Hiii idk if you take requests or anything but I see so much of protective Dex, And I love the way you wrote him so. What about protective reader?? Like someone fucked up his order and she immediately reacts or someone side eyeing Dex the whole date and reader confronting them. Do we think Dex would fw someone protecting/standing up for him?
omg heyyy, i do take requests! though youβre my very first dex request. oooo i see where your heads at, i totally see reader being very protective of him. i think heβd love someone standing up for him, especially since heβs never really had that sorta love or protection growing up.
whenever you do it, it makes him so proud. even when he acts like whatever it is isnβt bothering him, but you push against that and fix it anyways, heβd bite back a smug smile as he watches you fight for him. even in small ways, he thanks the universe, to whatever god was out there that decided to bless him with you!
not before pulling you close to him, planting a surprise long kiss to your lips, of course. making you bashful as you lean into him wherever youβre sitting.
as for the messing up his food order or someone eyeing him on a date, i definitely wanna write something around this! thank you for helping my brain juices flow; so much motivation π½
PAIRING: benjamin poindexter x fem!reader
PLAYLIST: here
WORD COUNT: 3.2k
NOTE: the first song in the playlist is sooo them
GENRE: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort
WARNINGS: kidnapping (not by dex), torture/interrogation, violence, injury detail, obsessive/protective dynamics. reader is rescued but heavily injured. intentional lowercase, no use of y/n
PARTS: one | two
NAVIGATION | REQUEST | BENJAMIN POINDEXTER MASTERLIST
you werenβt sure how anyone had found out.
youβd been careful. heβd been careful. and yeah, he had come back quite a few times after that first night, slipping in and out of your apartment, trusting you to keep your mouth shut. and you did, every time. so you donβt know how it could have possibly led to this.
tied to a chair in what was, objectively, a very nice basement. clean, spacious, almost comfortable, if not for the fact that your wrists are bound tight behind you, a strip of tape sealing your mouth shut, and the lingering sting of whatever they pressed over your face to knock you out.
you shift slightly, testing the restraints again. zero give. this is what you get for being selfless.Β
at first, you werenβt even sure if you should be worried. i mean, sure, you got grabbed, knocked out and tied up. not particularly ideal, but your brain hadnβt quite caught up yet, still trying to convince you there was some kind of explanation for all of this.Β
a mistake. maybe wrong place, wrong person. yeahβ¦ that thought dies quickly as you hear footsteps echo from somewhere above you. your head snaps up, body going rigid as the sound gets closer, coming down to your level. it doesn't take long for your breathing to pick up , the panic settling in fast now. itβs harder to breathe with the tape over your mouth, each inhale uneven as your chest tightens.
you donβt recognise them at first. just silhouettes, moving with purpose as they step into the light. your stomach drops, you squirm instinctively, the chair creaking faintly beneath you, muffled sounds forcing their way past the tape as you try to say something.
theyβre talking. low voices, awfully calm for a situation like this. you should listen in. you know you should force yourself to focus, pick up anything useful, anything that might matter later if you somehow make it out of this alive, but your thoughts are too loud. panic drowns everything else out.
they get closer. and then you see him properly, of course, why wouldnβt it be anyone other than wilson fisk? you never trusted him. there was always something off about him, including the fact that he was an ex-con turned mayor. even before everything that came out about him, before daredevil exposed him, you had a bad feeling.Β
you just didnβt think youβd end up here because of it. your eyes flick to the man beside him. you donβt know his name, but you recognise his face. always just behind fisk in the background of campaigns. not just a bodyguard, higher in the chain of command, you dread he was here for something worse.
you squirm harder as they approach, the ropes biting into your wrists, your protests muffled and desperate behind the tape. fisk stops directly in front of you, you freeze. your chest heaves, breath coming fast as you try to steady it, trying to read him, anticipate what heβs going to do. hit you, talk to you?Β
your eyes dart to the other man as he steps closer. instinct kicks in, you lean back as far as the chair allows, spine pressing against the wood, like distance will do anything at all. his hand reaches for your face.
your eyes widen, panic flaring and then he rips the tape off. the sting is brutal. you flinch hard, a sharp inhale catching in your throat as the skin burns where it was pulled away. βmm- fuck you,β you bite out as you wince through it.
they give you a moment. not out of kindness, just long enough for you to catch your breath, for the sting on your skin to settle. your chest still rises too fast, your pulse loud in your ears, but you force yourself to focus.
they start talking again, this time to you. βwhat do you know about benjamin poindexter?β fisk asks, impatience already bleeding into his tone. you do know, of course you do, but they donβt need to know that.
you donβt let it show, not in your face, not in the way your shoulders hold, not in the way your eyes stay steady on him. you swallow it down, forcing confusion where recognition wants to surface. βwhat the fuck are you talking about?β you shoot back, jaw tight, expression blank as you throw the question right back at him.
thereβs a pause, not long after a shift. βoh, right,β he says almost casually, adjusting his approach. βyou might know him as dex. bullseye even.β the name lands heavier the second time. they even hold up a picture, itβs older. it's also not hard for you to recognise even with the differences. no scar, less hardened, not as half as broad as he is now.
it was still him though. you force your eyes to linger on it just long enough, as if youβre trying to place it, and then you shrug. βi donβt know who that is,β you deny, shaking your head slightly. βiβm sorry. also, was it really necessary to knock me out and bring me here?β
the words barely leave your mouth before fiskβs patience snaps, the slap comes fast. it knocks your head to the side, the impact harsh enough to make your vision blur, ears ringing as the sting blooms across your cheek. for a second, everything tilts, your body lagging behind the force of it.
right. being a woman doesnβt matter, not to him. if youβre a threat, youβre a threat, so you adjust. you try and scramble for some sort of defense, so you turn on the waterworks, you let it hit you. let your expression crack.
βi- i really donβt know what you want from me,β you manage, voice shaking now, βpleaseβ¦β fisk doesnβt even look convinced, if anything, he looks bored. you hear him exhale disappointedly, before turning to address the man beside him.
βbuck,β he called, βget on with it.β and just like that, he walks away, back up the stairs. leaves you there with him. you look up at him, vision still a little unfocused from the tears that line your eyes. heβs closer than before.
and thereβs something different about him. not exactly nice. his expression is still stern, but his eyesβ¦ they almost looked sad, hesitant maybe. like he doesnβt want to be doing this. for a split second, you think maybe he wonβt.
that was until his fist connects with your other cheek, a clean punch straight across your face. whatever you thought you saw in him, dies.
you donβt think youβve ever felt this much pain in your entire life.
buck had left not too long ago, still not having managed to get anything useful out of you. just silence, besides your wheezed breathing and pained groans as he struck you. stubborn refusal even as everything in your body screamed at you to give them what they wanted.
your head hangs low, blood drips steadily from your mouth, warm and metallic, you can feel it trickling down your chin from a split somewhere on your face you canβt even properly register anymore. thereβs another cut on your forehead too. still bleeding, dragging warmth down the side of your face and into your vision.
you moan faintly as you scrunch up your face before relaxing. trying to breathe, each inhale shallow. your ribs scream every time your chest moves, every attempt at air scraping through you felt like glass.
and suddenly you understand. why people give in, why they talk, just to make it stop. you want to, god, you want to. but you donβt, because if you do, if you break, you lose him. you lose whatever unspoken trust had started to form between you both. and if you lose that, then thereβs nothing left anyway.
so if youβre going to dieβ¦ you decide youβll do it quietly. deep down you think that death must feel easier than this. your thoughts drift, slipping in and out of focus.
youβre not too sure why, but heβs the only thing you can think of. not the god awful pain youβre feeling, not the blood, not the very real possibility that this room might be the last thing you ever see. just him.
the way he used to look at you when he first started letting himself know you. suspicious at first, then softer in those rare moments he forgot to guard himself. the way heβd started showing up even when he wasnβt injured, slipping into your apartment with no excuse left except that he wanted to be there. wanted you.
the way heβd sit in your kitchen, watching you move around like your presence alone settled something in him. how heβd started missing you. how, somewhere along the line, you started missing him too. so you decide thatβs what keeps you from speaking. thatβs what keeps your mouth shut when every nerve in your body begs you to make this stop.Β
you think youβre losing your mind when you hear it. the shouting, then gunfire. muffled, distorted by the thick door above you, your breathing stutters, chest jerking as hope and terror collide so violently you canβt tell which one is winning.Β
there had been so much noise before. footsteps and the sound of shouts in pain. so when it all drops away, when everything cuts to sudden silence, your stomach sinks. this is it you think.
this is where it ends. the door slams open so hard it rattles through the room. you flinch, pain tearing through your ribs as footsteps rush in not long after. fast, coming straight for you.
you squint through swollen eyes, trying to make sense of the shape in front of you. blood drips into your lashes, shadows smearing everything at the edges. someoneβs definitely there and getting closer. seeing a flash of dark blue and black. you exhale deeply without meaning to, relief and disbelief slipping out of you as your body sags against the chair.
you try to smile. it hurts so badly it steals the attempt right off your face. you cough instead, heβs here. in front of you, crouched. his mask still on. dex. his name echoes in your mind as he reaches up, one hand comes to your chin. firm enough to steady you as he tilts your face so you have no choice but to look at him.Β
βk-knew youβdβ¦ find me," you manage weakly, your eyes meeting his. thereβs something in the way he's looking at you that you canβt fully read. anger, fear, maybe worse, but that last one doesnβt feel like it was aimed at you.
βsweetheartβ¦β his voice drops lower, βwhatβd they do to you?β you try to shake your head, even that tiny movement sends pain splintering through you.
βi... didnβt say anything,β each word thick and slurred now, your tongue heavy, the room starting to tilt around you. βi swearβ¦βΒ your vision darkens at the corners, the edges of him blur. the floor starts to feel farther away, exhaustion and blood loss drag at you.
but even through it, you hear him clearly. everything else fades, because thatβs what matters to him. not the answers, you. βthatβs not-β he starts, swallowing hard, trying again when his voice fails him. then it turns sterner, βhey. hey- stay with m-β
but you donβt hear the rest, because your eyes are already rolling into the back of your head, passing out.
the first thing you notice when you start to wake is that youβre lying down.
panic was the first thing that you felt. your eyes hadnβt even adjusted yet, the room nothing but shapes and shadows, your body reacts before your mind can catch up. a broken cry tears from your throat as you try to force yourself upright, every instinct shrieking at you to move, to know where you are.
pain bites back, dragging through your ribs hard enough to steal the breath from your lungs. βwoah, woah, slow down.β his voice reaches you before his hands do. being careful where they hold as he guides you back down before you can hurt yourself worse.Β
the moment you recognise itβs him, everything inside you loosens all at once. fear drains so fast it nearly leaves you dizzy. you let yourself sink back against the cushions beneath you, trembling with the effort of it, the ache in your side spreads again.
this time, when you blink up at him, you really see him. no mask or suit. just normal clothes, the sleeves rolled up, seated in a chair beside the futon youβre sprawled across. it doesn't look like heβs moved far from you since he got you here.
you glance around through the haziness. a small room, bare white walls. it almost looked sterile, not much furniture surrounding you either. definitely not at home.
βdexβ¦β your voice scrapes raw from your throat. βwhere are we?β your hand lifts without thinking, reaching for him.
he catches it, fingers wrapping around yours. his thumb brushes lightly across your knuckles, somehow already knowing exactly what you need.
βyouβre okay,β he tells you, βweβre at my place.β
βcouldnβt risk them knowing where you were,β he adds, jaw tightening. βespecially after they took you from yours.β
you hum faintly, squeezing his hand back. the reassurance helps more than you'd thought it would. a heavy thud sounds from the apartment above. your whole body jerks on instinct. pain rips viciously through you and you gasp, face twisting as a soft moan slips free before you can stop it.
dex is already leaning in, eyes sweeping over you. hands hovering wishing he could take the hurt away, βthey messed you up real good.β his voice drops thick with regret, you knew heβd feel guilty, βiβm sorry i didnβt get there sooner.β
his eyes fell to the floor. shoulders tense, there was so much shame. your chest aches for a completely different reason now. βheyβ¦ none of that.β
he doesnβt look up. βdexβ¦β you shift toward the edge of the futon despite how you felt, βcan you please come closer to me?β
he moves before the sentence is even finished. one second heβs in the chair, the next heβs kneeling beside you, close enough for you to reach for him properly. enough that you can feel the heat of him.
your hand rises slowly, trembling with the effort, until your palm rests against his cheek. he goes perfectly still. a smile stretches over your lips, but more specifically at how gentle he gets with you, knowing nobody else ever gets this version of him.
your thumb strokes lightly along his cheekbone. he leans fully into your touch, eyes lowering for a moment, his breath warm against your wrist. βiβm okay,β you whisper, βwellβ¦ maybe not right this second. but i will be.β
he exhales through his nose, but the guilt doesnβt leave him. you can see it clinging to him. βi shouldβve never gotten you involved.β his words come bitter. βshouldβve left you alone after that night.β
you shake your head at once, heart twisting painfully. βno.β weak voice or not, thereβs nothing uncertain in it. βyou donβt get to do that.βΒ
his eyes finally lift to yours. you hold his focus, fingers still resting against his face. ββ¦i wanted you to come back.β the confession lodges in your throat before it leaves.
βi told you to.β you swallow hard. βiβ¦ needed you to.β
the room falls silent around those words. he goes completely still beneath your hand. you start to get worried that youβve gone too far, he only stares at you. βyou donβt mean that,β he mutters at last and you feel like youβre able to breathe again.
βi do.β your thumb brushes over his cheek again, slower this time. βi wouldnβt have kept your secret if i didnβt.β his jaw flexes.
βthat was stupid.β
βit was trust.β
βit got you hurt.β
βit got me you.β
you watch the way it made him feel in real time. he looks away at first, eyes dropping to where your hands are still tangled together. his thumb drags across your knuckles again.
youβre not sure if heβs trying to distract himself, but the contact helps him relax a little. βyou shouldnβt need me,β he shakes his head. face twisting into hurt, or something close to disgust.
βwhy not?β you scoff in disbelief. βbecause people who need me end up bleeding.β his mouth tightens. βyou witnessed that firsthand.β
βthat's not fair.β you think as more silence settles. you hate it. i hate how itβs so quiet between you that you can hear the pipes knock somewhere in the walls, footsteps above, the bustle of the city outside.
you tighten your hold on his hand. βwellβ¦ i guess itβs a good thing iβm stubborn then.β his head lifts, you offer the biggest smile you can manage. βiβm still here.β
he stands suddenly, startling as well as worrying you, thinking heβs pulling away. instead, he lowers himself onto the edge of the futon beside your hips, careful of every injury, close enough that his thigh presses lightly against the blanket that heβd placed over you.
βyou scared me.β the words are so quiet you nearly miss them. you blink a couple of times. βwhat?β
βwhen i found you.β his stare fixes somewhere ahead, trying to force out every single word. βyou were so still.β
your chest constricts. βdexβ¦β you call out to him, he just shakes his head, blinking rapidly, βi thought i-i was too late.β
you shift with a wince and reach for him again. your fingers catch in the sleeve of his shirt, then slide down until they curl around his wrist, pulling it to you.Β βi knew youβd come for me,β you whisper. he turns his focus on you, looking down at where youβre holding him. βi shouldnβt have had to.β
βmaybe not.β you tug gently on his wrist. βbut you did.β
he lets you pull him closer. every instinct in him is yelling to fight against it, he leans down until his forehead rests lightly against yours. he braces his weight away from your body, one hand planted beside your shoulder, the other still holding yours.
the contact is so gentle it nearly undoes you. his breath mingles with yours. βyou keep doing that,β he murmurs. βdoing what?β
βmaking things sound so simple.β a tired laugh slips out of you and immediately turns into another wince. βoccupational hazard.β
βyouβre a baker.β
βhey! i make complicated things look easy.β for the first time since you woke, the corner of his mouth twitches. it's tiny and brief, but very much still there. you feel absurdly proud of earning it.
his expression changes again, as he leans back a bit, looking at you, eyes dropping to the bruises on your face, what they did to you. something colder moves through him. βthey touched what was mine.βΒ
βdexβ¦β unsure of what to say in return, βi know how it sounds.β
βdo you though?β his eyes meet yours again. you see him think about it, βprobably not.β
you squeeze his hand. βiβm not a thing, ya know.β
βi know.β a slight pause as he brings the hand holding yours to caress your cheek. βbut youβre mine anyway.β
you should argue, you should probably be alarmed. instead, warmth unfurls low in your stomach at the way he means it. you brush your nose lightly against his as you bring him back closer.
βthen you better take good care of me.β
βi will.β his thumb brushes along your bottom lip. βfor as long as i breathe.β
2026 IALREADYMADEYOUAPROMISE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED !
PAIRING: benjamin poindexter x fem!reader
WARNINGS: breaking and entering, soft bullseye, intentional lowercase, no use of y/n
GENRE: fluff, hurt/comfort, strangers to something more
SONG INSPIRATION: from eden by hozier
WORD COUNT: 3.1k
NOTE: i love writing unfazed reader
PARTS: one | two
NAVIGATION | REQUEST | BENJAMIN POINDEXTER MASTERLIST
the first thing you register is the sound.
it wasn't particularly loud, just off. the click of something giving way, followed by a scrape against your floor. it pulls you out of sleep, your body already tense, already listening.
you sit up slowly, heart starting to pick up, the dark of your apartment not as comforting as it had been when you had fallen asleep last night. blinking your eyes more, you make out a shape leaning against your doorframe. standing so still, quietly watching you.
your breath catches, but you donβt scream. you donβt move, not yet, eyes adjusting just enough to catch the outline of his hand on his gun that's holstered on his stomach, heβs not outright threatening you, yet. βdonβt,β he murmurs roughly, coughing softly as he readjusts himself.Β
your eyes drop before you can stop yourself. thereβs a darker patch along his side, spreading, glistening faintly in the low light even with his outfit mostly consisting of dark blue and black you could see it. blood, a lot of it.
he shifts, just slightly, and you hear it, the grunt under his breath, the way his control fractures for half a second. βstay where you are,β he demands, you should be scared. thereβs a man in your home. armed, dangerous in a way you donβt need confirming, you know exactly who he is the second your brain catches up with your eyes. and yetβ¦
βsit down,β it comes out a lot more gentle than you expect. steadier too. he tightens his grip on his gun, he blinks, just once, as if he didnβt hear you right.
βiβm not-β
βyouβre bleeding all over my floor,β you cut in, already pushing the covers back. you move your legs enough to slide them from beneath. βso unless you want to collapse there and deal with it alone, sit. down.β
the silence stretches, your heart pounds in your chest, youβre hoping he doesn't just pull his weapon on you and shoot you right then and there for how you spoke to him. you can feel the weight of his eyes. slowly, very cautiously, you stand. every movement deliberate, hands up giving him time to react if he wants to. he doesnβt raise the gun.
you nod toward the end of your bed. βthere.β another pause, he has no idea why heβs listening to you, no idea why heβs finding it hard to say no to you.
each step limped, forcing his body to cooperate. itβs not graceful, sprained ankle if you had to guess, he makes it to the end of your mattress and throws himself down, hissing through his clenched teeth at his body jolting, jaw tightening as the pain catches up.
you donβt comment on it.
instead, you turn, already heading for your bathroom where you keep your medical kit. hands still up where he can see them, βyou try anything-β he starts. βi wonβt,β you don't hesitate cutting him off again, not looking back. βif i was going to, i wouldβve already.β
you hear the faint shift of fabric, βi donβt know that.β you grab the kit, shut the cupboard under your sink, finally turning back to him.
βno,β you agree, walking over. βi guess you donβt.β
you kneel in front of him, up close, itβs worse. the blood, the way itβs soaked through his clothes, the way his breathing is just slightly stuttering. it makes your brows knit together, his face is pale under the dim light, eyes locked on you like heβs waiting for something to click, panic, maybe fear?
you donβt give him either. you shuffle over on your knees to turn on your lamp so you could see better, before going back to him, βmove your hand,β you tell him nodding to where heβs pressing against his side.
he hesitates. for a second, you think he might refuse. you open the kit, mentally thanking yourself that you remembered to put a new pair of gloves in here.Β
pulling them on, you work quickly, peeling the fabric up, assessing the damage. itβs bad, but not as bad as it could be. he got lucky. βbullet grazed,β you mutter, mostly to yourself. βyouβre bleeding a lot, but-β
βi know what it is, can you just get on with it!β he snaps, the edge back in his voice. you glance up at him, meeting his eyes properly for the first time. they look apologetic as he mumbles a small sorry.
βokay,β you swallow as you get to work. cleaning the wound, as carefully as you could. he flinches once, barely, when you press a little too firmly, but otherwise he stays still. watching you.
always watching you. hand still latched onto the gun, βdude you gotta stop, iβm not even going to do anything,β you sigh, not looking up this time. βyou can let go of it.β
you grab the packaged needle and sutures, your hands don't shake as you unpackage the items, doing your best to thread the suture threw the needle, βyouβre not scared,β he acknowledges. you stop briefly, βi should be, i'm honestly not sure why i'm not.β you admit.
he doesnβt respond right away. you can feel his eyes still on you, trying to pick you apart. you shake your head slightly. βi guess you havenβt really given me a reason to be.β you continue. an almost disbelieving scoff leaves him.
βi broke into your home. i have a gun.β
βand you asked for my help,β you counter, as you weave the needle in and out of his skin, βif you wanted to hurt me, you wouldβve already. isn't that your whole spiel?β
silence. you sit back on your heels, as you finish stitching, looking up at him again as you reach for some gauze, wiping the remaining blood from his skin from around the now closed skin, movements slower now, less urgent. grabbing the bandage from the small bag. heβs still watching you, clearly confused. not quite sure of knowing what to do with you.
βyouβve gotta sit up so i can wrap this properly,β you tell him, holding up a fresh strip of gauze.
he shifts with a groan, pushing himself more upright despite the pull of the wound. it brings you closer than before, close enough that you can feel the heat coming off of him, close enough that it makes you a little more aware of your own movements.
you rise back onto your knees in front of him, trying to focus on what youβre doing. βjust- hold still,β you mutter. he doesnβt answer, but doesnβt move either. you reach around him, carefully, the angle awkward as you guide the bandage around his waist. your head tilts slightly away, more focused on your hands than anything else, deliberately avoiding his gaze as you work.
itβs quiet, too quiet. you can feel it, the closeness, the tension, the fact that you have to remind yourself that this is very much bullseye, and that being this close to him should not be getting to you.
you swallow it down, adjusting the fabric, pulling it snug but not tight enough to hurt him. when you reach the end, you pause, fingers hovering as you realise the safety pin is just out of reach on the other side of him.
βcan you-β you start, finally glancing up at him. βthe pin, can you grab it? i canβt quite-β
his fingers brushing briefly against yours as he retrieves it, placing it carefully into your palm. the contact is quick. still enough to make your stomach flip in a way you immediately resent. you mentally kick yourself, of all people.
you clear your throat softly. βthank you.β your voice comes out smaller than you intended. you focus back in, cautious as you push the pin through the fabric, making sure not to catch his skin as you secure it in place.
there, done. you think as you let your hands fall slightly, exhaling without realising youβd been holding it in. βitβs done,β you try to look anywhere but his eyes, clearing up the mess.Β
βyouβll be alright. justβ¦ donβt move too much for a bit.β he hums in acknowledgement, you see the way his shoulders have dropped, just slightly. the way his breathing has evened out. his hand no longer on his gun.
the pain doesnβt seem to faze him quite as much as it did when he walked in.
you should be done. youβve wrapped his side, cleaned what you can see, steadied the worst of it. that should be enough, more than enough, considering your situation, but you donβt move away.
your eyes drifting back up to his face, what little you can actually see of it. the mask hides most of him, but not everything. not the way the fabric pulls too tight across one side. not the faint, dark patches seeping through near the edge. not the subtle swelling beneath it, distorting the clean lines of his jaw.
it makes your chest tighten. ββ¦thatβs not all,β you speak up, he doesnβt respond, but you see him scowl under the mask, you gesture lightly toward his face. βyouβre hurt there too.β
βiβm fine.β itβs dismissive. the same tone heβs been using to keep distance between you and him, βdo you really have to be so difficult?β you question, tilting your head slightly, studying him in a way thatβs almost calm.Β
βyouβre bleeding through it,β you point out, βand itβs swelling. if itβs split, it needs stitching or you could get an infection.β that gets a reaction. nothing big but itβs there. a slight narrowing of his eyes. a shift in his posture. you meet his eyes anyway. βi can do it,β you suggest, shrugging. βiβve got everything here.β
silence settles heavily between you again. you swallow as you look up at him. he doesnβt look away. doesnβt move. just watches you, deciding. you can almost see the argument behind his eyes, every reason he shouldnβt, every instinct telling him this is a mistake.
you donβt rush him, you donβt fill the silence. you just sit there, hands resting loosely in your lap now, his jaw tightens. a quiet click of his tongue breaks the quiet, sharp with irritation, but not at you, not really. more at himself.
βstitches?β he questions, you nod, just once. βyeah.β another pause. with a strained exhale, he lifts his free hand toward his face. for a second, it looks like he might stop, reconsidering it maybe.
his fingers hook under the edge of the mask, tugging at it with less care than youβd expect. it sticks slightly where the blood has dried, the more he pulls, he groans. βhold on-β you start, instinctively leaning forward, but he jerks his head slightly, stubborn even now, forcing the fabric up and off.Β
he breathes out hard through his nose, eyes squeezing shut for half a second as the movement aggravates everything at once. up close, itβs worse than you thought. the swelling is even more obvious now, dark bruising already blooming across his left cheekbone, a cut there too.Β
thereβs a split along his lip, another higher up, near the edge of his brow, both still bleeding. you rise from being on the floor to sit in front of him, closer so you could tend to him easier, βoh,β you murmur, softer than before. βyeahβ¦ youβre definitely not fine.β
his eyes snap back open at that, cutting toward you. you donβt linger on it. instead, you reach back for your kit again, already pulling out more of what you need.Β βthis might hurt,β you warn, glancing back up at him. βbut iβll be quick-β
βiβve had worse,β he interrupts. you donβt doubt that, still, you nod. βi guessed, just try not to move.β you shift even closer, one hand coming up to steady his jaw without really thinking about it. for a second, everything stills.
your fingers warm against his skin, careful despite the bruising. close enough now that you can see the small details, the tension in his expression, the way his breathing hitches just slightly at the touch, seeing how his eyes werenβt just brown but a soft hazel.
it doesn't take long to stitch the small cut on his cheek bone, you finish it with gentle hands, tying it off neatly before trimming the thread. for a moment, you stay close, scanning over your work, making sure nothingβs still bleeding.
your eyes slide to the other deep scar on his other cheek once youβre done, wondering how he had gotten something so gnarly. βalright,β you whisper, more to yourself than him. βthat should be okay. donβt hurt me if it scars badly, i'm not a professional.β you joke.
that earns you a chuckle, heβs still watching you. you lean back slightly, giving him space, but not leaving entirely. your fingers grasp his chin to make him move his head from side to side slightly, he lets you.
βstay there,β you tell him, already pushing yourself to your feet. he frowns, stay there? he doesnβt argue though. doesnβt move. his eyes track you as you disappear briefly into your ensuite, the sounds of running water breaking the silence.
he doesnβt get it. youβve already done more than enough, far more than anyone in your position should. you patched him up, didnβt panic, didnβt try anything stupid. that shouldβve been the end of it, but then you come back.
cloth in hand, faintly steaming in the cool air of the room. he tenses, just a fraction, eyes flicking from it to you. βyou donβt-β he starts.
βi know,β you cut in gently, like you already expected the protest. βone thing about me, i'm not going to half ass anything.β you step closer again, lowering yourself back in front of him on your bed, and before he can decide whether to stop you or not.
your hand comes up. the cloth brushes against his cheek. so warm, damp, youβre so attentive. itβs instinct at first, the way his body locks, bracing for pain, but it doesnβt come. instead, you move slowly, dabbing at the dried blood along his skin, cleaning around the bruising, avoiding the fresh stitches.
βyouβve got blood everywhere,β you mumble absentmindedly. βitβll dry and pull if i leave it.β he doesnβt respond, doesn't pull away either. your hold is faint where you steady his jaw again, tilting his face towards the light a little so you can see better. the cloth follows, wiping away the mess of it all
so thorough, like it matters, like he matters. itβsβ¦ unfamiliar. no expectation of anything in return. just you, focused, brows drawn slightly as you work, lips pouting every now and then as you concentrate.Β
every instinct he has tells him this is wrong, that this is how they get under your skin, but he doesnβt have it in him to stop you. his eyes drop, just slightly, watching the way your hand moves, the way youβre careful around the worst of it, adjusting without being told when he moves, easing the pressure without making a big deal out of it.
you donβt treat him like heβs dangerous, you treat him like heβs hurt. the cloth drags lightly along his jaw, clearing the last of the dried blood there, and you pause, pulling it back to check your work. ββ¦there,β you smile.
the absence of your hands is noticeable in a way he doesnβt like. it leaves him more aware of everything else, the dull throb of his injuries, the quiet of the room, the space between you now where there hadnβt been any a second ago.
for a while, neither of you says anything.
the silence settles back in, but itβs not the same as before. itβs comfortable, the mattress dips as he shifts his weight, pushing himself up from where he sat on your bed with a moan, shoulders squaring as he finds his balance. you instinctively follow the movement from where youβre still sat, eyes lifting as he stands.
you blink up at him. he looksβ¦ different like this. not less dangerous, but like youβve taken the worst of the night out of him. for a moment, he just stands there at the edge of your bed, looking down at you, thinking. it makes you nervous.
he holds his hand out. it takes you a second to react, a flicker of surprise crossing your face before you reach up and take it. his grip is firm as he pulls you to your feet with ease despite his injury.
you end up closer than expected, the movement pulling you into his space for just a second too long. neither of you moves right away, the moment stretching just enough to be noticed. he lets go, stepping back, scooping his mask back up in his hands, already turning toward your bedroom door. he heads out into the direction of your living room without another word, you follow close behind him.
βlock your windows,β he orders, it catches you off guard.
ββ¦thatβs your takeaway from all of this?β you ask, a small laugh slipping out before you can stop it. his eyes flicker to you, narrowing just slightly, not annoyed, not really. βyou let me in,β he points out, βi didnβt exactly invite you,β you shoot back lightly, the corner of his mouth twitches.
it settles warm in your chest. βstill,β you reply, softer now, nodding. βi will. promise.β he watches you for a second longer, unsure if he believes that. βscouts honour.β you raise your hand playfully.
the window he came through waits there, slipping the fabric back over his face, he pushes it open, cool air slipping back inside, brushing past both of you. one leg over, then the other. he pauses when he's fully out, one hand braced against the frame as he stands on your fire escape.
he looks back, youβre still standing there, just inside the room, watching him. so you smile. you step forward and slide the window shut behind him. you make a show of locking it, twisting the latch with unnecessary emphasis.
a surprised huff of laughter slips out of him, gone almost as soon as it appears, he shakes his head, as he climbs down. leaving you on your own again.
you yawn as you make your way back to your bedroom, pausing when you see your bed still a mess from the aftermath of him. it tugs at your heart, sad, at the reminder that heβs gone. the sheets are still rumpled, you can still catch the faint scent of his cologne, mixed with the coppery trace of blood clinging to the fabric.Β
he lingers in your mind a lot longer than he should.
2026 IALREADYMADEYOUAPROMISE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED !
PAIRING: benjamin poindexter x fem!reader
WARNINGS: violence, intentional lowercase, no use of y/n
GENRE: dark romance
SONG INSPIRATION: my moon my man by feist
WORD COUNT: 1.4k
NOTE: love protective dex with my entire being
NAVIGATION | REQUEST | BENJAMIN POINDEXTER MASTERLIST
it had stopped being scary a long time ago.
somewhere between the fifth attempt and the tenth, the whole kidnapping thing lost itβs edge. it became inconvenient more than anything. it was honestly kind of more embarrassing for them.
so when you wake up tied to a wooden chair, ankles bound tight, wrists wrapped in layer after layer of duct tape, your first real thought isnβt fear, itβs irritation.
you shift slightly, testing the give. there was none. cheap bindings, though. sloppy work. your head throbs sharply on the right side, a dull pulse that makes you wince as consciousness settles properly. someone mustβve hit you harder than necessary. rude.
your vision swims at first, blurring the room into indistinct shapes and shadows. you blink a few times, forcing it to focus, and when it finally does, you take everything in at once. dim lighting, concrete walls, rough floor. and people, a lot of them.
thirty was your guess, maybe more. all armed, all tense. speaking over each other in a language you donβt quite catch at first, but the cadence clicks into place after a second.
russian? probably.
you exhale slowly through your nose, unimpressed. not long after you realise your mouth is taped shut. your eyes narrow. you make a noise anyway, muffled protest, more out of principle than anything else. it does the trick, several heads turn your way, conversations cutting short as attention shifts to you.
one of them steps forward. of course he does, thereβs always one. the leader type or at least he thinks he is.
he squares his shoulders, looming in front of you, expecting fear, panic, something. you just stare back, expression flat, completely unmoved by whatever intimidation routine heβs trying to sell.
it goes on a second too long. that's when you hear it, faint, at first. outside, not far at all. a whistle, your breath stills. another one follows, then another. and just like that, you start laughing. it comes out muffled behind the tape at first, but it builds quickly, shoulders shaking, breath hitching, the sound turning almost hysterical as it spills out of you.
because of course, of course he found you. the men around you stiffen instantly, confusion snapping into alertness. they glance at each other, hands tightening on their weapons, unease spreading throughout the room.
above you, the noises escalate. heavy thuds. the crack of something hitting the ground. shouting. gunfire, short bursts. your laughter only gets more aggressive.
the man in front of you grabs your jaw roughly, ripping the tape off in one harsh pull. it stings, skin burning as he leans closer, barking something at you, demanding answers, control, anything to steady the situation slipping through his fingers.
you donβt give him any of that, you just laugh in his face. itβs the wrong move. his hand comes out of nowhere. the contact is fast but firm. backhanding you hard enough that your head snaps to the side, the force ringing through your skull. you taste copper instantly, your lip splitting open under the impact.
silence hangs for half a second, before you turn back to him. blood on your teeth. smile cutting right through it. βyouβre so fucked.β you donβt even have time to savour the look on his face. because two seconds later, heavy footsteps. getting closer down the hallway.
more shouting erupts outside the room. someone yells to fall back. another gunshot, then another, but they sound messy now.Β
the door doesnβt just open, it gives. wood splinters inward, slamming against the wall hard enough to crack, for a split second everything freezes. every man in the room turns toward it, weapons raised, heβs already moving.
dex steps calmly into the crowded room. his shoulders loose, head slightly tilted as his eyes sweep the room once, thatβs all it takes for the first knife to leave his fingers, so fast it barely registers. a blur of dark grey, then a wet, choking sound as it sinks clean into the throat of the closest man. he drops instantly, hands clawing at nothing.
doesnβt even watch him fall. another step forward, another flick of his wrist, second blade, different angle. it catches someone mid raise, burying deep in his collarbone. the man screams, gun clattering to the floor. he closes the distance before the echo fades.
he pulls the knife free on his way past, using the same motion to send it flying again, this time straight into someoneβs eye. gunfire erupts, but itβs sloppy and panicked. he moves through it like itβs nothing, sidestepping, ducking just enough, weaving between lines of fire with an ease that looks almost lazy.Β
another knife appears in his hand, where from, you donβt even see and itβs already gone before anyone can adjust. one by one, they drop. some donβt even get a shot off. some try to rush him, a very bad idea on their end.
one man lunges, and dex catches the knife already lodged in his shoulder as he passes, ripping it free and dragging it across his throat in the same breath. he doesnβt stop moving in your direction.
bodies hit the ground faster than your eyes can track, the room filling with the tang of blood and gunpowder. the shouting turns into screaming, then into nothing at all, until thereβs only one left.
the so-called leader. he stumbles back, boots slipping slightly against the concrete, his earlier bravado completely gone. his gun shakes in his hands as he points it at your boyfriend, chest heaving, eyes wide.
dex slows, not out of caution, out of choice. he approaches him step by step, gaze locked, expression almost curious now. like heβs taking his time just to watch it sink in. the man fires, once, twice, misses both.
dex shifts just enough, the bullets skimming past him, and then heβs there, inside the space the man thought he had. his hand snaps up, grabbing the underside of the gun, twisting sharply.
the grip weakens instantly. the weapon is yanked free before the man can even react, dex brings it up and slams the back of it across his face. a sickening crack, he drops on the spot, crumpling.
silence settles back over the room, he lets the gun fall from his hand, it hits the floor with a dull clatter. he turns straight to you. the shift in his expression is immediate. he crosses the room in a few quick strides, casually stepping over the bodies. thereβs no hesitation when he reaches you, no pause to check anything else first.
his hands come up to your face, not rough, never rough with you, thumb brushing just under your split lip, gaze flicking over the blood there, the swelling already starting. thereβs something tight in his expression, angry that they hurt you but when you lean into his hand that rests against your cheek itβs gone.
βyou okay, baby?β his voice wavers just enough to give him away. you let out a breath, half a laugh. βyeahβ¦ iβd just prefer my limbs to be free right about now.β he nods quickly. βyeah, course.β
slipping the knife out of the holster on his back. one hand steadies your wrists, turning them slightly. the blade slips under the tape and cuts through it cleanly, stopping short of your skin every time.
he peels it away, careful, like even that might hurt. βthere,β he murmurs.
your hands drop, stiff, tingling as feeling comes back. heβs already moving, crouching in front of you. hand wrapping around your ankle, holding it still. the knife works through the tape in short, controlled cuts. the bindings fall away.
he doesnβt pull back right away. his hand stays there for a second before he looks up at you. βcan you stand?β you nod and lean forward, but your legs donβt quite follow, heβs already there.
one arm around your waist, the other at your back, lifting you up before you can stumble. he keeps you close, steadying you, but doesnβt let go once youβre standing. instead, he pulls you in.
your chest presses against his. his grip tightens, just enough to feel it. his face drops to your shoulder, sighing into it. feeling his breath even through his mask. he just lets himself hold you for a second.
his hand moves up your back, fingers curling into your clothes, keeping you there.
βiβve got you. youβre okay.β he says it under his breath, it sounding more for himself than for you.
you stay there for a second, letting him hold you, before you pull back just enough to look at him. βcan we please get the hell out of here? iβm hungry.β he lets out a short breath that almost passes for a laugh, his arm settles around your shoulders as he turns you with him.
βyeah,β he agrees, always giving you what you want, already guiding you toward the door.Β
βwhatβre you hungry for?β
2026 IALREADYMADEYOUAPROMISE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED !
PAIRING: benjamin poindexter x fem!reader
WARNINGS: intentional lowercase, no use of y/n, slight stalking
GENRE: fluff
SONG INSPIRATION: latch x close - carissamixes (on soundcloud)
WORD COUNT: 3.7k
NOTE: my first of many fics of him
NAVIGATION | REQUEST | BENJAMIN POINDEXTER MASTERLIST
youβre not someone who has ever had the courage to ask someone out, never mind doing it somewhere public. youβd sat on a bench just off the main path, the busiest part of the park, where everyone passed through because it was the easiest way in and out. thatβs when you first saw him.
if you were being honest, you donβt think youβve ever seen a man that attractive in your life. not to put him on a pedestal or anything, but itβs hard not to when he looks like that. so big. broad shoulders, built without looking bulky. his arms alone were enough to make you do a double take, just to be sure you werenβt imagining it, especially when you realised heβd also glanced in your direction.
you smiled before you could stop yourself and he smiled back.
that somehow made him even worse, in the best way. how the fuck did that make him more attractive? you felt something twist in your stomach as he kept running past you, you felt disappointed⦠but not enough to stop yourself from watching him go.
god, he looked just as good from the back.
your face shifted before you could control it. eyebrows pulling together, mouth parting slightly in disbelief at your own thoughts. you snapped your mouth shut, heat creeping up your neck as you reminded yourself you were in public. it was far too early in the morning to be this flustered.
still, your eyes followed him as he got further away, convincing yourself you were being subtle when you were far from it. because he glanced back again while still running, and this time, when he caught you looking, you turned away a little too quickly.
oops.
you had told yourself you were coming to the park for the fresh air, clear your head, all that self improvement bullshit people swear by. but now? now you were coming for him. well you wanted to be.
the silver fox who had somehow slipped into your routine. the day after you first saw him, you found yourself praying. not properly, not seriously, just an embarrassed thought thrown out into the universe as you got ready that morning. that youβd been good enough, done enough decent things, that maybe youβd get lucky. that maybe youβd see him again.
and when you got there, sitting on that same bench, your eyes kept flicking up every few seconds, scanning the path, trying to act like you werenβt waiting. like you werenβt listening for the sound of the same steady footsteps approaching.
it felt stupid. a little desperate, even. five minutes passed. then ten, you told yourself youβd give it fifteen before you left. at twelve, you spotted him.
same path, same pace as last time. your chest tightened instantly, that same rush hitting you all over again, stronger this time because now you knew what to expect. you didnβt realise how hard it was to look nonchalant until you found yourself staring a little too intently at the trees in front of you, pretending they were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.
he hadnβt seen you yet, too focused on his run, but he was getting closer. close enough that you could pick out the details again, the way his shoulders moved with each step, the controlled rhythm of his breathing,Β
your fingers curled slightly against the bench. trying to grasp onto some sort of courage to call out for him to stop, to actually try and talk to him. and then, like before, his eyes shifted right over to where you were sitting.
was he looking for you? the thought hits before you can stop it, and suddenly youβre overthinking everything, what youβd even say if he stopped, if he spoke, if he did anything other than run past like he had been.
it doesnβt matter because when he passes you this time, he looks right at you and smirks and just like that, heβs already moving past you. too late. again.
you hesitate for half a second too long, your body catching up to your brain just a moment after the opportunity has already slipped by. your mouth opens, like maybe you could still call out, say something, anything, but itβs pointless now.
heβs gone.
you huff out a quiet sigh, your head dropping slightly as frustration settles in your chest, heavier than it should be. you sit there for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the path he disappeared down, hoping thereβs any chance he might come back.
he doesnβt.
eventually, you force yourself to stand, brushing your hands over your clothes, trying to shake it off as you start the walk home. itβs quiet other than the sound of birds, your footsteps steady, but your mind wonβt leave it alone. it keeps circling back, what you couldβve said, how easily you couldβve just called out.
by the time you get home, youβre already tired of your own thoughts.
you try to get on with your day properly. you start with small things, chores youβd been putting off, tidying up your bedroom, putting things away, keeping your hands busy so your brain has something else to focus on. it works for a few minutes at a time, until it doesnβt. youβll pause, standing still in the middle of a task, your mind drifting straight back to him.
itβs irritating more than anything else. you donβt know him. youβve never spoken to him. and yet somehow, heβs there, so stuck in your head.
even when you go out later to get groceries, it doesnβt stop. you walk through the aisles, picking things up automatically, barely paying attention to what youβre actually there for. half aware of people passing by, a small, ridiculous part of you wondering if youβll just happen to see him again.
you donβt. you get what you need and leave, a little more annoyed at yourself than before.
back home, you try to reset. a shower usually helps. you stand under the water longer than you meant to, letting it run over your face, your hair, your shoulders, hoping itβll clear your head.
you lean your head back against the cold wall, eyes closed, and there he is, clear as anything. the way he looked at you, his pretty smile. you exhale, an annoyed sound escaping you, scrubbing your hands over your face.
itβs stupid. he's a goddamned stranger.
by the time youβre done and get into bed, the day has worn you out, but your mind hasnβt caught up. you shift under the covers, trying to get comfortable, turning onto your side, then your back, then your other side, but it doesnβt make much difference.
every time you close your eyes, youβre having the same problem. you open your eyes again, staring at the ceiling for a moment before letting them fall shut once more, trying to just let sleep come.
and just as youβre about to drift off, right on the edge of it. you think about tomorrow. excited for it.
little did you know, the stranger you had been fawning over had been thinking about you just as much. the difference was, he didnβt have to wonder. dex already knew your name.
heβd known it just after you smiled at him the first time. before you started showing up at the park at the same time every morning, settling into that same bench just off the path, it wasn't a coincidence to him. nothing ever was.
at first, you were just another face. someone who noticed him. that alone had been enough to make him look twice, because most people didnβt. he made sure of that. early runs, controlled routes, minimal interaction, pretty much invisible. but you noticed.
and then you kept noticing, thatβs what made him curious. so he looked into you to make sure you weren't a threat. it hadnβt taken long. it never did. a name turned into a profile, a profile into patterns, then into something more solid.Β
where you worked, where you lived, the places you frequented, the small habits you probably didnβt even realise you had. he didnβt need to speak to you to know you, but knowing wasnβt enough.
not anymore, because the deeper he looked, the more he longed, the more he needed you. he wanted to know what made you tick. what you loved. what disgusted you. what made your expression change, what made you smile and cry.
what you thought about him.
thatβs the one that lingered the most. heβd taken the same route every morning on purpose. timed it. adjusted it, early enough that there wouldnβt be many people around, less distractions, less unnecessary onlookers.
just you. you, on that bench, you, pretending not to watch him. you, looking anyway.
and every time he passed, he let himself look back just enough to catch you in the act. measuring your reactions. the way youβd tense, the way your gaze would snap away too late to pretend you hadnβt been staring.
you were subtle, but not subtle enough. by the second day, he was certain. you were waiting for him. and by the third? he didnβt show up. not because he didnβt want to, but because he wanted to see what youβd do when he didnβt.
the next day, you go back.
you tell yourself that it doesnβt mean anything, that youβd be here anyway and if he was too then itβd be a bonus but thereβs hope sitting in your stomach that says otherwise. it lingers there as you sit down, smoothing your hands over your clothes, eyes already drifting toward the path before you can stop yourself.
expecting him, like he might just appear if you look long enough. at first, you donβt think much of it. maybe heβs just later than usual. maybe you got here earlier. maybe you just missed him somehow, so you waited.
your eyes keep flicking back to the same spot, tracking every movement, every person that passes by, only to look away again when it isnβt him. you try to act normal about it, five minutes pass, then ten.
you shift slightly on the bench, adjusting your position, glancing down at your hands, at the ground, at your phone, at anything that isnβt the path, before your eyes betray you again, lifting back up in anticipation.
he still doesnβt show.
you stay longer than you mean to. longer than youβd ever usually sit here doing nothing. long enough that it starts to feel a little embarrassing that youβre waiting around for a guy.
βfuck,β you mutter under your breath, leaning back against the bench, your head tipping up as you stare at the sky through the gaps in the trees. the air feels cooler today, or maybe thatβs just the way the disappointment settles back into your chest.
if youβd just done something yesterday, anything, you couldβve maybe, possibly had his number by now. you couldβve said something, even something stupid, something small, just enough to start something.
at the very least, youβd know his name.
instead, youβre stuck here, feeling a little pathetic over a man youβve never spoken to, clinging to a few shared glances as if they meant more than they probably did. βmaybe it's for the better.β you think to yourself.
you let out a exaggerated breath through your nose, eyes falling shut for a second before you push yourself up from the bench. your hands brush over your clothes, a pointless attempt to shake the feeling off.
the bell above the door chimes softly as you step inside, warmth wraps around you instantly, chasing away the chill that had settled under your clothes, the smell of coffee hits you just as quickly, itβs almost comforting. something sweet is baking somewhere behind the counter, the scent of it lingering in the air.
itβs quieter than usual. a few people sit scattered around, heads down, wrapped up in their own mornings, their own routines, untouched by the strange weight sitting in your chest. you exhale slowly, feeling some of the tension leave your shoulders as you step further inside, the normalcy of it all settling around you.
your hands slide into your bag to grab your purse out as you approach the counter, already knowing what you wanted, something you wouldn't normally order on a colder day βcause of the ice but you needed something to cheer you up.
you step up to the counter, offering the barista a small smile as you give your order, your voice coming out steadier than you feel. she nods as she listens, repeating it back to you as she scribbles it down on the cup, the scratch of the pen quick and familiar.
you pay, fingers brushing briefly against the counter as you use you pull out your card, swiping it, and she gives you an easy smile in return before turning away, already moving toward the machine to start your drink.
βwonβt be long,β she calls, almost over her shoulder.
you nod, murmuring a quiet thanks before stepping off to the side, out of the way of the next person in line and then you wait. itβs different from the park, but not by much.
your weight shifts slightly from one foot to the other as you stand there, hands loosely clasped, your gaze drifting around the shop, just passing the time. you take in the small details, the low hum of conversation, the soft clatter of cups, the steady hiss of the coffee machine as it works.
you try to focus on it. on anything, but your mind wanders.
it wanders, uninvited, pulling you right back to him. to the way youβd waited longer than you should have, you shake your head pulling you back to reality. your jaw tightens slightly, and you look away, eyes landing on nothing in particular as you exhale through your nose.
your drink gets slid across the counter toward you, the cup cold against your fingers as you pick it up. you thank her again, offering a small smile before turning toward the exit.
your attention drifts as you walk, one hand adjusting the strap of your handbag as it slips down your shoulder for what feels like the hundredth time today. you fumble with it absentmindedly, not really watching where youβre going, your focus split between not dropping your drink and fixing the strap.
which is exactly why you nearly walk straight into someone, but theyβre quicker. hands catch your upper arms, firm and steady, stopping you in place before you can collide fully, before your drink can tip and spill all over both of you.
you gasp softly at the sudden contact, your body going still for a second before your eyes finally lift and itβs him. oh my god. itβs him.
up close, heβs taller than you expected, broader too, close enough now that he's impossible to ignore. for a second, your brain justβ¦ stalls.
you let out a nervous laugh, your grip tightening slightly around your cup. βiβm so sorry,β you blurt out, words tripping over themselves just a little. βyou really saved the both of us there.β
he laughs too, softer but just as easy, and it does nothing to help the way your minds running wild. his hands slide off your arms as he takes a small step back, giving you space again. you try not to notice the absence of them.
βno worries,β he brushes it off, voice calm, βyouβre good.β thereβs a brief pause after that.
one of those moments that stretches just a second too long, where neither of you move, neither of you speak, just looking at each other. the longer it goes on, the more aware you become of everything. of how close he still is. of the way heβs looking at you. of how he almost blocks out the light behind him, almost like heβs unintentionally crowding your space without being in it.
it makes something in your stomach twist. βheyβ¦ have we met before?β he asks, breaking the silence, his head tilting slightly as he looks down at you. βyou look really familiar.β you canβt tell if heβs joking.
thereβs something in his tone that sounds genuine, but then again, youβve caught him looking at you enough times that it doesnβt feel like he wouldnβt know it's you. still, you answer honestly.
βnot officially,β you reply, a smile pulling at your lips as you glance at his before looking back into his eyes, βbut iβve seen you at the park a couple of times.β
you say it casually, like he hasnβt been on your mind, like you didnβt sit there this morning waiting for him to show up and then it clicks. the shift in his expression, the slight lift of his brows, the quiet recognition settling in as a low, drawn out βohhβ leaves him.
βright,β he says, almost to himself, his focus lingers on you for a second longer than necessary, something unreadable sitting behind it now. βyeah. that makes sense.βΒ
the silence is back again, his mouth curves, just slightly, not quite a smile, not quite that same smirk from before, but something in between.
βso youβre the one who sits on the bench,β he adds, a little more certain now. your stomach flips. thereβs no teasing in his voice. justβ¦ observation. like heβs been paying attention too. βguess i am,β you reply, trying to keep your voice light, trying to play it cool as you shift your weight onto your other foot.
his eyes flick briefly to your cup, then back to you, βi didnβt see you this morning,β he noticed. the thought rings loud in your mind, catching you off guard as you scramble to respond, βyeah, um, you mustβve just missed me,β you reply quickly, the words coming out a little too fast.
the eye contact doesnβt waver. βdefinitely,β and thereβs something in the way he says it makes you question if he believes you at all. you canβt tell if heβs flirting or if heβs just being polite, or if youβre reading too much into all of this again.
but either way, you can feel the moment slipping if you donβt do something. youβve already spent the last couple of days replaying missed chances in your head, youβre not doing that again.
so you take a breath. βhey,β you start, your nails digging into your free palm, βi know this is completely random and you can totally shut me down if you want, butβ¦β
your heart is pounding now, loud enough youβre convinced he can hear it. βcould i get your number?β you manage, your voice a little unsteady but still there. βi think youβre really cute, and i kindaβ¦ want to go out with you sometime.β
your words hanging there between you. you brace for it, for the awkward smile. the apology. the sorry, iβve got a partner thatβll make you wish the ground would just open up beneath you.
it doesnβt come. instead, his entire expression shifts, his face lighting up in a way that catches you off guard completely.
βyeah,β he agrees immediately, shyly smiling down at the ground, already reaching into his pocket, pulling his phone out. βyeah, iβd love that.β
your eyes widen slightly, relief hitting you all at once, followed by a shaky breath you didnβt realise you were holding. βoh, okay,β you let out, a disbelieving laugh slipping through.
βhere,β stepping a little closer again, angling his screen toward you. βput your number in instead.β
you hesitate for half a second, not because you donβt want to, but because this suddenly feels very real, before stepping into his space and taking his phone. your fingers brush his as you do, and you feel it more than you probably should.
you type your name and your number. for a moment, you consider just leaving it at that, but then you add a small note next to your name, something to make him remember.
you hand his phone back, the smile on your lips starting to make your cheeks ache from how long itβs been there. βso you donβt forget.β his eyes flick down to the screen, and you catch the way his mouth curves again. βi wouldnβt,β so sure of it that it doesnβt even sound like a possibility worth considering.Β
something about the way he says it makes your stomach flip again, the certainty of it settling somewhere deeper. he taps at his phone for a second, and then your own buzzes in your pocket almost immediately. βthere,β he smirks, glancing back up at you, βnow youβve got mine too.β
you pull your phone out, your eyes dropping to the notification lighting up your screen before you look back up at him, some of your nerves finally easing now that this is actually happening. βi guess iβll text you then,β you get out, trying not to sound disappointed that you have to go.
βyeah,β he replies, holding your eyes just a second longer than necessary, as if heβs making sure you mean it. βdo that.β thereβs a pause before he adds, βiβm glad you asked.β you look away shyly, the weight of his attention suddenly a little too much, before you glance back up at him.
βyeahβ¦ me too.β your eyes flick over him in a way thatβs not even close to subtle, a quick up down that you donβt bother to hide as you shift your weight and start to move past him. you can feel his eyes on you as you go, and when you push the door open and step out, it doesnβt leave. he turns slightly, watching you walk away, only looking away when you disappear out of sight.
2026 IALREADYMADEYOUAPROMISE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED !
PAIRING: peter parker x fem!reader
WARNINGS: temporary relationship conflict, guilt, argument, no use of y/n
GENRE: angst/comfort
PLAYLIST: here
WORD COUNT: 1.6k
NOTE: hope the game fandom are still alive for this fic lol
navigation | ask | insomniac peter parker masterlist
this week had been one of the worst that heβd had in a long way. peter was trying to keep the city from tearing itself apart while his own life frayed quietly at the seams. patrols had gone wrong, a lead heβd been chasing for days dissolved into nothing. a call he couldnβt answer in time replayed on a loop in his head.Β
bills he hadnβt had time to look at were stacked on the counter. messages unanswered, his responsibilities multiplied and he had been running on fumes for days, sleeping for only short periods of time, eating whatever he could grab between swinging from rooftops.Β
so when he finally pushed through the apartment door that night, shoulders aching, knuckles split beneath the gloves he hadnβt bothered to change out of yet, he was already wound too tight. the room was warm, lamplight soft against the walls, the quiet of your shared home wrapping around him in a way that usually made his chest loosen.Β
and there you were, exactly where you always were when he stumbled in too late and too tired, bare feet against the floor, hair a little messy from waiting up, eyes brightening the second you saw him.
βhey,β you called gently, like you always did, crossing the small distance between you. βhow was your day?β
it was a simple question, but to him it felt like a spotlight on everything that had gone wrong.
you reached for him carefully, fingers brushing his arm. βare you hungry? i can heat something up. i know you forget to eat when youβre out late.β your voice was soft, teasing in a fond way that usually made him smile. βwait-β you leaned up slightly.Β
βcan i get a kiss first?β
it should have been comfort. instead, something inside him snapped.
βcan you not?β the words came out sharper than he intended, his tone edged with exhaustion and irritation. he stepped back, running a hand through his hair. βi just walked through the door.β
you blinked, startled but still trying. βi know, i just- i missed you. i was just asking.β
βi know youβre asking,β he shot back, voice rising without meaning to
βyouβre always asking. how was your day, are you hungry, do you need this, do you need that-β he exhaled harshly, pacing a step away from you like the walls were too close. βitβs a lot. itβs justβ¦ itβs a lot.β
your hands fell slowly to your sides.
βiβm just trying to be nice,β your words quiet.
βwell itβs annoying, okay?β his words landed heavy and ugly between you. he didnβt even realise how cruel it sounded until it was already out there, hanging in the air. βi donβt need to be interrogated the second i walk through the door. itβs exhausting.β
the room went still. the warmth that had wrapped around him minutes ago drained away. the only sound was the faint buzz of the fridge from the kitchen.
you swallowed thickly, nodding once. βokay.β your voice was small. smaller than heβd ever heard it.
he didnβt look at you properly. if he had, he wouldβve seen the shine in your eyes immediately, the way your throat worked to hold back the sob building there. but he was still too deep in his own frustration, too blinded by everything that had piled up on him all week.
he muttered something under his breath, he didnβt even know what and walked past you, down the short hallway toward the bathroom, the bedroom, anywhere that wasnβt the weight of that silence.
the door clicked shut and then there was nothing but quiet, it took five minutes.
five minutes of standing alone, hands braced on the sink, staring at his reflection, tired eyes, bruised cheekbone, jaw clenched too tight. five minutes for the adrenaline to drain. for the anger to cool. for the words heβd thrown at you to replay in his head with horrifying clarity.
annoying.
exhausting.
he let out a shaky breath. what the hell was he doing?
you had done nothing. youβd been gentle, youβd been waiting up for him like you always did. offering food, offering affection, offering comfort, more than he ever deserved.
and heβd treated you like you were one more problem to solve.
his stomach dropped.
he pushed away from the sink immediately, heart racing for an entirely different reason now. shame burned hotter than any injury heβd taken that week, he opened the door and stepped back into the shared space, dread pooling in his chest.
you were still standing almost exactly where heβd left you.
except now you were turned slightly away, shoulders drawn inward, arms wrapped around yourself. your head was bowed, and the softest, quietest sound reached his ears, uneven breathing you were trying desperately to control.
you were crying. not loudly, silent tears slipping down your cheeks while you tried to compose yourself.
βhey,β he nudged, voice stripped of all its earlier sharpness. it cracked on the single word.Β
βheyβ¦ i-β you didnβt turn around right away, you wiped at your face quickly, almost as if you didnβt want him to see and that somehow hurt even more.
βiβm sorry,β he blurted out, stepping toward you carefully, βiβm so, so sorry. i didnβt mean that. i didnβt mean any of it.β
you finally looked at him then, eyes swollen, lashes wet. βit didnβt feel like you didnβt mean it.β
the quiet honesty in your voice made his throat close.
βi know.β he nodded quickly, swallowing hard. βi know it didnβt. and thatβs on me. thatβsβ¦ thatβs completely on me.β he ran a hand over his face, pacing a half step before forcing himself to stay still. βyou werenβt doing anything wrong. you were being you. you were beingβ¦ kind. and i took everything out on you because i couldnβt handle my own crap.β
you looked away again, breathing still uneven. βyou called me annoying.β
his face crumpled, βi know.β his voice now barely above a whisper.
βi know, and i hate that i said that. youβre not annoying. youβre- god youβre the best part of my day. every day. i was just overwhelmed and i let it spill in the worst way possible.β
you didnβt move toward him yet. you didnβt reach for him like you usually would and he couldn't blame you.
βi would never-β he shook his head, stepping closer but not touching you yet. βi would never want to hurt you like that. iβm so sorry that i did. you didnβt deserve any of it, not a single word.β
it took a moment. a long one.
you sniffed softly, wiping your cheeks again. βit justβ¦ it caught me off guard. i was just happy you were home.β
that broke him all over again.
he closed the distance slowly, hands hovering before gently settling on your arms. βi know and i ruined that. iβm so sorry.β his forehead dipped toward yours, carefully. βthis weekβs been hell. stuff with patrols, stuff withβ¦ everything. iβve been dropping balls left and right and i feel like i canβt keep up. but that doesnβt give me the right to ever talk to you like that..β
your shoulders finally softened under his touch.
βyou can be stressed,β you murmured. βyou can be mad. justβ¦ not at me like that.β
βi wonβt.β his answer was immediate. firm. βi wonβt. never again and if i ever start to spiral like that again, iβll step away before i say something stupid. you donβt deserve to be my punching bag just because i canβt manage my emotions.β
a shaky breath left you, and after a beat, you leaned forward into him. the relief that flooded through him when your arms wrapped around his waist was overwhelming. he held you carefully at first, just in case you mightβve wanted to pull away, then tighter when you didnβt.Β
one hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, pressing a lingering kiss into your hair, βiβm really sorry,β he whispered again, his thumb brushing slow, absent circles against your arm, needing the reassurance that you were still there.
you sniffed once, βi know,β you replied quietly, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him squirm a little, your lips twitched. βyouβre lucky.β
his brows pulled together. βlucky?β
βmm.β you shifted slightly in his arms so you could look at him properly, tilting your head, βyouβre lucky iβm feeling generous tonight. i happen to be a very kind, very forgiving woman.β
he blinked at you, a flicker of cautious hope crossing his face. βoh yeah?β
βyeah.β you tapped a finger lightly against his chest. βsecond chances? i give those out. occasionally. on a limited time basis.β
a small, relieved huff of laughter escaped him. βlimited time basis?β
βvery exclusive offer.β you narrowed your eyes at him. βdo it again and i wonβt hesitate to cut your dick off, parker.β
he choked on a laugh, the sound bursting out of him before he could stop it. βokay! okay, wow- that escalated fast.β
βiβm serious,β you persist, trying, and failing, to keep a straight face. βsnip snip.β
βsnip sn-β he stared at you, half horrified, half wildly amused, βyou are terrifying.β
βyou love me.β
he did. god, he did.
his grin softened into something fond and almost disbelieving. βi donβt think iβve ever been threatened so effectively in my life.β
βyouβre welcome.β you folded your arms, feigning composure. βi contain multitudes.β
he shook his head, leaning his forehead against yours, laughter fading into a quiet exhale. the heaviness that had been suffocating him earlier felt lighter now, cracked open by your humour, by the fact that you were still here, still teasing him, still choosing him.
βfor the record,β he murmured, hugging you tighter against him, βi plan on keeping everything exactly where it is.β
βsmart choice.β
βand i definitely plan on not snapping at the only person in my life brave enough to threaten bodily harm and still cuddle me afterward.β
you rolled your eyes, but your hands slid up to curl into the fabric of his shirt nonetheless. βyouβre lucky i like you.β
he smiled, βthe luckiest.β
2026 IALREADYMADEYOUAPROMISE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED !
PAIRING: steve harrington x gn!reader
WARNINGS: intentional lowercase, no use of y/n
GENRE: fluff
WORD COUNT: 598
navigation | ask | steve harrington masterlist
steve doesnβt let just anyone touch his car.
not sit in it without wiping their feet, not lean on it, definitely not drive it.
which is how you end up holding the keys.
theyβre warm from his palm when he drops them into yours, metal clinking softly against your skin. you blink at them, then at him.
βsteve,β you start, already shaking your head, βi thought we agreed iβd just-β
βyouβre fine,β he cuts in quickly, βi trust you.β
that makes you pause.
because steve trusting someone with this. his pristine, polished, lovingly maintained car isn't casual. itβs sacred. this car is his pride, his pride and joy.
and heβs handing it to you like itβs nothing, βyou trust me?β you repeat, softer.
he shrugs, but thereβs a faint pink creeping up his neck. βyou donβt slam doors. you wipe your feet. you donβt mess with the mirrors every two seconds.β
you laugh, slipping into the driverβs seat while he circles around to the passenger side, the leather crinkles under you, when you adjust the seat he watches closely.
βcomfortable?β he asks.
you glance at him, smiling. βrelax. iβve got her.β his eyebrows lift, surprised and pleased. he buckles in, posture easing just a little.
βokay. yeah. good.β
you start the engine smoothly, he exhales like heβd been holding his breath that entire time. as you pull onto the road, his hand drifts from the console to your thigh instead, resting there, thumb brushing lightly just as heβd do when you were in the passenger seat.
βyou know,β he voices, a little quieter now, βthis is kind of a big deal.β
you nod, eyes on the road but a giddy smile on your face. βi know.β
a comfortable silence settles in. the road hums beneath the tires, the sun glints off the hood, and he watches you drive with something sappier than nerves in his expression. trust, pride, maybe even a little awe.
at a red light, you glance over. heβs smiling at you.
βyou look so good over there, the true passenger princess.β
he scoffs. βdonβt encourage this. iβm not a passenger princess.β
βyou want the mirror down too?β he rolls his eyes playfully as you laugh.
by the time you pull up outside dustinβs place, steveβs fully given into his fate, until dustin flings the door open and freezes.
ββ¦why are you driving?β
you barely have time to speak before dustinβs already talking over you, βno, no, no. this is wrong. this is deeply wrong.β
steve sighs dramatically, βi knew this would cause problems.β
dustin gets into the backseat, eyes wide. βsteve doesnβt let anyone drive. i ask all the time and it's a no!β
βcorrect,β steve agrees. βyou fail to mention the fact that you never wipe your feet before getting in.β
dustin ignores him, turning to you instead. βso what, now thereβs favouritism?β
you grin. βlooks that way.β
steve lifts his chin. βitβs not favoritism. itβs trust.β
βoh, itβs favouritism,β dustin fires back. βiβve known you for years! iβve bled with you!β
βyou spilled pudding cups in the backseat,β steve shoots back, βrepeatedly.β
βthat was one time!β
βit was three times.β
dustin collapses back into his seat with a huff. βunbelievable. i canβt believe i have to sit back here while she gets to drive.β
βitβs only fair, sheβs earned it.β
you pull back onto the road, laughing as dustin continues muttering about unfair treatment and betrayal. steve leans closer, lowering his voice just for you.
βdonβt let it go to your head,β he jokes.
2026 IALREADYMADEYOUAPROMISE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED !
PAIRING: hudson williams x gn!reader
WARNINGS: intentional lowercase, no use of y/n
GENRE: fluff
PLAYLIST: here
WORD COUNT: 553
NOTE: i actually love writing fics for him
navigation | ask | hudson williams masterlist
you step out into the streets with him and immediately feel it. that weird, buzzy awareness. itβs a nice day, the kind that makes people linger outside, the kind that invites wandering eyes. ever since the show came out, everything feelsβ¦ louder.Β
and it's changed the way people look at him now. at you, or at least, the possibility of you.
so you do the sensible thing.
you put space between you and him.
not a lot! just enough to look casual. just enough that, to anyone watching, youβre two people walking in the same direction, friends if anything.
hudson notices immediately.
he slows a little, glancing sideways at the empty air between you, then back at you. his brows knit together, confused and amused all at once. βwhy are you so far away from me?β he asks, stretching his arm out like he expects your hand to already be there.Β
βyou usually steal it by now.β
you keep your eyes forward, pretending to be very interested in a shop window. βbecause,β you say carefully, βyou haveβ¦fans now.β
he lets out a short laugh, βokay? and?β
βand your manager,β you continue, quieter. βwhat if somebody sees us? i donβt want to make things awkward for you, plus i like her. we get along. i donβt want her thinking iβm some kind ofβ¦β you gesture vaguely between the two of you, βdistraction.β
hudson stops walking for half a second, just to stare at you as if youβve said the silliest thing he's ever heard. then he shakes his head, smiling. βyouβre being ridiculous.β
you finally look at him, βiβm just being considerate.β
βwho cares what they think?β he pushes on, already stepping closer, trying to hook a pinky around yours, βcome here.β
you squeak a laugh and jump away before he can grab you, skipping a step to the side. βhudson- no!β
he laughs louder at that, actually tries again, reaching for you like itβs a game now. βyouβre acting like weβre doing something illegal.β
βi just donβt want to cause problems,β you insist, though youβre smiling despite yourself.
he sighs dramatically, but he lets you keep your spaceβ¦ for now. βfine,β he gives in, shaking his head, βif it really makes you feel better.β
you walk like that for a couple of minutes, side by side but not touching. you relax a little, start talking about what you want to buy, completely unaware that hudson is absolutely not letting this go.
as you're mid sentence, you feel a firm tug on your arm.
before you can react, he pulls you straight into his side, tucking you comfortably under his arm. his arm settles around your shoulders. you look up at him, stunned.
heβs already looking down at you, wearing the smuggiest smile youβve ever seen.
βoh my god,β you scoff, lifting your hand to knock lightly against his chest. βyouβre ridiculous." you throw back at him with a giggle.
he barely reacts, just tightens his arm a fraction, grin widening. βthere,β he sighs happily, satisfied, βmuch better.β
you huff, but you donβt move away. not when his thumb absentmindedly rubs against your shoulder, not when he leans just a little closer as you walk.
if anyoneβs actually watching the two of you, they can watch βcause you're both right where you wanna be.
2026 IALREADYMADEYOUAPROMISE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED !
PAIRING: steve harrington x gn!reader
WARNINGS: sick steve, intentional lowercase, no use of y/n
GENRE: fluff
PLAYLIST: here
WORD COUNT: 1.3k
NOTE: steve's always looking after everyone else so here's you looking after him :D
navigation | ask | steve harrington masterlist
it was that cold time of year again. the kind that crept into your clothes no matter how many layers you wore, hawkins always seemed to sharpen in winter, the air biting and like clockwork, every single year, steve got sick.
back when you were younger, heβd lean fully into it. dramatic sighs, insisting he was dying, clinging to you, demanding your full, undivided attention. you never really minded.
youβd tuck him into bed, feed him soup by the spoonful, let him nap with his head in your lap while you brushed his hair back from his forehead.
but steve was in his twenties now, older. βmature,β he liked to say.
which apparently meant pretending he was fine while clearly not being fine at all.
you noticed it before anyone actually told you. you always did. steve stopped answering the phone as fast, his replies shorter. he cancelled plans with weak excuses. long shift, tired, rain check? and when you ran into dustin, he wouldnβt meet your eyes.
that was when you knew.
βokay,β you pressed, arms crossed as dustin shuffled from foot to foot, guilt written all over his face, βwhatβs wrong with steve?β
dustin swallowed, βnothing.β you raised a brow.
ββ¦heβs fine,β dustin tried again.
another look from you and he gave in.
βhe told me not to tell you,β dustin blurted, hands flying up in surrender. βbut heβs sick. like, really sick. sniffly. coughing.β
your heart sank. dustin winced, βhe didnβt want you to worry.β
of course he didnβt.
you thanked dustin quickly, already halfway out the door, the first thing you did wasnβt drive to steveβs. it was the store.
you moved through the aisles on autopilot, basket filling fast. soup, two kinds, just in case. crackers. orange juice, tissues, cold and flu medicine, throat lozenges. his favourite snacks, you grabbed a cheap bouquet of flowers last minute, feeling a little silly, but he always smiled when you brought them.
by the time you pulled up outside his place, the sky had darkened, cold settling deeper into the evening. you balanced the bags in your arms and knocked.
it took longer than usual for him to answer, when the door finally opened, steve stood there blinking at you.
his hair was a mess, sticking up in odd places. his nose was pink, irritated. his eyes were half lidded, glassy with exhaustion. he was wrapped in a hoodie that looked two sizes too big, sleeves swallowed over his hands.
he stared at you.
βhow did you-?β his voice cracked halfway through the sentence, rough and hoarse. he stopped, scowling faintly. βdamn it, henderson.β
you didnβt even respond. you shifted the bags and lightly pushed past him, toeing the door shut behind you as you headed straight for the kitchen, "hey- wait-β steve followed slowly, sniffing.Β
βyou didnβt have to come over. iβm okay.β
βyou sound great,β you replied sarcastically, already setting the bags down on the counter. you glanced over your shoulder at him, βtruly thriving.β
he opened his mouth to argue and immediately had to stop to cough, turning away and pressing his sleeve to his face. the sound made you worry more but you didnβt comment, you just started unpacking.
soup into a pot. crackers lined up neatly on a tray you had remembered from a cupboard below, medicine placed front and centre. you filled the kettle, flicked on the stove.
steve hovered uselessly in the doorway, arms crossed tight around himself.
βi didnβt want you to worry,β he muttered.
you paused for half a second, then continued stirring. βyou donβt get to decide that.β
βiβm not a kid anymore,β he argued weakly, voice going softer with every word. βi can handle a cold.β
βyou canβt even handle opening a can when youβre sick.β
βthat was one time.β you finally turned to look at him fully.
he looked awful. pale, shoulders slumped, eyes tired in a way that made something in your chest ache, the tough act was slipping, little by little.
βgo sit,β you told him.
βiβm fine-β
βsteve.β
that was all it took, he sighed, defeated, and shuffled toward to the couch, collapsing onto it. you watched him for a moment before turning back to the stove.
you set the tray carefully on the coffee table. grabbing the medicine, whilst you wait for the soup to cool down a bit, he looked up at you, βi appreciate you and everything but you really didnβt have to do all this,β he murmured.
you handed him the spoon. βtake your damn medicine, harrington.β he swallowed his complaints along with the liquid, wincing slightly.
you waited a little before giving him the soup, you made sure for it not to be too hot on purpose to be careful of his sore throat.
you picked up the bowl, holding it closer so he didn't have to strain himself, he was a little embarrassed that you were babying him but gave in, his shoulders relaxing with the first few bites. you pressed the back of your hand to his forehead, warm, but nothing alarming, brushing his hair back when it fell into his eyes.
his lashes fluttered.
βare you staying?β he asked quietly, βyeah,β you replied just as sweetly. βiβm staying.β
he leaned into you without thinking, done with eating, you slightly leaned over to put the bowl back onto the tray, being careful to not let his head fall off of your shoulder. the act was gone now, replaced by the steve you knew best, the one who trusted you enough to be taken care of.
you reached for the remote, turning the tv on low. some old movie playing, nothing too loud, just enough to fill the silence. βcβmere,β you murmured, laying back down onto the couch, patting your chest lightly.
steve blinked down at you, eyes heavy, brain clearly a step behind, βhuh?β
βmove,β you laugh, βjust a little.β
he shifted with a quiet groan, until he was half sprawled across you, his head settling against your chest, cheek warm even through your shirt. one of his arms curled loosely around your waist. grabbing the blanket that was laid across the back of the couch, adjusting it around you two, tucking it up over his shoulders before your fingers found their way into his hair.
you stroked through it slowly, nails dragging lightly over his scalp, smoothing it back again and again. steve melted immediately. no words, just a deep exhale.
βthere you go,β you whispered, mostly to yourself.
his breathing began to even out, each breath heavier than the last. you felt the tension leave him in pieces, the way his shoulders dropped, the way his grip on you loosened until it was nothing but a gentle hold.
you kept stroking his hair, thumb tracing slow circles at his temple, watching his eyelids flutter shut, he hadnβt slept last night, you could tell. it showed in the way his body gave into yours so easily.
you liked this, being here, taking care of him.
steve never really had this growing up. parents always gone, always busy, always leaving him to fend for himself. he learned early how to look after everyone else, how to be strong, how to brush things off. even now, sick and exhausted, his first instinct had been to hide it from you.
but here, like this, he let himself be held.
his breathing deepened and within minutes his weight relaxed fully against you. asleep, properly asleep.
you smiled softly, hand never stopping itβs gentle path through his hair.
βrest,β you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
and you stayed just like that, the tv murmuring in the background, steve sleeping on your chest, being looked after the way he always shouldβve been.
you stayed all night cause thatβs what he needed.Β
no matter how old he got, steve still had you.
2026 IALREADYMADEYOUAPROMISE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED !
