movements are slower, despite your face becoming neutral. Still trying to figure out what just happened while putting sour cream on your taco.
“You smell nice.” He says, realizing he should compliment you more. “Banana smells great on you.”
“Ah…thanks.” You shift on the bench, not taking a bite out of your taco just yet. “So do you. Was that a…new cologne?”
“Yeah. I got it a few days ago.” He figures sandalwood was a good start. For this...date.
You nod, deeming it adequate to eat. He watches, a smile threatening to break at the streak of sour cream on the corner of your lips. As a good date should, he takes a napkin and hands it to you, motioning to where the cream is. You awkwardly take it, following where he’s pointing.
“You have an idea of what the movie might be?”
You shrug, glancing over at your pamphlet. “I’m hoping it’s that AI one. You know where the girl falls in love with her AI companion.”
“…I think that’s been done before.”
“Yes, but this time the roles are reversed. And the girl is blind.”
“Ah, right.”
“Would you fall in love with an AI companion?”
“No,” Dex gruffs, wiping off his hands, “I hardly use my phone, I wouldn’t take my chances with something like that.”
You hide your amusement behind your drink, “But you are open to…liking someone?”
He doesn’t leave your face, waiting for an answer. Dex still has reservations about romance. He’s also never taken that step, unlike other men his age. So many things he hasn’t experienced that he isn’t sure it’s possible for him to. This is a new arc for him. He’s taken steps to show he’s not like he was years ago.
Romantic interests can be possible.
“Yes.” He admits, “I’m just…it’s been…I’ve never really experienced that before. I’m still a bird who hasn’t learned how to fly. Yet.”
“A pretty old bird.”
“We’re the same age.”
You laugh, “My point still stands.”
Dex playfully scoffs, “Will you help me learn how to fly then? The whole works?”
“I can but…” You pause, tongue in cheek. He has to remind himself to breathe, not think of the extremes, “you said, asking me out was a mistake. Do you still think that?”
“No. I didn’t want to ruin what we have. You’re…special to me. I haven’t met anyone like you before.”
You don’t hide your smile this time and he can’t help but smile with you.
“Me neither.”
Dex feels the shift happen in real time. After eating, you immediately take his hand, letting him to sink into the reality of what this is now. What you two can be.
As it gets dark, you two take your seats. On the floor, the fluffy blankets provide enough cushion for both of you. His breath hitches at the random pain that aches his joints while he sits. You immediately hand him some painkillers and a bottle of water. That you had just in case.
Even on a date, you never truly stop working.
The movie is exactly the one you said, which makes you happy. Dex takes in the light in your eyes, how you gently shake him in excitement when the opening credits roll. On instinct and because he saw another couple in front of him, he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you flush against him.
It’s a little cold and the body heat will help as well as the blankets.
That’s his logic anyway. Not because he gets direct access to your banana scent, but finally able to feel you. You fit so well against him, too like you belong there. And he wasn’t going to let you go. Not if he had anything to say about it.
Something else has an opinion too.
During the movie, Dex’s pants get tight again. You taking his hand, thumb rubbing it didn’t help either. He knows its been a long, long time since he’s gotten physical contact like this. And you saying that you’d be willing to help him.
This? It’s too perverted right now. Dex can’t expect you to help him with something like this. Not when you two just started dating.
It would be too much.
He inhales when you accidentally brush against his crotch, trying to get yourself situated.
“Oh…” You whisper, making eye contact.
“Sorry. Just ignore it, it’ll go away soon.”
“You’re okay, Dex. It’s natural.”
“Really?” He forces out a laugh, “I didn’t wanna scare you.”
“I’ve experienced my fair share of boners. It’s okay.”
Your lips press against his cheek and he feels the imprint of your lips on his skin. Unfortunately, it makes his cock jump. His heartbeat rising. You have his hand stay on your hip. So close to your ass. Your…nicely sized one.
His boner remains, difficult to keep all of these thoughts at bay while the movie is playing. Dex should take it easy. Not want to feel all over you behind closed doors. Wonder how you sound against his ears.
It would be too much. Too. Much.
He softens right when the movie ends. The sad ending changes the mood for the evening and you were sniffling a little. Dex gently pats your back, lowkey not understanding the movie at all, but not wanting to ruin how you’re feeling.
“Didn’t expect that movie to be sad at all.”
“Me neither.” He agrees while taking you home. A few blocks and a subway ride away. “Changed the mood a little.”
“Yeah, sad movies aren’t good for boners.”
Dex shakes his head, “Don’t bring that up…”
“Why? Don’t be embarrassed. I told you that’s common.”
“Yeah but…” He shuts up when they go inside the subway car, picking the seats a bit away from the rest of the riders. “I wanted to…do more things. When you kissed me I…I wanted more. Needed it.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize…”
His cheeks warm up and he glances away, pretending to focus on the train car behind them. It’s ridiculous. Feeling all of these things so fast. You shouldn’t witness him being aroused and inexperienced.
Dex wants to get some books to understand what you’d like. Emotionally and physically. It’s only fair.
“Do you still need it?”
He faces you, a hand on his thigh, gently squeezing it. That simple touch heats up his skin, surging down below. “…why are you asking?”
“You forgot what I said before?” You laugh a little and he swallows hard. “Just…helping you learn how to fly.”
Dex doesn’t tear away from your eyes, pleading, awaiting a truthful answer. He should say no. It would be too quick. And he didn’t want to disappoint you. Set any unfair expectations because he’s plagued by salacious thoughts and feelings.
But…what would you want to do?
“Yes.”
Back at your apartment, everything is quiet.
Besides Lady yipping and begging for pets, which she gets after a few tries, before you lead him to your bedroom. Dex takes everything in stride. As you close the door behind you, light from your blinds hits parts of your dress. Each step you take is slow and cautious, giving him room to change his mind if he’s uncomfortable.
He wasn’t. Instead, his heart picks up speed. The gentle sway of your hips boosts his arousal. Dex doesn’t try to fix himself this time. It’s just you and him. Alone.
Your arms wrap around his neck, coaxing him to bend down a little. No kiss is shared yet. He has time to admire the shape of your eyes, their color, the tip of your nose, and your lips. Like you’re sculpted carefully. With purpose.
And he gets to have you. Him. Of all people in this world.
“Is this too much? Too close?”
Dex shakes his head, capturing your lips. A simple peck, so that he can get used to the feeling again. The softness of your lips, the indent of your makeup on his own. He quirks a smile before kissing you again.
More force, more passion. He needs to show that he really likes this. Kissing you, your body against his own. He grips your dress for some restraint, not wanting to lose control immediately. Banana and vanilla live inside his brain. Imprinted so he can remember this moment forever. You’re following his lead, sighing a breath apart.
A small press against his torso. Dex sharply inhales at the roll of your hips, right over his erection. You don’t stop, pushing him towards the end of your bed. He breaks the kiss just enough to land on his back as you crawl on top of him, eyes filled with desire.
Dex doesn’t want to break off the kiss more than he has to. He groans at the fat of your thigh, how he’s able to handle the weight on top of you. The only time he does is when you pull off his jacket, and you kick off your boots.
You take his hands and place them on your ass, causing him to tense up for a moment. You notice, immediately stopping.
“Shit, was that too much-”
He silences you with another kiss, kneading your cheeks in his palms. You gasp against his lips, pushing your hips back so he can have more to hold. You’re rolling your hips again, causing him to let out a guttural growl.
You pull his bottom lip back between your teeth. Dex rolls his eyes back when you close the distance and trace your tongue across it. His lips slightly part, beckoning your tongue to his. Easily gliding against it to help him get used to it. He does, angling his head at a better angle for the tongues to dance.
All while he helps you move your hips over his bulge some more. The tension between his pants and you is becoming unbearable. He needs them off. Now.
You slide your hand between your bodies, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling down the zipper. Without words, Dex lifts up his hips to help you pull down his pants. A very clear imprint in his boxers, but with less tension.
When you grind your hips against his covered cock again, he gropes your ass for assurance. It’s too good that it’s almost criminal. And when you do it again, he expresses that delicious ache with a grunt. You swallow it, grinding against his bulge again and again and again.
The edges of your dress rise; your tights are gone now. The seat of your panties against his leaking tip brings tears to his eyes.
He should say slow down, not have his body ruin this night. But when you’re rotating your hips like that, hitting a spot that makes him bite his lip, he can’t say anything. Dex holds you down, making sure you’re rubbing his shaft at a decent pace. He can’t focus on kissing you anymore, but he likes when you nip and suck his. A trail of spit as a bridge between the two of you.
Breaths are quicker, his joints slightly crack when you go faster, making the bed creak. He’s lost in that sweet scent when he stills, cum coating his boxers. Dex’s cry is silent, his lashes fluttering in disbelief. His entire body is heavy when he comes up for air, gasping against your neck.
“That’s good…you’re okay…” You reassure, parting his hair with your fingers, scratching his scalp.
Dex jerks at the sensation, moving into your touch. “I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s okay. I think you needed that.”
He tsks, leaning up for another kiss. A slow one. One with intention. “Your turn.”
“Oh, you don’t have to. We already did a lot.”
“I want to.” You raise your dress, showing off the lacy black panties. As you bend down, he pulls them down to your ankles. “Help me.”
You guide his fingers to your wet hole, a sigh fanning his face. He takes some of your slickness and presses two fingers along your clit. “Slow, small circles please…”
Dex takes your guidance, circling your bud. Your eyes lower, lips part. You’re kneading his hair too at the same time. He dips inside you again then rubs your clit once more.
It picks up in speed and so does your voice of ecstasy. A moan ignites goosebumps on his skin.
“That feels good, Dex.” You coax him, trying to show what a good job he’s doing.
He doesn’t change his pace while figuring out which rubs work and which don’t. The ones that make you sigh and the ones that make you shift. He was worried about not being well-read in this topic, but what’s a better experience than hands-on?
Dex increases the speed of his rubs and focuses on your quickened breathing. How your body relaxes when you stop feeling his hair and grip it with need. You’re grinding against his fingers and he has to keep you still with a hand on your back, unable to help but smile at your reactions.
You tug his hair, back slowly coming into an arch. “D-Dex…I’m…oh…”
“Do it…”
You moan along his face, body tensing up and sending shockwaves across it. Your brows furrow, your lovely lips part in a way that makes him want to kiss you again. Exposing yourself to him until you can’t anymore. Then crash against his chest, panting along it.
Dex looks at the sheen on his fingers and licks them, humming. “You taste good.”
“Uh, thanks.” Your laugh is breathy and alive.
He doesn’t let you move, wanting to enjoy the mess you two found yourself in. Half-removed clothes and a dog who’s begging to come in and see what you’re up to.
Would sex be an upgraded version of this?
“Thank you.” Dex starts, eyes still at the ceiling. “For wanting to be my friend.”
You smile, caressing his cheek so he can look at you, see the care that’s written in your eyes. “Of course. I’d do it all again too.”
In the mornings, Dex used to always wake up before you but with time he started to relax and sleep in more. And which also meant you had to sleep in, as he gave you very little allowance to move as he sleeps.
He usually sleeps on his back, you resting against his chest with your face nestled under his neck. Or he sleeps with his face in your neck, huffing in your smell.
He doesnt leave you alone when he is in the apartment. Following you through the rooms and continue whatever he was doing there.
Same thing applies for you too, going to extreme lengths to follow him around. Going as far as holding his dick for him while he pees so you can continue chatting his ear off
He watches your girly shows with him, getting too invested to a point where he is asking to watch more.
A little too overprotective, always watching you. Whether if its from afar while you hang out with your friends or through the cameras he installed around the house.
Watches your friends that he is suspicious of as well, trying to find any flaws about them to soft launch onto you so you cut them off.
Always buys you something wherever he goes. Sometimes its candy from the gas station he stopped at, sometimes its a cosmopolitan magazine he bought alongside of his newspaper.
He gets too shy to ask for it sometimes but loves getting his back, chest, arms scratched. He could lay on your hours at end if it meant he will be getting scratched.
Buys you lilies but cuts away the ‘male’ part so it wont be poisonous to your cat.
Always on urgent shopping duty. No flour left to make cookies? Give him five minutes. Cant sleep because its too hot? He is pulling on his sweats to buy ice cream.
Lets you lick the scar on his cheek, at first it felt kind of funny but now he adores it and lets you do as you please.
Helps with laundry duty, mostly to smell your dirty laundry before separating them in piles.
He hates when you are on your phone too much #oldman so eighter he grumbles when you’re on your phone too much or watches with his head on your shoulder.
He totally prefers physical media too.
Sorry but this man tolerates almost no male friends. And yes, sometimes including male relatives too. He cant help it, he knows how a mans mind works.
Wont become friends with your bestfriends boyfriend eighter, he is just not that type of man that does that.
James does not want to have sex in the Aston Martin.
The Aston Martin is to cramped.
....
You two have sex in the Aston Martin.
James has come to realize he can not say no to you
The first time you brought it up, James nearly choked on his drink.
You were comfortably curled up in his lap in the sitting room of your London flat, looking entirely too pleased with yourself as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
“James.”
“Hm?” he murmured, glancing down from the report he had been pretending to read.
Your smile widened. “I wanna have sex in your fancy car.”
James blinked. “Pardon?”
“The Aston.”
“The Aston Martin.”
“Yeah, that one!"
His expression immediately became one of deep concern. ".....You want to what?”
"Fuck..." You nodded enthusiastically. “In the car.”
“The vehicle?”
“That’s usually where car sex happens.”
James stared at you.
You stared back.
“Absolutely not.” James said quickly placing the report down.
Your grin somehow got bigger.
Three days later, James Bond found himself questioning every life decision that had brought him to this exact moment.
Including becoming attached to a cheerful American woman who apparently viewed common sense as an optional guideline.
Because somehow, someway....He had said yes.
The Aston Martin DB5 sat parked safely inside a private garage.
And James was currently sitting behind the wheel afterward, staring blankly through the windshield while you slept peacefully against his chest beneath his jacket.
You looked completely content.
Completely relaxed.
Like you hadn’t just talked Britain’s most dangerous spy into something he’d sworn he would never do.
James slowly rubbed a hand down his face closing his eyes for a moment. “I cannot believe this happened.”
You made a sleepy little noise against his shoulder.
“I cannot believe I just defiled this car.”
Another sleepy hum.
The DB5 had survived gunfights.
Explosions.
High-speed pursuits.
International criminals.
And yet somehow the greatest threat to its dignity had been a five-foot-three American with a devastating smile.
James looked down at you.
You were very obviously awake. Your shoulders were shaking suspiciously.
“You are not asleep.”
Silence...
“Darling.”
Silence.
“I can feel how smug you are.”
A tiny snort escaped you.
James closed his eyes. “There it is.”
You finally lifted your head, looking entirely unrepentant. “It was a good idea.”
“It was not.."
“It was.”
“It absolutely was not.”
You beamed. “You’re smiling.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
James hated the fact that you were right. The corner of his mouth had betrayed him.
Because despite the ridiculousness of the situation, despite the fact that he was currently sitting in a garage having an existential crisis over a car he’d spent years caring for....You looked happy.
And James had discovered a dangerous truth about himself.
One that every enemy he’d ever faced would have loved to know.
He could resist torture.
He could resist interrogation.
He could resist temptation.
But apparently he could not resist you.
Not when you looked at him with those hopeful eyes.Not when you climbed into his lap.Not when you smiled and asked for something completely absurd.
You were his one weakness.
James sighed heavily. “You realize this means you’re impossible."
You immediately brightened. “So if I asked for another impossible thing—”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“I don’t need to.”
“What if it is reasonable?”
“It won’t be....I know it won't be."
You giggled and snuggled closer.
James wrapped an arm around you automatically, pressing a kiss against your hair.
A moment later your voice floated up. “I love you.”
The words hit him with the same force they always did.
His expression softened instantly. “I know.”
You poked his chest. “You’re supposed to say it back.”
James looked down at you, completely trapped and entirely aware of it. “I love you too.”
Your victorious smile returned.
And that was when James realized he’d made a terrible mistake.
Because that smile meant you had already thought of another impossible request.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.~”
James groaned.
The Aston Martin remained silent.Even it seemed to know there was absolutely no saving him now.
So, Bethel mentioned how mimicking the motion of throwing objects without actually throwing them can mess up your shoulder. So I thought I'd write something about that with Dex 👀
Sore muscles
Summary: Your boyfriend needs a good massage, that's it
Tags: domestic fluff (and a slightly innuendo/suggestive if you squint)
896 word
Dex has recently been experiencing some pain in his shoulders and arms, especially the area where the shoulder connects to the neck just above the shoulder blade.
And despite the fact that he has been training and doing his usual morning stretches (you yourself have seen him do them), apparently it has not been enough.
Your theory is that the constant movement he has to make with his arms to throw objects (it's practically his only way of fighting) has caused that annoying pain he now feels in his shoulders, especially the right one.
Your boyfriend stood there frowning, a slight grimace of displeasure creeping across his face as he reached down to the hollow of his neck and massaged it, digging his fingers deep into the flesh.
You lowered the book you were holding and looked up at him. His lips were pressed tightly together, and every now and then he let out a soft, low growl without parting his lips, a sound that echoed in his throat.
"You good?" You asked
"Yeah, don't worry," he replied dismissively, while moving his shoulders up and down and back and forth with the same grimace.
Nope, he wasn't okay.
You sighed and set the book aside. You got up from the couch and walked over to Dex, standing in front of him. You tilted your head slightly to look at him and gently patted his broad waist with your hands.
"Come on, tell me what's wrong." You encouraged him
He snorted, his brow still furrowed. "Fine. It's my shoulders, they feel tense."
"Let me see them," you say firmly.
Dex turns around and you place your hands on his shoulders, pursing your lips appraisingly. When you tighten your fingers, he lets out a low growl.
"Yes, you might have knots," you tell him. "You feel them like a burning pain, right?"
He nods silently several times. You sigh and give him a gentle, affectionate slap on the bottom, at which point he turns around to look at you.
"Alright, lie down on the couch then."
Dex looks at you with a raised eyebrow, somewhere between curious and confused. "It's to give you a massage, come on," you urge him.
Before he could do it, you raise a finger, stopping him. "Ah! But you took off your shirt first."
He offers her a mocking smirk and asks, "Will you help me take it out?"
You knew that no matter how sore Dex was, he was perfectly capable of taking off his shirt himself; he just wanted to tease you. You rolled your eyes with a soft smile and, grabbing the hem of the fabric, slipped it over his arms and head. Now shirtless, your boyfriend lay down heavily with a groan onto the pillows. You moved closer and straddled his rear. Feeling your weight on his lower back, he smiled into the pillow.
You noticed. With a mischievous smile, you brought your index finger to his cheek and poked it a few times. "Hey, don't get your hopes up, it's just a massage."
Dex chuckled with a grin, resting his cheek on the cushion and turning his face away to avoid suffocating. You got to work and placed your hands on his broad back. But first, you traced the scar of his spine from top to bottom. You felt his body tremble slightly with a shiver as a low grunt echoed in his throat.
"Are you going to massage me or teasing me?" he murmured hoarsely.
You giggled softly, "Why not both?"
Many sarcastic, witty, and suggestive replies raced through Dex's mind, but he refrained from saying them. He simply sighed patiently and let you work. You planted your palms firmly on his shoulder blades and applied a little pressure, sliding them upward toward his shoulders. You began to knead his muscles like a cat. He let out a shaky sigh of relief and satisfaction. Your fingers dug in as well, as if you were digging them into sourdough.
"Mmh yesss~ right there" he groaned, slurring his words
You could feel Dex melting like ice cream beneath your palms. His tense, aching muscles seemed to loosen like knots. You traced circles all over his back as if you were molding a figure from clay. Beneath you, he seemed to have transformed into putty. He babbled about how good your hands felt on him and sighed, moaned, or even whined.
But while he relaxed, your arms and hands cramped from massaging him so much. The result was that when you finished and got off Dex, your hands felt fatigued. He sat down on the couch with a more relaxed, even happy, expression. His eyelids were slightly half-closed, as if he'd just come from a spa. In contrast, you were huffing and puffing, moving your hands and arms with a grunt and a frown.
He noticed it and, getting up, asked you, "What's wrong now?"
"Ugh, my hands hurt now, you had so many knots." You respond with a grimace
Without wasting any time, and with a crooked smile, he takes both your hands and brings them to his lips to kiss your knuckles.
"Do you want me to return the favor?" he asks.
Yes. Now you're the one who needs a massage. You nod with a pout and he lets out a soft and amusement chuckle.
Pairing: Eric Northman x Fem!Stackhouse!Reader (Season 3 Based)
Summary: The reader had always just been the "Normal Stackhouse", but that all changed the night she was attacked by Russell Edgington, her fae powers awakened, and she was saved by Eric. After questioning why, she finds out that Eric always had his eyes on her...
Warnings: SMUT! (18+ Only) Mentions of injury and blood, loss of virginity, pet names, feeding session at the end, possessive and a bit obsessive ver. of Eric (also hints of soft Eric, because we deserve more soft Eric lol) (Reader is also mentioned to have awakened fae abilities and is not a normal fae, for the plot lol)
Author's Note: This is my first time writing for True Blood and Eric, so I hope I did well, and you all enjoy it. I have been a huge fan of this show for a long time, and so, I had to take up this idea I had in mind.
Word Count: 3.8k
The night your fae abilities had awakened was undeniably the wildest night of your life.
You always thought you were normal, that your older sister Sookie was the only one with fae abilities. You were the youngest Stackhouse, the one who stayed out of trouble, the one who people didn’t think was weird, even though your older siblings, Jason and Sookie, surely had a reputation.
But that all changed the night you were just trying to make sure Jason and Sookie were safe, given Jason was wrapped up with that Crystal girl who was nothing but trouble, and Sookie was wrapped up in vampire danger and drama. Again.
That’s when life and fate blindsided you. Russell Edgington was snooping around because of the fae blood within Sookie, but then…he caught wind of yours.
Everything was like a blur. One second, Russell’s fangs were launching your way from the darkness. A beam of light had suddenly shot out of you as you screamed in pain from his fangs piercing you, nearly taking a chunk with him, and as you were desperately holding your blood-drenched neck, your heart was racing in your chest, your vision blurring, and light-headedness had taken over when suddenly, someone had scooped you into their arms.
You could sense that their speed was supernatural, and as the darkness of the night and trees zipped past you, the last thing you remembered was a dimly lit room, someone holding you close, then a familiar voice…Eric’s voice:
“Drink, Y/N. Drink…”
That night, Eric had saved your life. But you didn’t know exactly why. Eric didn’t hand out acts of kindness. Maybe he did it for Sookie, maybe for his own selfish purposes. Either way, you didn’t have an answer, and you couldn’t exactly get one, given that once you woke up from that dreamless slumber, a warm fuzziness that was his blood healing you, taking over, you had woken up in your room, in the sunlight, even in a fresh robe.
Just like Eric knew, you didn’t say a peep that day. Jason and Sookie would lose their minds if they knew Russell had came after you. You had fae powers now too, and last night was such a blur that you could barely remember it all in the first place.
It didn’t help that when you took a nap that day, all you dreamt about was Eric…his icy blue eyes, little whispers in your ear, his body against yours…
Damn it, you’d never had vampire's blood before, you didn’t even know what it could do to your mind.
The day didn’t get easier as you had to wear a mask and act like everything was just fine and normal, but it was far from normal. Hell, you were turning at shadows in the daylight, hoping it was Eric, hoping for answers even though you knew it was impossible. He truly had made you so foolish, all in one night.
You tried to just forget about it, and given that Sookie was dealing with more issues with Bill, you dodged her mind-reading abilities, played as your usual self so well, like the caring sibling yet again, and decided to take up her shift at Merlotte’s because it wasn’t the first time. It likely wasn’t the last either, and you desperately needed a distraction.
So, your late evening was filled with rowdy customers, countless orders, and so many beer mugs that your mind was in autopilot, solely focused on work, which made the afternoon turn into the night before you knew it.
Now, your feet ached, and you were so tired that you had forgotten about anything that wasn’t your shower and bed that were calling for you. But little did you know, fate had set you up again,
You hadn’t even noticed Sookie wasn’t home, who knew where Jason was, and as you walked up the stairs of the porch and to the front door, there was a gust of wind, that familiar scent and aura that made a cold chill run up your spine, then…that cool and familiar voice you knew all too well:
“Well, good evening…little Stackhouse.”
Eric always called you that from the day you two met, and you needed a deep breath as you slowly turned to face him, looking up into those blue eyes. You felt your blood rush a little inside, a stark reminder that his blood now flowed within yours, and there was only one thing that you could think of as you finally spoke up:
“Why, Eric?”
Eric knew what you meant, and yet, he slowly tilted his head at you, so good at making you fall apart because there was always this hint of fear with Eric. You knew he wasn’t exactly kind or sweet. He usually had intentions whenever he helped someone, let alone saved their life as he had saved yours, so you couldn’t help how the words just spilled out in a mix of confusion and fear:
“I know Russell just wants my blood, and I don’t know everything, but I know there’s a bigger grand scheme in all of this. You could’ve taken me to Sookie and Bill, but you didn’t, a-and I need to know why-”
“Shh, little Stackhouse…” He knew just how to take your breath away as one little step closer had his tall form towering over you and making you fall silent, a mix of fear and something else making your heart race beat by beat, and he could hear it, he could feed off that alone, but this was only the beginning, anticipation filling your whole being as he murmured lowly, “You want to know why I saved you?”
In that moment, all you could do was nod shakily, swallowing down and trying to get your heart to stop racing so damn much, but as you answered with that nod, Eric only leaned closer, his cold fingertips a stark contrast to your warm cheek as he caressed your skin gently, making sure you were looking him in the eye as he admitted something you never even noticed:
“I am very… intrigued by you, Y/N. You have fae blood within you like your family, but there’s something more to you, and I’d like to see that for myself.”
“M-More to me?” You couldn’t help but whisper in confusion. You never thought of yourself as much, and it was driving your mind crazy to think that everything could just flip upside down within two nights, and you just didn’t see what Eric saw, “I can’t even read minds like Sookie, and I can barely remember what I did to Russell. I-”
“Do you think I would’ve saved your life if I didn’t see something within you?” Eric countered, and it made you stop, knowing he was right, even if it was hard to think, and Eric being Eric couldn’t help but tease you immediately after, “And by the way? It’s not a good idea to be roaming in the night with ancient vampires running around,,,and I thought Sookie was foolish.”
“Trust me, lesson learned.” You sighed in return, not knowing what to even think of all this, but either way, the goodness in your heart made you look back into his eyes, speaking with genuine gratitude to him, “But thank you. For saving my life, Eric.”
“Of course, my little fairy,” He chuckled lowly, warmth stirring in your blood again because you just knew that he wasn’t done with you, that new pet name only adding to it, his eyes zoning in on the way the vein in your neck pulsed, and he was surely toying with you, “I was worried that my blood could’ve overcooked you a little given you’re so fresh and I needed to give you so much, but aren’t you stronger than people give you credit for, hm?”
“Your blood was something alright…” You nervously whispered, only able to think about the healing warmth that was a little too close to bliss, that heated dream that seared into your mind when you took a nap in the early afternoon, and Eric’s smirk flashed when he read you like a book, raising his eyebrows as he asked a question he already knew the answer to:
“It was your first time having a vampire’s blood?”
Damn it, you could barely understand how he could make you feel so flustered and nervous all over, and that’s when you started to realize that this was more about your blood or your fae powers, goosebumps breaking out all over you as the back of his hand caressed your cheek again, and there was something possessive and obsessive in his tone:
“You truly are my little fairy…”
“Y-You said that, there was more to me…” The nerves were taking over again, your mind trying to make sense of this, an odd sense of fear, attraction, and some deeper connection making everything in your mind feel crazy, and you just had to know one more thing: “What do you mean by that?”
“I don’t know. Yet.” Eric admitted. It wasn’t the answer you were looking for, but it was understandable. Your fae powers just awakened, and uncertainty shrouded everything, but there was one thing that Eric knew for certain as his palm took your cheek this time: “But I will find out.”
“Eric…” That was all that you could manage to whisper, your heart fluttering in your chest as the pad of his thumb brushed against your cheek, and as your gazes met again, his eyes darkening with that possession and obsession that you sensed before, and that’s when all the attraction came back despite the confusion and fear…
Maybe it was because he saved your life, maybe it was because of his blood in your veins, but as you thought deeply, you remembered every time he looked at you with a hidden curiosity ever since the day you two met, how many times he snuck behind Sookie’s back just to observe you, and there was always this unspoken bond between the both of you that was stronger now more than ever as he whispered simply in return:
“My little fairy…”
Your thoughts immediately began to race when you felt that very specific tension between you rising, trying to think rationally, trying to be the ‘good Stackhouse’ that you were known for being as you stammered out:
“S-Sookie will be pissed when she finds out. Is this-”
Before you could even finish that thought, Eric couldn’t help but chuckle at you, truly finding that thought as amusing, his grip on your cheek and jaw tightening, and you knew he meant his every word, “Do you think I care about what your family thinks?”
Swallowing down, you should’ve seen that one coming. You always thought that Eric had a soft spot for Sookie, maybe he did, but right now? It all seemed like he used Sookie to get closer to you, and this time around, he really threw you through a loop with such a heavy question:
“And tell me…when are you going to stop living in your siblings' shadows and be yourself, hm?”
“I-” You began, but the rest of the words wouldn’t come out because that was exactly how you had spent your life, and now? That path you walked for so long was suddenly being shaped into a new form, and so quickly.
“Things will never be the same for you, anymore,” He pointed out, never the one to shy away from bluntness, and even though he was good at masking most of it, there was this gentleness there that was just for you, and he wasn’t glamouring you; you couldn’t be glamoured, but it felt like you were hypnotized as he made his intentions clear, “And you will be safer at my side, my little fairy…”
“How do I know you mean it?” The words had just shot right out of you; that hint of Stackhouse flair and stubbornness surely hadn’t missed you, and this all felt like too much of a dream. You had to see if this was real because Eric had surely been a manipulator before, amongst all kinds of other things, and you just had to be sure.
“Well…” He began, never good with words when he felt something deeper. So, instead…his hand was suddenly tangled in the back of your hair, his cold lips able to make you melt so deeply as he kissed you in a way that could’ve spoken a million words, the world fading around you besides the quiet howls of the night air and the crickets that chirped in the grass.
You were so helpless to his kiss, only able to surrender as you felt just how much he meant his words, and the heat of the moment naturally took over, his lips parting from yours for but a moment before pressing one last soft kiss that pulled a quiet noise out of you:
“Eric…”
And hearing his name fall from your lips like that? His fangs instantly popped out from natural arousal, it proving his true feelings even more, and you were far more innocent than he knew, never getting into such a heated moment that was so raw, his tall and slender body suddenly pinning your back to the door, and your body trembled so deeply, your knees growing weak as his lips brushed against your ear next:
“You say my name like that again, and I’m going to do so many bad things with you.”
“I-I can’t help it…” You said honestly, and he knew that, yet couldn’t help himself as his lips brushed against the little spot just below your earlobe, and another soft noise flowed right out of you, and his next words made your heart nearly stop:
“Do you want this?”
He didn’t have to elaborate on what he meant, and with Eric? Usually, intimidation was what you felt, but this was new, different, and downright irresistible.
That’s when all those intense, built-up mixed emotions took over, desire toppling them all, your hand reaching back to the doorknob and unable to deny what you wanted:
“Y-Yes…”
Finally having that permission, Eric’s arms went around your middle like a vice as you nearly fell back into your own house, and his lips were against yours again but this time with deep hunger, his fangs clanking against your teeth, stealing your breath as his tongue swiped against yours, dominating and tasting you, drinking you in like the purest blood there was.
He couldn’t help this ravenous instinct inside that told him to take you, your own arousal filling his heightened senses, and with just one deep breath…
He had you lifted as if you were weightless, his supernatural speed nearly knocking the wind out of you as he followed your distinct scent, your bedroom door suddenly flying open, and you were pinned on your back in your bed in an instant.
“Tonight, you become mine. Understand…?”
The moment those words left his lips, you knew he wasn’t playing around, and there was one thing that made your throat bob nervously, heat creeping up your neck with a mix of embarrassment and desire, your voice a dying whisper as you confessed:
“Just…be gentle? I never…”
You didn’t need to finish your sentence for him to understand, the glimmer in your eyes, the bashfulness in your expression.
You were still a virgin, and that both surprised and aroused him, and it showed in the way he froze for a moment, his eyes slightly widening till it all melted along with the surprisingly tender kiss at your neck that made your lashes flutter and his lips murmuring against your steaming skin that screamed silently for him:
“I’ll take care of you, my little fairy…”
And you trusted him with that, never seeing him being capable of such…affection. That was the only word that felt right as his kisses trailed down your neck, the graze of his fangs making you shiver, his cold hands making you gasp out as they slid under your shirt and up your stomach, slowly but surely undressing you, piece by piece, till you were nothing but skin under him.
He didn’t take long with his clothes though, moving in a blur before every inch of his cold and hard muscles against your softer form as his head dipped down to kiss and nip at your chest, and as your hands gripped at the blanket beneath you, you couldn’t help your little breaths, already fighting the urge to just moan at everything as pleasure raged through you in a whole knew way.
The way his hands were sliding all over you only added to it, one hand gripping your hip as the other slid up to cup your breast, and the moment his tongue smoothly glided across the sensitive nub of your nipple, the moan that came out of you was like music to his ears, a pleased grumble leaving his lips after:
“You’re so damn sensitive, it makes me want to ruin you.”
“E-Eric…” Such a needy whimper shot right out of you as his fangs gently nipped at your nipple next, and it was easy to tell that he was barely holding back, reminding himself to be a bit easier with you.
But your scent, the way your heart raced, how you were so responsive was driving him insane, and knowing he was your first made him want to claim every bit of you, down to your soul.
Despite that, he showed restraint, taking another step towards what you both wanted, his lips trailing over to your other breast, making you tremble as he sucked at your nipple and his hands had found your thighs, spreading you just right and your fists tightened in the blankets as the hard length of his cock slid against your slick with a torturous yet delicious grind, your bottom lip trapped between your teeth as you felt his tip slowly circling and teasing your dripping hole.
“Ah, ah,” He rasped out as he picked his head up, meeting your gaze even deeper than before, taking you by the chin, and his thumb effortlessly plucking your lower lip back out, needing to hear every little noise you made, “Don’t you hold back a single little noise.”
That command was one you were bound to follow, a sharp gasp making your chest heave and lock as his tip stretched you for the very first time, your arms moving on their own to lock around him, another gasp tearing out of you as he slowly pushed deeper, stretching you wider, filling you with a pleasure that exceeded every expectation your mind had before, and the low growl the reverbarated in his chest went to show just how much he enjoyed every second of it.
“Look at you, taking me so well,” He even praised, starting to roll his hips, slow and calculated, his experience showing as he knew how to make you feel just right after that first initial ache of his girth stretching you.
You were already struggling to keep it together, whimper after whimper filling your room, and your body couldn’t help but crave more of him. Your thighs were squeezing at his sides, fighting every little squirm, and your lips tried to move, your mind tried to find words in the haze that filled your mind, but they wouldn’t come out, not till Eric’s nose had brushed against yours, making your eyes meet his again, “Use your words, dear.”
Looking up at him through your lashes, your eyelids half lidded with bliss, you didn’t even know the intensity headed your way as you listened to the craving that was deep in your core, and the tone of your begging was nearly enough to drive him mad:
“F-Faster, Eric.”
That was all he needed to hear before his hips started to snap faster, then faster, moans and cries of his name tearing right through your throat and nearly filling the entire house, and as your body began to naturally squirm, he effortlessly had your wrists pinned beside your head, the supernatural strength of a thousand years keeping your whole body pinned deeply as his hips drove you deeper into the mattress, ruining you just like he said he would, and as your breaths turned into sharp and quick pants, your walls clamping around every inch of his cock as your legs locked around his waist with a tight squeeze, he knew…
“Fall apart for me,” He rasped out, his eyes never leaving your face, soaking up every expression of intense pleasure that crossed and twisted your features beautifully, and he didn’t need to hold onto your wrists to keep you pinned, his hand twisting in the back of your hair and making your neck arch in unison with your back, and like before, his words just knew how to make you crack, “Come for me, Y/N.”
Just like that, with another cry of his name, your body was seizing, then trembling as you came, able to feel the way you clamped to his every inch that still fucked you through an earthshattering orgasm that had you soaked, babbling, and barely able to breathe.
Your eyes were in the back of your head as he dragged out every ounce of pleasure, and you didn’t even see how his eyes were locked onto your neck, the throbbing vein in your neck that showed how fast your heart was racing.
The mix of your fae blood that was like a drug, the sweet and salty scent of sweat and ecstasy, how you looked so beautiful to him, how you were now completely his. That primal, vampiric instinct took over.
It all happened so fast; his nails had scraped against your scalp, pulling your head back even further, and then there was this sharp pain that mixed with the pleasure, your jaw dropping, but no noise came out as it was his fangs piercing your skin, his hips still rocking into yours as he drank the blood he had craved, and he never had anything like it.
He was good at hiding it, but he was just as addicted now, letting only you hear the low and satisfied growl from feeding that no one else has ever heard, and as your heart began to slow just a little, he found the restraint to pull back, his hips coming to a stop as he buried himself within you, his tongue lapping up the drops of blood that had leaked down to your collar bone.
Then finally, your eyes had met his, and you were so speechless, watching as he pricked his thumb off his fang just enough to draw blood, healing the puncture wound on your neck, but not without voicing the bond between you, which felt more like a vow:
“You have my blood. I have yours. We are one now, Y/N.”
Lost in his eyes, you knew there was no going back now. Your life was forever changed, but to your own surprise…you didn’t mind at all, finding him even more handsome like this above you, against you, his lips and chin stained with your blood. It only made the bond that had formed between you stronger, accepting and returning that vow with one simple, breathless word:
mae how have i just now realized u write for carmy?? actually, how is this the first time ive read bear fanfiction?
anyway, can you do something soft and sweet with him and a reader who is a little bit softer, quieter, sweeter? i think something about the rough and tumble and the easy and kind getting together trope speaks to me (has nothing to do with personal projection, pinky swear), and i know you would write the best grumpy x sunshine :)
Thank you for requesting angel <3 I hope your the bear fanfic discovery has been fun!
cw: mature themes
Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 712 words
You’ve got Carmy sitting in the tub of his own shower. His bare ass is cold, and he’s thinking that the last time he cleaned it was probably when he moved in, though maybe that doesn’t matter if it’s only ever touched by soap and water.
The thing is, he sort of likes it.
He doesn’t particularly want to like it. His ass is cold. Your shampoo is way too nice for his hair. Usually, after sex (or after sex before you), Carmy just went to sleep or got on with whatever else he had to do, but you said you needed a shower like it was implied he’d take one with you, and it’s nicer than he thought it’d be.
“Tilt your head down?” you say, your voice hardly audible over the spray of water.
Carmy complies, and your sudsy fingers work their way down towards his neck.
“It’s gonna get in my eyes,” he mutters. Not even thinking you’ll really hear him, just complaining generally while watching your nice shampoo drip from the hair in front of his face. Mikey used to joke (meanly, Carmy thinks now) that Carmy got that from their mom.
There’s a smile in your voice, the soft kind, when you reply, “Then close them.”
Your fingers trace wide, spiraling circles, like you’re making art on Carmy’s scalp. He’s a little bit in love with you.
Carmy used to think that calm just wasn’t something meant for him. He could fake it, wear it for periods of time, but it didn’t become him. Tension, fear, anger, they felt like the only gravity he had sometimes, like they were all that held him together. If he relaxed for a second, that would be it. He’d fall to pieces, and the pieces would scatter on the wind, and whatever Carmy was wouldn’t be anything anymore.
But then there’s you. The first time Carmy caught himself relaxing with you, he waited to fall apart, and it didn’t happen. The pieces just…loosened, a little. Like Carmy’s gravity found something else to bind it. It’s good in a way he hasn’t figured out how to process yet.
It’s possible he’s a lot in love with you.
You make an amused hum, almost like a laugh, and Carmy realizes he’s tipped his head so far back you’re practically holding him up.
He tips forward again. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” you say, chasing him with your fingers. “We should get you a scalp massager. I think you’d like it.”
Carmy makes a noncommittal huffing sound. He will not be doing that. (It wouldn't be the same if it wasn’t you anyway.)
He’s sort of overwhelmed by the need to do something for you. To care for you similarly, maybe wash your body if his hands would be too clumsy in your hair or wrestle you down here with him and go back between your legs. He wants to kiss you behind the soft part of your knee and say C’mere, baby, even though he thinks he’s probably not the kind of guy who can pull off calling someone “baby.” He toys with “sweetheart,” then “honey,” the h a breath on his tongue.
“Hey,” he says, because he’s a chickenshit. Carmy turns his head, kissing the inside of your thigh. Not meaning to be sordid, but he doesn’t hate the startled-then-shy flicker across your expression when he does it. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you say back, playing along but with a question in your tone, while he squeezes at your calf, trying to summon language half worthy of you.
He swallows. “I love you. You know?”
Your cheek apples when you smile. Your cupid’s bow stretches out, and Carmy wishes for a second that he were an artist instead of a cook (which is its own art form, he knows, he can hear Sugar’s voice in his head now, but still) so that he could paint it. You have the sort of smile that deserves that sort of thing.
“I know,” you say, sweet as spun sugar. “I love you too, Carm.”
He tips his head back down so you won’t see the way his mouth tightens on something tender. You push your fingers back into his hair, and he knows you’ll coax it out eventually anyway.
Hi! Tumblr is hiding this request from me, so pasting it here from my doc: I was wondering if you could do a Carmy x reader comfort fic, but Carmy is the one comforting us?👀👀👀👀👀…., I had a bad day. 🥲. Only if you can, ty!
cw: panic attack
Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 993 words
You hope your heart isn’t as loud to everyone else here as it is to you. If you die, you’d like to do it quietly. This kitchen deserves something quiet for once.
It’s Richie’s turn to pick the music after closing, and you don’t not like it, this old, nineties’ hip hop, but anything can feel like a lot when it’s played at a hundred decibels. Kitchens are made for echo, hard surfaces ricocheting sound around like mimicries of the shouts that have been going through it all night. Even in brief intervals where there wasn’t much sound, the silence was terse enough to feel like there was.
The beat of your pulse in your teeth is out of sync with the beat of the music.
You see Carmy before you hear him. A blur in your periphery, pressing into your space.
“Hey.” His brows are lowered, which they often are and you don’t take it to mean much, but now you take it as disapproval. “Are you good?”
You take a breath. “Yeah,” you say as it whooshes out.
You shake your head. It’s going to take you twice as long to finish cleaning up your station as it is. Your focus is awful tonight.
It’s a minute of focused scrubbing later that you realize you haven’t actually replied, and Carmy is still standing there looking at you. He knows, you’re suddenly sure. You can’t even keep it together for a whole shift—where does that leave you in this industry?
“We’re taking a break,” Carmy says, not asking this time. His hand closes around your elbow, taking the rag from your hand and turning you. “Come on.”
You look around to see who else has noticed as Carmy moves his hand to your back to guide you to his office. Marcus has his earbuds in. Syd’s locked in the way you wanted to be tonight. Tina glances over and catches you watching, smiles tiredly, and then looks away just as quickly. Your breaths grow jagged from forcing themselves through your swelling throat. Your fingers prickle.
Carmy’s office is dark. He doesn’t turn on any lights, pushing you down into the sole chair and crouching in front of you. His brows are still pulled tight, but Carmy’s eyes look big turned up to yours. You look back at him, wide-eyed, lost for what to do.
“It’s okay,” he says. His voice quieter than the pounding in your ears, which is all wrong. “You’re good. You’re good.”
His hand curls around the back of your neck, warm on warm skin, and your vision narrows on the image of a fish on the inside of his arm as he pulls your head down to your lap.
“Just take a minute. You’re good.”
You gasp in a breath. Hot tears squish past your lashes. You push your forehead into your kneecap until it almost hurts.
Carmy’s still holding the back of your neck. Not forcefully—you could sit back up if you wanted to—but somehow still firm. He smells like food, like a mix of things. Tomato. Garlic. Oregano. Something burnt.
You gasp again, wetly, and Carmy swears under his breath. His tone turns almost admonishing.
“Hey.” His grip moves to the back of your head. “Relax. Just—breathe.”
You think he knows it’s not that easy, but if that’s all Carmy wants from you, you can at least try. You take in two quick inhales, letting them out through your mouth. Your lungs burn.
As soon as it has the air to do it, your chest collapses in on itself with weak sobs.
“I—” You cut yourself off with a desperate breath. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be, you’re good.” Carmy sounds somewhat panicky himself. “It’s fine, just breathe. Don’t worry about it.”
You cry until your nose runs and your eyes ache, and eventually it’s not for lack of air anymore. Eventually, you’re just keeping your head in your lap because you’re too embarrassed to pick it up.
Carmy’s hand rests on the back of your head. He’s quiet, his own breathing steady and even as he waits for you to gather yourself back together. You think that his fingers might be in your hair, a thought equal parts comforting and horrifying since you were waiting to wash it until after your weekend shifts were over with. You blow a slow breath into the crease of your thighs.
When you can’t hide from it any longer, you sit up.
“Sorry,” you say, wiping under your eyes while looking around for something to use as a tissue. You wonder if it would be more humiliating to clean your nose on your sleeve or to ask for some. “That wasn’t…I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
It almost makes you smile, it’s such a lame brush-off. But you appreciate it. You appreciate the paper towel Carmy hands you even more.
“You can chill here for as long as you want,” he tells you while you clean yourself up, “but then go home.”
You sniff. “I haven’t finished cleaning my station.”
“I’ll do it. You should get out of here.”
“I can still work.”
“I want you to go home,” he says, for once sounding more gentle than bossy (though a bit of that too). His lips press together. “Please.”
You consider pushing back some more—you don’t want everyone else to think you’re not pulling your weight, that kind of reputation can stick to you in a place like this—but despite the humming energy that got you through your shift, you feel now like you could pass out at your station.
“Okay,” you murmur. “Sorry.”
“Stop saying you’re sorry.”
“Okay. Um, thanks.”
Carmy’s hand comes back up to your neck, giving it a brief, slightly awkward hold. Your heart squeezes in a much nicer way.
Note: Why do I need to choose between fluff and smut when I can have both? Hehe! *wiping my hands* I list and write these prompts by myself for my own peculiar greed. I'm so happy with it. I hope you enjoy reading my stories!
More note: [ * ] in front of a title means that story is smut or almost smut, but I count it as smut anyway 💁🏻♀️
When he asks for a new book . .
You planned to visit the town in the morning and buy many stuff. When you finished dressing up, you walked out of the room and saw something surprising. Twenty or thirty vases decorated with wild flowers placed around the house! And the tall figure, Adam, stood quietly in the corner of the living room.
"Good morning," he greeted, fidgeting at his own hands. "You look so beautiful."
"Thank you!" you chirped, approaching him. "And you've done such a great job. This room looks so lovely because of these flowers."
He nodded, looking down at his hands. You noticed that he seemed to have something in mind.
"Adam?" you asked, touching his arm. "You know you can tell me anything."
He looked up at you again, hesitating for a moment. Then, he asked: "Could you… buy me a book?"
"Of course," you replied immediately, "I plan to buy you a lot of books."
"A lot of books?" he mused, eyes widening with excitement. He was the most beautiful creature you had ever seen. "Really?"
"Really," you assured. "Wait, did you bring these flowers to this room for this specific request?"
Adam smiled, nodding. "I think I should do something nice for you."
"You already have done many nice things for me," you said, cupping his cheeks. "You take care of my sheep, my farm, and you also help me bake bread! You're a hardworking man, Adam. I'll bring you more books, I promise."
His chuckle filled the air as he wrapped his arms around you, lifted you up, and twirled you around the room. Seriously, he didn't have to do anything. If he wanted the stars, you'd bring them to him anyway.
* When he begs for your touch . .
"Please," Adam said, kneeling on the floor and resting his stitched face on your lap. "Please…"
You were taken aback by his action, because he had never shown you how desperate he was. Moreover, you had no idea what he was begging for. "Wait, Adam. Please what?"
He looked up at you, eyes gleaming with tears. "I… I want you."
"Oh, Adam," you began, "are you talking about making love?"
He nodded fervently, hands gripping your clothes as though he were ready to tear it apart when you allowed him to.
"We just did that in the morning," you argued. And Adam shook his head.
"It has been a long time," he said, hands finding their way to sneak under your skirt. He spread your thighs, fingers fumbling around your lingerie. You knew he was so eager lately, especially when he knew he could fuck you anywhere in the house or in the forest. "I want you again…"
Would you let him get what he craved for?
When he cooks for you . .
"For you," Adam said, motioning to a bowl of stew with a smile. That was why he suggested that you should spend time outside the house, touching some grass with a flock of sheep.
Sitting on a wooden chair, holding a spoon, you asked: "You cooked?"
"I cooked."
You couldn't help but smile at a hearty meal Adam prepared for you. The smell was inviting, and the colors were just right! You thought Adam could be a cook for your farmhouse.
But when you tasted a spoonful of stew, your face went red. Your eyes immediately shut, while your hand dropped a spoon on the table.
"I-Is it bad?" Adam asked, sitting next to you.
"No, no," you abruptly explained after swallowing stew down your throat. "It's really good. Really, really good. Just… hot. I'm just stupid."
Adam nodded, holding a spoon you just dropped. Blowing on hot stew, he fed you himself.
It was still hot but better. You tasted how delicious Adam's cook was. Chewing on a small piece of meat, you remarked: "So delicious, Adam. So delicious."
He smiled, his pale cheeks flushing. He kissed your temple gently, then continued feeding you.
When he dances with you . .
Adam learned how to dance from you, although you weren't a true gentlewoman yourself and his long limbs made you wonder how this lesson would end. However, this learner understood and remembered every movement very quickly. You couldn't help but clap your hands after the music from the gramophone ended.
"Awesome, Adam!" you chirped as he bowed his head and stretched his tall frame again. His shy smile always made you want to pour kisses around his face. "You'll make women yearn for you after they dance with you."
His smile dropped, and then he shook his head. "No, I won't dance with other women."
"Why not?"
"I only want to dance with you," Adam admitted, reaching for your hand and pulling you closer to him. His innocence and sincerity always made your heart flutter, wondering why you were so lucky to be with him. "Shall we dance once again?"
You blushed, nodding. But when you turned around and reached for the gramophone, he brought your hand back to him.
You two danced without music, only closeness and soft heartbeat singing a love song.
* When he eats your pussy . .
It should be a cozy picnic, having sandwiches and grape juice under the tree, but somehow you both ended up kissing each other senselessly.
Your skirt bunched up, lingerie pushed aside, as Adam's hands gripped your thighs, letting your pussy face the afternoon light. Your hand held Adam's long hair, eyes looking at him. When this creature knew how to use his tongue, he had never stopped working on it.
"Adam…" you gasped when his tongue lapped your clit, your heart pounding like the first time he ate your cunt. "You like eating me out, huh?"
He hummed, his lips nipping at your flesh gently.
But that was just a simple tease to prepare you for his hunger. The second he began sucking your pussy, you needed to hold his hair tighter to anchor yourself. "Oh—"
That filthy noise escaped his mouth, that rough tongue delving deeper into your pussy. His fingers spread your slits as he sucked every drop of your wetness. You shivered, bucking up your hips to meet his eager mouth.
How could he behave like this when he just ate many pieces of sandwiches? What a greedy, naughty creature.
When he fears that you may leave him . .
You returned home late, because the weather wasn't on your side. Opening the door, you saw the golden light from the fireplace, and the absence of your favorite creature.
"Adam?" you shouted, closing the door. The rainstorm came back, and that made you shiver. "I'm home, Adam—"
"You're cold," he said from somewhere in the house. You looked around and found that he sat behind the couch, wrapping his arms around his knees.
"Adam, why are you sitting here?"
"I thought you left me," he said, resting his face on his arms. "I thought you wouldn't come back."
"Oh, sweetheart, I must come back," you reassured, quickly kneeling down next to him. Your cold hands touched his broad shoulders. "I'll always come back here."
Adam looked up at you, his eyes blinking. He was a tall man, but you knew he had such a tender heart. "Promise?"
You nodded, kissing his forehead. "I promise. You're my home. You're the only one that makes me feel safe."
Without a word, Adam wrapped his arms around your waist, your soaked clothes pressed against his chest. "Let me warm you up."
You agreed with his offer, kissing his forehead one more time.
When he goes to the town . .
Adam had thought this idea was bad, but he had always desired to see how people lived, how people bought and sold vegetables and meat, how people communicated with each other. Now, you became his guide, leading him to the square where the market and music were.
He tried to cover his face, hiding all stitches and his own figure in his black cloak. However, people here were already familiar with lost and injured soldiers from everywhere around the world, so they weren't surprised by seeing Adam's mysterious presence. But Adam became the person who was surprised by their kindness, because from where he came, people mistreated him and judged him from his difference.
"You'll be fine," you reassured, holding Adam's hand all the time. You could tell he was restless from how tight his grip was, so you covered his hand with your free one. "Take a deep breath."
The Creature did what you instructed him to, eyes observing every life that walked past him. A moment later, you found his grip on your hand loosened, which made all tension on your shoulders vanish.
"See? Normal people will focus on their lives and treat others with friendliness," you explained, patting the back of his hand. "Oh, buy some pastries, shall we?"
Adam learned how to buy stuff. He even greeted a cat in the fabric store, and that cat seemed to like him. He also stood before the wish fountain in the middle of the town, tossing a coin and making a wish.
"I wish…"
"Shh," you shushed with a wink. "Keep it in your mind, so it'll come true."
Adam nodded, smiling sheepishly.
Until you two stood in front of the book store, you noticed how big his eyes widened. What a pure and beautiful creature. You chuckled, then asked: "Want to buy some more books, Adam?"
He looked down at you, fidgeting at his own clothes, before nodding.
You two walked into the book store, and you found out that you spent a lot of money on ten thick books. Walking out of the store, holding a stack of books against his chest, he nudged your arm with his elbow. "May I tell you a wish I've made in case it already comes true?"
"Sure," you replied, raising your brow.
"I wish you'd buy me a lot of books."
You were speechless, opening your mouth and shutting it aimlessly. Adam was a smart creature, and you knew it.
He knew what he wanted.
* When he hears your moans . .
Adam was a quick learner. He knew sometimes he should let you be alone, especially when you took a shower and got dressed. You also did it as well, letting him have his own private time.
"Adam… I want you…"
But today, something changed when he heard you moans escaping from your bedroom.
He stopped washing dishes and stepped into the hallway, approaching your door. Your moans were louder… Breathless and shaking. He didn't know why you kept doing a strange noise in the evening, and curiosity urged him to search for the truth.
Adam pushed your door open as you lay on the bed, your fingers thrusting your cunt. "Adam—?!" You quickly pushed your skirt down, covering your soaked part.
He didn't understand what you were doing. It wasn't like eating or drinking or sleeping. "What are you doing?" he asked, feeling tight around his bulge.
You tried to take a deep breath as shame consumed you. "Uh… it's for reducing stress."
"Are you stressed?" He tilted his head.
You bit your bottom lip, trying to think of the right word to explain this embarrassing situation. "Uh, you don't have to be stressed before pleasuring yourself."
"Oh…" He hummed, eyes dropping to your lap. "May I help you?"
You shivered, your cunt clenching. Would Adam want to learn a new thing today? "Yes, you may…"
Adam nodded, stepping into your room and shutting the door. It was such a dream come true when you finally had his cock against your tight little pussy.
"That's right. You're such a good boy," you cooed, letting him stroke your slits with his hard cock. He was all shy and blushing, making you spill more wetness. "You may thrust the tip inside me… Yes… Good boy."
Adam moaned, his hands gripping your thighs harder. You were so tight, and he wondered if he was doing it right. He just wanted to pleasure you. He just wanted to help you reduce stress.
And why did his cock spill some wetness inside you the moment he sank deeper? Did he make a mess?
Maybe you could teach him a new lesson.
When he improves his piano skills . . [ An alternative universe where Victor gives the Creature a life he deserves. ]
Your fiancé, Adam Frankenstein, was good at many things, but he seemed to have a problem with his piano. You sighed, "Adam, your long fingers give you privileges that piano lovers wish they had."
"I know," he grunted, and then he pressed many keys at the same time. You stood up from a loveseat and rushed toward him.
"Stop, stop! You don't have to court me with your horrendous music. Not anymore." You grabbed his wrists, but it was as if you stumbled into a trap.
Adam reached over, hauled your body , and pushed you to lean against the piano. Your hips were playing music that was way worse than his previous one.
"Let me go!" you squealed, trying to escape from his hands.
"It sounds better, doesn't it?" he quipped, smirking at you.
"Are you serious? Let me go—" Adam wasn't a gentleman, so he wouldn't let you go that easily. He stood up, leaning closer to you and brushing the tip of his nose with yours. This creature would never stop courting you, and you knew it. You also saw the future you had with him, and you could see that he would court you like the first day he did. "Adam—"
"Playing the piano isn't that difficult," he mused, finally pulling you away from that poor instrument. "I want to do other things challenging."
"Do what?"
You knew the answer when he dragged you back to a loveseat.
"It's in the middle of the day!" you protested.
Oh, as if he would care about that.
When he joins you in looking after sheep . .
"What are you doing?" you asked, standing next to Adam. He just understood math, and now he counted the amount of sheep in the field.
"You have thirty-two sheep," he said, his fingers furling and unfurling. "Should I add your sheepdog?"
"He's just a dog."
"But there's a word 'sheep'."
"Fair enough," you added with a chuckle. "But that's fine. He has different colors than other sheep."
"So… don't count him in?"
"Yes," you said, patting his shoulder gently.
"Should I add you?" he asked, tilting his head.
"Do I look like a sheep?"
"A little."
"Adam."
He laughed, understanding how to make a joke. Although your voice earlier was sharp, you couldn't help but be proud of him.
* When he kisses you after fucking you too hard . .
That was deep. Truly deep. You moaned when Adam thrust his cock deep into your sore entrance. Your pussy still had his previous cum, and it was so slick right now. Your chest heaved a trembling sigh, your wrists pinned over your head in his ironclad grip.
His thick cock left no mercy, giving you a wild sensation, until you found the stars. "Adam—ah!" The sound of his flesh against yours was so filthy, filling the entire barn. Some hay stuck in your hair, some cum from Adam spilled on the swell of your breasts and clothes.
He was so eager today, fucking you like you were his plaything. You were limp, shuddering, having no thoughts when his hard cock slammed into your pretty little cunt brutally. It was a bit sore for your entrance, but actually he made it sore every time, because that cock was as big as your wrist… or his wrist.
"A-Adam," you whimpered, fingers flexing but unable to escape his grip. "Cum inside me—"
He did. He buried deep inside you, giving you every drop of his love and lust. That big cock kept pressing deep against your throbbing pussy, but the thing that melted your heart was his soothing kiss.
Adam pressed his lips against yours, slow and gentle. He released your wrists and embraced you like you were a fragile little thing. "I love you."
"I love you, too," you whispered against his kiss. Even though he just did such a rough one, you couldn't wait for the next fuck he would give you.
When he listens to your story . .
"And that's how a sheep is born. The end."
You clasped your hands, smiling at Adam. He looked so small when he curled up on the bed, listening to your bedtime story with those innocent eyes. He was with you for a month now, but you must tell him bedtime stories or he couldn't sleep peacefully.
"More," he said, reaching for your knee. Your body tensed, noticing how large his hand was. "More story."
"You can't sleep?"
Adam nodded, still resting his hand on your knee. You covered the back of his hand, thumb stroking the stitch on his skin.
"But it's late at night," you pointed out, guessing that he just enjoyed listening to a sheep story and forgot to sleep. "We have a work in our barn tomorrow. You need to sleep now, all right?"
Adam held your hand, his skin rough but his gesture tender. "Please… stay with me."
Taken aback, you looked at him quietly. He didn't know the fact that a woman and a man shouldn't be in the same room, especially in the night. But who would know about it if you stayed with him tonight? Only one night?
When he meets you for the first time . .
"Spirit of the Forest, fear me not," you began, gripping a candleholder tightly. You knew it was be dangerous to step out of the house in the middle of the night, but you just caught a glimpse of the tall figure behind the tree near your room, and you thought it was a perfect chance to have a conversation with him.
You believed that a spirit of the forest walked around your farmhouse everyday to protect your area and your sheep, but there was something inside your mind telling you that a spirit of the forest truly existed—he must be a creature. Maybe that wasn't a real spirit like old people said but a man in distress. Maybe you could do something for him.
You had thought of many ways to express your gratitude, but would a spirit of the forest agree with you?
"Let me see you," you shouted, and the whisper of the night breeze was the only answer. "Please, I have food and clothes. I want to give them to you."
No one answered. You still stood there, wrapping yourself in a shawl. Until you heard dry leaves crushed under someone's feet, you shifted your gaze to the other tree nearby.
"Please, let me see you," you repeated, stepping closer, when you saw the face hiding in shadows. You introduced yourself to him, letting him know your name.
You stopped before him, and somehow you felt afraid of your decision. The tall figure wasn't a spirit of the forest like a character in children's books; he was a man. Broad shoulders covered in a black frayed cloak, limbs longer than other men you had seen, stitches on his hands.
When he stepped out of the dark, the moonlight shone on his body. The wind blew off the candles in your hand, your heart throbbing in your chest.
"You're so beautiful…"
His dark eyes widened as you complimented him. He reached over, long fingers trembling when they were close to your cheek. You were both frightened and amazed. You should run, you thought, but your body didn't allow you to do so.
And when his cold fingers stroked your skin, you were simply mesmerized.
Maybe it wasn't a bad idea to confront a spirit of the forest.
* When he nips your nipples . .
You gasped. And Adam thought he did something bad. He just enjoyed licking around your swollen nipples, and somehow he got carried away. He pulled back, looking down at you with alarm.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked softly.
"No, no. That's fine," you replied, fingers tangling in his long hair. "Just do it again."
"You mean lick and nip…?"
You hummed, guiding him to lean over and taste your breast again.
Adam did it again. His breath poured on your chest as he twirled his tongue around your peak. His large hand grabbed the swell of your breast when his lips did what you liked. He nipped and sucked your nipple hard, taking your breath away so easily.
"That's it," you moaned. "That's what a good boy does."
Oh, how he liked when you complimented him.
When he opens his very first present . .
Cried. Adam cried. But he also smiled with contentment. That was why you rushed to him and wiped tears from his delicate face with your thumbs. You gave him a scarf with his favorite colors, and it was so soft he couldn't stop leaning his cheeks on it. He didn't cry because he understood the concept of receiving presents and missing the chance to receive presents in his past; he did cry because he liked this scarf so much.
"I'll wear it everyday," he promised, wrapping this beautiful scarf around his neck.
"But you don't have to wear it during summer," you explained with a smile, cupping his cheeks. "I'll give you more presents. Don't worry."
Widening his eyes, he asked: "More presents?"
You nodded. And that made him cry again.
When he plays in the snow . .
"Snow," Adam chirped, opening his arms and walking around the front yard where snow piles covered. His long hair and black frayed cloak now decorated with snowflakes.
You sat on the porch, watching him lie down on the white ground and making a snow angel. He looked so lovely when he enjoyed such a small moment.
But when you glanced at the nature around you, a snowball from somewhere hit your face.
"Adam?!" you squealed, standing up and placing your hands on your hips. "What a naughty boy."
He giggled, large hands working on another snowball. You pointed at his face, intending to warn him.
"Don't you dare—ah!" Of course, Adam dared enough to throw another snowball at your face, giggled at his own tease, and ran away.
How could he be so stupid but so cute like this? Would you get mad at him?
* When he questions about your favorite spots . .
Adam was feeding chickens, while you gathered eggs. This routine was simple, comfortable, until the unexpected question came from the Creature's mouth.
"I noticed that you kept guiding my head to the right when I licked your—"
"Adam?!" you squealed, almost dropping an egg basket. You knew that animals couldn't understand every word your man said, but you weren't sure anymore when you saw mice sitting on his shoulders many days ago. "Why are you suddenly curious about that?"
He looked up at you, smiling innocently. "I wonder if that is your favorite spot."
Your cheeks burned hot, avoiding his gaze. What could you say, then? He just asked, and it was you who overthought. "Um, i-it's just good."
"Good," he repeated, approaching you. His tall figure stood behind you, hand touching the small of your back. "And you like when I stand like this and hold your left leg?"
Your eyes widened, glancing at chickens who didn't care what you two were talking. "It's not a proper question."
"Oh, it is," he quipped, leaning closer and kissing your ear. "Would you like to do it again?"
You wrapped your arms around an egg basket, glancing back at Adam. "Here?"
"Maybe."
When did he gain mischief?!
"Chickens will look at us," you protested, walking away.
"So you prefer making love with me inside the house?" he mused, following you. "Some tempting characters in books made love outdoors."
You stopped walking, turning back to him. Whatever he said got under your skin. He was interested in erotica lately, and you felt a bit jealous when he seemed indulged in fictional seductresses. They all were flawless and… wild.
Some of female characters sucked a cock, while the other cock thrust deep in their vaginas. Some of vaginas had two cocks. You really wanted to burn those books down, but it was good that Adam understood that it was just a carnal fantasy. "So you think we should do something like that, huh?" you asked.
"I just want to know your favorite spots," he said with an innocent-yet-poisonous smile.
"Uh-huh," you sighed. "My favorite spots aren't what you do or where we do; I can do everything if it's you who does it with me."
This time, the Creature gasped in surprise, and then a little smirk appeared on his stitched face. "Your favorite spot is me."
Oh, it boosted his ego.
"Take off your clothes, my love," he began, rushing toward you.
Somehow, you thought he should stop exploring erotica for a long while.
When he runs after your pet . .
"Oh, no!" Adam shouted, touching his head, as your pet ran out of the house. "I-I don't know who leaves the door open."
You said, "Don't worry, Adam. That little buddy will return home soon." You continued cooking, but the unexpected thing was that your creature ran after your pet. "Adam?!"
You sighed, looking out of the house through the window. Adam tried his best to protect your pet, while your pet tried its best to mess with him. You didn't know whom you decided to support.
"Dinner at six!" you shouted again, shaking your head in disbelief. These creatures made you feel happy everyday, but it would be good if they ran slower.
When he shows you his leaf collection . .
"Are you ready?" Adam asked, holding a thick notebook in his hands. You nodded, letting him present his favorite collection. "Here they are."
You watched him turn from one page to another, allowing you to observe yellow dry leaves he collected from trees around your farmhouse. He also scribbled the date and the season at the end of each page. He loved them so much, and you adored a man with a hobby.
"Do you like them?" Adam asked, closing his notebook and grinning with satisfaction.
Nodding, you remarked: "Absolutely. They're so beautiful… like you."
The Creature blushed, wrapping his long arms around his notebook. How could you stop loving him just one second? It wouldn't happen when you were still breathing!
"When you want to brighten your day," he began, reaching for strands of your hair, "you may open my notebook and look at them."
"Oh, Adam, they're your beloved collection."
"But you're my beloved," he admitted, shifting his hand back and fidgeting at his notebook. "I want you to be happy. And I trust you."
"Adam, that means a lot to me," you said, touching his bandaged arm. "I promise I'll always be careful when I open your notebook. I'm sure your beautiful leaves will brighten my day like the way you do."
"You also brighten my day," he added, holding your hand gently.
You both brightened each other's day.
* When he teases you before entering the ball . . [ An alternative universe where Victor gives the Creature a life he deserves. ]
"A-Adam," you gasped as Adam hauled you into the dark corner of the mansion, assaulting you the moment right before you stepped into the gathering hall. "You can't do this," you protested, yet your chuckle fueled his crave for you.
"But I now do," he whispered, closing your mouth again.
This handsome creature was anything but a gentleman. You had no idea how that crazy scientist, Victor Frankenstein, created such a marvelous body from corpses and taught that body how to socialize with everyone. Although the entire community had feared for what was unbeknown to them, they finally found Dr. Frankenstein's project the future of medical treatment. However, without money meant without progress, and that was why the Frankenstein mansion held the very first ball of the Season.
You were engaged to Adam, since your parents were the first investors of the successful project and no one in your family wanted to lose the benefits. Besides, you didn't like interacting with normal gentlemen, so everything was perfect.
Except your gown and your hair. Adam's cock found your entrance again.
"Ah—Adam-!" His large hand covered your mouth, while your legs wrapped around his waist. Guests walked through the hallway, and a hundred of people would fill the mansion soon. But no one knew that the dark space under the spiral staircase became a secret place where the only son of Dr. Frankenstein was fucking his fiancée fervently.
What a dangerous gentleman. If he kept spilling his seed inside you like this, you might get pregnant before the wedding ceremony.
When he ushers you to the secret place . .
Adam's hands covered your eyes as he led you to his favorite corner in the forest. This place wasn't far from your farmhouse, and it was the first shelter Adam stayed after escaping from hunters. You still shut your eyes, touching his bandaged wrists with your hands, taking cautious steps. Until you heard the sound of nature—waterfall and birds—Adam stopped walking and moved his hands from your face.
"You may open your eyes."
You did what he said, and the scenery before you took your breath away. Clear water reflected your face, fresh wind cooling your body, birds' chirps soothing your mind. You also noticed a beautiful rainbow over the waterfall, while dense trees surrounded you and Adam like a natural fence.
"Such a beautiful place," you remarked, smiling at Adam. "I can't believe this place isn't far from our farmhouse."
He nodded, holding your hand. Even though he was a rough man on bed, tenderness was his main trait you grew accustomed to. "We should come here more often," he said.
"It's a nice spot to have a picnic," you added, nudging his arm with your elbow, glancing at the beautiful view once again.
"Yes," he agreed, "and it's a nice spot to be alone."
Your eyes widened, looking back at Adam. You knew what he was saying, and his blushing expression supported what you were thinking.
When he visits your family . .
"I am Adam," he said, smiling awkwardly at every member of your family. "Nice to meet you."
You had told your family about him through the letters, but you reserved some information like how he was created for his sake. First, your family didn't understand why or how until they met Adam.
Children were both curious and frightened, but they eventually sat next to the Creature. Adults hadn't said anything, but you noticed that some of them were sympathetic toward the Creature.
"Welcome to our home, Adam," your father began, and that reduced tension you sensed in the room.
It was just a simple sentence, but Adam looked at you with a grateful smile. You held his hand, nodding to reassure him that he also had home here.
"Thank you," Adam said, his voice cracking, his tearful eyes looking at your family members again. "Thank you for welcoming me."
It was surreal. You hoped you had never dreamed of this picture. That the world welcomed and was kind to this beautiful and pure creature.
* When he waits for you to finish painting . .
Adam was such a stunning creature. Every part of his body was immaculate and mesmerizing. You asked him to be a model for your painting, and he was doing it. No clothes covered his figure. All scars and seams exposed under the sunlight. His cock was hard before your eyes, making your pussy clenching all the time you worked on this masterpiece.
The way he sat on that armchair, opening his thighs and revealing his stomach, made you want to throw your paintbrush away and stroke that swollen tip with your tongue. You still remembered the taste of his cum, strange yet interesting. You couldn't stop thinking about his quivering body above yours. Your cunt clenched nothing for that imagination… and that made you paint a wrong color on your canvas.
"Is it done?" he asked, voice sultry with impatience. Even yourself felt impatient.
"Almost done," you lied. It wasn't easy to paint his cock, especially when all you wanted was to suck it right here, right now.
"I can't…" he muttered.
"Can't what?"
"Can't wait," Adam admitted, his hand holding his hardness and pumping it before your eyes. Your heart leapt, your tongue licking your bottom lip.
You let your paintbrush slip away, approaching him and kneeling on the ground. Your hands, messed with colors, touched his tight legs, leaning over and lapping his flesh teasingly.
"I can't wait either," you confessed. Just… forget that painting. You needed him to cum in your mouth. You needed him to cum on your body.
You needed him to cum inside you.
When he exercises . . [ Verbs beginning with X aren't what I've expected, so please excuse me. ]
"Adam, what are you doing?" you asked, standing on the porch. Your creature was exercising, and you knew it since the first glance, but you had no idea why he did this.
"Your sheep run faster than me," he admitted, running around your farmhouse.
You waited until he was running past the porch again, then asked: "How could it happen? Your legs are longer than their future!"
"I don't know!" And he ran around your house again. You didn't know if you wanted to laugh or encourage him to continue working on his physical training.
"Aren't you tired?" you shouted, checking on the knot of your apron. "Would you like to have some cookies?"
"No!" he shouted back, and then he did something you didn't expect him to. He snatched your apron from your waist, running away.
"Adam!" And hell, you ran after him. You did exercise for that apron! "If I catch you, Adam! If I catch you!"
When he yearns for desserts . .
"I don't understand," Adam mused, tossing and turning, making your poor bed creak. You opened one eyes and glanced at Adam through your blurred sight. It was already late at night, quite rare for this creature to stay awake.
"What happened, Adam?" you asked with a yawn.
"I can't stop thinking about apple tarts," he admitted, and that made you open both eyes.
"Apple tarts?"
"That you did," he said, facing you. He looked so small when the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and neck, but he still looked bigger than you anyway. "You did it so well."
You chuckled, wrapping your arm around his big body and resting your face against his broad chest. "I'll do it for you tomorrow, all right?"
No one would believe it, but the Creature giggled at the promise of apple tarts. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing your head, sighing in contentment.
Yet, that promise couldn't help him get some sleep tonight.
* When he zones out because of your breasts . .
You taught Adam how to bake cookies, but whenever you asked him if he could follow each step, he just said: "Huh-uh-yeah, I understand."
"No, you don't understand," you pointed out, crossing your arms. "Something in your mind, Adam?"
"Um, I…" he mumbled, large hands fidgeting at his shirt. You noticed him blushing like a shy boy.
"Tell me the truth," you urged.
"Your breasts… are in my mind," Adam confessed, avoiding your gaze. That made you look down at your chest, but you saw nothing peculiar.
"Oh, you keep thinking about what we did last night?" you asked, stepping closer to him. "My breasts and your cock…?"
"Yes," he admitted, still avoiding your gaze. He still remembered that it wasn't only your mouth or cunt that could make him cum.
When your hand touched his bulge, he looked back at you. He whispered your name, soft like a prayer.
"You're hard again," you remarked, fingers toying with the hard line under his pants. His cock was so big your pussy dripped with wetness when you recognized the feeling of being stretched by his size. "Maybe we can skip our cookie lesson."
Thank you for reading my stuff! I did it, 6.1k words in 12 hours. I fucking did it OMG! Locked in so hard and forgot who I used to be. I'll check typos later, since I typed the first draft here on Tumblr to force myself to finish this one 😅 I think some of these stories deserve longer versions, such as that hearing one and that waiting one (I wanna stroke his Little Adam with a paintbrush—) Pray for me to have energy like this again ❤️🔥
And here's other The Creature x You I posted on my blog! Xx
hello!! i saw your dad!jason and i would like to request some more👉👈 maybe one where hes taking care of heavily pregnant reader 🥺🥺🥺
I love that someone requested more Dad!Jason. I feel in my chest the man would be a great dad both for his baby and for his baby momma. Sorry it took so long to get to and thank you for requesting it!
Warning(maybe?): Pregnancy and pregnancy symptoms
Girl Dad!Jason Todd Masterlist
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You loved Jason. You loved him a lot, you keep reminding yourself. You were going to throw something at him the moment you saw him, you think as you gingerly slid out of bed.
Your body aches double when the pressure of gravity starts to work against you. Everything felt too much, skin too tight and itchy. You wanted to cry, throat thick with pushing it down.
You had to stand up and move around or you were going to lose your mind from laying in bed all day. You tug useless on your pajama shirt, like it would ever stay over your heavy swollen belly. It just irritates you more when it slides back up.
You were going to hit Jason because he just had to get you pregnant (as if it wasn't both your fault and entirely an accident).
You groan quietly as you waddle slowly into the hallway and straight to the bathroom. You could hear Jason in the kitchen, cooking and washing the dishes all at once.
You were going to give him a kiss and then throw a carrot or something at him, you plan as you go to the bathroom just in case your baby girl decided to bounce around now that you weren't laying down.
You press your hand to the wall as you exit the bathroom, leaning against it as you follow that smell of food that made you both hungry and nauseous at one.
Your eye land on jason and your plan slips out of your mind, maybe you could convince him to fuck you instead. Were you in a lot of pain? Yes, but he was so hot and your wrecked hormones wanted him.
He finds you with a soft smile that makes you weepy again, “sweetheart, what're you doing out of bed?”
Emotions slip out in a tumble, the cry trapped in your throat falling from you as you babble wetly, about hurting and being dizzy and tired and horny and how much you loved him and how much you hated him.
Jason turns off the stove and rounds the island to gather you in his arms as best he could. It makes you cry more as you try to hug him.
“I want you to hold me,” you cry more before cursing your belly for being in the way.
“Deep breath, mama. Come on. You need to calm down,” he speaks softly, pulling away to rub his hands up and down your arms. One of his hands moves up to wipe at your eye as he takes a performative deep breath for you and you copy him and copy him.
“‘m sorry,” you sniffle, leaning into his warm hand.
He shifts on his feet moving behind you. His hands move to wrap low on your belly and he lifts, “Don’t be I know you're hurting.”
The relief is instant and you almost cry again. Weight off your feet and back ease the aches mildly despite you having done nothing all day. You sigh, sniffling more as you lean back against him, letting him hold the brunt of your body.
Jason noses against your hair line, soft and gentle, “better?”
You hum, hands moving to press up and down his arms where he holds you in appreciation, “I'm so tired, Jay.”
He hates to hear it, the more mournful sound of your voice. He’s never been more grateful that you actually told him you were pregnant rather than running away. He couldn't imagine leaving you to do this alone.
“I know,” he murmurs, “and I know it doesn't make you feel better but only a couple of weeks and she'll be here.”
You'd bemoan the idea of doing this any longer if it weren't for the way Jason says she. Your baby girl was going to be here soon.
It didn't zap the pain from your body but it did make the weight of everything feel a bit lighter. It was just one day rougher than most days but you would be holding your baby soon and that made alright.
“It does make me feel better,” you tell him. He gently shuffles you to the couch and the moment his hands leave your belly, you bite down the urge to complain.
A few more weeks, just a few more weeks. You remind yourself. You settle heavy against the couch and Jason eagerly helps you put your feet up on the coffee table, tucking a pillow under your heels to hide the bite of wood.
He kisses your cheek, your eye, then your forehead, "I'm going to start a bath for you, one with lots of Epsom salts. Does that sound good?”
You laugh still teary as you nod. A few months prior to your pregnancy. You had gone through a phase of trying to ease the everyday aches of being a vigilante for Jason. You'd gone out of your way and bought loads of Epsom salts, some scented, some not, just so he could bathe and relax in the comfort of your home.
It helped but he called you the most precious excessive caretaker ever after you forced him into the bath every day for a month. You eased up after that but every once and while, on the colder days in Gotham, he'd let you draw one of those baths for him and now he was doing it for you.
“Jason,” you call out as he walks to the bathroom. He pauses hand on the wall as he looks back at you, “I really love you, you know that right?”
“Yeah, I know,” he offers a bit of a shy smile, “I love you too.”
He disappears and your hands drift over your belly. You definitely needed to lotion up after the bath, maybe it would ease the way your skin felt so stretched. There's a small bump against your hand.
“Yeah, hi,” you say to your belly, “it's evening, baby. You should be settling down, not waking up. This is why I'm so tired all the time.”
You rub over the press of foot or hand with fond annoyance.
“Dad’s makin’ a bath,” you slouch more on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position for your back ache, “I know you're always in water and it's fun and all but your mama needs to chill out. Do you ever notice when I'm in the bath? Or like in the shower? Does it sound like its raining in there?”
There’s silence because of course there is. Your response though does come in what you dub a very rude push against your rib. Your nose wrinkles at the uncomfortable motion. Jason catches it as he comes back.
“What is it?” He asks as he pulls tissues from the box on the coffee table and knees to wipe the mess of tears off your face.
“Your daughter’s awake,” you huff, though there's a smile on your lips.
“My daughter,” he coos as he kneels to talk to your belly, “no daughter of mine is mean to mom. You be nice in there, little miss.”
The pressure against your ribs ease and it makes you roll your eyes, “Already a daddy's girl. Can I take a bath now?”
Jason easily scoops you up, even with the added weight of the baby growing inside you. You curl your arms around his neck tighter just in case and he must catch it.
He scoffs as he carries you to the bathroom, “You don't trust me or something?”
“Or something” you murmur as he sets you down on your feet in the steamy bathroom. He helps you out of your clothes and into the bathtub.
“You're a genius,” you mutter as you settle in the water, aches already lessening as you close your eyes.
His hand settles on your belly, covering the only part not under water, your belly button, “anything for my girls”
You feel your baby shift again, a bump against Jason's hand. Whether it's to seek out her father or just from the extra warmth of the water, you'll never know.
“I think she likes baths,” Jason comments.
Your wet hand moves to cover his, “I think she likes you, I know I do.”
“My girl” he coos leaning down to kiss at your head.
Request: so Jason and the rest are on patrol or he’s out of town or away or smth(i prefer that he’s on patrol), and Girlie(that’s how im gonna call her) is still heavily pregnant and about to burst cause it’s like days away from her due date. Anyways, she could be on a call with Jason or they could be currently staying at the manor and she’s sitting at the batcomputer monitoring patrol cause she’s bored, when she gradually starts feeling labor pains. She only fees a discomfort at first so she doesn’t panic yet, but then they get REALLY bad. Jason notices something through the call/coms that she’s kinda acting weird until she says that she thinks she’s gone into labor. Chaos ensues(you can decide what goes on from there)😁😁😁
I've been working on this off and on for a while, and I tried to do as much research on labor as possible. It's literally insane what the female body can do. I have gotten a few requests about the rest of the family meeting Cathy, but I've been waiting to start those because of this one. Hopefully, now I can lock in those. Enjoy!
Girl Dad!Jason Todd Masterlist
Warnings: Pregnancy, Labor and birth, JAson almost misses the birth
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“If you truly insist on staying, when you should be resting, allow me to fetch a spot of soup for you.” Alfred insists where he stands beside you at the batcomputer. He let you have the big chair the moment you’d entered the cave, and you were not complaining. Everything ached.
You smile up at the older man. You understood why he worried. Your due date was next week, and you had already had a momentary complication; babygirl almost came too early. Jason had been taken. Kidnapped? Murdered? Nobody knew at the time, and you freaked. Evidently, it freaked the baby out, too. You going into premature labour was really not something that needed to happen at that point. In the end, the hospital managed to calm everything down, and Jason was returned with only minor injuries. But you couldn’t help the worry when he went out; you couldn’t do this alone. Not after all the work Jason and you had done.
“Thank you, Alfred. That sounds nice, and for the record, I am resting. Very clearly not on my feet.”
Alfred sighs, “Miss, that is most certainly not what bedrest means.”
“I just want to listen to him. Is that okay? With soup?” you plead.
“Very well,” Alfred nods, “please remain unmoved from this spot until my return.”
“Yes, sir,” you give a mock salute to Alfred as he shakes his head, moving to the elevator.
The noises of the cave follows after, and you resettle in the chair, hands on your belly as you stare at the screen, a map of Gotham with different colored dots moving across it. You tap on the coms, and quiet conversations filter through the system. It must be a quiet night. You find Jason’s line clicking into it.
“Hello?” his voice comes across thick with confusion. It makes you smile.
“Hi, handsome,” you coo, exhaustion slipping into your voice even as you try to hide it.
“Hi, sweetheart,” his voice softens right up, and you want to melt. Baby shifts in your belly, and you have to adjust to the new pressure. Jason keeps talking, “You should be in bed.”
“I couldn’t sleep, you know that.” You remind him. You had barely slept a wink the past week, even with Jason by your side. Baby wouldn’t stop moving, seemingly out of spite. It was uncomfortable and miserable, and you had to pee all the time.
“I know,” he murmurs. You listen as he shifts a quiet grunt that sounds like he’s jumping roofs, then you hear him settle back down, “she’s too excited to get here.”
“She is too excited to- oh,” you wince, shifting in your seat with a deep breath.
Jason makes a noise, “Oh, what? Are you okay?”
You stand from the chair as your low belly cramps. You lean over slightly, the only position that seemed to help with the Braxton Hicks contractions. You practice the breathing methods that you and Jason had learned in one of the birthing classes.
“Sweetheart? Baby, talk to me.” Jason's voice becomes a tad more urgent when you don’t answer.
“It’s- ‘m fine, Jay,” you whimper softly as the feeling intensifies worse than you’d felt before. You count to yourself, breathing. Soon, the pain eases.
You let out a sigh of relief as it lessens, your back aching more than it had before. You shake it off, gently sliding back into the chair.
Jason’s voice comes back through the comms, so thick with worry you can practically see the pinch of his brow, “Honey?”
“Everything's okay, just a Braxton Hicks.” You keep your breathing steady as you rub your hand across your belly.
“Yeah? Are you sure?”
You laugh softly, “I think so. I promise I’m fine.”
“The doctor said that because of your episode, you could go into labour before the-” an explosion echoes through the comms, “shit! You promise you're okay?”
“I’m fine. Go.” You end the connection with him for him and follow him as his dot moves across Gotham. The family's voices chime through the computer, whose going where, what it could’ve been.
Twelve minutes later, the pain returns. You don't even stand this time, hands gripping the armrests as the pain spreads to your thighs, a strange sensation that you’d only felt with your near-too-early birth. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to breathe through the pain. Once it eases, your mind ignores the chaos on the coms to stare at the clock. Ten minutes later, the pain returns.
“Oh fucking dammit,” you curse and glare down at your belly as the contraction eases, “now is not the time. Dad's saving lives, and you and I agreed you wouldn't come until he was here too.”
You groan, leaning forward in the chair, arms pressed to the console. A beep echoes softly, one you would've recognised if you weren't in pain, as the computer hatches into the comms.
“You cannot come now,” you complain, head still down.
“Wait, is baby coming now?” Steph's voice startles you. Your eyes find the screen in the panic.
“No! No, baby is not- fuck” you curse again. The pain flares again, and your eyes find the clock. A nine-minute interval. You were definitely at the start of your labour if the birthing classes were right.
“You told me they were Braxton Hicks,” Jason's tight tone comes across the comms, followed by a gunshot.
The contraction eases again, you tone matching his, “I thought it was. You think I would lie about going into labour?”
“No, but you told me-”
“It is recommended that any outside stressor be removed during labour. Todd, I would recommend silence for a healthy birth.” Damian chimes.
“I am not in labour!” You scoff and stand up, holding the chair as you try to pace back and forth slowly.
More arguing filters across the line as you breathe. Everything is going to be fine, you tell yourself. Some women's labour lasted hours, which sounded miserable, but would allow Jason to come back to the cave and get you to a hospital. Your hopes for a hospital or even your midwife were dwindling.
You groan again, stilling in your pacing for a moment. Everything falls quiet, at least to your ears. Except for Jason's voice, muddled but present, “baby, just breathe. Like we practiced.”
Your nerves ease as you focus on the memories of Jason practicing your breathing with you before. You rely on it with him not there.
“I'm okay,” you finally say, even as fighting echoes from the coms, “I'm okay.”
“Alfred,” bruces voice comes through, and you shake your head.
“He's upstairs getting me soup.” You laugh after you finish. You should've known your labour would be a mess.
“Why would Pennyworth-”
“Is the soup for the labour?”
“I wasn't in labour when he went to get it,” you interject.
Jason's voice comes back through, “That was eight minutes. Sweetheart, you should be fine for a little bit. Why didn't you tell me?”
You laugh again, “You're counting while you're fighting?”
Even with the gnawing ache of your early labour, you can't help but feel fond of Jason.
“Someone has too,” he scoffs and mutters, “just Braxton Hicks.”
“I didn't think they were labour contractions when we were talking,” your sentence ends with another barely suppressed groan.
Tim juts, “uh, that was six minutes. Isn’t that like too fast?”
“Why are you counting too?” you huff, eyes prickling with tears. Instead of waiting for an answer, you say, for the first time since you found out who Jason was, “Jason, I need you to come home right now.”
“I know, baby…” Jason murmurs.
Your heart drops at his tone, mind aware from your contractions for a moment, “Don’t say it like that!”
He doesn’t respond to you, “Guys, a little help would be nice. I’m kind of stuck, and there’s a baby on the way.”
“Gimme fifteen minutes!” Cass adds quietly. You shake your head. Your contractions were moving too fast. If they kept getting closer, Jason might not make it back.
“I can’t-” you cut yourself off. There was only so much everyone could do, but you needed Jason for this.
“I’m sending Robin and Spoiler back to the cave for support. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure Red Hood’s back in time.” Bruce says, and it takes you a moment to realise he’s talking to you.
The elevator dings before you can so much as utter a thank you. Alfred steps back into the cave with a tray holding two bowls, “I do hope that you won't mind me joining- I believe I told you to stay put, miss.”
You nearly cry out of relief, only for it to turn back into a groan. You bend slightly again, hands clenching at the back of the chair.
“That’s six minutes. Pennyworth, her labour accelerating. You must prepare the med-bay.” Damian’s voice sounds rushed with a pinch of worry.
A hand finds your back, and you suddenly become aware of how sweaty you feel. You lift your head to find Alfred’s gaze, “Hey.”
“Yes, hello. To the med bay, then,” Alfred helps you over to the med bay on shaky legs. You get halfway there when you feel your legs suddenly drenched in hot wetness.
You shake your head, in too much pain to be embarrassed, but your mind latches onto something else, “Sorry, Alfred, that’s going to be a headache to clean up.”
“What? What’s going to be a headache?” Jason’s voice comes across the coms, strained, likely fighting. Alfred lays you back on the bed.
“I think my water broke,” you answer. The laying down only slightly eases the pressure on your body, “it's okay.”
“Your water broke?!” Some gunshots echo from the coms. You sit up the sound worry knotting.
“Jason!”
Alfred pushes you back down, “Now, Miss, you must calm down. Master Todd will be alright.”
You settle back on the bed at Alfred’s insistence, another contraction hitting you. You groan with a hand on your belly. Alfred gets to work prepping for the birth, but your mind can only focus on two things. Your daughter was painfully on her way, and Jason was not by your side.
The rumble of engines echoes through the cave. Your head tips, vision blurry with unshed tears, “Jason?”
“Not quite,” Damian’s voice meets your ears, and you cry softly. Where was Jason?
“Hey, Hey, Hey,” a hand curls around yours, your eyes make out a puff of blonde.
“Steph, hi. Where’s Jason?” you ask pitifully.
She squeezes your hand, “on his way right now. He’ll be here soon. Just hang on.”
A tear tracks down your cheek as another contraction hits. They were too close.
“I will check her dilation then, Pennyworth.”
“No!” you sit up with a rush, regret it and settle back down, eyes on Damian. He raises a brow at you, “I love you, buddy, you know that, but you do not get to look, let alone stick your fingers up my vagina.”
Steph laughs next to you, and Damian looks at you, rather disgruntled. Alfred nods as he pulls on gloves, “I do have to agree with Miss, Master Damian. You are too young and perhaps too close to this. If I may, miss?”
At his question directed at you, you hesitantly agree. Damian leaves the med bay pouting as he walks to the computer. You sniffle as Alfred checks your cervix. He casts a glance at you and Steph before he calls out to Damian, “How far is Master Jason?”
“A few minutes at best, Pennyworth,” he replies. Alfred looks back at you again.
“Miss, baby will be here sooner than later. I know you and Master Jason had a birth plan?” Alfred asks.
You nod, but any thought of what your birth plan was is out the window, “I can’t remember.”
“That’s alright,” he reassures, then turns to Steph, “Miss. Brown, would you be so kind as to call Doctor Thompkins? Her guidance will be needed.”
Steph nods and slips from your tight grasp you didn't know you had. Your hand curl into the bed as you ask, “Alfred, have you ever delivered a baby?”
“I’m afraid not, miss. But we will make it through this together.” He nods, “and master Jason will make it on time.”
You shake your head, voice cracking with tears, “I can’t do this without him.”
“It will be alright,” he attempts to soothe you. Steph returns with her phone, and she offers it to Alfred. He pulls his gloves from his hands and takes the phone, “Good evening, Doctor Thompkins…”
Steph prys your hand from the bed, letting you squeeze as your contractions come and go, tears race down your cheeks. This was far more painful than your almost early birth, and you wished more and more for an epidural you knew would not come.
Another engine roars into the cave, but you're so lost in the haze of another contraction that you miss it. Steph's hand is replaced by one that’s larger, still wrapped in a leather glove. A rough kiss is pressed to your sweat-damp forehead. Your eyes flicker open and cry again at the sight of Jason, your body working on instinct, trying to hug him.
“Jason, Thank god.”
He works his glove off one hand with his teeth, then trades the one holding yours to pull off the other glove. His now freed hand moves to stroke your hair, gently pressing you back on the bed.
“I’m here, Mama. You’re doing great.” He murmurs against your hair, “How’re you feeling?”
“I feel like I’m gonna shit myself,” you slip out, not thinking much of it. Jason’s eyes widen before his turning to look around the cave.
“Alfred!” he calls out. The man returns quickly with a pinched brow. Jason nods to you, “The baby’s coming now.”
You stare at Jason in confusion, “What? How do you- oh! Ow, jesus!”
Your hand squeezes Jason’s hand, nails digging in as a burning pain spreads to your nether regions. The phone is quickly handed from Alfred back to Steph now on speaker.
Everything becomes a blur. Doctor Thompkins on the phone, Jason holding your hand and the recurring encouragement to push from anyone. It feels like hours and only seconds. Pain and tears until you hear the sharp cry of a newborn.
There’s a wiggling weight on your chest, still screaming her lungs out. Jason squeezing your hand back as you blink dazed at him as the pain subsides. Your eyes drop to stare at her, your free hand lethargically dropping on her back.
“Catherine,” you whisper, and her crying slows, “baby, hi.”
Your voice is harsher than you care for, still thick with tears. You hear Alfred talking to Jason, and soon you sleep, top is unbuttoned enough for your sticky newborn baby girl to rest on your bare chest. You can’t even bring yourself to care. Tears of pure joy leave you, mixed with elated laughter. Jason presses another kiss to your hairline, staying as close as possible.
“She’s beautiful, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “You did so good. You made it.”
His hand meets yours on her back as she yells at the world. “Catherine, huh?”
Your eyes leave her for a split second to look at him, feeling slightly dizzy from the motion. You hadn’t told him what you were planning to name her. “Is that okay?”
“Of course,” he kisses you fondly as Alfred dabs around your holds on her, cleaning her without taking her away from you. Both of your focuses return to her, to your baby. Nine months of anxiety and emotions all built up to this moment.
Definitely worth it.
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Masterlist
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