Summary: When a masked vigilante breaks into your home demanding for help, you don’t except anything to come out of it.
Word count: 4.1k
Warning: Mentions of guns, murder and more
Note: First fic with DDBA Bullseye! I thought of this and couldn’t sleep until I wrote it. Hope you enjoy!
———
With the rise of vigilantes running around at night and the creation of the AVTF, you don’t feel as safe in your city anymore. That’s why you bought a gun. A .45 actually.
You don’t plan to use it unless you need to. It’s hidden in the creak of your couch.
When you hear your window open, you reach for it and point it in the direction of said window.
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” he sounds cocky as hell. The masked guy is at least a foot taller than you.
You undo the safety of your gun, “I could tell you the same thing about intruding into my apartment.”
“Put the gun down and come over here. You really don’t want me to disarm you myself- I promise you that.”
Part of you wants to know how he’d disarm you, cause his hands are empty. But part of you doesn’t want to take a chance at that, out of fear of getting hurt.
He goes to reach for a knife on his belt.
“No- it’s okay. I’ll put it down.” You clip the safety back on and put the gun down on the coffee table before walking over to him.
“Good girl. Now, grab anything you need to clean me up- except scissors. I’ve got a nasty cut on my back I can’t treat myself.”
You comply, not saying a word as you go into your bathroom to grab alcohol, wipes, ointments for cuts, medical tape and fresh bandages. You think about bringing a wet towel too, cause you don’t know how much blood there’ll be.
“Okay, sit in the floor right where you are, you’re too tall for me”
He looks at you for a moment, trying to decide if it’s to trick him. Your arms are full of medical supplies and your eyes are pleading him to do as you say.
He does. He sits where he was previously standing, right next to the window he used to get in. He faces the window, so you have access to his back. You kneel behind him.
“Are you taking your shirt off or should I-“ you’re cut short as his hands reach for the bottom of his shirt and he takes it off completely, making sure his mask stays on.
“Oh.” His back is covered in drying blood. The cut is on his left trapezius, about four inches long and seems deep.
He chuckles, “That bad, huh?” You can hear the grin in his voice.
“It’s not everyday I have to clean up a vigilante.”
You take the wet towel and start wiping his back the best you can. You try to be delicate close to the cut, but other than that, you apply pressure to get the blood off of his skin.
“Alright, this will sting but it’s not my fault.”
You clean the wound with the alcohol. He doesn’t move an inch. You think he must be used to it. That’s probably nothing compared to the other injuries he’s had. He’s a vigilante after all. He’s probably been cut and punched and hit dozens of times. He’s been shot at, that’s for sure, but you wonder if he’s ever been hit.
The thought is stronger than you, the question leaving your lips before you can refrain yourself from asking.
“You’ve ever been shot?”
“Once. Hurt like hell.”
“I can’t imagine.” You dry the skin around the wound.
You start applying ointment on his cut, “Could’ve been two tonight, sneaking into my home like that.“
“Baby, I could’ve disarmed you so fast you would’ve thought you’d seen a ghost. You’re lucky you’re pretty. And since I needed you, I didn’t want to hurt you or piss you off”
You put a fresh bandage on his cut and use the medical tape to make it stay in place.
“Well you did piss me off by asserting yourself in my living room without my consent.”
“I figure. But you were my only option. Like I said, I can’t treat back wounds myself. If I could, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Well, lucky for you, my job is done. You’re all cleaned up.” You rest your hand on his right shoulder for a moment, signalling that he can turn around now. Your touch stays with Dex, as if it meant to him that you’ve got him. That he’s safe here.
He doesn’t miss a beat, grabbing his shirt and turning around to face you, still sitting on the floor.
You gasp when you see his chest. There’s two cuts on his abdomen and a bruise forming on his left pec.
“You took a serious beating.” It’s stronger than you, you reach for his pec to trace your fingers over the forming bruise, his skin a dark red, spots already turning purple.
“You should see the other guys.” You roll your eyes at the cliche phrase. You don’t reply.
“Well, if you’re offering to patch me up completely, I can’t refuse. You’re way more delicate than I am.”
You don’t respond right away, this wasn’t you offering to patch him up more, it was just you stating the obvious. He is beaten up.
Dex knows you didn’t just offer to clean his other wounds for him. He just can’t leave, not right now. Not after you just accepted to help him, cleaned him up softly, only applying pressure when needed. He can’t leave your gentle touch, he can’t leave you.
“Let me grab another towel, this one is good for the trash.
He smiles under his mask, you’ve clearly accepted your faith for tonight. Whatever you were doing before he broke in just became a second thought as you give him your undivided attention.
You come back, with another wet towel in hand and with some more bandages. He winks at you as you kneel back down next to him.
“How nice of you. And here I thought you didn’t like vigilantes.”
You look into his eyes.
“Just for the record, I’m not anti vigilantes. I’m only anti vigilantes-breaking-into-my-home”
He chuckles.
“Fair.”
“You mind leaning back a little?”
He obliges, leaning back, putting both his hands on the floor to support him.
You start by cleaning the blood off of him, just like you had on his back. This time, Dex can look at you. He doesn’t just feel you, he sees you.
“So, there are a lot of vigilantes around right now, which one are you?”
“I’m Bullseye.”
You stop breathing, forgetting how to for a second, and that doesn’t go unnoticed by Dex. You’ve heard the rumours about Bullseye, about his aim. How he had called the AVTF to a dinner only to make a massacre out of them. The rumours said he could use anything as a weapon: a coin, a fork, a CD, even a live lobster.
You snap your head to look into his eyes.
“Is it true what they say? That your aim is perfect? And that you’ve killed a man with a lobster?”
“It’s more than perfect.”
“Nice”, the response jerks out of you. You don’t want to encourage or praise him. He’s cocky enough as it is.
“And yes- for the lobster”
“Poor lobster.”
He chuckles at your reply. You’re not scared of him, or terrified that he’s killed so many people, you’re sad for the lobster.
And you don’t say more after expressing sympathy for the creature. You return your attention to the wounds on his upper body.
Dex takes in your expression as you clean his wounds for him. You’re delicate and precise, as if you cared for him. But you don’t, he forced you to do this. He broke into your home and demanded you help him. He had forced you to drop everything to help him.
It just doesn’t seem like he did. You’re taking your time, not rushing the job for him to leave. Maybe it’s cause you don’t want him to return if you botch the job.
He watches as you apply the ointment to his two cuts. You put bandages over them, ripping the medical tape with your teeth since he didn’t want you bringing scissors. He realizes now you could’ve used them. You wouldn’t hurt him, not with the way you’re taking your sweet time to fix him up. Not when you apologized softly when his abs flexed when you sanitized his cuts with alcohol. You’re apologizing when he’s the one who got himself in this predicament in the first place.
“Now you’re all patched up!”
He nods, as a thank you. You won’t hear those words come out of his mouth.
“For the cut on my back, how long do you think the bandage will last?”
“Maybe a day. It’s deep.”
He puts his shirt back on and stands up. You follow suit. He towers over you.
“Good, I’ll be back tomorrow night so you can change it.”
You don’t respond. You don’t know what to say. You know you can’t have a vigilante come to your home for appointments to change bandages. You’re not his accomplice. Nor his impromptu doctor. You’re a regular civilian. You pay your taxes, you pay your rent on time. You give to charity when you can, you give your seat to older people on the bus. You are a good person. You don’t want any trouble, especially with the law. But you still catch yourself nodding at his statement.
You see in his eyes that he’s smiling at you, “See you tomorrow.”
And just like that he’s gone, going down the stairs of the fire escape.
You lock your window. What the fuck just happened?
~
The next morning, you see your downstairs neighbour Tony as you both head out the building.
“Have a nice day Tony.”
“You too, see you around.”
He gives you his classy charismatic smile and you both head into different directions. Ah, he’s so charming.
~
At night, you know Bullseye will show up, you just don’t know at what time. You’ve prepared for his visit. You’ve got new bandages and medical tape on the coffee table. You even put a chair next to the window, not wanting to fix him up sitting on the floor.
When he shows up at around 11:00 pm, you still jump at the sound of the window opening. You know it’s him, but you’re not used to people getting in your apartment using the window instead of the door.
“Hey.” He greets you.
You stand up to walk closer to him. You notice a small cut on his eyebrow and cross your arms at the thought of him fighting in his condition.
“You went out? Like to do vigilante stuff? You’re all cut up from yesterday, it will never heal if you don’t take a break.”
“I went to gather information, I got in a fight on the way home. Thanks for caring baby, it’s sweet.”
“I care about you not coming here every night. I’m patching you good so you don’t come back.”
Part of it is true, you’re taking your time to patch him up correctly so he doesn’t come to you every night. You have other things to do and you don’t want to get involved in his shit. No more than you already are.
Dex loves how you’re scolding him for going out and fighting tonight. It means you care in a way. And you do, he’s a human being after all. A fucked up one, but still a human.
“And I’m not your baby.”
You don’t give him the time to talk back, knowing his comeback would be something cocky.
“Take a seat.”
You gesture to the chair you had placed next to the window. He sits down, the back of the chair in front of him. He takes his shirt off and leans his arms on the top of the chair. You now have full access to his back this way.
You take off the bandage covering his cut, it’s full of blood.
“If you want it to heal, you’ll have to give it the time to. You can’t go around fighting.”
You do what you did last night all over again, cleaning the wound, applying ointment and covering it with a bandage.
You run your hand over the bandage one last time to make sure the tape is fully stuck to his skin. You let your hand roam his back a little, feeling his muscles beneath your touch.
“All done.”
He stands up in a swift motion, turning to face you. His shirt is still on the floor. You take in how ripped he is. The bruise on his pec is now totally purple. You want to feel it with your fingers, but you stop yourself tonight. You shake your head to get your mind out of the gutter.
You point to the cuts on his chest, “I’m not checking these two. You can do them.”
He chuckles. He picks up his shirt and puts it back on. He stares at you, the look in his eyes intense. There’s a silence. It’s not uncomfortable, it’s just there. You look up at him, wondering why he’s not leaving. He’s just looking at you like you mean everything to him. You couldn’t, right? You’re just a random girl he forced into helping him. There’s nothing here. He’s just using you to treat his wounds, nothing more.
You give him a small smile, “Try to keep yourself out of trouble will you?”
“I’ll try my best for you. Can’t make no promises though.”
“I figure”
After getting another good look at you, he leaves. You lock the window once he does. You don’t want him coming back in as you’re watching a movie. 2 nights in a row was enough, or was it? You’re intrigued by him.
The urge to know more about him is stronger than you. You need to look him up. You reach for your laptop that lays next to you on the couch. You open it and type in Bullseye in the search bar. There’s a lot of info about him. You find his name, his real one: Benjamin Pointdexter. He was in the FBI. He went to prison it says, you click on the link to view his criminal record. You freeze. His mugshot. You know that face. You’ve been seeing it for months. It’s Tony, your downstairs neighbour. The guy who holds the door for you when you go out at the same time, the guy that smiles your way as he wishes you a good day. Tony, the guy your landlord loves because he’s so nice to her and because he feeds her cat.
Tony, the neighbour you’ve been secretly crushing on cause he’s gorgeous, is Bullseye. He’s the vigilante who’s come to your house the last two nights. What the fuck.
In a way it makes sense. You live in the apartment directly above from his. Bullseye had to live close by to have chosen you to patch him up. It couldn’t have been random you figure. It wasn’t random at all. You live in the apartment on top of the one where he lives. You live just above Bullseye, the vigilante even the AVTF fears. You live above a very dangerous man. A man dangerous enough and deranged enough to kill you if he wanted to. You wouldn’t stand a chance if that was his intention. That deranged man had come to your house. Twice.
What should you do? Were you in danger now that you knew who he was? Were you in danger for helping him?
Your mind keeps spiralling. This is crazy. You should lock your windows from now on. You decide you’ll do just that. Then again, would locks truly keep him out? Probably not. If he’d want to get in your apartment, he’d find a way.
You decide this is too much and head to bed.
What are you supposed to do with this information? If he comes back, should you tell him you know it’s him?
You try your best to put all these thoughts away. To put all Bullseye-related thoughts in a box and mentally burn it.
You’re so exhausted that you finish by falling asleep.
~
You try to live your life as if nothing happened. You don’t know Bullseye, have never talked to him, never met him, never touched him. You try, but you fail miserably.
He lives rent free in your mind. That fucking bastard.
There hasn’t been a sign of him in the last two days, except from the stack of three newly bought towels that were left just outside your window on the fire escape. A note was placed over them, “To replace the ones I ruined”. This felt like a thank you, but also like the conclusion of your story. The end of your partnership if you could call it that. It felt like it was over. It felt like you could now move on and start breathing again.
~
3 days later, you’re enjoying a new movie that just came out while eating ice cream straight out of the pint. You live alone, you’re free to do as you please.
Click.
You freeze. You know that sound. The sound of your window unlocking. Then you hear the window slide open. You don’t turn, you know it’s him. You mentally curse him out for coming here again. You thought this was over. You hear his boots connecting with your floor. You didn’t think he’d be back but clearly you were wrong.
“Hey.”
You pause your movie and stand up, ice cream tub in hand. You turn your head in his direction to greet him just in time to see him falling on the floor, face first- completely numb.
“Hey- what the fuck!”
You drop your tub and run to him. You crash to the floor next to him and use all your strength to turn him so he’s laying on his back. His eyes jerk open and he gasps.
“I’m okay- just need to rest a little”
“You’re not okay. Stay with me, don’t close your eyes! Where are you hurt?”
You roam your hands over his covered upper body, searching for a wet spot of blood or a visible injury.
“I’m good” He gets himself to sit up, just strong enough to lay his back against the wall of the window. He breathes heavily.
You look into his eyes, a drop of blood on his eyebrow catching your attention.
“You’re hurt. Your head, it’s bleeding.”
You instinctively reach for his neck, your fingers touching the bottom of his mask.
He stops you, a hand grabbing your wrist aggressively. He’s stronger than you, there’s no doubt.
You whisper, “It’s okay. I know who you are. I just want to help.”
You start reaching for his mask again, this time slower, almost as if asking for permission. His grip on your wrist drops.
You pull his mask up, revealing his face completely. He’s all white, he had just passed out after all. In any other situation, you’d take the time to admire his gorgeous features. He’s a handsome man. A deadly, very handsome man. The right side of his face is all bloody.
You run to the bathroom to gather everything you need, stopping in the kitchen on your way back to grab a water bottle.
You kneel down next to him.
“Here, drink this.”
He opens it and drinks half of it in one swing.
You clean the blood from his face with a towel.
You raise an eyebrow at him, “Want to tell me what happened?”
“Got hit in the head with a pipe. I knew I had to get to you before losing consciousness.”
“You’re lucky you reached me in time.”
He smiles weakly, his face regaining its normal colours.
“I knew you had a soft spot for me.”
“I had a sweet spot for Tony. Not Bullseye.” You confess.
“You must’ve been hella disappointed when you saw my face just then.”
“I knew you were him. I looked you up after last time.”
He grins, “You did?”
You nod. “I figured I should know more about the man that’s been breaking and entering into my home”
“So were you?” He pauses, “Disappointed?”
“I don’t know. I’ve not wrapped my head around it yet.”
“Well I am Tony, just with a darker side.”
“Much darker.” You apply ointment on his eyebrow, where there’s a little cut, “So, what should I call you? Ben? Benjamin?”
“Dex.”
You hum, wrapping your head around his new name, “Dex.”
He likes how his name, his real one, sounds on your lips. It rolls perfectly off your tongue.
“You like me, admit it. I am Tony, just with a different name and more layers.”
“Dex- You’re crazy.”
“You like it.”
You roll your eyes.
“I know you got worried when I lost consciousness.”
“Yeah, you know what would happen to me if the AVFT found you in my apartment? My life would be ruined. I’m just glad you’re not dead. I don’t know how to dispose of a body”
“I do.”
“I will move past that comment.”
“Kiss me, I know you want to.”
He grabs your waist, pulling you over his legs, making you straddle him. Clearly his strength had come back quickly.
“Woah, let’s calm down” You try to get off from him but his grip on your waist tightens, keeping you in place.
Even injured, he was still stronger than you. Way stronger.
You rest your hands on his chest, contemplating kissing him. What it would mean, what it would implicate. Kissing him meant you were his accomplice in a way. It meant you couldn’t tell yourself he’s forcing you to help him anymore. It would mean you are doing this out of use of your free will now. That you’re accepting him and all he does.
For Dex, kissing you would mean you were his.
You debate between arguing with him, telling him to get out as soon as he could stand or kissing him. You want to give in to the temptation. You’ve thought about kissing Tony- well Dex, technically- for weeks. How would kissing Dex be any different? They’re the same guy. They’re both Bullseye. Yes, you never imagined Tony to be a killer when you were fantasizing about him, about him taking you on a date. How much different would it be to kiss Dex? Yes, there would be the murder thing- that’s inevitable, but he could still take you out on a date. He could continue to hold the doors open for you. This could be exciting, going out with “Tony” in public, but in private being with Dex.
Before you can change your mind, you lean in and press your lips against his. He groans at the contact. You put your hands on his cheeks.
Dex doesn’t remember the last time he was kissed. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been touched with this much kindness, this more love. To Dex, this is what love must feel like. Love, he hadn’t thought about that in a while. Love can come later. Fuck love, right now he’s feeling lust. He knows you won’t give him what he wants, he’s injured. Or maybe you will?
Kissing you will have to do for now. He slips his tongue in your mouth, wanting to taste you more. You taste like strawberry ice cream and it makes him crave a milkshake. He wonders if you’d like that as your first date- going out for milkshakes with him. Maybe you’d both grab one, you strawberry and him banana, or maybe you’d grab one with two straws. Or would it be only one straw? That’d be even more romantic Dex believes.
Thinking of ice cream, your pint of strawberry ice cream is slowly melting on the floor as you make out with Dex, but you don’t care.
He tastes like blood and it makes you go a little crazy. You pull his hair, getting a moan out of him.
He breaks away and kisses your neck, “You’re mine.”
It’s not a question, it’s an affirmation. A statement.
He can smell your shampoo, it’s citrusy. He can’t figure out what fruit -he will later he notes- but he loves the smell.
You break apart, breatheless. He nods at the ice cream on the floor, silently asking if you want to clean that up before anything else happens. You look at it melting for a second before looking at Dex again.
You smirk, “You owe me a pint of strawberry ice cream”
“Fair.”
If that’s the price to pay for you to be his, Dex can buy you all the ice cream in the world. After all, he’d do anything for you- kill anyone for you. But sure, a pint of strawberry ice cream will suffice. For now.
What fear a man like you
Brings upon a woman like me
Please, don't look at me
I can see it in your eyes, he keeps looking at me
Tell me, what have you done?
— Ethel Cain, Ptolemaea
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