the good fight - pt3 (Ben poindexter x reader)
summary: your surprise (somewhat forced) hangout at your new neighbours apartment causes subconscious emotions to bubble to the surface
an: this took so long to write and is pretty bad because exams have been stressing me out sm 😓 part 3.5 will be out before the end of the week i just wanted to write a lil smth before i have to study again ugh kill me
part one, part two !! ⠀⠀ ˚⊱masterlist⊰˚
you really couldn’t believe a human lived here, i mean was he even human at this point? his living situation is a stark contrast to your own- you could hardly protect your dismal little room from chaos. you honestly felt a little ashamed to even enter, you’d feel guilty if you contaminated his apartment with your chronic disarray.
you suddenly hear yourself think. you should feel guilty? no. he should feel guilty. for what you couldn’t think of right now, i didn’t matter if it’s right it only matters that you feel it.
you can practically feel your bones shivering with fear, your skin aches as it desperately tries to pull you out of the wolf’s den. though there’s a static charge of adrenaline on the verge of short circuting your nervous system. it’s contorting your muscles and mechanically forcing you to enter. you weren’t complaining though.
your lack of forward thinking comes back to foil any allusions of mystery or control you once had; as you begin aimlessly wandering the bare expanse of his living room.
“you owe me another coffee, and a pastry. you splattered blood over mine, it’s pretty expensive round here so.”
the end of your sentence fading into a pile of unfinished confessions. he probably wasn’t even listening right now. you spin on your heels to confront him, hoping to find a few cracks in his stoic facade.
he hums in acknowledgment, it’s only then when you notice the smell of rich coffee filling the air. two identical mugs stand on the counter, gentle billows of smoke rising as he gently stirs them.
accompanied by a simple, not-stale croissant resting on a matching appetiser plate. what the hell?
you didn’t really know how to react, you tried to mull over whatever his intentions were, how had he even remembered such minuscule details, like what you had been eating durin dwhat better than to ask?
you hum in reply, punctuated by an chuckle of surrender. it felt awkward, and a little dangerous to try a claw for answers any deeper. so for now you’d be grateful, be careful, and try to wring something useful from the uncharted territory you’d veered into.
you slowly approach the kitchen island, pristine tiles squeaking under your movements. you gesture to the tucked island stall closest to you, slowly taking a seat. you tried to not make any sudden movements, as not to catalyse any violent tendencies festering under his scarred skin.
you knew that wasn’t his name, it wasn’t difficult to find the real names of wanted vigilantes in fisk’s new york. so you couldn’t help your lips from curling into a smile and you bit into the flaky croissant.
“what are you doing here?”
he asks, standing across from you, thick forearms out-turned towards you as he leaned against the kitchen island on his palms.
you patiently finish chewing the bite in your mouth and take a sip of the coffee, prepared just as you liked it, before you replied.
you smirk, tauntingly staring straight into - deep, greying eyes with your own- wide eyed and glittering. you’re unsure who or what sowed the seeds of your newfound confidence, but you’d rue to day you didn’t reap the rewards.
the adrenaline had begun to subdue, and you regretted what you’d said as soon as it left your mouth. you felt reality settle on you as if the ceiling had fallen and knocked you unconscious; unluckily for you, you were still here. and you were scared out of your mind.
the cold, sterile air began to move, and you’d found yourself too scared to find out what had happened. though you didn’t need to because your question was quickly answered as Dex’ hot breath landed on your neck.
“if i didn’t want you hear you’d be dead already, but you know that, right?”
your breath hitched in anticipation. at this point you kinda deserved to die, constantly searching for danger. you’d evaded his knife before, maybe this time you wouldn’t be so lucky.
“so i’m gonna ask you one last time: what are you doing here”
the words escape his mouth slowly and methodically, as if you needed minutes to comprehend each word. you were grateful for the time dragging, because you honestly had no plan, no rhyme or reason to be here. maybe you just needed to feel normal after this week had uprooted your already unstable life.
His burning breath had reddened your neck and cheeks like dragons-breath. you couldn’t hold it in anymore.
something feral and primal had inhabited you, contorting your muscles against your minds reasoning. your head turned to meet his eyes again as your burning face crashed into his own, fires spreading across your own like a twin flame finally erupting.
you really couldn’t believe a human lived here, i mean was he even human at this point? his living situation is a stark contrast to your own- you could hardly protect your dismal little room from chaos. you honestly felt a little ashamed to even enter, you’d feel guilty if you contaminated his apartment with your chronic disarray.
you suddenly hear yourself think. you should feel guilty? no. he should feel guilty. for what you couldn’t think of right now, i didn’t matter if it’s right it only matters that you feel it.
you can practically feel your bones shivering with fear, your skin aches as it desperately tries to pull you out of the wolf’s den. though there’s a static charge of adrenaline on the verge of short circuting your nervous system. it’s contorting your muscles and mechanically forcing you to enter. you weren’t complaining though.
your lack of forward thinking comes back to foil any allusions of mystery or control you once had; as you begin aimlessly wandering the bare expanse of his living room.
“you owe me another coffee, and a pastry. you splattered blood over mine, it’s pretty expensive round here so.”
the end of your sentence fading into a pile of unfinished confessions. he probably wasn’t even listening right now. you spin on your heels to confront him, hoping to find a few cracks in his stoic facade.
he hums in acknowledgment, it’s only then when you notice the smell of rich coffee filling the air. two identical mugs stand on the counter, gentle billows of smoke rising as he gently stirs them.
accompanied by a simple, not-stale croissant resting on a matching appetiser plate. what the hell?
you didn’t really know how to react, you tried to mull over whatever his intentions were, how had he even remembered such minuscule details, like what you had been eating durin dwhat better than to ask?
you hum in reply, punctuated by an chuckle of surrender. it felt awkward, and a little dangerous to try a claw for answers any deeper. so for now you’d be grateful, be careful, and try to wring something useful from the uncharted territory you’d veered into.
you slowly approach the kitchen island, pristine tiles squeaking under your movements. you gesture to the tucked island stall closest to you, slowly taking a seat. you tried to not make any sudden movements, as not to catalyse any violent tendencies festering under his scarred skin.
you knew that wasn’t his name, it wasn’t difficult to find the real names of wanted vigilantes in fisk’s new york. so you couldn’t help your lips from curling into a smile and you bit into the flaky croissant.
“what are you doing here?”
he asks, standing across from you, thick forearms out-turned towards you as he leaned against the kitchen island on his palms.
you patiently finish chewing the bite in your mouth and take a sip of the coffee, prepared just as you liked it, before you replied.
you smirk, tauntingly staring straight into - deep, greying eyes with your own- wide eyed and glittering. you’re unsure who or what sowed the seeds of your newfound confidence, but you’d rue to day you didn’t reap the rewards.
the adrenaline had begun to subdue, and you regretted what you’d said as soon as it left your mouth. you felt reality settle on you as if the ceiling had fallen and knocked you unconscious; unluckily for you, you were still here. and you were scared out of your mind.
the cold, sterile air began to move, and you’d found yourself too scared to find out what had happened. though you didn’t need to because your question was quickly answered as Dex’ hot breath landed on your neck.
“if i didn’t want you hear you’d be dead already, but you know that, right?”
your breath hitched in anticipation. at this point you kinda deserved to die, constantly searching for danger. you’d evaded his knife before, maybe this time you wouldn’t be so lucky.
“so i’m gonna ask you one last time: what are you doing here”
the words escape his mouth slowly and methodically, as if you needed minutes to comprehend each word. you were grateful for the time dragging, because you honestly had no plan, no rhyme or reason to be here. maybe you just needed to feel normal after this week had uprooted your already unstable life.
His burning breath had reddened your neck and cheeks like dragons-breath. you couldn’t hold it in anymore.
something feral and primal had inhabited you, contorting your muscles against your minds reasoning. your head turned to meet his eyes again as your burning face crashed into his own, fires spreading across your own like a twin flame finally erupting.
