You just learned a new catchphrase? Now you both have a new catchphrase. Even when you're not around, he still uses those stolen words every chance he gets.
"Okie dokie," you said on your first date. Since then, he hasn't stopped saying "okie dokie" after briefing Nadeem on cases, earning the same weird look from the fellow agent every single time.
You're annoyed at first. "Dude. Why do you keep repeating everything I say?"
Dex doesn't answer, but a week later, you catch him calling another agent "dude" over the phone after they screw something up.
And just like that. Your words? Being stolen again.
After a while, the annoyance turns into fondness, and you start teaching him what to say and when to say it.
Honestly, it's kinda cute.
Dex has social media, but he hasn't been keeping up with trends. He's there only because you're there. So when he comes home one day and casually drops a slang you've never taught him, it makes you pause.
"Where did you learn that?"
"What?"
"What you just said. Who taught you that?"
You swear his head grows bigger when he straightens up next to you on the couch. "I can be hip, you know."
You burst out laughing, head falling back against the couch, hair brushing his arm. Dex narrows his eyes at you, heat creeping up his neck, but he doesn't move away. He likes being in your space. "What's so funny?"
"Hip," you wheeze, wiping tears from your eyes. "Nobody says that anymore."
Turns out he's been secretly looking up "Slang terms and how to use them like a pro" because he thought you'd like it. You always say things he's never heard before.
The tips of his ears turn pink, and it only makes you laugh harder. You grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer. He automatically shifts so you can sit in his lap, your hands looped behind his neck.
"Hip," you repeat and peck a quick kiss at the corner of his mouth, where a smile is threatening to appear despite his fluster. "You're hip. The hippest person in the world."
A crooked smile finally tugs at his mouth as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck to avoid your gaze. The embarrassment lingers, but your laugh and sweet kiss quickly melt it away.
"No," he murmurs, his voice muffled by your skin. "You're the hippest person in the world."
“Who was that?” Dex closes the bedroom door behind him with a click. The sound cuts through the silence of your shared apartment, except for your frantic breathing and the shuffling sound in the closet.
“No one.” You say quickly, pressing your back against the closet doors, handles biting into your skin through the thin fabric, but it feels like nothing compared to the pounding heart beneath your ribs.
You didn’t expect Dex to come home this early. He said he had to run an errand two towns over. And by “running errands,” it could vary from raiding an AVTF base to whatever the hell Mr. Charles assigned him to. You never know. The moment you heard the lock turn, you practically shoved the mysterious someone inside that cramped space.
Straightening up, you push off from the wood to block his view. The familiar scent of soap and rain clinging to his suit envelops you. “You’re home early. How’s-”
“Baby. Who was that?” Dex cuts you off mid-sentence, his voice low, bordering on threatening instead of affectionate. His gaze stays fixed on the creaking doors, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Did you invite someone over?”
“No,” you snort, though it sounds like you’re bluffing. “Don’t be silly, sweetie. C’mere. Let me help you get out of these.”
Your hands reach for his gear straps, but he pulls back. His head cocks to the side, eyes piercing into yours.
“Don’t change the subject.” His voice leaves no room for argument. “Tell me, who are you hiding?”
The rustling sound doesn’t stop, which only complicates the situation. Before another excuse leaves your lips, Dex sidesteps around you and heads straight for the doors. His fingers brush the knife strapped across his chest as his eyes sweep the room for anything else he can use.
Then again, anything can become a weapon between those calloused fingers.
“Ooof!”
Time seems to freeze after he yanks the door open, realization slowly dawning over him.
The puppy swings his tail from left to right, tongue hanging out, floppy ears jiggling with the movements. He looks up at Dex with wide, bright eyes, like the man hung the moon.
You huff a small, awkward laugh. “Surprise!” The fluff ball chimes in with another joyful bark.
“This is who- what you’re hiding? Jesus- I thought-”
“Sorry, baby. I didn’t know how to tell you,” you explain, kneeling on the floor when the fluffy little thing waddles towards you, mud dragging along his path. “I found him on the street. It was raining hard, and there was no one around. He looked so sad, Dex. I couldn’t leave him there.”
As you scratch underneath his floppy ear, your voice shoots up three octaves. Baby talk activated. “Yeah, you like that, don’t cha? You like that, huh? Who’s my good boy? Yeah, you are. You’re my good boy.”
The sight of you beaming and the little dirt ball nuzzling into your hand drains all the fight out of Dex. He stares at the messy trail like a stubborn stain that refuses to fade after the third wash on his favorite shirt, the corner of his mouth twitches.
Then the whelp yaps again, pulling Dex back into reality. “No.”
“What do you mean no?” You scoop the cotton ball into your arms, muddy paws and all.
“It can’t stay.”
“Why not?”
“It was living on the street. You don’t know where it’s been.”
“Okay. Not anymore.” The little guy licks your cheek, agreeing with you. “Aww. Look at him, Dex.”
“I am looking at it.”
“And?”
“It appears to be a dog.” You blink at him. “And?”
“Dogs are loud, sweetheart. They shed. They smell weird.”
You gasp softly, offended on the pup’s behalf, then tilt your head to whisper in his ear. “He didn’t mean it like that, cutie pie. Don’t listen to him. Dex’s just being silly. He’s so silly, don’t he?”
Oblivious to the insults, the fuzzy ball gives another yip and licks your cheek again.
Dex can only sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose, contemplating how this ten-pound bundle of wet fur and oversized paws is somehow gonna fit into his your squeaky-clean apartment without him going insane.
And that’s how you end up in the bathroom at 11 pm, scrubbing brown smudges out of the sheets because someone let a stray baby roll around on the bed before Dex got home. According to your man, “that's your accomplice.”
Oh, and the muddy potato? He’s staying, obviously.
Dex keeps his routine strict. He works out daily, carefully watches his diet, does the laundry every other night, and changes his sheets every weekend. He's fully convinced that an ordinary virus can't possibly get to him.
So when the day finally comes, you'll definitely find him embarrassed, curled up in bed, coughing his lungs out, shivering under three layers of blankets, and stubbornly claiming he's totally fine.
The thing is, what he says rarely matches what he means. He's so used to proving his place in your life by being useful that being cared for is still a foreign concept to him.
He won't pull back when you rub the vapour balm on his back, or dab the cool cloth against his heated skin, or gently massage his pounding head.
What he will do is try to do push-ups to prove that he's "not sick," which never ends well. More often than not, you'll have to help him back to bed or maybe just to the couch because he's too heavy when he goes limp from exhaustion.
"I'm not a baby. I don't need you to feed me." He'll turn his head away like a pouting puppy as you bring the spoonful of hot soup to his mouth.
When you ignore the attitude and keep the spoon steady, he'll reluctantly take a bite, though not before sniffing and judging the color of the broth as if his nose isn't completely blocked and his eyes aren't glassy with fever.
He'll grumble through the first few bites. But once the soup starts working its magic, the complaints usually stop, and he'll just open his mouth for the next bite without being asked.
So much for not being a baby.
After he's finished, he'll stubbornly tug you down under the sheets with him. He'll lock his arms and legs around you like an octopus and bury his face deep into your chest.
"Thank you." He'll exhale slowly as you scratch his scalp, his breath hot against your skin. It's a quiet tell of the lingering fever, but he already feels so much better now that you're here.
And he won't even argue when you tease him about being needy. He'll nuzzle closer to you to hide the small smile on his face before he closes his eyes and drifts back to sleep.
"…Dex? How much pepper is too much pepper?" you call from the kitchen after accidentally dumping half the pepper shaker into your eggs. Already regretting buying it, especially since Dex had repeatedly tried to talk you out of it.
But it's engraved with your initials. Yours and his. It's meant to be.
"How much pepper…" Dex repeats, processing the words and the hint of awkwardness in your voice. He steps up behind you, peering over your shoulder to look at the blanket of spice draped over the eggs. The cap sits on top of it like a cherry on a cake.
You expect an "I told you so," or a sigh. Something to tell you that it's too early for him to deal with your clumsiness.
Instead, he gently grabs your waist and moves you out of the way. "I'll handle it. Why don't you go get the coffee, hm?" He murmurs, already reaching for the spatula to scoop the ruined eggs into the trash.
"Wait!" your hand shoots out to grab his bicep. The cotton of his sleeve is soft beneath your fingers. Dex looks over at you, confused. "It's still edible. We just need to uh… separate the pepper from the eggs."
That makes Dex arch his brow. He looks at you, then at the pan in his hand, then back at you again.
"You serious?"
"As a heart attack."
Then, with the resignation of a man accepting his fate, he puts the pan back on the stove and reluctantly attempts the egg-pepper surgery.
Logic has never stopped him from fulfilling your requests. And it's safe to say it'll stay that way for a long time.
Fast forward to that evening. You step into your shared apartment after a long day at work. Exhausted, all you want to do is shut out the world and cuddle with your man. The breakfast incident had already left your mind hours ago.
Dex is hunching over the stove, cooking. He'd already changed his crisp suit into a t-shirt and sweatpants. You pad into the kitchen, wrapping your arms around his middle. "Smells good, baby."
Then, the shaker catches your attention.
There's a strip of clear plastic wrapped around the container, just above your initials, securing the cap.
You chuckle, tilting your head to catch his side profile over his shoulder. "Did you do that?"
Dex doesn't look up from the chopping board, his rhythm perfectly steady. "Unless some helpful mice crawled out of the walls and took care of it while you were at work… then yeah, it was me."
Sarcasm. Damn, you taught him good.
Your smile deepens, and you tighten your embrace. "You didn't have to."
silly!ddba!dex coming home from a long day, stumbling into your shared apartment.
He has already taken off his mask, his hair poking left and right, slicked with sweat. His boots are caked with dirt while his suit is covered in soot, rainwater, and someone’s blood.
When his eyes land on you, a wide, unapologetic grin is plastered across his face as he struts into the living room, devoid of the exhaustion hidden beneath his muscles. A successful mission, you assume.
“Baby, you’re not gonna believe what I pulled off tonight,” he chirps, his voice brimming with excitement, hands quickly unfastening the gear straps. “See, the guy was running, yeah? He looked funny as hell, I almost felt sorry for him. Then I took a–”
“Dex,” you say softly, eyeing the trail of muck on the floor.
He freezes mid-sentence, fingers wrapped around the strap across his chest. “Yeah?”
“Step off the rug.” Your tone is completely relaxed, though no less stern. “I just cleaned it this morning, and you’re dragging mud everywhere.”
No one out there would believe Bullseye, the terrifying, ruthless reaper, is completely tamed at home. A deadly guard dog is still a needy pup at heart when it comes to you. In short, your wish is his command.
His shoulders slump a little, the grin pulls down to a pout as he pedals back to kick his heavy boots off by the door. He shrugs off the straps, making a whole show of tossing them onto the coffee table.
“You’re no fun,” he grumbles, sinking onto the couch next to you, soaked suit on and everything. The mess usually drives him up the wall, but the need to be near you overrides everything else.
He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around you like an octopus while he breathes you in. The clean scent of your soap is a sharp contrast with the damp scent of smoke and blood that clings to him, something that never fails to calm the buzzing static in his head.
“Party pooper,” he whines playfully, soft lips grazing your collarbone, scooting in so close that he almost climbs into your lap. “I was good. I didn’t kill those assholes in front of the cops like I wanted to. Don’t I get a kiss for being good?”
You turn your head to look at him, eyes dancing with amusement. “You want a reward for the bare minimum?”
“Always,” he says. The sulky puppy act drops in a heartbeat. “C’mon. Kiss. Now.”
pairing: ddba!dex x worm!reader (f, no physical descriptions, expect a lot more of her in the future ;P)
tags: mdni. smut with a dash of plot. teasing. biting. begging (guess who? ding, ding, ding. it's Dex). praise kink. unprotected sex. headlock. choking if you squint. lemme know if i missed anything!
wc: 1.7k
Thwack. Thwack… Thwack.
Three tiny metallic darts shoot through the air and hit the center of the red bullseye, stacking perfectly on top of each other.
“My turn, my turn!” You beam, rising from the couch. But Dex quickly steps back in position, and the darts, again, land perfectly on the panel before you can take them.
“Hey! It was my turn!” You frown at him, hands on your hips.
He answers with a crooked grin as he yanks the sharp metal off the board. “Can’t help it, sweetheart. You should’ve been faster. Besides, I’m gonna win either way. Accept it.”
You roll your eyes at him, but your smile is the biggest traitor.
Lately, Dex’d been pacing around the apartment like a caged animal since Mr. Charles advised him to stay put for the next mission. He needs enrichment, you thought when you bought the dart set. But you didn’t think he would turn this silly game into an olympic sport.
“Tsk. Don’t be cocky. Now let’s see if you can do it without looking,” you challenge.
Dex’s eyes light up instantly. He loves a challenge. Especially from you. He turns his entire body around, his back fully to the target.
With another flick of his wrist, the dart flies across the room, bounces off the edge of the TV, and strikes right in the middle of that red circle. That little shit turns around with a ridiculous smug grin that you just want to swipe right off his face. Show off.
“That’s cheating!” You fold your arms, shaking your head. “Nuh uh. I don’t know how you did it, but you cheated! It doesn’t count.”
Dex, who very much enjoys your feigned annoyance, clasps a hand over his chest and gasps dramatically.
“I did no such thing!” he walks towards you, warm hands closing around your waist, swaying you a little. “I’m hurt, baby. Deeply. I literally practiced it for twenty minutes when you were in the shower earlier. No tricks.”
“You practiced while I was in the shower?” You arch a brow. “That’s cheating, genius. I can’t believe it. Betrayed by my own man.”
You make a whole show of wriggling out of his embrace. “You know what? I’m not playing with you anymore. And… and, no cuddles tonight.” But Dex already pulls you back into his chest before you can escape.
Of course you have to be a pain about it. Stomping your feet, huffing and puffing, the whole shebang, until Dex stops you by crashing his lips onto yours. One hand of his grabs your chin to keep you where you are, the other one digs into your side while he sucks on your tongue.
Your eyes widen a little before you tilt your head to let him in as your arms find their home around his neck, pressing yourself to him until there’s no air left between you.
Dex groans at the unexpected prickle that runs down his spine when your nails rake through his hair, his fingers on your chin tightening in response. His other hand reaches back to grip your backside, his thigh slips between yours. You almost giggle, thinking how easily he would fold for you after just a small tantrum.
He then only breaks the kiss to trail open-mouthed kisses from your cheek down to your jaw, then along the side of your throat, pulling a small moan out of you instead of the triumphant chuckle.
“Dex…” You whisper, instinctively grinding your hips against his, feeling the hard line he doesn’t even pretend to hide anymore.
“Hm?” his teeth sink into your skin where your collarbone and neck meet. His warm hand slips beneath your sleep dress, spreading across your stomach before cupping one of your breasts, thumb ghosting over your hard peak. “You want something, baby?”
“You know what I want.” You roll your hips harder against his thigh, desperate for more friction. The slick heat of you sweeps through the fabric of your panties to his trousers. Your breathing grows heavier after every second.
“I don’t think I do, sweet girl,” he coos, pressing his knee against the junction between your legs, making you cling to him tighter. “You said you didn’t wanna play with me anymore.”
“Dex, come on!” You grumble as you yank on his hair, demanding because you can and because you know he’ll do whatever you ask, even when he’s being an ass about it.
“Bossy,” he chuckles lowly and spins you around. Suddenly, you’re lying face first on the couch with your knees digging into the cushion, your dress hiked up over your rear.
Dex leans his full weight on you while his hands grope and touch and caress everywhere he can, nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck, breathing you in like it’s the only thing that can keep him from devouring you right now.
His calloused fingers glaze over your soft skin until he finally finds your core over the damp silk, circling and rubbing and toying with you until you’re a begging, whimpering mess as he ruts into the leather between your legs.
“You like it, angel?” He whispers into your ear, and a chill runs down your spine, your hips turning up in anticipation. “You want more?” to which you answer with a nod and a soft whimper.
“Shh… Stay still. Lemme take care of you.” His fingers, now slick with your arousal, finally slip beneath the hem of your panties and start pumping in and out of you, the wet sound echoing in the quiet living room that makes your ears turn to another shade of red.
Your hips buck up for more, but the jackass always pulls back just a tad further from where you need the most. Every time you push yourself back, a soft sigh slips out of his lips, sending it straight to the center of you. His hips roll harder against the couch shamelessly.
Dex wants to tease you a little bit more. He loves listening to your voice when you call his name. When you call him names. Between the breathless, filthy words, he feels like he’s the center of your world as much as you’re his. He wouldn’t want it any other way.
But the sharp sting from where your teeth dig into his forearm snaps something in him. “Do you want to do this or not?” you glare at him over your shoulder, aiming to be threatening, but you only sound needier to him. You can see the way his pupils blow wide when you “handle” him, even when he’s the one on top.
He returns the bite on your shoulder, making you hiss and turn on even more. Dex pulls his fingers out, glistening with your juice, and he puts them into his mouth, tongue swirling around them. Your breath hitches, chewing on your lower lip as you imagine what it would feel like if he had let you do that instead.
He pulls his fingers out with a loud pop, and his hands are suddenly everywhere. Gathering up the silk hem of your sleep dress, bunching it up past your waist.
You can hear the sharp snap of elastic as he hooks his fingers into your panties and yanks them down your thighs, discarding them to the floor. Then comes the sound of his zipper, loud in the quiet room, and off they go, his trousers land on the floor without a second thought.
He positions himself, the broad, leaking tip rubbing against your opening, teasing you until you whine again, his other arm holding you in a headlock. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs against your ear, his voice dropping into something thick and dangerous that sends another trail of goosebumps along your skin. “The things I’mma do to you…”
“Like what? Talking til– God!” You yelp, fingernails scratching the leather of the couch, panting when he drives forward, sinking into you in one long thrust that stretches you out so deliciously. Your vision goes white, your toes curl as your body molds around his thickness.
“Fuuuuck,” Dex groans. The man is heavy as hell on top of you, pinning you into the couch so hard you can barely move, but his body is actually shaking against your back.
He tries to stay still for you adjust, he really does. But he can’t help it. You feel too good. He needs more of this.
He needs more of you.
Dex buries his face in your hair, his breath hot and trembling. “You okay? Can I move? I need– Can I move? I can’t– I need you, please.”
Geez. Hearing him like that makes your stomach flip, knowing you’re the one who did that to him. You completely broke the most dangerous man in NY with just a bite and a pout.
The moment your hips tilt up, pushing back into him as an okay, he loses his mind. A broken and grateful little sound escapes him as he reciprocates, the arm around your neck tightening just a fraction over your windpipe.
“Yesss. Push back into me. Good girl. My good girl. Just like that.”
He flicks his tongue over the curve of your ear as his hips meet yours halfway, hitting the exact spot every time with that terrifying accuracy he usually uses in battle. Except you’re the willing participant.
You’re making all the embarrassing noises into the couch cushions as his free arm reaches down between your legs. He rubs his fingers in small circles where you’re connected, knowing it will drive you crazy. You feel like you’re gonna explode right then and there.
“You’re so good to me,” he nips your skin again, his pace getting faster and harder, the slap of skin on skin loud and dirty. “You want more? Please, just a little more? Okay, baby?”
You can’t even form words anymore. You just nod, blindly reaching back to pull him deeper. The room is completely gone. The dart game, the petty argument, and the half-assed threats? Gone, too.
There’s nothing but the loud, messy rhythm of you both losing yourselves in each other, and honestly, who cares?
Dex's been following you for weeks now and knows everything about you.
He knows how you take your coffee. Which brand of bread is your favorite. What you usually do on Thursday evenings when the week feels too long but still isn't over. Yeah? He knows everything. Right?
Or so he thought.
Then comes Friday. He's watching you walk into your favorite restaurant, the one you only go to when you're feeling fancy or meeting up with someone important. Like your boss or a business associate. But it's kinda late for a business meeting anyway.
He's suspicious.
So there he is, narrowing his eyes, looking through a pair of binoculars from his black SUV parked across the street. Not too far, but not too close either. He's good at keeping his distance. He's trained to do that.
Then he just freezes in his driver's seat.
His gaze darts between you and… you. What?
He lowers the binoculars and rubs his eyes in absolute disbelief before looking again.
