Gurlll your catch me if you can dex fanfic was simply one of the hottest thing I have ever read, I need you to give me a million more of just unhinged smutty dex fanfics. PLEASEEEE!
say less baby (read also: catch me if you can)
Angel
Benjamin 'Bullseye' Poindexter x fem!reader
✿ you manage to lose dex in a game of cat-and-mouse, but he doesn't give up that easily.
✿ 18+
✿ wc: 4k
✿ cw: fem!reader, DDBA!dex, established relationship, predator-prey, bullseye-typical violence (he kills someone), SMUT, straight porn hardly plot, prone-bone, outdoor sex, unprotected piv, knife play, improper use of a knife (hint: it goes inside you—and it’s not the blade), mentions of anal, praise!!, minor degradation, pet names (angel, baby, etc), pussy pronouns, dirty talk, possessive (obsessive) dex, strong language, british english author does her best with american english :(
inspired by the song 'angel' by massive attack
There is a physical pain deep in his chest. An ache, a festering bruise beneath the bone of his sternum as he stands in the middle of the street, his fists balled at his sides.
He doesn’t know how you’ve done it, but you’ve managed to lose him. You’ve managed to slip into the shadows and disappear, and he can’t find you.
It feels partly like a failure. When he turned onto the street he was sure you’d be running down, you weren’t there, and it was like a punch to the chest. You’re gone, and now his heart hammers wildly against his ribs as he sucks in a calming breath. His mind is running a million miles an hour, but he can’t help the small smile that graces his lips beneath his mask. You’ve escaped him. Perhaps he should give himself credit, considering he’s the one who taught you these tactical evasion skills.
When the humming in his brain eases—your face now at the forefront of his mind—he stretches out his arms, pops the tension from his elbows and shoulders, then saunters up the street. Your apartment is up ahead, but he knows you wouldn’t be dumb enough to hide from him there. You’re a smart girl.
Dex pauses outside your building, eyes scanning the dark alleyway to the left, then the line of shrubbery to the right.
“What’s with the mask?”
Dex slowly turns his head, finding a man staggering out of the alley. He leans against the brickwork, face pale and almost ghostly in the overhead street light. He gestures to Dex with a dirty hand, fingers strangling the neck of a nondescript liquor bottle as he hiccups out his sentence. Dex cocks his head as the man flips the jagged cap from the bottle with his thumb, and Dex watches it hit the sidewalk and roll towards him. It settles by his feet as the man takes a noisy swig.
“Oh, are you one of those vigilantes Fisk’s always jerking off over?” The man slurs, and Dex would’ve smiled beneath the mask, humoured, if he didn’t have more pressing matters. The man shakes his head, looking at Dex. “If you’re looking for someone, I saw a pretty broad take the fire escape up this building.”
Now Dex smiles to himself. Smart girl.
He bends and plucks the bottle cap from the ground, running his thumb across the rugged edge of the tin-plated steel. He takes a step forward, rolling the cap between his fingers, his shoulders hulking as he moves, but he doesn’t get far before the man is slurring out again, leaning against the brick wall for support.
“Runnin’ ‘round in a tight fuckin’ skirt, too. Fuck,” the man says, and Dex freezes.
He’s bathed in shadow now, the man a few paces behind him. The fire escape is just a few yards ahead of him and he could almost smell the lingering trail of your perfume. But he doesn’t move. He can’t move. The man’s words clatter around his skull like a ricocheting bullet, and a wasp-like humming returns to his brain. Slowly, he turns, and the man laughs all wet and sickly.
“I mean, if you’re not after her,” the man slurs, gesturing to the fire escape. “I s’pose I could follow—”
Dex whips his arm back and forth so fast that the action is dissolved by shadow. He throws the bottle cap with such force it whistles through the air, then slices straight between the drunken man’s eyes in a spray of blood. The man’s head snaps back, head cracking against the brick wall, before he slumps and hits the ground. The bottle clatters to the ground and rolls from his lax fingers, spinning out onto the pavement with a trail of beer following.
Dex huffs, then turns and heads straight for the fire escape, leaving the man dead in the mouth of the alley, a bottle cap embedded so deep in the front of his skull Dex was sure it had disappeared into his brain. He’d be disappointed if it hadn’t.
He takes the stairs three at a time, careful to tread carefully. The metal doesn’t creak despite his muscled weight, and he creeps towards the roof like a prowling cat. He passes dark windows, knowing you wouldn’t take the chance. He knows you’ll be hiding somewhere on the roof. His angel is smart, but she won’t have flown far.
Silently, he clambers onto the roof. City lights glitter around him, but the shadows are thick here. Boxy electrical units and crumbling chimneys make for some kinds of hiding spots, but he knows you better than that. Knows you would’ve hidden yourself away in the furthest, darkest corner with a victorious smile on your face.
He stalks across the roof slowly, humming quietly to himself. He unsheaths one of his knives and twirls it through his fingers as he rounds a stack of electricity boxes and finds you hunkered in the corner, eyes scanning the city street below. You don’t turn, and that makes Dex chuckle—the sound you finally hear, whipping around to find your boyfriend staring right at you.
“Dex!” You yelp, and you make a movement to the side as if you were going to take off running.
But Dex doesn’t let you. He throws his knife and it slices through the air mere inches in front of your face, forcing you to throw yourself back as it lodges into the brickwork behind you. And that’s when Dex lunges forward: wrapping his arms around your waist and forcing you down onto the cool floor, hands and knees finding dried leaves and crumbling mortar.
You wriggle desperately, trying to drag yourself out of his grasp. But he pins you to the ground, chest tight against your back, his pelvis heavy on the swell of your arse. Whining, you reach a hand back in a poor attempt to push him away. But he grabs your wrist and pins your arm to your side, making you squeal.
A muscled arm curls around your neck, a gloved hand pressing firm to your mouth and muffling your noise. You cry out again as he presses you deeper against the floor, masked face coming to rest right beside your ear.
“Trying to run, angel?” He coos, releasing your arm so he could anchor himself over you. He leans on his forearm, his bicep straining beneath the material of his navy suit. “You were so close, weren’t you?”
You whine against his hand, and he chuckles in your ear, knowing he was asking you questions you couldn’t answer. You continue writhing beneath him, but that just morphs his chuckles into groans as he ruts his hips against your arse. The thick, muscled mass of his stomach and chest is warm against your back, and you find yourself growing hot beneath your clothes, your pussy fluttering tight under the cotton of your underwear.
“Thought you had a chance, didn’t you?” Dex utters, rubbing his face against the side of yours. You close your eyes and whimper, feeling him inhale beneath his mask, the heat of his mouth under the material like a burning brand at the curve of your jaw. He hums, fingers squeezing your cheek. “That’s a bit dumb, baby. You could’ve made it to the Catskills and I still would’ve found you.”
He grinds himself against your arse and you moan into his palm. You feel the hard lines of him rutting against you, cool air on the backs of your thighs as your skirt rides up, up, and over the curve of your backside. You moan again as he gives another heavy jerk against you, the tight fabric of your skirt rolling up even further, exposing the flimsy cotton of your underwear.
Dex groans in your ear, his entire body shuddering above you. “Oh, my sweet girl, m’gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”
You blink lazily, looking around the roof. It’s dark and empty, and you can hear the bustling streets of New York echoing in the air around you. The seclusion of it all has you moaning into his palm again, the print of his hard cock heavy against you.
The palm on your mouth presses tighter and the backs of your lips press hard against your teeth. You whimper, heart leaping into your throat, as Dex grumbles low in your ear, “M’gonna take my hand away. You’re gonna be a good girl, and you’re gonna be quiet, yeah?”
You nod desperately, clit aching as he gently grinds himself against you. The roof of your building is bitingly cold and way too hard against your chest and stomach, but you don’t care—you take it like he wants you to, laying still while he removes his hand from your mouth and gives you a firm pat on the cheek. You feel your entire body heat up, a sticky warmth quick to pool in your belly as his hand drags down your side and finds the clasp of his belt. You hear it clink, and the sound has you fighting off a moan, your teeth sinking into your lip to trap the sound in your throat.
Dex chuckles as he sits up a little, still pressing you into the ground, but enough for him to unbuckle the belt of his suit and undo the zip. “Bet you’re fuckin’ soaked, huh, baby? Pussy makin’ a mess of these pretty panties?”
His hand leaves his belt as he speaks. With the mass of his thighs, he nudges your legs apart. You can’t help the quiet mewl that leaves you as cool air hits the gusset of your underwear, and you know how wet you are based on the bite of the breeze against your puffy clit. You wriggle, but his other hand pins you down.
You hear another clinking sound, before you feel something firm against your covered folds. It’s heavy and almost metallic in nature, and you suck in a gasp when you realise it’s the hilt of one of his knives. You freeze, body alight with heat, and Dex chuckles, pressing the base of his knife against you and parting your folds beneath the wet cotton.
“Y’think she’ll take this like she takes my cock?” He utters, dragging the base of his knife’s handle up your folds before pressing it to your hole. Your pussy flutters, drooling out as you whimper, pressing your cheek to the cement to ground yourself. He chuckles again, before drawing the knife’s grip up even more until it rests against your arsehole. “And what about her? I could stretch her out nice and good if you ask me nicely, angel.”
You squirm beneath him, a moan lifting from your throat before you could stop it. It’s soft, not too loud, but it makes Dex tut anyway. Quickly, he sits back and takes your underwear between his fingers, pulling it away from your slick folds so he could slice through the material with the blade of his knife. The fabric snaps away from you, and you find yourself moaning again as the cool night air kisses up against your cunt.
Then, his knife is back on your pussy—without the barrier this time, spreading your folds and tracing a series of heavy lines up and down your slit. You whimper when the end nudges your clit, then circles it like he would with his finger, before pressing down with just enough pressure to make you arch against him. You whisper his name, and he groans in response, sliding the knife back down and tapping it against your hole.
“So wet,” Dex marvels and he watches as he slowly brings his knife an inch or so away from your cunt. A string of slick webs between you, and it makes his cock twitch in his briefs. He grunts, pushing the handle back against your hole and this time, letting it sink in even further. It breaches inwards, and you suck him in so well that another groan rips from his chest. It’s primal, his eyes flashing as he pants behind his mask. “Yeah, fuckin’ hell, baby. She’s gonna take it like my cock.”
You breathe around a moan as he sinks the knife in deeper. Pressure forms deep in your pelvis, a heat festering in your belly as your pussy contracts around the intrusion but lets him in anyway. Something prickles down your spine as you realise you’re drooling around the hilt, slick dribbling as he pushes in, then brings it out by an inch or two, then pushes back in again.
“Dex,” you whimper, body shaking. The knot in your pelvis tightens when he bottoms the knife out inside you, hole dangerously close to the blade. But you trust him—you trust him with your life as his gloved hand clutches the blade, eyes watching your pussy take it. You whimper again when you realise he isn’t moving. “Dex, baby—”
“No,” he hisses out simply, pulling the handle out.
It leaves you completely, and you mewl, arching in an attempt to chase it. Dex grunts, smacking the base of the handle against your cunt, making you sob out and collapse forward. He pushes back in then, eyes darting from where he splits your pussy open to where you whimper into the crook of your arm.
“You thought you could get away from me. You thought you could hide,” Dex says, and they’re more statements than rhetorical questions. He fucks the handle of his knife into you again and again, your cunt glistening wet and loud where he drags it in and out of you. He holds you against the ground as he continues. “I had to kill a man to get to you, baby. What if he had found you first, huh? What if you did lose me?”
Your entire body stiffens, eyes shooting open. You try to look over your shoulder at him, but Dex knows exactly where to aim, thrusting the base of the handle right up against that gummy spot inside you that has you collapsing back onto the ground.
You whimper around a poorly formed Dex!, before you finally manage to spit some of your sentence out: “What did you—?”
“I took care of it,” Dex growls, his arm speeding up as he rucks the knife into you again and again. His cock is painfully hard in his briefs, but he holds off, watching the way your pussy drools around his knife, your entire body shaking as he hits that perfect spot every single time. He nods to himself, mind flitting briefly to the man slumped dead in the alley. “I took care of it, angel. I took care of you.”
A sick thrill runs through you. You should be scared, but you aren’t. “Dex…”
“I did, I did,” Dex breathes out, slightly muffled behind his mask. “I did, baby. I’ll always take care of you.”
Your body is on fire. The pressure in your pelvis, the heat in your belly, swells inside you. You shake against the ground, the hard, metallic handle of his knife hitting your g-spot each time and it’s leaving you dizzy with your approaching orgasm. You can almost taste it building in the back of your throat, and all you can manage to squeak out is a meek oh, Dex! before the heat ignites and you’re coming around the knife.
Dex groans. “There she goes, that’s it, good girl.”
He fucks you through it with deep, rolling thrusts of his arm. The muscles contract beneath the tight sleeve as he moves, and his eyes never leave the way your cunt clenches around it, slick glistening against the handle. You shudder one last time, hips twitching, before you still as the fire of your orgasm reduces to smoke, and you lie pliant against the cool floor.
Slowly, Dex pulls the knife from you. You whimper, feeling your pussy flutter around nothing while Dex slides the knife back into his belt without even wiping it down. Eyelids fluttering, you lie in wait, listening to him shuck his pants down with a well restrained groan.
The hot press of his tip against your folds snaps your eyes open.
“Shh, baby, easy,” he mutters when you cry out. He fists himself, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, smearing your slick. He quickly finds your hole and pushes against it, not quite driving in. He rests there, pre-cum beading from his slit and smearing across your hole. “God, I’ve missed her.”
He thrusts in then. It’s unceremonious and sudden and you don’t even have the time to moan before he’s buried to the hilt. Your breath is stolen from you, and you gasp into the skin of your forearm as Dex moans, the sound loud in the silence around you. He falls back over you now, holding himself up, his chest and stomach melding to your back. You manage a little whimper as he nestles inside you, splitting your pussy apart around the thick of him.
He adjusts himself, grinding his hips against your arse. The movement means you can feel every little ridge sliding against your walls, the weight of his balls resting near your swollen clit. You whimper again, and he coos to match it, tutting you quietly as he slowly drags himself out of you.
“Bet that feels good, doesn’t it?” Dex whispers, masked face right beside your ear. He holds himself over you, shoulders hulking, suit stretched tight over his back as he rests the tip of his cock inside you. He pushes back in, the fabric of his pants bunched down around his thighs, rubbing against your legs. “It always feels good.”
You moan. “Dex, fuck.”
“Uh-uh, what did I say?” Dex mutters at your ear, hovering over you now as he fucks you. His hips slap against your arse where you’re pinned to the ground, pronebone and completely crushed beneath his mass. “Gotta be quiet. Wouldn’t want anyone comin’ up here, would we? I’d have to kill ‘em, baby.”
You whine. “Dex, no—”
“Yes,” he whines, mocking you with a smile split wide beneath his mask. “So keep those noises just for me.”
The thick of his cock splits your pussy apart, the stretch always rendering you breathless. He ruts in quickly, desperately, and the tip slams against that perfect spot inside you every single time. He’s on target every single time. You shouldn’t expect anything less from Bullseye.
You gnaw at your lower lip as you bury your face into your forearm, holding back your sobs of pleasure as heat starts simmering inside you again. That familiar pressure treks down the column of your spine too, and you whimper when it settles low in your belly, fanning across your womb.
Not that you know it, but Dex is much the same. His heart knocks wildly against his ribs as if he were still chasing you—he thinks, in some ways, he still is—and the buzzing in his brain is completely gone. All he’s thinking of is you, and all he wants is you. You’re all he needs, and no one will ever keep you from him.
“You’re mine, angel,” he whispers suddenly. One of his arms snakes around your throat again, pulling your face from your arm and pinning your head up. You gasp as he locks you into a chokehold, his grip gentle but firm. As he thrusts, one of his hands shifts to push part of his mask up, just revealing his mouth. He kisses your cheek. “You can’t run from me.”
He forces your head to the side so he can kiss you.
He kisses you, and you struggle to meet his intensity with the way he fucks you. You’re pliant in his arms, little whimpers melding against his lips as his tongue licks across yours and he slides his mouth forward. You swap spit and pant into each other’s space, and it’s barely even a kiss, but Dex loves it. He kisses the corner of your mouth as he groans, hips pumping, bicep tight on your throat.
“You were made for me,” he whispers, dragging his mouth across your warm cheek. He licks the salt from your skin, skims his teeth across your cheekbone. He noses along your pulse next, head dipping to plant wet kisses below your ear and along the back of your jaw. “My perfect girl.”
There will never be an I love you from Dex. What you have is not the love you see in movies, or in romance books. He is possessive and obsessive and so violently jealous that he’d rather rip the world apart before letting you go—and you know that. You know that, and you still can’t help but love him right back.
“Dex, please,” you whimper as he buries his face in your neck. The pressure in your lower belly is too much. Beneath your clothes, you’re tacky with sweat, and your thighs shake where he presses into you.
He knows you’re close. He probably knew before you even did.
“Let me feel you,” he says, thrusting, maintaining a deep, even rhythm. He listens to the way you moan and yowl beneath him, trying so hard to be quiet. He can feel the sounds vibrate in your throat where he sucks and bites at the skin. “I wanna feel you come, baby. You can do that for me, yeah? Just be a good girl and come all over my cock. Let me have it.”
Dex draws the line of your orgasm right in front of you, and your body practically flings you across it. Your entire body seizes up, trembling as the pressure in your belly fissures then shatters. You come hard around him, pussy clenching tight around the thick of his cock, and you moan his name loud enough that it echoes. He doesn’t seem to mind, and neither do you, as he fucks you through it, panting into your neck as his hips move. Heat flushes through your body as you shake beneath him, and you can’t help the whimpers that interrupt your moans when he starts rambling in your ear.
“That’s a good girl, that’s a good girl. Fuck, my best girl,” he utters, grunting and groaning in such a way that your clit aches with the heaviness of your heartbeat. He growls next, hips stuttering. “M’gonna fill this fuckin’ pussy, baby.”
He does. Groaning your name, quiet and bordering on a whine, Dex pushes his hips right up against your arse, cock knocking up against the plug of your cervix, and spills. He fills you, hips grinding, rolling, trying desperately to cling onto some kind of control, but he’s completely lost it. He pants around a pained whine as he comes, nosing your thrumming pulse. Thick and warm and so, so full.
When he finishes, his cock jerking and balls tightening with one last thrust, he eases down onto you. You whine as he smothers your body beneath his, trapping you beneath his mass. He shushes you, one of his hands pulling his mask off so his sweat-slick forehead can rest against your shoulder while he catches his breath.
His spine aches, but he ignores it. The muscles in his shoulders and back ripple when he rolls onto his side. He spins you then, his softening cock falling free of your pussy as he pulls you to him, one big hand immediately finding the fat of your arse to palm.
You both listen to the distant wail of sirens as you settle into the shadows.
You shiver, and Dex holds you tighter. So tight, you wonder if he’s afraid you’ll try to run again.
“I like it when you catch me,” you whisper, lifting your head to press a small kiss to his jaw. “Don’t like being without you.”
Dex smiles to himself, a deep rumble—almost a purr—vibrating through his chest as he shifts his head to catch your lips with his. He kisses you deeply as the sound of sirens get louder and louder and the world seems to light up blue around him.
Licking on dex scar during missionary… that alone will drive him crazy. he’d get sloppy afterwards mumbling and cursing bcs you could do anything to taunt him; he has the patience for it all but licking the scar??? wheww that’d do it….
WHEWWW
and at first he would be thrusting into you slowly and lovingly, his cock sinking into your tummy and drawing little gasps from you. your quivering legs just closing in on his waist every time he draws back and pushes his length into your cunt. and with how tender dex is being it makes you so needy that you just want to kiss him :(( making grabby hands at him until he smiles and lowers his head down for you, letting you wrap your arms around his neck. “needy girl..” he’ll mumble, knowing he totally loves it when you get like this.
you’re just pecking at his lips and his neck, whines of dex.. and feels s’good.., sweetly leaving your lips after every smooch. you’ve pulled him so close that your cheeks are pressed together and you could hear his breaths in your ear, hard panting and strained groans every so often. and you really weren’t thinking when you did it, your lips were already kissing at his cheekbones when you decided to lick a long stripe against his scar. tongue gliding over the damaged skin with a pant as you hold him close to you, tasting the sweat of darkened scar. and dex just stills in his movements, his cock still snug in between your legs as he takes in how fucking hot that was.
you hear dex groan out a rough, “fuck..”, his hands moving from holding behind your head to gripping at your hips, sloppily pounding into your cunt with need. and he hits right at your g-spot extracting a sob from your throat, instinctively hiding into dexs shoulder. “hey, stop that. keep doing what you were doing sweetheart.. for me yeah?” dex urges, taking one of his hands from your hips and pulling your head from his neck. with tears running down your face you start to lap at dexs face again, and you give him little kitten licks at his scar with a whimper.
his mouth curls into a grin and he bites his lip, eyes shut in pleasure as his hips rock into you harshly. “atta girl just like that..” you hear, feeling your core tighten up with an intense orgasm creeping up on you.
you can barely keep up steady licks on dexs cheek, only managing a slick stripe on his skin every moment from how much he’s rocking you back and forth on the bed. and his thrusts stutter when you clench around his length, tightly squeezing around him while you cum, his cock having to pry itself from your sopping folds. dex is mumbling curses in your ear and you know he’s about to cum himself, cos he gets all sloppy and hazy, cock pulsing with the need to paint your walls. dex plunges his load in your hole with lowly moan — you’re hiding in his shoulder again, and his face is all messy with spit because of you!
you're too young for me!dex's life and morals all fall apart the second his eyes land on you. your laughter catching his attention and his mind doesn't register when his body does full 180° degree turn towards you. you're probably too young for him but you look so goddamn breathtaking in that short dress. and your smile? he can't look away.
you're too young for me!dex who feels his brain short circuit when you sit next to him. 'one more shot of tequila please!' you say to the bartender and look over at him, tilting your head to get a better look. he looks you up and down closer now, remembering your features - plush lips, pretty doe eyes, flushed cheeks, messy hair. he could give a detailed explanation of how you look like just in matter of seconds.
you're too young for me!dex who goes absolutely batshit crazy when you wrap your soft arms around his neck and plant a little kiss on his lips, inviting him inside your place after he walked you home. dex hesitates, oh he hesitates so bad. he knows how wrong it is but how can he say no to a pretty little thing like you. he curses and enters your apartment, picking you up while you guide him to your bedroom.
you're too young for me!dex who gives you the best time of your life, only focusing on your pleasure all night. he touches you like you're fragile, he kisses you so softly you feel like you're in heaven. 'look at you' he mumbles, looking at your fucked out face. oh he's so obsessed over you already, the way you sound, the way you smell and how soft your skin is. dex is consumed by you. he wants to be ruined by you.
you're too young for me!dex gets so shy when you initiate something first. yes, he may tire you out too much but you like kissing him a little too much, so you push him against you one more before you fall asleep. 'you're so sweet to me' you whisper as you pass out, too overstimulated, hangover and tired, but satisfied. dex melts at the sight of you and desperately hugs you to his chest. he stares at you softly snoring all night, watches every time your eyelashes flutter, every time your body twitches.
you're too young for me!dex who gathers all information about you and your personal life in a span of a few days. you already tell him lots about you but he wants to know everything there is. he knows every time you're upset with the way your jaw clenches and eyebrows furrow together. he kisses your forehead and offers to take you out on a date, or order takeout and watch your favorite show.
you're too young for me!dex who just can never get enough of you. he claims he's not too touchy but who is he lying to? his hands are constantly on you no matter where you are. dex loves to wrap his arms around your waist, pressing you to his back when you're cooking and plant his face in the crook of your neck which is his favorite part of your body. he enjoys hiding his face in there, especially when sleeping or waking up to you.
you're too young for me!dex who gets so jealous and possessive every time someone approaches you with the intention of hitting you up. to him that's every guy that looks at you. 'I'm not jealous' he claims and gets so grumpy when you tease him about it. when you try to kiss him he pulls away on purpose, it makes you laugh more, knowing he won't be able to resist against you longer than ten minutes, max fifteen if he tries real hard.
older boyfriend!dex who just loves to spoil you endlessly. be it with gifts, dates or kisses and affection. only thing you complain about is him not leaving you alone (you don't want him to leave you alone). you feel his eyes on you when you're home, laying on your couch and reading; when you're out with friends, or when you leave work late at night - you know he's always watching and the thing is - you let him. you let him have that 'control' over you because the end of the day you have him wrapped around your finger.
Benjamin Poindexter never raised his voice at you.
He got sharp sometimes. Quiet and distant. His jaw would lock up so hard you thought his teeth might crack, but yelling? That wasn’t Dex. Dex controlled himself with brutal precision because he knew exactly what happened when he didn’t.
Which was why the second it happened, the entire apartment went dead silent.
“Can you just stop talking for one second?!”
The words hit harder than they should have.
You froze in the kitchen doorway, still holding the glass of water you’d brought him.
Dex stood near the table, shoulders tight, breathing uneven. There were dark circles under his eyes, his FBI jacket half-unzipped, hands trembling faintly from exhaustion. He’d barely slept in two days. Barely eaten. Every muscle in his body looked wound too tight.
But the second he saw your face—
He broke.
“No—”
The anger vanished instantly, like someone ripped it out of him.
His expression collapsed into horror.
“No no no…”
The glass shook slightly in your hand as Dex stumbled toward you too fast, panic flooding his features.
“I didn’t mean that.” His voice cracked immediately. “I didn’t—I wasn’t yelling at you, I just—”
He swallowed hard, eyes already watering.
You’d seen dex kill a man without blinking.
But this?
This destroyed him.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter now. Desperate. “Please don’t look at me like that.”
You hadn’t even realized you looked hurt until he said it.
Dex grabbed both sides of his head like he was trying to physically stop himself from unraveling.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated shakily. “I’m so fucking tired and everything’s loud and I—I took it out on you and I swore I’d never do that.”
His breathing became uneven.
Then the tears started.
Not dramatic nor manipulative. Just terrified.
He looked at you like he genuinely believed one wrong move would make you leave.
“Please say something,” he whispered.
The glass barely made it onto the counter before he caught your wrists carefully, almost afraid you’d pull away.
“I didn’t mean it,” he kept saying, voice breaking more each time. “I don’t want to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”
“Dex—”
“I know what I sound like when I lose control—I didn't mean it I swear” A tear slid down his face and he looked furious at himself for it. “I know what I am when I get like this.”
Your chest tightened.
Because beneath the exhaustion and panic, there it was—
Fear.
Not fear of being alone.
Fear of becoming someone dangerous to you.
Dex lowered his head suddenly, gripping your hands tighter.
“I’m trying so hard,” he said quietly, crying now without even hiding it. “I’m trying so hard to be good with you.”
That did it.
You pulled him into you immediately.
His entire body jerked in surprise before he folded against you like he was holding himself together by threads alone. One arm wrapped around your waist so tightly it almost hurt while the other covered his face.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against your shoulder over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
You ran your fingers through his hair carefully.
“You scared me for a second,” you admitted softly.
Dex let out a broken sound that was halfway to a sob.
“I know.”
“But I’m not leaving.”
He went still.
Then he finally looked at you, eyes red and wet, like he didn’t quite believe what he heard.
“You’re not?”
You shook your head gently.
Dex stared at you for a long moment before pressing his forehead against yours, breathing shakily.
“Don’t be nice to me right now, slap me, punch me...” he whispered painfully. “I don’t deserve it. You're being too kind to me.”
Your thumb brushed under his eye.
“Good thing I decide that. Not you.”
For the first time all night, his shoulders finally loosened.
ᯓ SUMMARY : just two people trying to save a relationship that's falling apart.
ᯓ WARNINGS : emotional dependency (we're talking about s3 dex here), obsessive behavior, lots of angst, smut, oral (f! receiving), p in v, too much emotions, slight choking, crying, petnames, mentions of alcohol and cigs│word count: 3k
it’s late at night. you’re outside alone, drunk and tired after a party your friends forced you to go to. you sit down at the random bench, looking up at the sky. lots of stars tonight, you think to yourself.
you look down at your phone. 4:56am. you glance at 32 unread messages from dex. you take a single cigarette that your friend gave you out of your purse and light it up.
you get flashbacks of the fight you had with him. everything hits harder now that you’re drunk and vulnerable. tears slowly fall down your eyes. you look down at the ground and curse yourself. your phone buzzes again.
33 unread messages from dex.
you let out this weak laugh that sounds more miserable than amused and bring the cigarette back to your lips with shaking fingers.
where are you?
please answer.
did i do something wrong?
can you just tell me if you’re okay?
the cigarette burns slowly between your fingers while cars pass in the distance. the city feels strangely empty this late. cold. like the entire world has gone quiet except for the noise in your head. you close your eyes for a second and immediately hear his voice again.
“you don’t even look at me anymore.”
the argument started over something stupid. dex asked if you wanted to stay over at his apartment tonight. you said you already promised your friends you’d go out with them. he got quiet after that. you knew what was coming before it even started.
“you’ve been avoiding me.”
“i’m not avoiding you, dex.”
“then why does it feel like I have to beg to see you lately?”
you remember feeling exhausted immediately. the second he said it, something inside you just slumped in defeat. because there was no right answer anymore. if you apologized, he’d ask if you still loved him. if you got defensive, he’d shut down completely.
so instead you just rubbed your face tiredly and whispered, "can we not do this tonight?”
and dex looked at you in this awful way. like you’d just confirmed his worst fear.
you inhale smoke too hard and start coughing. your eyes sting. you don’t know if it’s from the cigarette or crying. another buzz.
you unlock your phone finally. 33 messages become visible all at once.
please answer me.
i’m sorry.
you can stay out if you want i just want to know you’re safe.
i know i ruined tonight for you.
please don’t ignore me.
i love you.
i’m sorry for making everything difficult.
can you just say something?
your chest hurts. because even now, even after everything, you know he means every word. that’s the problem. if dex were cruel, leaving would be easier. but he loves you so earnestly that it feels like drowning in something soft. you stare at the messages until your vision blurs.
then your phone rings.
dex.
your thumb hovers over the screen for a long time before you finally answer. there’s silence for a second. then his voice. small. careful.
“hey.”
you close your eyes.
“hey.”
he exhales shakily like he’s been holding his breath for hours.
“where are you?”
“outside.”
“outside where?”
“i don’t know. somewhere downtown.”
another pause. you can hear him moving around in his apartment restlessly.
“are you drunk?”
“a little.”
“are you safe?”
you laugh weakly again. “you ask me that every time.”
“because i worry.”
“dex…”
your voice breaks unexpectedly. the silence on the other end changes instantly.
“hey,” he says softly. “don’t cry.”
that almost makes it worse. tears slide down your cheeks harder now and you wipe at them angrily.
“i’m not.”
“you are.”
you hear him grab his keys.
“stay where you are. i’ll come get you.”
immediately your stomach twists. because the second you see him, you’ll forgive him again. because the second he touches you gently, you’ll remember how much you still love him.
"okay" you give up.
when you see him, the morning is already bleeding into the sky. he looks like he hasn’t slept. hair messy, eyes tired, hands shoved into his pockets like he doesn’t know what to do with them. he stops when he sees you.
you stand up slowly. for a second, neither of you speaks. then he says your name. soft - like it’s something fragile. you walk to him without thinking and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours.
“you scared me,” he says quietly.
“i told you i was outside.” you shrug.
“that’s not what i meant.” he steps closer. “we’ve been getting worse,” he says.
“yeah.” you laugh weakly.
he nods like that hurts more than he expected.
“i don’t know how to fix it.”
you look at him then and see he’s trying so hard it almost breaks you. but trying isn’t the same as changing. and you don’t know how to tell him that without destroying him. so you just say, “me neither.”that lands heavier than anything else.
“i keep thinking if i say the right thing, maybe it’ll go back to normal.”
your eyes burn again.
“me too.”
that seems to break something in him a little. dex covers his face with one hand, breathing shakily. you move toward him automatically and your fingers touch his wrist gently.
he looks at you immediately.there’s so much love in his expression it nearly makes you cry again. you lean forward and kiss him softly but desperately at the same time, like you’re trying to save something.
dex kisses you back carefully at first, then deeper, one hand sliding shakily against your jaw. for a few seconds it feels normal again. familiar. warm. then you pull away and the sadness comes rushing back immediately. because kisses don’t fix things anymore.
"lets get you home, sweetheart" dex rests his forehead against yours.
the ride home is filled with heavy silence. he's holding your hand, like it's keeping him sane. he's breathing louder and deeper. dex can't bring himself to look at you because he thinks he'll break down immediately.
he helps you go up the stairs of his apartment, his big calloused hand firm on the small of your back. you're not drunk anymore but still wobbly, your legs are tired and you give up. you stand still and look up at dex.
"c'mere baby" he picks you up bridal style immediately. placing a soft kiss on your forehead. "you're so tired, aren't you?" he whispers and takes you into his apartment, laying you down on his bed.
"thank you, dex" you say while refusing to let go of his neck, you pull him into you. his face in the crook of your neck. his hands find your waist and wrap his arms around you.
"we gotta take the clothes off, honey" he grumbles in your neck. he inhales your smell and exhales loudly, all the stress leaving his body now that he's back in your arms.
"I'm too sleepy, benji"
he smiles at the nickname and starts kissing your neck, slowly getting to your face. dex stares deeply into your eyes.
"I love you" he whispers.
"I love you, too"
he slowly kisses your lips, like he's afraid you'll break. his hands are shaking nervously at your sides so he tries to put some force on you, squeezing your waist. the kiss gets desperate soon enough. your breath turns shaky but he can't let go of you. he slides his hand on your throat and slightly presses his fingers around you.
dex starts to go down your neck, placing soft kisses at the corner of your mouth, then at your jaw, behind your ear, at your collarbone. he squeezes your throat harder.
"I don't know how to live without you" he admits with shaky voice, letting go of you. you bring both of your hands up to hold his face, softly smiling at him with teary eyes.
"my pretty boy" you kiss his cheek, his forehead, his nose and corners of his mouth. then back to his lips again. he exhales through the kiss, which gets very messy afterwards. dex trying to hold you everywhere, his hands moving from your arms to your waist and hips then holding the backs of your thighs. you grab the back of his hair to try to push him unimaginably closer to you.
"I need you", he goes back to your throat once again, softly biting your neck. "I need you so bad", he exhales loudly, his hands bruising your waist.
"I'm all yours, dex" you whisper in his ear and he loses all his senses at your words. he aggressively tugs at your dress, trying desperately to take it off while leaving marks all over your neck.
you take this as a chance to pull his shirt up and he helps you pull it over his head. dex's eyes find you when your dress comes off, you nod at him. you're just as desperate as him. you missed this more than anything.
"fuck", you whimper once you feel his mouth between your chest, his cold hands easily taking your bra apart. dex starts to kiss your chest, sucking your hardened nipple while squeezing another one. he starts to go down your stomach, looking up at you to make sure you're okay. you feel butterflies when you see his needy eyes filled with lust.
dex doesn't stop, he keeps going lower and lower. he reaches your legs and pushes them apart to make space for himself. you try to fight it but it's no use.
"don't be shy, sweetheart", he kisses inside of your thighs, already feeling your heat. then he pushes your panties to the side and places a breathy kiss directly on your clit. your hands immediately find his hair, angrily tugging on him.
"dex.." you moan out and he feels like he's in heaven. he starts to explore your cunt, feeling your sweetness and it makes your head go backwards, eyes closing at the pleasure.
"are you this wet for me, honey?" dex asks, his mouth still on your exposed pussy. he just can't let go of you.
"mhmm" you barely manage to mumble, pleasure taking over your body but he's not satisfied.
"I need to hear you say it, baby" he pushes his tongue deep inside your hole. "please, for me".
your eyes roll back, exhaling loudly. he uses the chance to push two of his fingers inside. "yes, dex" you moan out a bit too quickly at the new sensation. his fingers already making you feel stretched out and full.
"good girl" he breathes into you again, his breath making you shiver. you feel goosebumps all over your body. "you taste so good, so sweet, just f'me".
hearing the praise, you feel yourself getting closer to the edge. your hand tugs at his hair harder, pushing him closer to you and it makes him groan. you feel the vibrations all over your body and you feel like you're seeing stars. your moans getting louder and messy, chanting his name like a prayer.
"dex, I'm close, I'm so close, please don't stop, please" you beg desperately, trying to keep yourself together but failing miserably.
"I know, baby, I know, let go f'me, you're doing so good" the praise sends you over the edge and you feel the knot in your body releasing. you feel the orgasm crashing through your whole body, making you shake and moan uncontrollably.
dex keeps kissing you through it, trying to make it last longer for you. he licks up all the wetness and doesn't seem like he wants to stop anytime soon until you weakly push his head away.
he comes up to you while you're panting, already too tired and phased out. dex can't help himself and stares at you while you calm down. "you're perfect" his hand comes up to stroke your cheek and wipe the small tear away from your eye.
he goes in for a kiss. you taste yourself on his mouth and tongue. it all gets messier again, neither of you can breathe properly. dex pushes his bulge between your legs, trying to feel some kind of friction because he's been holding it back too much now.
"need to be inside you, baby, please" he begs, voice shaky and desperate. you tug at his pants and help him take it off. dex exhales once again and presses his cock inside your folds. he immediately loses himself at the contact and pushes his face in the crook of your neck.
"fuuuuck" he moans out while pushing the tip inside you. gathering your slick and pushing it in one strong motion. you almost choke on your breath, feeling the drastic stretch of his dick inside you. your walls flutter around him.
"dex!" you scream out his name, eyes rolling back, your nails dig harshly at his back. dex loses himself inside you, he's going feral. his pace picking up way too quickly, completely drunk in you.
"need you, need you so goddamn much" he chants the same words over and over again. you feel the second orgasm building up even though your body is tired. dex feels your walls squeeze around him. his hand goes up your throat, long fingers wrapping around your neck, softly squeezing it to make you look up at him. his cock twitches at the eye contact, he feels himself getting close too.
"don't look away from me, sweetheart, okay? eyes on me" he says and slides his hand down your folds, finding your clit and slowly circling around it. you lose you control but try to follow his command, eye contact making you feel dizzy and shy, your face turning even more red than it already is. dex chuckles at that and brings up his hand again to hold your pretty face.
"I can't last any longer, pretty" his pace picks up "I need to..." he forgets to finish his sentence, solely focusing on your orgasm before he crashes. he kisses your lips harshly, biting your lower lip and holding your face impossibly closer to him.
you moan into the kiss, into his mouth, feeling another release shock throughout your body again. it hits way harder than the first one, eyes rolling back, seeing stars, screaming out dex's name and desperately digging your nails into his skin. he watches you carefully. your pleasure is his last straw as he uncontrollably finishes and fills you up fully. not letting a single drop leak out of you.
dex exhales and drops his body on top of you, his face in your neck, your hands immediately wrapping around his back. he hugs you back, turning you over to the side and pushing your face against his chest, softly stroking your hair, kissing your forehead.
"I'm sorry" he whispers above your head.
"why?" you ask.
"for not being good enough"
you push yourself up to look at him, holding his face in your hands. "honey-" you start but he interrupts you.
"no, you don't have to- I know, okay? I know you deserve better than me, I know that" he sounds frustrated, all his pent up emotions finally breaking out. "it's just that- I need you to stay, okay? I- I promise-"
he looks at you with so much love in his eyes, softly rubbing his thumb on your cheek. "I promise I'll be better" he admits with teary eyes. "I'm trying, I'm trying really hard"
"I know, honey" you wipe away his tears. "I love you"
"I can't handle not being around you" his voice sounds broken. "I need you to breathe- to think, to feel normal" dex kisses you again, like he's trying to make you understand what he's feeling. "only you can fix me"
“you don't need any fixing, dex. we’re gonna be alright, okay? i promise” your smile immediately melts his heart, the tension in his face slowly softening beneath your hands. for a second he just looks at you quietly, like he’s trying to memorize every part of you before the moment disappears.
“you really think so?” he asks softly.
“yeah,” you whisper. “i do.”
dex lets out a shaky breath and leans into your touch without even realizing it. he looks exhausted, emotionally wrung out, but calmer now. safer somehow. like your hands on his face are enough to keep the world from falling apart for one more night.
you brush your thumb beneath his eyes gently. “you don’t have to carry everything alone all the time.”
his lashes lower slightly at that.
“i don’t know how not to.”
“then we’ll figure it out together.”
the words settle over him slowly. you can see it happening in real time - the panic easing, the fear loosening its grip around his chest. he wraps his arms around your waist carefully, forehead pressing against yours while he closes his eyes.
“i love you so much,” he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. “sometimes it scares me.”
your chest aches hearing that. you kiss him softly this time, slow and lingering, and he melts into it immediately. no desperation now. no panic. just warmth. when you pull away, he stays close enough that your noses still brush together.
outside, rain taps softly against the apartment windows. the room feels warm and dim and sleepy, your favorite lamp casting gold light across the floor while dex holds onto you like you’re something precious.
maybe neither of you knows what the future looks like yet. maybe there are still hard days waiting. but right now, he’s here. your hands are in his hair. his heartbeat is steady beneath your palms. and for the first time in a while, neither of you feels like you’re losing each other.
bf!dex who looks way too pleased with himself when you get angry enough to hit him.
you two make a very disfunctional couple, that much could be said. you patch him up from knife and bullet wounds more often than you go out on dates, and you're constantly arguing about dex's obsessive, infuriating need to keep everything in your life under his control.
on particularly bad fights, you make him grovel for days.
dex will mostly spend them chasing you around your apartment while you pretend not to notice the hulking mass of a man stalking you around every room, an inevitable presence you couldn't get rid of even if you tried. he says i'm sorry and please talk to me and i'll do anything while you try your best to remain unphased, even if the undeniable lack of remorse in his voice only fills you with even more rage.
one day you turn on your heels and slap him across the face.
it's a sudden, sharp crack that echoes around the room like a gunshot. his head turns to the side and stays there, because you struck him hard enough for dex to freeze like that for a moment before he blinks once in surprise, tongue moving inside his mouth to poke the inside of his cheek.
you can see it in him, the change that happens when dex registers the sting and the heat that starts spreading across the side of his face, the shape of your fingertips painting his skin a crimson red. his mouth curls then, lips tugging into a smile as his eyes flutter closed to savor the impact.
you make a disgusted sound, and because you're still pissed, even more mad now than before you realized you can't even hurt him without his deranged brain turning it into this, you snarl: "what the fuck is wrong with you?"
dex only laughs in response, seemingly pulled out of his trance by the sound of your voice. it's the first time you've spoken to him in hours, and something inside him hums in satisfaction at finally earning back your attention, even if you're still scowling at him with an intensity that would make a lesser man feel the urge to bolt.
to dex, though, the only thing worth registering is that he has your eyes back on him once more, your touch back where it belongs—on his skin, burning across his cheek as physical proof.
he reaches out to grab your hand, fingers enclosing around your wrist and lifting your arm with enough gentleness to make you hesitate upon the thought of pulling it right back, then guides your palm to lay flat against the other side of his face.
"i'll let you take it out on me all you want, we both know i deserve it," he says, soft eyes fixed on yours despite the haze of rage still clouding your vision. "but if you really want to hurt me, then you'll have to hit me harder, sweetheart."
Dex being his own warning, reader knows he is stalking her but acting none the wiser matter of fact she might be a little into it, suggestive?
Sometimes, when you concentrate hard enough, you can ignore his eyes on you.
You cannot exactly pinpoint the moment you became aware of him. He is not bad at it, stalking you, that is. It's just that you are very good at pattern recognition. It is part of why you will always have job security. It is also because that you are very rigid about your routine and the people that occupy your space on a regular basis. Still, it was a little jarring when he suddenly just... appeared in your periphery. You are sure he did not just spawn out of nowhere. The level of comfort that he operates at indicates a will oiled routine that was followed. But to you it was like he was not here one day and here the next.
You are not sure how to proceed with this whole thing. It's not like you can go to the police, he has not done anything to you nor approached you at all. No threatening messages, no weird gestures and no headless rats. He is just there. Sitting on the opposite side, out of your view at you favorite cafe. Down the street from your work place. And across the street from your window at your home. And side of a few things moving from their original place, He doesn't do anything so you leave him be.
It goes on like that for a while, you following your established routine of going out of your apartment, getting coffee, heading to work, clocking out of work, grocery shopping and heading home. All with the anonymous man following you around. If he was not actively stalking you, you would have been impressed that he is not bored at the fact that you do nothing at all. You even start to get a little comfortable at his presence. Finding comfort at the fact the he is always there and eventually he is part of your routine. You even say a little good morning to him in your head when you get out of your building and see him across the street. All is well in your little life.
That is until you see him in the elevator leading up to your apartment.
Up until now, you have not seen his face at all. he is always out of view, that is by design of course, so you don't know what he looks like. But you have familiarized yourself with him enough to recognize the way he stands, his height and built anywhere. The man that is stalking you is in the same elevator as you and he pressed the same button that you pressed. He is blond.
You give him a little nod and he smiles at you, all charming and sweet, he introduces himself as Benjamin, your new across the hall neighbor.
You ask him about what happened to the previous tenant. He tells you that he doesn't know. You nod and exit the elevator.
The thing is about the place you live is that it is in a remote area out of the city. You picked it that way because you get overstimulated by the sound of the city. The second thing is, it only has two apartments. You and your previous neighbors who kept to himself. Your landlord doesn't live on the property. You are in a building alone with your stalker. So that leaves you with quite the dilemma.
Oh well.
Benjamin is a very quiet person. Aside from the fact that he is stalking you, he is actually the perfect guy. Charming, intelligent, delightful. It is just that...you know.... he is a stalker. You haven't brought it up yet because, really, how to you bring that up?'thank you so much for helping me bring up by groceries, oh by the way, I know that you follow me everywhere.' You think that would put a damper on things so you just drop it. You also asked the landlord about your previous neighbor, he just tell you that the guy suddenly skipped town.
You also change in front of the open window now, when you know for a fact that he is there. So there is that. In your defense, you are a little bored and it not that you are fully nude. You bought curtains that are shear for this exact reason. You think that with all of the monotony in your life the guy kinda deserves some excitement.
You start noticing that his eyes linger on your frame more whenever the both of you cross paths in the elevator. Which is a lot. On your arms and your chest. A lot on your waist as well.
You don't think anything will come out of it. So you just settle on some light stripping and nothing else. And soon. It is also a routine.
Pt2 of this, Dex is his own warning. Reader is into his brand of freak, she is also kind of a freak, he is a little pathetic in this ngl.
When he asks you out, you don’t say yes to him immediately. A huge part of it is the stalking part. But really it is the fact that you don’t really do that. Dating.
the thing is, you are a creature ruled by routines. You enjoy doing the same things that you always do. But also, you are easily bored. So you decide to toy with him a little. Dropping subtle hints here and there that you know about his stalking, only to watch him get a little tense about it. It’s nothing much, at least not enough to confirm or deny your knowledge.
You make him work for it for a bit. And eventually you say, eh what the hell and agree to a date.
You realize it is a balancing act. Dating Benjamin. You need to keep track of what you tell him and play dumb when he brings up a fact about you that you haven't told him. Also you have to guess what he knows about you. All of these make for a fun evening out. So far, he took you to your favourite restaurant. You told him that this place is one you frequent, he pauses and then smiles at you, telling you that it is one of the best spots in town. A few more incidents like this occur. So you decide to make a game out of it.
You tell him that you hate the Pitt(it’s your favourite show) and watch him frown in confusion. You watched and rewatched that show to oblivion.
when he orders you a strawberry milkshake, you tell him that you are allergic to strawberries.(it’s your preferred drink.)
when he asks you about the the book your are reading you tell him you don’t read that genre of books.
you can tell he is beginning to fell a little frustrated, so you do something to take the edge off. You kiss him on the cheek when he stops by your apartment door after one of your dates.
he wears a dopey smile for days after that.
It is right around that time you begin to realize that he craves praise and approval.
So you start running an experiment.
On the days that he starts watching you more, you become short with him. You don’t give him smiles and you don’t greet him at the elevator. No wearing the outfits that you know he likes. No cute designs or frills or low cut tops. You don’t even look at him at all.
but on the days that he doesn’t do the usual stalking, you are all smiles. You talk to him, invite him to your coffee run, you hug him when you see him. You even touch his arm and chest. Giving him a kiss on the corner of his mouth.
he is not stupid. He begins to put two and two together. So he behaves a little more.
his need for your approval becomes the center of every type of act that he does to you. Sometimes he cooks you food and waits for you to eat it. Watching your expression for every minute change. You think it's kind of endearing that he does that. He brings you flowers. Fixes his behavior, self correcting based on your unconscious feedback.
That one coworker that won't leave you alone left you alone finally. Although you don't have any proof that he did it. The coworker, Dan, hit on you right in front of him when he came to pick you up from work. You watched as his expression changed slowly to frigid. As he came up to you and give you a kiss on the temple, introducing himself as your boyfriend. You haven't given him permission to do that yet. Matter of fact, you haven't even said I love you to him. Not to mention being his girlfriend. But you can make allowances.
You guess that it is a simple matter of opinion, but you have come to think of him as a large feral cat that you picked up from the street. Mean and standoffish to outsiders, sweet and lovely to you. And just like cats are, he started doing things that annoy you. Some of it,like installing a tracker on your car and in your phone, very fixable. You just find them and remove them. You can consider that pretty harmless. What you don't like is the fact that he yelled at you because you had to get out of dinner because of an emergency at work. That has never happened before at your job so to your stalker who knows your schedule, it will look like you are trying to get away from him. You let him know that you don’t like the way he is behaving and you take his car and go. You decide it is a good idea to go visit your mother early now. Sure you don’t have clothes or anything, but you can buy them.
you are gone for three days.
tags | angst, abusive relationships, reader is married to another man, religious guilt, infidelity, oral sex male receiving, face fucking, smut, a little derogatory, 18+ MDNI
ch. 6 | ao3 | masterlist
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The door is too loud when you close it behind you, wincing when the floorboards creak under you, toeing your shoes off to place them at the entrance like they were there the whole night.
Like you weren’t two orgasms in and too many kisses to account for from a man that wasn’t your husband.
Your husband’s there, on the couch, some show blaring on the TV that you hate. You pause behind the couch, eyes trained on the back of his head, the shape of something you’ve grown to despise. You try to steady your breath, grasp onto any control before it shifts entirely, but you sound louder than the TV speakers.
You cross the distance, counting each step you take like a ticking time bomb. One. Two. Three. You turn to face him, prepare for the look of disgust he must wear. Prepare for the way your world is about to crumble underneath you.
Except when you lift your eyes, he’s dead asleep, passed out from drinks at the pub, and a twisted part in you wants to laugh. An ugly maniacal cackle, one that will make you keel over and make it hard to breathe.
You think it’s the only time this God has looked out for you. The only time you’ve believed in fate.
It becomes a routine every week after that, laid out on the butcher block like you’re the raw poultry Simon slices into.
You feel like you are.
He rakes his eyes down your frame, slowly, calculated like he’s thinking of every reference point to press his knife into your flesh. Drags his knuckles over your throat so he can feel you gulp, count how many breaths you manage to wheeze between your lungs. Digs his fingers into your breasts and presses his palm against your heartbeat like he’s measuring your pulse and imagining all the blood thrashing under your skin. Strokes your ribs with feather-light touches, counting each one down to the fat of your hips.
That's when he really grips, dimpling your flesh and watching as it gives under his fingertips. He does the same to your thighs, reverence only a butcher could have for warm flesh and fat. And when he parts your legs, he takes his time, like he’s committed to touching every part of your body, split you in two, and make you bleed.
You should hate it. A sacrificial lamb on the altar. But you don’t. Can’t really when it’s the first time anyone’s looked at you, all your sins and broken promises pushed aside, stripped you bare until all that was left was your bleeding layers, heartbeat, and quivering lungs that barely fill with air.
And he never asks for more, gives you his tongue and fingers without having to ask. Eats you out like you are a feast to be had, lingering between your folds like you are delectable. Two, three orgasms before your clit is so swollen and throbbing and you have to push weakly at his shoulders to stop.
He always comes back up with a smirk, lips and chin glimmering with your slick. Makes you taste it too, kissing you breathless like you weren’t already dizzy. Sends you home with a dazed smile on your lips, knees wobbly, thighs raw from hid stubble, and a pussy so drenched from his torment.
You use your mother as an excuse for your late-night returns, and it works, by some metric. Your husband believes it too.
It’s enough. It should be enough. It’s not. Not when you come home wanting more. Gluttony is a sin, but isn’t infidelity?
It takes weeks of coming home and hiding in your closet, burying your face into his coat, and imagining the taste of his cock before you act on it. Pressing your fingers to your tongue and picturing the weight of him in your mouth. You haven’t even seen it, just felt it through the seams of his jeans when he grinds it against the back of your thigh.
And it feels big. God, does it feel big.
You’re sure it drives you crazy more than it does him to be tightly confined, throbbing and leaking for attention. You think you want it more than he does because he doesn’t even touch it, doesn’t even palm himself when he’s got your thighs on either side of his cheeks.
Disciplined and controlled just for your pleasure. He even pauses when you finally work up the courage to ask, an expression on his face you can’t read because you can never quite read him. You think you overstepped your boundaries when you fall to your knees and he just walks away without a word, dragging a chair, so the legs scrape loudly against the floor.
You gulp when he sits and spreads his thighs wide before patting his lap twice.
“Come ‘ere.”
It’s unfair the way the sentence, the command, goes straight between your legs. And for some awful reason, you crawl your way over. Knees and palms hitting the concrete floor as you inch closer.
You should feel like the predator in this situation, stalking your prey with hunter eyes, except you feel like much less. An animal trapped in a cage, crawling towards the danger instead of running away in fear like you should. Towards the danger that wants to eat you whole, the danger that’s so fucking big that his thighs dwarf your shoulders with eyes so heavy as he watches you.
Possessive. Covetous. You’re not his to be had.
You look up at him through your lashes, lips parted as you glide your palms up the inside of his thighs. He cups your jaw, thumb running along your bottom lip as his face turns nasty when he sees silver glimmer on your finger.
“Take tha’ fuckin’ ring off if yer gonna suck my cock.”
You move so quickly your knuckles hit his balls and he grits his teeth, fingers tensing at your jaw. You stammer out an apology, face warming as you rush to stuff your ring in your pocket. It’s the first time he’s sounded jealous about it, and not just amused by the fact that your husband’s not meeting your needs.
He pushes his thumb into your mouth a little angry, stamping down onto your tongue until your mouth opens wide. He unbuttons his jeans with his other hand, pushes his boxers down just enough to free his already hard cock.
He’s big. Awfully big.
It’s the first thing you thought when you initially saw him and it rings true down to the girth of his cock. Thick and fat and veiny and red and so fucking big it makes your mouth water. Curly tufts of blonde hair peek through the base and something in your gut almost makes you groan at the sight. It’s a little ugly, and a little crooked, but you like that. It’s him.
You hate doing this for your husband, all you can taste is disgust when he has you on your knees, but Simon, Simon has you salivating like a dog, crawling across the floor like his pet, eager to be sat on your heels with a promise of something more.
And you must be taking a long time, sitting there staring wide-eyed at his angry tip because his hand curls around your hair and tugs you forward lightly. He tilts his head expectantly, jutting his chin up and then down as a silent command to go on.
He guides you forward with the thumb in your mouth, hooking in your cheek, and pulling you until your lips brush the tip, replacing it with his cock instead.
You breathe on it first, panting softly to catch your breath, and you haven’t even had it in the back of your throat yet. You’re hesitant, despite how badly you wanted this, licking from base to tip before swirling around the fattened tip. Your lips follow, dragging along slowly as your ring-free hand wraps around the base, pressed against his blonde pubes.
Your restraint slips away when a bead of precum dribbles from his tip and you catch it with your tongue. You moan as you taste it, salty and a little bitter, but all Simon. It ignites something hot and searing in your core, animalistic pride or maybe it’s possession that this is Simon’s cock on your tongue, his hands in your hair and digging into your chin.
Your lips wrap around him then, sliding just slightly past the tip. His grip tightens in your hair at that, but his face remains still, a silent tell. It’s a tight fit, lips spread wide around his girth so much so that it stings, but you push further. Until you can’t anymore and your throat starts to constrict.
You come back up for air, and he tsks like he’s disappointed you didn’t take him whole.
You try again, tears welling in your lash line as you take him deeper, and you attempt to bob back up, but his hand are quicker, pushing you deeper until his head notches against the back of your throat. You gag, nails digging crescents into the hair in his thighs, but he forces you down, somehow by some miracle, until your nose presses into the blonde hair.
It hurts, and you’re gurgling around him, saliva dripping down his length, but it’s not enough for him.
“Jesus, bird, jus’ gotta breathe through yer nose.”
He says it like it’s so easy, and you’re trying really, but his shaft is so heavy against your tongue, and you like it, god, you like how suffocating it feels to have him stuffed between your cheeks. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull, and you groan obscenely around him.
He chuffs a laugh, “You like tha’?”
You nod, brows pinched as you look pathetically up at him. He just blinks, a smirk on his face like he isn’t buried to the hilt in your mouth.
Then, he rolls his hips, once, and you scratch at his thighs, tears spilling onto your cheeks, but the sick part that takes over when you’re around Simon makes you moan again like your body likes having him there, that deep, pressing into places your husband hasn’t even touched.
When he finally releases you, you scramble for air, lungs filling so rapidly it burns. And you’re a little dizzy from the mixture of tasting him and the lack of oxygen. Then he starts talking and all you can do is press your thighs together weakly at the deep cadence.
“Act all innocent, don’t you? Whole time yer moanin’ while someone fucks yer mouth.”
He guides you down again, tongue gliding along, but he lifts you back up, repeating it once, twice, again and again, until there’s a steady rhythm of bobbing. He lets up on your head when you follow the pace he sets, coating him in so much of your saliva that it collects at the base of his cock and makes his hair wet.
It’s a mess, you’re a mess of tears and saliva, and a neglected pussy that’s throbbing around nothing, but he doesn’t understand. Doesn’t understand that you only like because it’s him. Because it’s his cock in your throat making it near impossible to breathe.
“Suck yer husband off like thi’?”
And his voice sounds so steady, no inflection to it like he isn’t getting his dick sucked. The sentence hurts, landing somewhere hard in your chest. A reminder. Something permanently burned into your skin like a scarlet letter.
He pulls you off, “Huh? Can’t hear you.”
The words scald even more because you don’t and he knows that, knows that this version of you is reserved just for him. And he wants to hear it, some form of jealousy twisted in his own chest. But you don’t even get the chance because he pulls you back down and your response is just a choked noise.
All you can do is shake your head, and he smiles, scars on his lips and cheeks straining at the tug.
“That’s my girl.”
He draws it out like he means it, patting your cheek twice, thumb pressing into your cheek to feel the curve of his cock in your mouth. Eyes dilated and heavy. And you feel that, tuck it into the cavity of your chest to chew on later.
It’s a few more pumps before he presses deep again, before he groans low and guttural, holding you tight, and finishes in your throat. You swallow it, as best you can, gulping it down, and taking it for your own as he stays put in your throat.
When he finally pulls out, he’s gone soft, and there’s a sticky amount of saliva and spunk beading from your lips and his tip. You lick it clean, greedy, and maybe a little filthy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.
“That’s myyy girl.”
He says it again, a little breathless this time. Repeating it like he’s hammering it into your chest, so you don’t forget.
It’s the first time you’ve felt proud to be someone’s.
tags | angst, abusive relationships, reader is married to another man, religious guilt, infidelity, oral sex, cunnilingus, fingering, multiple orgasms, crying, dubcon, use of ‘cunt’ a lot
Ch. 5 | masterlist | ao3
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You think every sin you’ve ever made has brought you here. Every question against God lead you to Simon. A testament to your faith if you listen to the word and not this horribly, icky feeling swarming in your gut.
Where is he? Where is he?
You don’t know. Why should it matter right now? Off with another woman? At home waiting to yell at you?
“We can’t do this.”
That should do it. You’re proud of that, even if it’s not a believable statement. Some weight of denial before it turns into something you can’t control anymore.
“When’s the last time he’s made you finish?”
But did you ever have control over this?
Your eyes flutter, breath flickering in your lungs for a split second. That man hasn’t wasted a second on your pleasure.
“Never.” It’s a whisper.
Simon’s hands curl tighter around your hips, fingers digging into your skin like he’s actually angry at the fact. “Poor cunt.”
Your inhale a sharp breath, embarrassingly so.
“Jus’ let me get a taste, yeah?”
His fingers slide under your shirt, resting at your rib cage. Thoughts of how he could snap each rib, one by one, flash into your mind. Maybe he’s counting them, slotting the feeling of each ridge into a file deep in his mind like every other animal he’s slaughtered and cut into pieces. Maybe he’s imaging how easy it would be too.
Your mouth salivates at the thought.
“Show you how a cunt should be treated.”
You finally look up at him. “We shouldn’t.”
“You don’t ‘ave to do anything. Jus’ gotta let me do all the work.” He slides you off the counter, feet stamping to the floor before he flips you around swiftly, back pressed to chest, ass pressed to hips. Goosebumps bloom from how quickly he was able to turn you around, how easy it was for him to move you as he pleased.
You don’t have to do anything.
You think he said that on purpose. Like he knows that your religious guilt would bury its talons in your skin until you ran out of his shop without a second look. As if he’s the one doing everything then you won’t have any blame in it.
Your religions talons don’t compare to the fangs pierced in your throat. A snake. A wolf. The devil’s teeth holding you in place. You hope it doesn’t leave a mark.
You think about your mom. At a time like this, it feels wrong, but you see her, standing with a cross and sending you off to private school because you snuck out once. You think about how she would view you now, bent over a table with your butcher practically begging for a taste.
Your leggings are at your ankles before you can even finish the thought.
“Poor cunt.” He cups your pussy through your underwear, and his palm is so big and so warm it makes you shiver. “Just wasting away, huh?”
When you feel his fingers hook into the seams you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to hide from the way you instinctively part your legs wider when they reach your ankles. Face burning when you just get tangled in the fabric and Simon chuckles. You choose to ignore the way you feel your underwear snap against your skin once and the sound of fabric tearing next. That’s a problem for later.
He helps you then, nudging your legs open with his foot, your hands falling flat on the counter. Your pussy on display, spread wide open for him, becomes an after thought when his fingers meet your bare skin.
“Fuckin’ mess back ‘ere.”
You can’t even imagine the slick spread down your thighs or the way it probably clung to your underwear when he tore them in two.
“Sorry, I don’t know why—“
He laughs again, and you’re not sure why he’s laughing when he’s got his fingers on your pussy, when he swipes them along the length and it makes a wet sound echo in the walls.
You whine again, burying your face in your arms so you lay flat against the cold counter. Tears well in your lash line from sheer embarrassment, humiliation, something. Your husband hasn’t even gotten you close to this and Simon hasn’t done anything. He’s surely never spoken to you like this either.
“Jus’ my mouth an’ fingers, yeah? Treat ya the way you deserve?”
You’re not sure if you deserve this. You shouldn’t deserve this. Your husband tells you so.
Horrible wife. Whore. Cheater. Immoral.
Still, you nod against your arms.
“Please.”
He lifts you with a hand around your throat, fingers practically touching in the middle. “Need you to say it.”
You keep your eyes closed, as if to shield yourself from the reality of what you’re doing. You can’t turn back now.
“Your mouth and fingers, please, I want them.”
You don’t deserve them. Shouldn’t have them, but you’ve already decided you need them. And you can’t remember the last time you’ve done something for you, without the weight of your husband’s heavy hand and God's watchful gaze.
Your necklace presses to your chin, ring to your palm. You don’t have the strength to take them off. You let them stay while you go against every message they portray.
The feeling in your abdomen, deep in your chest, coiled around your throat, and heavy behind your eyes is a nasty one when he slips a finger in. A storm brews in your mind and spreads to your toes and fingertips, emotions so contradictory that you don’t know what the right answer is.
You’re trapped, stuck in white water rapids that make it impossible to breathe. Struggling to come up for air and fill your lungs with anything but sin. Your jaw aches where your teeth clench. Tears wet on your cheeks from guilt when another joins the first and you finally understand why any woman would consent to this.
The white in your eyes is blurry when he glides his fingers out so fucking slowly you feel every bone in his fingers. Slumping when he slides them shallowly and presses down once.
“Sweet fuckin’ cunt.”
You let yourself drown.
Arching your spine, and pressing your forehead against the counter, sinking into the cold water. The sound you make is gurgled, like you’re choking on water or maybe it’s tears, spreading your legs even wider as he continues.
He likes that. He hums approvingly.
“Atta girl.”
You hate the way it makes your knees buckle. Hate the way he laughs like you’re some clumsy prey in the palm of his hand. Like he thinks it’s cute. The counter edge digs into your hips that’ll surely bruise later, and Simon just places a hand on your tailbone, pushing you harder against it, keeping you firm in his grasp.
That’s when he dips deeper, as if he can finally give you what he wants now that you’ve succumbed. Now that the water is calm.
You feel his cock, fat and heavy, against your thigh. You’re taken aback with how hard he is, throbbing in his pants just from fingering you. As if he wants you as badly, something more than the way your husband uses you to get off.
And it shouldn’t happen this fast, the string weaved in your core shouldn’t already feel like snapping, but the threads are tearing at the seams. Desperately clinging to anything as he starts to pump his fingers in and out, in and out. Harsher, harder, deeper— deeper, deeper.
It takes everything in you not to break when his thumb stamps your clit. And he circles it slow, gently, soaked from your weeping cunt, but it’s still too much. Too much that you can feel his lips mapping out the curve of your ass, that his fingers have your legs shaking and knees knocking together, that you can feel his breath on your thighs.
On your cunt.
And suddenly it’s his tongue, one swipe replacing his thumb on your clit.
You jolt forward, head snapping back when you feel it. Wet and warm, licking through your folds like he has every intention to taste you whole. And you can’t remember if you showered this morning because everything’s a bit hazy, and you stormed over here, and you're sure you sweated on your way.
You attempt to push at his head, “Simon, wait—wait. I’m not clean.”
You feel him scoff against your pussy, sending vibrations against your thighs like he’s offended. “Your husband makes you shower before? Tastes the best part.”
“No,” You pause. “He’s never done this.”
His free hand curls around the back of your thigh tightly and he growls angrily. Angry that your husband’s never had his mouth around your clit or pressed to the inside of your gummy walls. Angry that he has you all to himself and he still wastes it all.
“Fuckin married a prick.”
Yeah.
You would voice your agreement, but then his tongue is flat against your pussy, fingers parting you just enough for his tongue to join and all you can manage is a shriek. Garbled words and breathless pants are all that make their way through your lips when he circles your clit. Sucking the bead between his lips harshly before smoothing figure 8’s over it again and again until your vision goes white.
You don’t last long, like some virgin. Breath caught in your lungs and abdomen tightening as you convulse. It washes over you like nothing before. It’s not the same by yourself or when you pretend with your husband.
This is overwhelming, pulse thrashing, and pussy quivering around his fingers before it finally calms. Pinpricks turn into soft tingles, soft buzzing under skin that makes you melt into the counter, falling into his touch like putty. You feel like warm honey, gooey and malleable, and so content for the first time in months.
You think this is the first time someone’s ever sought after you. The first time someone’s put your pleasure above theirs. The first time you felt more than just the broken cracks.
Did you think he was only going to give you one, bird?
You hear him, but it’s muffled, everything’s still hazy when his fingers slide out and his tongue takes their place. When you feel his tongue pressing against the inside of your walls and he’s fucking licking you clean.
God, it’s nasty.
Nothing could save you now. There’s not enough repentance in the world to make this god forgive you.
And then he’s going at it. Sucking like he’s fucking drinking a fresh coconut. Tongue wide and flat and so fucking obscene as he licks along your pussy. You scramble against the counter, moaning loudly, and rolling to your tippy toes to escape, but it’s too late for that.
He growls like a dog with a bone, hooking your knee onto the edge for a better angle. He laps like a dog, messy and so wrong, on his knees worshiping you like your pussys the altar. Eager. Voracious. Debauched.
You should hate it, blasphemy, but your second orgasm hits you like a truck and without warning, gushing on Simon’s tongue. Shaking and twitching frantically, lungs void of air as you struggle to catch your breath. Muscles tensing in your thighs sporadically, mindlessly rocking your hips back to meet his tongue until you physically can’t take anymore and whimper pathetically into your arms.
He catches you before you completely collapse.
“Easy, bird.”
He helps you turn around, helps you pull your leggings back up before he sits you on the counter. And you whine when he turns to leave your side.
He shushes you, sliding between your legs instead, big palms finding your hips, rubbing small circles into your skin. You blink at him lazily, eyes heavy and half lidded. He’s got a big smirk on his face that you can’t miss, lips glistening proudly with your cum.
You smile slowly, a huff of a laugh slipping from your lips as you look at him.
“Good?” He asks.
You nod with a giggle. “Even better.”
He leans down to kiss you, and you should push him away, be disgusted with tasting yourself on his tongue, but you don’t. Can’t be when he doesn’t care, when it’s an honor for him to have tasted you in the first place. Can’t care when two orgasms makes it impossible to be upset about anything.
You just lick into his mouth, deliriously, and he lets you, like you’re some animal lapping away. He only stops you when your hands trails where they shouldn’t.
“Let’s get you home, love.” You don’t want to go.
He helps you walk to his truck, kisses you goodbye a house down from yours, and sends you home with your underwear tucked into his back pocket and a pussy soaked with your cum and his saliva.
Reality floods your lungs when you see your husband.
tags | angst, abusive relationships, reader is married to another man, blood, murder of animals eventually, eventual smut, religious guilt, infidelity, references to noncon, darker than most concepts I write
Ch. 4 | masterlist | ao3
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The way he looks at you is predatory, bunny caught in a wolf's maw.
“Wanna taste?”
Your eyes widen as he rounds the edge of the table, stumbling back as he approaches without the bowl of stew in hand. You don’t respond. Maybe it’s shock. Maybe it’s from the hope he wouldn’t give you an option to refuse and you wouldn’t feel so immoral for wanting.
When he takes another step forward, you take one back, tailbone hitting the counter.
You watch him take the same thumb and wipe the corner of his lips with wide eyes and a racing heart. Your fingers would be shaking if they weren’t clinging to the rim of the counter, curled so tightly your wedding band digs into your flesh. A painful reminder of something you’re committed to.
You don’t know why you even wear it at this point; you don’t even like it. You’re sure your husband stopped long ago, a testament to his so-called loyalty. Maybe you wear it to convince yourself of a happy marriage, so that others will see it and think you’re in a loving relationship and not one that leads you here.
With your butcher standing so close you can feel the warmth radiating off his body or the terribly thick shift in air as he stares at you. With a feeling buried in the cavity of your chest that makes you guilty. With something that is considered corrupt in your so called religions Bible.
The only reason you remember to breathe is that his chest rises broadly in front of you. Inhaling deeply before he exhales the air down at you. It should be menacing, maybe even a little demeaning, but it’s not. It does make your nerves spike, pricking at your skin because of his proximity.
The way you can smell him doesn’t help. No fake cologne, no artificial spray clinging to his skin like your husband. It’s just him. A little musky and so fucking real it makes your teeth ache in your jaw.
You gulp when he finally does something and hovers his thumb just above your lips. It makes the saliva collect in your mouth, frothing at the idea of his dirty hands from a day of work.
He doesn’t even say anything. Nothing more, just waits to see how you’ll react.
You think about it, far too long for a woman who’s married and signed her name away. The images flash behind your eyelids, meaty tongues and deft fingers all buried somewhere behind your teeth. Parting your lips and letting them have their way with you until your saliva drips down your chin and neck.
You don’t bite.
“I already had dinner.”
"That's too bad." He mumbles.
He doesn’t take a step back, just pops his thumb into his mouth again. You watch, enraptured with the way his chapped lips wrap around his digit, lips glistening as he licks them clean. Rigid against the counter as he keeps his gaze on you the entire time, like he can read every thought circulating in your mind.
If the insides of his cheeks tasted like your beef stew. If he’d shove his fingers deep in your mouth, press down on your tongue until you let up, and show him your tongue. If he’d even wash his hands before trailing somewhere they shouldn’t be.
You don’t even realize he’s sending you off with his coat around your shoulders and a warmth that settles thick in your belly until you’re already halfway home.
It burns.
Not in the right way either, with delicate fingers that brush against skin and cause goosebumps in their wake. No. It stings your throat where your cross necklace lies flat against your skin. Scalds the flesh of your finger where your wedding band sits.
Your fingers tug at the dainty chain, smoothing the pads over the silver to ground yourself. A nervous tick you use to soothe yourself, idly touching the cross like it’ll bring you some type of peace and understanding.
It doesn’t. Never does.
You want to rip it off, be free from the guilt. The weight of it is so suffocating all you can taste is the bile building in the back of your throat. The burning sensation that seems to brand the cross into your skin as a constant reminder.
You don’t.
You stand in your empty bedroom instead, holding the coat Simon gave you in your palms. You press your face into it, inhaling thick, chasing his scent. It’s old, edges frayed and color faded. Well-worn, like it was something that mattered to him. It makes the pressure heavy behind your eyelids, the most thoughtful thing someone’s done for you in ages.
There are wet stains on it when you pull back, small dots that reflect the streaks rolling down your cheeks. It’s the first time you've allowed yourself to cry. You don’t know if it’s from the neglect of your husband, the shame of wanting another man, or the regret of giving yourself to a man who doesn’t deserve it, but you give in to the comfort of Simon’s fabric.
You wish you could sleep in it, wrapped around something that actually gives you warmth, but your husband will come home sometime in the night and rip it to shreds if he finds it.
You hide it in your dresser instead and crawl into your cold, stale sheets.
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It stays at the forefront of your mind. Engraved there. You can’t blink it away no matter how much you try.
Not the way Simon ate your food. Not the way he wanted you to take a turn licking his fingers clean. Not the way you almost gave in. Not the way his coat felt on your shoulders.
You hate it. The guilt eats at your flesh in the silence of your home. Like a clock that slowly ticks, plucking at your skin until all that remains are the layers of regret. You spend your time with your bunny in the backyard, so you’re not left alone to be destroyed by your shame. So that the pressure isn’t so heavy you combust.
The bunny’s gotten comfortable, hopping into your lap and curiously sniffing your fingers. It eats from your palm now, curling into your lap and sleeping when it’s done. It’s not the best company, not when it can’t respond to your endless stress.
You hate him. And you don’t necessarily know if you mean your husband, Simon, or God. You shouldn’t feel this way. Your husband's the immoral one, the one who’s had women’s lips on him first. And yet, you believe your thoughts.
Whore. Awful wife. You’ll burn for it all.
That night when your husband has his grimy hands on your body you pull his fingers into your mouth. You’re attempting at least, to take your fantasies and force them into the shape of your husband and not a shaved head and scarred flesh. Except the look on his face turns cross, yanking his fingers from your lips so quick it hurts.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He snarls.
You blink. “I thought you would like it.”
“Don’t do that shit.” He spits, “You’re my wife, not a fucking whore.”
He doesn’t even finish, disgusted by your act of trying to enjoy sex for once, and turns away from you. You can’t sleep in the same bed as him after that. All you can think about is the way he probably shoves his fingers down the throats of the other women he sleeps with, and lets them express themselves sexually.
Is it really that wrong?
Does it really make you a whore to salivate at the mere thought of Simon, but recoil in the memory of your husband?
You tried. You’ve been trying, for months. Repent for your sins and come out on the other side brand new. A good wife. God-fearing and all. It’s not your fault your husband doesn’t fit into the box Simon’s carved into your brain.
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And just like the meat had culminated a desire you fought for days, Simon’s coat tucked away in your dresser weighs at the back of your skull. Ricochets in the recesses of your mind with every movement.
You give in much more easily than you did before. Unhooking the necklace pressed between your collarbones and placing it on your bedside table with your wedding band. Crawling into bed with the coat pressed to your skin.
It makes your skin itch. An uncontrolled craving that you can’t shake. And still, it’s not enough, not like this. When you want to crawl into the real skin, feel the blood pulsing under his flesh instead of cotton fabric.
Your bare hands slide down your stomach, dipping under your waistband and between your thighs. You’re already met by a thick wall of slick, fingers slipping between your folds. You don’t take your time; you don’t let the tension build as you should. It’s been there for weeks, and it’s coiled so tightly wound you don’t have time to enjoy any of it.
You think about Simon, fisting his coat, and pressing it to your nose and lips. Curling your fingers up and pressing the gummy spot in your cunt that makes your toes curl into the sheets.
You imagine Simon’s fingers instead. You can picture them in your mind perfectly. Thick. Deft. Covered in stew. The sound you make when you imagine it’s his fingers pressed to your walls and pinching your clit is wheezed from your lungs.
It’s not enough, not nearly when you know he can give you so much more. But it’s the first time you’ve worked up the courage to do something about the fire in the pit of your stomach. The first time you trailed your fingers where they shouldn’t have since your marriage.
Your legs shake and your feet arch as you barely hold back his name on your lips, squeezing your eyes shut as you imagine him, him, him.
You hook the cross necklace and slide your ring back on like it never happened.
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You think you should feel guilty, to Simon at least, when you don’t go back to his shop for more than two weeks. When you use his coat more times than you can remember.
But you don’t. Not when it just makes your appetite stronger.
You reason that you don’t go because you can’t face him with the knowledge that you’ve been whispering his name in your sheets. The truth is you’re afraid that if you go back you won’t have enough strength not to take his fingers in your mouth.
Truthfully, you do a good job of containing it, just as you bottle everything else up in your life. That is, until the stitching holding you together finally tears when you’re doing laundry. It’s small, you almost miss it, a red lipstick stain at the collar of your husband's shirt you just pressed that morning.
The irony of it all brings you back to Simon’s doorstep within minutes.
He looks up at you and doesn’t say anything, like he already knows why you’re there, standing out of breath, and looking a little crazy. As if he had been expecting you, waiting for the day you’d finally show up.
“I want a taste.”
He doesn’t even flinch, just blinks at you like he doesn’t fucking know what you’re talking about.
“Please.” You breathe. It’s desperate. Needy. Dignity all thrown away.
You watch him slowly package the meat he had been cutting. Taking his time to wrap it neatly, like you’re not there fidgeting on the balls of your feet. Like you hadn’t just begged for him to let you suck on his fingers.
“Come here.”
You’re too eager to follow him to the back.
He holds his fingers out. “Go on.”
You shouldn’t be here, what the fuck are you doing? Standing in the back of the butcher shop with frozen meat hanging off hooks. It’s not romantic at all, nothing delicate or sweet about it, but you like it.
Slowly, hesitantly, you inch closer to his finger, just like the bunny in your yard had, timidly wrapping your lips around the digit. Your eyes flutter when his thumb hits your tongue. It’s saltier than your stew, laden with the sweat you’re sure he’s worked up throughout the day.
You swirl your tongue around at first, licking the pad before you really suck the same way he had days ago. You make a sound, high-pitched and awfully embarrassing when he presses down on your tongue to stop you with enough force to make your lips part.
You look up at him with creased brows and beady eyes. He looks back with lidded eyes, pupils dilated as he examines your mouth. Maybe he’s counting your teeth, or waiting for the saliva to collect thick in your cheeks.
“Jesus, bird.”
He leans down slowly, breathe fanning your face before he licks into your mouth, tongue brushing over his thumb and your tongue. You attempt to gasp, but the pressure of his thumb just causes you to make a gurgled sound. Choking on your saliva and broken breathes, fingers scrambling to his wrist for leverage.
His chest presses against yours, sliding his thumb down your chin and around your neck. Your own saliva dries against your skin, his fingers pressed just right at your carotid pulse, light enough not to hurt, but strong enough you know he could.
“Relax.”
You try to, really, your heartbeat is probably pounding against his thumb, but it’s hard to breathe when his voice sounds like that. Confident. Calm. Smooth. And your’s sounds so weak and frail in turn.
He slots his lips against yours in a sealing kiss. It’s calculated, lips dragging against yours like he was eating your beef stew again. Your hands frantically find his shoulders, fingers finding sanctuary in the cloth of his shirt instead of quivering in fear.
You can almost taste the stew on his lips, rich and hearty. It makes you kiss him back with that much more vigor, your cooking on his tongue, and pressed to your cheeks.
It’s alarming how quickly you fall into it, alarming how arousing it is when he hoists you onto the counter by the back of your thighs and moans into your mouth the same way he had with each bite.
“Fuckin’ knew you wanted it.”
Alarming how quickly you forget about your husband. You think about him, for a split second. This kiss is different than his. His are quick, never wanting to leave his lips on yours for too long, but this— this is claiming. Consuming like he intends to eat you from the inside out.
tags | angst, abusive relationships, reader is married to another man, blood, killing of animals, graphic depictions of domestic violence, graphic depictions of violence, religious guilt, infidelity, please read at your own risk
ch. 7 | masterlist | ao3
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There’s blood everywhere.
Crimson staining the concrete under you, and splattered on your husband’s sleeves. The juxtaposition of your husband and Simon solidifies itself then. Something that made your mouth water and heart race with desire when it came to Simon is repulsive on your husband. Something that lodges a lump deep in your throat, makes it difficult to swallow the tears running down your cheeks.
Your hands shake as you reach out to the bunny lying there motionless. Fear runs through your body, raging anger, but the guilt is the heaviest.
It’s your fault. It’s all your fault.
The bunny was innocent. A sweet, pure thing that had nothing to do with you and Simon or your deceit. And still, your husband took his anger out on it, snapped its neck in two like it was the one coercing you to Simon's doorstep. The poisoned apple.
He’s too narcissistic to realize it was him. Too much of a coward to confess he was the one who forced you down this dark and moldered path. One that made you lose your wedding ring somewhere in the backroom of Simon’s butcher shop when you left your dignity on your knees.
Your husband had hardly noticed really, it’s not like he paid attention to detail when it came to you. You were shocked when he did notice, stuttering over your words, and you offered a weak apology, saying you had lost it while washing the dishes.
It was a lie, he knew it. A part of you thinks you didn’t try to convince him on purpose. That you lost it on purpose because you didn’t know how to end this any other way. It’d be easier if he was the one.
Everything else after that is black, a flurry of running after him as he storms to the backyard shed. You had screamed so loud when he picked the bunny up, the poor thing kicking its hind legs in the toughest fight it could muster. It looked so tiny in his palm, trapped in his confines.
“Been letting you feed this damn pest in my backyard and this is how you repay me?” He spat it out with fury, globs of saliva landing on your cheeks.
“Put it down, please." You spoke calmly, masking the way your chest was vibrating with anxiety. "I don't even know what you're talking about, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. There's that damn word you trickle in. A front. Appeasement of sorts to show you still care, that this is a marriage you want.
“I should’ve known, marrying a whore like you.”
Whore. He says it so often you don't even bat an eye. Sweetheart, whore, the words have become analogous at this point.
You were too late after that. The sound of its cracking neck came first. Its thrown limp body on the floor. Its head makes a thud as it lands hard on the gray cement at your feet, blood splashed underneath it.
It all happened so fast you didn't have time to react besides falling to your knees next to it. The worst part is you didn't even name it. A part of you afraid of the attachment you would've grown when you knew it would eventually lead to this. Afraid of what it would mean when he finally did.
You think you black out for a few seconds, coming to in short fuzzy bursts as reality dawns on you. It's funny the way raw meat did not affect you, not when Simon was the one meticulously handling it. Funny how you were willing to lie on the butcher block next to it all, be the sacrificial lamb instead, but this draws a vizierial reaction.
You stay still, despite your quivering fingers, until the fog clears, until your hands stop and your heart calms. Everything clashes together then, morphing into this ugly, angry monster in your chest that takes over. Years of just burying it down, pretending you were okay, boil over and your pretty bow that sealed it all together unravels. Tears in two for the first time since you've laid eyes on your coward of a husband.
You look up at him then, at the ugly figure that has the audacity to call himself a man. You won’t be too late this time.
“You’re right.” You stand, saying it with the same conviction he spat at you, except yours has reason, a deeper meaning than insecurity. "It’s the butcher. Had me on my knees last week.”
He storms across the distance then, an anger in his eyes you're not quite used to. You don't move though, not even a flinch when he wraps his hands around your throat and slams you against the wall of the shed. Your head throbs from the impact, a panging tightness radiating from your skull down your spine. Your hands find purchase on his forearm, dragging your nails along his skin until it draws blood, legs kicking out as the bunny had in his grasp too.
“Right on top of the meat you eat for dinner every night.” You say it between your strangled breaths and stinging lash line with tears you try your best to hold back.
His fingers tighten around your neck after that and the edges of your vision go dark, hands losing their grip on him when you physically can't fill your lungs with air. You see your mom at the edges, the abuse she endured when you were young. When she wasn’t brave enough to do something about it and leave. When she put her faith above reality. Above you.
You think maybe you should be thinking about your faith instead of hers. Muttering a prayer you were forced to memorize growing up, but none of them come to mind. None of them could help you now. This God should’ve saved you years ago.
The rest is a blur, you don’t know what you grab, or how you even manage to, but it’s heavy, and you can barely wrap your fingers around it. All you know is it makes your husband’s hands fall from your throat, falling back after repeatedly bashing his head with it.
Your cross necklace follows him, silver jewelry ricocheting off the floor. You think it has to be a metaphor, a sign from this God. Being set free from the expectations of religion, set free of the shackles that weighed you down for so long. The cross scalded on your skin melted off.
There’s blood dripping from his forehead when you finally stop, and he’s looking at you in shock, fingers dabbing at the wound like he hadn't just had his hands around your jugular. It makes you laugh, a sound that comes out half broken from your strained throat.
“We’re done.” It's raspy, but final.
You don't look back as you walk back inside the house you've lived in for years. Don't even give him a shred of acknowledgement when you pack a duffel bag.
You find you don't have much of importance in this house besides Simon's jacket.
You don't even realize you've got blood on your shirt and under your finger nails until you're outside Simon's door and he looks at you concerned.
You’re not even surprised when you see your ring glimmer out of the corner of your eye, pinned to the wall like a trophy he’s won.
raw. deep. messy. wet. backwards. against the table. against the wall. against the window, infront of a mirror. on the bed. on the kitchen counter. on the couch. on the floor. in the bath.
summary: a surprisingly soft first date with Dex makes it impossible to keep pretending you don’t want him.
who: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter/Bullseye x Female!Murdock Reader
word count: 2.9k (sorry not sorry)
warnings: soulmate au, fluff, mentions of stalking. If I have missed any please let me know!
divider by: @uzmacchiato
a/n: Part 5 of this series! Like before feedback is welcome!
Glitch Series Masterlist
Next Chapter: Untouchable
Previous Chapter: Guilty as Sin?
“You’re the kinda reckless that should send me running…“ — Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift
You had changed outfits eight times before finally deciding you were being ridiculous.
It was a date.
It wasn’t a surgery, or a court hearing, or a life-or-death situation.
Just a date. A date with Dex.
That has somehow caused your entire bedroom looked like a bomb filled with clothes had exploded.
You stood in front of your mirror adjusting the lace-up straps of your floral-patterned sundress for what had to be the tenth time before sighing softly at yourself.
Karen would never let you live this down if she could see the nervous state of you now.
Your fingers brushed absentmindedly over the soulmate mark resting on your collarbone. The skin there felt warm today. Not burning, not aching, just warm like it was reacting to your nerves and excitement.
Sighing softly, you stepped away from the bedroom mirror and grabbed your bag just as a knock sounded at your apartment door.
Your heartbeat stumbled immediately.
Early. Of course he was early.
A small smile tugged at your mouth before you could stop it. Crossing the apartment, you opened the door to find Dex standing there holding a small terracotta pot carefully in one hand.
For a moment neither of you spoke, and annoyingly your breath caught slightly at the sight of him because he looked good wearing a black shirt, dark jacket, and his hair neater than usual. Like he’d actually spent time getting ready.
Stupidly good, you thought to yourself.
But then the realisation that Dex had dressed up for you made warmth spread low in your chest and stomach.
His eyes moved slowly over you before settling on your face. His expression softened instantly. “You look pretty.”
Heat flushed your cheeks as the honesty in his voice hit harder than any flirting would’ve.
“Thank you,” you said softly before glancing at the plant in his hands. “What’s that?”
Dex immediately held it out toward you. “Lemon balm.”
Your eyebrows lifted slightly as you carefully took the pot from him.
“Lemon balm? Most people give roses.”
“You use it constantly, and you don’t like roses.”
Of course he noticed that. Your fingers brushed gently against the soft green leaves as warmth spread through your chest.
“It helps with anxiety and sleep,” he continued quietly. “And headaches.”
You looked back up at him slowly. “Nobody remembers the things I use at the apothecary.”
Dex’s expression barely changed. “I do.”
God, that shouldn’t affect you as much as it did.
Stepping aside, you let him into the apartment while trying very hard to ignore how warm your face suddenly felt.
“You’re early,” you said, setting the plant carefully beside the window.
“I know.”
“You know most people usually pretend not to be eager.”
“I wasn’t pretending.”
You laughed softly before you could stop yourself.
Dex immediately looked at you, focusing like your laugh was a bottle of liquid gold. It did strange things to your heartbeat.
“You’re staring again,” you muttered, grabbing your cardigan.
“I like looking at you.”
“You say things like that very casually.”
“They’re true.”
You shook your head softly despite smiling as you walked toward the door.
“Come on before I decide not to go.”
Dex opened the door for you immediately. “You won’t.”
The confidence in his voice should’ve annoyed you, but instead it made your chest warm. Because for the first time in months, you didn’t want to run from this, from him.
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The park he took you to was beautiful.
Quiet enough that the city noise faded into a distant hum, trees swaying gently in the warm afternoon breeze as sunlight filtered through the leaves.
You stared at the picnic setup in front of you before slowly looking at Dex.
“…You brought an actual blanket.”
“Yes.”
“And three containers of food.”
“Yes.”
“And backup utensils.”
“Yes.”
You blinked at him. “Dex.”
“What?” The way he tilted his head was awfully like a lost puppy.
A laugh escaped you. “A backup fork?”
“You dropped yours once at the diner and refused to use it afterwards.”
Your chest warmed again because, of course, he knew that too.
Dex watched your face carefully. “You think it’s excessive.”
“I think it’s a little adorable.” The word slipped out accidentally.
Dex froze, actually froze, before a Cheshire-like smile spread across his face. You felt heat immediately crawl into your cheeks.
“Well,” you muttered, sitting down quickly on the blanket. “Now I regret saying that.”
Dex slowly sat beside you. “You called me adorable.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“You think I’m adorable.”
“Oh my God.”
The quiet amusement in his voice made you laugh again, and something in Dex’s expression softened so quickly at the sound that your heart nearly betrayed you entirely.
Oh, it’s scary how easy this feels, you thought to yourself, how easy he feels despite how dangerous he is.
You pushed the thought away as Dex opened one of the containers, and your eyes widened slightly.
“You got food from Pop’s Corner Deli?”
“You like their sandwiches.”
“You noticed that?”
“You buy lunch there every Thursday.”
You stared at him.
Dex paused slightly. “…Was that strange?”
“No,” you said honestly. “Just very…observant.”
“I observe you a lot.”
The blunt honesty nearly made you choke on your drink, and Dex immediately handed you a napkin.
“You okay?” He asked, rubbing your back.
You snorted softly.
“You cannot say things like that so casually.”
“They’re true.”
There it was again, that impossible honesty that made your heart flutter. Honesty that wasn’t fake or a game. It was honesty that was just Dex, and it was becoming your favorite version of him.
That realisation settled quite nicely inside your chest.
The two of you spent the next hour talking more easily than you expected as Dex asked questions constantly, and not the shallow ones people ask when they’re just being polite, but real ones.
“What was your favorite book as a kid?”
“The original Fear Street series by R. L. Stine.”
“What made you start working at the clinic?”
“Extra money. I was a poor mid-twenties girl.”
“Do you like healing people?”
“Yes, but it’s tiring sometimes.”
“Do you ever wish you’d left New York?”
“Yes, I have always wanted to travel.”
“What makes you happiest?”
“Plants and chocolate-covered strawberries.”
Nobody had ever asked you questions like they actually wanted to know the answers before, yet Dex listened to each one like it mattered. Like you mattered.
“You ask a lot of questions,” you said eventually, leaning back on your hands as the breeze lifted strands of your hair.
Dex looked completely unashamed. “I like hearing you talk.”
Your stomach fluttered annoyingly at how straightforward he always was.
“Well,” you said carefully, “then it’s your turn.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
“What? You think you can interrogate me for an entire afternoon without answering questions yourself?” You smiled.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Interrogate?”
“You literally asked me what my favourite childhood book was.”
“That’s important information.”
You laughed softly. “Okay then, Poindexter. Favourite movie.”
He answered immediately. “The Empire Strikes Back.”
You blinked. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“You like Star Wars?”
“You sound surprised.”
“You don’t exactly give off sci-fi fan energy.”
“What energy do I give off?”
You opened your mouth, paused, then grinned. “Serial killer documentaries.”
Dex snorted quietly into his drink.
Actually snorted.
You stared at him in mild shock. “Was that a laugh?”
“No.”
“That was definitely a laugh.”
“It wasn’t.”
“You just made a noise.”
Dex looked deeply offended. “I make noises all the time.”
“That sounded worse than what I meant.” You laughed.
His eyes flickered with amusement as more laughter escaped before you could stop it.
God, it was dangerous how easy he was becoming.
“How about you?” he asked after a moment. “Favourite movie.”
You hummed thoughtfully. “I’m not sure.”
Dex tilted his head slightly. “Why?”
“I’m more of a TV series girl instead of a movie girl.”
“Really?”
“I mean, I’ll watch a movie if it interests me, but I like shows more.” You move from leaning back on your hands to your elbows.
“Well, then, what’s your favourite TV show?”
“Supernatural.”
“Why?” Dex asks, passing you another sandwich.
“Because it’s about two cool brothers hunting monsters like demons and vampires.” You say while taking a bite from the sandwich.
“You like that?”
“Yes.”
“I can tell.”
You kicked his foot lightly on the blanket.
Dex looked down at where your shoe touched his before glancing back up at you with something unbearably soft in his expression. Like even that smallest touch meant something to him.
Maybe it did.
“You know,” you said after a moment, “you’re much calmer than I expected.”
His expression shifted slightly at that. “Disappointed?”
“No.” Your answer came instantly. “Just surprised.”
Dex looked away briefly toward the trees swaying overhead. “You make it quiet.”
Your heartbeat stumbled softly. “What does that mean?”
“When I’m around other people…” He paused carefully, like he was trying to explain something he normally kept locked away. “Everything feels loud and irritating. But with you it doesn’t.”
The honesty in his voice settled warmly deep inside your chest.
You looked down at your hands for a moment before quietly asking, “Is that why you keep finding me?”
“Yes, and because you’re mine.”
Another honest, certain answer that no longer made panic claw up your throat. Instead it made warmth spread through you slowly.
A comfortable silence settled afterward as the two of you kept eating, sunlight warming your skin while distant laughter drifted through the park.
Then your eyes narrowed slightly as you watched Dex effortlessly toss a grape upward before catching it in his mouth without even looking.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Dex glanced at you innocently. “What?”
“That sharpshooter nonsense doesn’t count.” You say, pointing at him.
“It was a grape.”
“You’re showing off.”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
“That makes it worse.”
A smug look of satisfaction flickered briefly across his face before he picked up another grape and held it out toward you.
“Try.”
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously before taking it. “I’m going to regret this.”
“Probably.” He smirked.
You tossed the grape upward, tracking it carefully with your eyes, only for it to bounce directly off your forehead.
Dex stared at you for half a second before laughing quietly into his hand.
Actually laughing.
Your jaw dropped. “You’re laughing at me.”
“You hit yourself.”
“You distracted me!”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You have distracting energy.”
That only made him laugh harder and louder this time, and the sound made your heart race in your chest as a wonderfully warm feeling spread across your body.
And suddenly all you could think was, Oh, I’m in trouble, as you found yourself relaxing without realising it. Laughing easier, talking more, teasing him.
“You definitely practiced this date.” You said popping a grape in your mouth.
Dex looked offended with another sandwich raised halfway towards his mouth.
“I did not practice.”
“You absolutely practiced.”
“I planned.”
“You researched parks, didn’t you?”
“…Maybe.”
You laughed again.
“I knew it.”
“It’s a quiet area,” he defended immediately. “Minimal noise, minimal people, fewer interruptions.”
“You sound like you’re planning a kidnapping or something.” You teased.
“I wanted it to go well.”
The quiet sincerity in his voice made your stomach flutter softly because suddenly you could see it so clearly. The careful planning, the attentiveness, the nervousness hidden beneath every decision.
This mattered to him. A lot. But it also mattered a lot to you too.
The buzzing of a bumblebee flying near the picnic blanket is what broke your thoughts as you instinctively leaned back slightly so you wouldn’t accidentally hurt it.
Dex noticed immediately, and without a word he carefully cupped his hands around it before standing and walking several feet away before letting it go near the flowers.
When he returned, you stared at him quietly with your chest twisting pleasantly.
“What?” He asked.
“You moved the bee.”
“You didn’t want it hurt.” The simplicity of his answer made your heartbeat stumble hard enough to nicely ache.
Because nobody besides Matt noticed things like that. They didn’t pay attention to tiny reactions from you, but Dex always did.
Always.
“You’re staring now,” he said quietly.
You smiled before reaching over and fixing the collar of his shirt slightly where it had folded inward. Dex immediately went still beneath your touch, his eyes now fixed on your face.
Your fingers lingered against his collar for a second too long, but neither of you moved away as the air between you shifted softly into something warmer. More intimate.
Your hand slowly slid from his collar down his arm before resting lightly over his hand on the blanket. Dex inhaled sharply enough that you noticed before his fingers immediately intertwined carefully with yours. Like he’d wanted to do it for hours.
And honestly? So had you.
The soulmate bond tingled warmly beneath your skin. But for once it wasn’t the thing overwhelming you.
It was him.
The way he looked at you, the way he listened, the way he noticed everything about you, and the way he touched you like you were something precious.
“You’re quiet,” Dex murmured softly.
You looked down at your joined hands.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
You glanced back up at him slowly. “This is nice.”
Something almost unbearably soft and relaxed crossed his face.
“Yes,” he agreed quietly. “It is.”
And God, you liked this, liked him. Not just the bond, not just the attention.
Him.
The realisation settled strangely peacefully inside your chest. There was no panic, no guilt. Just truth.
Hours slipped by far too quickly after that.
You walked through quieter trails together afterwards, shoulders brushing as the sun slowly dipped lower across the city skyline. At some point your shoulder started aching faintly from the colder evenings and overworking yourself at the clinic earlier that week.
You hadn’t even realised you were rubbing it until Dex’s hand gently caught your wrist.
“Come here.”
Before you could ask what he meant, he stepped behind you and rested his hands carefully against your shoulders. Warmth spread slowly through the aching muscle as he gently massaged it.
Your eyes fluttered shut immediately. “Oh.”
“Tense?” he asked quietly.
“Very.”
His thumbs worked carefully against the knot of pain near your scar. Not pressing too hard, not rushing, just steady but gentle circular motions.
“You take care of everyone else,” he murmured softly behind you. “Someone should take care of you too.”
Your chest tightened painfully because maybe that was the problem. Ever since your dad died all those years ago, it had only been you and Matt, but it had been years since you two had gotten separate apartments.
You leaned back slightly into his warmth before realising what you were doing, and Dex immediately stilled before slowly wrapping his arms around your shoulders, testing to see if you would push him away or not.
His breath caught quietly behind you as you slowly relaxed against him fully, but neither of you spoke for a moment. The parks noise drifted softly around you as the sun painted everything a soft gold.
His arms felt safe…and warm…and peaceful.
You hadn’t realised how badly you needed something peaceful until now. Eventually Dex’s hands slid carefully down your arms before he stepped beside you again.
His fingers brushed yours once. Twice. Then paused before you reached for his hand first.
Dex looked at you immediately, something vulnerable flickering through his eyes before softening into your affection.
And for the first time, you didn’t look away from it. From him.
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By the time Dex walked you back to your apartment building, the sky had darkened into soft blues and blacks.
Neither of you seemed particularly eager for the night to end as you stood awkwardly near the entrance for a moment before laughing softly at yourself.
“This is the part where normal people say goodbye.”
Dex tilted his head slightly. “You want normal?”
You thought about it honestly, then smiled. “No.”
Something satisfied flickered across his expression, and you gathered that neither did he. The realisation should’ve scared you, but instead it felt strangely right for the two of you.
Dex stepped slightly closer. Close enough that you could feel warmth radiating from him as his eyes searched your face carefully.
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
The fact he sounded genuinely uncertain made your chest ache softly. So instead of answering, you reached up and kissed his cheek gently. Right on the scar.
Dex froze completely as your lips lingered there for a few seconds before you pulled back slightly.
“Yes,” you whispered honestly. “I really did.”
Something in Dex’s expression nearly took your breath away because for once it held no trace of obsession or possession. It was just happiness. Real, genuine happiness.
His hand lifted slowly toward your face before stopping near your cheek, like he was still giving you room to pull away. You didn’t as his thumb brushed softly across your skin.
Then he leaned down and pressed the gentlest kiss against your forehead, and your stomach fluttered as your chest warmed.
“Goodnight, baby,” he murmured quietly.
You smiled. “Goodnight, Dex.”
He waited until you got inside the building before finally turning to leave, and later that night, curled beneath your blankets and lying there in the darkness replaying his soft smiles, careful hands, and the look on his face when you kissed his cheek, you finally stopped trying to deny what your heart already knew.
Summary: After your new neighbor saves you from AVTF, you bake him cookies to thank him. Dex isn’t used to getting gifts and it’s not long before you become important to him.
Tags: Bullseye’s identity is hidden/No one knows he is Dex (slight AU), Reader doesn’t understand social cues, Reader is empathic, Blood/Violence/Murder, Age gap (mid/late 20s reader), Stalking/Obsessive Dex, Jealous Dex, No use of y/n
Notes: I think is my first time writing an x reader fic (or maybe first time in a very long time??). I think this will only be a few chapters, but idk yet.
You made it back to your apartment building with grocery bags in both your hands, already wondering if this would be your last trip for a while. Hell’s Kitchen had been getting worse lately, especially with mayor Fisk’s anti vigilante task force roaming the streets.
You almost didn’t notice the man walking down the hallway leading to your apartment. The noise canceling headphones you wore felt necessary with the city noises, but maybe not the safest choice anymore.
You remembered what your roommate had mentioned a few nights ago while through scrolling on her phone.
“By the way, there’s a new guy down the hall. I think. I saw him talking to the landlord. He’s kinda.. weird.”
You had nodded, even though you weren’t sure what she meant by it.
You hadn’t even saw the new neighbor until now as you fumbled your key out of your pocket while balancing most bags in your other hand.
The man was moving swiftly down the hall faster than most people you see go in and out, like he was locked onto wherever he was going.
You glanced up curiously, not sure what to expect, but his size caught you off guard. Not just tall, but muscular too. Around here, people usually only looked like that if they worked in something rough enough to require it.
As he neared you down the hallway, you realized maybe you should be polite and greet him.. Or maybe it was safer to keep to yourself… but people usually introduce themselves.. or at least say hi.
You paused then glanced at him once more before stiffly turning and lifting your hand to a small wave.
As he brushed past you, his eyes shifted down at you for maybe half a second before looking forward again, not slowing even slightly. No response.
You lowered your hand. “..okay” you murmured under your breath.
You then entered your apartment and for a second, you stood there in the entryway while thinking it over.
Maybe you should’ve said something out loud.. or smiled with the wave… or not even bothered at all.
It’s not a big deal, probably. He looked busy anyways.
-
Your work routine is just fine. At least, that’s the easiest way to put it. You have a semi-manageable job schedule and it pays your bills, sometimes just barely, but at least it is only a 20 minute walk from where you live.
The office you work in is pretty basic and usually doesn’t become too overwhelming.
At your desk you sort through paperwork and organize them properly, sometimes running errands for your boss.
During lunch break a couple of the co-workers that hang closer to you invite you. You agree because, although you wanted the time alone today, they would make an excuse for you to join them anyways.
By the time the day is finished and you are walking back down the hallway to your apartment door, you feel exhaustion and can’t wait to lie down.
You walk toward your door while reaching for the key out of your bag, but your movements slow when you look across to the new neighbor’s door.
The man is there again, standing outside the door as if he is just about to go in, but he is lingering.
You haven’t seen him in about a week since your first sight of him. You wondered if maybe he had already moved out, but there he was again.
He didn’t notice you at first. He leaned against his doorframe oddly, as if he was propping himself up while searching for the key.
You notice red dripping down from his eyebrow. A cut maybe? Did he get into a fight? You wonder.
You try not to stare, but you probably only make it more obvious by the way you turned your head to glance over, then look back at your door, then glance over again in a repeated motion.
Maybe you should say something, you think, like ask him if he’s okay? You could offer a bandaid or-
Your thoughts went quiet the moment he looked over at you. He only stared for a few seconds, but something about the intensity of it sent a chill down your spine. You try to turn your attention back to your door through slowed movements.
Down the hall, you heard the click of a lock turning. Glancing back over your shoulder, you caught him looking at you one last time before he disappeared inside his apartment.
You sighed and stepped into your apartment. You really sucked at socializing in the right ways.
An hour later, after finishing your bedtime routine, you stood in your bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. You look at your bandaids, but the only ones remaining were a couple of snoopy themed bandaids.
How stupid. You sighed. But it was better than nothing, wasn’t it?
Before settling into bed, you very hesitantly walked back into the hall with a bandaid in your hand. When you stopped at your new neighbor’s door you lifted your arm and contemplated knocking, but you stopped.
This is ridiculous. You thought to yourself.
You almost turned and left, but at the last second you quickly bent down and slid the bandaid underneath the crack of the door before rushing back to your own.
-
A week passes without you seeing him again and work fills most of your time, yet the blood and the look he gave you still occasionally lingers in the back of your mind. What was that about?
At some point, you overhear a front desk worker mention to another resident that he used to be FBI. That makes more sense now. Does it?
People in those kinds of jobs probably get hurt often and it’s probably for the best that you haven’t crossed paths with him. Especially after leaving that bandaid under his door.
-
You get home late after work one night.
The lobby lights are on, but you notice something is immediately wrong. There are people gathered near the front desk, their hands either slightly raised or covering their faces.
Then you see an officer holding up a gun in their direction. AVTF.
Your steps slow to a stop as you observe the officer appears agitated in a way that feels unpredictable. Everything in you tenses like your body is bracing for something you don’t know how to respond to.
“Are you hiding him?” the man snaps, “don’t play stupid with me. I know he’s been here.”
The workers behind the desk look panicked.
“We- we don’t know who you’re talking about-”
“Bullseye,” he interrupts, “you expect me to believe no one’s seen him?” The officer then slams a knife into the desk, carved with some type of symbol. “This is his. I found it outside the building after tracking him the other night.”
To you, the name sounds almost familiar. Like you’ve heard it before on the news, possibly. Something about a vigilante, but you’re not entirely sure.
…But if a vigilante was living here, it would be hard not to notice. There must be some type of mistake.
No one is answering him the way he wants and he seems to be getting impatient, so you try to be reasonable with him.
“Officer,” you say, your voice quieter than you expected, “I- I’ve never seen him, so it’s unlikely he lives here. There must be a misunderstanding-”
The man turns toward you like you’ve done something wrong. “I didn’t ask if he lived here. I asked if he was being hidden.”
You blink, thrown off by whatever accusation he was trying to throw.
“Are you trying to trick me with your words?” His voice rising. “Why don’t you come here.”
He motions to floor beside him with the gun, but your body doesn’t move.
Your mind catches on the phrasing trick me? Trying to understand what part of what you said could be taken that way.
Ridiculous.
The officer steps forward, closing the distance quickly by grabbing your arm. Your breath catches sharply as you instinctively pull back, your body reacting before you can think through it.
“I-I’m not!” Your voice trembles.
“Maybe it takes someone dying to get some answers around here.”
The gun lifts and you can feel the presence of it near your head.
Everything inside you goes still, but somehow your mind races at the same time. You were probably about to die and you couldn’t even process what you should do in this last moment.
Someone behind the desk starts pleading, telling him to stop, but you can’t really make anything out from the fear you feel.
Your eyes squeeze shut and your hands curl in on themselves as your whole body locks up. You don’t know what you’re supposed to say.. or do…
You whisper a prayer underneath your breath, but before you finish a gunshot rings out, but it didn’t echo from where you expect.
Something warm flecked faintly against your check, followed by the feeling of pressure disappearing near your head. There’s a shift behind you and then a heavy thud. The officer isn’t holding you anymore. You don’t move at first and your eyes stay closed for a second longer before you slowly open them.
You turn and the officer is on the ground, gurgling in a pool of his own blood. The sight of it makes you look away immediately, snapping your head back forward to the ground.
Your breathing is still uneven as your eyes flick upward instead, searching for where the shot came from.
Across the lobby, your new neighbor stands near the entrance, like he had just walked in. A gun hangs loosely in his hand, lowered now. Strangely, his grip is relaxed and doesn’t match with what happened. Almost like it required no effort at all.
His expression is also nothing.. maybe slightly irritated, like something inconvenient just occurred, but not enough to matter.
Behind the desk, the tension breaks and the voices rise in relief and gratitude, but your ears are still ringing and you’re still too shaken up to focus on anything anyone is saying.
You’re still standing where the officer left you, but now blood is pooling at your shoes. It causes your stomach to lurch. A faint tremor still ran through your hands as you tried to block out the warm feeling of blood specks on your face.
-
The next few days, the whole apartment was still in a paranoid frenzy after the events of that night. There were so many witnesses to what had happened that your neighbor wasn’t arrested or charged. In fact, the news stirred up citizens of Hell’s Kitchen and raised even more suspicions against the AVTF. The whole incident was passed off as an unstable officer who must have been working against the major’s orders, though many people didn’t believe it.
You called out of work that week, keeping yourself confined in your bed where it was safe. Your phone buzzed occasionally somewhere across the room, but you ignored it. You avoided all news or social media, not that you normally looked at those things often anyways.
Even your roommate knocked on your door a few times to check on you, but you never answered it.
Your hands hadn’t stopped trembling from that night and although you had scrubbed every inch of your body, you could still feel the slight warmth of the blood that hit your cheek.
You couldn’t properly sleep for days because of the memory. The officer’s hand grabbing you, the gun pressed to your head, the gunshot and then seeing him choking on his on blood. It all stayed with you. Hell’s Kitchen had plenty of crime, but you had never experienced, nor seen something horrific like that. It’s something you will never really forget.
Your mind lingers to your neighbor. You think about him more than you mean to. About the way he stood there with cold eyes.. just empty.
The memory sends a shiver crawling down your spine.
Maybe he’d killed people before.. maybe that was normal for someone who used to be in the FBI. Maybe whatever assignments he worked made him used to things like that.
You don’t know, but you try not to think too hard about it. Either way, he saved your life. The realization keeps circling back no matter how uncomfortable it makes you.
If he hadn’t been there, it would’ve been you on the floor instead of the officer. He saved you and you don’t even know his name. You never thanked him.
Eventually you push yourself upright for the first time all day and stare at the wall for a long moment.
The apartment is quiet when you step into the kitchen. Your roommate is at work, which helps because you don’t have to hear questions or get strange looks.
Baking always helped you take your mind off things and this way you would be putting it to good use.
Soon the counter is cluttered with ingredients, measuring cups, bowls and other baking tools. You put your headphones on and start mixing the ingredients together.
By the time you pull the cookies out of the oven, you feel a little more eased. You arrange them carefully inside one of the nicer plastic containers you keep for special occasions.
Chocolate chip should be fine, you think. Everyone likes chocolate chip cookies.. at least you think everyone should.
You stand there holding the container for a while after that. Your eyes drift toward the apartment door and your stomach tightens again.
It’s okay now, you remind yourself.. the officer is dead. The thought brings relief so quickly that the feeling is replaced with guilt. Relief shouldn’t feel good when someone died. …Even if he almost killed you, right? Even if you still wake up with the feeling of a gun pressed to your head..
Before you can overthink it too much, you leave your apartment.
You stop outside your neighbor’s door and stare at it before shifting the container nervously in your grip. You raise your hand and knock lightly against the door then wait for a minute, but no one answers.
Maybe he isn’t home.. or maybe he’s sleeping... Or maybe people don’t usually knock on his door and this is strange and you should’ve thought about that before coming here. But you knock again anyways, a little harder this time.
Still no one answers. You considered leaving the container outside the door instead when the lock finally clicks and the door opens.
Up close, he somehow seems taller than he did before.. broader too. He’s also much handsome then you remember, though you never got a clear look at him until now. You notice the deep healed scar on his right cheek, yet it only seems to enhance his appearance.. you snap out of the thought.
Admiring your, much older, neighbor right in front of his face was definitely an interesting way to start off.
His expression is unreadable as he looks down at you.
You suddenly realize you didn’t think about what you were actually going to say and there’s a long pause while he waits. You just stand there holding the container awkwardly while your mind struggles to fill the silence.
“Oh.” You quickly hold the container out toward him. “I made these for you- I mean to thank you,” you correct yourself. “I know it doesn’t compare to you saving my life or anything, I just.. I was going to thank you sooner, I’ve just been.. uh..”
You don’t really want to explain the last week, but your hands were shaking enough to give it away.
There’s another pause before you speak again abruptly, pushing the container slightly closer toward him like that somehow fixes the conversation.
“It’s chocolate chip.”
Dex glanced down at the container. No expression crosses his face at first, but when his eyes lift back to yours he looks more attentive like he’s studying you.
You keep talking before the silence can settle again. “What you did was..” You swallowed. “Well, if you hadn’t been there.. I would be dead, so… thank you for saving me.”
Saving me.
Dex watches you carefully. The way your gaze keeps slipping away from his before cautiously returning.
Then he thinks about the word saving.
That hadn’t really been the intention. The officer was a problem. The AVTF had been getting too close already and if they tracked him to the building, that couldn’t continue. The man needed to die.
You surviving had simply been convenient and lucky for you.. and yet hearing you say it like that makes something pause in the back of his mind.
Saving you.
He finally reaches out and takes the container from your hands. “Well,” he says smoothly, almost dry, “you can’t really go wrong bringing cookies to someone’s door.”
You blinked once as another thought hits you. “Oh- I should’ve introduced myself.”
You tell him your name then you look up at him expectantly and Dex notices immediately. The long pause and stare he gives doesn’t bother you the way it should. You just stand there patiently, eyes resting on him with silent curiosity, waiting for him to tell you his bame.
He also noticed how close you’re standing and he almost takes a step back out of habit, but he doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head slightly and forces something close to a smile or a smirk onto his face. It’s not unfriendly, but practiced, it’s not like you notice that though.
“I’m Dex.”
You nodded. “I haven’t seen you around much,” you say honestly. “I was going to say hi last week, but you seemed kind of busy.”
The second the words leave your mouth, you regret it.
What were you even saying?
You sound ridiculous.
You’re trying to have normal conversation with the man who literally saved your life and somehow you’re talking about hallway timing.
Dex’s expression shifts subtly. He knew exactly which moment you’re talking about.
“Yeah,” he says after a second. “I’m usually busy with work.”
You nod, relieved he didn’t mention the bandaid left under his door. There was no proof it was from you, but you were probably the only one to see him.
There’s another awkward pause.
“But thanks for this,” he adds, lifting the container.
You stare at him for a few seconds and Dex waits staring back. You don’t move until you blink as realization catches up.
Right. That was probably the end of the conversation.
A small smile finally spreads across your face. “I hope you like them.”
You lift your hand in a small wave before turning and heading back down the hallway toward your apartment. Dex watches you the entire way until the door shuts quietly behind you.
Maybe that could have went better, you thought to yourself while you begin to clean up the kitchen.
Dex remains standing there for a moment longer with the container still in his hands and he looks down at it once more before stepping back into his apartment.
Idk how I feel about this fic but thanks for reading :D
titsay
yousharknotpass
janainaart
romaincrisis
areudirty
