Alia was a fremen and an outsider, an Atreides and a Harkonnen, she was her father and she was the Baron, she was a Bene Gesserit and she was a heretic, she was an empress and a saint, a daughter, a sister, a lover, an aunt. but she was never herself.
i love the idea of bene gesserit! reader defying her orders and giving baelor 2 sons (valarr and matarys).
the reverend mother would be even more pissed when she finds out bene gesserit! reader not only gave baelor an heir but also a spare (matarys) 🙂↕️🙂↕️
lolll yess, i didn’t really think this through properly though because that would technically make matarys a second kwisatzch haderach?
so maybe it would make more sense for the canon dune lore to just happen (valarr growing up, arrakis being given to house targaryen when he’s a teenager, then the extermination of house targaryen happening (maybe the baratheon’s or lannisters being in on it, something akin to canon asoiaf?) bene gesserit!r and valarr going into the desert) except reader is pregnant (like jessica) when the fall happens and essentially matarys would be born on arrakis like alia !! (fem!matarys technically??)
but yeah anyway… the reverened mother would not be happy </3
your writing is as great as ever, baelor always reminded me of duke leto. both were honourable men that would’ve been great rulers and both are hot too 😶
in this au, would bene gesserit!reader defy the bene gesserit by giving baelor a son like lady jessica did?
oneshot here
ahh i'm so very glad this has reached the target audience!! i was genuinely worried people would straight-up have no idea what i'm talking about with the duke!baelor au lol
to answer your question however, i think yes, bene gesserit!reader would betray her oath and give baelor a son (which in this scenario then, paul would be valarr) but let's elaborate on that thought for a moment:
(discussion/hc’s under the cut)
imagine young bene gesserit!reader feeling completely estranged on dragonstone. she is trying her absolute best to adapt to the climate and her new life on this planet, but no matter how hard she tries, she keeps feeling like a total foreigner, a trespasser on their volcanic rock.
the people in the duke’s household (the swordmasters, the servants, the mentats) keep giving her these incredibly strange looks. they are constantly skeptical about her purpose and presence, carrying serious doubts about her truthsaying and her advising baelor. to them, she is just a bene gesserit witch sent there to seduce him and be a means to an end.
because of all this, reader is obviously feeling very squeamish and lowkey depressed since she is all alone. but then... Duncan the Tall!! (which in this case would be the equivelant of duncan idaho—lol, I never noticed how fitting it is). he’s Baelor's best swordmaster and the trainer of the entire targaryen military, and he ends up befriending her.
she actually starts trusting duncan. and because reader is still a bene gesserit, her skills of deception and hiding her true thoughts/emotions are superb— meaning Baelor has no idea how much she's struggling. duncan is the one who finally ends up telling baelor how incredibly hard it has been for her.
from then on, the duke starts making more time to be with her. they take meals together, eating breakfast and dining whenever he can find a free moment in his schedule. he takes her for long walks on the shores of dragonstone, telling her about the previous dukes of his house and the history of the massive dragon creatures living in the seas of dragonstone. she's skeptical about his motive at first, but after she sifts through his words and finds no lie behind them she relaxes.
he even starts teaching her about high Valyrian, and the man is absolutely half-shook (half-swooning) when he finds out she actually speaks high valyrian fluently already (courtesy of her bene gesserit training and being explicitly chosen to carry the duke's bloodline)
after that, everything starts going so much better. she begins aiding him in diplomatic missions, helping him devise strategy and deal with political opponents (Blackfyres khm khm), though maekar is still fiercely skeptical about her and her motives.
then, one evening... let's say on the exact one-year anniversary of her arrival on dragonstone, the reverend mother sends her a message which is essentially like: "okay, why are you not pregnant yet."
so reader utterly freaks out. she realizes she has entirely been neglecting the missionaria protectiva and instead has just been playing house with baelor, deeply indulging in this newfound freedom.
out of sheer guilt, she decides, "ok, it's time to utilize those skills and serve my purpose." she goes to baelor's bedchambers (because up until this point, they had still been sleeping in separate quarters) and tries to seduce him.
but baelor stops her. he's like, "i know why you're here. i know what the purpose of our union is." reader is left completely flustered and embarrassed, instantly thinking he doesn't want to bed her because he views her as a calculating bene gesserit witch.
instead of letting her leave, baelor pulls her close and confides in her. he tells her he sees her beyond a vessel to be bred, and she genuinely almost combusts on scene.
however he does confesses that the thing he wishes for most in the entire world is a son. the blackfyres are actively threatening to overtake the line of the targaryens, and a male heir is literally the one sole thing he needs most to secure the realm.
this plunges reader into a massive ethical dilemma. the reverend mother and the missionaria strictly need a daughter from this union to stay on track to produce the kwisatz haderach. but the man she has grown to love, the man who treats and looks at her as something more than a mere political tool, desperately needs (and wants) a son.
when finally the moment of consummation arrives and her and baelor are finally going at it passionately, she begins crying. baelor thinks she's just overwhelmed by the pure emotion of the moment. in reality, she is entirely overwhelmed by the choice she has to make the exact second he spills his seed inside of her.
in that sole moment of euphoria, she decides, "yeah, I love him too much to not give him a son." she uses her organic control to choose the gender. and from then on, the rest is history.
BANE OF DUTY ✧ duke!baelor targaryen x bene gesserit!reader
synopsis: when you are sent off to become the concubine of house targaryen, your first exchange with your future duke goes nowhere near expected.
warnings: reader is essentially young lady jessica and baelor is leto, slightly anxious reader, technically legal human trafficking ?? canon bene gesserit and dune philosophy lol
word count: 1.2k (was supposed to be a longer fic but it just ended up being a very short oneshot so whatever)
a/n: my dunerotted brain needed this fic so bad omg, this has been sitting in my draft for ages because i thought it would be more elaborate but here we are !! anyway i’d be very glad to discuss this little au in my inbox if anyone wants to <3
You are husband and wife in everything but title and law.
The first time you meet him, you are trembling to the very marrow of your bones. Your muscles are pulled taut, and your spine is a sharp, rigid, immobile line. The dark veil obscuring your vision had been more than mere silk that day, it had been your armor, your only protection against the piercing gaze of the Duke— your Duke now.
You could feel the stutter in your pulse, the betrayal in the air. Your Bene Gesserit sisters standing in a half-moon formation behind you, communicating in the silent language of their fingers.
"… one of our finest pupils." Those were the last words you registered, spoken by the Reverened Mother in that casual detached manner. She was standing a few paces ahead of you, describing you like cattle, handing you off like some prized broodmare. A vessel trained for obedience and breeding.
You should have been feeling honored. You should have felt grateful for having been chosen as an asset in the Missionaria Protectiva— the Great Weave. For the opportunity to be a part of something far greater than yourself. For helping bring about an enlightened mind, one capable of breeching the very bridge between time and space, the Kwisatzch Haderach.
Instead all you felt was a dull, sharp throb blooming behind your eyes, and a cold dread seeping into your bones.
The air you were inhaling felt more burnt than one would have anticipated; the volcanic core of the planet manifesting into an everpresent smell of char and smog in the oxygen. Tiny droplets of sea sprinkles still clung to your black shroud from when you stepped into the open air of Dragonstone, offering a strange form of saline baptism.
The Reverened Mother’s hawk-like gaze turned to you quietly, awaiting the pleasantries and greetings you were supposed to exchange with the Duke. Her gaze was so burning it should have willed you into obedience without a single word uttered. But in that moment something in you simply refused to yield.
You could feel your amygdala being excessively active, meanwhile you were desperately trying to will your nerves into a false sense of calm. I must not fear. Her neck shifted ever so slightly, a bird like movement, as if silently questioning you on why you were not following protocol. Fear is the mind killer, fear is the litte death that brings—
"Lady Y/N." His words cut off any train of thought you might have had, the litany fading somewhere into the background of your mind. His voice was gentler than you had expected, he sounded much less a commanding leader than a diplomat.
The three headed dragons caught the light from where it was engraved into the cool metal of the sigil ring sitting on his finger. A Targaryen heirloom, passed down all the way from Old Valyria to the Conqueror and now to him. The Red Duke.
You dared to raise your eyes, catching a glimpse of the curiosity in his mismatched gaze. He was assessing you, you could tell that much, mentally peeling away the layers of fabric covering your form, as if by sheer willpower he could dismantle you and bend you to his whim.
You wondered what he wished to find beneath the dark shroud.
A truthsayer? An advisor? A wife?
Your lip had trembled then, falling open but shutting closed just as quickly. You were struck with the harrowing realization that you had no idea what to speak. Foolish. You could practically hear the better half of your Sisters sniggering beneath their veils while the other half gave you pitying looks.
Suddenly one of our finest pupils rang falls in your ears. Bitter. What good was years of relentless prana-bindu training when you turned into a flustered, simpering girl in front of a Duke of the Great House?
"If it pleases the Lady so," he began, clasping his hands behind his dark doublet and inclining his head forward. "would she be so kind as to remove her veil?"
The words lingered in the air for a moment; and once again you were caught off guard by the sheer invitation in them. Not command— but compromise.
Perhaps in all your misfortune, at least you weren't being wed off to some brutish barbarian.
And how could you have refused your future Duke anyway?
You nodded faintly, failing to notice the measured breath of air he inhaled, as if willing himself for whatever lies beneath.
A strange insecurity, violently began to unfurl within your chest, rapidly spreading through your limbs like an ugly beast, to the very tips of your fingers, threatening to paralyze them. But it was all too late. The charred air of the Acceptance Hall was already hitting your face, the veil lifting from your head, fully exposing the tissue of your skin to the outside world.
You had swallowed softly, assesing all the men standing before you: the Duke and his men; mentats, soldiers, swordmasters. All of them piercing you with their eyes. And beside them, what you could only assume was the Duke’s youngest brother, Maekar, a rigid pillar of duty, scowling with that characteristic snow-white Targaryen hair.
Though ever inch of your body— save for your face, had been covered that day, you felt as naked as the day you were born.
"My Duke." Your voice emerged quieter than intended, and you suddenly realized how girlish you must have sounded. The Duke needs a concubine not a protege. You pressed your lips into a thine line before anchoring yourself to the fabric of your skirts.
Before you could register what was happening— he had taken the entire audience by surprise when he stepped forward. Perhaps if your gaze hadn't been so fixated on the crimson and black of his doublet you might have noticed how his men reached towards their weapon-clad belts, his brother making a noise of disapproval in the back of his throat.
You instinctively straightened, freezing into place. Somewhere beside you, the Reverened Mother watched the entirety of your interaction with predatory attentiveness.
His presence was overwhelming, consuming your senses all at once. You noted the unmistakable scent of ozone and old parchment clinging to him. And before your brain could asses the threat of his position— he reached out. His warm, calloused hand, closing over your own. The electricity of the touch had been secondary to the sheer, terrifying heat of him
It radiated from his palm, soaking through your skin, travelling up your arm and settling somewhere in the pit of your stomach.
Blood of the Dragon.
He had offered you the faintest smile, something only the two of you could see. A shared secret, a forbidden union. It had been void of pity or any performative joy expected of political contracts.
It had simply been reassuring. As if he wished to assure you that this unfamiliar new world— his home—would endeavor to do its very best to look after you.
You should have pulled back, retracted your hand and did something… anything else but just stood there… but speech had decided to abandon you entirely.
You could feel the thrum of your sisters' fingertips, silently pulsing against their thighs and signalling to you. Break the bond. Remember the objective.
Yet all you managed to do was tighten your hold around his fingers, anchoring yourself.
He squeezed once.
And from that moment onward, you no longer belonged solely to the Sisterhood, not by law anyway. Somewhere in your heart, you knew, that had been the first step towards the fracturing of your loyalty.
the holy trinity of batshit crazy insane blondes <33 yeahhh, i’m here for it (honorable mention: aemond targaryen too)
istg i could make a list of every single blonde fictional crush i’ve ever had and i blame steve rogers for all of them. he is the og blonde. he is the root and beginning of the problem.
YOUR BOYFRIEND IS CLINGY … MAYBE A LITTLE BIT TOO MUCH ᝰ.ᐟ
warnings: a tad bit angsty? dex being dex, unhealthy/toxic relationship dynamics, mentions of murder
word count: 1.0k
a/n: this is lowkey self-indulgent but whatever, idk how i keep romanticizing all the red flags of this twink :3
dex knows you can never stay mad at him for too long. he knows it all too well. and he absolutely adores abusing that power over you.
today, for instance, you came home from work utterly drained.
a headache was already blooming viciously behind your eyes, and all you wanted was to collapse onto your bed and become one with the sheets.
you barely trudged up the apartment stairs before the front door was already swinging open: dex had been listening for the exact rhythm of your footsteps from blocks away.
you let out a quiet, heavy sigh as you slipped inside, the sharp *click* of the lock echoing as dex shut the door firmly behind you.
you slung your bag over a kitchen chair, mindlessly kicking off your shoes as you headed straight for the bedroom.
dex was right on your heels, shadowing your every move like a hyper-fixated puppy who couldn’t wait to absorb your voice, your day, your attention— any scrape you were willing to give really. but you just didn’t have it in you right now.
the problem with loving benjamin poindexter was that personal space and privacy simply didn’t exist. his bruised, frantic mind couldn't tell the difference between you being exhausted and you wanting to leave him.
to him, silence meant abandonment. it was all the same threat.
the moment he registered your cold quiet and the way your body collapsed onto the mattress, he was spiraling, hovering over you instantly.
“what happened? is everything okay? did i do something wrong?”
“dex,” you groaned into the plush safety of your pillow, fingers blindly rubbing at your throbbing temples. “please. just not right now.”
“did something happen at the office? is it one of your coworkers?” he pressed, his voice tightening with a dangerous, protective edge. “is it that asshole jeremy? the one from last week?”
“dex.”
“you know i don’t even understand why you keep going to that place,” he ranted, his hands twitching. “i make more than enough money to support the both of us. you could just quit. you could stay here where it’s safe and we could—”
“benjamin!” you finally snapped, bolting upright because you couldn't take another second of his suffocating intensity. “get out.” you said calmly.
“what?” he scoffed, his face falling as he reached for your hand, but you swatted his fingers away. “no—i’m not leaving—”
“i said,” you repeated, each word sharp as a razor, “get out.”
he looked profoundly offended, half seething with dark anger and half resembling a kicked puppy.
under any other circumstances, the whiplash would have been funny, but you were too hollowed out by fatigue to care.
you watched the cogs grinding behind his eyes, mulling over his options, before he finally came to a stubbornly defiant conclusion.
“no.” he stated, perfectly calm.
“what? what do you mean no—” but before you could lash out, his heavy frame shifted.
he caught your shoulders, pulling you back down onto the mattress with him until the two of you were lying flat on your backs, side by side.
“benjamin, i swear to god…” you sighed, your energy completely evaporating.
“no,” he countered, his eyes locked onto the ceiling. “you’re tired and you’re overwhelmed right now. it’s fine. i get it. i understand if you don’t want to talk to me. but i am not leaving you alone.”
you opened your mouth to fight him on it, but the sheer weight of your exhaustion finally won.
your limbs went limp against the sheets. there was no winning against his fixation anyway. he heard you mumble a weak insult under your breath— something about him being entirely unhinged— but he chose to ignore it.
he knew you didn’t truly mean it. or rather, he knew you loved him regardless.
thirty minutes ticked by in total silence.
as the initial heat of your headache settled into a dull throb, the room grew completely still.
dex lay beside you like a statue, barely even shifting his weight against the mattress. he was hyper-aware of your mood, purposely leaving a strict ten centimeters of empty space between your bodies so he wouldn't push your boundaries any further.
eventually, after swallowing down the last remnants of your stubborn pride, you slowly rolled onto your side to face him.
“dex,” you murmured, your expression softening in the dim light.
“yeah?” he answered instantly, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you expectantly. you could see his fingers twitching, practically aching to touch you, but he forced himself to stay back.
“’m sorry,” you muttered into the space between you, even though you both knew you hadn’t done anything wrong.
“it’s fine,” he breathed out, the immense tension finally leaving his shoulders.
he closed the distance, leaning down to press a lingering, reverent kiss into the crown of your head, inhaling your familiar scent.
i knew you weren't really mad at me, he wanted to say, but he knew better than to push his luck while he was still on thin ice.
“can you even believe what happened today, though?” you started, the dam finally breaking as you began to unpack the messy emotions of your shift.
you far too eager to overlook the toxic reality of him refusing to give you space, wrapping yourself in the comfort of his obsession instead.
but dex didn’t care about healthy.
he just leaned in, drinking in every single word you offered him.
he listened with a terrifying intensity, nodding along and dropping quiet, sharp suggestions—like offering to eliminate the manager who had stressed you out, swearing he would make it look like a tragic accident.
you just let out a weak huff of laughter, telling him not to bother, that it wasn’t worth the trouble.
but you knew the truth. he absolutely would do it.
he’d put in the work. for you.
he lay there, letting you bleed all your worries out onto him until the room felt heavy with it.
after all, the two of you shared a bed, an apartment, and a twisted sort of life. why would you ever try to hide anything from him?
something is wrong with me for me to be so attracted to aerion and dex LMAOO
like these 2 men would make the worse partners ever realistically but i love these evil blonde men 😭
i feel you so bad on this one anon… because they are literally white, blonde haired guys who are canonically evil and being in a relationship with them would WITHOUT A DOUBT be the most toxic, red flag traumatizing situation known to man kind
omg your latest post about dex, i remember staring in disbelief at how broad his shoulders are compared to fbi! dex 😶🥵
i felt like this watching that scene with his suit on 😭😭
https://youtu.be/wfJZMGJzdHk?si=KsH8Tqd8cJokcrQt
YOU’RE SO REAL FOR THIS ANON.
because him in ddba is something else. like don’t get me wrong i love fbi!dex and his weird little internal world but completely unhinged and fully ripped dex in the new season is on another level… would indeed have very inappropriate thoughts to say about that, but my brain just goes brrrr
also can we talk about the new bts scene. shsgshha. mind goes numb.
warnings: slightly suggestive content but other than that literally nothing, mentions of blood and injuries
word count: 1.1k
a/n: this came to me in a vision, anyway… i’m sharing it with you… i need this loser so bad, those new ddba s3 pics of him have sent my mind into a frenzy. freak4freak
you were lounging on the bed, your skin still faintly damp from the shower. tiny beads of water clung to the nape of your neck where the spray had brushed against you.
your skin faintly smelled of that new shampoo and body lotion you had tried — the memory of dex wrapping his arms around you and inhaling your scent still freshly engraved in your mind.
“dex,” you had giggled as he all but squeezed you to himself, holding you so tight it felt like he was trying to blend your body into his own.
you raised your hands to his shoulders. he was still clad in his bullseye suit — the dark blue material feeling strangely artificial under your palms.
he smelled of sweat and dust, and you swore you’d noticed a speck of blood somewhere on him when he first came inside, though it was gone now. ever since the two of you had started dating seriously, you’d noticed he always cleaned himself up after coming back from… work. if you could even call what he did work.
he no longer came home covered in grime and someone else’s coppery, crimson blood. he knew you always worried it was his, even if most of the time it wasn’t.
but still, the heavy suit trapped his body heat, and the sweat that came with the adrenaline couldn't be helped.
“what is it?” he grumbled, noticing the way you knit your brows and tried to pull away from his grip. not that the iron embrace he had on your hips would have let you move anyway.
“you smell,” you pointed out, suppressing a laugh at his instantly irritated expression.
all he wanted to do was hold you and kiss you stupid after another successful mission, and here you were — complaining about something he couldn’t control.
“what do you want me to do?” he muttered, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck like a clingy animal. “'s not my fault.”
“benjamin,” you warned, cradling his head as he all but whined. here he was— a grown man, an infamous vigilante who had people shaking in their boots at the mere mention of his name—whining in your arms like a child. “i love you. but please, for the love of god, go shower.”
he sighed, knowing those three words were the exact key he could never resist. he melted every single time you said it, whether it was the first or the hundredth time.
and you were right… he did kind of stink.
so that was how you ended up laying on your bed in nothing but a t-shirt, waiting for him to finish. all the dirt and soot and gore of his day washing down the drain with the hot water.
the door creaked on its hinges as he stepped out, a slight mist rolling out behind him. his blonde hair was damp and ruffled where the water had undone his styling, and he had nothing but a towel loosely wrapped around his hips.
you subconsciously bit your lip at the sight, your breathing stuttering at his appearance. you felt your pupils dilating as your thighs involuntarily squeezed together.
he didn't seem to notice your staring at first, intent on grabbing a shirt and a clean pair of boxers from the dresser.
you admired the hard strain of his back muscles, the perfectly sculpted slope of his shoulders and abs as he turned around, grumbling softly as he sifted through his clothes.
you scooted closer to the edge of the mattress, getting closer to where he stood. up close, he looked even more dangerous, even more gorgeous.
“you’re staring,” he pointed out, and you could hear the smug smirk in his voice.
“is it a crime for a woman to admire her boyfriend’s stunning physique?”
“stunning?” he turned around sharply, a little breathless from the massive grin spreading across his face.
he was still only sporting that towel loosely draped over his hips… if it slipped just a fraction…
“yeah,” you breathed, standing up. your fingers traced over the ridges of his abs, feeling the intense heat radiating from his skin. he tensed instantly under your touch. “stunning.”
you didn’t notice the way dex looked at you with a sudden, dark hunger — you were too caught up in admiring him.
it was one thing for him to worship you all the time, constantly repeating how much he loved you, how obsessed he was.
but it was a completely different beast when you were the one doing it, showing your raw devotion to him openly.
it did something lethal to his brain, cracking open his fragile skull and making his spine tingle right where the scar from his injury lay.
your lips parted as a quiet giggle involuntarily escaped you.
“what is it?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave as he suppressed the urge to shove you onto the mattress and kiss you senseless.
“you’re just so…” your brain searched for the right word. “large. like… in a really good way. it’s hot.”
his mind completely short-circuited at that, your words echoing through his skull like a broken, beautiful record player.
“i like how,” your hands dragged up to his shoulders, “how wide your shoulders are. your chest is so broad… your arms, your abs. your belly.” you spoke of him like he was the most precious thing on earth. like his body was a shrine you were destined to worship. him. “your thighs.”
him, who others feared or viewed as nothing but a monster. a murderer. a tool simply utilizable before discarding. but you… you looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky.
“you’ve been eating more,” you noted matter-of-factly. but before his deep rooted insecurity could surface, you cut it off. “i like that. i like you. i like how you’re…”
you grabbed his hands, pulling his massive frame closer to yours. he made a low, wrecked noise in the back of his throat, every ounce of his self-restraint faltering by the second.
“i like how you have enough muscle for the both of us,” you finally whispered, looking up into his eyes.
and all you found there was purely unfiltered love, adoration, and burning lust.
it made your heart skip a beat. your dex, looking down at you like you were the center of his universe. because to him, you absolutely were.
“you can’t just say shit like that to me…” he whispered, his large hand coming up to cup your cheek. “and expect me to act normal.”
“i never said i wanted you to be,” you shot back, and dex was immediately reminded exactly why you were his.
“show me dex…” you whispered, slipping your fingers between your bodies and carefully undoing the knot holding together the towel. “show me everything you want to do to me.”
you could feel the groan vibrating through his chest as all self-restraint perished and he pushed you towards the bed.
Stalker Dex leaving knives with little clues of who he his carved on them in his northstars apartment because he can’t wait for her to figure it out on her own anymore
SMART GIRL — BENJAMIN POINDEXTER.
SUMMARY dex is tired of your naivety, and ups the ante.
NOTES guys motivation has been low because i can't stop playing warzone. someone save me.
WARNINGS stalker!dex, reader is a bit stupid, ok reader has to be a little freaky to enjoy this and not call the cops, not proof read.
Dex had shown patience with you, he truly did. He waited days, weeks, for you to catch on. To be a smart girl and take the fucking hint. But you didn't. You had been so naive with everything he'd thrown at you, and yet you carried on with your day with no concern.
A man was stalking you, and you would just giggle at the flowers at your door. Or the grocery bag filled with things you'd run out of. Or the next book in the series you'd been reading. You never cowered, never shut your blinds and called the police, never holed up in your apartment to hide from the man who knew such things about you.
To Dex, you enabled him. You took his gestures as romantic, taking great care of the foliage now sat in a vase on your coffee table. The perfectly blue roses. You encouraged him to persist, allowed him to believe what he was doing was right. But now the game had grown tiresome. He wanted more, he wanted you to know who he was.
He lived opposite you. He was a gentleman, who always carried your groceries up the stairs, who lent you his ingredients if you needed them, who would water your plants when you were away. And you had given him access to your apartment, when you had gone on a girls trip for a week, giving him your key because you trusted him entirely.
"You're like the only friend I have in New York, Dex!" You had exclaimed once, sending him spiralling for the remainder of the week.
And he had watered your plants, as you asked. He had perused your cupboards, your fridge, your closet, anything he could find to wedge his foot in the door to your life. He would make you figure it out, you were a smart girl.
The first knife appeared above your door handle on your way home from work. The metal wedged into the wood above the handle, sending you stumbling when you ejected it. The handle was cold, the knife thin and sharp. Etched into it had been two letters.
B.P
"What the fuck is B.P?" You whispered, flipping the knife for any further etchings. But there hadn't been any. Dex had watched you through his peep hole, as you frowned at the knife, before shrugging and unlocking your door.
Not an ounce of fear in your face, not that he wanted you to be scared. But your naivety was dangerous. You were lucky Dex was so cautiously looking out for you, all it took was one bad man to take advantage of you and put you at risk. Not Dex, though. He would protect you with his life, he would watch the world around you for threats. Because you were so poor at doing so.
The next knife appeared in your vase. You often admired your blue roses, a fresh delivery every month on the same day. And today had been no different, except for the knife swimming against the stems. Dex watched you across the street, fishing it out and seeing the etching on the handle. A simple symbol.
𖣠
This had been a bigger clue, as the symbol had been carved into his peep hole. You had even commented on it when he invited you in once, to take back the Tupperware you had given him.
"It's like a target." You observed, looking through peep hole as he chuckled nervously. "So cool."
But you just left the knife in a puddle of water on your coffee table, resuming your tv show. Leaving Dex to sigh frustratingly at you, as he carved into his next knife. He wondered if carving his name would be enough for you to connect the dots, but he was doubtful.
Knives started appearing all around your apartment, none of which you felt disturbed by. They felt like small surprises, stumbling upon another clue to add to the mystery. It was a fun little game for you, to play Nancy Drew and solve the mystery.
Dex hadn't seen you uncover the final knife, thinking he had time to gather his things and climb to his usual roof to watch you wake up. The final knife had been found dug into your headboard, right above you as you had woken up. It had spooked you, seeing the weapon so close to your face, but you pulled it from the wood to observe it.
131 ♡
It was far too early for you to be playing Sherlock, running round your apartment to gather the other knives. Spreading them out along your kitchen table and finding a constant within them. And it had finally clicked.
Dex.
B.P, the target etched around his peep hole, the song lyrics you'd caught him singing when you opened your doors at the same time, the happy birthday knife that had impaled a cupcake on your table, because only he knew your birthday. Because he truly was your only friend in New York. And finally, apartment 131.
Dex had left his apartment at seven that morning, pulling the door open to see a knife lodged above his door handle. Just as he had done to you weeks ago. Though it carried a new carving along the blade. Small scripture to fit your words onto it. The carving had taken you over an hour, sweating as you hunched over your table with another knife dragging along the metal.
i hope you do more writings for dex! he’s also so diet mountain dew demo too 😶🙂↕️
i most certainly will! i’m really into these short little blurbs atm and i really like how they came together, but also dex has infested my brain (i’m not complaining though) so you can definitely expect more bullseye content <3
and yeah he is just very lana coded in general. (i feel like that sounds super generic but wtv) other songs that i think fit him are shades of cool, art deco, watercolor eyes and cherry !
stormborns
jbbartram-illu
baratheonpilled
vaporwave
areudirty
yousharknotpass
blakekathryn
