geebumbler @geebumbler - Tumblr Blog

Just Your Doll (Chapter 5)

Pairing: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Reader Series Summary: Defense attorney at law for… Vanessa Marianna? You weren’t thinking, you have no idea what you’ve gotten into working with Donovan and Partners. You’re supposed to be helping the infamous woman get to the States safely and without charges. So why is Wilson Fisk talking about wanting to destroy what’s left of Nelson and Murdock? Friends of yours that Fisk seems to hate with a burning passion. And why does Fisk seem to care so much about getting underneath the skin of Special Agent Poindexter? A man you seem to grow increasingly close with given the awkward circumstances Fisk has put the both of you in underneath his powerful boot. Dex is… complicated, brutal, and requires intense satiation. Sometimes you think he’s pushing you away with a stubborn coldness he can’t seem to shake, but other times he fascinates you with what you deem his sensitive nature, miraculous skill, and charming attitude. You could never have comprehended when you had taken Vanessa’s case as to what this would all become. And… What does being a North Star mean? Chapter WC: 17k (holy shit lol) A/N: Sorry for the longish wait. A girl gets busy but this absolute giant of a chapter should absolve me a little. I just really wanted these events to happen in the same chapter and lowkey I be writing like I’m writing a character analysis of Dex which I don’t think I can help given how layered he can be. And yes... you read the warnings right, we dryhumping in this bitch. ENJOY! (Also if you wanna be tagged just ask in my inbox and put which series.) Warnings: Kidnapping, Mentions of killing, Kissing, DRYHUMPING Tags: @muffinbrown

“Holy fuck, Foggy are you okay?”

The room is a sterile white and smells of cleaning products. Karen’s sitting at the end of Foggy’s hospital bed. He’s dressed in a white gown, his long blonde hair strewn across his shoulders. The monitor next to him makes a beep every time his heart beats and there’s a line of IV fluid going into his hand.

Foggy tilts his head and smiles, “Why? Not looking as handsome as usual?” He answers you in a sarcastic tone, clearly being knocked unconscious hasn’t taken away any of his easy-going personality.

“God… not the time right now,” you answer him, heart still racing from rushing to the hospital as soon as Karen called you. You wrap your arms around his body and Foggy pats your back with the hand that doesn’t currently have a needle poking through it. When you give Foggy back his space you narrow your eyes and glare at him for a second.

“You look as handsome as usual I guess,” you admit defeatedly, falling victim to Foggy’s casual nature.

“Thank you madam.”

You turn to Karen, she’s bent forward with her forearms on her knees, clearly in deep thought. You speak up at her, “I can’t believe the Daredevil would do shit like that. I thought he was supposed to be helpful…” You turn to Foggy, his demeanor much more serious as he stares back at you, “You guys almost died.”

You’ve read the headlines before.

MASKED VIGILANTE SAVES WOMAN FROM ARMED ROBBERY

VIGILANTE DAREDEVIL STOPS HUMAN TRAFFICKING RING

DAREDEVIL FOILS MASSIVE DRUG CARTEL PLANS

You had, in real time, watched the media quickly become accustomed to Daredevil. He was the masked do-gooder of New York City. A true hero of the public. You’ve heard people on the train talk about him, baristas try to make casual talk about his latest headline with you when you order a coffee, and police whisper his name when you pass by.

But this whole act, all of the newspaper headlines, the stories people tell, the purpose of Daredevil… It could all be a farce. A farce for a much bigger scheme that involves working under Fisk. At least, that’s what made the most sense to you.

Karen and Foggy share a knowing look you don’t catch onto. Their eyes wide and eyebrows quirked, they didn’t know how to tell you that you’re currently slandering their close and personal friend.

Foggy coughs, “Uh…” he starts awkwardly, silently begging for Karen’s help as he looks at her desperately.

“That wasn’t Daredevil, trust me,” she states with authority.

You were starting to get tired of people telling you to trust them. First Matt, now Karen. The crazy thing was that she sounded so sure of herself. She’s told you about her single encounter with the “hero” before, he saved her from a man who tried to put a bullet in her head.

Karen’s bias wasn’t going to refute the facts, “He had the costume and everything,” you countered.

Karen shakes her head, looking up at you from her chair against the wall, “Daredevil helps good people. He doesn’t hurt civilians,” she attempts to convince you.

You scoff, “Well, maybe he’s changed his mind…”

You look to Foggy for backup, but he looks uncomfortable laying on the bed in between the two of you. Why were they so hesitant to agree with you? You raised your arms, you were fed up, “He killed and injured several civilians and murdered the only witness that could boot Fisk from the Presidential!”

Foggy sighs, he knew you weren’t going to give up on this. He could see why too, if Daredevil was some random guy he would be inclined to agree with you and maybe be just as outraged.

“Then I guess that means he’s working for Fisk,” Foggy tells you dejectedly. He decides it’s best to let you believe that then continue to argue. It earns him a silent but deadly stare from Karen across the room he’s trying to ignore. She’s always been loyal to telling the truth, it’s what made her such a great journalist.

You cross your arms, satisfied you could get at least something from Foggy. But the mention of Fisk creates a slight frown on your face, “I can’t say much about that can I?”

Foggy doesn’t laugh at your bad joke and gives you a look that says, really? When Karen had told him about the story you gave her, he understood you… to a degree. In fact, he had convinced Karen to be a little less upset with you and tamed her festering anger.

He remembered when you told him about moving out of the office. You told him rent was just too much of a worry and you’d rather find a way to manage on your own. Foggy understood at first, but when he accidentally grabbed your pay stubs while in the office, too many random papers strewn about in the cramped space, he noticed you were working your ass off to scrounge money. It sure as hell was enough for rent at Nelson and Murdock.

He thought maybe the real reason you wanted to move out was because you had always talked about your grand ideas of making yourself quite the big time lawyer. He assumed you didn’t have the heart to tell him and Matt that you just wanted to be alone, that you didn’t want to piggyback off of their good graces.

Foggy also knew you carried a lot of debt from school, that if you missed any payments interest would skyrocket. If rent was just going to slow you down from paying it off, he knew why you’d have to say goodbye. So when Karen told him that you had lowered yourself to working for Vanessa (and therefore Fisk) in the absence of clients, without asking him nor her for help first, he understood you through his disappointment.

Though if you were to reach out, Foggy knew it would be to Matt. You were the closest to him, and Foggy knew that if Matt understood your situation he would’ve told you right away that what was going on with your disappearing clients was a ploy from Fisk. This only added fuel to the fire that was his anger with Matt for going AWOL. That in some indirect way his absence had dragged you into a situation you otherwise wouldn’t be in.

The two of them clearly weren’t feeling your joke, so you decided to change the topic, “Uh… have you guys heard from Matt?”

Speak of the (Dare)devil. “Not much. Just that he’s okay,” Foggy replies, frustration not well hidden in his voice.

You shake your head, “Sounds about right.”

At least Matt listened to you and told them he’s alive. You weren’t going to go and spill his secrets about living in a church and his lingering at the Presidential, he made you swear to it in fact, but at least he did the bare minimum.

You check your phone quickly by grabbing it out of your jean pocket and facing it upwards.

No new notifications.

You click your tongue across the roof of your mouth before placing your phone back in your pants and tapping your foot against the floor, clearly annoyed.

Foggy takes a loud sip of orange juice before nodding in your direction, “Something got you anxious?”

You rub your palms against your tired eyes, the last few days have been something to say the least. “Uh… It’s a friend I made in the FBI… He’s not answering my texts.”

Karen perks up quickly, “Was he at the Bulletin?” Her question sounded pressing, she asked you in the same manner she would speak in when she was doing her investigative journalism.

You take Foggy’s empty juice box and throw it into a small wastebin next to the door, “Not sure… but I know he can handle himself. He took down the Albanian ambush that happened recently.”

The thought that Dex was involved with the law enforcement response at the New York Bulletin had made you nervous. The news had reported casualties, but no identities as of yet. He wasn’t answering your text since before that, but his continual silence had made you worried that he was hurt… or worse.

Karen tucks her blonde hair behind her ears when you mentioned the Albanians, “That was bloodshed, bodies all over the street…” There was disbelief and marvel threaded in her tone.

You nod, picking at the loose string of fabric coming out of your jacket seam, “He’s very capable, great aim,” you didn’t want to sound like you were bragging about someone else’s accomplishments. Just being honest.

Karen and Foggy share a dangerously curious look that lasts half a second.

Great aim.

The conversation moves on and you stay for a little longer to talk to them about the more menial things going on in their lives. Karen had expressed how relieved she was about finally getting rid of her piling laundry on the floor of her bedroom. Foggy talked about the date he took Marci on, a fancy restaurant that poured the food right in your hands. You all chuckled at that, safe to say that the two of them weren’t going to revisit that place again anytime soon.

It was like pretending things were normal again, if just for a brief moment. What you didn’t catch onto was Karen’s constant bouncing knee and the tense cracking of Foggy’s knuckles hidden underneath his thin hospital blanket.

Right when you had left the room to make your way back to your apartment Karen was quick to run next to Foggy’s side from her chair and Foggy was ready to listen as he straightened his back against the pillows.

Was it just a slip of your tongue? A coincidence? Do they call Matt?

When Dex climbs through the window of his apartment he sheds his fake Daredevil mask immediately.

When it was finally pulled off he wished he could say he was relieved. But looking at the mess of glass on the floor, hole in the wall, gun, tapes, and pills still on the table… They’re reminders of the cliff he was just standing on the edge of, ready to jump.

Causing wanton chaos at the Bulletin felt like an adrenaline rush that couldn’t be beat. He felt like he had found a stride within himself he never knew was there. But opening his window, seeing the reality of his life only mere hours ago… He could feel himself dropping out of that high, physically.

As Dex takes a vacuum out of his closet to clean the mess of glass he’d made when he broke the group photo of his former colleagues he thinks about you. That he could have killed your friends Page and Nelson if he wanted to.

It would be punishment for abandoning him. It would force you to grieve, to rot in your bed mourning, irrevocably altering your life. Maybe even force you to move back to California after your only friends in your new city have either left you without any notice or died.

It would make you feel how he felt when he had pressed the cold steel of his gun to his head and was ready to let go of mortal reality.

Was that too far?

Was this who he was becoming now?

Is this his new life?

Fisk had saved him. If so… why does he feel a grueling ache in his chest? Like someone is crunching his lungs underneath their feet on the grimy sidewalk. It shouldn’t feel like this, Dex was good at his new job, undeniably so. He stood toe to toe with the Daredevil and gave him a run for his money.

Dex adjusts the framed photo on the wall, now missing its protective glass. He stares at Julie, radiating in the middle of the photo like a sun casting its rays on the people surrounding her. What would Julie think about his actions? Would Julie have hurt those people at the Bulletin? Killed them?

He needs to go back to his routine. Last night was a fluke, you were a minor setback. Go ahead and run off with that stranger at the hotel, Dex can’t bring himself to care anymore. He can’t afford to.

He grabs a tape from the table and his pair of headphones. Dr. Mercer’s voice floods his ears and drowns out the buzzing from the vacuum. He’ll try to communicate one more time with Julie. She’ll bring him clarity, help him understand if working for Fisk was the right thing to do.

How bad is working under Fisk anyways? You did it.

When he catches up to Julie the next day on her run, she looks at him startled out of her mind; he's reminded of the faces of the people at the Bulletin. The look on them right before he knocks them unconscious with a nearby object… or worse if they were unlucky. It all depended on what the closest object was to him, how lethal its capacity.

But when he pleads to Julie about taking her to a coffee shop. Shares a decaf with her in a controlled environment. Convinces her that he wasn’t trying to be creepy, that he wasn’t a weird obsessed sex-pervert. Julie teaches him how to control his breathing. How to slow things down, tells him that she’s willing to lend a cautious ear to him. She gives him her number and tells him to text her when things get rough.

All of that and he still can’t help but be reminiscent of you. This is how things went down with you wasn’t it? But were you a North Star to him like Julie was? Dex thinks it might be possible but doesn’t think it’s so concrete of a definition for you. Julie was goodness, a desperate aspiration that he needed to reach. An idealization of someone he wanted to be, were you the same? Did he really want to be you?

Dex discards the thoughts of you that have been plaguing him as best he can. He needs to take whatever break he can get, not get distracted. Take whatever Julie is willing to give him. He needs it.

He’s interrupted when his phone buzzes in his pocket and he reads a text from Nadeem to come into the office. He unfortunately has to cut his meeting with Julie short. But he feels relieved, at least sort of. He manages to change out of his running gear and into a nice pair of gray denims and a jean jacket before heading in.

“Hey,” Nadeem greets with a crooked smile on his face.

Dex surveys the room carefully, other agents seem busy in their cubicles but he can tell some of them are still being nosy. Interested in the conversation he’s having with Ray because of the way they angle their ears or shuffle their papers more quietly than usual.

Dex cuts to the chase, “What’s this about?” He doesn’t want to be here if he doesn’t have to be. If it’s about signing some papers, he’ll do that as soon as possible and walk out.

Ray puts on a fake smile, trying to seem amused with Dex’s grumpiness, “Some of the guys in the office, myself included, felt like OPR’s decision was unjustified.”

There was only typical brooding silence from Dex in response. Ray could tell he was skeptical, more than his usual self is. He’s noticed Dex has always been that way, just been much more odd and quiet than the rest of his agents. But there was no doubt that Dex took this job seriously, that he cared, maybe in a different way than the others, but still.

If that late-night visit from Daredevil in his own home… If what Daredevil was claiming was true… There would be no other agent to suspect than Dex. Nadeem saw it himself, that deadly aim… He thanks God that he wasn’t on the receiving end of that gun the night of the motorcade.

Ray continues, “So, we started a small fund to pay the legal fees when you sue those bastards for wrongful termination.”

Dex almost doesn’t believe Nadeem until he watches an older woman, dressed professionally in a long pencil skirt and blouse make her appearance walking up to them.

Ray introduces her, “This is Andrea Morales, she’s an attorney and an old friend of mine.”

Attorney.

You were an attorney. The thought forcibly disappears from Dex’s mind as soon as it came.

“Hi, Dex. I’m here to right this wrong. We just play the long game and everything will be alright,” Andrea reassures him with the professional voice of a seasoned lawyer.

Dex is stunned into silence for just a quick moment. This was… nice. Nadeem was doing him a really huge favor. First he reconciles with Julie, and now there’s a chance of getting his job back… It almost makes last night feel like a fever dream. There was an opportunity to go back to his routine… To keep walking forward…

Dex’s chest feels lighter, his voice airy as he turns to the FBI agent next to him and holds out a hand, “...Thank you, Nadeem,” he expresses sincerely. Nadeem was probably the closest thing he had to a real colleague, Dex respected him highly. He wasn’t there to bullshit, Nadeem was good at his job and he took it as seriously as one could. Dex appreciated that.

Ray hesitates just a second before shaking Dex’s hand, he can feel the sweat building on the back of his neck, “Anytime. I’ll see you back at work soon…”

Andrea opens the door of the empty private conference room behind them and leads Dex inside. Ray watches Dex close the door behind him, giving him a tight smile before speed-walking as calmly as he could to the elevator that’ll lead him out of the building.

He hates to be so suspicious of Dex like this. It felt wrong to be investigating one of your own. Despite Dex’s peculiar way of carrying himself, he was a good agent whom he owed his life to. But Nadeem couldn’t scratch the itch that is his intuition if he didn’t go through with this. He had to know for sure, and if investigating Dex’s apartment with a masked street-hero was the only way to do it… then fuck it.

Andrea lays out multiple papers across the large conference desk. She talks Dex through multiple angles and claims for a lawsuit against the FBI for his termination but he’s only half-listening. Part of him is just excited to start his job again and to be able to talk to Julie about it, the other part of him is dreading confronting Fisk. Confronting the part of him that’s capable of descending into a tornado of chaos.

Andrea’s voice knocks him out of his contemplative state and glazed-over eyes, "Unfortunately, remaining on the payroll might not be an option for while.”

Dex shakes his head, he doesn’t care about that. He’s not a big spender in the first place, “Money is not an issue… How long do you think this process could take?”

The attorney sitting next to him shrugs, picking up a stack of papers and flipping through them in search of something, “I would say six months,” She looks at Dex and raises her eyebrows, “...and that’s being generous.”

What?

That stretch of time feels infinite for a life lived as Dex does. What was he supposed to do with no purpose, for six months? He’s trying to put the Bulletin behind him, forget that it happened. Go back to the routine that let him live. But things keep pushing him, back to unbridled destruction, back to Wilson Fisk.

With a shaken voice, Dex asks, just to make sure he hadn’t misheard, “Six months?”

Andrea nods a clear affirmative. She’s already begun to open her mouth going on about some legal jargon Dex can no longer bring himself to hear. He doesn’t know what to do. He goes back to what he knows he can rely on. Julie would know the proper action to take, the most sensible option.

Dex pulls out his phone and opens his messages with Julie, Ray’s messages sitting right underneath hers, and your last text sitting right underneath his.

Can we talk?

Dex stares at his phone, waiting with bated breath for an answer from Julie as Andrea continues to tell him about certain lawsuit policies. He doesn’t wait long.

I never want to see you again. Please leave me alone.

Dex’s heart drops, he feels cold. Dead body cold.

Please Julie

He frantically typed.

YOU ARE SENDING A MESSAGE TO A NUMBER THAT HAS BEEN BLOCKED

No… No no no no no.

Dex stands fast, propelling the rolling chair far behind him across the conference room, “I have to go,” he rushes out of his mouth.

Andrea’s eyes are wide and confused, “Wait! We still need to talk ab–”

Dex is already halfway out the door, he mutters a sorry that he doesn’t mean. There’s an unforgiving pool of guilt, resentment, and depersonalization he can’t explain in his stomach.

Dex can never walk the line for long. He’s always pushed in one direction or the other, never willingly either. It’s the taste of cold steel against his mouth when he settles his gun against his lips or the sting of smiling when he enjoys incapacitating people left and right with a precision he knows he can always trust.

He’ll always have that. If there’s one thing he can always count on, it’s his aim.

Matt can hear the frantic panic in Ray’s voice through the phone, “Andrea told me he just left the building.”

“Why? She was supposed to keep him there a lot longer,” Matt replies frustrated. He’s perched on top of an apartment rooftop, the ropes wrapped around his arms scratch his fists as he clenches them.

He needed to find the faux version of his Daredevil suit, fast. Before Poindexter could hide it properly, before he could dispose of it. The suit could be the only way to frame the FBI agent, otherwise he had nothing.

Ray runs a hand through his thick, dark hair. He’s leaning against the brick wall of an alleyway next to Dex’s apartment building. “I dunno, but we’re not going to have a lot of time to do this.”

It feels wrong, so wrong to be working with ‘Daredevil’… He’s fucking FBI for God’s sake this was ridiculous to an incredible degree. But Ray knows if there’s anyone to be truly suspect about, it would be Dex. There was no other way to confirm his suspicions, Dex would never slip up, talk about it to anyone.

Ray huffs, “Maybe… maybe we try next time?” A long shot really. A desperate attempt Ray recognizes as a part of him that doesn’t want to do this. Doesn’t wanna accuse Dex of such horrible things, subjugate him to ruthless investigation, ruin his life.

Matt shakes his head. His voice is stern, “We don’t know if there is going to be a next time.” Poindexter could destroy the suit and they would be fucked.

Matt needed a quick way to stop him from reaching his apartment. He kneels at the edge of the rooftop building, the cold air pushing against the black fabric drapes across his eyes and body. He can hear the heartbeat of the city.

Matt pursed his lips, coming to a thought. There was a way to distract agent Poindexter… A dangerously stupid way that could rapidly go bad. But it was his only way now. He doesn’t decide on this method lightly, but he knows if this goes well there would be future lives that could be saved.

Matt places the phone closer to his mouth, “I have an idea we can try.” Only a few blocks away, he can hear your laughter. It’s a delightful ring to his ears compared to the noise pollution of the rest of the city.

You. You were going to be Matt’s Hail Mary.

You watch the crow’s feet around Mrs. Howerton’s eyes grow deeper. Giving you a final goodbye smile before she closes the door to her apartment. The court date for her case was coming up in the next few weeks. You had learned through this last meeting in her home that she was a former weightlifter. The competition medals still hung up on her walls next to pictures of her many grandchildren. The guy who tried to commit grand theft auto was messing with the wrong lady, that was for sure.

You stretched your dark cardigan over your arms, the cold air was biting at your skin as you descended the steps of her apartment building. The subway was a short walk away, you reach for the pepper spray in your bag to hold as you make your way to the nearby station. With each cautious step you try to tune your ears for the noise of anybody else’s footsteps, crunching glass, whispers, prepared to swivel your head at a moment’s notice.

Your extreme diligence makes it much more disappointing when you only make it a couple of steps in when a dark figure appears out of your peripherals and puts their hand over your mouth in swift succession.

“HE–” is all you manage to get out of your throat before you’re pulled into a quiet alley, figure pushing your body against the wall while you try to drag your feet to prevent them from taking you anywhere.

You're winded from trying to breathe through the heavy hand. Their other arm had pinned your torso and arms across the brick wall as well. They were able to angle their body far enough away so that your kicking legs were only striking air. They were strong. Using all your frantic might you were only capable enough to momentarily lose contact with the wall before the attacker pushed your back against it once more.

When your eyes readjust in the dark, moonlight as your only source of light, you see that your assailant was dressed in all black clothing. Head to toe. There were white ropes wrapped meticulously around his arms, and his face… His face was covered from the tip of his nose and upwards. A momentary confusion as to how he was able to see crossing your mind.

A rugged voice comes from his mouth, “I’m not here to hurt you. I need to talk to you,” he says in a calm manner reserved for much more appropriate situations.

You only stare, wide-eyed and slow blinking. You calm your breathing, your chest slows. The attacker takes that as a sign of compliance. “I’m gonna remove my hand, don’t scream,” he instructs.

The hand on your mouth lifts slowly and as soon as he does completely you angle the pepper spray hidden in your right hand at his face. Orange liquid squirting from the small canister onto his makeshift mask.

You expect some kind of reaction, expect him to double over and rub his eyes as the chemical burns through them. He only makes a face like a frown, and quickly rubs his nose in the crook between his neck and shoulder.

Matt can feel you inhale through your chest, ready to let out another scream before he covers your mouth once again. The smell of the pepper spray is fucking awful, but he’s lucky as it resides quickly. He can’t blame you for not trusting him, in fact he’s a little impressed at your willingness to fight. Your legs are still trying to swing at his own and he takes a small step back.

“I told you I’m not here to hurt you. You’ll get to leave after we have a short conversation.” He feels you still against his arm, legs no longer trying to kick at him. “You wanna try this again?” Matt feels your head nod an affirmative before he slowly removes his hand from your face again.

The ropes against your mouth left light indents across your mouth. It makes opening your lips slightly painful as you growl back at your assailant, “You some kind of Daredevil copycat? You sick fuck. What happened at the Bulletin was horrific.”

The masked asshole shakes his head, “I didn’t do that. That was an imposter.” Trying to use your lawyering skills in detecting honestly didn’t work well on this guy. His gruff voice seemed like he was trying to mask his real one, his tone was being obscured.

But you could tell he wasn’t trying to hurt you, at least not yet. The situation is only more confusing when he mentions an imposter… Karen said the same thing. He’s implying that he’s the real Daredevil.

How true could that be?

The masked man continues, voice low, “I think you might help me confirm who it is.”

You scoff, “How in the hell would I be able to help you?” It was laughable, really. You entertain the thought that maybe he had confused you with someone else. Someone much more important than you. You consider throwing another retort when he interrupts your thoughts.

“Do you know an agent Benjamin Poindexter?” Matt hears it right away, your heart starts racing. Racing at the same pace he heard when he asked you about who you were meeting at the Presidential.

A friend.

That’s what you told him. That’s not the pace a heart sets when you talk about just a friend. That’s not a pace he ever heard when he took you out on that date in Central Park. That’s a pace that’s reserved for the person you met at the Presidential, agent Poindexter apparently.

The air whooshing against your ears is loud as blood rushes to your head. You’re scared, not at the fact the assailant knew who you were meeting in your daily life, but more concerned about Dex.

Did this guy hurt him? Is he okay?

Immediately you spout, louder than Matt would’ve liked, “Dex? How do you know that?!”

Matt lowered his voice even more, hoping you’d get the gist and curious about the nickname you used, “You two close?”

You refrain from answering, afraid anything you might tell him would lead the man towards a conclusion you wouldn’t like. You stare deep into his mask, narrowing your eyes trying to see if you could catch anything that would give you something to identify. Your brain is trying to catch up, make sense of what’s going on. Why would he care about Dex?

Within the cool night’s silence, something clicks and dread descends upon you. It’s a horrible, horrible, implication. But if you were catching on correctly… Your eyes widen and you drop the canister of pepper spray you’d been holding, it makes a useless clink against the dirty pavement. Matt can feel you stiffen against his arm.

“He wouldn’t do that,” you suddenly reply, your voice void of all emotion besides shock.

Matt tilts his head, he found it curious that you had already jumped to the conclusion that he was accusing Poindexter of being the imposter. Your bodily reactions tell him that you had no idea of Poindexter’s secret, but your immediate assumption makes him think there was something about him that threw you off. Something that allowed you to think that Poindexter was capable of the Bulletin attack. Matt decides to grill you further.

“He has really accurate aim doesn’t he?” Karen and Foggy had called him, told him about how worried you were about a certain FBI agent. That of all things you could’ve said about him, what left a remark on you was the agent’s aim.

That, Matt had deducted, was no coincidence.

You’re not even looking at the masked man anymore, your eyes are glaring past his head. Deep in thought, in turmoil really. Because why were you actually entertaining the idea?

Dex often appeared aloof, he didn’t have much to say, and you could tell he did best in conversations when he was led, not followed. None of those were red flags on their own. He entertained your ideas, helped you out in your house when you needed it, and even allowed you some tidbits about his life: green flags.

Army, FBI SWAT, the incredible precision… You only thought of his experiences as impressive achievements. It only now dawned on you that those things made him dangerous. It made you think about what a man with a skillset like that could do…

No, can’t be.

You refuse to believe it, but there’s a sense of shame you feel in your heart for even being convinced of doubting him by a random guy who kidnapped you into an alley. Dex has a high sense of duty, that you knew for sure. It wouldn’t make sense for him to betray it so suddenly.

You steel your gaze back to your attacker, eyebrows furrowed, “Why would he–?”

Matt interrupts you, he doesn’t have time to ensure whether you’re convinced or not. The clock was ticking, Dex was making it closer to his apartment every passing second. “I need you to contact him. Distract him for me,” voice demanding.

You scoff at him, “Why would I do that for you?”

Matt huffs, back to your snappy side huh? He could tell there was something you were trying to suppress. He knew you always wanted to see the good in people, but that was not how the world worked. “To prevent more innocent people from dying,” Matt replies in such a seriousness that could not be understated.

You remained quiet against him, defiant. Refusing to believe what the man was trying to emphasize as dire, and he was getting impatient. Matt rears his face right in front of yours now, the back of your head trying to dig into the brick wall behind it to create more space.

“He’s about ten minutes away from his apartment by now. We have no time,” Matt grunts angrily at you. He realizes how stupid this plan was now, it made no sense for you to betray Poindexter because some stranger told you to.

You close your eyes. Bracing yourself for a left-hook to the face or worse as consequence for your noncompliance. Were you prepared to die for this?

Matt shouts now, no longer caring about who could hear, “Call him, now!” He’s getting desperate, this can’t not go anywhere. He needs action, fast.

You’re powerless against the man caging you in, you accept that there’s nothing you can change about that. What you do have control over is your integrity, to stand by the justice you’ve worked so hard to help become an arbiter of. You shake your head slowly, your voice weirdly calm, “I’m not going to participate in this. Find someone else to help you.”

Matt doesn’t waste a second, his hand is against you once more and he can feel your mouth make a muffled movement against it. Your adherence to your virtue was otherwise endearing if he didn’t think you were unknowingly protecting a killer.

There was no plan that involved you doing anything out of your own free will. It wasn’t possible, but he wanted to negotiate to let you have as much rein as you could before he decided to do what he needed. He just hopes this encounter doesn’t scare you too much.

You writhe against Matt’s strong arm and his other digs through your purse feeling for your phone. He finds it and holds it up to you expectantly. It’s hard to breathe with his weight against your body, the air is having a hard time entering your exhausted lungs. Matt senses your eyes welling with tears, he feels guilty scaring you like this. He places the phone in your hand, somewhat gently and slowly releases his hand from your face. Your fingers grasp onto your phone loosely, making no effort to call the FBI agent.

This was the oddest kidnapping you’ve ever been a part of, you’re starting to get a sense your assailant really doesn’t want to hurt you. But you’re still cautious that that could change at a dime without notice. Your eyes are blurry through your tears that haven’t quite fallen down your face yet, “Please, just let me go,” you plead desperately. You lift the phone towards your assailant.

Matt curses at himself and takes a large breath before sighing. He wanted to avoid this at all costs, he never wanted to rope you into this if he didn’t have to. Little did he know that you’d manage to find yourself within Fisk’s grasps without him. There’s blame, blooming in his cold heart for not being there for you when you needed it.

“I can’t,” Matt answers you, his body drained, he doesn’t want to fight you. “You’ll just go and tell him.”

You shake your head vehemently, “I won’t. I swear.” An empty promise, you would try your best to tell Dex about this as covertly as possible if you made it out of this encounter alive.

Then, you freeze momentarily, in… confusion. Your attacker’s shoulders move up and down. He’s… chuckling at you. Not in a menacing way, but in a way that is almost jovial.

Matt can’t help but laugh incredulously at not only how bad of a liar you are, but at himself too. He didn’t think this through at all, of course you were going to protect Dex as much as you could. He was what you deemed a good friend, and Matt always admired your loyalty, that kind of loyalty was hard to find in a city with so many bridges to burn.

He hates himself for what he’s decided he’s going to do. You were in deep enough shit already, dragging yourself through it alone. Now, Matt had the opportunity to grab onto your hand and drag the two of you deeper into it. He speaks, no laughter in his words, “You will. I know you.”

He’ll seek penance for this later. He’ll add it onto the weight he’s already carrying, like Atlas carrying the world on his back. Except for Matt, it would be his sins and the heaviness they leave on his soul.

“Wh–”

Matt uses his absent arm to pull his mask off in one fell swoop, gripping it hard in his hand as it comes to rest near his hip again, awaiting your reaction. There’s only silence coming from your mouth, but he can feel the way your heart picks up a rhythm that feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest.

Your eyes dart across his face, a face you recognize making the same expression as a dog being caught doing something it wasn’t supposed to. The same expression you saw when you questioned him in the alley of a Deli next to the Presidential. His eyes are unfocused and downcast, a slight frown that you hated to see on his mouth.

You needed to stop meeting like this.

Matt speaks up in the absence of your voice, his own less gravelly, no longer trying to hide the distinctness of his voice, “Yeah, I’m sorry about all of this.” The lying, the betrayal, the secrecy, everything. “I would never involve you if it weren’t necessary. We might not get another chance, but I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to…” he whispers solemnly into the darkness.

Surprisingly, you don’t sound as mad at him as you were at the Presidential. You didn’t even sound surprised, just… saddened and at a loss, which is somehow worse. “How long have you been– Are you okay? I mean–” You stop yourself as Matt releases the hold he has on you and takes a step back, giving you space.

Daredevil. Matt was Daredevil.

You pull your head forward at the realization, “Holy fuck. Do Karen and Foggy know?”

“Yeah,” Matt says simply.

Your next pressing question comes to mind, “Are you even blind?”

“Yes.”

“How–”

Matt states your name, stopping you in your tracks. Somewhat relieved you haven’t stormed off in anger or disbelief yet, “We don’t have much time. Dex was meant to be kept in the FBI office until I could find his version of my suit in his apartment. Fisk is using him. He’s a block away from us.”

Matt places his hand over yours, the one that’s still holding the phone, and lifts it towards you. You stare at him, the gravity of the situation sinking further into your body as you see the intensity on Matt’s face. You realize then, that he really isn’t lying about being blind. If he was, he could’ve taken your phone at any time and called Dex himself.

Your fingers are shaking as you open Dex’s contact. Brief flashes of the night you sat in front of the large pond eating ice cream with him invade your mind. Dex had typed in his number on your phone himself. You click on it, and listen anxiously to your phone ring.

You look towards Matt again, he’s adjusting the mask on his face. “I just– He’s been at my apartment, helped make sure I was okay. He wouldn’t… He hates Fisk…” You realized you sounded like you were begging Matt to believe you, but what you might've been doing is trying to convince yourself.

Matt raises a brow, “If you truly believe that, then there’s nothing to worry abo–” Then he hears it, the ringing. Except it wasn’t only coming from your phone, it was coming from just shy of half a block now.

You’re about to reply when your phone does it for you.

The person you are calling is not available. At the tone, please record your message.

“He’s ignoring you,” Matt remarks as he comes to the realization Poindexter let his cell keep ringing until it didn’t.

You turn your phone off and furrow your brow when you realize Matt's words… stung much more than you expected.

Ignore you? Dex? Why?

The concept of everything that’s going on; a ploy with your secret badass crime-fighting blind friend to arrest your other friend who is apparently a sadistic mass-murderer with perfect aim. It doesn’t feel real, the phone in your hand doesn’t feel real, the man standing across from you doesn’t feel real.

You start to hyperventilate, confused at your body at first because you can’t remember the last time you ever did, “This– is too– much… I c-can’t handle this.” The gravity of the situation hitting you, hard.

Matt grabs your shoulders, chest lightly grazing yours as he takes a deep breath in and then another out. Repeating, expecting you to copy him and you catch on quickly. You place your forehead on his chest as he grounds you and he rubs your shoulders lightly. You feel warmer, your forehead pressed to his beating heart, if you tried hard enough maybe you could hear it. Matt knows it’s going to be hard to forgive himself for thrusting this task upon you so suddenly. Foggy and Karen found out about his identity under very different circumstances, and not under the pressure of helping him with something as major as this.

He coaxes you with a hand against your jaw to lift your neck back up to look at his face. You wish you could see his eyes through the darkness of the mask. It felt like you were staring into Matt’s soul.

“I need you to run into him here, right outside the alley. Keep him occupied for as long as you can. I can hear you, I won’t let him hurt you,” Matt reassures.

You want to pummel Matt into the ground for this. But you know you won’t, you know that you’ll do this for him. Not only him, but for the people attacked at the Bulletin, for Karen, for Foggy. For yourself. You had to know, was it true? Was Dex… Fisk’s violent hitman?

Your palms dig into your eyes, “Fuck.” You had no idea how this would play out. What would you even say to Dex? He’s extremely trained, how was he not going to see right through your weird behavior and lies?

“You can do this,” Matt’s voice cuts through all your thoughts, you can feel the rumble of his chest vibrate against yours. There was a genuineness in his tone, a real emphasis of the fate he had in you.

He takes a step back, his warm hands leaving your shoulders. “Pretend you were fishing for your phone in your bag outside of your client’s house. Go, now.”

You turn hesitantly and pace unsteadily back towards Mrs. Howerton’s apartment, “Goddamnit, Matt. I fucking hate you.”

“The worst thing is that you don’t.”

That’s the last thing you hear him say. When you glance back behind you, he’s disappeared without a sound. Melded into the shadows of the city.

Heart still thudding against your chest you scramble back up the steps to Mrs. Howerton’s apartment, hand aimlessly moving around in your purse, waiting for Dex to turn a corner and see you.

When you do hear him round the corner, you pretend you’re still occupied with your bag, hoping he’d notice you there and call your name. Sweat gathers uncomfortably under your armpits as you hear him walking closer until… He walks past you.

You let him take a couple of steps before you break your frozen stupor and walk after him. He’s wearing a nice denim jacket you haven’t seen before, hands in his pocket, his posture stiff as a soldier and pace unbreakable in its rhythm.

You call out to him as you trail behind, “Dex?”

His rhythm stumbles, only just slightly. His right foot took a much smaller step than usual before falling back into his pace. You quirk a brow, you know he’s heard you. He’s far too attentive to not have noticed you standing just a few feet away from him too.

Dex closes his eyes, he pretends you weren’t currently following behind him. He has nothing to say to you, but for a reason he doesn’t fully get, it still took all of the willpower imaginable to continue walking past you, to hope that you hadn’t noticed him. Cursing New York City for seeming like such a small city when he knows it’s not.

He just wants to get home, he’s not getting his job back anytime soon and Julie’s finally gotten the right mind to stop contacting him. Dex’s world was crashing and burning for the second time and there wasn’t anything you could do to fix it. You would just abandon him again, unprompted.

Whenever Julie leaves him, you make your return. Sometimes life could be such a cruel fucking joke.

But you couldn’t let him get away and fail Matt. “Dex,” you place a hand on his shoulder and he rears it back. The force pushing your hand off of him, as if he were disgusted by you. When he turns, he looks at you with barely veiled disdain in his eyes that you knew were closer to hazel, but in the darkness swallowed you whole as you gazed into them.

You feel a sharp coldness shoot through you that you recognize as fear only a second later. You could almost see it in front of you now, him shooting a bullet perfectly through your skull. You still, keeping your body from shaking and act shocked, “Sorry if I scared you.”

When Dex's eyes rake themselves over you, part of the rage inside him dissipates, slowly. He’s still confused, doesn’t know what to do, he only continues staring, breath held in his chest but unable to hide a hate he’s grown for you the past couple of days.

You’re met with silence, the man across you kind of glaring and kind of blank. You trail on,“You um… didn’t answer my text… Or call…”

“I saw you leave the Presidential,” Dex states immediately, plainly, eyes still hardened.

You shrug and place your best attempt at a smile towards him, a naive and unaware smile of a person happy to run into her friend on the street, “Oh… I ran into a past client.”

Dex shakes his head painfully slow, “You held him by his arm and walked out,” he corrects you through grated teeth. The fists in his pockets are knuckled-white, why were you so bright-eyed at him? The smile you put on your face was almost too happy, he couldn’t believe that this coincidence could please you that much, not when you left him at the Presidential so easily. Still, there’s something within him wanting to reach out and believe you.

You’re put on the spot, you had no idea he saw you walk out with Matt. You pray he’s only seen the back of his head, as the elevator doors faced the glass entrance of the hotel. You’d have to come up with a story, quick.

You nod, much too eagerly, “Yeah, he’s a… veteran actually. He has an amputated leg, thought I’d help him out and wait with him to hail a cab. We ended up talking for way too long and I wanted to reschedule to maybe later in the day.”

You give him a sob story. You had seen something about an amputated veteran doctor on TV recently. You prayed he’d believe you. Dex continues to stare through you, but his face shows a hint of emotion the way his mouth pulls to one side and back into a straight line again. Seeming like he’s about to break with the way he stiffened.

You put your hands in your pockets and sheepishly add on, “Give you my full attention y’know?”

Dex’s jaw clenches. The thought that he had misinterpreted the interaction at the hotel enters his mind. The fact was you had texted him… but it was too late and too vague. His job was already busted and he felt like you bailed because maybe you changed your mind because you saw something off… in him.

Insecurity biting at his heels because anyone who’s ever gotten to know him had always left or had suffered by his hands in some way. The idea that he could be wrong, that he distorted reality to misconstrue your persona was beginning to win him over in his vulnerable state.

You take a cautious step closer, “Are you alright Dex?” His dark pupils focus on your own again, you watch the cold night air leave his nostrils in quick breaths. “I heard about the Bulletin and the FBI. I was hoping you were okay because you never responded.”

That was true, and you were genuinely worried. A part of you is glad that he’s okay and standing in front of you. That part fights the other side of yourself, the side that’s hoping he doesn’t do anything drastic and Matt has to come out of the shadows to fight him off of you.

The mention of the Bulletin is what gets Dex to crumble. He unclenches his fists, crouches, and places his hands on his knees while his eyes are blown wide. He was killing people, almost killed your friends while you were worrying over him the next day the news broke. He had never had someone tell him that they were worried for him before.

You rush to his aid, putting a hand on his shoulder and leveling your face with his, “Hold on. Take a breath.” You take a long inhale and his eyes glance towards you, watching you exhale out slowly and repeating the actions hoping he’d mirror you. When he does begin to copy you, he watches you like a cornered dog would. The irony isn’t lost on you that Matt had to do the same thing with you just moments ago, a pang of guilt aches in your chest.

“C’mon there’s a nice bar nearby,” you suggest. Dex purses his lips, a sign that gives you an okay.

The walk to the bar was short and quiet, but not uncomfortable. However, the space in between the two of you while on your way was bigger than you would assume when two people are walking together. Dex lives in a nicer part of New York, being an FBI agent paid very well you assumed. So the bar you both enter was nicer than what you were used to, it was clean, low-lit with fancy rustic chandeliers and a brown oak interior. There were healthy plants on the walls and businessmen socializing after hours at the bartops.

A bartender with a black slick-backed bun and her own fancy vest and button up comes up to the two barstools you and Dex are seated at, “Sex on the beach please,” you tell her. A drink would calm your nerves, give you an excuse for any weirdness Dex might notice emanating from you.

Dex quickly glances at you, finding it hard to maintain eye contact but especially now.

Sex.

It sounded strange coming from your mouth, like when you’re a kid and hear an adult say it for the first time. He realizes he hasn’t engaged in the idea of having sex, at least with another person, in a long time.

You turn towards him, “You?”

Dex shakes his head, “...I don’t drink.” It wasn’t the best for managing his disorders, especially not now that he’s off his meds. He never felt inclined to drink much within his life anyways, it would fuck up his aim. The one thing he could never do without.

You nod and turn towards your bartender, “Can you make it a virgin?” If he wasn’t going to drink, then you decided it might be best to keep your head on straight.

Dex doesn’t want you to limit yourself on his behalf, “You don’t ha–”

You smile wryly, “I know.”

Dex nods again, he looks uncomfortable, especially in how he tries to hide the way his body shifts under his clothes. Like he’s fighting an internal turmoil in his head. He hadn’t looked this way at your home, he was much more relaxed. His antsy demeanor only makes you more nervous. You were fighting a similar turmoil in your own head, whether to be afraid of Dex or to comfort him.

You soldier on and shift closer to him on the steel barstool,“I apologize for making you feel like I was flaking on you or something. I have to fight for a good reputation after all of this Fisk stuff… Can’t lose a potential recommendation." It wasn’t uncommon after a case was done that a former client recommended you to their friend or family member.

The orange hues dance across Dex’s face as he glares at his hands, folded neatly in front of him on the counter. He was handsome in a rugged way but clearly took care of himself, he was always neat and clean-shaven. Not to mention his side profile was so perfectly angular he looked sculpted.

No. You bury those thoughts deep down, regard them as intrusive.

His voice is shaky, “I get it. I uh– I was just surprised by seeing you so randomly after I thought you… Ghosted me.” It was humiliating to admit that he had jumped so far to that conclusion given you had even texted him to reschedule. His mind… it makes rash decisions sometimes that he’s learned he often pays for later. It was almost as embarrassing as admitting to Julie that he had indeed been stalking her.

You can’t help but smile at the fact he thought you had ditched him so easily. A boyish kind of logic that seems a little endearing, but in reality was closer to instability. That such little readjustments or things that don’t go as planned leads him to react the way he does… to ignore you completely.

You hum and tell him sincerely, “I would never…” Dex looks at you then like he’s clinging on to your every word, attentive and much more focused on holding eye contact.

It makes you feel nervy until the bartender places your orange drink on the counter in front of you on top of a fancy napkin. There’s a slice of orange on the lip and a pink umbrella floating on the ice on the inside.

You ask after taking a long sip, “How’s work?”

Dex watches the condensation that’s settled on your lips before he answers,“Uh… they put me on leave…” He’s not sure divulging into all this is going to make him feel better or worse. This was supposed to be what he was going to do with Julie. But with you it feels different, it always has.

You eyebrow twitches before you express your sympathy, “Oh fuck, Dex. I’m so sorry. That’s so unfair…” This was the exact event that could set him off of his order, destroy his semblance of control. Those were the words he used when he told you about his past jobs at the park, and if those two things are gone… “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Dex runs a hand through his short blonde hair, “Some guys in the office are already helping me put together a legal fund to sue. I don’t care much about it though, six months is too long of a wait to start working again…” ‘Unfair’ was right, he knew you’d get it. It makes him feel worse about misjudging you at first, but he can feel himself loosening up as his hands move from the table to resting on his thighs more comfortably.

You huff, “I feel you... I can’t afford not working like that, between rent, my school loans, my parents. Too much shit to pay for.” Your money troubles almost make you forget about the reason you were talking to Dex in the first place.

“It’s… not that.”

You tilt your head questioningly, trying to seem as authentic as possible.

“My uh, therapist. I used to have. She told me that I needed a strict regiment, something to keep me on a narrow path. To not… get overwhelmed.” Dex hadn’t really gotten this far with Julie.

Now he’s telling you about Dr. Mercer, trying to explain his pathologies in a way that would make sense to you without scaring you away. He doesn’t really think you’d understand him and maybe talking about it is just to reassure himself that that’s what the night of the Bulletin attack was; a product created from being overwhelmed. But the thrill of that night… That rush of exhilaration was an unmistakable feeling.

“Oh, I see… Well, it’s nice to be guided right? Sometimes, I think life would be easier if I had someone to tell me what to do too… What the right choices were…” You think about what you had done for Fisk, you think about how you’re trying to right your wrong by helping out Matt now. Redemption, in a way.

Dex doesn’t say anything but feels somewhat… seen anyways. He doesn’t know how to express the hope he’s feeling bloom in chest that you could be the one, be the one to understand him to a degree no one else has. He is entertaining the possibility.

You watch Dex’s eyes change in real time. From cautious and shifty glare to curious and intensely thoughtful in the way he surveyed your face and the hand on your drink, nearly finished. It makes you feel somewhat insecure, you wish you could do the same ogling so blatantly without feeling embarrassed, denim looked good on him. You scratch at your eyebrow lightly, “Wow Dex, we do this often don’t we?”

There’s a lilt in Dex’s voice, “What’s that?”

You hide a smile and shrug, looking away in the other direction briefly, “I dunno… Talking, sharing stuff about one another.” The way Dex talks is curiously engrossing to you. When he talks he’s vague, but just direct enough for you to finish painting the picture.

Dex’s lips tug to the side, “I’m not sure you’d wanna keep doing this if I keep going.”

You chuckle, surprising yourself, “Was that a joke?”

Dex hides an amused smirk beneath a hand he rubs underneath his chin. In truth, it was a half-joke, but he liked that it had made you laugh. You watch the way his smile lines appear on his face and you can’t help but think it looks extremely charming on his sharp jaw.

This time together at the bar doesn’t seem so much like stalling anymore than it does hanging out with him. You ask your next question with serious interest, Matt’s plan slowly drifting towards the back of your mind.

“Who is Benjamin Poindexter?”

This one jars him out of his relaxed state. Who is Benjamin Poindexter?

He’s not sure even he knows.

Where was Benjamin Poindexter last night?

Why did Benjamin Poindexter attack the New York Bulletin?

What does Benjamin Poindexter want?

When does Benjamin Poindexter ever spend time at a bar with another person to talk about this stuff?

Dex doesn’t think about the future. It was already hard dealing with how to operate in the present, and that was enough for him. Now you’re asking him about his past, something he doesn’t spend a whole lot dwelling upon besides when he hears Dr. Mercer’s voice through his foam headphones, and that was purely functional.

He watches the anticipated look on your face for a while before he answers, “I’m not sure where to start…”

It was clear that getting Dex to open up about anything was going to be a long game. But it was a long game you’ve been invested in for some time already now, you weren’t going to stop. You tap the countertop with your hand and finish your drink in a swift gulp.

“I can go first then.”

Dex tilts his body so it faces you just slightly more, urging you to continue. Who were you and why have you captivated him long enough to get him to be here right now?

“I think I might’ve told you already that I’m from California… Obviously new to New York if I’m gullible enough to work for Fisk.” Everyone is nicer in Cali, but less honest. In the Big Apple people did no sugarcoating, but you appreciated that, it was refreshing.

Dex shows you a shallow smile. You had called yourself gullible for working for Fisk. Were you insulting him? Was he also gullible then? No. You were just misguided, Fisk’s a man who cares… right?

“But I went to a UC, then Stanford, and then made my way here for something different. Something that wasn’t on the west coast.”

The bartender puts sparkling water in front of Dex which he thanks her wordlessly for.

“I thought I bit off more than I can chew for a second though. I was doing well as a lawyer until my clients seemed to drop dead for weeks. I was freaking out… Fisk came along… and I took the bait. You know the story. But I couldn’t afford to not work, I have debt and I send money to my parents.”

That was another huge reason you moved out of the Nelson and Murdock office. It was hard to elaborate on with people who didn’t usually do the same for their parents. You didn’t want pity from others, seeing how you’re working your ass off for money you don’t get to enjoy personally.

Dex makes a slight face, like he’s a little confused. He’s not being rude and he doesn’t make you feel like he’s pitying you, so you continue to explain.

“They’re blue-collar. Worked their asses off to get me to school so the least I could do was repay them. I didn’t wanna give up my life here but not supporting my family isn’t an option either.”

Dex can’t relate, but your anecdote highlights your kindness. A type of altruism he thinks you can only be born with, that of which he knows he does not possess. He can see the thoughts swimming in your head as he gazes at your face. He decides then that it’s true you left him at the Presidential because of a former client. You were working hard for people that you loved, you had goals that you wanted to achieve and that involved other people.

“You work really hard, your parents are probably really proud. I wouldn’t doubt that Fisk saw that in you,” Dex replies. He could see why Fisk would wanna work you, there was no doubt you held a similar compassion for Matt Murdock that he sought to exploit.

You smile at the mention of Fisk wanting to hire you for your work ethic instead of your proximity to a certain blind man, “Let’s hope… You wanna hire me for your legal team?”

Dex tilts his head jokingly and his gaze shifts to the ceiling like he would actually consider it.

“Your turn mister,” you remind him smugly.

Dex takes a polite sip from his sparkling water before he begins sheepishly, “I uh… was born in New Hampshire. But New York is all I know.”

You nod. New Hampshire, you would have never expected. But the more you think about it the more it makes sense that he be a New Englander, it fits his vibe.

Dex’s hands are folded on top of one another again. He thinks hard about what he’s about to say, “My parents are… dead. I guess there’s no softer way to put it.” It should feel like a therapy session, it should feel like how it does with Julie in the coffee shop. But it doesn’t. Talking to you eases him because he knows you aren’t evaluating him. No, it feels like this back and forth is about starting to get to know one another, truly.

“Shit. I’m so sorry Dex. You’re so… strong for carrying that,” you spout immediately, shocked by what he had to say. Death. First you learned about his coach, now his parents. Coincidence? Or does death follow in Dex’s footsteps, more than you really understand yet?

The virgin drink does nothing to quell the growing sense of fear in your stomach. Reminded of your mission again, you place your hand on top of both of his in an attempt to comfort Dex. You hope he can’t feel how sweaty your palms are. When you make contact with him, his hands are ice cold as they stiffen immediately and he stares at your hand.

You reel it back slowly after only a second. Unsure of what to think about his demeanor.

Dex looks ahead of himself instead of at you as he continues, “I grew up in… Lyndhurst Home for Boys. That’s where I took up baseball. Then I… got into the Army as soon as I could. Rest you already know.”

There wasn’t much to know anyways he thinks, he doesn’t do much for fun. Every agent but him groans at the idea of being called into the office at random times of the night. Not Dex, it gives him a reason to change out of his sweaty night shirt and do something with the hours he lays awake in bed in the dark.

Dead parents. Boys’ home. Army. Suicide prevention center. FBI SWAT.

It was more than clear to you that Dex’s life was filled with unimaginable tragedy. The type you could never relate to. Everything he seems to do in the wake after all of his trauma seems like distraction. It’s a way for his mind to focus on anything other than caving in on that anguish.

You lean in closer, letting silence envelope the space between the two of you before you speak again, really feeling the weight of your words, “Thank you for telling me all of this, Dex. I hope you know I’m listening. You’re an… incredible person.” You weren’t lying, you’d be a shell of a person if all of that had happened to you.

Dex’s chest feels tight, incredible...

He wants to tell you about the Bulletin so badly, he wants to hope you’ll understand his actions and accept him for who he really is. He doesn’t tell you about the therapy sessions, the disorders, the pills he used to take… It’s easier for you to think that tragedy alone is what’s made him who he is now, not because something is inherently wrong with him… Not because of his broken moral compass…

Dex doesn’t know how to respond, “Y-yeah… uhm.” He wishes he hadn’t put you off by not reacting to your hand on his. In truth, he didn’t know what to do, but he can’t deny that he wants you to do it again.

You watch Dex’s eyes shift again and watch his hands clamp each other tightly on top of the countertop, “You alright?”

Dex’s breathing becomes more rapid, struggling to give you a straight answer, “I– no.” How incredible of a person could he be after what he did last night?

You straighten your back, “What’s wr–”

“I t–think I messed up,” Dex thinks that he should have come to you from the get go. But between getting you involved with what he’s done for Fisk, the inevitable loss of his job, Julie… There were too many options, too many paths to go down, and now you’re here offering him another one. Another one where he confides in you the truth of what he’s done.

“I don’t k-know what I-I’m doing,” he admits so suddenly you almost didn’t hear him. “I’m sorry. I can’t stay,” Dex says quickly as he gets up from his stool, hand digging in his front pocket for his wallet.

You get up almost just as quickly and shake your head, “It’s okay, tab’s on me. Maybe there’s somewhere else we can go?” You toss the cash for his sparkling water and your cocktail on the table quickly, not caring to see how much of a tip you gave with the bills.

Dex is already turning his body halfway to the door, he sounds out of breath when he replies, “No. I have to go ho–”

“I’ll walk you there Dex,” you interrupt him. Voice stern. You think it’s been around fifteen minutes since you last saw Matt. Unsure if that was enough time for his raid of Dex’s apartment, you figured that walking with him there should slow him down somewhat.

Dex is silent, his face looks as if he’s debating his answer, eyes settled on the floor.

“I’ll be quiet and I’ll leave you be when you need me to. I just want to make sure you’re alright,” you add.

Dex finally looks at you, a sort of desperation hidden in his eyes. “Okay,” he agreed, convinced.

The walk there is as quiet as you promised. You don’t say anything and neither does he. Dex’s pace is rushed, but when he walks a little too ahead of you he seems to slow in order for you to catch up. You’re busy thinking about if it was possible for Dex; such a tortured soul, to inflict the level of violence Matt accuses him of. If so, why does he trust you so much?

It occurs to you that Dex might be playing you as much as you were him. Luring you in with a false sense of security for a reason you’re unsure of yet. You’re a bundle of nerves and anxiety while walking next to Dex, you want to shift closer but you know Matt would tell you that you shouldn’t. You want to believe Dex, but there’s doubt still lingering in your head.

You almost run into his back, distracted, as he stops in front of his apartment building. As Dex turns around you’re prepared to say goodbye and head back onto the street, hoping that Matt had enough time to do what he needed, until you felt droplets hit your forehead.

It was sprinkling.

You hold your hand out into the darkness illuminated by the street lamps and feel it dampen. The cement of the sidewalk slowly fills with small dark polka dots of water.

Dex’s hesitant voice grabs your attention, “Do you wanna…?” His voice trails out, seemingly too shy to tell you his offer aloud. He wanted out of the bar, he wanted to be in an environment that felt most comfortable to him. He tells himself that it’s common courtesy to invite your guest inside, but he knows that in reality he wants to keep being in your company.

It only took him that short walk to realize he doesn’t have to be exactly truthful with you yet. That if he can maintain what’s happening between the both of you, he can keep seeing you, keep talking to you… Keep making you laugh.

Your presence keeps drawing him in, as much as he wanted to make you feel the anguish you did him, as much as he’s worried about so many other things, as much as he doesn’t understand how you could trust him yet. He wants to keep this… relationship, whatever it was, clutched in his hands and for the first time, preserve it. Dex has never gotten to have something like this before, he wouldn’t let it go now.

You look Dex up and down, he’s staring at you with intensity you don’t know how to handle. A desperate look hidden in his wide eyes, like he was silently begging you to say yes. You purse your lips together and bite them on the inside as you watch him, standing beneath the canopy of his apartment, dew drops of rain hitting his left shoulder as he awaits your response.

This, this was the version of Dex you had advocated so hard for. That he would never turn to Fisk, that he was just a person who had been broken so many times since he was young that the pieces, hastily glued back together each time, became harder and harder to place in the right spot.

Your phone buzzes in your purse. You give Dex a look, to give you just a moment as you take it out and read the message.

It’s done. Get out of there now. Meet at the spot.

You steal a glance at Dex, when you do he stands a little straighter, giving you the smallest of smiles as if to say it was okay for you to take your time. That whatever answer you give him will suffice because you’ve already done a lot for him tonight. Your fingers type away at your phone.

On my way!

You step underneath the canopy of the building, next to the man in front of you. “If you’re sure,” you mutter at Dex reassuringly and he smiles brighter at you, a smile that tightens your chest. Dex wouldn’t harm you, he doesn’t have a reason to, at least that’s what you rationalize to yourself.

He nods at the guard and steps into the elevator with you. The lobby, the elevator, and the halls were all extremely pristine. You were right, FBI SWAT does pay well. The smell of cleaning product and freshly vacuumed carpet filled your nose as you eagerly stood outside his door behind him, waiting for him to unlock it.

When Dex turns the knob and flicks the lightswitch you can’t help but marvel at his apartment. It was even more orderly than you expected. Not a speck of dust or dirt on his kitchen countertop or white walls.

Real decoration was more scarce, the few pictures he had framed on his walls were of vague artsy shapes and locations, like something you’d see in a hotel. The books on the coffee table in front of his couch were spaced in perfect symmetry, again, a picturesque version of something you’d scroll past on Airbnb. One of them was about the Army, another on aviation, and the third about wildlife.

Glancing to the wall on your left you caught another framed photo. This one was different, a group photo with people in it. You recognized Dex in the photo, awkwardly smiling and standing off-centered. You also recognized the red-haired lady, beaming like the sun, the people around her seemed to gravitate toward her perfectly.

Brooklyn Suicide Prevention Center it read at the top.

She was the same woman Dex was eating dinner with at the Presidential before she stormed off. It had to be somewhat of a sore subject for Dex, but at least now you know that he hadn’t lied to you about the past between them, that she really was a former co-worker. You notice the glass of the frame is missing and the thought that maybe she could be more to him than what he had told you stirs within you. You try to forget about it.

“Your apartment is so nice, Dex. I love it.” It’s a more intimate look inside of his head. A real demonstration of the sense of organization and tidiness he strives for, but so much so that the place doesn’t look lived in. At least not by a real person, but you wouldn’t tell him so.

“Thanks,” Dex replies as he sways his hands in his pockets, looking for something to do.

“You’re so neat. I’m jealous.” Suddenly, you’re reminded of Matt. If the place wasn’t trashed… maybe he couldn’t find what he was looking for and Dex really didn’t possess the Daredevil suit. That Matt was barking up the wrong tree by accident…

Dex gestures to the gray couch and you sit while he stands in front of you. The couch wasn’t comfortable, it was stiff, absent of the dents your body would make if you used it. “I’m sorry. I don’t really have anything to entertain you with here,” Dex says with a nervous chuckle.

You put a finger to your lips in faux deep thought, “Hmm… I can read,” you state with humour in your voice, referencing the books on the coffee table and his lack of a television. You wave your wand dismissively, “But there’s no need,” you promise him.

Dex’s lips straighten with a silent thank you. He stands there, awkwardly like a guest in his own home. You’re here, in his apartment, something that no one ever gets to see. He’s granted you that special privilege for the way you seem to settle him.

He thinks you look good sitting on his couch, legs crossed casually, dark cardigan draping across you just right and your purse settled comfortably in the crevice of the couch and the armrest. You looked like you belonged there more than he ever did.

Fisk had blessed him in a way. Any other day and Dex would’ve walked right past you in the New York streets without a thought, without ever getting to pick at your brain. Fisk also gave him a new sense of purpose, FBI be damned. Fisk would never punish him for being too lethal, for doing his job too correctly, for getting shit done in a way no one else can.

Watching Dex’s lack of small talk was disarmingly charming. A man so nervous would never have done the Bulletin, Matt was out of his mind. Whoever gave him that information was not reliable, at all.

You pat the space on the couch next to you as if you owned it and Dex was visiting you. He follows your command and settles next to you. “I uh… Just wanted to say I’m enjoying the time I’m spending with you a lot. I wanna thank you for opening up to me and at the same time lending your ear,” you tell him, heartfelt. It was true, maybe the two of you were more mopey than anything, but it felt natural talking this way with Dex.

The smell of clean linen and rain infiltrates your nose as he shifts closer, “I don’t have much to say. I can’t relate… I don’t have parents… or friends…” You were the one who had those things, he didn’t… Dex acknowledged that even though you may spend time sharing things with one another, there was still a barrier of difference between you two like a thick glass wall.

You look at him with glassy eyes, you heard the brutal honesty seething through his voice. “It doesn’t matter. We’re friends and I think… I’m feeling somewhat similar to you Dex.”

He immediately quirks a brow at you as if to say really? How similar could you really feel to him?

You shrug, “I mean I moved here with almost nothing and knew no one. So I learned to accept help when I needed it and to trust the people who wanted to give it to me… You’re one of those people.” You can’t forget about how fast Dex came to your house the day you called, about how diligently he checked your apartment and how willing he was to answer questions about Matt’s whereabouts as he sat across from you eating a bagel you had made him.

You watch Dex’s hazel eyes, always intense and observant, soften at your words. The lines near his eyes are harder to see when his face becomes less tense. To see him this vulnerable… You almost forget about Matt entirely. Forget that you had lied and texted him you were on your way to Clinton Church.

Almost as if you were manifesting it, whispered like a wish you make to yourself when you toss a coin in a fountain, “You’re a good person Dex.”

Dex holds his breath, afraid he had imagined what you had murmured so delicately at him. He feels a rush and a pull throughout his body, so similar to the exhilaration he felt inside the Bulletin but at the same time the exact opposite. Dex’s eyes travel across your face, looking for a sign you might be bluffing, lying, joking. He finds none. He had never been told that he was a good person before. Ever.

There’s silence only filled by the quiet ticking of a clock somewhere in his apartment before he speaks again, “You– You’re so compassionate with me.”

His voice is broken, fractured. As if he’s never had anyone truly listen to him, or more specifically, never felt comfortable enough to be himself around, and it makes your heart ache for him.

Dex swallows the saliva in his mouth, “I was never… I don’t know if I was ever going to text you back after your last message,” he admits carefully.

Your mouth tugs at one corner into a small frown, but you nod, accepting the truth as a product of his irrationality and rash decision born from the fear of losing control over his job, over his life.

Dex shakes his head in disbelief, “And you’re still here… sitting next to me.”

Your body warms, reminded of the fact that you’re in his apartment, sitting on his couch. You try your best to still your body, to resist the urge to ball your hands into fists on top of your knees. You try to straighten your back as subtly as possible, feeling a new tension permeate through the room. Dex was complimenting you, and it felt… nice.

Dex begins again, voice quiet and baritone, “I felt like I was stuck in quicksand… The harder I tried to get out the worse it got for me. But when you’re here, I have… something to hold onto.” Dex surprises himself, he had never felt himself be so honest before. The truth is still hidden in metaphors, but you were a smart girl, you know what he’s trying to say. You chuckle, lightening the mood and trying to hide your anxiety, “I’m a defense attorney. I get to be there for people on the worst days of their lives… When they regret the decisions they’ve made with cloudy judgement… So I’m used to it,” you smile.

Dex can’t help but reflect the same smile. The way you had the power to alleviate the tension he carried on his shoulders with ease made its appearance again. He decides to keep this, going for as long as he can. He’ll hide his affiliation with Fisk from you. There’s no good reason for you to know about it anyways.

You quickly give Dex’s apartment another once over. Confirming the absence of anyone else living with him, no family photos, nor any trinkets gifted by friends, just a years old picture of himself and his coworkers. A brief thought about what you could possibly give him that he would keep in his home, something he would actually want, something practical, flashes in your imagination.

You decide to poke fun at the man sitting next to you, “Need any help decorating? Maybe a splash of color?”

Dex is reminded of the time he spent in your apartment. Decor and applications in the living space placed more haphazardly, but definitely still retaining some sort of feng shui that was more personal to you. That inherent feeling to fix the out-of-place things inside your living space were not as strong as they usually were when he was there.

“No. But, thank you,” Dex pokes back at you sarcastically.

You tilt your head, as if to say your loss, “Always,” you reply anyways.

There’s a pregnant pause before you muster the gall to open your arms and slowly make your way to his body. You’re dreading getting this part wrong, you don’t want to repeat the awkward side-hug at your apartment when he had gone in for a formal handshake.

Much to your own delight, Dex reciprocates. The hug between the two of you isn’t breath-stealing, but it’s solid. You can feel the built muscle of Dex’s back beneath your hands and his strong shoulders against your arms that wrap around him.

Dex on the other hand is trying hard to maintain a normal pace of breathing. He had panicked only slightly at the intimidation of a hug and had felt a surge of pride in his heart for completing it correctly, avoiding any embarrassment. When his head is in the crook of your neck he can smell your shampoo, the detergent you use for your clothes, and the lotion you put on your body.

With his sensations filled to the brim with things that were uniquely you, with your arms wrapped around him like a safety net, with promises of continued support Dex’s understanding of you changes.

You were not like Julie, you were something completely different. He didn’t want to be you, you were no embodiment of perfect aptitude. You made mistakes, you were brutally honest, you were more unorthodox than many.

But Dex craved you all the same.

“Say it again,” Dex mumbles into your neck. The sultriness in his voice and the heat of his breath made the hairs on the back of your neck straighten, you were skeptical of if you had imagined it, or if it really was there. Your body was still pressed against his, you were unsure if the hug was over because Dex made no move to disengage it.

A slow questioning hum in response was all you could manage. Begging Dex to repeat himself.

Dex leans back slowly, still not taking his arms from your back, neither do you. When he breathes in you can feel it with your hands, rough denim rubbing itself against your fingertips.

“Tell me I’m good,” he repeats slowly again, not a demand, but almost like an instruction. His eyes are half-lidded, but his eyebrows are furrowed, a longing look present on his face that you have never seen before.

In somewhat of a state of shock, stupor, you move backwards on the couch. Your backside touches the armrest, but with your arms still wrapped around Dex he follows you. One large hand on the back of the couch and the other on the armrest, caging you in. His wide chest hovering over your own.

You can feel his breath on your face as your heart beats through your sternum like a rapid fire drum. The feelings rushing through you are akin to fear, but you knew that was not the way to describe it. Perhaps… tense desire.

Dex watches your own wild eyes looking up at him through your eyelashes. He places the hand that was next to your head on your calf, signaling for you to lay your legs across the couch fully. He makes room with his knees so that one of your legs is fully in between them, the other still on the outside of the couch.

It feels as if the both of you are stuck in tense trance. Both of you jittery at each other’s small movements, like two animals at the same waterhole unsure if one of you would just go for it and kill the other. But the longer your hands are on his back the more natural they start to feel, like they’re meant to be there. You realize then how much you had craved his touch. Living all on your own in such a giant and dense city can get to you sometimes, you’re sure Dex might feel the same way.

Two lonely souls.

You push Dex towards you with your hands to the point he’s laying on top of you, trying his best not to crush you with his weight. There’s a paradox with how slowly he’s breathing compared to his rapidly thumping heartbeat you can feel against your own. When he shifts his legs you can feel his knee, slotted in between your thighs more compactly, grazing the what that lies in between your legs.

Your stomach drops, warmth pooling there without a choice. You like the feeling of it, the rough texture of his jeans causing friction against your own pants. When he moves closer, his body squishing against your own, the sensation there gets tighter, burning hot like wildfire.

Unable to hide it, unable to keep feigning nonchalance, unable to hide the satisfaction it brings, you wince as you let out a low sound, in between a rumble and a whimper.

Fuck.

Prepared to start rambling on apologies for why such intimate closeness had gotten you humiliatingly turned on, much to your embarrassment. Prepared for Dex to push himself off of you and demand for you to leave his apartment. Your face heats, mouth about to open when he moves his head back, no longer settled next to your own.

You brace yourself looking into his eyes when he asks, “Did you like that?” All emotion void from his face besides utter seriousness. As though your answer had the potential to alter his entire life.

Unable to hide the surprise on your face from him and with his eye contact making you feel as though your head will explode, you look to the cushion on the right of you.

“…Yes,” you admit, face hot.

You can feel Dex inch closer and when you turn your head again your lips are almost touching. You have no idea how tonight could’ve progressed to this point. But you couldn’t say that you didn’t hate it.

Dex was incredibly handsome, he was a man who knew how to juggle responsibilities albeit at least outwardly. The trauma he carries and the difficulties that come with it didn’t bother you, they didn’t make him any less human.

This was no farce, the man on top of you wasn’t deflecting, emotionally withdrawing, this was him being vulnerable. You managed to worm your way into his space and there’s a growing guilt that’s eating you up inside because you were never going to run into him tonight if it weren’t for Matt.

Dex likes that he’s made you feel good. He likes that you’re trying so hard to hide it, it satisfies him to know that he can fulfill your needs as much as you could his. He isn’t dumb, he notices the way your gaze lingers on his face, how it’s drawn to his lips. But you never cross the line, never take it anywhere. So he will, he’ll be brave and take things into his own hands, something that he’s been very open to doing lately.

This was another way you were different from Julie. Dex doesn’t feel a certain thrum in his heart around her, not like this. He doesn’t get insecure about how his clothes fit him, if his hair is combed just right, or if he’s being charming enough. But with you… he does. You were the third person in his life that he’s ever found himself desiring to be around, and if you weren’t his therapist, weren’t his North Star, that meant he felt something… romantic towards you. Romance.

A thing he never felt would ever be in the cards for him. It was an exotic word, a foreign feeling, and something entirely distant and not applicable to his life. Dex had more pet peeves than he could count and never considered himself that much of a hotshot either given his past and the lack of empathy he knows he has.

But he thinks he could understand it now. How the people in movies portray it, how the couples walking in Central Park show it, how some of his coworkers fawn over their own partners. Dex thinks he might be able to comprehend it, truly, for the first time ever.

Dex pulls his face forward, avoiding your lips and craning his head into your neck. There, he connects his lips to your jugular softly in a kiss. He can feel the blood rushing through your body when his lips make contact with your soft skin. He practically melts against you, like if he could, he would curl up inside your warm body.

Your mouth opens slightly and your eyebrows furrow at how good Dex’s lips feel against your neck. You push your head closer to his and your nose slots itself right against his ear. When you take a deep breath the smell of fresh laundry and rain grows stronger. You unconsciously open your legs wider, allowing Dex’s knee to rub against you more as his kisses grow faster and harder, teeth grazing you just barely. You don’t hide the way you sway your body to rut against his jeans more, searching for your own satisfaction.

Tell him he’s good.

Tell him.He’s good.

“You’re good, Dex… So good,” you half sigh into his ear. You can feel the charming smirk that forms against your neck as Dex moves the knee that’s in between your legs to the outside of the couch. Dex destroys your disappointment at the lack of sensation when you feel his erection, stiff and long through his jeans meet your heat instead of his knee.

Good.

You had called him good and it elated Dex. It ignited something inside of him. Praise, you were praising him and he loved it. Reveled in it because praise means he’s doing something right.

Dex begins to sway his body up and down against you, his hand using the back of the couch as leverage. As he grinds against you slowly Dex whispers a question against your ear that tickles your brain just right, “Do you feel good?”

A genuine question that he has, he wants to satisfy you, he needs to. He wants to be assured he’s doing this right, he hasn’t engaged in something sexual with another person in a long time, he didn’t want to screw this up. That, and he wanted to hear you say it again, and again, and again. He wants to record it and play it on repeat to listen to on his headphones.

You kiss him right beneath his ear, you feel the rough texture and salty taste of sweat on his skin.“I feel good,” you half groan into his ear. You rock your own crotch against his. You can feel the ridges of his boner hit your clit through your pants just right.

Good.

Dex was making you feel good. He can make you laugh, he can make you feel comfortable enough to talk about yourself, he can appease your desires. And you’ll praise him for it, you’ll lend your ear when he feels like he’s about to explode, you’ll feed him food while he sits in your kitchen, you’ll forgo alcohol just so you can adapt to his restrictions and you’ll walk him home in silence. You adapt to his needs and he’ll appeal to yours.

You’re starting to drive him crazy. The direct acclaim you give him unlocks a passion in him as he drives himself deeper against you. Enjoying the way your legs squeeze around his back and every shudder of your body when his lips envelop the side of your neck, nipping it just slightly. His underwear dragging against his cock with every stroke felt amazing enough already, he could only imagine what your hands would feel like.

Dex groans in your ear with every delicious thrust against you and you’re tempted to start taking off his clothes. Wanting to observe the real strength of his muscles and how his veins would pop out from his skin. Your fingers skate lightly against the waist of his pants until you feel your phone vibrate against your back, still laying slightly against your purse.

No…

You had completely forgotten about how you were supposed to meet Matt. He was probably getting antsy with how long you were taking to get to the church. Shit.

You try to stifle the expression of worry in your face as you tap Dex lightly on his back a couple of times. He gets the memo and leans away from you. You shuffle your legs to stand from the couch and wrap your purse over your shoulder.

Dex sits up and has a look of straight befuddlement on his face. He had thought everything was going well and now all of sudden you wanted to leave? His chest is still rising and falling heavily as he stands with you, worried he had done something wrong. His heat still throbbing in his jeans and missing its contact with you.

You tilt your head up, look into his glassy eyes, and shake your head. Trying to tell him that you didn’t want to leave, but that you had to. “I’m sorry Dex, it's just getting late.”

Dex runs a hand through his hair and swallows, “I–”

You can tell he’s worried he fucked something up and you smile at him. “I don’t wanna rush this,” you whisper calmly as you take a step closer.

Dex looks over your shoulder at what’s written on the microwave clock. It was half-past eleven, you were right, it was pretty late. “Shit, I’m so–”

You chuckle, “No, it’s okay Dex. I just gotta be somewhere right now.” You hope your vague answer satisfies him as you start taking small steps towards the entrance of his apartment. He follows you to the door, a blush in his cheeks still present from the previous activities when you both reach it.

Dex is still unsure of what to say, where things go from now. So you continue for him, “I want to do things the right way. I promise.” That was the most assurance you could give him, but it was true. Whatever this was now, whatever this relationship between the two of you was transformed into… It still needed some answers before you could continue this.

Being reminded of Matt dredges up the thought that you could still be wrong. That Dex could still be a disturbed murderer. The thought makes you sick, not just potentially at Dex… but at yourself. You knew the real reason you were supposed to be out with Dex and you still followed him into his home and… dryhumped each other.

You would not tell Matt about that part under any circumstance.

Dex interrupts your thoughts, “Do you want me to drive you?” His face is kind, hiding the disappointment he feels when you have to leave now. Wishing you’ll answer yes to his question and he’ll have more time to spend with you.

You shake your head a little too quickly, “I’ll be fine, Dex. Thank you for everything,” you tell him in a small voice. You go to hug him and he reciprocates, this time his hands rest on your hips. Your right hand rests on his neck and you’re tempted to run your fingers through the short blonde hair there. You kiss his cheek softly, another ounce of small reassurance. Kissing him on his lips felt much too… intimate.

While you wait for Dex to unlock the door you notice a good-sized hole next to it, in between the door and kitchen. It was the size of a fist, there was no drywall on the floor beneath it, signaling that it was not new. It was something that Dex cleaned up but didn’t have the time to fix.

When Dex turns around and gives you a polite smile, affection in his eyes, you pretend like you hadn’t seen the hole or his hazel eyes and smile as you walk out.

You speedrun down the nice halls of his apartment and click the lobby button in the elevator more times than you can count. You fix your hair and adjust your clothes, hiding the fact that you were just underneath a man you entertained the idea of loving.

You walked into the rain without a care, it had started to pour significantly harder but you didn’t care. There were bigger things to prioritize. You hail down a cab and the dirty water rushing through the street gutter splashes against your boots as it comes to a halt.

It was time to meet Matt.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

geebumbler