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Pretty Privilege

FBI!Benjamin Poindexter x female!reader

16k+ words

Please Read: This story contains stalking, self harm, discussions of mental illness involving both Dex and the Reader, a female reader, an age gap relationship (Dex is 34 and Reader is in her mid 20's), and consensual sex.

MDNI

Story takes place in 2018, please see the authors notes at the end for more background on the story.

+++

He had seen you around.

The first time was in the mail room, 8:30 on a Thursday night. Work had kept Dex late and he always checked his mail before going up to his apartment for the night. He remembers feeling frustrated that the day ran long, an unnecessary briefing he believed he shouldn’t have had to attend in the first place, so he was edgy by the time he arrived home. Dex stomped into the mail room and beelined to his box, but still took the time to notice you.

Standing in front of an open mail slot dressed in a soft, worn t-shirt that was wet at the neck because your freshly washed hair was leaching into the fabric. You had glanced at him for a brief second then went back to rifling through your own mail. Your face was shiny and smooth in the dim light of the room, recently moisturized. When Dex brushed past he caught a whiff of your body wash, something cool and reminded him of the color green.

He grabbed his mail and by the time he turned back around you were gone. 

A few weeks later when he got home after another late night, hands shaky as he slid open the door of his safe and snatched the tape player, he sat on his couch and looked out the window of his apartment. Deep breath in, hold, slow exhale. The soothing voice of Dr. Mercer played in his ears as Dex looked out into the courtyard of his apartment complex. It was early spring, the days were getting a little longer and people had their windows open letting in the fresh air. Down in the courtyard someone was sitting on the bench near the tree that was turning green again.

Dex was a few stories up but he already recognized you. Wet hair, dewy skin, baggy sweatpants and a pair of slides. An old, faded Polo Sport t-shirt with a marlin printed on the front. He wondered if you were cold as you sat on the wooden bench watching the squirrels run past. Out of instinct Dex grabbed his telescope and watched as you slowly sprinkled out the contents of a ziplock bag into the ground in front of you. Squirrels and birds gathered at your feet but you seemed unbothered, sitting still and quiet as they pecked around you. They came, then the went, and when they were gone you got up and headed towards the entrance to the mail room. 8:30 on the dot.

At 8:45 Dex is still looking out the window, his heart no longer racing in annoyance from his long day, and he catches movement in the corner of his eye. He looks up and sees into the window directly across the yard from his, and it’s you. Dropping your mail on the table in front of your couch, a brown tabby cat jumping up on the furniture to greet you, and you falling onto your sofa. 

A neighbor. A girl. A nonthreat.

Weeks go by and Dex almost forgets about you. A cold snap hits and you keep your curtains closed while Dex gets caught up in a major case at work. His team successfully pulls off a sting operation against the Albanian mob. There are raids and Dex picks off two men from a rooftop with his rifle making him feel antsy and giddy which was maybe why he agreed to go to the bar after work with a few of the guys. Another case closed, another criminal off the street. A routine and a purpose that kept Dex good.

11 PM on a Friday night and while his colleagues were just getting started Dex was itching to go home. The bar was getting more and more crowded, Ray had already left to go home to his wife and son, and Dex had no desire to have another drink. But still he stayed, keeping up with the self-assured cocky persona he had created for work. He smiled, he laughed at jokes, and he looked normal even though the nagging thought about how he should be home cleaning his pistol kept making his fingers feel itchy.

A quarter till midnight he finally decided to head out when his colleagues decided to switch bars. Dex stood against the sticky bar counter as the tender left to close out his tab. He was half heartedly paying attention to his surroundings, his head pounding from the loud talking and annoying music. A girl next to him was telling her friends how she found another friend’s fiance on Tinder.

“That’s terrible.” A soft voice murmured, sounding genuinely hurt in regard to the story. “How did she react?”

“What do you mean?” The original girl asked. The bartender had dropped Dex’s card and receipts in front of him. He slowly signed his name as he continued to listen. This was the most interesting conversation he had heard all night.

“Is Leah okay? How did she react when you told her? That’s heartbreaking.” The soft voice said. Dex finally glanced over and was shocked when he saw you. Neighbor. The girl across the yard. You had left your cozy clothes at home and instead wore a black cropped tank-top and baggy, ripped jeans. You had heavy boots on and a leather jacket draped over your right arm.  

Your friend scoffed and your face winced with hurt. “Why would I tell her? I am not getting involved with that. They’re supposed to get married in four months.”

“Because she’s our friend.” You said steadily. You swallowed harshly and tucked a stray hair behind your ear. “It would be wrong not to tell her, cheating is a horrible thing to do.”

“Babe,” Another girl said, standing across from you and placing a hand on your shoulder, “it’ll come to light, but it’s not our job to make that happen.” You shrugged off your friend's hand and clutched your jacket over your arm. 

“Yes it is our job!” You hissed. Dex could see the rise and fall of your chest, rapid and unsteady. Your knuckles were white with how hard you were ripping at the fabric of your jacket. “I’m telling her, she has the right to know.”

You turn around and you leave and your friend makes a half-hearted effort to stop you. Once you’re out of sight they scoff again and murmur something about how you were starting unnecessary drama. Dex stares straight ahead counting liquor bottles on the shelf, one for every second, then he leaves.

You’re already at the end of the street when he spots you but he knows which way you’re going. Your apartment complex was close, another reason why Dex agreed to go out. With each step, each slight movement to stay out of your line of sight, he reminds himself that he is just going home and you happen to live in the same building as him. There’s nothing wrong with what he is doing.

He almost avoids getting into the elevator with you, not wanting you to notice him quite yet, but you’re distracted by your phone which is already held to your ear. Dex can hear the line ringing, your baited breath as you pick at the skin of your nails. The elevator dings and you part ways. When he rounds the corner of the hall he sprints to his door, wanting to get in front of the window before you’re back at your apartment. 

He leaves his lights off so he remains unseen and looks through his telescope to see your cat lounging in the windowsill perk up when you open your front door. You’re talking, presumably to Leah, and you’re running your hands through your hair. The more he watches the more you look upset. You start to hyperventilate, you wince again, you pull the phone away from your ear abruptly and collapse onto the floor in front of your couch. Looks like Leah didn’t take the news well and blamed you for something that was never your fault.

And even though Dex had seen you around the apartment this was the first time he had really seen you. Noticed you. Paid attention in any meaningful way because as you tried to calm your breathing by stroking your cat's fur the voice of Dr. Mercer echoes in his brain. 

“Your North Star.”

All this time Dex had been following her words like the gospel. Years of rigid military service directly followed by Quantico which provided the job in the FBI. Structure, discipline, strict routine with occasional release that came from pulling the trigger had kept him sane. Every monotonous minute of every day had brought him to you, and you had been right in front of him for so long. Finally he was able to look up to you. His North Star. 

The moment at the bar intrigued him. You had the opportunity to look the other way but instead you decided to gamble all of your social credit knowing what it would cost you. Friendships put on the line just so you could do the right thing.

Dex Decided to cash in some long accrued PTO claiming he needed some time off from the last case. The department psychologist signed off on it saying some mental health days were in order because Dex’s job could be oh-so taxing, and Dex decided to get to know you a little better.

He wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t delighted at what he learned. 

You had a routine. Not just weekly habits or a schedule that you semi-adhered to no, a strict routine that you followed diligently. Dex wondered if your routine brought you that same peace it brought him, that every task that was lined up and completed throughout the day brought you relief. He watched with fascination and found ways to rework his own schedule so it could align with yours. 

Sundays were for errands. You woke up at 8 AM and spent ten minutes in bed petting your cat before getting up and washing your face, then applied serums, then brushed your teeth, then moisturized. You’d get dressed in silence and Dex would always turn away to give you privacy, then you’d inspect your small fridge and pantry and make a list. He found out that you liked lists and you especially liked when you could cross something off of one. When he tailed you in the grocery store he couldn’t help but notice how your lips would curve into a smile every time you stopped and placed an item in your basket and got to cross off the item in one swift line of ink. 

When you got home you would do laundry and paint your nails one of four colors that you kept on hand and watched a movie. Whatever you watched he would watch too. It seemed like you weren’t just a creature of habit with your routine but with what you consumed as well, whether it be music or food or media. You stuck to the same handful of meals every week. You watched a rotation of about fifteen movies. He found your Spotify and listened to all your favorite songs. 

At night you would read before getting ready for bed and it seemed like reading was the only part of your life you felt the need to branch out. You would read anything ranging from horror to non-fiction. Books littered your apartment as the tiny bookshelf in your living room was already stuffed full. He read what you read and he found himself enjoying it too. 

During the week you worked at an accounting firm in the operations department. You assisted with billing and worked out of a decent sized cubicle in a quiet part of the office. He observed you Monday through Friday, sitting alone at your quiet desk listening to the same music and podcast episodes that you enjoyed. 1 to 1:30 you had your lunch break where you sat outside your building on a bench and ate whatever leftovers from the night before you packed. You fed your crumbs to the birds, watching as they fluttered around you without flinching. You kept to yourself at work, friendly but you didn’t have anyone you were close with. You left at five every day and took the same train home. 

By 6 you were making dinner and Dex mirrored you. Ate when you ate with baited breath, smiling when he tasted what you tasted. Then you showered and so did he and while he didn’t change his body wash or shampoo to yours, he did buy the bottles and smelled the soapy contents of them while standing under the showerhead. By 8 you were dressed in your usual soft sweats and t-shirts and headed outside with a ziplock of birdfeed. Doves and chipmunks swarmed around you, occasionally you would place birdseed in your hands and sit unmoving as pigeons pecked at your fingers, and when it was all gone by 8:30 you would check your mail. Dex started checking his mail at that time too, the one time a day when you would share the same space and he found himself looking forward to it more than anything. 

The following week when Dex returned to work, refreshed and happy with a few new adjustments to his routine, he kept you in his thoughts and made time for you when he could. 

He sat in his car across the street during your lunch break. He tailed you to and from work telling himself that he was just making sure you were safe. He grocery shopped with you on Sundays and followed you to the bookstore every Friday night when you picked up whatever you’d be reading for the week. On Saturdays you went to the farmers market a few blocks down where you’d buy a new bouquet of flowers that you kept in the apartment all week. Dex would buy a duplicate of whatever bouquet you picked out and stared at them longly. 

Dex learned what you liked and disliked. You enjoyed the company of animals, something Dex found difficult at first considering his troubled past with small creatures as a kid. When he observed you feeding the birds he listened to the recording of himself as a child recounting how he killed a family of robins with skipping stones. When you sat on the floor of your apartment next to your cat, who he learned was named Penny, he recalled the time he kicked a stray dog nearly to death as a teen. 

This is good for me. He thought to himself as you pet an outdoor cat on your walk to the subway station one afternoon. You were kind to animals so therefore he should be too. You were good and to be good like you he needed to be kind to animals too. He bought a hanging birdfeeder over the weekend and installed it outside his window so while he watched you feeding the birds he could feed them too. Just like you.

You didn’t like leaving your apartment once you got home on weekdays. Errands and time out of the apartment were meant for weekends whether it be a trip to the store or the diner you went to for breakfast on Saturdays. Dex liked that you were a homebody. It meant you were more likely to be safe. 

You enjoyed quiet moments. Your lunch break on the bench. Time spent in your living room watching your cat take a nap. The book store. You kept to yourself and you liked when other people did too.

You liked being clean. You swept and dusted your apartment every other day which Dex could appreciate because he took care of his own apartment diligently. You liked showering. You liked laundry. You liked fresh smells like cucumber and pear and wheatgrass. Your perfume was Elizabeth Arden Green Tea and Dex kept a small bottle on his nightstand just so he could remind himself what you were like up close. The scent made something in his chest unravel.

He found himself smiling more. You had become something for him to look forward to. He was less snippy at work and found himself actually laughing at a few of the guys' jokes in the breakroom. Paperwork was no longer as trivial as it used to feel. Briefings and strategy meetings suddenly not as mind numbing. Dex often thought about what you were doing at that exact same moment, at work dressed in your pleated skirts that went past your knees and logging bills for tax clients while listening to a podcast.

Ray even picked up on the shift. While sitting in a van on a stakeout he asked if Dex had been seeing someone and all Dex could do was smirk and try not to make eye contact. 

“Kind of.” Dex allowed himself to say and Ray grinned. 

“Oh yeah? I’ve known you for almost five years and this is the first I’ve heard of something like this.”

That’s because I keep it that way.

“It’s new.” Dex replies as he watches their mark who is sitting outside at a restaurant and is a suspect in a high profile human trafficking operation. He’s dressed in an expensive suit and smiles at his wife who is wearing designer shoes, all bought from the blood of their unsuspecting victims. Dex pictured ripping the fork out of the man’s hand just before he went in for another bite and stabbing him in the eye with the utensil. His wife would scream but he’d shut her up by taking her champagne flute and throwing it into her windpipe. He’d kick the man’s chair out from underneath him and watch him tumble to the ground then end his life by slitting his throat with the steak knife. The man and his wife deserved it because their operation targeted young women like you.  

“Well whoever she is, must be good for you.” Ray said as he popped his gum and smiled over at Dex who had been ripped away from his own thoughts. Dex nods in agreement, cracking his own while he pictures the way your hair falls over your neck. 

“She keeps me sane.”

By the first week of May it seemed like spring was finally deciding to stick around in New York. The magnolia tree in the courtyard started to bud and you don’t look like you’re shivering anymore when you feed the birds. Dex has gotten to know you for weeks. Your routine folded and adapted into his.

However as the weeks went by he couldn’t help but notice how morose you seemed to be. Sadness clearly induced by loneliness as your friends hadn’t reached out to you since the fateful night. The few times you talked on the phone were with your parents every few weeks. When he was able to view your phone screen you were rarely texting anyone and you hadn’t posted on social media in over a year. Penny provided as much companionship as any cat could and it seemed to quell your despair, but more often than not you were going to bed exhausted with red rimmed eyes. You started leaving your bedroom window open since it had gotten warmer leaving Dex with an uninterrupted view into your most private space. 

It all came to a head on a Wednesday night.

You had just returned to your apartment, mail in hand and an empty ziplock in the pocket of your shorts. Through the telescope Dex could see how tired you looked. Work must’ve been difficult because you ate on your usual bench with your head hung low and that evening you barely paid Penny any mind when she rubbed against your shins when you got home. Even when feeding the birds you seemed uninterested, scattering seed at your feet aimlessly and not paying attention to the critters milling around you. Your constant state of almost bursting into tears tugged at something deep inside Dex’s chest that he tried to expel at the shooting range earlier in the afternoon. 

As you laid on your couch with the television off and only the surrounding hum of the neighborhood keeping you company your phone buzzed for the first time in almost a month. Dex watched as you shot up and grabbed at your device. Leah’s name was on caller ID and with shaky hands you answered her call. 

Years of sitting behind lenses, watching and waiting for the perfect time to pull the trigger, allowed Dex to be skilled at lip reading. While raking your hands through your hair you asked, “Hello?” and Dex imagined your soft spoken voice he had listened to a handful of times. 

You waited patiently as Leah spoke on the other end, biting at your lip as your breathing picked up. You tried to speak at one point but got interrupted causing Dex’s nostrils to flare in anger as Leah wouldn’t let you get a word in. After a minute he watched as your face crumpled and you let out a sharp gasp that cut through the silence of the courtyard and into Dex’s own open apartment window. 

The phone slipped from your hand and thumped against the couch cushion. Bottom lip wobbling as you harshly rubbed at your eyes and heaved for air. Penny, aware of your distress, nosed at your arm but you ignored her as you stood shakily and went to your kitchen.

In your half-present state you managed to bump the bookshelf near the doorway which shelved your special glass vase that you kept your weekly bouquet in. If Dex had been with you he would’ve caught it instinctually but by the time you turned your head it was already toppling to the floor. The shatter was loud enough to echo into the courtyard and you stood in its broken wake looking helpless. 

Penny was scared by the crash at first but then became curious as she watched you stand silently amidst the mess of broken glass. When she tried to walk to you to investigate you finally snapped out of your daze and shouted for her to not come any closer. The uncharacteristic volume of your voice startled her and she ran away into the bedroom and you winced in regret. 

Through his telescope Dex watched the first tear spill over your lashline as you knelt to the ground. Everything was finally boiling over. The loneliness, the phone call, the accident with the vase and to wrap everything together was the lash out against Penny who Dex figured was your only friend at this point. You struggled for air as you let out a choked sob and something white hot zipped down Dex’s spine and settled in his hips.

It was the first time he had witnessed you cry. All this time you had been keeping and repressing and ignoring the inevitable and it was all coming out in this one moment. Angry, betrayed tears spilled onto your face as your shoulder wracked with harsh cries. Dex’s own chest felt tight and his hands shook, he lowered the telescope and let out a few deep breaths in an attempt to steady himself. After a beat he raised his lens just in time to find you sweeping the glass and flowers into a dustpan all while still letting out pained sobs. 

Something was gnawing into Dex’s ribs as you held the dustpan over your trashcan, hesitant to throw everything away. You must’ve been attached to the vase, or maybe it was everything else that was making you wait. Foot on the lever that keeps the lid open, you hover and let tears drip onto glass shards and flower stems. With a shaky hand you reach out and pick up the largest of the broken pieces. 

Holding in tears your chest starts to heave again. Deep breaths in and out as it looked like you tried to calm yourself but then you started gripping the glass in your delicate hands and Dex watched as sharp edges pierced the skin of your fingers and palms. He gasped at the sight of you hurting yourself, his mind screaming as blood dripped into the open trash. Eventually the shard was crushed in your grip and smaller pieces of glass tumbled into the waste. You gasped for air again and more tears welled up in your eyes as the hurt and pain started to set in. You finished cleaning with an injured hand and cleaned your wounds in the kitchen sink after. It was difficult for Dex to see the total damage done but it was sure to scar.

While you were in the privacy of your own bathroom away from Dex’s prying eyes he laid on his comforter and processed what he just witnessed. His North Start intentionally hurting herself in a response to her own loneliness and maybe as an act of punishment. He wondered if this wasn’t the first time. You were good. So good. Too good. You got sad when you saw missing dog posters and always took a picture of the flyers in case you saw the pet somewhere. You assisted your elderly neighbor down the hall with her groceries and treated your cat with the most care Dex has anyone ever seen give to an animal. You sorted your trash and read the AP. You always did the right thing even if it meant losing everything. 

And yet you punished yourself for it. 

All you had was Penny at this point and as much as Dex had come to respect her, she wasn’t enough. You needed someone who you could talk to. You needed a companion. Someone who could understand the routine as much as you did someone who could keep you safe even from yourself. 

Dex could be that someone for you.

+++

You had never met a guy like Dex before. 

Before he was Dex he was “Mail Guy” because he was the attractive man who usually got his mail at the same time as you. 8:30, right after you finish your “outside evening time”, and he’d be there in the mail room standing in front of his box reading through whatever bills or coupons he had received. The first thing you noticed about him were his broad shoulders and the way his hair always looked neat and parted. He was a bright, small moment of your day that appeared during a dark and intense stretch of isolation. 

A guy like Mail Guy would never be into you anyways, or at least that is what you had always told yourself. Attractive guys, guys who were normal and didn’t carry a mental checklist around in their heads at all times, guys who didn’t feel guilty all the time.

You were the type of girl who was a little too quiet in an off-putting way rather than a cute, shy way. Blue Planet was your favorite television show. Animals were more comforting and loads more interesting than people. Books were your best friends until freshman year of college. At parties you were the first person to leave or, if your friends managed to convince you to stay, you would go so unnoticed that you’d start cleaning up while everyone danced. One time you managed to reorganize a frat house’s entire kitchen in an entire night, your greatest but also most pathetic accomplishment. In class on Monday you overheard one of the boys who lived in the house say that they were convinced a ghost had done it, unaware that the culprit had been in a group project with him a semester earlier. 

His comment made you realize that you were sort-of a ghost in a few ways. You had drifted through your life only occasionally noticed by others, free to roam as you pleased if you were quiet enough. Similar to a ghost you also tended to have the same haunts. 

The routine. 

The routine, the to-do list, the pattern. An entirely made up and self imposed procedure that you adhered to religiously, the first iteration of it dating back to sixth grade. The method had changed and evolved over the years, guiding you through high school then college til the present, post-college early twenties routine that allowed for the most freedom which is why you kept it so monotonous. The fear of falling off track or messing up so badly that you were in complete social and financial ruin plagued you so relentlessly you often found yourself clutching at your chest in an effort to sooth your racing heart as your mind replayed images of you homeless, or unemployed, or so terribly broke that you lost everything and had no one to turn to. 

So instead you lead a simple life filled with simple pleasures and kept your head down and your savings account full so you could enjoy the little things like getting breakfast every Saturday morning or caring for your cat Penny; the first love of your life. 

Your friends had never understood your anxieties and you envied their abilities to be careless. To them, your routine was limiting and annoying, something that got in the way of their abilities to be totally free. They never understood the importance of bed time, the joy that “outside evening time” brought you, or how you had to do your laundry on Sundays or else you would feel like a failure. 

“One night out won’t kill you.” Mary chided over text when you declined to go out on a Tuesday night. 

“A few years ago the Avengers fought an alien invasion in Manhattan. Maybe it will.” You responded, too tired to give any other explanation that they wouldn’t pay attention to. You liked your friends and sometimes it seemed like they liked you too, but they would not ever be able to understand you. No one would, and you knew that was your own fault. 

At night when you buried yourself in a book during your designated reading time in an attempt to stay off your phone you could still remember the way Leah screamed at you when you told her the truth. 

“Why the hell would you accuse him of something like that?” She spat, already crying because even though she was in denial, deep down she knew that you wouldn’t make something like this up.

“This is the truth Leah. Mary and Izzy just told me about it and they did not want to get involved which I would argue is worse.” You tugged fingers through your hair as you paced your living room and Penny started swatting at a stray thread in your jeans. “I’m not lying, Izzy said she found Jeremy on Tinder. I’m telling you because I don’t want you to be with a cheater. You don’t deserve that. You’re my friend.”

“Friends don’t make up lies! You just don’t want me to be happy. You’re jealous because I’m not miserable and single like you are so you’re going out of your way to make me just like you!” Leah was practically hissing and the loathing in her voice made your heart shatter. 

That’s what she thought of you?

You had known Leah since college. At one point you were roommates for almost two years before she met Jeremy and eventually moved in with him. You helped her send wedding invitations and next week you were supposed to go out to brunch. The sage green bridesmaid dress you saved up for was hanging in your closet in a dry cleaning bag and the matching heels were sitting untouched in their box. Leah was your friend who you watched Planet Earth with and was there when you adopted Penny. And now she was telling you that you were a miserable piece of shit trying to ruin her life. 

“I-” You stutter, tears threatening to fall but you hold it in because it would be too embarrassing to cry, “Leah how could you say something like that?”

“Next time we speak it better be an apology!” She shouted before hanging up so you couldn’t have the last word. You yanked the phone back from your ear at the shriek and let it set in that something terrible just happened.

Izzy and Mary texted you later that night after Leah called them and they berated you in long paragraphs and said that you always started unnecessary drama even though you had never started drama in your life. When you tried to defend yourself Mary told you to keep your head down and your nose out of everyone’s business which you found ironic because all you ever did was keep your head down your whole life. 

Three friendships down the drain in the span of four hours. Your already meager social life dwindled down to small interactions at work and the attention Penny gave you. Anxiety ate away at you for days as you clung to your routine that would never hurt you in an effort to stay alive.

So Mail Guy was kind of a blessing. For roughly 55 seconds every day except Sundays you could admire the side profile of your handsome neighbor who would wear things like tight fitting quarterzips that showed off his biceps. One time when he came into the mail room he was still dressed in work clothes and when he opened his box you saw a gun in a holster on his hip. It made you a little nervous but it also made him a little more attractive. 

Mail Guy was part of your routine, a welcome addition to your mental checklist that gave you satisfaction every time you could cross it off. 

The checklist is what kept you sane for all of your weeks of social quarantine. It was timed down to the minute. Perfectly planned so every thirty minutes would keep you occupied and just enough time to anticipate what was coming next. The routine kept your mind off of the clusterfuck that were your friendships and without it you probably would’ve hurt yourself a lot sooner than you did. 

But even the pattern couldn’t cover up the fact that you had barely had a meaningful conversation in over a month. You filled the void by talking to yourself and Penny but the lack of response was starting to drive you crazy. If Penny wasn’t in your life you often wondered if anyone would notice if you were alive or not. It would be easy to slip away if no one was looking for you. Work could easily fill your position and write you off as a no call no show. Your ex-friends would never know you were gone because they made it clear they didn’t want to talk to you anymore. It would probably be a few weeks before your parents realized you weren’t returning their calls. But Penny would notice. If you did kill yourself you’d probably do it in the soft comfort of your apartment where Penny would be. You wouldn’t be able to feed her so at some point she’d start eating you and even though most people find that sort of thing morbid you always thought it was nice. Good. Penny deserved to eat you. You’d hate for her to starve. That would be so sad. 

It would be worse if she got taken by animal control and would probably be put down after your body was finally discovered. You loved Penny more than anything so for her sake you stayed alive.

Then Leah called. 

“Jeremy and I talked it out.” She said firmly. “We are still getting married. He made a mistake and I have forgiven him.”

“Cheating isn’t just a mistake Leah.” You said softly, scared of provoking her as you recalled the way she screamed at you last time you spoke. 

“I have forgiven him.” Leah reiterates. “But neither of us feel comfortable having you at the wedding. You’re not allowed to come.”

“What?”

“It was a mutual decision between Jeremy and I. What you did caused me a lot of pain for the past few weeks and if you would go as far to do something like this now then I don’t know what you’d do at the wedding. You’re not allowed to come and that is final.” She hangs up the phone quietly this time and you are left speechless. 

It’s all your fault. You officially have no one and it was all your fault. You did this. Pushed everyone away. You made the mistake. It’s all on you. 

Your chest felt so tight and you realized you were hyperventilating so you attempted to get water but because you’re such a fuck up you broke your favorite vase. Then you embarrassed yourself by crying then you shouted at Penny who was just trying to check on you and that was worse than anything you did to Leah. You were a bad, bad person. Evil. Despicable. You deserved to be punished. The glass was almost silent as you crushed it in your hand and let it dig and break skin on your fingers. You deserved this. 

That night you went to bed with aching skin and Penny didn’t sleep by your side like normal. By morning she was laying on the foot of the bed and the hurt under your skin wasn’t as present. You changed your bandages and winced at the large cut that was on your palm. It was no longer bleeding but it was sure to scar. 

Work went by with no issue like it always did. You had what you dubbed “outdoor lunch time” and tried to soak up the sun. You always hated crying but you did feel a bit lighter. The calm after the storm. That evening you could only wash your hair with one hand because your fingers stung when you would bend them. Your hand ached from typing on the computer all day but it didn’t look like you were getting an infection. You pressed into the center of one of the wounds over the wrapping and felt the dull twinge. 

Then you went to feed the birds like you always did at 8 dressed in black sweats and an Umbro t-shirt. You headed down the stairs to your usual bench and had to stop yourself from gasping when you saw someone sitting next to your usual spot reading a book. 

Mail Guy.

He was wearing a soft crewneck and baggy pants while reading a copy of Jaws. He chewed on his bottom lip as he read and looked up at you slowly and then grinned politely. Turns out, Mail Guy had really nice teeth, but sort-of an intimidating smile that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You felt your hands start to sweat. 

“Evening.” He said coolly. “Do you mind if we share the bench?”

A tiny gust of wind could knock you over if it wanted to. 

“Sorry,” He cringes but it’s cute because he is unfairly good looking, “I noticed you out here a few times so I know this is your territory but I couldn’t stand being cooped up in my apartment on such a nice day.” He gestures around the small courtyard and you nod your head before trying to crack a smile of your own. 

“You noticed me?” You asked dumbly, chastising yourself mentally for already making such a terrible impression on Mail Guy. You assumed he probably thought you were weird. Feeding the birds and squirrels wasn’t the coolest hobby but “evening outdoor time” was one of your favorite parts of your day. You enjoyed the way the animals interacted with one another and how if you were still enough, sometimes a bird would land on your foot. 

“Yeah, once or twice.” He scooted further into the other side of the bench to give you room and you sat down in your usual spot. Already, pigeons were starting to flock around the two of you. “It’s sweet that you feed the birds.”

“Oh!” You blush and suddenly wish you were wearing anything but the ratty old shirt and pants you had on. Your hair was still wet and your bandage probably made you look like a freak. Mail Guy was just being nice so you wouldn’t feel bad, no way a guy like him thought someone like you was ‘sweet’. “Yeah I feed them every day. I really like animals.” You mumble as you throw your first bit of seed in a wide ark around you. Doves coo and flutter around you and you hear squirrels chatter in the magnolia behind the bench. 

“But this bench isn’t mine or anything,” You said as you recalled the way he said ‘your territory’ and wondered if any of your other neighbors had taken notice of your antics, “it’s a public space. I don’t mean to hoard it to myself or anything.” You look at him out of the corner of your eye and take note of the way the sunshine made the white-blond hairs on his temples glitter in the light. Mail Guy smiled again, his eyes crinkling at the edges. 

“I’ll try to be quiet so no one is disturbed.” He says before running a hand through his hair and settling into the corner of the bench.

There's a moment of silence as just the chatter of animals fills the air surrounding you and him. He goes back to reading and is sitting just as still as you are only occasionally moving to turn a page in his book. You try to keep the fresh bandages on your hands as clean as possible by brushing extra seed onto the hem of your sweats after every throw. A lady bug lands on a blade of grass by your feet and you watch it crawl lazily along the grass before a sparrow lands near it and it flies away. 

The bag dwindles down and soon you will go inside and get your mail before returning home but the fact that you’re sitting next to your silly apartment crush makes your heart go wild. The two of you are sitting close enough together that you can smell his cologne, something that reminded you of teakwood and made your stomach flutter. 

“Do you like it?” You hear yourself ask, voice low as to not disturb the wildlife. You try not to look at him, instead fixating on some of the tape of your wrapping already peeling off of your skin so you try to flatten it down. Mail Guy looks up from his paperback.

“The book?” He asks, holding up his copy. You nod, still fiddling with the tape and trying to ignore the weight of his stare. You think his eyes are hazel but you can’t quite tell yet. 

“Mmhmm.” The last bit of seed is scattered around the two of you and all the courtyard animals flock for one last frenzy. “I read it for the first time a few weeks ago.”

“Well what did you think?” He bookmarks his spot with a yellow post-it that still looks crisp. His movements were clean as he stuck it on his page then closed the book, each action seemingly very intentional. Mail Guy adjusted his posture so he was facing you directly, knee thrown up on to the bench casually but just enough room so he wasn’t touching you. You finally turned to face him, still ducking under his gaze and looking at his chin dimple rather than his eyes. 

“I enjoyed it, it was different than I thought it would be but I think that’s what made me like it more. I don’t wanna spoil anything for you though.” You say, a smile forming on your face the longer you speak as you recalled your experience from a few weeks ago.

“I’ve never seen the movie either.” Mail Guy admits, almost looking sheepish. He lowers his head so he can catch your gaze and you blink up at him surprised which makes him flash his sharp smile again. “But it’s good so far. I think I enjoy non-fiction more than fiction if I’m being honest, but it is keeping me entertained. The cheating plotline though…” He trails off and sucks his teeth, “Not my favorite.”

You nod politely even though the mention of ‘cheating’ makes your chest twinge at the thought of Leah and her soon-to-be husband. “You’ll probably enjoy the ending.” You say offhandedly and Mail Guy is still smiling. The tape on your hand is still peeling and it is 8:30, you should be leaving.

“Is your hand alright?” Mail Guy asks, pointing to your poor attempt at first aid that you’re fidgeting with before you can excuse yourself. 

“Oh!” You blush again and scramble for an explanation that doesn’t make you look crazy in front of your cute neighbor, “I stupidly broke a vase last night and underestimated how sharp the glass was when I was cleaning it up.” A half-truth that he seems to believe because he lets out a soft hum as he appraises your hand. 

“You know,” He says softly as he looks at the already fraying gauze on your fingers, “I’m first aid certified. I can take a look at your hand and bandage it a little more comfortably.”

The offer shocks you and for a second you think you might be dreaming. First Mail Guy admits to noticing you now this direct offer of help. “Is it that bad?” You ask shyly, holding up your injured hand weakly and cracking a self-depricating smile and he chuckles. 

“Let’s just say we can’t have our friends out here in the courtyard going hungry because of your injury.” You smile which makes him smile. 

You consider his offer for a second. On any other day you would’ve been in the stairwell walking back to your apartment so you could sit with Penny and read for the remainder of the evening and a part of your brain was already getting antsy because you were behind schedule. You hadn’t even gotten your mail yet due to this conversation. But the other half of you knew that if you accepted this offer you’d not only get to spend more time with the mysterious Mail Guy but because he’d be fixing your bandages he’d have to touch you. You hadn’t been touched in months.

“Only if I can check my mail really quick first.”

The elevator ride to his apartment was short and when you stepped out of the car you realized you were on your own floor. “This way.” He nodded, heading left when you would’ve gone right to your own unit. You don’t even know this guy's name nor does he know yours but you’re following him back to his apartment. He could be crazy, a psycho killer who was luring you to your demise but you didn’t even care because you were so intrigued at the possibility of feeling someone else’s skin on yours.

His unit was just like yours except it was sparser and exceptionally tidy. A loveseat in the livingroom, a perfectly aligned stack of newspapers on the edge of the kitchen counter, a small breakfast table with a chair on each side spaced evenly apart from the edge of the table. He pulled out one of the chairs for you and asked you to wait for a moment while he got everything in order. By the door you noticed one of the few framed pictures on his walls. A picture of him and a group of men in army fatigues taken somewhere in a desert. Mail Guy was on the edge of the group smiling a bit awkwardly while holding the largest gun you’ve ever seen. 

He returns to the table just after stopping in the kitchen to turn on his electric kettle then settles in the chair next to you. Mail Guy peels the tape and bandages off of your hand so tenderly you think you might melt into his hardwood floors. Once it is all removed he tuts softly, maneuvering your hand gently in his grasp as he inspects the wounds. A large slice into the palm of your dominant hand with four smaller ones on each of your fingers.

“Ouch.” He mumbles, his thumb tracing the edge of the largest cut. “Poor girl.” His voice is a low murmur and you almost don’t hear the last comment and try not to blush again. 

“Where’d you learn first aid?” You ask softly. You were standing over his kitchen sink with the kettle coming to a slow simmer behind you. Mail Guy is washing your hand for you and even though the soap causes your ache to return you don’t mind because his touch is so warm, contrasting the cold water lapping against your skin. 

“Oh! Uh,” He ponders his next sentence as he dabs your skin dry with a dish towel, “It was mandatory for my work. I’m an FBI agent. I do a decent amount of field work.” Mail Guy, or rather FBI Guy, mumbles and you raise your brows in surprise. No wonder he was so attentive. 

You’re back at his table and Mail Guy is prepping each item he plans on using. Unwrapping fresh gauze, pre-cutting ribbons of tape, opening a packet of antibiotic salve, and laying it out in a neat row in front of him. 

“This will sting a little.” There’s an alcohol wipe in his hand and he glances at you like he’s waiting for your permission before he begins his work. You stifle any reaction to the burn, staying perfectly still and hoping you’re a good patient as he works to disinfect each cut perfectly. “I’m Benjamin Poindexter by the way.” 

Finally a real name. You repeat it in your head and your first thought is that his last name is actually kind of dorky and it makes him a little less intimidating. 

“My friends call me Dex.” He adds just as he finishes disinfecting your hand. Suddenly his edge is back. Poindexter is a little silly but Dex is kind of intense and you think it suits him with his sharp smiles and orderly apartment. His hands reach out and grab one of the clean gauze squares with that same precision you noticed earlier and he narrows his eyes as he places it onto your palm. 

“No one calls you Ben?” You quiz, keeping your hand steady and your own eyes on his face. Soaking up all his attention as he wraps medical tape around your hand, each movement completely deliberate. First he admits to noticing you feeding the birds, then he makes an effort to pay enough attention to you to notice your injury, he takes it even further by offering to patch you up with the most tender care anyone has given you in a long time. You wonder if this guy was noticing you in the mailroom all this time. 

“You can call me anything you want.” Ben says, a sharp smile gracing his features once again, but this time it doesn’t make any part of you want to turn and run. 

After ten more minutes of careful and precise work you are left with a much more professional and comfortable dressing than you could’ve managed by yourself. The tape won’t peel and the smaller cuts on your fingers have their own individual gauze squares that Ben cut down to the perfect size. The tape is tight but not too tight and wrapped around your fingers in a way where you can still bend them comfortably. He leaves the table so you can admire his work by yourself while he fixes mugs of tea for the two of you and you can’t help but feel incredibly wooed. 

“I can redo it for you tomorrow if you want.” Ben says almost eagerly but you can tell he’s trying to hide it. You sip your tea, something herbal that reminds you of your favorite restaurant. His soft yet sure touch and willingness to help you is starting to become overwhelming and you wonder if you should’ve been eased into receiving small acts of service rather than all at once. “Just leave it unbandaged after you shower. I’ll meet you in the courtyard at the same time and after we can come back here.”

As you finish your tea and he cleans everything up you gaze out his window. His apartment has a clear view of your spot in the courtyard and it’s interesting to see it from a different angle. Your eyes flick up and just across the yard in the window parallel to his you see a familiar shape. It’s Penny, sitting in her usual spot on your living room windowsill watching a crow hop around on one of the branches of the magnolia. Maybe meeting Ben was fate. 

The next day he’s already waiting for you on the wooden bench, a copy of Jaws still in his hands but this time he’s almost all done. He tells you it’s the final showdown, Hooper has just been eaten and now Brody and Quint are determined to kill the shark. 

“I kind of like the shark.” Ben admits as he inspects your hand in his apartment that evening. “I guess I kind of like sharks in general but it’s a shame he’s being persecuted for what he’s best at. What else is a shark supposed to do?” You let out a laugh which makes him grin and for a second you think that Ben is kind of shark-like himself.

In hindsight you probably should’ve been more cautious when it came to letting a stranger patch you up daily. If one of your friends told you that they were going to an older neighbor's apartment once a day to allow them to perform first aid despite having minimal contact prior, you would’ve told them to be cautious and to go to a doctor. But you don’t have those friends anymore and medical bills are outrageous and besides, Ben isn’t a stranger, he's a Mail Guy. He’s your neighbor. More importantly, Ben is an FBI agent and you remind yourself that psycho-killers don’t work for the FBI because they probably have to go through screenings and training. At least that is what you tell yourself.

The thirty minutes a day in Ben’s apartment allow you to get to know him better. He’s tidy which you admire and appreciate. Ben has shockingly good aim and a good throwing arm because he’s always able to throw your old, balled up bandages in the trash can which is on the other side of the room closer to the kitchen in a single throw and never misses. The third time he does it you wonder if he’s trying to impress you, which he succeeded at, and you ask him if he ever tried to be a professional baseball player. 

“I did honestly consider it back in high school.” He says as he applies ointment to your cuts. Your hand has dramatically improved since Ben started working his certified first aid magic on it. You kind of want to heal a little slower just so you can spend more time with your neighbor. “But baseball can be boring. Also they kept pulling me halfway through the game because I’d strike everyone out the whole time. I never got to  pitch a perfect game.” He lamented, working the salve over each cut with undeniable precision. “There are other ways to have a good aim.”

Through quiet conversation and cups of tea you also learn that Ben has a routine of his own, and not the simple kind that most people have, a strict one that he says is timed down to the minute. “I know it’s kind of weird, most of my colleagues and friends growing up always told me to loosen up but it’s good for me. Keeps me in the right direction.” 

“Trust me,” You’re staring into your mug of tea, decaf because Ben said he doesn’t allow himself caffeine after four PM, in an effort to hide the flush on your face and neck, “I completely understand.”

After a week and close inspection of your hand Ben tells you it doesn’t need to be bandaged anymore and gives you a fresh tube of antibiotic ointment. For a second you’re disappointed, your new extra step in your routine had filled the deep dark hole of social isolation you had been suffering in. But then Ben shyly asked if you’d still like to join him for tea after you feed your friends and check the mail, admitting that he didn't have many people he knew in the city outside of work and had been enjoying your company. You agreed, and suddenly you and Ben made space for one another in your lives. 

Two weeks ago you thought that you’d be spending the rest of your life in almost total isolation and tried to come to terms with your new fate. Making friends had never been easy and with your college connections severed you felt hopeless. It had been so much harder to make friends as an adult and it was difficult for you to relate to many of your peers. The incident with the broken vase had been a lapse that was a long time coming, boiling under the surface the longer you had to ruminate in your self-loathing. For a minute it seemed pointless, you would remain a terribly sad girl who had issues with pain and punishment for the rest of your life. Then, suddenly, you had Mail Guy’s phone number and a promise from him that he would text if he was getting held up at work and couldn’t make your meet up. You had someone and it seemed like your someone needed you just as much as you needed him. 

Evening tea with Ben also became Sunday morning grocery shopping with one another and he always offered to carry your bags for you and push the cart. He tagged along to the farmers market with you and helped you pick out your weekly bouquet and met up with you at the bookstore on Fridays. Ben cooked you dinner once a week on Wednesdays because you mentioned they were your least favorite day of the week. You introduced him to Penny and he’d come over on weekends and watch nature documentaries with you and wouldn’t complain. Thirty minutes a day morphed into almost any moment you had when you weren’t asleep or at work. Your hand was fully healed and the hurt from your old friends was just a scar.

One summer night you’re curled up on Ben’s couch while he sits a little more properly next to you. You’re listening to an audiobook that is playing through the speaker system in Ben’s living room because he mentioned he liked listening to audiobooks during his morning runs. The two of you sit in silence as you listen to the narrator of Sharp Objects talk about the dead body of a teenage girl who was found in an alleyway with all her teeth ripped out. It was your choice, you liked fiction and Ben liked true crime so a murder mystery seemed like an appropriate choice that suited both your tastes and Ben appeared to be enthralled with the story so far. After each chapter he would pause his phone and you would discuss what you just listened to. 

But as the narrator drones on, your attention fades out of focus and you begin to appreciate the slope of Ben’s nose and the way he keeps his jaw clenched as he listens to something with full attention. He’s tapping his index finger on the rim of his white mug. Ben has very well manicured nails despite the rough calluses that you know are on his fingers. He shifts in his spot and your eyes flit back up to his face and hazel eyes are staring back at you and if it was anyone else you’d apologize for staring but instead you hold your gaze. 

Ben is so pretty it could almost make you jealous. He was blessed with even, symmetrical features and good bone structure with cute cheek and chin dimples to top it all off. His high cheekbones and chiseled jaw made him look more like a model than an FBI agent. Still, as you stared at one another while an audiobook echoed around you talking about a gruesome murder, you wondered if Ben’s good looks were the one blessing that Dex received in life. Pretty privilege was a lucky thing to acquire and despite Ben’s perfect features there was something about him that always looked a little haunted. After all, you did see his medicine cabinet the week prior. 

His bathroom is just as clean if not more pristine than the rest of his apartment. Ben admitted that he wiped it down after every use which was evident by the roll of paper towels under the sink and the squeegee hung up in the shower. You asked if you could steal some floss, Ben had made salmon for dinner and it was lovely but something was poking at your tongue. He said it was in the top left hand drawer of his vanity but you were feeling bold and Ben was your friend so when you peaked in his medicine cabinet you expected to find cologne and moisturizer, not a pharmacy. 

Several pill bottles stood in a neat line on the middle shelf of the cabinet, each of their labels faced proudly outward all labeled with his full name and with four refills noted on the bottom corner of the stickers. At first it shocked you, you closed the cabinet quietly and returned to the living room where Ben was sitting on his couch waiting for you to start the next episode of a documentary about the Cold War you were watching together. The rest of the night went on as normal and Ben even walked you back to your apartment afterwards leaving you with a warm feeling blooming through your chest. The second you closed the door you rushed to your laptop where you looked up each of the medications. 

Anti-depressants, anti-psycotics, and mood stabilizers. Sterile web articles illuminate your computer screen and you click link after link trying to figure out what all of these pills would be used in combination for. BPD and PTSD are among most of the results and an ugly, evil, unwanted thought rips through you. 

Ben was almost too perfect. He was attractive, your cat liked him, he enjoyed the same music that you did and even remembered you liked honey more than plain sugar in your tea. Ben understood the importance and sanctity of repetition and even made the time to alter his life so you could fit into his already curated schedule. Ben was perfect, so therefore the universe made sure he was not, all because you liked him. Of course the one, meaningful, companion you were finally able to hold space for would have such a giant issue. Ben’s routine was probably not something he found satisfaction in, it was probably a lifeline. The more you read about borderline personality disorder the more it scared you. 

Before clicking on another web article Penny jumps up next to you on your bed and nuzzles at your hand hovering over the trackpad. Her rough tongue scrapes over your palm and you wince a bit as the familiar ache and sting blooms over your skin. The night of the vase incident plays through your memory like a film and then your greatest, or rather worst, hits flick through your mind after.

The one guy you had any sort of fling with in college telling you that you’re not very fun to be around but you give decent blowjobs which is why he stuck around for so long. You had asked him if he wanted to get dinner at the dining hall after class and that was his way of cutting things off with you. That night you didn’t eat and laid in bed while digging your thumbnail so hard into the skin above your hipbone you managed to break skin. The time you messed up a project at work and had to redo it all resulting in a condescending email from your boss and the four parallel scars on your right shoulder. You were fifteen and your mom just yelled at you for getting a C on a biology exam so you use cuticle scissors to cut off one of your toenails.

You remember that you have issues too and you might be clinging on to your own lifeline more than Ben is. Ben is medicated at least, and if he’s medicated then he goes to therapy regularly and has a psychiatrist and you haven’t seen your GP in two years. The ugly thought fades and you appreciate Ben even more than you did before. It also helps that Ben is very pretty.

Ben has become less intimidating over the weeks that you’ve known and it’s less of you becoming used to how intense he can come across and more of him acting softer around you and only you. It’s evident that he likes you the same way you like him and knowing this information gives you great satisfaction. You’re not the type of girl that guys fawn over and yet Ben does. He speaks softly, he buys your favorite snacks when you have movie nights, he still checks your hand every now claiming he just wants to make sure it’s healing alright. It’s an obvious excuse to touch you and you happily pretend like you don’t notice. It’s fun to dance around one another because Ben is smart enough to pick up on your obvious reciprocated feelings. A brush of the knee feels electric and eye contact burns in the best way possible. The way Ben looks at you while sitting on the couch that night can only be described as vulnerable. 

The chapter of the book ends and you know you’ll have to ask him to replay it because none of the words had any sort of lasting effect in your memory. Ben presses pause on his phone without even looking at it, maybe because he can’t stand the idea of missing out on looking at you. For a guy who works for the FBI he’s not very brave when it comes to his feelings and you know he is too scared to make the first move. By no means are you renowned for being fearless but if Ben hadn’t been so obvious in his affection you wouldn’t have gotten the courage to reach your hand out and brush his cheek with your finger tips.

Ben shutters and leans into your touch so your light graze turns into you cradling his face in your hands. The scratch of stubble threatens to irritate your scar but you pay it no mind as Dex looks up at you with wet, almost puppy-like, hazel eyes. You lean in and he moves to fill the remainder of the gap and presses his lips to yours. It’s a soft kiss, sweet and almost chaste and it tastes like wintergreen toothpaste and your nose is filled with his teakwood cologne. You pull away and he rests his forehead against yours as one of his hands cards through your hair and the other wraps around your waist. 

It’s your first kiss in years and you wonder if it’s his too, not because it’s bad but because he pulls you in for a tight hug after and takes a deep inhale of your hair and the skin on your neck. You quickly realize that Ben’s nice arms are not just for show because he kind of manhandles you during your hug so you’re practically on his lap as he pulls you closer. His touch is greedy, like your first kiss opened the floodgates for all his yearning to spill out. Ben presses a kiss to your cheek and you have to stifle a whimper, unused to all this touch. It feels like you’re drowning but at the same time you welcome it with open arms because Mail Guy is smothering you with affection. It's almost like a dream. 

You kiss him again and this time he does moan into your mouth and an undeniable pang of attraction makes your stomach twist. Ben wants you, maybe even needs you with the way he’s kissing you, like he could die tomorrow and be perfectly happy. His callused hands rest firmly on your waist and back keeping you in place as you make out like teenagers on his couch and you don’t stop until Ben accidentally knocks his phone onto the floor and the steady voice of the narrator announces “Chapter Two” loudly into the living room. You jolt away from Ben and his eyes are wide and frantic until you start laughing as he scrambles to find his phone on the floor to shut off the audiobook. Once it’s quiet again he chuckles along with you, leaning his head into the crook of your neck once again. 

That night he walks you home and leaves you with a kiss on the lips and a warm hug goodbye. When you sit on the couch to give Penny some much needed affection you glance out your window to see Dex neatening up his apartment from across the yard. He notices you looking and waves with a shy smile. You blow him a kiss and you swear you can see his blush rise to the tips of his ears. 

The next night you tell Ben that you can’t handle a casual relationship, it’s all or nothing and you already knew he would understand. He also agrees that he wants the pace of the relationship to be whatever you want it to be which in this case is slow.

Dating Ben is easy because not much changes except you touch more. He’s awfully clingy in the best way, always wanting some form of contact even if it’s just linking fingers as you walk down the street or a knee resting against your thigh when laying on the couch. Sometimes when he gets home from work he gifts you with small trinkets that he said made him think of you. A very smooth stone he found while he was out on his run that morning, a foreign coin, a petal from a poppy that he kept safe in his suit pocket all day. 

He buys you birdseed refills and even helps you scatter it during your evening routine and helps you trim Penny’s nails without complaint. At night when you listen to audiobooks or watch television he’s often draped over you with his head resting over your stomach while his arms are wrapped around you. You comb your fingers through his hair and you swear he actually purrs. Penny has even started getting so used to him that often she’ll lay on his back during these moments.

The first time you spend the night together is at your apartment on a Friday night. When you met up at the book store after work he insisted on buying you whatever your selection for the week was and even bought you one of the cute bookmarks that sit next to the register made out of pressed flowers preserved in resin. You cooked him dinner, pasta and homemade pesto which is one of your favorite meals and he compliments you after every bite. He leaves to shower at his place and grab an extra change of clothes and comes back with damp hair that you think makes him look charming. You feed the birds as normal, sitting in his lap this time while he rests his chin on your shoulder, then check the mail like always and return to your apartment where you watch Blue Planet. 

That night is also the first time you slept with one another and you learn that he is shockingly submissive in bed but in the way a guard dog is submissive to their master. Ben thrives when he’s told what to do even if it’s just a simple direction like “kiss my neck” or “touch me here”. His special precision is perfect in these scenarios because on the first try he finds the pulse point on your shoulder that makes you moan as he leaves a purple, crescent shaped hickey while his thumb presses into your clit. He makes you come remarkably fast with just his touch and practically begs to go down on you after.

Your old friends had you convinced that guys who liked to eat pussy were rare but Ben must’ve been an outlier or they just had terrible taste in guys. He loved having his head in between your thighs, pressing your legs against the side of his head seemed to give him some sort of comfort and he made you come again with his tongue buried in your heat while you tugged at the short, blond strands of his hair. Coming down from your high he presses his face into your slit, taking in a deep inhale whimpering at your ripe scent.

“Fuck.” He says, voice gruff and low as he kisses the bend in your knee. “My perfect, lovely girl. All for me. All mine. Mine, mine, mine.” You realize Ben is not speaking necessarily to you but rather about you, his stream of consciousness slipping out of him in his pussy-drunk state. He crawls up your body and gives you a searing kiss where you taste yourself on his lips and you moan as he slips his cock into you in one slow thrust.

In truth you haven’t had much experience with guys and had only seen a handful of dicks but you have a feeling that Ben’s is larger than most. He certainly walks like there’s something sizable between his thighs and as he presses into you it feels like you’re being split open in the best way possible. You’re undeniably full as he reaches the hilt, his cock is practically in your brain because it’s all you can think about. 

“Jesus fuck.” You mumble, sweat forming at your brow as Ben lets you adjust to him. He presses his forehead against yours and his eyes are completely blown out. All traces of hazel gone as he stares at you in a way that would make anyone else run and cower. But you stay put because as he finally moves in shallow thrusts, you know that Ben is yours and yours alone.

He doesn’t last long but you don’t care as you were more than satisfied by the time he fucked you and the fact that he came so quickly from just your pussy alone is kind of hot. Beautiful and pretty Ben spills inside of you in just a couple of strokes and the sound he made when he finished was so sinful you made sure to commit it to memory. You shower him in kisses and praise as he shutters through his high and eventually he pulls out and carries you to the bathroom so you can clean up before bed. 

That night you fall into a dreamless sleep and are awakened by Penny kneading biscuits into your thigh over the blankets and Ben curled into your chest as you held him all night long. He buys you your bouquet at the farmers market and that night he paints your toenails in perfect strokes so he doesn't get any polish on your skin.

Summer carries on and so do you and Ben. He visits you on his lunch break as often as he can. He buys you books and nail polish and never complains if you want to watch a nature documentary for the fourth time in a row on movie nights. He buys Penny treats and gains her full approval, always greeting him at the door when he comes over and nuzzling at his legs when he sits on the couch. You run errands with him on weekends and stand in line with him at the pharmacy when he needs refills on his meds. You never ask him to explain why he needs them and you know he’s thankful for it. He tells you he made you his emergency contact at work and you do the same. On the nights that one of you sleeps over he fucks you however you want and you fall asleep tangled in each other’s embrace. 

“I very much enjoy our time with one another. You’re the best part of my day.” You know he’s trying to say that he loves you and you know it’s probably too early to admit feelings like that; but you welcome it and tell him you’re glad he’s in your life.

So when you wake up at three o’clock in the morning on a Monday, alone because you only do sleepovers with your boyfriend on weekends, and hear the floor shift in the darkest corner of your room you pretend like you didn’t hear a thing. You haven’t given Ben a spare key yet, you’ve thought about it in the case you’re not home and Penny needs to be checked on, but you haven’t made that next step yet. Instead you try to fall back asleep and pay no mind to the fact that you think you can hear someone else breathing and how Penny keeps staring at the corner of the room.

Ben doesn’t always eat lunch with you but you notice on the days he doesn’t there’s always an unmarked car parked across the street of your building. It’s far enough away that you can’t tell if anyone is in it or not, but it always arrives just before you go outside and leaves just after you go back in. 

He has a Walkman with an old pair of headphones tucked into his nightstand. The first time you saw it was when he was pulling out a condom and when he saw you notice it he shut the drawer quickly and kissed you so hard you almost forgot about it. A week later when he was in the shower and you were laying in his bed you brought it out, put on the headphones, and pressed play. You only listened to it for a minute, thinking you would find a mixtape not a therapy session. You regretted your snooping the second you heard Ben’s young voice, so clearly him with the quiet and measured tone of voice he’s always had. He talked about baseball and his resentment for his coach and then you stopped listening because it was much too personal. 

In his hall closet there’s a large safe that you’ve never seen him open but you know what’s probably inside. He’s never explicitly shown you his gun that he carries for work but it’s always in its holster on his dresser, sitting neatly next to his black belt he always wears for work. You wonder what else is in the safe. His social security card, cash, maybe even more tapes, but most definitely more guns. 

Soon it is early October and your friends in the courtyard are begging for food so they can prepare for winter. You sit on your bench curled into Ben’s side as he murmurs to you in a low voice about his day at work. They’ve been tracking an illegal arms dealer that has ties to one of the scientists that was involved in the Sokovia incident a few years ago. It all sounds very intense but he says they aren’t planning any busts soon, just tracking and monitoring.

“And if there was a field assignment I’d probably be halfway across town perched on a roof, far away from any of the action.” He assures, smirking a little as he pictures it which makes you shiver so he wraps his arm around you a little tighter because he assumes it’s the autumn air making you shake. Ben had told you his actual role in the FBI about a month ago. You had assumed he was just a regular investigator but turns out he had a more specialized position, sniper. It made sense and explained the picture of him and his military squad he had hung by his door, but you had to quickly come to the realization that Ben has definitely killed people and will probably kill more people because that was his job.

The same hands that had pulled the trigger countless times were the same ones that took the time to love and heal your wounded ones all those weeks ago. A trained killer bought you flowers every weekend. A murderer always thanked you every time you had sex with him. It was a little ironic but it was all Ben, and you loved Ben. 

The next day at work you were logging an expense report when your phone buzzed. You expected it to be Ben, who texted you about three times a day while he was at work. Usually a picture of an animal, a plant, or an interesting building he saw while he was out. If you were lucky there would be an occasional selfie, only half of his face while he took a picture of something behind him, and sometimes a picture of his coworker Ray who you had heard about.

Only it wasn’t Ben, it was Leah.

Hey. If you don’t want to talk I will understand, but if you do would you be willing to meet up? I would like to apologize to you in person.

For a second you had forgotten about Leah. The past few months had been filled with anything and everything Ben that the fallout with your friends felt like a distant memory. Last time you checked she had you blocked on everything but when you opened Instagram she was following you again. Half of her pictures had been deleted, including her engagement pictures, and there was no trace of a wedding. 

Yeah, we can meet up. Does this Friday work?

“I don’t like this.” Ben says that night after you show him the messages. Leah asked if she could take you out to dinner and you agreed on the one condition that you go out to your favorite restaurant. She agreed instantly and you mentally started to go through all the items in your closet trying to figure out the best thing to wear. Something that made you look nice but in a sort-of effortless way that made you look nonchalant about the whole situation even though it had your stomach in knots. 

Ben’s reaction doesn’t surprise you, the past few months you hadn’t exactly told him any of the good facets about Leah, the reason why you were friends in the first place, so his view was biased. It also wasn’t shocking that he was feeling a little protective.

“If you go out to dinner we won’t have time to go to the bookstore, or watch a movie together.” His voice was steady but the way he had his arms crossed while sitting on the foot of your bed indicated his frustration.

“I know, and that is annoying because I want to buy the next Earthsea book, but would you be willing to go with me on Saturday after the market?”

“Yes.” He agrees instantly, you knew he would and admittedly you were frustrated that your usual Friday night plans were straying from their usual course, but you also knew you had to do this. Despite the hurtful things Leah had said and done to you a few months prior she was willing to extend an olive branch so it was the right thing to do to meet her half-way. 

“And we will definitely still have time for a movie. We’re meeting at 6:30 and I want to be home by 8:30 at the latest.” You said as you rifled through your closet looking for a very specific plaid skirt. “Do you think you would be willing to feed the birds for me?”

“Only if you let me drop you off at the restaurant.” Ben said, his voice closer to you than you recalled. When you popped your head out of the recess of your closet you jumped as Ben was right next to you. Sometimes he moves so quietly he reminds you of an electric car.

Friday evening you walk twenty minutes downtown hand-in-hand with your boyfriend to the little conveyor belt sushi restaurant that has always been a favorite spot of yours when you have a little extra cash to spend. Ben compliments your outfit three times on the walk over. “My beautiful girl is so dressed up,” he murmurs, brushing hair out of your face as you wait outside the restaurant for Leah to arrive. You’re predictably five minutes early.

At 6:34 Leah rounds the corner and waives tentatively at you as she approaches. You smile and wave back trying to hide the fact that your stomach is twisting and you’ve had to wipe the sweat on your hands onto the fabric of your skirt three times since you arrived. Ben stands firmly next to you with an arm wrapped around your waist, face unreadable.

“Hey,” Leah says breathlessly, pushing her hair behind her ears and wrapping her jacket around her to protect herself from the autumn chill. “Thanks uh, for meeting me.” She glances at Ben nervously and then settles her attention back to you. “Is this your boyfriend?”

“Yes! Yeah um-” You motion to Ben who smiles tightly at her and sticks his hand out for her to shake. 

“Dex, I’m just dropping her off.” His voice is a little more measured than usual and this time Ben smiles with his teeth, shark like, and it makes Leah look a little on edge. A part of you kind of enjoys the fact she seems nervous around Ben, it’s like you have a Belgian Malinois by your side. 

Ben turns to you after he releases Leah’s hand and gives you a tight, warm hug and a kiss to your cheek and temple. “Text me when you’re wrapping up and I’ll walk you home.”

“I promise.” You respond, shy from all his PDA that Leah is witnessing. Ben smiles, warmer because this one is meant for you, and kisses you softly on your lips before leaving you with a final squeeze on your shoulder. Ben disappears into the crowd and when you turn back to Leah she looks a little dumbfounded. Is it because she found Ben intimidating, or was she just shocked you were able to find a boyfriend in the first place. You grab the door and hold it open for her, “After you,” You said softly and Leah smiles before heading inside. 

The first five minutes are awkward. The two of you sit next to one another at the bar and small, multicolored plates pass pay on the conveyor belt in front of you. A waitress takes your order, tea for you and Diet Coke for Leah, and you exchange pleasantries with one another while you wait on your beverages. Leah’s old engagement ring is noticeably gone from her ring finger. After you take your first bite of food Leah finally cuts to the chase. 

“Jeremy and I broke up two weeks before the wedding.” Leah’s pretty face is pale behind her foundation and she’s ripping her napkin into tiny shreds of paper. You chew and swallow as fast as you can, coughing as it goes down so you take a sip of water while Leah looks like she will be ill. 

“Oh?” Is all you manage to say. What exactly does someone say in a situation like this? An ‘I told you so’ would be warranted but also you felt like it was too cruel. “I’m sorry-”

Leah held up her hand in order to cut you off, laughing a little as she brushed shredded paper off her jeans. “Don’t be sorry, you’re the last person who should feel sorry about any of this.” She grabbed salmon nigiri off the belt and set it in front of her before unwrapping her chopsticks and breaking them in half. “I’m sorry. I said terrible things to you and cut you off when all you wanted to do was look out for me.”

The restaurant buzzes around the two of you as you eat in silence for a few minutes. Leah is staring intently at the bubbles in her Diet Coke and your gaze is drawn towards the windows. New York City is bustling outside despite the cool autumn air. People getting off of work, couples getting dinner, college kids preparing for a night out. In the hustle and bustle you think you catch a flash of a familiar navy baseball hat from across the street.

“He was cheating on me with Mary.”

“What?” Baseball hat be damned, you whipped your head back around so you were looking at Leah as tears pooled in her eyes. “Mary?” You ask, confused and suddenly angry.

“Yeah, it had been going on for a while. It’s why she wanted to keep his infidelity hidden so badly and why she got so upset with you when you told me. I think she was afraid of getting found out.”

Colorful plates keep passing by and your chopsticks are making your fingers feel sweaty. Izzy’s behavior was still unexplained but you chalked it up to her just being a bad friend who could apparently excuse cheating. 

That’s so evil. Ben had said when you explained the whole situation over tea only a few weeks into seeing one another. Cheating is immoral. I’d never do something like that. Loyal. Just like a dog.

“Obviously I knew he had been cheating but he swore it was a one time thing and that he’d never do it again.” Leah wipes fallen tears and pushes hair out of her face, trying to stay composed even though Calvin Harris is playing over the speakers in the restaurant and it all feels so ridiculous. “But apparently I’m an idiot and not only was he cheating with random girls he was also cheating on me with my maid of honor.” She laughs coldly and shoves a piece of sushi into her mouth as you try to process it all. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. And please don’t feel obligated to forgive me because you aren’t. I said terrible things to you, things no one should ever say, especially not to someone who was the only one looking out for me. I don’t know why I thought you betrayed me when in reality is was Jeremy and that fucking bitch.”

Your face feels flushed and you set your chopsticks down so you can wipe your hands on your skirt again. Something nasty is licking at your heart, making it bloom with anger and frustration and suddenly your hand starts to ache again. All that hurt and pain you thought you had left behind a few months ago comes crashing down as you remember how Mary and Izzy and of course, Leah, had lashed you with their words and left you for dead in the wake of their betrayal. They hurt you so bad you felt the need to hurt yourself. Their actions had left permanent scars and it was all for nothing.

Herbal tea wafts through the air and cuts through your anger like a hot knife. The waitress is serving the person next to you, an older gentleman who is already grabbing sashimi off of the belt. The cup clinks against the saucer and suddenly you’re sitting in Ben’s apartment and he’s inspecting the damage done to your hand while his electric kettle is simmering in the kitchen. Despite his rough hands he had handled you so carefully as he washed, disinfected, and rebandaged your hand every day for a week until you were healed. Then he served you herbal tea, just like the kind they served at your favorite restaurant.

You’re jealous because I’m not miserable and single like you are so you’re going out of your way to make me just like you!

Leah is reaching for a drink but you surge forward and wrap her in a tight hug. Yes, she caused you pain. She hurt you more than any friend ever had. But without that pain you wouldn’t have made the connection with Ben, and without Ben you would no longer be miserable and single. As much as Leah’s words had cut you it wasn’t like they were a complete lie. You were miserable. You had been living in a lonely existence, never truly seen or understood until you made your connection with Ben. 

“I forgive you.” You mumble, Leah hugs you back and laughs wetly before letting you go so she can finish drying her tears.

The next hour feels sort-of perfect. Leah gives you all the gritty details about how Jeremy’s mother cussed her out after cancelling the engagement and how she lost 3 grand on her deposit for the venue. She moved back in with her parents in Brooklyn but she did get a promotion at her job so she should be able to save up and move out soon. Mary and Jeremy were still seeing each other apparently but neither of you could stalk them on social media because you were blocked, and Izzy seemed to cut ties with everyone and hasn’t been seen since the summer.

“Jeremy can rot in hell.” You say, throwing back the shot of sake that Leah had ordered once the real tea had started to spill. She laughed, a little shocked at your statement because you weren’t the type to usually be that bold, but it’s what Ben would’ve said if he had been there.

Maybe you should’ve held your grudge towards Leah for a little longer, most people would’ve in a similar scenario but you couldn’t. For the past few months it seemed like Leah was experiencing the same type of isolation that you had gone through earlier in the year so you couldn't help but empathize with her. Jeremy and Mary had manipulated her and she seemed genuinely sorry for her actions. Evil guys could make even the most normal girls do crazy things, plus you weren’t really the type to hold a grudge against anyone unless it was yourself. 

By 8:20 you’re waiting for the check and despite insisting on paying for at least your share of food Leah says she’ll foot the bill. “It’s only fair, trust me.” She says as she hands the waitress her card.

“Well then I’ll get it next time.” You say with a smile and Leah grins because you just said ‘next time’. It’s nice knowing that you have a friend again, they came in rare supply.

“So, you gonna tell me about your boyfriend or do I have to wait?” Leah says as she signs the receipt. You smile, blushing as you recall how Ben had kissed you so sweetly before leaving earlier.

“I guess I can share some.” You say coyly. You’re loose and flushed from the alcohol and a little excited because this is the first time you get to gush about your boyfriend. “We’re actually neighbors, he lives in my building and noticed me feeding the animals. We started seeing each other a few months ago, just before spring.”

“Aw,” Leah says, resting her cheek in her hand. “He’s handsome, is he older? No judgement, obviously.” Her eyes widen and her laugh and shake your head in reassurance.

“It’s okay, and he is. He’s 34, but it’s kind of nice. He’s more settled in his life and has an important job. It’s nice having a boyfriend who values routine and stability. I think it’s really good for me.” You say fondly.

“What does he do for work?”

“He’s an FBI agent.”

Leah’s brows raise in surprise. “Oh! Yeah that is really important. I guess that kind of tracks he seems, um…” Her voice trails off and you can tell she’s trying to choose her next words carefully but you know what’s about to come next, “intense.” 

“He is. I like it.”

By 8:30 you’re out the door and it’s already nightfall in New York City. You hug Leah goodbye and wrap your coat around your waist as you watch her head towards the train station. You should’ve texted Ben twenty minutes ago so he could have enough time to walk over and pick you up so you could head home. Instead, you walk down the street for half a block. Normally, you would be in a rush, paranoid even. Anything can happen in the city at night, especially to a young woman like you; but there’s no need to feel scared. Nothing is going to happen to you. The street is empty and you look around at the vacant buildings surrounding you.

“Ben,” You say in a steady tone. Nothing happens, the street is still empty but you stay put. “Ben, I know you’re there.” Still, nothing. It’s getting chillier and you tuck your hands into your pockets. “Dex, come out.” You command. 

The name felt foreign on your tongue. You never called him Dex, always feeling like the name was a little too harsh for you even though that’s what everyone else called him, including himself. It seemed to get his attention though, because after you said it he finally revealed himself as he came out of the shadows of the alleyway across the street. He crosses over to you, walking steadily even though his eyes are wild and red-rimmed. Wet and illuminated in the harsh streetlight that makes the lines of his face look more intimidating. You don’t startle and stand your ground. Ben stops in front of you, further away than he usually would be and despite his broad stature he looks like a scared little boy.

You stare at one another, his lip wobbles, your cheeks grow hotter from the alcohol and nerves that are signaling that you should be running but you’re not. You stay put, so does he, always waiting for your command.

“I’m not mad at you.” But you should be. You should be freaked out and changing your locks and blocking his number.

“You’re not?” Ben blinks rapidly as he tries to hide his tears, his fear that should rightfully be yours even though it’s not.

“I’m not.” You take a step forward and Ben flinches but you ignore it. “I could never be mad at you.” You say softly. Ben looks down at you and bites his lip and furrows his brows.

“But you should be.” He mumbles. You shrug and nod. What’s the point in being mad? You’ve known for a long time that Ben has issues even though he never explicitly said anything about it. You never talked about your problems either but you know that Ben knew the real reason behind your scars. 

You reach up and place your hand on Ben’s cheek and he nuzzles into it immediately. Scruff against scar tissue that makes you shiver. Reaching out you grab his jacket and he immediately pulls you close into a hug. You’re engulfed by his lovely cologne and feel as he kisses along your hairline. You stand on your tiptoes so you can reach the shell of his ear.

“I love you.” You whisper. Ben moans into the curve of your neck, holding you tighter as you comb your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I love you too.” He whispers back, kissing you behind your ear then your jaw then he places a tentative kiss onto your lips as you hold onto the collar of his jacket. When you pull away he rests his forehead on yours and smiles. 

“Take me home?” You ask sweetly.

“Of course.” Ben replies, grabbing your hand and placing a warm kiss on your knuckles. You cling to his side and Ben wraps a warm arm around your shoulders, keeping you close.

+++

Authors Notes:

About a month ago I rewatched season 3 of Daredevil. The only other time I've seen it was back in 2018 a week after it premiered and I remember being blown away by it. What I remembered most was Dex, who upon rewatch is still so captivating and not only because he is played by a handsome guy but also because the way he's teetering on edge and so easily manipulated into a monster, directly contrasting Matt, is so deeply entertaining. I know Born Again season 2 just wrapped and Dex finally got to continue his story almost 10 years later, but I'm unsure if I will watch it. At least not for a while. I think the strongest iteration of Dex's character is the way he was portrayed in season 3. There's something extra special about the way he is so haunted throughout those 13 episodes that really makes him a standout character.

I do want to continue this story but probably just in smaller one-shots capturing more mundane, intimidate moments between this reader and Dex. I'd like to think that this story and anything related to it that I may make in the future is set in an ideal world where Dex is never manipulated by Fisk and Fisk dies in prison where he belongs so both Dex and Matt can know peace :).

If you like the story feel free to comment, I'd love feedback. Thank you for reading!

[zsuo]

what part of "our crime scene" do you not understand?

BENJAMIN 'DEX' POINDEXTER in DAREDEVIL S3 011

[novagif]

Daredevil S03E06

[ct-rhom]

cute little sneak peak for the upcoming sequel to Pretty Privilege, hoping to have at least 10k words for this one but I haven't even gotten to the main plot of the story so it will probs end up being more

[mmmurdockss]

Charlie Cox being a master at doing the 😩 face is why he's undefeated in this category

[ct-rhom]

pics of Dex in his new suit has everyone in a frenzy but I never moved on from him

[anthemias]

#whatever is going on between these two

[ct-rhom]

Starting a longer fic, a semi-sequel to Pretty Privilege if you will, so probs wont be making a one shot tonight.

Luv yall <3

[ct-rhom]

omg i love your pretty privilege series sm!! don’t ever stop😭

Thank you so much for taking the time to read it! I want to try writing another longer installment sometime this week so keep ur eyes out for it.

[ct-rhom]

Baggage Claim

FBI!Benjamin Poindexter x female!reader

2.9k+ words

This story contains consensual sex. MDNI

Set in the Pretty Privilege universe but not essential to that story's plot. Can be read standalone.

+++

Before you entered Dex’s life he had never understood pet names. 

A nick-name he could understand, everyone called him a nick-name besides you but even then Ben was technically a nick-name of Benjamin and he hated being called Benjamin. Dex was an objectively sharper name and it coincided with his edgy nature. He didn’t need another name, he liked his just fine, especially since he picked it out. 

Pet names alluded him even more. They were stupid and mostly emasculating, calling someone by their name seemed much more intimate from his perspective, ‘honey’ was weird. He wasn’t honey and was certainly far from sweet. 

But then you came along and suddenly ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart’ started falling out of his mouth like it was second nature to him. When he was feeling especially sentimental he would say ‘my star’, usually mumbling into your wet heat while your thighs pressed against the sides of his head. That name always made you whimper in a soft, special way that Dex had seared into his memory and replayed in his mind when the buzzing in the back of his head would get too loud. 

He preened when you called him ‘baby’, which was your preferred pet name for him. It didn’t sound silly when you said it in your soft voice, it felt like he was being wrapped in a warm blanket of your affection. He loved being your baby and sometimes he was ‘handsome’ which always sparked something in his chest that was caught between cockiness and adoration. In all truth, Dex would be anything you wanted him to be. Sweety, honey, baby, handsome, even pookie if you were feeling silly. But mostly, he was baby.

I miss you baby.

Fuck, he missed you too.

Sometimes it felt like the world was out to get him. His life had been running so smoothly. The routine had been running perfectly without fail like a well oiled machine for over six months and the whole time you were right by his side. No hitches, no problems, nothing to worry about for weeks on end and it sort-of felt like heaven. Even as winter overtook New York in her cold, vice-like grip and iced over the streets and made the sky turn black by four PM, it was significantly more bearable now that he could brave it with you. Despite the cold you still went outside to feed the birds every evening, speaking to Dex with a hushed voice as to not disturb the animals as clouds of your breath condensed in the freezing air. The whole time you were outside you were pressed into Dex’s side for warmth and he savored the extra affection. Everything was perfect, then it was not. 

At first it was supposed to be a hand-off. Three months prior the bureau finally bagged the head honcho of a major human trafficking ring but due to previous crimes, the criminal was supposed to be put on trial in California. Dex didn’t give a shit about the semantics, only the issue that he would have to spend four days apart from you where he and a small team would be escorting the convict across the country, release him to the police, sign some paperwork, then fly home. Easy in theory but hellish in practice, especially since it was such short notice. 

“I’m sorry baby. I’m really, really sorry.” Dex said as he nuzzled into your lap the night before he had to leave. He had found out about the trip eight hours prior and called you immediately with the news. You seemed sullen over the phone but assured him that it would be alright, it was only four days after all and he would be back by Friday movie night. Still, Dex couldn’t stop the waterworks the second he saw you when he arrived home. “It’s all my fault.” He said wetly, rubbing shed tears into the fabric of the sweatpants you borrowed from him. 

“It’s not your fault Ben.” You assured, petting the hair at his temples that you were so fond of. His ‘shimmer strands’ you once called them, a private thought spoken aloud that embarrassed you the second you realized you said it. It took five minutes pressing wet, sloppy kisses to your face to turn your cringe into laughter as Dex’s heart overflowed with endearment for you.

“If I wasn’t me then I wouldn’t have to go.” Dex sniffled pathetically, hugging your legs and pressing his face further into your thighs in an effort to keep himself grounded. 

“But I love you, and if you weren’t you then I would be all by myself.” You countered softly making Dex tense up at the idea of losing you. Curling your fingers in the short strands of hair at the base of his neck, you tug on his scalp pulling a groan out of him as he looks up at you. Another tear falls the second he makes eye contact with you and instantly you wipe it away with the pad of your ring finger. “I’d be lying if I said I’m not upset about it but I also know it’ll just be for four days.”

“Four days too long.”

“Way too long.” Your chin wobbles and Dex watches you blink back tears that catch in your long lashes. His stomach twists because he hates when you get sad, instantly looking for a way to fix the problem, but this time the problem is him and out of his control making him feel helpless as you cry. It also doesn’t help that he finds you so pretty when you cry, cheeks flushed and nose pink as you take heavy breaths to try and calm yourself. Your tears are itching to fall so he tilts his head up so he can kiss under your eyes. 

The next morning he leaves for the airport at four AM. He stops by your apartment before he gets in the escort vehicle to JFK, letting himself into your apartment so he can rouse you from your sleep to hold you for ten minutes. Dex tries to memorize the way that you smell, thankful that he packed the perfume bottle of yours that he bought months ago so he could spray it on his hotel sheets. He left you curled in your bed, kissed and breathless, and sat mournfully in the backseat of the van.

Dex did not like San Diego. It was February and yet somehow there were no clouds in the sky and it was seventy degrees outside. California was too open, too bright, and the buildings weren’t tall and crowded like he was used to and every car ride was thirty minutes long. Most of his time was spent in the FBI office doing practically nothing as he was only brought for security purposes, Ray handled most of the talking and administrative work. The time passed slowly and Dex texted you more often than he usually would. 

The three hour time difference was criminal but you still made it work. You’d text him first thing in the morning after you woke up, a mirror selfie of your outfit for the day which made him smile. He reminded you to wear your scarf, you reminded him to drink plenty of water and take his medication, and throughout the day you’d send various, fleeting thoughts to one another that mostly consisted of, ‘I miss you’, ‘I love you’, and ‘I can’t wait to see you’. At night when you are just about to go to sleep and Dex was in his hotel you’d speak over the phone for an hour until you fell asleep and Dex could hear the even sounds of your breathing through the speaker. 

Then the day before the shitshow was supposed to be over the convict decided to make a plea deal and rat out a bunch of his colleagues, blowing the case wide open and suddenly the FBI needed to be more involved. A four day trip turned into an extra week filled with a drug bust, late night phone calls that usually end in Dex crying because he misses the feeling of your skin, and a dead criminal that would’ve shot Ray if Dex hadn’t seen him first. 

The raid is successful, Dex thinks he finally gets to go home but instead of a flight back to New York he’s given a day off and notice that the team will remain in San Diego for two more weeks to assist with another strike. He calls you panicked and frustrated and talks to you over speakerphone as he paces his hotel room and tries to rub away the itch in his hands that makes him want to punch or throw something. It doesn’t help that this time you finally break down and cry too, lamenting about how lonely you’ve been feeling since Dex has been gone. He wants to rush to your side and kiss your tears away but he can’t and when Dex gets off the phone he rushes out of the hotel and down an abandoned alley so he can let out a dreadful scream.

The day off doesn’t give him any peace because there’s nothing he can do to silence the humming in his brain. No routine, no structure, no you. Only palm trees and unbearable sunshine that doesn’t feel real because why would it be sunny in February? He texts you, you send him pictures, you call and you call but it’s not enough. When he throws a knife into the leg of a man trying to escape their raid all he can think about is how lonely you must be as you sit on your bench in the courtyard, alone. 

Dex starts to shut down by the third week. Everyone in the New York squad is getting chippy, even Ray starts getting pissy with the San Diego team. Late one night at the hotel bar Ray laments about how much he misses his wife and son. 

“Facetime isn’t enough. I want to smell my wife’s cooking and wake up in my own sheets.” He says morosely as he sips from his bottle. Dex is sitting next to him at the bar with his head in his hands, picturing what you might be up to. It was ten in San Diego so you were definitely asleep with Penny curled by your side, but Dex should be next to you too. Instead he falls asleep holding his spare pillow that’s dowsed in your perfume that clings to his night shirt in the morning. 

Finally, after tense conversations with their boss resulting in Ray getting bitchy and Dex slamming his hands on the desk at one point, they’re cleared to go home. His first flight to Dallas goes smoothly but during his layover he gets a notification that his next plane had a mechanical issue resulting in a four hour delay. It was Friday, if things had been right then he would’ve been home in time to pick you up after work and take you to the book store, instead he believes he’s being punished by God as he waits at his gate with a group of very grumpy FBI agents. 

“In four hours, I’m all yours baby.” Dex says with his low, gravelly voice. Finally in his seat as the rest of the plane boards. It will be one in the morning by the time he gets back to NYC and getting from JFK to Hell’s Kitchen will probably take another hour, but the soft caress of your fingertips is less than twelve hours away. “Don’t wait up for me sweetheart it’ll be late by the time I’m home.”

“It’s Friday so I can stay up late.” You say, already sounding tired and he pictures you curled up on your couch, flicking through your DVDs even though you’ll settle on a nature documentary. You’re perfectly predictable, just like how Dex likes you, and it makes his heart ache that you would want to wait up for him. “I’ve missed you so much Ben, I don’t want to miss another second of you.”

It still shocks him when he realizes just how much you love him. His love for you makes sense. You’re good, you’re sweet, you’re kind and you make him good. You lead him home because you are home, his North Star. You are the reason why Dex was put on this earth, everything that ever happened to him was always meant to lead him to you, it’s a miracle that you love him just as much. He’s never been missed before and to be missed is to be wanted and to be wanted means his purpose in life is real and true. For the entire flight he listens to one of your Spotify playlists and thinks about kissing you. 

Touchdown at JFK is rough and deplaning is annoying because everyone ahead of him takes too long to get their overhead bags down and Dex knows he’s being bitchy as he huffs in annoyance every time the line halts but he doesn’t care. It’s almost been a month of not being in the same timezone as you and he can’t bear being away from his girlfriend for another second. 

The cab ride is expensive but worth it despite the fact that Dex can hardly stay awake for the duration of the ride. New York City hasn’t changed without him and the claustrophobic nature of the city is comforting to him, happy to be back in the freezing cold which is how it should be. No more palm trees, no more jets flying overhead, and no more sun. Thank god.

Walking through the apartment lobby almost feels foreign to him because it’s been so long. His shoes click against the tile floors and the elevator still smells a little musty on the ride up. As much as he wants to immediately rush into your apartment and kiss you senseless, Dex can’t, traveling makes him feel dirty so instead he rushes back to his apartment and takes a shower. The warm water soothes his aching shoulders that were tense the entire journey and as he unpacks his belongings he notices how none of the surfaces in his apartment are dusty. You took the time to clean it while he was away. He abandons his dirty laundry and hightails it to your unit. 

With practiced stealth, Dex unlocks the door to your apartment where he is greeted by soft lamp light and the sight of you in his hoodie from high school that has too many holes in the sleeves and another pair of borrowed sweatpants. You’re awake, curled up on the couch with your new book in your hand. This week you’re reading Gone Girl because he said he liked the movie. You’re looking at him with sleepy eyes and for a second all you can do is stare at one another, taking in the fact that your reunion is real. 

Then you’re scrambling out of your blankets and Dex is striding across your living room meeting you halfway where he scoops you up into his arms, picking you up with ease as he finally gets to nestle his face into the crook of your neck where he belongs. He takes in a harsh, deep breath and moans as he releases it, swallowing your scent and petting your hair. 

Neither of you speak and he shutters as you slip your cold hands under his t-shirt and rake your fingertips along his ribs and the muscles of your back. He presses a firm, heated kiss onto your lips and you respond by letting out a bottled up whimper that makes his knees weak. The longer you kiss the more needy each of you get with your touches. You tug on his hair eliciting a whine from Dex and he palms your ass which makes you gasp into his mouth. He takes advantage of this by slipping his tongue into your mouth and licking the backs of your teeth and using his other hand to pinch your hardened nipple in between his rough fingers. 

The two of you stumble into your bedroom, stripping off your clothes and kicking them into the corner as you tumble into your sheets. Dex presses you into the mattress by resting his full body weight on top of you and moves the crotch of your panties to the side so his fingers can slip in between your folds. You’re already soaked, needy and neglected from your three weeks of celibacy and Dex is unsure how much longer he will last as his dick strains against his briefs. 

“Never, ever do that again baby.” You gasp as Dex slips two fingers into your heat, moaning as you clench around him. He sucks a bruise onto your collarbone and nods as you chastise him. “I mean it,” You say, rocking into the heel of his hand that’s grinding against your clit, “I can’t live without you. Never again.”

Your admission makes him let out the most pathetic whine he’s ever made and he doesn’t feel ashamed because the noise makes your pussy clench so hard he wonders if the blood in his fingers will get cut off. 

“Yes ma’am.” He whimpers, curling his fingers as you bare your neck for him. Dex kisses the column of your throat and feels your skin vibrate under his lips as you let out needy whines. “I’ll be good. Never again my star.”

+++

TBH pretty proud of myself for cranking out three oneshots in three days. Pretty Privilege took me about 2-2.5 weeks to write and I'm gonna try and cook up a longer form fic for yall. If I don't post another oneshot super soon just keep that in mind, I'm not dipping yet lmao.

If you have any suggestions for oneshots LMK! I would love to read them and possibly write for them. Once again thank you for all the support really means a lot.

Paging Passengers!

@aerionshipthrust @diegoshako

[ct-rhom]

Irish Goodbye

FBI! Benjamin Poindexter x female!reader

2.8k+ words

Set in the Pretty Privilege universe but not essential to that story's plot. Can be read standalone.

+++

The glass of prosecco in your hand is lukewarm because you’ve been nursing it for almost an hour, but you sip from it anyway. Alcohol is for social situations, not for home, and as someone who spends the majority of their time at home three glasses of sparkling wine is enough to make you the perfect amount of tipsy. After all, you don’t want to get too drunk because you’re trying to make a good impression.

You’ve never been to a holiday party like this before and the longer you stand in the fancy venue the more you feel like you don’t belong. It’s an old bank that’s been converted to an event space and it still has the original tile floors, marble railings and columns, ornate ceilings, and big tall windows that show off Manhattan. Sometimes you forget you live in New York City, people dream of coming to your city and would kill to have a view like the one you were gazing out into. Surrounding the windows and wrapped around the columns are strands of long glittery ribbons and twinkling Christmas lights that reflect off one another and make the space look like it’s covered in fairy dust.

At the very least you feel very pretty. Your dress is simple but effective, a black, square neck, mini-dress with cap sleeves. You’ve had it for forever but never get the chance to wear it since you don’t go out much and it always fits you like a glove. You paired it with close toed, black, sling-back heels that are practically brand new because you’ve only worn them five times. When you dug them out of the top of your closet you heard Ben let out a shaky breath.

“I’ve never seen you in heels before.” He commented as you pulled the shiny patent leather heels from their box. You liked them because they had a square toe and a chunky heel which was far more comfy than a stiletto. Ben sounded like he was choking on every word and you glanced up at him from your spot at the edge of your bed. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his freshly washed and pressed dress pants. He usually wore suits to work but earlier he had explained this was his best one because he got it professionally tailored and it was made of real wool. He did look rather sharp, the clean line of his jacket made his shoulders stand out and his white dress shirt stretched against his chest in a way that was almost unfair. Ben even wore a tie, something he never does, but you convinced him by buying him a dark green one that made his eyes pop, plus it was festive. The tie also sweetened him up a little, making him look a little less Dex and a little more Benjamin.

“No I guess not.” You replied, watching as his throat bobbed and he started rocking back and forth a little. You’d never have guessed that Ben would be excited about heels or clothes in general. You wore skirts to work and the occasional dress but nothing that didn’t go past the knee and your everyday shoes were a pair of loafers or slides in the summer. When it was warm out you’d wear the occasional sun dress which Ben did seem to really like but nothing quite this fancy or form fitting. “The heels on these aren’t that big though so I won’t be taller than you.” You fiddled with the buckle and Ben bit into his bottom lip.

“I don’t care if you’re taller than me.” He mumbled, you smiled up at him and he smiled back making the corners of his eyes crinkle which in turn made your heart flutter. Glancing back down at the shoe in your hand and considering how antsy Ben was acting you pretended to fidget with the silver fastener a little longer before letting out a convincing sigh.

“I think the buckle is stuck because I haven’t worn these in a while, will you help me?” You held out the shoe to Ben who stepped forward and took it immediately, jumping at the opportunity to assist you. 

“Yeah baby, of course.” He said, sounding much more at ease. You grinned as Ben gave the shoe his full attention as you both got what you wanted. Ben is at his very best when he feels useful and needed, always begging for an opportunity to help you in any way he can because he thrives off of praise and affection. You’re happy to give it to him because he’s always deserving of it no matter what he does, but you understand more than anyone that it’s hard to just outright ask for what you desire. Besides, you have your own habit of getting shy around him when all you want is one of his bone-crushing hugs which he is always more than willing to give.

Plus you knew that Ben got the added bonus of helping you put on your shoes and touching your legs. He is very in love with your legs, so much so that recently he started applying your lotion for you after your shower. It’s sweet but it also leaves you feeling achy every time, so you know Ben is more than happy to get on his knees so he can buckle your shoes for you.

There's a small jazz quartet playing smooth renditions of Christmas songs and the high ceilings of the venue carry the sound nicely, lulling you out of your daydream as your focus returns to the city skyline in front of you. You didn’t know where Ben was, you had gotten separated fifteen minutes ago when you had to use the bathroom and couldn’t find him afterwards, but you were in a room full of FBI agents so you figured nothing bad would happen in the meantime.

This was the first time you had ever done something so social with Ben. Most of your time with one another was spent one on one plus Penny, the way you preferred it, as neither of you were outgoing. In the past few months you had met up with Leah a few more times and Dex had gotten coffee with the two of you as well, but the annual NYC FBI holiday party was a different level of socialization that you were not accustomed to. Lots of agents in smart suits, lots of gorgeous wives and girlfriends, and lots of alcohol and Hors d’oeuvres.

“Oh thank god, there you are.” A semi-panicked voice said behind you. You feel Dex’s warm hand on your arm before you see him and you down the rest of your prosecco. You think it hits your system immediately because the second your boyfriend is in your line of sight you grin so wide your face almost hurts. You know your cheeks are definitely flushed but you don’t care, Ben has been drinking too and it's evident by how much sweat is on his hairline. He looks unfairly charming. 

“Sorry baby,” You lean into him and Ben happily holds you in his arms. He blushes when you place your hand on his cheek, his favorite kind of touch, and you know he’s trying to resist the urge to nuzzle into the skin of your palm and kiss the scar on your hand. Too many people for so much contact and to do it in front of work colleagues would be especially vulnerable. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just couldn’t find you when I left the bathroom earlier.” You pout and Ben’s worried expression has already left and been replaced with something more smug.

Earlier you noticed how Ben is a little more conceited when he is around his colleagues because when he’s with them he’s Dex, the special agent sniper; not the guy who gives really good hand massages and speaks to your cat in a baby voice. It’s impressive how much he’s able to be ‘on’ in front of such an intense group of people for such an extended period of time, you’ve never been good at hiding your discomfort in social situations. 

For most people at the party it seems like they’re only just getting started with their night. The open bar is being treated like a pregame as they throw back shots and the volume in the room grows louder and louder. Before you let yourself get tipsy you were introduced to Ben’s closest colleagues, most notably Ray Nadeem who Ben had mentioned the most, and seemed to be the closest thing he had to a work friend. You can see why Ben likes him so much as he was ridiculously friendly and easy to talk to. It was also nice that Ray seemed eager to meet you, mentioning how often Ben spoke about you at work.

“Between you and me,” Ray said leaning in closer to you with a slight smile gracing his face, “he’s been a lot less grumpy ever since you entered the picture.” You giggle and then Ray introduces you to his lovely wife Seema who you ended up speaking to for the majority of the evening until they left the party early. Then you drank too much prosecco and used the bathroom and lost your boyfriend for a little bit.

“What if,” Ben says as he steadies you by the waist and plucks the glass out of your hand and sets it on the windowsill, “we left right now without saying another word to anyone and went back to your place where you have those frozen pot stickers in your freezer.” His breath smells like bourbon and his tie has been loosened at some point making Ben look rumpled in a very cute way. Sometimes it feels like Ben can read you like a goddamn book.

“Are you psychic?” You ask, pulling on his tie so he shifts closer to you. PDA be damned, you have just enough alcohol in your system that you want to be unabashedly handsy with your very handsome boyfriend. No one is looking anyways because why would they when there was an open bar? Ben bites his bottom lip and you so badly want to kiss him but instead you push back his hair and don’t even care that your hand is covered in his sweat.

“Maybe, think of a number between one and ten and I’ll guess it.” You laugh and manage to pull one out of Dex too before kissing him on the cheek. 

“Okay I have it.” You say, leaning back from him and watching as Ben shuts his eyes tightly and purses his lips, really looking like he’s attempting to read your thoughts. You wonder how much he’s had to drink if he’s willing to ‘yes and’ your bit.

“Four.”

“Oh my god it was!” It was not, it was eight but eight is a multiple of four so it’s basically the same thing. “And that is how many pot stickers I want to have.” You say as you lean into his side as Ben guides you to the coat check.

“Only four?” He wraps your wool scarf around your neck then proceeds to help you into your trench coat and finishes off the task by buttoning it up for you. You’re sufficiently bundled up and already the holiday party is too warm for you so Ben quickly ushers you outside where the cold wintery air bites your cheeks. 

“Yes, only four.” You finally answer his question as you link arms so you can walk home. You love walking with Ben because he always has some sort of hand on you whether it's touching the small of your back or holding hands or letting you lean fully into him like you are now. His cologne has been sweated out and only his natural musk remains, earthy and sweaty in a ripe, sweet way that only hot guys like him can pull off. You didn’t know he got sweaty this easily when he drank and it was a little funny. Another crack in his perfect facade but that was okay, it was nice that Ben was far from perfect because so were you.

The walk home is thirty minutes long and the cold and the distance paired with heels you’ve been standing in all night make the balls of your feet feel like they're being stabbed by the time you get home. Still, you don’t mention it to Ben in fear that he would insist on carrying you home which would be way too chivalrous and you were afraid you wouldn't be able to keep your hands to yourself if he did something like that. So instead when you stumble back into your apartment you shed your shoes as quickly as possible and gasp at the relief. 

“Go sit down baby.” Ben mumbles, sensing your discomfort as you can’t put any weight onto the balls of your feet. “I’ll make food, it'll take two seconds. Pick something out for us to watch.” He’s smiling as he speaks, already moving around in your small kitchen to preheat the oven and place pot stickers in a neat row on a sheet tray. 

You don’t have to be convinced and flop on your couch as Penny jumps up to greet you. You give her firm, long pets and she flops down beside you as she relishes in your affection. She’s so cute it could make you cry with her striped brown and black fur on her back and white belly. The white fur is extra soft and even though she paws at your hands when you pet her stomach you do it anyway, too drunk to notice her dull scratches. 

“I love you baby girl.” You whisper into her fur, picking her up and nuzzling your face into her little body. She squirms out of your grip, hopping back onto the couch and resting on the arm. You continue petting her while also putting on the deep sea episode of Blue Planet, Ben’s favorite. 

He returns to the couch a few minutes later and is already unbuttoning his clothes and leaving them in heaps on the floor. If he weren’t drunk he’d be folding them properly but Ben doesn’t care, too warm and too excited because your dress has ridden up your thighs from the way you’ve been sitting on the couch. You watch as Ben strips down to his white tank and boxers and makes grabby hands at you, motioning for you to sit up so he can get you undressed. 

As your dress slips down your shoulders Ben kisses the bare skin all the way from your neck to your knee leaving you an achy, blushy mess as he discards the dress onto the floor. You’re too sore to get a t-shirt from your bedroom and opt to slip on his white button down which allows you to drown in his musky, manly smell. Ben is more than pleased by this and insists on rubbing your calves and feet that are still aching from your night out. 

His thumbs dig into the arches of your feet and you have to stifle a whimper from the contact. The massage leaves you feeling blissed out and boneless that you almost fall asleep until Ben is sliding pot stickers into your hands and you eat exactly four before laying back down on the couch. You don’t know what time it is but it’s well past your bedtime even for a weekend and the alcohol makes you feel so sleepy. You know you should brush your teeth and probably shower again but you don’t care, Ben is rubbing up the length of your calf and it’s perfect.

“Baby,” Ben’s voice fills your ears, the murmuring of David Attenborough that you fell asleep to is gone and Ben’s hair is wet, he must’ve showered while you slept. “You gotta brush your teeth and put your retainers in or else you’ll feel sad in the morning.” He’s painfully correct, a night without your retainers makes you feel stressed out in the morning because you're scared of your teeth moving in your sleep (they won’t). Plus not brushing your teeth would be nasty and you can’t kiss your boyfriend if you have bad breath.

So you fumble around in your bathroom while Ben pulls down your blankets in the bedroom and after almost ten minutes you make your way into your room. Ben helps you out of his button down, kissing the top of your breasts sweetly before sliding a shirt on over you, and pulls you into bed. Wrapped in the remnants of sparkling wine and the smell of Ben’s body wash you drift to sleep.

Sunday morning you wake up with a dull throb at the base of your neck and a stuff arm from the way you had it curled into your chest all night. You’re pressed into Ben’s side and his arm is slung over you, too heavy to move and you don’t want to try because he’s a light sleeper. You glance at your alarm clock, you have another hour until it goes off you so settle back into the comfort of your sheets and your boyfriend and notice how your feet don’t hurt anymore.

+++

Authors Notes

Yeah it's almost June and I'm out here writing shit that takes place around the holidays. Happy early Christmas to those who celebrate and to those who don't, fair. LMK what yall think, thanks for all the love BTW really keeps me motivated.

+++

Happy Christmas!

@aerionshipthrust @diegoshako

[yearningforsolitude]

it’s so funny? interesting? (idk what i’d call it really) to me how when they first introduce dex he seems like such a normal guy that works for the FBI & has a girlfriend who he does pizza nights with

then next thing you know you’re watching him watch julie through a telescope as he is camped out in his car waiting on her & it’s just like oh! well actually this guy has some issues!

[ct-rhom]

Impressive

FBI! Benjamin Poindexter x female!reader

2.5K+ words

Set in the Pretty Privilege universe but not essential to that story's plot. Can be read standalone.

+++

“Impress you?”

He says it like an insult, disgust riddling his handsome features as he spits out the words and it immediately makes you giggle. You really can’t stop the laughter from tumbling out of your mouth and the confused, teary, puppy-dog eyes gracing Ben’s wide eyes almost makes you feel bad. Almost. Ben is so disciplined all the time, every sentence planned and all his touches calculated; so when he’s caught off guard it’s always a little funny. His voice pitches higher and his carefully guarded emotions do all the talking, taking over his expression and tone. The context of Ben’s shock is also amusing.

“Do I not impress you?”

He genuinely looks bewildered so you finally stifle your giggles and reach for his face. His cheek collides with your hand instantly and Ben is crawling over blankets so he can be as close to you as possible. You kiss his cheek, he wraps his arms around you and lays his head on your chest while tangling your legs together. His hair smells like his minty shampoo and his sweats are soft against your bare legs. Ben melts against you, happy to have contact even though he’s so worried at the thought of you being unimpressed by him. 

“It’s impossible to not be impressed by you.” You reassure, smiling into his scalp and placing a soft kiss against his hairline making him shiver. 

To be fair, it is impossible to not be impressed by Ben. He’s an FBI agent which is objectively cool. He has a six pack, a strong hairline, straight teeth and a 401K. Ben knows how to replace heating coils in dryers because he did it for you last week. He has a wide vocabulary. He’s very talented at poker.

But if you’re someone who knows Ben, then you know the most impressive thing about him is his aim.

He never misses the trashcan. Or the laundry hamper. He even spits in the same exact spot in the sink every time he brushes his teeth. His friends at work banned him from playing darts when they went out and at first you didn’t believe him until he beat you at darts one night in a perfect game. It’s not like Ben shows off all the time, most of the time his aim is used casually around the house when he throws out a napkin or flicks your underwear into the washing machine while kissing you on the couch, but it’s always present and always gets you flustered. You honestly can’t tell if it’s just a neat talent he possesses or if he should be recruited for the Avengers. 

But there’s one thing you’ve never seen Ben use his skill for.

Ben texts you pictures of his paper targets while he’s at work sometimes. You know he spends a fair amount of time at the bureau range whether it’s to blow off steam and practice or because he also is tasked with instructing other agents occasionally. He only sends range pictures occasionally, usually just to show you what he was up to, but it would be absurd to not notice the tight cluster of bullet holes that were evenly spaced apart from one another. Precise. Perfect. Impressive.

The two of you made plans to go out for a date that strayed from the usual routine every other weekend. Every other Saturday after breakfast at the diner and produce and bouquet shopping at the public market, you’d go somewhere fun. As winter was nearing you had run out of outdoor activities and both of you wanted to savor the museums for when it got really cold, so you were trying to come up with an idea for the upcoming weekend. Ben tossed around the idea of a movie but you knew movie theatres stressed him out due to the noise and the crowds. There was definitely one place he’d much rather be but he wasn’t suggesting it because it was objectively intimidating. 

“I’m just saying you could impress me more than you already do, really show off if you want to. Plus we both know you’d be more comfortable there than in a theatre.” You run your fingers through his short, soft hair and his bright hazel eyes are blinking up at you. The lamplight in your living room makes them look like they’re made of glitter.

“Can I show you how to shoot?” Ben’s voice has that special twinge of excitement to it that makes your heart race and the thought of his broad body wrapped around yours, showing you where to put your hands while his breath fans against your neck only makes it worse. 

“Only if you want to baby.” He scoffs and presses his fingers into the skin of your stomach drawing out another giggle from you.

+++

The next day at work Dex booked a slot at one of the public ranges for the two of you to visit on Saturday afternoon, and that evening he took apart his FNS-19 and cleaned it at his kitchen table while you read three chapters of Wuthering Heights aloud. The remainder of the week was filled with giddy anticipation and he even held off on going to the range for the following days so your time at the range would feel even more special.

Saturday finally arrives and that morning Dex asks with baited breath if he can pick out clothes for you. He’s asked to do it a handful of times before, something about selecting your jeans and pairing them with a shirt that belongs to him makes his head spin in the best way possible, and you even let him assist you in putting on your clothes. He loves helping you, even if you don’t need the help, so putting on your socks for you feels luxurious and special because Dex just wants to treat his girl. Your outfit of the day is your pair of GAP baggy blue jeans, wool socks because it’s getting chilly out, an old Quantico t-shirt of his, your leather jacket, and on your head he places his navy blue baseball hat. Before you walk out the door hand-in-hand, he wraps a wool scarf around your neck with a big grin plastered on his face.

“Tiger Shark.” You mumble with your own soft smile gracing your face. On Halloween the two of you watched a documentary on the species together and Dex declared them his favorite animal because of their interesting teeth and the way they were striped. 

“You kind of look like a shark.” You were pressed into his side and chewing on a Reese’s cup shaped like a pumpkin.

“Is that good?” Dex asked immediately, his body rigidly awaiting your response. 

“Very.” Was all you said, eyes glued to the screen as a tiger shark chased down its prey, its mouth open in a grimace-like smile. Dex relaxed and placed three kisses to the top of your head.

By late morning you’re done with all your shopping and drop everything off at your apartment before leaving to catch the train that takes you downtown to the range. When you arrive you sign paperwork and have your ID inspected and Dex fits the large over-ear headphones on your head so they fit snugly. The area where the range is is drafty so you leave your baggy jacket on and paired with your oversized headphones and large safety glasses and Dex’s heart stutters at how cute you look.

“What?” You ask, tugging at your sleeves, bashful from Dex’s staring. He smiles and wipes his hands on the back of his jeans because he’s already getting nervous from all his excitement. 

“Nothing.” He replies, sliding into the booth next to you. No one else is at the range leaving the two of you alone with several paper targets standing several feet away. Dex pulls the handgun out of his belt holster and places it on the table in front of you. “Have you shot a gun before?”

He knows the answer is ‘no’ but you shake your head anyways and he smiles as he shows you all the features of the pistol. How to grip it, where the safety is, what sights are and how to aim. “I’ll be right here next to you the whole time.” You’re nervous, the skin on your cheeks is already a little pale and you keep picking at the hem of his t-shirt you’re wearing. “The safety is on right now, try picking it up and see how it feels in your grip.”

You nod and Dex wraps a hand around your waist and presses his firm chest into your back and watches as blush crawls up the back of your neck. You pick the pistol up delicately, adjusting your fingers the way Dex had instructed you, and tentatively hold it up, aiming at the paper targets across the room. 

The paper targets provided were not the standard circular bullseye sheets he usually sent pictures of. These were the human target ones, a basic white silhouette of an upper body against a black background with red bullseyes at the head and chest.

“It’s heavy.” You say, squinting one eye as you steady the gun with both hands as you get used to the weight of it. After a few seconds you lower your arms and giggle as you look back at him. “Sorry, I don’t have nice muscles like you do. I’m scared that if I shoot it I’ll break my wrist.”

“No, no,” Dex assures, wrapping his arms around you so your hand rests in his and he feels the cool metal of the gun touch his callused fingers. “This one is really comfortable and the recoil isn’t intense making it a really accurate shot. Lots of people own this model because it’s compact.” He rambles and you nod along hesitantly. He’s hoping the gun isn’t too powerful for you because he really wants you to get a concealed carry license and this would be a good option for you. Anything could happen, and as much as Dex wanted to be there for you and protect you, it was also important that you were capable of defending yourself.

“You’re sure?” You ask, leaning back into him and Dex gets a nice whiff of your shampoo contrasting the musty smell of the range. 

“Positive.” He switches the safety off and it’s quiet enough in the room that you hear the click. Dex moves himself around you so his hands guide your arms up so you can hold the pistol out steady in front of you. He lowers his head so his face is next to yours and can feel heat radiating from your cheeks. You get flustered so easily it makes his heart ache. “Just take a deep breath and aim down the sight like I showed you. Your first shot is just to get a feel of it so don’t worry about hitting targets and keep your grip firm. I’m right here, nothing bad is going to happen.” He says loud enough so you can hear through your headphones. You nod weakly and steady yourself and Dex rests his hands on your shoulders. 

Your shoulders fall as you let out a steady exhale and Dex feels the muscle in your body shift the moment you squeeze the trigger. A single shot rings out through the range and your position remains sturdy which makes Dex smile. The targets are too far away for you to see but Dex can tell from the sound that you managed to hit paper. 

“Good job baby!” He gushes. Pushing on your arms so you lower the gun and place it on the table so he can wrap you in a bone crushing hug. “You’re so talented we should’ve come here sooner.” You’re laughing now as he keeps squeezing you, pushing at his chest and claiming you didn’t do anything worth praise but it falls on deaf ears. With an elated smile he lets go of you and lines you back up so you can finish out the mag. 

Shots echo throughout the range and you have to take a break from shooting for a few minutes to let your arms rest before finishing. As the paper target flies across the room on the track so you can see your shots Dex massages your hands and wrists for you, excited to see what your results are. He gasps when the target stands in front of you, tears welling in his eyes as he sees three shots just shy of the red bullseye in the chest and one perfectly in the center at the head. The rest of the bullet holes are littered across other parts of the silhouette but all ten shots made the paper.

Dex pulls you into a hungry kiss, knocking your headphones and his hat off your head so he can curl his fingers into your hair. His jeans are getting tighter at the crotch by the second and the smell of gunpowder and perfume mix together to create the most intoxicatingly sexy smell he’s ever experienced. “So proud of my girl, my beautiful and talented girl.” He murmurs gruffly between kisses and you let yourself get drowned in his affection. 

After a three minute make-out session that never would’ve happened if someone else had been in the range with you, Dex pulls the target off the rack and folds it neatly, claiming he needs to frame it for his apartment which makes you scoff. The first thing he wants you to do when you get home is begin filling out the paperwork to get you a handgun license and he wants to figure out how to convince you to come back to this range next month so he can see you shoot a rifle. 

“Your turn.” You say excitedly, handing the empty pistol to Dex as he hangs up another target.

“You don’t want to go again? I have two more mags. Maybe this time you can get them all on the red dots, I bet you can.” He’s speaking so animatedly he almost doesn’t sound like himself but he doesn’t care because he’s so proud of you and you’re looking at him all gooey. “So proud of my baby. I love you so much.” He says as he kisses the side of your head again. 

“My hands are sore from holding it so tightly. Besides, I told you I wanted to see you show off, remember?” Dex smiles because how could he forget? He switches out the empty mag with a full clip and switches spots with you as the target slides back on the rail to the other end of the room. 

“Okay baby, anything you want.” He says fondly, then opens fires on the paper. Ten shots fired in quick succession followed by a quick mag change and ten more shots. You’re leaning into his side for every single one of them and are pretending not to notice the way his jeans are clinging to his groin. It takes him less than a minute to empty all the bullets and presses the button for the target with a satisfied smirk.

As the target nears the two of you, part of the paper falls off as it slides against the railing. Once it stops in front of you Dex watches as you take in the state of the target, a slow and sticky sweet smile creeping up on your face. 

The first mag was used for the head where he shot out two eyes spaced evenly apart and the other eight bullets were used to create a perfectly curved smile. The second mag was reserved for the chest. Ten shots positioned flawlessly to make a cut out of a heart. You asked him to show off so he did, but in his eyes it would never compare to the ten shots you made.

The two of you leave the range with both targets, a pistol, and three empty magazines and walk home in the misty, late autumn air. Dex praises you the whole way home.

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Authors Notes:

Thanks again to everyone who read my first story Pretty Privilege, the feedback and support means a lot! Like I mentioned I want to write oneshots relating to this version of Dex and the reader so keep your eyes out for more stories and feel free to request any ideas if you have any. Didn't mean to end both stories with these two walking home together so I'll try to diversify next time lol.

Also, any Smosh fans in the house?

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Shout Out to my Shooters:

@aerionshipthrust @diegoshako

[nowadayz]

DAREDEVIL 3.02

[usergambit]

WILSON BETHEL as BENJAMIN POINDEXTER AKA BULLSEYE DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN S02E04 - 'Gloves Off'

[ct-rhom]

would you maybe write a part 2 of pretty privilege, a few years later (where dex wasnt manipulated by fisk because he had her) but because of his mental illness he still somehow became bullseye (just killing task force)? your fic was sooo good!!

Hey thank you for reading!

Gonna be honest, I'm not too certain. I kind of want to play around with FBI Dex for a little longer, plus I have not watched Born Again so im really not familiar with his most recent characterization.

This was my first x reader fic I've ever written so I'm really glad you enjoyed it.

[girlpointdexter]

This is fbi!dex to me