summary: after a risqué encounter with you at the bar, jack abbot can’t get you out of his head. and then you show up in one of his lectures as his student. and then you two navigate an interesting 'casual' relationship, until your emotionally avoidant asses get, well... attached.
wc: 13k words
warnings: 18+, dom!jack & sub!reader, switching pov, lots of fingering, rubbing over underwear, premature ejaculation (coming in pants), mentions of oral (fem!receiving), guiding through a blowjob, loss of virginity, sex on a table, calling him dr abbot, sir + brief daddy kink, light choking, all of the sexy stuff happens in his office. jack is a widow, brief angst in the middle but love confessions later (!!), hurt/comfort, jack is jealous and possessive but has an #ethicaldilemma: the fic
a/n: i tried to be vague with the backstory, but reader craves academic validation, doesn’t have many friends, has implied familial issues and is introverted and avoidant. seeing the pics of him literally sent me into heat i fear i’ll never recover and so naturally i churned out this incredibly self indulgent fic during my finals aha can u tell i'm suffering from academic stress? #anyways have fun pls be nice. not beta read. | divider credits: @strangergraphics | soundtrack: fuck it i love you by lana del ray
Jack Abbot had always been a man of remarkable composure, the sort of composure that had been his armour, carefully built after the death of his wife, reinforced brick by brick through routine, discipline, and relentless work.
While other men sought comfort in distractions, Jack prided himself in the fact that he buried himself in academia. Entire nights disappeared beneath journal articles, lecture plans, and grading sociology essays, until the loneliness that waited for him at home was little more than a dull ache he could almost ignore.
Last week at the bar, well, that had been a mistake. A brief lapse in judgement, that's all. One too many whiskeys after a particularly long week and a pretty young thing asking him for help with some creep who wouldn't leave her alone - what exactly had he been supposed to do? Ignore her? Tell her she was on her own? Any decent man would've stepped in, at least that's what Jack keeps telling himself.
The problem is that a week later, he still can't get you out of his head.
He remembers the dress first. God, that dress. The dark fabric had clung to your figure, hugging every curve, and he'd spent the entire evening irritated with himself for noticing at all.
He remembers the way the dip of your waist had fit beneath his palm when he'd guided you behind him, the startling softness of you, the instinctive way you'd moved closer when the man started getting aggressive. The tiny stutter in your breathing as he'd told the asshole to ‘fuck off and stop bothering his girl’ in a gruff voice, the way you'd looked up at him with those wide eyes, somewhere between embarrassed and grateful, as though he had done something remarkable when all he'd really done was the bare minimum.
Worst of all, he hates that he remembers the warmth of your body as he pinned you against the wall of the men's bathroom, mouths hovering over each other, not kissing, but breathing in wine-tinted lips.
God, the way your warm walls stretched around his fingers, your clit under his thumb, still made him achingly hard. Jerking off in the shower had been futile ever since that night, ever since he felt your soft fingers around his cock, your moans spilling into his mouth. And your soft whines when he called you a good girl, fuck. He’s hard, again, in the middle of reading through the PHD proposals sent his way. He sighs, pulling his cock out his pants.
It was becoming ridiculous. Which is precisely why he is looking forward to the start of semester.
But the universe has a fucked up way of derailing his plans. By the time he arrives at the lecture hall the next morning, coffee balanced in one hand and laptop tucked beneath his arm, he's almost managed to convince himself that the entire thing was behind him.
Then he walks through the door. The lecture hall blurs into meaningless shapes and colours, and in the centre of it sits you.
The girl he couldn’t take out of his brain for the past seven days.
Jack forces his legs forward, somehow making it to the front of the room without visibly embarrassing himself. He places his coffee on the desk. Sets down his laptop. Connects the HDMI cable twice because he misses the port the first time. His fingers feel too clammy, his pulse too fast.
Jack opens his mouth to introduce himself.
"My name is-"
But the words die there. Because he makes the mistake of looking back at you, again.
Those same eyes he'd spent an entire week trying to unsuccessfully forget are fixed directly on his, wide with disbelief.
For a fraction of a second his mind goes entirely blank. Then your eyebrows lift. Just slightly.
And he realises with a jolt of horror that you've noticed the way his words catch. Jesus Christ.
He clears his throat and looks away, pretending to adjust something on his laptop despite the fact that absolutely nothing needs adjusting, acutely aware of the warmth crawling up the back of his neck, and onto his cheeks. It's ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.
He's a respected academic pushing fifty years old, not some nervous graduate tutor fumbling his way through his first class.
"My name is Dr Jack Abbot," he says again, his voice steadier this time, lower too, the words settling more naturally now that he's managed to regain some semblance of control. "I'm the lead lecturer for the sociology department.”
His eyes catch yours.
“It'll be my greatest pleasure to work with all of you this semester."
You’re this close to fucking shitting your pants.
The sexy old man that had fucked the shit out of you with his fingers, while you could barely wrap your hands around his girthy cock in the corner of a dingy bathroom, was your professor. He was in front of you speaking in a voice too gravelly for his own good, and donned in what you’d deem an outfit way too slutty.
Tweed blazer that somehow actually showed how broad he was, how fat and juicy his biceps were. A soft wool polo underneath that stretched around his fat pecs.
And those brown pants, for fucks sake, those pants should be an abobination. You could see the bulge of his dick, the print, as he moved around the room.
What’s worse though? His fat fucking fingers. As he gesticulates while talking about the content, which you don’t give a fuck about, all you can think about is how they felt inside of you, curling up to reach that sweet spot, and making you come faster and harder than your vibrator.
As the flashbacks of him pounding into you fade, and you focus, you see something black and shiny glinting as it catches the overhead lights. You blink. Adorning one of those delicious fingers, is a ring. Fuck. It’s a wedding ring.
You stare at it for a second too long before immediately snapping your gaze back to your laptop. Heat floods your face. You rack your brain trying to remember whether he'd been wearing it that night. You don't think so, you're almost certain he wasn't. Yeah, he definitely didn’t have it on that night in the bar, you would’ve felt it against your pussy, that fucking slut.
You clench your jaw and look away, typing away to start making notes. You’d hooked up with an older married geratric. Yeah, maybe you should just drop out. Hurl yourself off the chair and out the door and withdraw from your course and fade into the abyss and die in a hole.
But what's worse is the way your cunt is clenching around nothing at the thought of this older man fucking you with his fingers while he had a wife at home- no, stop. How deeply unfeminist of you. You cunt.
Yet still, when you look up and accidentally make eye contact with Jack Abbot, it feels like a punch to the vagina.
By the time the lecture ends, Jack has spent nearly two hours forcing himself not to look at you. It has been a miserable failure. Not an obvious one, nobody in the room would have noticed. Years of teaching and having to discreetly catch students on their phones have made him an expert at disguising where his attention is actually resting.
But every time his gaze swept across the theatre, every time a student asked a question, every time laughter rippled through the room, some part of him remained acutely aware of where you were sitting.
Which is precisely why, as students begin packing their bags and filtering towards the exits, he decides to do something incredibly stupid.
He tells himself it isn't stupid. He tells himself it's necessary. Professional, even.
After all, the two of you know each other in some capacity. There was the bar, there was what occurred inside of that bar, that lapse in judgement. There is now the unfortunate reality that you are one of his students. A conversation needs to happen. Boundaries need to be established, expectations clarified.
At least that's the excuse he gives himself. The truth is considerably less flattering. The truth is that he wants an excuse to speak to you.
He calls out your name. The words leave his mouth before he can reconsider them.
You freeze halfway through sliding your laptop into your bag. For a second you look almost startled that he's addressed you directly. Then your eyes meet his, startled.
"Could you stay for a moment?"
Several students glance between the two of you before continuing out the door. Jack immediately regrets saying it publicly. Excellent start, Abbot.
By the time the last student leaves, you're making your way slowly towards the front of the room, one loop of your backpack slung on your shoulder.
As you slow to a stop in front of him, his eyes map your face. Your wide eyes, your slightly messy hair, the shape of your lips- Stop. Jesus Christ.
He forcibly redirects his gaze towards his laptop on the podium. Professional. Remember, professional.
"You wanted to see me?" you ask softly.
Jack clears his throat.
"Right. Yes."
Very articulate.
"I just thought it would be best if we acknowledged..." He gestures vaguely between the two of you. "The situation."
You blink.
"The situation?"
"The fact that we've met before."
"Oh."
You glance down at the strap of your bag, fingers tightening around it.
"Yeah. I noticed."
The dry response catches him completely off guard. A smile threatens at the corner of his mouth.
"Um, sorry, Dr Abbot," you add quickly, stumbling over the words. "I didn't mean to make things weird."
Jack immediately shakes his head.
"No, it's okay. You're good."
Dr Abbot. Dr Abbot. His brain plays your lips wrapping around his name again and again, perhaps in more precarious positions. He rubs his neck, looking away, willing for his cock to stop fucking stiffening.
"I just wanted to clarify," he starts carefully, "I'd appreciate it if what happened stayed private."
Your eyes immediately narrow, apparently offended.
"Dr Abbot, I'm not stupid."
His eyebrows lift at your sudden confidence. He puts his hands out in front of him in defence.
"I wasn't suggesting-"
"No, I know," you interrupt. Then your eyes widen, immediately looking mortified for interrupting him. "Sorry. I just mean... I'm not exactly planning on standing up in tutorials and announcing that I fu- I met my professor in a bar."
Jack closes his mouth. Fair point. And suddenly he becomes aware of how ridiculous he sounds.
You aren't the problem here. You haven't done anything. If anything, you're handling this better than he is. This sort of “casualness” is probably the usual for someone as beautiful as you, as young and brilliant.
"Right," he says finally.
A silence settles between you as he continues staring you down.
You shift your weight awkwardly beneath his gaze, looking everywhere except directly at him now, and suddenly he's struck by how young you seem standing there.
Then, before he can stop himself, in some hope to keep you standing there in front of him, he hears himself say, "If you ever need help with coursework, though, my office hours are listed on the syllabus."
The second the words leave his mouth, he knows they weren't necessary. Your eyes flicker up to his face in shock, before immediately dropping back down again. Interesting.
For someone who'd managed to argue with him thirty seconds ago, you seem remarkably incapable of holding eye contact for more than a few moments.
Then you nod, still staring at the floor.
"Okay."
"Okay. Yeah, good."
Another silence. Neither of you moves, seems entirely unsure on how to end the conversation. Eventually you shift your bag higher up, and take a small step backwards.
"I should go."
"Yes, thank you for staying back."
You hesitate for a second, then whisper as you turn and walk away from him.
“Goodbye, Dr Abbot.”
Jack stares at your ass through your jeans as you depart, he can’t help it. You sick, sick old man, Abbot.
The second you're gone, he drops his head down, groans, rubs a hand over his scruff.
That conversation was supposed to make things better, supposed to reassure him that whatever happened at that bar was firmly in the past.
Instead, all it has accomplished is proving that being around you is a nightmare.
It's been four weeks since that conversation and you cannot get him out of your head. Every time you enter those lectures where he stands in the front of the room with another blazer, another pair of form fitting pants, twice a week, you leave with a pool of slick.
You refuse to acknowledge the way he looked at you when you let your attitude slip, his furrowed brows, hazel eyes narrowing. He looked… mad almost. Like he wanted to tame you. Of course you're being delusional, he has a wife for fucks sake.
And weeks of observing him has made you realise that he has an immense proclivity for eye contact, with everyone. Basically, you’re not special.
And, so your avoidant ass refuses to take him up on that offer to see him at his office. You’re doing well academically, you presume, in all your subjects. Which is not surprising given it's the only thing you’ve got going for you, being an antisocial chud, but these days, rather than studying, a lot of your time is spent replaying that night in the bar. The sense of comfort you felt pinned against the wall by him, the way he’d protected you against that creep. Nobody had done that for you before.
God you sound fucking pathetic.
And specifically, his suggestive line of “my office hours are listed on the syllabus” reverberates around your skull, like the start of those Wattpad stories you used to read as a teen. And so, you and your vibrator have the time of your life at all odd hours of the day, imagining him and you in those situations.
In hindsight, being overtaken by lust to distract from your crippling loneliness was a poor decision to make, that much you clock when you receive one of your midterms back today. With a big fat fucking 60% written on the front. In Dr Abbot’s class at that too.
Humiliation takes over you, cheeks warm as he walks by to return the paper, refusing to look at him but feeling his gaze on your face.
Around you, students are already discussing their marks, complaining about feedback, celebrating distinctions, debating whether certain deductions were fair, while you're busy boring holes into the godforsaken paper with your eyes as though sheer hatred might cause it to burst into flames.
As someone who quite literally had nothing going on for them other than academic success, it's a stab to the heart to realise you’ve fallen off in any capacity. For your wretched brain, one poor mark isn't just a mark, it's indicative of you falling behind, lacking in the one thing that defines you.
Academics have always been your thing, the one area of your life you've been able to control through sheer stubbornness and hard work, the one thing you've quietly built your entire sense of self around. You aren't particularly outgoing. You don't have a huge social circle. You don't possess some secret hidden talent waiting to be discovered.
And now a bright red sixty is staring back at you from the top of the page like a personal attack.
The feedback only makes it worse.
Critical analysis underdeveloped.
Needs greater engagement with course material.
More depth required.
Each comment feels less like academic criticism and more like somebody taking a hammer to your ribcage.
Especially because you've spent the last month thinking about fuckass Jack Abbot far more than you've spent thinking about sociology. You've replayed conversations that lasted less than five minutes. Analysed glances that probably meant absolutely nothing, and constructed entire fictional narratives from harmless comments that any reasonable person would've forgotten weeks ago.
Meanwhile half your readings have been sitting untouched in a browser tab.
You stare down at the paper again, jaw tightening.
Perhaps this is the universe intervening. Perhaps this is your sign to get a grip. Perhaps this is your sign to finally take him up on that offer he'd made four weeks ago.
Not because you're harbouring some pathetic crush. Absolutely not.
Purely for academic reasons. You need to know what went wrong and you need to know how to fix it before your anxiety makes this into something worse and you have another one of your depressive episodes.
And if that means sitting in Dr Jack Abbot's office while he explains why your argument was underdeveloped and your analysis lacked depth, then so be it.
The thought alone makes your stomach perform an alarming little flip, which is deeply unfortunate.
Because that's probably another sign that you're not thinking nearly enough about sociology.
After stalking the stupid university website you’ve discovered that Dr Jack Abbot apparently remains on campus until after five o'clock most evenings, like some sort of psycho freak.
Doesn’t he have a wife to go home to? Surely no sane person voluntarily spends that much time at a university.
Still, at 5:17 PM, you're standing outside his office clutching your assignment paper so tightly it's beginning to crumple around the edges.
You knock on the door and hear his gruff voice let out a “come in”. You walk in.
Fuck your life.
His blazer is off, sleeves of his beige shirt rolled up to show veiny forearms, as he types away on his laptop.
“Oh it's you. Hello sweetheart.” He winces at the slip of the pet name.
“Sorry Miss-” he pauses. “Um, just have a seat, please.”
You hope to God that he can't hear the beating of your heart as you step in, closing the door shut behind you, avoiding eye contact as you sit on the seat opposite him.
You set your paper on his desk and mumble.
“I just wanted to review the feedback I got on this.”
“Yeah of course, what’d you want to ask?”
You hesitate, his soft tone suddenly making you want to spill everything.
"I just..." You stare at the desk. "I thought I'd done better than this. So I wanted more clarity on all the comments you made."
He nods and picks up the paper, starts reading through it, then squints.
He sighs.
“Wait, let me get my readers on.”
You sneak a glance up.
Oh fuck.
He puts his readers on. Some fucking high prescription glasses that enunciate the size of his stupid hazel boba eyes and delicious eye wrinkles.
Yeah, pussy exploded.
You look back down on the table, and inhale to calm your heart.
When Jack finally finishes, he sets the paper on the desk.
"You know," he says carefully, tapping one section of the essay, "the reason this stood out to me wasn't because the writing is bad."
Your eyes lift despite yourself. He slides the paper slightly closer.
"It's actually the opposite."
“What?"
"The writing is strong, and your arguments are quite clear. You've obviously got the ability."
The knot in your chest loosens slightly. Only slightly.
"But?" you whisper.
His mouth twitches.
"But I don't think you pushed yourself."
Jack studies your expression for a moment before leaning back slightly in his chair.
"You understand the material," he continues. "I don't have concerns about that. What I'm seeing is somebody who's engaging with the content at a surface level when they're capable of going much deeper.”
Right, so you’re failing. You ridden with lust, and doing god knows what in hopes to distract yourself from the sheer loneliness and mundanity of your life and now you can’t even understand the content the way you want to understand it and-
“Hey sweetheart, are you feelin’ okay?”
You look up at him in confusion and realise your breaths are heavy, uneven. Your hands are trembling slightly where they're resting on your lap.
Fuck, the beginnings of a panic attack.
“I’m so sorry Dr Abbot, I just- I’ve never done poorly in a test really, and so this is all so…” your voice cracks. “I don't even know what I’m saying I just-”
He gets up and walks over to you as you break off, letting out a shaky laugh that sounds suspiciously close to a sob.
He leans against his desk, in front of you, bending to reach your eyes.
“Hey, it's okay angel, breathe for me.”
He inhales.
“Look, follow my breathing.”
You try to, but it comes out stuttered.
"Fuck, I'm sorry."
"Nothin’ to apologise for, sweetheart, just keep trying. C’mon, take a deep breath in, and out."
He holds your hand and brings it to his chest. You feel his heart beat steadily under your palm. He exaggerates his breathing to help you.
“In, and out, just like that.”
It seems nice to just let go. To have someone else take over your brain, follow their instructions and shut the noise, the anxieties and the worries.
Once your breathing slows, he moves your hand away from his chest.
“You breathin’ better now?”
You nod slowly, still feeling shaky, still mortified by the fact that you've just had what can only be described as a minor psychological collapse in your professor's office.
“I’m so, so sorry you saw me like that Dr Abbot, I didn’t mean to-”
“Hey, it’s okay, sweet girl.”
He pauses, seems occupied gathering his thoughts.
You busy yourself staring at the floor. Then he exhales softly through his nose and settles back against the edge of his desk.
"After my wife passed away, I used to get them all the time."
The words are so unexpected that your head lifts immediately.
Jack's gaze remains fixed somewhere over your shoulder rather than directly on you, his expression thoughtful.
"My therapist taught me a few tricks," he says with a small shrug. "Matching breathing patterns was one of them."
Your heart races again, for different reasons this time. The ring, the fucking black ring. He’s a widower. You don’t know whether to laugh or scream at the fact that he’s not married, and you aren’t a homewrecker. But then you feel real fucking horrible for different reasons, youre brain sabotaging again.
“I’m sorry about your wife. I’m sorry if that reminded you of back then, or whenever it happened I don’t know, I don't want to assume-”
“Shh, take a deep breath for me. You’re good, sweetheart.
He brings a palm to your cheek, engulfing it.
“Yeah? It’s okay. Don’t worry ‘bout it. It was a long time ago.”
You breathe in slowly for the fucking hundredth time that night, calming down.
“You feelin’ better now?” He asks gently.
You nod, biting your tongue to stop from apologising again.
“Yes, thank you.”
It slips out before he can stop it.
“Good girl.”
Your thighs instinctively clench, and you see him stiffen as he notices. You both stare at each other, feeling tension coil in the air between you. A moment passes.
“I could help you, you know.”
You blink, confused.
He rubs your cheek gently, eyes boring into yours. His expression is blank, neutral.
“I could help you relax, get out of your brain for a little.”
He pauses.
“Like that night in the bar. You liked that, didn't you? Somebody taking control.”
Your breath hitches, and you mumble a “yes.”
“Louder, sweetheart. If we’re gonna do this, you need to speak clearly.”
His voice is stern, gravelly. And your brain is calm for the first time in weeks, since that night. The validation you crave so desperately, the sense of comfort that would help with escaping your brain, perhaps it is held in the palm of Jack Abbot’s hands.
Slowly, you nod.
“Yes Dr Abbot, I’d like you to help me.”
He smirks, the edges of lips pulling up.
“Atta girl. C’mon then, get up for me.”
You follow his lead, mind hazy as he holds your hands and guides you to his chair.
“I’m gonna sit, then you're gonna sit right here, on my lap. And then I’ll help you, yeah?”
You nod again.
“Words, sweetheart.”
“Yes, Dr Abbot.”
He smiles, proudly. Your brain turns to mush again, pussy fluttering.
He’s so handsome.
Pulling you onto his lap sideways, your legs draping over his thighs, he caresses your hair. Fuck, it feels so good. You nuzzle your head into his neck, whimpering softly as he coos, "such a good girl, my smart girl, yeah? smartest in the whole damn class.”
Then he brings his fat fingers to your skirt, tracing circles on yout thighs near the hem. Inching close, but never slipping under.
“Please, please Dr Abbot, touch me.”
“Yeah, you want me to touch that little pussy? Want me to make you feel good? So you can rest your pretty brain?”
He taps your head.
You whine ‘yes, yes please sir.’
You feel his cock jerk up under you. He groans.
“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart. Say that again.”
“Please, Sir, please touch me.”
“Whatever you want, pretty girl.”
Then he finally flips your skirt up, and starts rubbing slowly over your panties. On your lips, your folds, through your soaked underwear. You wrap your arms around his neck, begging him, please.
He brings a finger to your clit, mutters lowly, “right here sweetheart?” and you nod, whining.
He rubs gentle circles on your clit, your slick helping his finger move smoothly even over your panties. Buries his face in your hair as he continues rubbing. He breathily exhales, as if simply your pleasure was turning him on .
“That’s it, just let go sweetheart. Let me take care of you, yeah?”
“Fuck- right there.”
You buck up in his hold.
And he stops, a hand splaying over your thighs to stop you from squirming.
“Fuckin’ stop that, or this is going to be over a lot quicker thank you’d like.”
You feel the hardness of his cock under you, prodding below your ass. Your brain is mush, the words slipping by themself.
You nod tucking your head in his neck, “Yeah, yeah sir I’ll stop, please- fuck. Please keep going.”
“That’s my good girl.”
And he starts rubbing over your clit again, kissing down your cheeks, down your neck, murmuring “yeah? yeah” as he inhaled your musk.
You whimper, arching your neck as you get closer to your release, feeling it build up low in your stomach the faster his circles get.
“Fuck I’m going to come! Pl- please let me come sir.”
“Yeah? Is my good girl gonna come? You gonna come for Dr Abbot?” He groans, low and husky.
And fuck, that gets you. You close your eyes as your orgasm hits you, pleasure washing over.
You mutter whimpers of his name as you come, squirming as much as he lets you, clenching your thighs in his palm.
In the haze of your orgasm, you hear him, moaning. He jerks up, moaning in your ear, face pressed against your hair, babbling.
“Fuck- sweetheart, did so good for me, fucking coming all over my fingers, fuck!”
The last word comes out as something resembling a whine. His hips buck up once, twice, before you feel warmth spreading under you.
Did he just… orgasm?
Both of you pant harshly, him into your hair, forehead pressed against your head. And you look down, seeing your soaking panties, his hands splayed over your thighs. A smile overtakes your face, god, you felt alive.
And he came. In his pants. God, you love old men. But as a giggle bubbles up in your throat, he stiffens.
You see his hands leave you, and before you can even process what's happening, he's gently but firmly moving you off his lap, tugging your skirt back into place.
"Fuck."
The curse leaves him under his breath, as he immediately turns away in his chair, one hand dragging through his curls.
You stand there, still dazed as he refuses to look at you.
“Fuck, um. You should leave and I- I think-”
The words die halfway through. You watch him struggle to find them.
“Yeah, you should leave,” he awkwardly mutters as he covers the wet patch on his pants. You're still breathing heavily, and furrow your brows.
What the fuck?
You’re so utterly mortified. Still in the post orgasmic haze, standing there feeling horribly exposed, your brain sluggish and foggy and vulnerable.
And through that stupid fog you pick your bag up from the seat, smooth out your skirt. Avoiding eye contact, you wobble out of the room, tears pooling in your eyes.
Fuck old men. You hate old men.
After hours of sobbing into your pillow, and spiralling about how people will use you for your body, and nobody will be able to save you, and you’re going to die alone, you reached a conclusion. Probably a delusional conclusion, but a conclusion nonetheless.
He was embarrassed, that’s all. The man had simply come in his pants. Which, admittedly, would be humiliating for anyone. You’re so young and sexy that he was embarrassed he came in his pants. He definitely still wants you.
The thought soothed you enough to stop crying, enough to prevent you from throwing yourself dramatically into the nearest body of water.
It's when you’re holed up in your dorm room, buried under the blankets reading a fic, when your spiral begins again.
Because you get a text from an unknown number.
Hi. I wanted to apologise for yesterday.
That was incredibly impolite of me, I got way in over my head.
Then two minutes later.
And I wanted to check in.
Are you feeling better?
Chat, what if you fucking killed yourself?
The perfect grammar and punctuation made your stomach churn in lust. The way you could hear him grumble that out in his husky voice, gravelly warmth beneath every syllable.
Stop.
Objectively speaking, this man had sent you into an emotional crisis less than twenty-four hours ago. He basically kicked you out after giving you another toe curling orgasm.
And yet somehow all it takes is three perfectly punctuated texts and you're smiling into your pillow like an idiot. Whatever, stay nonchalant.
So you ignore his apology and reply to the latter half.
Hey, i’m okay thanks
Wow, look at you go.
His reply is almost immediate.
Good.
Good girl.
You take a deep breath in, pull your blanket over your head. Fuck. Fuck this stupid old man and his ability to make your pussy throb with two words.
You genuinely have no clue what to reply, stupid. Stupid woman who can’t even formulate a reply and be flirtatious.
You type something.
Delete it.
Type something else.
Delete that too.
Your chest develops a familiar buzzing anxiety. This, by the way, is exactly why maintaining relationships has always felt so difficult. Everyone else seems to possess some innate understanding of social interaction that you're missing entirely.
What are you supposed to say?
Thanks for checking on me after kicking me out?
Sorry for crying in your office?
Please stop being unexpectedly kind after making me come so hard because it's making this significantly harder?
After two minutes of spiralling, or five, or ten, you don’t even fucking know at this point, your phone buzzes again.
Can I see you?
Please.
Your breath stutters.
yeah sure
When do your classes finish today?
At 3pm
Okay. I’ll meet you at Sapphos.
Fuck, you hate how he doesn’t ask you. Just makes a statement, tells you what to do. You hate how that turns you on, and even worse, how good it feels to not have to make decisions for yourself, for once.
But also, that cafe was off campus. Realistically, should you be potentially jeopardising your academic career with this emotionally unavailable older man, who will definitely be using you for your body if this continues? No, but are you lonely and so fucking bored with the stangancy of your life? Well, yes.
And so unfortunately, rational thought has never stood much of a chance against loneliness. Against the quiet ache that follows you home every evening, and the possibility of spending a few hours with somebody who sees you.
Sitting and staring out the window of some cafe he randomly picked, Jack doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. He doesn't know how many times a man can call something a lapse in judgement before it stops being a ‘lapse’ and starts becoming a conscious choice.
He got in way over his head after making you come on his lap, spiralling. Yes, it was the sheer humiliation of coming in his pants (which was a nightmare to clean off, by the way) but also, there was the humiliation of losing control of himself after years of carefully maintaining it, the mortifying reality of having to go home and sit alone with the consequences of it all.
What was worse was somewhere along the way you'd managed to reach inside him and pull loose something from his heart he'd thought had calcified years ago, something he'd buried beneath research papers, lecture halls, and the endless routines he'd constructed around himself after his wife died.
And he knows, he knows, you deserve someone better. He was a widow for Christ's sake, probably three decades or somewhere very close to that, older than you. And you’re young. Thoughtful. Young enough that your entire life still seems stretched out in front of you. Even your anxieties, the things that weigh you down, feel temporary in a way his never will.
You still have time to become whoever you're meant to be.
Jack feels as though he's already become whoever he's going to be.
He thinks about the way you looked during your panic attack, how hard you'd been trying to keep it together even as everything was falling apart. He thinks about how quickly you apologised for taking up space, for having feelings, for being overwhelmed.
And he didn't pity you, God, no. It wasn't that. He understood it. The loneliness. The exhaustion. The feeling that if you stopped holding yourself together for even a second, everything might collapse.
But he also saw the way your brain shut down, the way you trusted him. It made something ache inside his chest, a warm ache, the sort that spread through his ribs and settled somewhere dangerously close to hope.
And hope was precisely the problem. Because he couldn't give you anything. Not with the grief and sense of routine buried in him before his teaching, in the chasm of his heart, since his time in the godforsaken military where half his limb was gone.
He can't offer you anything but his fingers, or his mouth, between your legs, and you deserve someone better than that.
But if that was the only way he’d be able to get you out of his head, then so be it.
And so despite all of that, despite every logical argument he could construct, despite every fucking university regulation he was violating right now, his eyes keep drifting towards the café entrance every few seconds.
Jack exhales heavily and rubs a hand across his jaw.
And then you enter. Looking around with an adorably confused look before you spot him, and dare he say, your eyes light up.
Abbot, no.
But the words slip out as you reach him.
“Hey sweetheart.”
“Hi Dr Abbot.”
You sit opposite him, glancing up at him briefly before staring back down at the table. He hates how endearing he finds it, how he wants to reach across the sticky table and pull your jaw, hold it, and force you to look at him. He wants to see your eyes glaze over the way they did the day prior.
He chooses instead to slide the menu across to you, and once you order, he leans back.
“Did you have a nice morning?”
He withholds a wince at the awkwardness.
“Um, yes. Classes were okay. Thank you?”
The end of the sentence rises almost into a question, as though you're unsure whether that's the correct answer, and something about it makes his chest tighten.
“Good, that’s good.”
Then an awkward pause. Jack sits there like a complete fucking idiot.
For Christ's sake he’d called you here. And now that you're sitting in front of him, he can't seem to form a coherent sentence.
Get your shit together, Abbot.
"Look," he begins, rubbing a hand across his jaw. "I wanted to apologise for yesterday."
Your eyes finally lift from the table.
“It was wrong of me to let you go like that. Quite frankly I don’t even have an excuse I just…”
He trails off, looking behind you out the window for a second. What exactly is he supposed to say?
That the sight of you crying made me feel physically sick? That for one terrifying second I’d felt something dangerously close to happiness sitting in that office with you? That after years of carefully maintaining the same dull routine I’d somehow started structuring entire days around whether I’d see you?
None of those seem particularly appropriate, too intense.
"See, no man my age enjoys being reminded that he's still capable of behaving like a teenager."
That makes you smirk a little. His heart warms.
“You mean, you.. coming in your pants?”
Jack groans softly and drags a hand down his face.
“I didn't want to put it so crudely, but well... yes."
"I thought so."
You giggle. And the sound catches him off guard enough that he finds himself smiling despite the mortification currently trying to consume him.
"To be honest," you continue, "I think I understood once I calmed down."
His shoulders loosen slightly.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
You shrug.
"But I'm not going to lie, it didn't feel very good. You kicking me out like that."
The honesty makes him wince.
"And that's exactly why I wanted to apologise, sweetheart." His gaze settles on you properly. Giving you a look that he hoped was earnest. "That was real shitty of me. I’m truly very sorry.”
You look at him for a few moments in silence, mapping his face. Then once seemingly finding what you were looking for, you reply.
“Apology accepted.”
The waitress arrives then, setting down your coffee, some monstrosity involving whipped cream and probably enough sugar to send him into cardiac arrest.
Jack eyes it suspiciously, humorously.
"What?" you question.
"That isn't coffee."
"It literally is."
"Sweetheart, that looks like it barely has any caffeine."
You let out a giggle, again. God, you’ve got to fucking stop that if you want his heart to survive.
"It has espresso."
"Buried beneath, what? Three inches of whipped cream."
"Whatever, you’re just old and grumpy."
You grin. The grin grows wider when he continues staring at the drink with visible disappointment.
For some reason that finally breaks whatever lingering awkwardness remains between the two of you. The conversation begins flowing after that.
He makes a witty remark, you giggle. And you manage to make him laugh as well, coming out of your shell.
Then the conversation shifts to that night at the bar.
“Yeah so if he wasn't that buff and scary, I wouldn't even have called you over. I would've told him to suck my strap and choke.”
Jack nearly chokes on his coffee, coughing violently. You immediately burst into soft laughter. He wipes his lips with a napkin, grinning.
"Sweetheart."
"What?"
"Please give me some warning before you say things like that."
Your grin grows, eyes sparkling.
"Why?"
"Because I'm fifty."
That seems to make your eyes widen imperceptibly, and you look down towards the coffee you ordered, chugging it.
Interesting.
Neither of you acknowledge the elephant in the room, instead you continue talking, skirting around the edges. Circling the obvious without ever touching it.
And eventually your drinks are empty. People around you start leaving.
Yet neither of you seems particularly eager to end the conversation.
Jack glances at his watch. Then back at you. He really, really shouldn't. But he wants to give you a way out. While still offering you a choice.
"I don't have any classes after tomorrow's lecture."
The words leave his mouth casually.
Your eyes flicker up.
"Oh."
A pause.
"I could come see you."
"In my office?"
You immediately look embarrassed.
"Only if that's okay."
God. There it is again, that instinct you have to ask permission for existing.
"Sweetheart."
Your eyes lift.
"It's okay."
The relief that flashes across your face is so immediate it almost hurts to look at.
"Okay."
"Okay."
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
When the bill eventually arrives, he picks it up before you can.
"Dr Abbot-"
"No."
"I can pay for myself."
"I know."
"Then-"
"I know, I know you’re a self sufficient woman. You’re brilliant. But let me. I’ll pay for it."
Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Jack watches the entire internal battle play across your face.
Then you nod softly, muttering an “okay, thank you”.
Jack's heart clenches again. Genuinely fuck his life.
So you think you’ve somehow ended up in a situationship or whatever the fuck with your fifty year old professor.
Over the course of the past five weeks, you show up in his office after the lectures, and even a few times throughout the week, and he sets you on his lap, or on his desk while he laps at your cunt.
Occasionally, he lets you pull out his cock and suck it. Sometimes under his desk, riding his boot as he's grading papers, God, his fucking whimpers when he comes.
Unsurprisingly, he also does help you with understanding the content and doing your assignments. Has his own unique methods of doing so.
Jack had you sitting on his lap, back to his chest, completely clothed while you were naked, bare.
He hooked his face on your shoulder, whispering filth in your ears, telling you to “focus” as he rubbed slow circles over your pussy. Smearing the slick oozing out your cunt over your folds, avoiding your clit.
You whined and tried to clench your thighs, whispering against his stubbled cheek.
“Please, pl- touch me, Dr Abbot.”
But he'd splayed one wide palm, tightly, over your thigh.
“No. Type out the rest of the essay, c’mon. Then you can come, pretty girl,” he’d muttered in a low voice.
And once you did, he'd shoved his fat fingers inside of you, thrusting fast, the other hand alternating between your neck and your nipples, pinching, squeezing.
You’d squirted that day, for the first time, creating a mess of his pants, some landing on his desk.
He’d made you lick it off.
Surprisingly, however, you hadn’t kissed, not even once. Nor had you fucked, in the penetrative sense.
The latter you’re grateful for, because you were a virgin. It was too humiliating of a thought to ever bring up in your twenties now, but thankfully he never brings it up either. You suspect he knows though, from the little details you've unveiled to him over the course of the past few weeks.
Talking about your feelings has always been.. difficult. The words choke up and clog the back of your throat when you go to speak. Entire relationships - well, lack of relationships - have been built around your inability to say what you need.
But it's easy, sometimes, with Jack. When your brain shuts off in a post orgasmic haze, and you sit in other's company, his hand resting in your hair, or his head buried in your chest, the words bubble out of you.
Snippets of memories of your family that you left behind, of the few friends back home, the lack of romance. When you stop speaking halfway through a sentence because you've forgotten how to explain yourself, he simply waits.
Surely he's put two and two together.
And you think he has some avoidant issues of his own, the old fuck.
He'll spend forty minutes analysing a political institution and somehow avoid answering a direct question about his own feelings.
Yet occasionally things slip through the cracks.
A memory about his wife. An offhand comment about the military that lingers in your mind long after he's moved on to another topic.
You'd had a lengthy conversation one day about that, your radical opinions spilling out before you could stop them, about systemic exploitation and imperialism, about how much you despised the military as an institution. You’d accuse institutions of manipulating vulnerable people; He agreed more than you'd expected him to. Told you about his journey of basically being forced into it to help his family, about the machinery of poverty and patriotism that pushed kids toward enlistment before they were old enough to understand what they were signing away.
He takes your ideas seriously, but he also looks genuinely delighted when you disagree with him.
And god, that’s what you were starting to like most about him. The intellect. Yes he has a girthy cock that would probably annihilate you in the best way when (if) the time came, and incredible arms, and his fat pecs. But his brain. Wow.
Intelligence has always been your love language, whether you've admitted it or not. And Jack speaks it fluently. There’s a sense of strange intimacy and letting others hear your thoughts and opinions. And the ability to be able to talk and have someone just listen, or banter with you – it was rare. Especially for someone as reclusive as you.
Unfortunately, you're also smart enough to recognise reality. Whatever this is, it isn't heading anywhere permanent. Because Jack never talks about the future, never makes promises, or gives any indication that he's looking for something lasting.
And honestly? You aren't sure he can. Not after everything he's lost, not with the gap of decades between you. So you tell yourself you're enjoying things exactly as they are. You tell yourself that spending time with him is enough.
And for now, maybe it is.
The problem is that every time he looks at you like you've said something brilliant, every time he remembers some tiny detail about your life, every time his face softens when you walk into a room – this lie gets a little harder to believe.
Five weeks. Jack’s ‘brief’ lapse in judgement has lasted five fucking weeks.
Every time he sees you enter the lecture, you exchange a secret look, your eyes fluttering, him blushing. He feels like he’s twenty again. It's exhilarating.
But the ‘ethical dilemma’ of it all sat permanently in the back of his mind, festering like an untreated wound.
He knows that every time he let himself enjoy your company, every time he answered one of your messages, every time he found himself smiling at something you'd said hours after the conversation had ended, he was stepping further into territory he had absolutely no business occupying.
The way you trusted him, allowing him to lick into your cunt or set you on his lap and caress you, felt nice. It felt real fucking good to be wanted and desired in some capacity, especially after being touch starved for nearly a decade since his wife.
And seeing you under him sucking his cock, fuck.
“Dr Abbot….” you whined in a teasing tone, laced with humour.
He groaned, placing his forehead on your back from where you sat on his lap. You definitely wanted something.
“What?” he huffed out.
Still facing your laptop, you breathed out your next words.
“When are you going to let me suck your cock?”
He jolted, hips thrusting up.
“Jesus Christ sweetheart, warn a guy.”
You said his name again, more firmly.
“Stop dodging the question.”
He paused.
“This whole… us. It's about you, about helping you relax so you can focus on studying. It’s not about me or my pleasure or-”
“Jack.”
He lifted his head from your back, stilling. You’d never said his first name before.
“What if doing it would give me pleasure, hm? What then?”
He stayed silent.
You twisted in his lap, neck twisting to face him.
“I want to taste you, please.”
Widening your eyes, and pouting, you all but begged him. Brought a hand to his stubbled cheek.
“Please, Dr Abbot. Let me do it.”
He sighed. Jack Abbot was a weak, pathetic man when it came to you.
“Fine,” he grumbled.
“Get off, c’mon.”
Yeah, it was worth it for the blinding smile you gave him, kissing his cheek.
He gently lifted you off his lap, and pulled his chair back to give you some room.
Jack nodded, glancing down pointedly.
“If you want it, you gotta do it yourself.”
You kneeled immediately, settling yourself in the gap between his desk, between his open thighs.
Unbuckling his belt, staring at his bulge with those doe eyes the entire time, you slowly pulled his cock out.
It was hard, leaking, tip red and aching. Your soft hands wrapping around his dick made a drop of precum roll down. He moaned, a low sound emanating from deep in his chest.
You slowly twisted your hand up and down his cock, fingers barely stretching around.
Jack couldn’t wait. He gripped your hair, not too hard, but enough to lift your head up to face him.
“You gonna put your mouth on it or do I need to shove it in?”
You smirked, you vixen.
“Shove it in, I dare you.”
He groaned, muttering “you fuckin’ brat” as he pushed your hands off his cock.
“Open up, sweetheart.”
You did, tongue lolling out. A drop of drool dripped onto his thighs, and he moaned under his breath.
He couldn’t wait any longer. Gripping his cock, he fed it into your mouth. Inch by inch.
Until you gagged.
Feeling your soft throat close around him, he couldn't help but groan your name.
“Fuckin’ hell.”
Your hands came up to stroke whatever didn't fit in - which truth be told, was more than half his cock, but it's okay, he'd train you eventually.
“Can I help you, sweetheart? Teach you how to take your professor's cock down your throat?”
You nodded quickly, moaning, his cock still in your mouth.
Then he guided you through it, holding your head as you sucked him. Muttered praises, filth, to guide you.
“Just like that, sweetheart”.
“Yeah, grip it harder”.
“Suck the tip, just like that.”
And right before he came, he ripped you off him and wrapped a hand around himself. He whimpered as jerked off furiously over you, until drops of his pearly cum splattered over your tongue.
He had never come that hard in his life.
Panting harshly, he patted your head.
“Swallow.”
Other than the sex, there were also the days where you'd walk into his office and start talking about some article you'd read, your entire face lighting up with excitement, and everything in him would melt. He’d pull you onto his lap, or set you in front of him, on his desk, and let you talk, feeling the softness of your thighs under his palm as he traced small circles. It was nice to let someone in, fill the void and the silence in his life.
There wasn’t a label on what you two were, if you even were anything.
While at first he’d thought it was common for you to be used to this sort of ‘causalness’ or a friends-with-benefit type situation (or whatever the fuck somebody born two generations after him would call it), he'd come to realise you were actually the opposite. Not that he’d have any issue with either.
But from the scattered stories you'd told him about your past, the way you spoke about relationships, and the cautious vulnerability that appeared whenever the subject drifted too close to ‘feelings’, he'd begun piecing together a picture of someone who felt things deeply and trusted people slowly.
He could calculate you were likely a virgin. And so he never pressurised you, never made the first move to initiate sex, kept his cock to himself, waiting for you. No matter how much he wanted to feel the tightness of your pussy around him.
However, his patience is wearing thin, growing precarious with every instance of you bringing another small thing that wedges itself beneath his ribs and refuses to leave.
Now he's left with the deeply inconvenient problem of wanting things he really shouldn’t want. Not just a warm body near him, but wanting your company, your attention. He wants those afternoons in his office where you do nothing but talk to last a little longer.
All of this wanting, this yearning, is quite frankly, far more than he has any right to want.
Which is exactly why today is proving so unbearable.
He often feels a pit of something bitter bubble in his chest when you interact with someone other than him. Not that it happens frequently - you're quite reserved. But not today. Today, specifically, you seem to be chatting up a boy.
When he enters the lecture this morning, you aren’t sitting alone like usual, but instead, there’s some boy next to you. Some boy your age. Dressed in some sort of hideous baggy outfit that hangs off his lanky frame. Is that fashion now? God that fucking punk.
Why was he sitting next to you? Distracting you?
As he sets up his laptop on the podium, seething under his breath, he hears a giggle. Your breathy giggle, the one he thought only came out with him.
His jaw tightens. The lecture hasn't even started, for Christ's sake.
Jack spends the next five minutes attempting to focus on setting up his stupid slides while simultaneously becoming aware of every interaction occurring in your vicinity.
Looking up, he realises it's a grave mistake. Because now you're touching. Touching that punk’s arm.
Fuck.
Something ugly immediately twists in Jack's stomach, his brows furrowing. Anger bubbles up in his chest.
But he can’t do anything but continue on, beginning his lecture, as if he isn’t seething with jealousy.
Halfway through the lecture, he catches himself directing a question towards your side of the room and immediately wants to launch himself into the sun.
Because you answer, of course, brilliantly as usual. But the boy next to you looks at you with stars in his eyes.
Yeah, Jack wants him expelled.
After a torturous two hours, students begin filing out of the room. Normally, this is the part where he'd catch your eye, maybe exchange some silent look that promised you'd be appearing in his office within the next ten minutes.
Instead, you're still standing beside that boy. And the little prick is making you laugh now. Then you reach out and lightly smack his arm, again.
Jack immediately decides prison might be worth it.
He shoves his laptop into his satchel with considerably more force than necessary, and effectively storms out of the room without giving you a second glance.
If you wanted to fuck about with some kid your age, then fine, Jack was not going to stop you.
By the time he reaches his office he's practically fuming, throwing his bag onto his desk and immediately hating himself for it.
Because what exactly are you guilty of?
Making a friend? Talking to somebody?
The answer is nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Yet that doesn't stop the ugly feeling sitting beneath his ribs. Yeah, he’s going to commit a fucking crime tonight.
Jack Abbot has managed to elicit yet another strange emotion in you. You're staring at the doorway he'd just disappeared through, confused as fuck.
He'd packed up and left so quickly you'd barely had time to process it, when usually, you walk to his office together.
Once James - the man you were talking to - leaves with your Instagram to “organise a study session”, a strange sinking feeling begins to settle in your stomach.
You gather your things slowly, trying not to overthink it but failing spectacularly.
The thing is, you had actually been excited, embarrassingly excited. Somehow, after weeks of mostly keeping to yourself, after spending the majority of your university experience drifting between classes and then disappearing home, you'd accidentally made a friend today randomly. For the first time somebody actually came and fucking sat next you and talked to you.
And the first person you'd wanted to tell was Jack. Which was probably concerning. You know how ridiculous it is that every interesting thing that happens in your day somehow circles back to him.
You'd actually spent the last ten minutes of class thinking about it, thinking about walking into his office and saying, "I made a friend today." And hearing whatever sarcastic response he'd inevitably come up with as he pulled you into his lap. Maybe teasing you about finally socialising - a topic he often teased you about - or maybe pretending to be shocked.
Instead he'd practically fled the room.
By the time you reach his office, the excitement has mostly dissolved into uncertainty, and a sick, sick feeling. Your brain convinces you he hates you, he’s sick of you. The affair with the pretty young thing is over.
Your hand hovers over the door, then knocks.
A gruff voice immediately answers.
"Come in."
You push the door open, and there he is standing beside his desk.
His jaw is clenched, his shoulders rigid.
And suddenly you're no longer excited to tell him anything. Instead you're left standing there wondering what exactly you did wrong.
He stalks up to you, and shuts the door behind you with enough force to make you jump. For a moment he simply stands there, broad chest rising and falling, staring at you as though he's trying to decide whether to throttle you or kiss you.
“Who the fuck was that boy?”
You’re confused.
“Who?”
“Don't play games with me, sweetheart.”
“James?” you ask, tilting your head. “Oh he’s just a… friend I made. We decided to share notes for the course.”
His jaw visibly tenses.
“The fuck you mean you ‘share notes’?” He exaggerates the last two words, mocking the phrase in a deliberately high-pitched voice. “Don’t I give you enough notes to go off? I'm not teachin’ you well enough, so now you gotta go to some punk to share notes?
“Jack, it’s not like that, I just-”
“Dr Abbot.” He interrupts.
The correction slices straight through you.
“What?”
He walks up closer to you, until your back hits the door and you’re pinned against it. He tilts his head down to peer at you.
“It’s Dr Abbot when you’re in my office, sweetheart,” His voice drops lower. “I’m still your professor.”
You scoff at that, hurt. It’s not hot to you, no. In that moment your brain forces you to think about how every moment you've spent together has happened in this room, only in this room. And maybe that's all there is, and maybe that's all there ever was. You convince you that you guys can’t exist out of this space, this dynamic that exists between the two of you.
Can he just not have a civil conversation? Why is pretending to act jealous? If he wanted to fuck you he could just ask.
You swallow hard.
“Right,” you say lowly. “My professor.”
The words taste bitter.
“The one who only seems to want me when we're in here.”
His brows furrow immediately.
“That's not what-”
“No, it’s okay. Let me finish. The one who shoves his face between my thighs when he feels lonely to cure whatever fucked up grief he keeps bottled up inside of him. The one who refuses to see me outside the four walls of this godforsaken office-”
“Enough.”
You see something that resembles hurt flash across his face, his brows creasing. The lines around his eyes deepen.
“Is that really what you think of me?” He whispers, staring at you.
You twitch uncomfortably under him, looking at the floor, confidence evaporating now that you've actually said out loud what you’ve been spiralling over ever since this began.
“I just...” Your voice cracks slightly. “Look, you don't have to act possessive, okay? Whatever we have this- this thing. I know it doesn’t mean much to you.”
Jack immediately opens his mouth, but you keep rambling.
“Which is fine. Seriously. I'm okay with that.” Your hands shake slightly at your sides. “But just don’t give me false hope. I’m happy with you being my professor, or my dom, or whatever the fuck. And I like that you help me study and talk and get out of my head and feel good, but there’s no need to act like you- like you care. I can't handle feeling like you care one minute and then being reminded none of this is real the next.”
You're panting hard by the end of your rant, still refusing to look at him.
“Sweetheart, look at me.”
You shake your head, tears of frustration welling up at letting yourself be seen like this, vulnerable. You promised yourself you wouldn’t ever tell him. Stupid.
Sex, that’s easy. It’s the meshing of two bodies, it’s clinical - you orgasm, your brain feels hazy and good while he drives you there. But this, talking, about feelings of all things, fuck. You can’t let anyone see you like that. Because then, they get sick of you, and then they leave.
“C’mon, look at me,” he pleads.
You wipe your eyes, about to tell him to move back so you can leave, but then he says your name. Softly. Not sweetheart. Not pretty girl. But your actual name.
“Please.”
You look up then, tears pooling in your eyes. And your breath catches.
Because Jack looks devastated. His eyes are red around the edges, and his mouth is pulled into a frown.
His hand rises slowly, cupping your cheek. He gently swipes a thumb under your eye.
“Hey, I need you to know - this is real. To me.”
His voice cracks.
“I’m not using you as some sort of placeholder or whatever self sabotaging bullshit you’ve created in your head okay?”
Then he inhales deeply.
“You've become the best part of my day. I wake up and mentally map my days around you. Hearing you talk loosens the constant ache I feel.”
Jack closes his eyes briefly.
Then opens them again. His hand tightens against your cheek.
“Sweetheart, I love you.”
You still.
Your lip quivers as you stare at him.
You bring your own hand up to cup his, and look up through your lashes.
The words get stuck in your throat. God. He loves you. Somebody loves you. Somebody saw through rot and the cage around your heart, and said he fucking loves you.
“I do. Too. That thing,” you wince at your awkwardness. “I just, I want to say it but I-"
“Hey pretty girl, it’s okay.”
Jack smiles sadly. He leans his forehead down to yours.
“I do,” you whisper desperately. “I do. I just-”
“Shh.”
His mouth nearly presses against you as he whispers again.
“I love you. And I’ll wait however long you need me to say it back, okay?”
Your breath shudders as he says that, a sob catching in your throat. Because for the first time in a very long time, nobody leaves.
Your eyes squeeze shut. Tears roll down your cheek, overwhelmed.
You barely register them before you feel Jack’s lips against your skin, kissing your tears. He mutters soft, ‘I love you’s as he presses kisses all over your face, cradling it. He presses one last one on your forehead before he tucks you into him.
Your cheek rests on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
You wrap your arms around his waist. And you genuinely think you can control it, for about ten seconds at most, then you sob. Uncontrollably, for the first time in years in front of another human.
Because God. You have spent so much of your life believing that love was something you had to earn, something you had to perform correctly for your family, the people around you, to accept you. Something that disappeared the second you became too much, too emotional, too difficult, too needy.
But he stayed. And he saw you.
You stand there, wrapped in each other's embrace until the tears slow. Jack gently wipes your cheeks with both hands.
“Sorry for making you cry, princess,” he pouts, lip jutting out exaggerately.
A watery laugh leaves you at that, and you cup his cheek. Jack immediately leans into your palm.
Jack watches you with an expression so openly adoring it nearly steals the breath from your lungs. As though he's still struggling to believe you're real.
Your thumb traces the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, mapped with years lived longer than you.
Then your hand drifts lower, brushing against the silver-grey scruff along his jaw, littered with specks of auburn, and you rub it gently, feeling the coarseness between your fingertips.
That was it, was it not? The stark difference between you, the thing that made all this so exhilarating.
Jack had lived a life that existed before you. And somehow, impossibly, it had still found its way to yours. As though he's spent years wandering through darkness and has suddenly found something worth staying for.
And perhaps, you realise, so have you.
That’s when you know.
“I’m ready,” you breathe out.
Jack's eyes widen, his hand coming to hold yours where it rests on his jaw.
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured into it.”
“Jack. I’m sure. I want this, I want you.”
He shudders, exhaling hard, bringing his face down to yours.
“Yeah?” He whispers against your lips, brushing them.
“Yeah.”
Then his lips slam down onto yours, for the first time.
And God, its everything you fucking imagined.
His mouth presses against yours and soft whimpers escape the both of you. There’s a certain desperation in the way his mouth moves against yours, in the way your tongues immediately find each other.
After a few brutal minutes of grinding against each other, moaning, Jack succumbs. He lifts you into his hands, your thighs wrapping around his waist, as he carries you to his desk and sets you on it.
Mouth still pressed against yours, he rips your shirt off, pulls your jeans and panties off, shoving them to the floor.
He whines as you detach your lips from his to pull his blazer off. Looking up at him, naked on his desk, you unbutton his shirt. Trail your fingers down the dusting of salt and pepper chest hair, down, over his pecs, slightly raking your nails over his nipples.
“Fuck yeah, use your nails on my chest,” he grunts out as he unzips his pants.
You moan, pressing against him harder.
“I can’t wait any longer, fuck. Please, sweetheart, let me fuck you.”
You nod.
“I’m ready, Dr Abbot.”
He groans mutters ‘you fucking minx’ as he pulls his pants and boxers down, standing bare in front of you.
His cock hits his soft stomach, curving to the left, precum coating the tip, the way you love.
You glance down at his prosthetic.
“You sure you want to do this here, Jack? We can go on the sofa if you want.”
He looks at you with so much adoration, a soft smile gracing his face.
“No sweetheart, I'll keep it on for now. Wanna fuck you on my desk. ”
Then he pinches your nipples as he leans in.
“And I still need to fuck the brat out of you.”
You whine.
“What are you waiting for then?”
He brings a hand down your stomach, fingers pressing up against you.
“Gonna finger you a little bit, yeah? Get you ready for your professor's cock, s’not gonna fit in this tight pussy otherwise.”
A whimper escapes you at his crude words, god can this old man dirty talk.
He slowly slips two fingers inside of you, thrusting, then three once you’re ready. Circles your clit softly, the way he’s learnt after many nights on this same desk.
Whispers filth against your lips, kissing you, desperate now that he knows what your lips taste like after many weeks.
Once you come, he finally presses his cock against you. Rubs the tip over your folds, coating it in your slick.
“Yeah? You ready sweetheart?”
You nod, whisper a soft ‘please’ against his lips.
Then he pushes his tip into you. And oh fuck. He’s just so fucking thick.
He immediately brings a hand up to hold his base to stave off his orgasm, puts his head on your shoulder. Breathing harshly.
It hurts a little but you want more, you crave the feeling of him pressed up against you. So you buck your hips.
“Please, Jack, fuck. Put it in,” you whine.
“Oh- oh shit. Fucking stop that.”
He lays a hand flat on your thigh. Breathes deeply.
“I’m trying not to blow my load here, sweetheart, gimme a sec.”
You giggle softly, pleased. Having this old man at your mercy, your dreams come true.
“Take your time, old man.”
He stills at that, grips your waist harshly.
Looks up at you, his eyes darkening.
“Fuck you,” he snarls.
Then he presses into you, inch by inch, until all of him is buried inside. His thighs shake with the effort of not coming, and you breathe deeply through the pinch of pain.
“Fuck princess, so tight for me, my good fucking girl,” he babbles in your ear.
You whimper against him, waiting for the pain to subside.
Then you nod. And he begins thrusting, slowly. And it's so fucking euphoric, the feeling of sex. It makes sense why they call orgasms ‘a little death’ in French, because god, you know your body will leave your soul once he starts properly fucking you.
With every deep thrust of his cock into you, his grey pubes brush against your clit. You both moan softly. He grips your waist, shoving faster, harder.
“Only man that’s ever gonna be in this pussy yeah? Yeah?”
You’re half gone drooling against his neck, letting out high pitched whines.
“Nod for me, c’mon. I haven’t fucked the brains outta you yet.”
Jack grips your hair tight, pulling your head away from where it was buried against his neck.
You nod, slurring your words.
“Yeah Dr Abbot, s’only your pussy.”
“That’s it, good fucking girl.”
Then he starts thrusting, faster. Your hands rest on his shoulders, his face buried in your neck. His body slamming into yours is so hard it makes the table squeak under you.
When he brings a hand to your clit, you whimper loudly. He covers your mouth with his palm, and stops immediately.
“Quiet, you don’t want anyone to hear right?”
He roughly pants, trailing a line of kisses up your neck.
“Don’t want them to know your professor’s fucking you, right?”
You shake your head, words muffled under his palm.
“I’ll be quiet please, fuck please!”
He starts thrusting against faster, the table shaking. You toss your head back in pleasure, his cock reaching a spot deep inside you. He stares at you, at your face twisted in pleasure, the way your tits bounce as he thrusts into you.
“Yeah that is it, baby, good fucking girl.”
God it feels so good, and you’re there, you're nearly there, egged on by his rough groans and whimpers in your ear. You bring a hand down to your clit, starting to rub it to reach your orgasm but he shoves it off. Pushes you onto the table, your back hitting the desk.
“That’s my job sweetheart. This pussy is mine.”
Then he hovers over you, eyes boring into yours as he fucks you harder, rubbing circles on your clit. The pleasure is so, so overwhelming and you close your eyes.
He pulls your head towards him, gripping your jaw.
“C’mon, look at me sweetheart.”
You open your eyes, moaning.
“Say it,” he grunts. “Say you’re mine. Say it.”
“Fuck- Dr Abbot, I’m yours.”
He moans gutturally then pushes his lips onto yours again. You both moan into each other's mouths, sloppily kissing as you build towards your peak.
“Fuck yeah sweetheart, just like that- good girl, so fucking tight.”
He continues to mutter filth against you while all you can do is softly moan. Your brain is mush, filled with thoughts of him, jackjackjack.
You clench tightly around him when he bites your bottom lip.
“C’mon tell me how good you feel,” he pants, nearing his own orgasm.
“Fuck, Daddy, feels so good.”
His hips buck once, harshly, then he stills.
“What’d you just call me?”
Your eyes come into focus. The fog clearing a bit.
You stammer, “Um nothing, sir, I was just-”
“No. Repeat it.”
He trails a hand to your neck, squeezing gently once, then more harshly
“What did you call me?”
“Daddy,” you whisper out.
He pouts mockingly.
“Yeah? Daddy makin’ you feel good, baby? That’s why you're grippin’ this cock so tight, right?”
And then he starts thrusting, harder than before.
“Just. Let. Daddy. Take Care. Of. You,” He harshly thrusts between each word, one hand covering your mouth as your moans get louder.
Then you feel your orgasm approaching, the flutter building up again, clenching around him.
He looks into your eyes, only a thin ring of hazel left, his pupils so dilated.
“You gonna come for your Daddy? Yeah?”
You nod, whining, then you bite his palm. Hard.
His hips stutter and you feel the warmth of his spend pooling in your cunt. He whimpers and babbles your name as he comes, “fuck, fuck I love you. I love you so fucking much.”
You moan at his words. But you still have to come.
“Jack please, please keep going.”
He groans gutterly as his cock begins to soften, overstimulated but he continues thrusting jerkily.
He grips your chin in his palm.
“Fuckin’ come for me. Now,” he grunts out, pinching your clit roughly.
And then it happens. You write, moaning under his hands as the coil of pleasure snaps, closing your eyes.
He whimpers soft praises and coos of “I love you, did so good for me” as his cock spurts out more cum, twitching.
You pant against each other's mouths for a few long moments, his scruff tickling your chin, his forehead resting against yours, both of you trying and failing to steady your breathing.
“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a breathless laugh escaping him. “That live up to your expectations?”
You laugh softly nodding.
“Mhm.”
He leans his head back to look at you properly once he’s cooled down, and holds your face in his palms.
After a few long seconds of just staring, something grave passed over his face.
“Don’t think I got a lot of years left, sweetheart.”
Your brows immediately furrow.
“Jack-”
He presses a finger to your lips when you go to interrupt, shushing you.
“Let me speak.”
You sigh, but nod.
“I've spent most of my life thinkin' there'd only ever be one great love for me,” he says quietly, his thumb brushing beneath your eye. “And after I lost her, I figured that was it. Figured whatever part of me knew how to belong to somebody had gone with her.”
Your breath stutters.
“Then you came along. In that fucking bar, wearing that tiny dress, asking me to help you. ”
A watery laugh escapes you.
“And whatever years I have left, I wanna spend them with you. I wanna hear every thought that gets trapped in that head of yours. I wanna know what articles you're reading, what you're writing, what you're dreamin’ about at three in the morning.”
He pauses.
“I wanna be the person you come home to.”
Your breath catches.
“As your other. If you’d want.”
You breathe out, seeing his face dimly lit by the lamp in his office. Mapping out his wrinkles near his eyes, the silver threaded in his slight beard and his soft smile. And suddenly it comes spilling out of you before anxiety can stop it.
“I love you.”
Jack stills completely. His eyes pool with tears.
“Yeah?” He whispers, half surprised, half in awe.
You nod, leaning up and brushing your nose against his.
“And I’d love to be yours.”
Relief washes over his face so intensely it almost hurts to witness. His eyes glisten as he kisses you softly, a slow, reverent press of his lips against yours for a few quiet moments.
Then he moves back to start cleaning up, cock still inside you.
As he leans up, his back cracks, loudly.
You both still. Before you burst out laughing.
“You’re so fucking old… yeah you’re not making it very long, I can’t lie.”
He groans dramatically, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.
“Fuck you, shut up.”
You bite your lip. His gaze travels there.
“Make me, Dr Abbot,” you say, exaggerating a whimper, only half serious.
His eyes darken, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle jumps beneath the skin. Yet despite the stern look he's trying to give you, a pink flush begins creeping across his cheeks, spreading over the tops of them and disappearing beneath the scruff along his jaw.
“Yeah sweetheart, about that… I’m not gonna be able to get it up for a while.”
You break, laughing harder as he laments. He’s so fucking old.
Once you calm down, he slowly pulls his cock out of you, both of you moaning, you at the loss of the fullness, him at your shared cum oozing out.
“But my mouth still works,” he smirks.
Your breath hitches as he plugs you with his fingers to stop more of your cum from spilling out. Leans in close, and whispers.
“My leg’s killing me, sweetheart,” he begins, breath fanning over your face. “But I'm going to lie on that sofa right there. And you're gonna ride my face till you come. Again. And again.”
You whimper softly against his mouth.
“Okay.”
“Okay, who, pretty girl?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
He grins.
“Good girl.”
omg hi u made it ! guys when i tell you this is so personal to me, from the dialgoue to the experimental (?) writing style. i need this man to be my father figure SO FUCKING BAD i have had such a week.
anyways per usual thank you to @tempestfawn for perving out with me and tolerating me, and salima for being horny over this man among other things #fullhomo
Synopsis: Dex cares about you…maybe too much. What’s the harm in looking out for a friend though, right? Right…?
Benjamin Poindexter has got you in a mean chokehold. Thick bicep flexing around the soft expanse of your throat, calloused fingertips pressed into your scalp, your hair curled around his fingers in a way that burns. It hurts, all of it. The way his other hand has your wrists pinned behind your back, grip so tight it feels like the bones are grinding, bruising in real time. Your breathing is laboured, choked sounding, as you struggled to swallow despite the way his muscles are constricting your throat. You can taste iron, though you’re not sure if it’s his blood or your own.
“Don’t move-” It’s a command, his voice low in your ear, breathing laboured as his chest presses against your spine. “Make one more god damned sound and I’ll snap your neck.”
The threat has anger coiling behind your ribs, your lip curling, teeth bared. You’d have snapped back at him if your windpipe wasn’t being crushed. Dex’s lips brush against the soft curve of your ear as he tries to catch his breath, and you try to wrench your head away from him, disgusted with yourself for having let this animal get close enough to you to have you in such a compromising position.
But Dex can feel your muscles tensing, your rigid stance beginning to shift as you struggled to control your breath. His grip was too tight, and he could feel you fighting to take in a deeper gulp of air. But if he let you go, you could scream, reveal his position, maybe even-
You jerked forward in his grip and Dex’s hand tightened in your hair, another warning.
“I’ll let you breathe if you promise not to scream,” His tone is mean, biting, as he forces your head back. Maybe it’s mocking, animalistic even, but he lets his canine graze the soft flesh of your ear, relishing in the way your body tenses. “You make a fuckin’ peep and I’ll snap your pretty little neck. Got it?”
There’s silence for a beat. Two beats, nearly three-
“Nod your god damn head if you understand me,” He snaps, though his voice is still a whisper. You nod, the smallest of movements in his vicelike grip. Dex shifts then, his grip loosening in your hair as his arm releases ever so slightly. Your throat is no longer pinned in the crook of his elbow and you take in a gulp of air, a ragged breath escaping you as your breathing levels out.
“There there,” His tone is condescending as he shifts his stance, turning so that he can grin at the top of your head. “That’s it.”
You’re still shaking in his grip, though the anger is now laced with fear. “What do you want, Dex?” Your tone is biting despite the circumstances that’s got you vibrating in your neighbor’s grip.
Dex is silent for a moment, seemingly mulling over what he’d like to say to you. “You weren’t supposed to find out about this,” He finally laments and you nearly scoff.
“That you were stalking me? No shit.” Dex’s grip around your throat tightens again and you hiss, eyes snapping shut. You should have stayed silent.
“Don’t be so-” He huffs before he’s stretching his neck, shoulders flexing like he’s trying to get comfortable. “Condescending, Y/N.” He sucks on his teeth, feet shifting as he taps a rhythm against your wrists. “This wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”
“You’re an asshole,” You wheeze, back arching as you try to crane your neck, desperate to be free from this lunatic’s grip. He only laughs behind you. It sounds dry, unamused, bored even.
“Maybe,” His lips are against your ear again. You hate the way goose bumps ripple across your skin. A breathy chuckle escapes him and his warm breath ghosts across the skin of your collar bones. It seems as if he’ll say more, but instead Dex stays silent, fingers flexing against your wrists like he’s deciding whether or not he’ll release you.
Ultimately, he decides to, thick bicep slowly straightening as he releases you from his vicelike chokehold. Your head tips forward, and you swallow, a dull ache now present in the muscles of your throat. You suck in a lungful of air, acutely aware of how tense Dex is behind you. He hasn’t released your wrists yet, instead allowing his free hand to drift across your shoulders as he mulls over what he should do next.
“Why me?” The words escape you before you’ve properly thought about how they could impact the obviously unwell man behind you.
Dex is silent. You try to crave your neck to see him, but his hand is suddenly gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze forward. You hiss, his grip bruising as he keeps you in place.
“Keep your gaze forward.”
You breathe hard through your gritted teeth, jaw flexing as you try to control the anger simmering beneath the surface. “You don’t have to manhandle me so much.”
Dex sucks his teeth again, index finger tapping a soft rhythm against the corner of your lip. “You’re feisty. Can’t chance it again.”
You almost smile, the memory of your fist connecting with his lip replaying in your mind. He clearly hadn’t anticipated you attacking first when he’d pushed the doors of your balcony open and walked in like he’d owned the place. How many times had he done that? He’d seemed too comfortable, too smooth. Was it only when you weren’t home? What about when you were sleeping?
Realizing Dex was stalking you had been…jarring, to say the least. You’d known for months that something was off in your every day life, and you’d only recently started to put your finger on it. A stalker. You’d started watching everyone in your life more closely, waiting for a slip up, anything. You hadn’t expected it to be Dex, or maybe you’d hoped it wouldn’t be. The calm, calculated, handsome man who lived in the apartment above you. FBI. It made sense, right? He had the skills, the experience, the motive. But Dex had been nice, you’d even considered him somewhat of a friend.
But rounding the corner and recognizing the way the man’s shoulder’s shifted when you’d caught someone in the reflection of the window of a storefront? It impressed Dex. You were smart, observant, and your intuition was almost alarming it was so accurate.
You’d surprised him. Even more so when you’d stared straight through him, eyes fixed on where his should have been in the reflection and said one simple word; his name.
His full name.
“Poindexter.”
It was firm, resolute, almost…eerie. He’d frozen, heart in his throat, how had you caught him?
But before he could move forward, explain himself, explain that he was just worried about you, just wanted to make sure his neighbor was safe, that she was cared for, you were gone.
You’d taken off in a sprint, purse tucked carefully under your arm, breath laboured.
Fuck.
Where were you supposed to go?
Home, you realized. Because where else? He knew everything about you, because not only was he stalking you, you had let him in. Trusted him. Considered him a friend.
But home? It had everything you needed. You could grab your things and then run. Going to the police would do nothing. He was FBI. You were positive he had tricks up his sleeve, he was Dex-he was smart.
How had you been so dumb? How had you not known it was Dex?
Somewhere deep within you whispered that you were being foolish. You had suspected Dex for weeks, maybe even known it was him, but had foolishly hoped that just this once, maybe you were wrong. Maybe he was just looking out for you. He was charming, friendly, skilled. You enjoyed his company. Why would you assume something so big that it could ruin the very nice thing you had going with your neighbor?
Well, that tended to fall apart when he 1) stalked you, and 2) you tried to knock him over with a chair.
Dex had landed in your apartment like a lynx-smooth, silent, quick.
And you’d slammed your kitchen chair into his chest like you were an MMA fighter.
The fight only escalated from there.
You were proud of the way you’d handled yourself, more rage than fear burning through you as you fought the greying blonde. You’d landed a few hits, teeth bared as you fought to simply knock him down and have him stay down long enough to run again.
But Dex was strong, and skilled. He’d tried at first to simply subdue you-he didn’t want to hurt you, he cared about you. You were smart, kind, you’d let him in and listen when he was struggling. But you were also landing hits and your strength surprised him.
Eventually, he’d had to knock you down, use his full strength to keep you down. He hadn’t meant to be so rough, but you’d nearly knocked his jaw out of place. It was only fair that he knocked you back with just enough effort to get you into a position he could control.
But not before you’d bitten him.
“Fuck!” He’d nearly shouted when your teeth had sank into the muscle of his shoulder. He’d had to wrench you away from him like some wild animal, and he’d nearly snapped your neck with the force it had taken. His hand had been curled in your hair, grip tight enough to hurt as he’d pulled you off of him, his own blood coating your teeth.
He didn’t miss the way his chest had tightened at the sight.
You were tougher than he’d given you credit for.
But the tussle had hurt the both of you, and now here you were; back pressed against his chest, both of you bruised and bloodied, rage and betrayal coiled like snakes in the pits of your stomach. Dex, angry that he’d made such a fuck up with you, lip split and sore from where your fist had connected with it and you; betrayed and bloodthirsty because how dare a man pull such a cruel stunt? Was it what you deserved for having had faith that maybe just this one time, one would prove themselves to be good?
“Why?” Your voice was sharp, words almost slurred from the way he was gripping your jaw. “Why were you stalking me?”
You couldn’t see it, but Dex’s face curled into a grimace. He was embarrassed and angry with himself for having gotten caught. He had just wanted to make sure you were safe, that you were okay. You were too nice, listened too often to assholes who could hurt you, men who may try to take your time, time away from him.
His breathing was laboured, sharp, head buzzing with adrenaline-no, fear-as he tried to collect himself.
“Answer me,” You growled and suddenly Dex was pushing his pointer and middle finger past your swollen lower lip, the rough pads of his fingers heavy against your tongue. You started, nearly recoiling at the way he was silencing you, thicker fingers pressing past your teeth.
“Shh, just let me-let me-” Dex shudders behind you, stance shifting as he tries to collect himself. “Let me think.”
You blink, eyes wide. You could bite him, right now, leave him bloodied and injured with the way he’s got you situated. Two fingers pressed against your tongue, nose buried in your hair as he tries to collect himself.
You don’t, instead you find yourself trying not to flush with embarrassment at the way your spit is beginning to soak the digits. Your teeth press lightly into the skin, breath warm around him.
Dex lifts his head after a few moments, swallowing loudly behind you. The gesture doesn’t seem to be intentional in its sexual nature, and Dex seems to be genuinely lost in himself behind you, his anxiety obvious as it continues to climb.
“I-I didn’t mean to scare you,” Dex finally begins to speak, and his voice sounds different, somewhat smaller. His fingers flex absentmindedly against your tongue as he struggles to find the words, desperate to explain himself.
He couldn’t handle you leaving, hating him.
“It started out simple, I was just looking out for you. I was worried-” Dex lets out a shaky breath and you feel the way it shifts across the back of your neck. He licks his lips before he continues, “You’re too nice to people. Your exes, coworkers, hell even strangers, they try to take advantage of you.”
You frown, tongue shifting against his fingers as if to protest because no, you establish boundaries and are quite good at communicating-
But Dex’s fingers flatten against your tongue, silencing you. You try to swallow the spit that’s accumulating in your mouth but it’s difficult given the way he’s pressing into your mouth. You feel the digits press against the roof of your mouth as your tongue shifts, drool slipping past the edge of your mouth and down the corner of your lip, soaking his fingers.
The filthy nature of the situation is embarrassing.
Still, you squirm, ashamed at the part of you that’s thrilled by the way he’s got your wrists pinned, how he’s silencing you, and how desperate he sounds behind you as he struggles to explain himself.
“I care about you Y/N,” He says earnestly in your ear, sighing behind you. “I’m just trying to keep you safe. Can’t you see that?”
He was delusional, far more damaged than you’d originally thought, and fear prickled along the length of your spine. He genuinely believed he was in the right, that he was doing you a service, that he was a hero of sorts.
“Please,” His voice is desperate, near whiny. “Can’t you see that?”
You try to pull your head away from him, his fingers pressing too deeply into your throat, a breathy sound escaping you. You can’t speak, can’t answer him when he’s got you situated like this. If he pressed any further into your mouth you feared you may gag on him.
“I’m gonna move my hands, okay?” Dex’s voice is a bit more firm now as he speaks, his lips beside your ear. “Don’t scream.”
There’s a beat of silence before Dex begins to slowly slide his fingers across your tongue, pulling them from your mouth before he’s holding your jaw again. His hand is wet against your skin as he cradles your face in hand, his firm grip a reminder of the control he has over the situation.
Your tongue slides across your lip, the salt of his skin mixing with the iron of your blood.
“You didn’t need to stalk me,” Your voice is hoarse. “I was-” You sigh, frustrated as you struggle to find the words. “I thought we were friends.”
A little more, actually. You’d hoped he was interested and had fantasized about him more than you’d ever care to admit out loud.
“We are friends,” Dex insists, shifting closer to you. You startle, eyes widening as your hands brush against the crotch of his jeans. It isn’t intentional, you know that, it’s just the nature of the position he’s still got you forced in. Your wrists are trapped in his much larger hand, pressed against your tailbone as he shifts closer. “I just had to make sure you were safe-”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” You snap back, and it’s far more mean than you’d meant it to be. “That’s not what you were doing Dex, so cut the bullshit.”
You crane your neck to look back at him and for the first time this evening, Dex allows you to. You can only catch the corner of his face but what you can see startles you.
Pupils blown wide, greying hair moussed, drying blood at his temple, nostrils flared as he tries to catch his breath.
He looked…scared.
“Tell me why. Now. And be honest.”
Dex opens his mouth to speak again, stuttering over more bullshit before you’re rocking your head back, skull connecting with his chin. He curses, nearly losing his grip on you.
It aches but you snap at him again anyway. “Stop lying to me!”
“Fine!” He barks, and suddenly his hand is slipping from your jaw, long, slender fingers wrapping around your throat as he leans forward. “I don’t want to share you.”
You pause, eyes fixed on the wall ahead of you.
“Is that what you wanted to hear?” His voice is a snarl, nasty, mean, as he talks down to you. “I don’t want anyone else spending their time with you. Listening to you, learning you, taking you away from me. I can do all of that for you. I can be there for you, help you, keep you safe. Isn’t that enough?”
You should be scared. More than that, you should be scared that you’re not scared. But a part of you, maybe the broken part that you should have addressed years ago, is flattered. Flattered that someone as intelligent, calculated and skilled as Dex has become so possessive over you. Flattered that someone so handsome was angry at the thought of sharing you.
So when you flex your hand and your palm flattens against the zipper of Dex’s jeans, right where his dick should be, and you feel him catch his breath, you don’t say a word. It seems innocent enough, like you’re trying to release some of the tension in your muscles, but Dex’s fingers flex against the smooth skin of your neck and you feel it-
Feel the way his cock flexes against your palm, the way it seems to jump to life at your touch.
Dex seems startled by it, swallowing loudly. “What’re you-”
He’s cut off when you cup him, grip tight as a strangled moan escapes him, face tipping forward against the back of your head as he momentarily loses control. Your pulse flutters under his fingertips, hands pinned between your ass and his front as you gently squeeze his hardening cock.
“Y/N,” Your name is a breathy warning on his tongue, his eyes wide as he stares down at your hand and how you’re palming him. This wasn’t what he’d expected, especially not with how angry you’d been with him only moments before. “If this is some sort of game-” He’s cut off when a strangled grunt escapes him, your thumb rubbing circles over the head of his sensitive dick. He can feel the wet spot forming in his jeans as his hips jerk forward, desperate for more friction, for more of you.
Was this mean? Maybe. Cruel? Probably. Maybe that should have startled you, but it didn’t. Instead, you continued to palm Dex’s growing erection through his jeans, thumb swiping across the growing wet spot where the leaking slit should be. His breathing was laboured, hot against your scalp as his hand flexed around your wrists. His grip on your throat was loosening, thumb coming up to drag across your lower lip.
If you could distract him long enough, then you could break free. That was the plan; use his attraction to you as an advantage, tease him long enough to have him let his guard down so you could escape.
Right.
Yes.
That sounded like a good plan.
Right?
So why could you feel your nipples hardening beneath your bra? And was Dex’s whiny, pathetic moans spurring you on? You could feel your cunt clenching around nothing, a damp heat beginning to flood the space between your thighs, goose bumps rippling across your skin at the way his breathing was shifting as he bucked into your hand.
Normal, you told yourself. My body’s just reacting, perfectly normal.
“Y/N,” He whispered, and it sounded broken. “Please.”
Oh, fuck.
You felt your chest tighten at how desperate he sounded.
Oh…was Dex a sub?
You found yourself screwing your eyes shut, trying desperately to will your body to just shut off and listen, to be scared of the situation, to be logical but Dex’s erection was full now and it was thick in your hand as your fingers traced the shape of it. Long, full, the kind that hurt you as they pushed into you, the kind that had you begging men to slow down as your nails sunk into their hips, the kind that had you squirming because of how good the burn was as they stretched you open.
But of course Dex was big. Of course the complicated, handsome, clearly somewhat insane man who was stalking you also had a huge dick.
And of course he was hard for you.
And of course he was panting and whimpering as he let his forehead fall against your shoulder, tongue lolling out as he lapped at your skin. And of course your name sounded sinful as his teeth grazed the gentle slope of your skin before he was biting into it.
“Ah, Dex!” You hissed, his canines sharp as they pressed into you. His only response was a breathy hum before his fingers were pressing against your lips again, gently tracing the shape of them.
“Open up.”
You didn’t mean to oblige, didn’t mean to moan softly as his fingers slid across your tongue, didn’t mean to have your eyes drift shut when he ground himself further into your hand. You didn’t mean to shiver when his lips pressed against your ear as you drooled on his fingers, didn’t mean to whine when he slid his tongue across your ear, or cry out when he pressed his tongue into your ear and started making out with it.
Oh, fuck-
Squirming didn’t help, didn’t sway him as he continued to lap at your ear, thumb hooked under your chin, two fingers pressing into your tongue as he kept you still for him. He was rutting gently into your hand, tongue wet and hot as it slid over the shell of your ear.
“I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I imagined what you’d sound like once I got my hands on you,” Dex’s voice was deep, breathy, shiver inducing as he spoke gently to you. “How many times I imagined it was me touching you while I listened to all the pretty sounds you make when you make yourself feel good.”
Your eyes snapped open, startled at the realization that Dex has been spying on you while at home. You struggled to speak against his fingers but Dex just tutted in response. “Mm mm,” He hummed, gently pushing your tongue down. “Stay quiet for me.”
The action had heat flooding your core. The lack of control had you sinking into his grip.
“I want to make you feel good,” Dex begged in your ear, nose brushing against your temple. “Please, Y/N, let me make you feel good.” He gently withdrew his fingers from your mouth, spit soaked and shaking slightly as he gently pressed them against your cheek. He was silent as he waited for you to respond.
You paused, heart hammering in your chest as you mulled over your options. Dex was buzzing behind you, acutely aware of the infinitely thin ledge he was currently toeing with you.
He only breathed a sigh of relief when he felt you shift to curl your fingers around his belt buckle and tug, hands still trapped behind you.
“Take these off,” You murmured and Dex swallowed, hand still wrapped tightly around your wrists. He couldn’t let go, fearful you’d run, his need to control control control overruling his desire.
Dex shuffled back half an inch, eyes dark as he began to fumble with his belt buckle. He was watching your hands flex in his grip, finger tips tracing the obvious bulge in his jeans as he struggled to pull the belt free. It took only a few moments despite the slight shake in his hands, before he was watching with bated breath as you pinched his zipper and tugged.
“Dex, help.”
He felt like he couldn’t focus, heart in his throat as he unbuttoned his jeans, watching the way you tugged the zipper down and pushed past the fabric, fingers slipping beneath the waist band of his briefs and then-
Dex should have been embarrassed at the sound that escaped him when your fingers wrapped around the thick shaft of his dick. He should have been embarrassed with how his hips jerked forward when your grip tightened, the weight of him heavy in your palm when you pulled his dick from his pants started jerking him off. He should have been embarrassed at how turned on he was watching your fingers trace the flushed tip of his cock despite the fact that he was still holding your wrists in his other hand, how your hands were still being held behind your back, how big his dick looked in your smaller hands, and how he couldn’t peel his eyes away when he started gently bucking into your grip.
“Dex.”
He realized you’d been gently calling his name and he whimpered, cock flexing.
“Hm?” He hummed, half lidded gaze lifting to the back of your head.
“Spit on it. Spit on my hand.”
His cock jumped in your hand at the lewd command and he damn near busted in that moment.
“Y-yes m’am,” He finally managed, tongue sliding across the back of his teeth before he was gathering his spit. It was filthy, the way it sounded as he tipped his head forward and spat onto the length of his cock and watched as it slid across your fingers. Even filthier still when you began to jerk him off again, using his own spit as lube.
Dex’s eyes snapped shut, head falling forward as he cried out, hips stuttering at the brutal pace you’d set. It was somewhat awkward, your hands still forced behind your back, the tip of his cock pressed against your ass, his free hand moving back up to wrap around your throat as you jerked him off. He was a mess, breathing laboured as he whined in your ear, soft gasps escaping him every time the edge of your tight fist caught the sensitive tip.
He wasn’t going to last long, not like this. Not with his face buried in your hair and the scent of your conditioner flooding his senses. Not with the way you were tightening your grip on him. Not with the way your own breathing had shifted, or how you were encouraging him to let go.
“That’s it Dex,” Your voice was so god damn soft, so you, so- “That’s it baby, does that feel good?”
He ruts forward at the pet name, fingers flexing around your wrists.
“Uh huh,” It’s breathy, needy. Embarrassing.
“Is this how you wanna cum?” Your voice is like honey, though somewhat condescending and Dex feels like he may keel over. His cock is unbelievably sensitive in your firm grip, the obscene shlick shlick sounds drifting upwards as you continue to tug on him, precum and his own spit mixing across the thick length and flushed tip.
“D-do I have a choice?” He manages, and he tilts his head forward, pupils blown wide as he stares down at your chest. Fuck, you look good.
He can hear the way you grin as you answer; “No.”
Dex can’t help himself, can’t help the way his hand shifts from your throat and slides down your chest, how he palms your tit through the flimsy fabric of your tank top, can’t help the way he tugs the cup of your bra down so he can let his fingers drag across your nipples. He can’t help the way he feels your arch in his grip, chest pressing into his hand when he pinches your sensitive peaks, or the way his grin turns sinister when your body so clearly responds to him.
He knew you liked him, knew you wouldn’t deny him, knew you were his. Filthy, desperate, needy, just like him. All his.
No one else deserved to have this, have you. You belonged with him, to him.
“That’s it,” His voice is soft, though the tone is almost cruel as he tugs your top and bra beneath your breast, pushing it free and leaving you exposed. He lifts his hand to your mouth once more and taps your lips, encourage you to open your mouth. You oblige, a soft sound of surprise escaping you when he forces his fingers into your mouth for the umpteenth time that evening. “Suck.”
You do, eyes drifting shut as your tongue slides across his thick fingers, cheeks hollowing as you suck him further into your mouth. You can hear the way Dex moans behind you, body sagging against you as he ruts more aggressively into your fist. Needy son of a bitch.
He pulls his fingers free from your mouth with a wet pop and you whine softly, though it’s replaced with a loud gasp when he begins to toy with your exposed nipple, coating it in your own spit.
“How’s that, hm?” His voice is barely above a whisper, blonde scruff dragging against the soft shell of your ear as he speaks. “Feel good?”
Your head falls back against his shoulder, grip tightening around his cock as you momentarily surrender to the pleasure. Dex shouldn’t have known these things, known exactly what got you going, but clearly he’d been stalking and watching you for far longer than you’d realized.
A particularly sharp tug has you gasping, eyes snapping open.
“Answer me.”
You nod, thighs clenching at the harsh treatment, before answering: “Y-yes Dex, it feel’sgood.”
“Good girl,” It’s a purr in your ear, his voice smooth as velvet as he continues to palm at your chest. Your eyes drifting shut, mouth falling open as Dex continues to fuck his cock into your slick fist, his grip still bruising as he holds your wrists. It was filthy, abhorrent, the way he seemed to be using you to pleasure yourself, and yet you found yourself growing needier, pussy soaked, as time wore on.
You moaned softly as Dex’s large, warm palm began to smooth down the expanse of your rib cage and over your stomach, fingers dipping into the waist band of your pants.
“This what you want, huh?” He asks, near breathless. You try to turn to him, to catch his gaze, but he’s got his chin on your shoulder, eyes glued to your arching body. “Filthy girl, so needy for me, pretendin’ she’s mad that I know her.” His hand slips below your jeans and you gasp, suddenly nervous. “That I need her.”
“Wait-” You startle, trying to straighten. “Dex-”
His fingers are suddenly sliding between the slick folds of your pussy and you cry out, startled by the sheer amount of slick to be found, and how fuckin’ sensitive you are.
You hadn’t realized how needy he’d made you feel until his middle finger was gently sliding over your swollen clit.
“Fuck!” It was a gasp as you arched, head pressing against his shoulder.
“Don’t try and stop me,” He snarls, and the animalistic gaze that meets yours when your eyes open should have scared you. You know that, that Dex should scare you shitless, but instead you find yourself clenching around his fingers as he pushes two into your aching cunt.
“Gah, Dex!” You nearly sob, fist tight around his dick as he begins pumping his fingers into you, palm pressed flat against your swollen clit, an embarrassing amount of slick now covering his hand and fingers.
Dex curses, hips jumping forward, before he turns to press his lips against your ear, merciless as he begins to work you open.
“I know you more than you know yourself,” It’s a growl, a warning. “Let me in. Let me take care of you.”
The pace is brutal, filthy, the wet sounds of his fingers pushing into you are obscene as they fill the dark expanse of your now messy apartment. You’re on the tips of your toes, back arching, head pressed into Dex’s shoulder as his palm pushes against your clit. Your breathing is laboured, whines and praise freely escaping you as Dex works you up faster than any man ever has.
“D-Dex!” It’s a warning, your thighs shaking, as you struggle to continue to pump his cock, eyes blurring with tears as your orgasm builds at an alarming rate. You want so desperately to continue to pleasure him, his cock unbelievably hard in your fist as he forces you to ride his fingers.
“That’s it pretty girl,” His voice is shaking with the effort he’s putting into making you cum on him. “Gonna watch you cum all over me, all for me, yeah? Isn’t that what you want? Do it, fuckin’ cum for me. All over my fingers-” He tilts his head, grinning as his lips brush against your ear once more. “Before I fill you to the fuckin’ brim with my cock. See how pretty you look when I stretch you open.”
His voice sends you over the edge with a loud cry, eyes squeezed shut as begin to shake in his firm grip, thighs desperately trying to close around his thick fingers. But Dex doesn’t slow, doesn’t stop as he continues his brutal pace, fingers pushing into your fluttering cunt.
“Keep touching me baby,” He pleads, breathless when he finally, finally, releases your wrists and wraps his hand around your throat again, keeping you pinned against him as he forces you to ride out your orgasm.
It’s overwhelming, overstimulating as you clench around his thick fingers, and you feel delirious when Dex is suddenly grunting in your ear, hot ropes of cum spilling across your hand and the back of your ass as he cums into your fist. He’s still pumping his fingers into you as he cums, whining in your ear as he ruts into your hand. You try, desperately to make sense of what’s happening, to gather your thoughts and do something, anything, as you come down from the high but instead you’re sinking against him, watching with bleary eyes as he pulls his hand from your jeans and-
God, you came so hard you fuckin’ creamed on his fingers and you can see it-
Dex’s pupils are blown wide, eyes half open as he pushes his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean. He moans, eyes fluttering shut, tongue lapping at the digits like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted and it has you licking your lips.
Dex keeps his eyes on you as he hand slips back into your jeans, fingers lazily pumping into you for a few moments, ignoring the way you wince and cry out softly, before he’s bringing his cum soaked fingers to your lips once more. He taps them-
once.
twice.
“Open up.”
You do, moaning softly as he presses his fingers against your tongue once more, the sweet, salty taste of your cum flooding your senses.
“That’s it,” Dex coos, voice unbelievably soft as he urges you on. “Such a good girl for me.”
He gently pulls his fingers free from you then before resting them against your lips. You have only a moment of rest before Dex is suddenly kissing you, breath hot as he laps at his fingers that are still pinned between your mouths.
You groan, mouth opening as you lick at his spit and cum soaked fingers, your tongues dancing and lapping at one another’s and around his thick digits. It’s wet, needy and unbearably hot. Despite the fact that he’s released your wrists, you keep them behind your back, still holding his softening, cum soaked cock in your hands while you kiss around his fingers.
Dex pulls back after a while, breathing heavy, a thick line of saliva attaching his swollen lips to yours, his pupils blown wide as he watches you. There’s a long stretch of silence as you regard one another, your breathing levelling out as you relax in your stalker’s embrace.
“I will not share you.”
Unfortunately, you’re starting to like the sound of that.
Wolf Like Me // Benjamin Poindexter (Bullseye) x Reader // Epilogue
Summary:
Y/N Fisk has returned to the city to aid in her father’s mayoral campaign, leaving behind her profiler job at Quantico. Her plea to live alone, away from her father’s prying eyes, is met with one condition - a bodyguard. Desperate to have some semblance of freedom in the city, Y/N agrees. Enter Benjamin Poindexter - a disgraced FBI agent with nothing to lose and everything to prove. When tensions climb, will they give in? Or will Wilson Fisk haunt their every move?
Words: 1155
Tags: eventual smut, slow burn, canon typical violence, mental instability, childhood trauma, gun violence, sexual tension, falling in love, protective Wilson Fisk, profiler!reader, criminal minds au (ish)
Ao3 Link - here!
Series Masterlist - here!
Author's Note: Thank you for reading! All comments and likes are appreciated!
1.5 years later
It’s July in New York City, just before the fourth, and I’m panicking. I knew it was a mistake to have the wedding in NYC, especially because my father stated he would spare no expense if I agreed to have it here. That being said, I did take full advantage of my father’s deep pockets to create my dream wedding. No more than two hundred guests, though most of them are my father’s guests and not mine. No, I’m panicking because I can’t find Dex.
It’s the morning of our wedding, and he was supposed to check in with Buck an hour ago, and instead, he’s seemingly vanished off the face of the earth. I wrack my brain for where he could be. BB is trying to calm me down to no avail, and even Garcia is trying to track him by hacking into security cameras around Midtown on my work laptop. I hope I don’t get a citation for that. It occurs to me, the one place he might be, the place where we had our first realization of feelings, if you want to call it that. I tell the girls I’m going to the bathroom and slip out the door and down the elevator before they can even realize I was lying. The Marriott is beautiful and imposing, but I’m not focused on my wedding venue as I cross the street into Central Park and make my way to the bench.
Sure enough, Dex is sitting there, watching the ducks swim by. I clear my throat, and he jumps. I sit down next to him.
“You’re, uh, late for check-in this morning.”
“I know. I just needed a moment.”
“Having second thoughts?” I say with a chuckle.
“Hardly. Buck just gives me the creeps.”
“Ditto.”
“How’d you know I’d be here?”
“Because I know you very well.”
“It’s weird being in the city, sometimes. Makes me think of how we first met. And how I thought you hated me.”
“Hate is a strong word.” I chuckle, “You just pissed me off sometimes.”
“We’ve been in the city a lot this year. Who knew planning a wedding would be so much work?”
“I like seeing you in your element. I think in another life you were a badass wedding planner who didn’t take shit from anybody.” He says with a smile. I laugh.
“Instead, I’m just a profiler.”
“No, you’re a badass profiler. And you’re about to be my badass wife.” He kisses my forehead.
“Can you believe Matt agreed to come to the wedding?”
“Well, ever since he took that bullet for your father, I think we both know why he came to the wedding.”
We sit like that for a while, people watching, reminiscing on the last two years. And when we both feel ready, we walk back hand in hand to the Marriott. Everyone is pissed that we disappeared, but the rest of the day goes off without a hitch. My father walks me down the aisle, and everyone watches in hushed reverence. Dex is smiling at me, and it’s the smile that’s meant just for me, the soft one that crinkles his cheek scar. My father hugs me and hands me off to Dex, and the ceremony commences.
We agreed on no personal vows because those words are only meant for us, so I’m surprised when Dex and the minister share a look, and Dex is given the microphone.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, and he just smiles at me.
“As many of you may know, I was assigned to be Y/N’s bodyguard about two years ago. To no one’s surprise, we butted heads constantly. For the first couple of weeks, we fought relentlessly. She dragged me out to nightclubs, which I hated.” Everyone laughs, including my father, and that fuels Dex’s speech. “And when she fell asleep in my car for the fifth time, and I carried her up the steps into her apartment, something changed, for both of us. We find a quiet sort of comfort in each other, two people who had very fuck-, excuse me, messed-up lives, had somehow found each other in the chaos we call life. We still fought, but there was something else there, too. Something we both tried to ignore. When the attack at the gala happened, we both realized that life was way too short to ignore what we had, and that was the night I realized I was well, and truly, a goner.” More laughs and some knowing nods. “Y/N is my whole world. She brings light and love to those around her and the effect she has on people is truly amazing. I know that I am a better person not only because I know Y/N, but because I love her, and by some crazy twist of fate, she loves me too. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with her, and look forward to pissing her off somehow, every single day. I cannot fathom my life without you, and I love you so much.”
I’m crying now, and he hands the microphone back to the minister, giving me a conspiratorial wink as he does so.
“We said no personal vows,” I mouth at him.
“You said it, I never did,” he mouths back, and I scowl at him. He just smiles, pleased with himself. The rest of the ceremony goes off without a hitch, and the reception is even lovelier. The absence of Vanessa is noted but not unwelcome. Dex and I are sitting at our sweetheart’s table finishing up dinner when the DJ announces it’s time for the father-daughter dance.
My father takes my hand, and we sway to the beat.
“You look beautiful today.”
“Thank you. And thank you for letting me wear my mother’s dress.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” And we chuckle, both knowing that he always gets his way. “I’m happy that you’re happy.”
“Thank you, father.”
“And I’m happy that you’ve come to visit, as you’ve promised. I know I’m not an easy parent, and you were never an easy child, but I believe we made it out okay.”
I nod my agreement. The song ends quickly, and Dex steps in for the first dance.
“You look so beautiful.” Dex murmurs in my ear.
“You’ve told me that, like, a hundred times today,” I say with a laugh.
“And I meant it every single time,” he replies. “I can’t wait to take it off of you later.”
“Pervert.”
“Happily.” He answers, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Not cool, pulling a fast one on me with those vows.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“And you did just that.”
“Did you like it?”
“I loved it. Just like I love you. It was perfect, thank you.”
Wolf Like Me // Benjamin Poindexter (Bullseye) x Reader // Chapter Eight
Summary:
Y/N Fisk has returned to the city to aid in her father’s mayoral campaign, leaving behind her profiler job at Quantico. Her plea to live alone, away from her father’s prying eyes, is met with one condition - a bodyguard. Desperate to have some semblance of freedom in the city, Y/N agrees. Enter Benjamin Poindexter - a disgraced FBI agent with nothing to lose and everything to prove. When tensions climb, will they give in? Or will Wilson Fisk haunt their every move?
Words: 1219
Tags: eventual smut, slow burn, canon typical violence, mental instability, childhood trauma, gun violence, sexual tension, falling in love, protective Wilson Fisk, profiler!reader, criminal minds au (ish)
Ao3 Link - here!
Series Masterlist - here!
Election day rolls around, and my father has requested our presence at a party he’s throwing. He’s largely projected to win, much to my disappointment, but we show up to the party anyway. Dex pops a couple of ibuprofens in the car before we head up, his shoulder still bothering him, even though it is healing pretty quickly. I’m in a pretty blush pink dress that has cap sleeves and falls to my mid-thigh. Dex looks handsome in a suit with a matching pocket square, the same shade of pink as my dress. We make our way up to the penthouse and are greeted by Buck, who is on door duty. He waves us in immediately, and we disappear into the throng of people, all of whom are under my father’s thumb one way or another.
I make small talk with some people until we run into Daniel in the corner.
“Holy shit!” He exclaims. “I had heard the rumors, but wasn’t going to believe it until I saw it with my own two eyes. The princess and the bodyguard. What a romantic story.” I smack him on the shoulder.
“Shut up, Daniel!” I say, but grin at Dex, who’s already grinning at me. “Do you think we should make out in front of all these people?” I ask Dex sweetly, who laughs.
“Gross,” Daniel mutters. He lowers his voice as he says, “I heard what happened. I’m sorry.” I raise an eyebrow at him.
“My father must really trust you if you know what happened.” Daniel shrugs, seemingly pleased with himself. “But thank you. Any word on the she-devil?”
Daniel winces and points, and sure enough, Vanessa is across the room next to my father, regarding us with a pinched face. I choke back a laugh and smack Daniel’s hand down.
“Don’t point, dumbass!”
“What, you asked!”
“Unbelievable. I can’t believe you’re my father’s second right-hand man.” I say, pulling Dex away and back into the crowd.
“Hey! What do you mean by ‘second’?” I laugh and keep moving. The rest of the party goes off with a hitch, with Vanessa on a tight leash next to my father. I eat my way through all the little appetizers and even get Dex to try some, despite his predisposition for boring food. Several agents are there, and they recognize Dex and quickly realize that he’s no longer my bodyguard by the lingering gazes and the hand that stays firmly planted on the small of my back through all the conversations. After what feels like an eon of socializing, the election results are announced, and as predicted, my father has won. The party is an uproar, and I tell Dex I need a moment, retreating to my father’s study for a moment of reprieve. I’m browsing the various titles there when I hear my father clear his voice behind me.
“Congratulations, father,” I say, turning to face him.
“Thank you. I take it you will be returning to Virginia, now that your work here is done?”
“If that is okay with you, yes, I’d like to return to Virginia.”
“And what of Special Agent Poindexter?”
“You know, you can call him Dex.” He winces in response. “His transfer application has already been approved. Which surprised me, given your…influences with the bureau.”
“I approved his transfer request.”
My eyebrows raise.
“Thank you, father.”
“I knew it would make you happy. Though…” he pauses, “I will miss you while you are gone. I only ask that you both come and visit more often.” I nod, conceding to his request.
“As you wish. Enjoy your party, father.” I say over my shoulder as I leave his study.
I find Dex, and we leave quietly, and I say goodbye to a few people.
The next few days are a blur – packing up my apartment, saying goodbye to BB and Matt. Matt, who begrudgingly offers Dex a handshake and tells him that he’s a good teammate. And a not-so-veiled threat that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill him should it come to it – how nice.
As I stand in the entryway to the apartment, I regard the space that had given me so much in such little time. I don’t even realize I’m crying until Dex asks me if I’m okay. I tell him I am, that I’m just thankful for my time here. How I had spent weeks dreading coming back to the city, and now it feels so hard to leave, given everything that had happened. He says he understands and wraps me in a tight hug.
We drive to Virginia in a U-Haul. Dex sold off most of his stuff, claiming he didn’t have an emotional attachment to it anyway, and almost six hours later, we’re standing outside of a newly purchased house (a parting gift from my father, and what I believe is his apology for his hellish wife attacking us). The door is cracked, and Dex and I look at each other and nod, pulling our guns out and entering together.
“SURPRISE!” People shout, and we both whirl, guns raised, and quickly lower them when I see it’s just my team. They all laugh as we hastily put our guns away, and the next moment, JJ is hugging me with rib-crushing strength.
“Y/N, we’ve missed you so much!” She whispers in my ear. I can see Dex introducing himself to everyone else. “And I’ve heard so much about you.” She says and disregards Dex’s hand and just straight up hugs him. He looks bewildered and awkwardly pats her on the back. I laugh so hard I think I’m going to puke, and she winks at me when she lets him go.
“Oh my god, you guys got Hangry Joe’s!” I say, taking in the feast on the table.
“We figured you guys would be hungry.”
“Starving!” I say.
The rest of the night goes off without a hitch, JJ and Prentiss grill Dex, while Garcia prods for steamy details. Rossi and Luke swap battle stories with Dex, and we all genuinely have a good time. After we eat, they help us unpack everything, and as I watch Dex’s muscles strain while he helps the men carry in the couch, I bite my lip. Garcia giggles at me. I shoot her a look and shout,
“Be careful with the stitches, Dex!” To which he shoots back,
“I know my limits, Y/N!”
Once all the big things are unpacked and boxes are in the right rooms, JJ digs through my box of kitchenware until she holds up my wine glasses triumphantly. We crack open a bottle of pinot and drink it quickly, a second bottle following. Dex curses as he tries to get the Wifi set up, and the men are unpacking and putting away the rest of the kitchenware. Everyone leaves around 10:00 PM, and Dex and I settle in on the couch.
“We’re gonna need a lot more furniture to fill this house up.” I bemoan.
“That just means you get to do more shopping, so I’m not sure why you’re complaining,” Dex says, with a soft smile.
“Wait, you’re totally right. But that can wait until tomorrow. As for right now, I do think it’s high time to christen the house, don’t you think?”
Wolf Like Me // Benjamin Poindexter (Bullseye) x Reader // Chapter Seven
Summary:
Y/N Fisk has returned to the city to aid in her father’s mayoral campaign, leaving behind her profiler job at Quantico. Her plea to live alone, away from her father’s prying eyes, is met with one condition - a bodyguard. Desperate to have some semblance of freedom in the city, Y/N agrees. Enter Benjamin Poindexter - a disgraced FBI agent with nothing to lose and everything to prove. When tensions climb, will they give in? Or will Wilson Fisk haunt their every move?
Words: 1299
Tags: eventual smut, slow burn, canon typical violence, mental instability, childhood trauma, gun violence, sexual tension, falling in love, protective Wilson Fisk, profiler!reader, criminal minds au (ish)
Ao3 Link - here!
Series Masterlist - here!
I didn’t sleep at all while Dex was in surgery and I felt tired in my very bones until he woke up with a soft grunt in the hospital room. The doctors and nurses didn’t ask many questions once they saw he was with me and immediately whisked him away. I fought the nurses until they let me scrub into the surgery, paranoid that one of Vanessa’s men would finish him off during the operation. The procedure went smoothly, though, and an hour and a half after getting stitched up, Dex awoke.
His fingers grip mine tightly as he comes to.
“Are you okay?” He asks, eyes looking me over.
“Am I okay? Are you okay?” He tests his shoulder and winces.
“A little sore, but it should heal up soon.” He sits up. “Vanessa? Where’s Vanessa?”
“Well, seeing as my Father texted me, ‘We need to talk’ about thirty minutes ago, my guess is she’s with him. So, we might be dead meat.” I sigh, and Dex groans. He moves to get out of bed. “Whoa, what are you doing?”
“Leaving? Better to get this over with. I’d prefer to die sooner, rather than later.”
“Fair point. Though I’d prefer if you don’t die for a long time. Let me get the discharge papers.” I know it’s better not to argue with him right now, and my father’s text has me anxious if I’m being honest. The nurse gets the papers, and we’re out in the next thirty minutes. It’s 2:00 AM, and the city is still alive. I’m about to hail a cab when I see Buck, standing beside the SUV he always drives. He looks pissed, but I know it’s our only option. Dex refuses help getting in the backseat, and my heart pangs at the idea that he doesn’t want to look weak in front of a man who might try and kill us tonight. Dex can still put up a fight and we all know it.
The car ride is tense and eerily quiet. Dex’s rough hand is entangled in mine. If Buck notices me leaning on Dex’s good shoulder, he’s smart enough to make no comment about it. I don’t care to pretend that he means nothing to me. If Vanessa knows, surely my father does too. I will not be ashamed of who I choose to love. We pull up in front of the Presidential and are quickly ushered in. The ride up to the top is tense, and Dex moves to drop my hand when the doors open.
“No,” I whisper, “I’m not afraid of him.” Dex’s eyes soften imperceptibly, and he nods, hand tightening around mine. Buck opens the door, and we walk in, a pair, a force to be reckoned with, as we had proven tonight.
My father is standing, looking out over the city, hands clasped behind his back. We stand for a minute, waiting for his attention. Neither of us certainly want to start the conversation. He turns around and looks us over, lingering on our clasped hands.
“Hmm.” He says, and locks eyes with me. “Vanessa said you attacked her.”
Neither of us says a word, our silence damning enough.
“What happened tonight, Y/N?” He asks, face dark. I share a look with Dex, and then I turn back to my father. I tell him everything, sparing no detail, telling him what Vanessa had told me, how we had all been her pawns. His eyes get darker and darker with each word, and he’s fuming by the end.
“Vanessa has greatly underestimated my love for you.” He says when I conclude. He turns back to the window. “Come, you two.”
We join him by the window, looking out at the city.
“This…will be handled internally. Vanessa will be punished. She will not meddle with your life again.” He says, and we read the threat that’s in his voice – despite his affections for her, she will die if she tries to kill me again. “You may find this hard to believe, Y/N, but I’ve only ever wanted for you to be happy. Happy and safe. While I am not pleased with what has unfolded with you two, I can see that he is more than capable of both keeping you safe, and I cannot find myself to be mad at you, my only child. Your mother would have loved how happy he makes you.” Dex’s hand squeezes mine.
“What are you saying, father?” I ask, daring to look him in his eyes, they are the softest I’ve ever seen when he meets my gaze.
“That I want you to be happy, and he does that. Therefore,” he grimaces, “you have my blessing.” He levels a look at Dex. “And I think you are well aware what will happen to you should you hurt her.” Dex nods and releases his hand to extend it to my father. I hold my breath. My father regards the hand for a second and then clasps his own hands around it. They shake, and some sort of understanding passes between them – that they would both die to keep me safe. “You are dismissed.” He says, the moment gone, turning back to the window.
Dex and I make our way to the door, and I turn back.
“Thank you, father.” He doesn’t respond, and we leave, Buck driving us back Dex’s SUV.
“So, I guess you do get to drive. Just this once, though.” Dex says, handing me the keys.
“Really?!”
“I got shot in the shoulder, I probably shouldn’t drive for the next week or so. But so help me God if you crash this car…”
“I won’t, I swear.”
He opens the driver’s side door for me, and I grab his wrist as he walks away.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?” He says, confused.
“I love you.” His whole body stills. “And I know that might be scary to you, and you definitely don’t have to say it back if you don’t feel that way, but I want you to know that every part of me loves you. I love you for exactly who you are, and the fact that you would lay down your life for me. I would do the same for you even though you think you don’t deserve that.”
“I love you.” He says before I can continue, and I blink at him, surprised that he would say it too. “I’ve loved you since the moment you sass-mouthed me the first time we met. You met me toe-for-toe and continue to do so every day. You complete me, make me feel alive, and bring me so much light and laughter that I feel normal. That I could have a normal life with you, well as normal as we can be, given our backgrounds,” he adds with a chuckle. “I have fallen more and more in love with you with every passing moment, and tonight, when I realized there was a chance you’d be ripped away from me before I could tell you those words, I knew I would do anything for you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Foggy. I’ll live every day regretting not telling you, but I can promise you there will be no more secrets from here on out.”
I don’t have it in me to be mad at him and know we can talk about it later as I gasp out a sob and wrap my arms around him, knocking him back a step. His arms tighten around me, and his chest is hitching oddly, and I realize that he’s crying too. We stand like that for a moment before I step back and laugh. He wipes the tears from my cheeks and kisses my forehead.
Wolf Like Me // Benjamin Poindexter (Bullseye) x Reader // Chapter Six
Summary:
Y/N Fisk has returned to the city to aid in her father’s mayoral campaign, leaving behind her profiler job at Quantico. Her plea to live alone, away from her father’s prying eyes, is met with one condition - a bodyguard. Desperate to have some semblance of freedom in the city, Y/N agrees. Enter Benjamin Poindexter - a disgraced FBI agent with nothing to lose and everything to prove. When tensions climb, will they give in? Or will Wilson Fisk haunt their every move?
Words: 2011
Tags: eventual smut, slow burn, canon typical violence, mental instability, childhood trauma, gun violence, sexual tension, falling in love, protective Wilson Fisk, profiler!reader, criminal minds au (ish)
Ao3 Link - here!
Series Masterlist - here!
My head is pounding, and my mouth is Sahara-level dry when I wake up.
“What the?” I mutter, before remembering what happened before the world went black. I tug at the restraints on my wrists to no avail. I’m sitting in a chair in what appears to be an abandoned office building. A quick glance outside tells me I’m on the third and top floor, given the skylight above me. The chair is at least an office chair and has some cushion to it, but I’m in a lot of trouble right now.
“Well, well, well, she’s awake.” A voice drawls from the dark corner of the room. It’s a woman’s voice – one I know very well – Vanessa.
“To what do I owe this pleasure, Vanessa?” I croak out. She steps out of the shadows, clad in white, her lips painted red, as per usual.
“Tonight, you’re just the bait. If your bodyguard, or should I say, lover, comes after you, I can take him out of the equation.” I laugh in her face. So she knows.
“‘Lover’ is such an antiquated term. Boyfriend works perfectly fine, thanks.” She gives me a tight smile. “Besides, what do you get from killing my boyfriend?”
“I get to see the look on your face when the person you love most dies in front of you.” She says simply, with a shrug.
“Cold. I like it. Father has taught you well.” I say, jutting my chin out. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll get what you went. We got in a fight before you kidnapped me.”
“All the more reason for him to come find you. Especially because I told him you have until midnight before I put a bullet right between your eyes.” I blink at that; the only sign of surprise I’ll show her.
“And what could you possibly get from killing me?”
“All of your father’s attention. He cares for you more than you know.”
“And that irks you. Understood.” I pause. “He’ll find out it’s you, eventually.”
“I’ve covered my tracks very well. My men will never breathe a word and take the fall for me.”
“How romantic,” I say sarcastically. She backhands me across the face, and it stings like hell.
“You know, I was quite surprised when I saw you two kissing in the chaos that followed the gala shooting.” She says, starting to pace.
I swallow my shock. “So, it was you who made that noise. Noted.”
“I’m still talking. I had sensed something there, after all, I pushed for Agent Poindexter to be your bodyguard, knowing that you were sure to be attracted to him, and I could eventually take him out of the equation. You see, your father was never involved in the whole Foggy Nelson situation. He asked me to take care of it, and I arranged everything. And now, I can finally close that chapter. You’re just…collateral damage, so to speak.”
“Great. I’m thrilled.”
“You are such a brat, you know that?”
“Oh, I’m well aware.” She glares at me. “So how much time do I have left?” She looks at her watch.
“An hour and twelve minutes.” I nod. She walks to the doorway.
“Good luck. You’re going to need it.” I say, and she gives me another tight-lipped smile and leaves.
Dex
She’s gone. I know it because I waited all of thirty seconds before bursting out of that alleyway and chasing after her. I know I should have told her, knew it was wrong to keep it from her, but I couldn’t risk losing her. I round the block and see her lifeless body getting hauled into an SUV. The doors slam shut, and the car peels off, but my feet don’t falter. I won’t let them – she’s in danger and she needs me. I pull on my balaclava and kick it into high gear. Everything is slowing down around me, and I feel it – the killing calm coming on. I chase the car for six blocks when I hear boots slam down in the alleyway next to me, and Matt catches pace with me. I roll my eyes but keep running. The only thing that matters right now is her.
“You know I still hate you, right?” He says, in between pants.
“The feeling is mutual.” I spits back. We run, chasing the car, and it turns down an alleyway. Moving in sync, we hastily climb the fire escape of the closest apartment building and crouch on the ceiling. Matt’s head is cocked, and I know he’s hearing things I can’t.
“They’re bringing her inside. I count sixteen men, and one woman.” We wait with bated breath. “She’s on the third floor.”
I confirm what he’s seeing. Even though the building is dimly lit, I can see her, slumped in the chair. My heart squeezes. I glance at Matt.
“I’m…sorry. By the way. About what went down.”
Matt turns, and I can feel his gaze burning a hole in me. I stare straight ahead – still wholly focused on her.
“Did you just…apologize to me?”
“I know it doesn’t make up for what I’ve done. Not in the slightest, but I mean it.” He’s silent and turns back to the building.
“She’s changed something in you.” He says, quietly. I don’t answer. All I can think about is her. He’s right, though. I’ve been feeling it for a while now. The first night we met, her brazen defiance and disregard of how lethal I could be cracked open something inside of me. The crack has been growing ever since. I’m still fucked up, sure, but I feel more grounded – settled in who I am – because I have her.
“She’s changed everything about me.” I finally say. “I’m a better person because I met her.”
“Yeah, she tends to have that effect on people.” There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. My phone buzzes.
UNKNOWN: You have until midnight to claim your prize. Or else she’ll expire. Your choice.
I read the text aloud to Matt, and he grimaces and remarks,
“What is it with villains and analogies? I’m sick of it, honestly.”
I chuckle at that and shake my head, agreeing.
We formulate a quick plan, and I glance away every so often to look at Y/N.
“She’s awake and talking,” I say, “What’s she saying?” Matt closes his eyes and focuses.
“Something about the term ‘lovers’ being antiquated? Ah, shit.”
“What?”
“It’s Vanessa.” We both groan – of course, it’s Vanessa. Matt listens in, relaying the information to me.
“Well, at least now we have three people to corroborate Y/N’s story,” I mutter, checking that all my knives are in the same place.
“That is, if you two make it out alive,” Matt says with a grimace. “They’ll be expecting you, but not me. At least we have that element of surprise.”
“There’s a skylight on the roof. I’ll make my entrance there, and you enter from the bottom. If I can free Y/N, she can fight.” Matt frowns.
“I know she can, but I’m not comfortable with her fighting so soon after being drugged. I know what that does to someone.”
“It’s not up to you – it’s up to her – and she’ll want to fight.” Matt gives me a terse nod. I stand up and stretch out as best as I can. The adamantium helps, but I’m still sore from the sudden panicked sprinting and climbing. We split up, Matt taking the first floor. As I cross over to the roof, I hear soft grunts coming from below. A quick glance has confirmed that Matt has taken out the first two goons – fourteen to go. I inspect the skylight and notice a latch. I survey the dark room as best as I can and can see two men inside, close to the doorway. I suck in a breath, pull the skylight open, and drop in.
Y/N
He moves so fast I don’t even register what’s happening at first. The two men guarding the doorway are dead within seconds, blood pouring from their slashed throats onto the floor. Dex pushes them aside and slams the door shut, propping a chair underneath it. He stalks over to me, eyes wild, and grips my head between his hands.
“Are you okay?” He pants, eyes frantically looking me over.
“Yes, I’m fine. My head just hurts.” The relief in his eyes is staggering, and he slices through the restraints. “Knife,” I say, beckoning with my hand as I stand up.
“I told Matt you’d want to fight.”
“Matt is with you?” I ask, surprised, and he nods. “We have to get out of here. She’s going to kill you.”
“I know. Matt heard everything. Come on, let’s go.”
The building is eerily silent when Dex removes the chair and opens the door, but it’s not silent for long as thunderous footsteps slam on the stairs. Dex and I move in harmony, splitting up to either side of the stairwell. Four men rise up and split up to go after us. They’re not holding anything back; they’re fighting to kill, so we do the same. I’m able to trip the first man coming after me, and he curses, falling forward. He lands hard on his stomach, and I leap over him, wrap my legs around the second man’s throat, and bring him to the ground as well. I leap up, both men on the ground and scrambling for their guns. I slam my foot on the second guy’s hand and slash his throat, blood splashing up on my face. The first guy has his gun in his hand and is able to fire off one shot before I slice straight through his Achilles, and he drops the weapon. I pick up his gun and shoot him in the head. I run around to where Dex is standing, eyes still wild despite the two men dead. The second floor is quiet, but when we get to the first floor, Matt is there, facing down with five men, a blade held to Vanessa’s throat.
Dex and I both know he won’t kill her, but we need to make quick work of the men trying to kill all three of us. A quick shot from me has one of the men down, the bullet having gone clean through his chest – he will bleed out quickly. Dex throws one of his knives, and it bounces off the wall before landing deep in a man’s throat – he’s dead immediately.
The third man knocks the gun out of my hand when he barrels into me, and we’re locked in hand-to-hand combat. The fourth man has retrieved Vanessa from Matt and is making way for the door.
“STOP HER!” I yell. Dex and Matt are stuck in combat with the fifth man, who is a hulking brute of a man. Dex registers what I say and ricochets another knife off the wall, but it misses the man and impales Vanessa’s side, bright red blood blooming across her white dress. I knee the man on top of me in the groin and slice his throat in the next movement with his own knife. I shove him off of me and chase after Vanessa and her henchman. A swift shot to the leg, and the man has fallen, Vanessa tumbling out of his arms. She shouts as she hits the ground, and I stalk over to her. I grip her dress and haul her to a standing position. “When Father hears about this, you’re dead.” She just smiles, teeth colored with blood, as a henchman who was hidden in the van fires off a shot, and the bullet hits Dex in the shoulder. I drop her immediately and race over to Dex, and in the next few seconds, the van in the alleyway drives off. Matt chases after it, and I press my hands into the wound in Dex’s shoulder. It’s spurting blood around my fingers, and I’m cursing and crying as I push harder.
Wolf Like Me // Benjamin Poindexter (Bullseye) x Reader // Chapter Five
Summary:
Y/N Fisk has returned to the city to aid in her father’s mayoral campaign, leaving behind her profiler job at Quantico. Her plea to live alone, away from her father’s prying eyes, is met with one condition - a bodyguard. Desperate to have some semblance of freedom in the city, Y/N agrees. Enter Benjamin Poindexter - a disgraced FBI agent with nothing to lose and everything to prove. When tensions climb, will they give in? Or will Wilson Fisk haunt their every move?
Words: 9398
Tags: eventual smut, slow burn, canon typical violence, mental instability, childhood trauma, gun violence, sexual tension, falling in love, protective Wilson Fisk, profiler!reader, criminal minds au (ish)
Ao3 Link - here!
Series Masterlist - here!
Chaos erupts. My father watches as I sprint towards him, pulling my gun out of my thigh holster. He’s grasping at his shoulder, and I watch as Vanessa is escorted out a side door. I get to my father before the agents do. I assess the damage quickly – he’ll live, but he needs to get out of here.
“GO! LEAVE ME!” He shouts. I can hear a commotion behind us and glance over my shoulder to see Dex quickly take out two assailants as he makes his way toward me. I see a few agents making their way toward us as well.
“LET ME HELP YOU UP!” I have to yell to be heard over the crowd screaming and more gunshots.
“I’LL BE FINE!” I feel a hand on my shoulder and immediately know it’s Dex. “GET HER OUT OF HER! NO MATTER WHAT IT TAKES, MAKE SURE SHE’S SAFE!” An agent comes over to assist my father, and Dex hauls me up. I’m gripping my gun as we run towards one of the side doors.
“YOU WILL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO US!” I hear an accented voice yell. Fucking Albanians. Dex shoulders the door open, and we’re in the back hallways of the building, and we’re not alone. He swings at Dex first as he’s closest, and while Dex is occupied, a second one comes for me. He knocks the gun out of my hand as he had the element of surprise, and I jab him in the throat, quick and fast. He grabs his throat, choking, and a swift kick in the groin has him down. I retrieve my gun and whip the butt of it into his head, and he’s out cold. It’s quiet in the hallway; the only sound is Dex’s and I’s heavy breathing. He glances at me, chest heaving. Blood is splattered across his face, arcing over his left eye. He looks deadly and fully focused on his task at hand – getting me out safe. We move quietly through the back hallway of the museum. He takes the lead but doesn’t ask me not to cover him as well. We move as equals, and we make it to the back stairwell before getting jumped again. I’m tackled to the ground as Dex is jumped by two men, the man is holding a knife to my throat, and as I swallow, I can feel my throat bob against the blade, slicing it open a tiny bit. His knees are pinning my arms to the ground.
“You’re gonna pay for what your bitch father did to us.” He grins at me, pushing the blade harder into my throat, and I feel blood running down the side of my throat. I use all my strength to drive my knee into his groin, and he chokes out a cursed ‘fuck’ as his knees shift off my upper arms. I shove him off in his surprise and rip the knife from his hand. I pin him in the same way he had me pinned. I slice his throat without a second thought. I briefly see the two men who jumped Dex, one strangled with his tie, the other impaled with his own knife through the eye. It’s gruesome, but I don’t dwell on it as we make our way down the flight of stairs. There are two men at the bottom, and one grabs me by the throat and pins me against the wall. These two men are stronger than the others, bigger too; one is almost as tall as Dex and has at least fifty pounds on him. I watch as Dex catches the knife he throws at him and whips it towards the wall, where it pings off and lands in the guy’s neck. My vision starts to go black as the man lifts me higher up, and my feet dangle. I hear the crack of a gun and blood splatters against my face and chest, and the guy holding me slumps to the ground, dead. Dex is panting, eyes wide as his eyes scans over me quickly.
The look in his eyes…it’s feral – all-consuming. His breaths are coming in short gasps, chest rising and falling quickly. I can see it in his eyes – the bloodlust. The lengths he would go to save me. It’s then that he decides that whatever this is between us, he’s making the first move. His lips collide with mine, and the tension we’ve been dancing with for the past month comes to a head. It’s all teeth and tongue, nothing nice about it. It’s a claiming kiss, consuming, demanding all my attention, and I gasp into his open mouth. I return the kiss with just as much fervor, rising on my tippy toes and giving him the same force back. His hand comes to the back of my neck, gripping it tight as he angles my head to give himself better access to my mouth. His tongue sweeps against mine. There’s nothing lazy in the way he’s kissing me; it’s as if he’s dying, and it’s the last thing he gets to do before he goes. He’s pinning me against the wall, his body caging mine in. I can’t breathe, consumed by him, and he only stops when we both hear a scuff of a shoe. We quickly break apart, now both of us breathing heavily, and he scans the dark hallway for danger. The sound doesn’t come again, and his hand wraps around my wrist, tugging me out the side exit into the alleyway. He has his gun in one hand and my hand in the other, crouching behind a dumpster before jumping into action. It’s a madhouse when we join the crowd screaming and running from the exit. Dex swipes the car keys from the valet stand in one motion, and we’re hauling ass towards the lot in the next second. I can barely keep up with him in my heels. Dex curses and slows to match my pace before sweeping me up in his arms, and I can’t protest as it’s faster this way. We make it to the car in record time, and he only sets me down long enough to open the door and push me into the passenger seat. He starts the car and peels off, barely giving the traffic a second glance as he tears out of the lot, heading towards home. He’s racing through the city, sirens are blaring, racing toward the museum as we barrel in the opposite direction. It’s tense, I don’t say a word until we make it home and he throws the car in park, now finally looking at me, breaths coming uneven and quick.
“It’s okay. I’m okay. We’re safe.” I say, hand coming up to cup his face. He leans into the touch, eyes closing, as if he has never been offered a moment of softness in his life. His breathing eases a little, and he finally nods, shutting the car off. “Come on, let’s go inside.” He nods again, words escaping him. We cross the street and make our way up the stairs quickly. Once we’re safely inside, the door locked behind us, he looks at me, and that heat from when he kissed me earlier is still there, eating him alive. I take his hand, and for once, he doesn’t pull back from the brazen touch. I set his hand over my heart, allowing him to feel the beat. “I’m okay. You can breathe. It’s okay.” His gaze is charged as his eyes flick down to meet mine. I wipe some of the blood off his face with the back of my hand, and his eyes shutter at the sensation. “What do you need?” I whisper.
“To feel alive.” He finally whispers back after a moment. I nod, knowing what he means. Isn’t that what we all crave? To feel alive? My hand moves to cradle the back of his neck as I pull his face down towards me. Fuck it. Fuck everything. That one kiss confirmed everything I already knew in my bones – we were both too far gone. Consequences be damned, I wanted him. No, I needed him. My lips meet his tentatively, moving gently against his, but despite his best efforts, he cannot be gentle in return, not in this moment. He devours me in the next moment, lips demanding everything from me as the tether in him snaps. He pushes me against the door, hands finding my hips as he grips them tightly through my dress. He’s demanding, but not pushy, and I open my mouth to his. His tongue sweeps in lazily, claiming me. We kiss for the next few minutes, and my hands roam, sweeping up the broad expanse of his back and twining around his biceps. He finally breaks apart with a gasp.
“Secret for a secret?” He whispers, eyes searching mine. I nod. “I think I’m falling for you. Have been since the first moment you were mean to me.”
I let out a soft laugh. “How fitting.” He grins, and it consumes his whole face, lighting up every crevice and giving me a glimpse of how he would be if he were truly happy, the weight of the past far behind.
“So? What’s your secret?”
“My secret is that I’m falling for you, too. Have been for a little bit. I’ve just been too afraid to say it.” He blinks a few times, as if he’s surprised by my confession. “Oh, don’t be surprised, you’ve seen how I look at you when I think you’re not looking. It’s obvious.” He smiles again, suddenly bashful, and his cheeks color crimson.
“So, what happens now?” He says softly, hands coming up to cup my cheeks, as if he can’t believe that I’ve confessed my feelings for him.
“I’d really like to rip all your clothes off and see exactly what you’re hiding under there,” I murmur, half joking, half serious, and he chuckles.
“Who knew the princess of New York was a pervert?” He says.
“Oh, whatever. I’m a pervert for you, dumbass.” He just chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh, so you don’t want to see what I’m hiding underneath this dress?” His gaze darkens.
“Don’t play with me. Of course, you know I want nothing more than to rip this dress off and show you just how devoted I am to you.” He huffs a laugh. “You…you consume my every thought. Every morning when I wake up, you’re the first thing I think about. When I got to bed at night, you’re the last thing on my mind as I drift off. You…you have no idea how…electric you are. You command every room you walk into. My whole life starts and ends with you.”
I blink and look at him. It’s surprisingly poetic from the man who seemed like he wanted nothing to do with me a month ago.
“Then what are you waiting for?” I say coyly, looking up at him through my eyelashes.
“I don’t know if I’d be able to stop if we started.” He admits.
“What if I don’t want you to stop?” I whisper, hands coming up to grip his suit jacket, anchoring myself to this reality.
“I…I don’t want to scare you off. You already know I’m fucked up.”
“And I still want every part of you. Fucked up or not.”
“You know, I thought I was lost until I found you.” He suddenly looks bashful. “I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t be saying all this.”
“I like it when you’re open with me,” I say quietly, hand on his chin, bringing his eyes back to mine. “I want everything you have to offer me,” I add, thumb tracing over his parted lips. He closes his eyes, leaning into the touch, as if he’s never been touched intimately before.
“If we do this…I can’t go back to pretending you mean nothing to me. This jeopardizes everything.”
“I’ll protect you, just like how you protect me.” And I know in my heart I would do anything for him. Hell, I had killed tonight to keep him safe, and he had done the same for me. He gives me a half smile.
“You have blood all over you.” He says, taking a step away towards the kitchen. He damps a paper towel and comes back quickly, wiping the dried blood off my face and chest. I jump at the chill of the damp paper towel.
“So do you,” I add, grabbing the paper towel from it and folding it in half to wipe the blood off his face. I toss it aside when I’m done – it can be cleaned up tomorrow. The need in me is rising, roaring quickly at him standing in front of me. Simply him just being himself has me feeling like I need to climb him like a tree. “I need you,” I whisper.
“You have me.” He says plainly. I grab his wrist and practically drag him towards the bedroom. I quickly undo my shoes, throwing them in the general direction of the closet. I face him, flicking on my bedside lamp, the warm yellow light softly illuminating the space. I help him out of his suit jacket and make quick work of the buttons on his dress shirt. It soon joins the suit jacket on the floor, and he’s left standing in a white t-shirt and dress pants. He peels the white shirt off and tosses it to the side. He removes his hands from my elbows to sling off the white t-shirt – it joins the pile on the floor. He’s carved like a Greek God in front of me, all muscle and sinew, and I’m admiring him for a second. My hands reverently trace up his bare skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake. I gently touch him, allowing myself to explore him after denying myself of him for so long. He closes his eyes at my touch, hands coming up to lightly grip my elbows. I reach for the button of his slacks, and he jumps, but doesn’t stop me as I unbutton them, unzip them, and slide them down his muscular thighs. He steps out of them and kicks them to the side as they reach the floor. His hands come up to find the straps of my dress, and his eyes search mine. I nod, giving him permission, and he slowly slides the straps down my arms, baring my breasts to him. His breath hitches, and he slides the dress lower. It slides easily off my hips and joins his pile of clothes a moment later. I stand there, bare.
“It feels heretical, the way I want to worship you for the rest of my life.” He murmurs, hand tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear.
“I’m waiting,” I huff jokingly. He grins.
“So impatient, princess.” His fingers trace down my arms, and I shiver, feeling very exposed all of a sudden. I move to cross my arms over my breasts, and he stops me. “Nuh-uh, none of that. Let me see you.” His gaze is piercing, leaving not just my body bare but my soul as well. My arms hang loosely at my side. “You’re beautiful. Not just your body, but your brain, too. You’re always one step ahead of me. I struggle to keep up with you, you know?”
I chuckle and nod. “Yeah, I know.”
“Profile me. What am I thinking?”
“Well, I don’t know exactly what you’re thinking but based on your body language and the way you’re gazing at me, you want me. But you’re also holding yourself back, which makes me think that you’re scared of the way you feel. It makes you hesitant, but it doesn’t stop you from wanting me. I can also tell you want me from the boner, but that’s a pretty obvious clue.” The corner of his mouth quirks up.
“That’s all?”
“You’re scared, but it’s written all over your face that your fear doesn’t negate what has been building between us. I see it in the way you laugh at my jokes, even when they’re not even remotely funny, the way you killed those men for me without a second thought, the way you continue to push me, my brain, and wit. You feel it – whatever this is between us, and fear be damned, you made the first move tonight, though I’m sure that terrified you. Terrified you aside, that thrilled me, to take charge of what you wanted, and it made me want you even more. You think that I’ll turn you away, it’s evident in the way you’re hesitating – you’re even expecting it. But what you don’t realize is that the darkness in me recognizes the darkness in you – rises to meet it, even. I match you stroke for stroke, dark thought for dark thought. And I know that doesn’t scare you. Every time I’ve been vulnerable with you, you’ve been comforted by the fact that I’m as fucked up as you. You see bits of yourself in me. And I see myself in you in return. That thought no longer scares either of us; instead, it’s comforting.” I pause, and I can see his throat working, holding back whatever emotion it is he’s feeling.
“That’s…” He starts.
“Correct? Yeah, I know. I’m that good.” I grin at him, and he grins back.
“Yeah, it’s correct. It’s almost creepy, the way you’re able to read people. But I think you know that.”
“Oh, I definitely know that, and I use it to my advantage. Do you know how many creeps I’ve warded off at the bar because I can read their intentions in a moment?” His gaze darkens. “Oh, chill, they have nothing on you.”
“And what are my intentions?” He says, pulling my hips against him, allowing me to feel the proud length of him pressing into my lower abdomen.
“Nothing respectable, I can tell you that for sure,” I say, biting back my smile as I press my hips into his further, eliciting a groan from him. He nods, eyes dark as he regards my naked form. His head dips to mine, lips claiming me once again. I let him take control, and every movement he makes seems to be measured, enough to make me want more but not enough to scare me off, as if he could do that. His hand comes up to tilt my chin up to give him better access. His grip is tight, and I gasp into his mouth. The small noise is what finally sets him off. In the next moment, he’s pushing me towards the bed, and I scramble up on top of it when I feel the back of my knees hit the comforter. I lean back on my elbows, sprawled across the bed, and look at him, really look at him in the low light. I look at every ridged pucker of scar, a bruise blooming on his ribs from where one of the Albanians hit him earlier, the dark glint in his eyes as he takes in my naked form.
“Are you just going to stand there and stare, or are you going to join me?” I press my thighs together as I talk, and I can feel the stickiness of my arousal smear on them. If I’m that aroused from a kiss, I’m truly fucked. A flicker of hesitation crosses his face, but he’s quick to school it back into lust. I don’t miss the moment. “Hey.” I move to the end of the bed and perch on my knees, calves folded under me as I grip his face. “What’s wrong?”
“What if this is a mistake?” He whispers, eyes shutting as my hands trace reverently down his chest. “What if…in the morning, you change your mind. I can’t just walk away from this. I can’t walk away from you. I don’t want to, and I couldn’t even if I tried.”
I understand what he’s trying to say without saying it – he’s worried that this will be too much for me, too real, too soon, too scary.
“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. But never scared of you, never scared of what this is, what I feel for you. We either do this together, or we turn around now. Never talk about it again. Which would be hard to do when you eye fuck me every possible moment.” That gets a small huff of laughter from him, but his gaze is sincere when he finally meets my eyes.
“Your dad is going to kill me.”
“Oh my god, do not talk about my fucking dad right now.” I groan and hit my forehead against his chest a couple of times. His hand comes up to smooth down my hair, and he tucks me in the crook of his neck for a second. I can hear his heartbeat right here; it’s erratic and thumping wildly, but after a moment, it starts to slow. He lets out a breath.
“Seeing you kill those guys was hot.” He says lightly.
“We are so fucked up,” I say with a snort, looking up at him.
“We’ll be fucked up together.”
“Yeah, fucked up together. I like that.” I give him a soft smile, and his heart stutters under my palm. His hands find my waist, gripping lightly. Now it’s my turn for my heart to hitch as his fingers trail loosely up my sides and over my breasts before pushing my hair away from my face. The kiss he gives me is so at odds with the previous ones. With this one, it feels as though he’s at peace. Whether that’s peace with himself or peace with us, I’m not quite sure, but I hope it’s a good feeling for him, nonetheless. His lips move gently over mine, and he gently guides me further up the bed without breaking contact once. He breaks the kiss and hovers over me, just looking. “What are you looking at?”
“You. You’re beautiful.” I feel my cheeks grow hot and squirm under his gaze. “Stop squirming, let me look at you.” I pause my movements at the pure command in his voice and let him look. My breaths start to quicken as he simply looks. His fingers trail down my abdomen and don’t hesitate as they slide through my folds. They slip through easily, and I would be embarrassed if he didn’t groan at the sensation. “Fuck.”
His fingers come back up to rub my clit in small, tight circles. It feels good, and I press the back of my head into the pillows, chasing that high that’s approaching slowly but surely. My hips jump upwards as he hits the right spot, and he chuckles. His middle and ring fingers lower to rest against my entrance, and he slowly starts to push them inside. The wet squelch of his fingers in my pussy is obscene, but the feeling of his thick fingers inside of me makes me forget it instantly. His thumb is still rubbing circles into my clit, and both sensations are driving me crazy. I jolt, eyes flying open when I feel his warm mouth close around my nipple, sucking and pulling at the taut bud. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. My hand flies down to grip the hair at the nape of his neck, and he groans around my nipple as I tug at it. His fingers find that soft spot inside of me, and when I respond by gasping and arching my back, he presses his fingers up into it over and over again, not thrusting, just constant pressure on that spot. His thumb moves faster, and I’m chasing my release, hips jumping and bumping into his erection. He hisses and releases my nipple with a wet pop. I’m so close, so close it hurts.
“Come on, princess, let it go. Let me feel it.” That’s all I need, and the dam breaks. I finish with a cry, clamping down around his fingers. His thumb keeps moving and doesn’t stop until I’m panting, legs twitching. “Good girl.” Once I’m mostly recovered, I prop myself up and grab at his boxers.
“Off. I want these off. I need you.” He chuckles at my brazenness and takes them off in one swift movement, tossing them somewhere in the room. I don’t see where they land because I’m too busy staring at him. He’s long and thick, tip leaking, and I can feel him watching me as he strokes himself a few times, smearing the clear fluid on his length. He moves and pushes my legs apart with his knees.
“We can explore each other another time. I need you right now.”
He runs the tip through my folds, smearing himself with my arousal, before slowly pushing in. He’s big, and even though I’m aroused, there’s still that delicious sting of my body stretching to accommodate him. His hand finds mine, and he threads his finger with mine and rests them above my head. He pushes in inch by inch, and when he’s fully seated, he lets out a breath and lets me adjust to the stretch. My hand comes up, and my fingers trace the scar on his cheek.
“I always wonder where this one came from.”
“Maybe someday I’ll tell you.”
“I’d like that.” I pause. “It makes you look sexy, you know?”
“Yeah, right.”
“No, I’m serious. Very dark and mysterious. Just my type.”
“You flatter me, princess. I think I’m the villain stealing the maiden in this story.”
“Oh, shut up, and please move now, you’re driving me crazy.”
“Your wish is my command, princess.” And the first thrust ruins me and makes me whole at the same time. The fit is perfect, like I was made just for him. He starts out slow, allowing me to adjust and get used to him, but soon, it’s not enough, and I’m craving for him to let loose on me like he did those men who were trying to kill me earlier tonight. I can tell he’s holding back, that he’s afraid he’s going to scare me off, but I see all of him, and I am not afraid.
“Let go,” I whisper. “I want you, all of you.” He looks torn. “You aren’t going to hurt me, I promise. I will tell you if you do, okay? I’ll always tell you how I’m feeling, the good, the bad, and the ugly. I promise.” And the tether snaps loose. His hips slam against mine, rutting into me like an animal. It’s everything I need. He moves one of my legs to rest against his shoulder, making the angle deeper, and I cry out at the sensation. He presses a kiss into my ankle, holding it lightly, while his other hand comes down to play with my clit. It’s too much, and I finish with a strangled cry, pussy gripping him like a vice. He groans again, but fucks me through it, pace reaching breakneck speed. He doesn’t let up his assault on my clit, and a second orgasm rips through me, taking me by complete surprise. It must have taken him by surprise, because he drops my ankle from his shoulder and presses his body into mine, legitimately fucking me in the mattress. My orgasm lingers, and I’m still clamping down on him. He finishes with a low moan, teeth sinking into my shoulder. The sharp pain makes my pussy flutter around him. And he’s breathing heavy as he collapses on top of me. I let out a soft oof, and he lies there, heart pounding against mine, mouth closed around my shoulder as we both come down from our highs. He shifts, and I wince, overstimulated and aching. He removes his teeth from my shoulder, leaving a kiss on it, and pushes himself up on one elbow.
“You, okay?”
“I’m perfect. Might be walking funny tomorrow, but it was worth it.” He gently pulls out, and I hiss at the lack of contact. He grabs a washcloth from under the bathroom sink and cleans me up. I sit up when he’s done, rolling my shoulders out.
“Oh, um – ” he starts, eyes glancing down to my shoulder.
“What?”
“I think my canines broke your skin. You’re bleeding a little. I’m sorry, let me – ” He looks panicked at the fact that he hurt me.
“Dex, I’m fine. I liked it.” I say with a wink, and that stops his panicking in his tracks and turns more into bewilderment. He lets out a choked laugh and shakes his head. “What?”
“Every time I think I know you, you surprise me again. It’s just funny, that’s all.”
I get up off the bed and pad into the bathroom, turning on the shower. He follows me into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe that separates the bathroom and bedroom.
“I’m on birth control, by the way. So, you don’t need to worry about a little Poindexter-Fisk running around any time soon.” The emotion that crosses his face is truly panicked now, but he recovers quickly.
“I think I prefer Fisk-Poindexter, actually. After all, I am the man in the relationship.”
“And my father raised a fully competent independent woman, so…”
“That, he did.”
“So, this is a relationship?”
“I – uh. Did I assume wrong? I’m certainly not looking for anyone else.” He says plainly. It’s weird to see him so honest, so relaxed, and at peace.
“You didn’t assume wrong.” I peek in the mirror at my shoulder. The bleeding has stopped, one line of blood has run across my clavicle, but he other marks were just pinpricks of blood. I’ve had worse. The steam is starting to rise from the shower. “Come shower with me. I’m not letting you sleep in my bed when there could be blood on you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He says with a smirk. He steps into the shower, and I grab two fresh washcloths and quickly follow him. The water feels good, washing away the craziness of today. He’s rubbing his face with water, back to me. I tuck the washcloths over the shower door handle and wrap my arms around his slick body; my cheek pressed into his back.
We stay like that for a moment, breaths syncing and slowing, the steam warming our bodies. I could fall asleep like this, I think to myself, before unclasping my arms, squirting some of Dex’s shampoo into my hands. Who thought that not only would I get used to his hygiene products in my shower, but that it would, in fact, bring me comfort after a night like this. I carefully perch on my tiptoes, hands just barely reaching the top of his head. When my hands meet his hair, he makes a small noise in the back of his throat, content. He bends his knees a little to aid in my mission, and I gently lather up the shampoo. I slide my soapy hands down his back, following the path the extra suds are making down his muscled shoulders. He sighs and leans into the touch, as if no one has ever been this gentle with him before. The thought makes me sad. He turns, eyes so soft for a supposed stone-hearted killer, shoulders heavy with words unsaid, memories of a time long past. I step into the stream of water, the blood sluicing off my body quickly. We wash in tandem, silent.
“I don’t deserve this, you.” He finally says, eyes still soft, vulnerable, with a hint of sadness and self-resolution.
“This isn’t about what you deserve, it’s about what you want. You want me, and I want you. End of discussion.”
“Fucked up together?” He says with a ghost of a smile on his beautiful face.
“Fucked up together,” I say, with a genuine smile. I rinse the suds off my body and he does the same. I turn the water off and step out of the shower, stumbling a step as I realize how bone tired I am. Dex grabs my shoulders quickly, reflexively, and straightens me up as he steps out beside me. “Thanks,” I whisper, and wrap my towel around myself. Dex ties his towel around his waist and steps out into the dark apartment. I brush my teeth and dry off, hanging the towel up on the back of the door before stepping into the bedroom. Dex is in a pair of joggers and hands me a pair of my sleep shorts and…
“Your shirt?” I pick up the dark tee and hold it up, the swathe of fabric certain to swallow me like the sweatshirt did the other week. I smile as his cheeks turn crimson and he scratches awkwardly at his neck.
“I, uh…yeah.”
“Thanks.” I smile and tug the shirt on, then the shorts. I’m practically swimming in the shirt, but it smells like him, and that comforts me. I yawn and collapse on top of the bed. My phone buzzes, and I grab it.
“Did you put my phone on silent?” I ask Dex slowly. He nods, not realizing his mistake. I turn my phone to show him the screen and scroll through the notifications.
“It kept going off at the gala, so I put it on silent.” He says, shrugging. “What’s the big deal?”
“What’s the ‘big deal’? Dex. These people blowing me up probably think I’m DEAD. Oh, my fucking god.” I groan. Dozens of missed calls and texts. I sit up and unlock the phone, doing damage control. The text from JJ that just says “CALL ME” is the most alarming, and that’s when I realize that the news of my father getting shot has probably been splashed all over the news. Missed calls from JJ and Prentiss, texts from BB, and a single text from Buck stating my father is in surgery and will make a quick recovery.
“Is something wrong?” Dex asks, brows furrowed.
“My friends in Quantico are worried about me. I, uh, missed some calls and texts. I need to call them back.” I press JJ’s contact photo and call her. The phone doesn’t even get through one full ring before she picks up.
“Y/N FISK! WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?” I cringe and pull the phone away from my ear quickly before she deafens me. I wince, and Dex lets out a chuckle. “I WILL COME UP THERE AND STRANGLE YOU MYSELF IF YOU DO THAT AGAIN!”
“JJ, I’m so sorry. It all happened so fast. Dex and I had to fight our way out. We’re safe. Have been for about an hour.”
“And what were you doing for an hour that you couldn’t answer your phone?”
“Uh…” I’m blushing, stammering for a response. Dex is grinning and making a crude gesture; it’s the most childish I’ve ever seen him.
“‘Uh’ is not a sufficient answer, Y/N.” I can hear the impatience and frustration in her voice.
“I was doing… grown-up things.” I cringe again, and Dex fully laughs now, a sound that doesn’t go unnoticed by JJ.
“You couldn’t answer your phone because you were HAVING SEX?” She shouts, and Dex is clutching his sides, silently laughing. I’ve never seen him this carefree, so I’m about to make this his problem instead of mine.
“Cut it out,” I hiss at him, giving him the same look my father would give me growing up when I would misbehave. It doesn’t faze him at all, though. “JJ, I’m sorry. We just got caught up, and Dex has had my phone this whole time. He put it on silent. I didn’t even hear it go off.”
“Put him on the phone.” She says with lethal calm. Dex straightens up immediately, finally realizing how much trouble he’s in.
“She wants to speak to you,” I say sweetly. He gingerly takes the phone and holds it up.
“Agent Poindexter speaking.” I chuckle at the formality. Then the shouting starts. Dex is crimson, stuttering apologies and half assed explanations, but JJ is fully chewing him out and doing a really good job at it. He’s sheepish as she finishes her tirade with,
“Don’t you ever put her phone on silent, do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He says.
“Good. And congratulations on the sex. Now give me back to Y/N.” He practically throws the phone at me, and I catch it, laughing.
“JJ! Come on! Leave the poor boy alone!” I say, and she huffs out a laugh. We chat for a couple more minutes, all of the anger having dissipated. She says something about me following my heart and being proud of me, and that’s about all I can take of that. I cut her off and told her to tell Prentiss that I’m fine. She concedes, and we say goodnight to each other. I text back BB and let her know I’m okay, and she texts back immediately, saying she has a bruise from falling but is otherwise unscathed. I don’t bother to text Buck back, I just thumbs up his text and toss my phone onto the side table, rubbing my eyes.
“Dumbass,” I mutter, “I cannot believe you silenced my phone.”
“How was I supposed to know we were going to get shot at and then get distracted?” He huffs, getting into bed beside me.
“I’m just saying, as a fellow agent, you should know that I have to keep my ringer on. It’s like FBI Academy 101.” He shrugs and settles down under the covers, and I have no choice but to follow his lead. I turn off the lamp and lie down, resting my head in the crook of his shoulder. His hand comes up to play with my hair, and that’s the last thing I remember before drifting off, his soft fingers in my hair. His chest rumbles as he says something, but I’m dozing off and don’t catch it.
-
The next morning, I awoke to an empty bed and the smell of bacon. I smile to myself, how domestic. I take my time getting out of bed, and when I’m ready, I pad to the kitchen and immediately laugh. Dex is wearing my very pink, very girly apron, still shirtless. He jumps and turns.
“What?”
“Why are you wearing my apron?”
“I didn’t feel like putting a shirt on.” He shrugs. He’s practically busting out of the damn thing.
“Puh-lease. You just wanted me to ogle your pecs in my apron. That damn thing doesn’t even cover your nipples.” I say, rolling my eyes as I steal a piece of bacon and eat it.
A flush creeps up his chest.
“And, so what if I did?” He says, despite his redness.
“Mission accomplished, then.” I finish off the piece of bacon. “By the way, thanks for taking my virginity last night.” He stills, a preternatural sort of calmness creeping upon him. I take another piece of bacon, feigning cluelessness.
“What?” He says, finally, turning to look at me.
“You heard me,” I shrug, “Just thanking you.”
“Y/N…I didn’t know.”
“Because I didn’t tell you. It’s not a big deal.” His focus is razor sharp as his gaze pins me down.
“You should have told me I – “
I cut him off. “That happened exactly how I wanted it to. I know I should have told you, but I didn’t want to be babied.”
He regards me for a second.
“And you think I would have babied you?”
I pause to think and then shake my head no.
“Correct, because you are fiercely capable of anything you set your mind to. I would have liked to know, that’s all.” He looks almost sad, as if he thought I didn’t trust him enough to tell him this piece of information.
“I wanted to tell you, but…I guess I just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Didn’t want that to hold you back from telling me and showing me how you feel about me. I thought if you knew, maybe it would’ve made you restrain yourself. You’ve shown so much restraint your whole life, I didn’t want that to be on your shoulders too. I’m religiously exercising no restraint. I wanted the choice to be wholly yours, not mine, not my father’s, yours. But you’re right, I should have told you, and for that I apologize.”
He looks at me, thinking over what I just told him. He turns back to the stove.
“You’re right,” he says quietly.
“About what? I’m usually right about most things.” I say, and he scoffs.
“About showing restraint. I’ve done it my whole life, save for a few moments, moments I regret. Those moments taught me that the only way to live is with restraint. When I’m with you, I don’t know, I feel like I can breathe again. I’m still looking over my shoulder for the next thing, but I’m doing it because I’m protecting you now, not just myself. And that’s scary. The adrenaline rush from the shooting last night pushed me to kiss you, and it was the first time in years I’ve felt truly alive. But the restraint is always there; it feels safer, in a way. I can’t think straight around you sometimes. And that scares me. But it’s something I’m adjusting to. I understand why you didn’t tell me.”
I nod and let out a soft ‘Mhmm’.
“Anyway,” he says, clearing his throat, “what’s the plan for today?”
“After last night, I want nothing more than a chill day. And maybe some making out. And sex.” He makes a noise at that but doesn’t turn away from the stove.
“Sounds like a quiet day, indeed. I think we can arrange that.”
After breakfast, we settle in on the couch and are no longer afraid to touch each other, even though every touch still feels electric. We fuck lazily on the couch, and I’m in between his legs, watching a movie after, and don’t even remember dozing off. I awake sometime later because Dex is snoring louder than a freight train. I push myself off his chest, slipping back into the big t-shirt he gave me last night, and sit at the dining table, laptop cracked open. A text from JJ had me fetching it.
JJ: Need your opinion on a case. If you’re not too busy with adult activities ;)
The case of two homicides in North Carolina, all with strange carvings etched into the bodies. Most of it is just swirls, but one of them is too intentional to be just a swirl. A quick Google search gives me the result I’m looking for – it’s a triple moon spiral carving, to honor Lilith. The carving represents the three life stages, “maiden”, “mother”, and “crone”. It’s commonly used in pagan and Celtic traditions. The first victim was a woman just out of her teens. The second is a middle-aged woman with two young children. The third, potential victim, would be elderly.
I call JJ from the bedroom. She picks up immediately. They came to the same conclusion that I had but couldn’t figure out the connection between them. A note in the case file stands out to me. Both victims had traces of sedatives in their system, benzodiazepines. Usually kept under tight lock in hospitals, but also…
“JJ, is there a nursing home in the area?”
“Yeah, Whispering Oaks. You think there’s a connection?”
“Benzos are used to sedate elderly people who have trouble sleeping. Was the first victim in school?”
“Yeah, nursing school.”
“What semester?”
“Third, I think.”
“Most commonly, nursing students in their third semester are in their first semester of nursing school. The first rotation is the nursing home. Is there a chance our first victim was placed in this nursing home for her clinical rotation?”
“Let me get Garcia on the phone.” A few buttons pushed, and Garcia has joined the call.
“Hello, my faraway princess, Y/N. Long time no see! We miss you here in Quan-tee-co!”
I laugh, “I miss you too, Garcia. I’ll be back soon.”
“What do you lovely ladies need from me today?” We filled Garcia in, and my hunch was correct. The first victim was in her clinical rotation at Whispering Oaks.
“The second victim had a grandmother at the nursing home.”
“There’s the connection. Your killer is in that nursing home, and they’re probably scoping out their next victim as we speak. You’re looking for an RN or LPN, but probably an RN if they’re handling sedatives. That should narrow your search down quite a bit. Look into the RNs in the nursing home who are probably not connected in the community. This person is a loner, maybe they’re new in town. But they will be known to the others as a little ‘odd’. People who practice a pagan religion might stand out like a sore thumb one time or have learned to blend in and assimilate with those around them. Based on the MO and the reverence for women, this killer is most likely a man. One who has had issues with women but still reveres them all the same.”
“There are two male RNs at Whispering Oaks. One has several complaints against him, conduct-wise. It says here, uh, that he’s harassing the nursing students.” Garcia says.
“Get someone in there and get a list of the medications the patients take, if you can. It’s easiest for him to get someone who already regularly takes sedative medications.”
“Great idea. With any luck, we’ll have him behind bars tonight.” JJ says.
“Y/N, will you stay on the line after JJ hangs up?” Garcia says sweetly.
“Anything for you, Garcia. See you, JJ, glad I could help.” JJ leaves the call.
“So, your new boy toy…”
“What about him?”
“I found something. But it’s very redacted. There’s not a lot here. But it looks like Mr. Benjamin Poindexter was held in Riviera Psychiatric Institute for several years before this release was signed by a ‘V.F.’ There’s not much else here, but I figured you’d want to know nonetheless.”
“Vanessa,” I mutter.
“That was my thought exactly. Do you know why he was there?”
“Nope.” Lies. He tried to kill my father; he told me so himself.
“Well, it’s information, nonetheless. He’s very handsome.” Garcia adds, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Back off, sugar, he’s mine!” I say with a chuckle. We chat for a couple of minutes about random things and then get off the line. When I come out of the bedroom, I see Dex at my computer, clicking through the case file. “Hey!” I say, and he starts, “That’s classified!” He holds his hands up in mock defeat, a sheepish grin on his face.
“You caught me. Jesus, how do you look at that shit all day, every day?”
“Death was a close friend growing up. This is just another page in the book for me.” I say with a shrug, closing out of the case file and shutting my laptop. The look on his face is sad and contemplative.
“Do you find the work fulfilling?”
“That’s a loaded question,” I say with a chuckle, “But yes. It’s hard. And I’ve thought about transferring. But if I can even help one person, then my job is done. These people go through something traumatic, and they need someone who understands all the emotions that come with that. I know that I’m the best person for this job, even if some days I just want to curl up in a ball and never leave my house. But those days are few and far between, and the good outweighs those moments.”
“You’re nothing like your father.” He says, and I laugh.
“Father always said I took after mother. Capable, but soft-hearted. It’s why I don’t let anyone in. Too soft. It’s impossible to get hurt when you don’t let anyone get close enough to do so. So don’t go breaking my heart, okay?” I say jokingly, but we both know I’m not joking. And that it’s hard to be vulnerable like this – for both of us.
“Having a heart like that, it’s a gift. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.” He clears his throat. “So, we have you, who’s too soft, and me, who’s heartless. What a great pair!” He’s joking, but he’s really not.
“You’re not heartless.”
“Princess, you’ve met me.”
“And the way you look at me proves to me that you’re not truly heartless.” I spit back. That stops him in his tracks. “You may be many things, Benjamin Poindexter, but ‘heartless’ is not one of them. You care so much for me, and that’s the surest proof that you do, indeed, have a heart. I think I’m your weak spot, and that scares you. Just how much you’d do for me.” He looks away, and I know I’ve got it right – I always get it right. I walk over to him and grab his face, so he’s forced to look me in the eyes. “Don’t be scared, we’re in this together.” He closes his eyes and nods, then swoops me up in a hug so fast I don’t have time to react. His face is buried in my neck, and he’s so tall my feet dangle a hair above the ground. It’s a crushing hug, as if he’s pouring all his fears into me so that we might share them. I relax into the hug as best I can, wrapping my arms around his neck. We stay like that for a second, just breathing each other in before he sets me on the ground gently.
“Thank you.”
“For what? I do a lot of stuff to be thankful for.” I say.
“For making me feel normal. Well, as normal as I can feel.”
“Anytime.” I smile at him. “Now, can we please get Chinese for dinner?”
He laughs and says, “Anything for my princess.”
We ordered in and watched a rom-com, something Dex claims he hates, but he was so invested that I think he secretly liked it. If you don’t like ’27 Dresses’, I don’t trust your taste anyway.
The following weeks are a blur – campaign events, partying, and getting too handsy with Dex in public spaces (much to his chagrin), and lots of fucking. Lots of fucking. We roll lazily into mid-October, and the election draws closer and closer. I’m present at a lot more functions and even speak at a couple of them. I’m careful to never fully endorse my father but use flowery language to dance around the fact that I don’t really want to be here. Vanessa gives me tight-lipped smiles, and I catch her staring at Dex and me when she thinks no one is looking. It’s starting to creep me out, and I voice my suspicions to Dex one night while we’re on the couch.
“Do you think Vanessa knows about us?” I ask, and he chokes on his drink. After a quick cough, he recovers and asks,
“What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know. Just a hunch. She keeps staring at us, and it’s starting to freak me out.”
“I wouldn’t think much of it. You know how she is.”
“Yeah.” I nestle back into his chest and push the thought to the far recesses of my mind.
It’s Halloween night, and I’m dressed as an assassin, with a mask for my face so no one will recognize me. Dex is dressed similarly, in a stealth suit of deep blue and a matching balaclava. I ask him where he got it from, and he tells me that it’s ‘none of my business’. I pester him for a while, but it’s clear he’s not going to crack, so I just give up.
It’s 9:00 PM by the time we roll into Midtown, and people are out in full force. We have to park a street away in a parking garage and walk a block to Barcelona Bar. It’s packed, and we have to wait. I decide to poke the bear while we’re in line.
“We’re close to Hell’s Kitchen, think we’ll see Matt tonight?” Dex glares at me, and I just grin back at him. We’re in the doors in the next couple of minutes, and it’s packed in here, the throng thick with sweaty, drunk people. I grab a drink and find an unoccupied corner. Dex gets a drink as well, and a few drinks later, we start to dance. I feel free with this mask on my face, like no one will find out who I am. My suit is skin-tight, and I feel electric as I turn to face Dex, my arms twining around his neck. I can only see his eyes with his balaclava on, and it’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. His eyes are slightly hazy when he looks at me, lust, but still with that razor-sharp focus he has. It starts to get hot, and I’m getting turned on by the way he’s looking at me. I yank him out of the bar and down the nearest alleyway, ripping off my mask as he does the same, our mouths clashing together – a battle of tongues and teeth. He nips at my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, and it smears on his and mine’s chin. His hands come down to grip my ass, and I jump up and wrap my legs around his waist. His boner is pressing against my ass at this angle, and the sensation is only making me feel hotter. We’re lost in each other, and I don’t hear a cough or shoe scuff.
“Well, this is certainly interesting,” a voice says, from the end of the alley.
We gasp and jump apart, and find ourselves face to face with Matt. I know he can hear and smell what was happening between us, and he looks pissed.
“Matt – I, it’s not…”
“Don’t, Y/N. I can tell quite clearly what’s going on here.”
“You don’t get to tell her what she can and can’t do.” Dex spits.
“Does she know the truth?” Matt simply asks, and Dex stills. A beat of silence.
“What do you mean?” I ask, looking between them.
“Does she know the truth?” Matt asks again. “Ah, so she doesn’t.”
“What’s going on here?” I ask, voice rising.
“You see, Y/N, the reason I warned you not to get involved is that you don’t know who he really is. Not truly. Did he tell you about that night? The one that ended in death and anger?” We’re both silent, Dex refusing to look at me. “The night he killed Foggy and laughed in my face about it? Did he tell you about that?”
My heart stutters a beat. There’s no way that’s true. He would be in jail if that were true.
“And how he pleaded insanity just for some doctor under your father’s jurisdiction to clear him and get him released just months after killing my best friend? And now how he’s right under your father’s thumb and you’re playing right into your father’s hand?”
“Dex, he’s lying. Please tell me he’s lying.” I grab his shoulder and shake him, and the look he gives me, one full of raw anger and grief, confirms that everything Matt’s telling me is true. I suddenly remember what he said that one night a couple weeks ago about the night he’d be repenting for for the rest of his life. My stomach drops. I take a step away. “I can’t…why wouldn’t you tell me? Are you just with me to get back at my father?”
“Y/N, no. That’s not why I’m with you. I’m with you because I lov – “
“No. You don’t get to say that. Not now.” I push past him and run out of the alleyway. Matt lets me run past, and I turn the corner, not even knowing where I’m heading. I make it two blocks before I stop, feet aching in my boots. I’m catching my breath when I feel something prick my neck. I whirl,
“What the fuck?” A hooded man with two accomplices catches me as I stumble backward, vision going black.
Wolf Like Me // Benjamin Poindexter (Bullseye) x Reader // Chapter Four
Summary:
Y/N Fisk has returned to the city to aid in her father’s mayoral campaign, leaving behind her profiler job at Quantico. Her plea to live alone, away from her father’s prying eyes, is met with one condition - a bodyguard. Desperate to have some semblance of freedom in the city, Y/N agrees. Enter Benjamin Poindexter - a disgraced FBI agent with nothing to lose and everything to prove. When tensions climb, will they give in? Or will Wilson Fisk haunt their every move?
Words: 6288
Tags: eventual smut, slow burn, canon typical violence, mental instability, childhood trauma, gun violence, sexual tension, falling in love, protective Wilson Fisk, profiler!reader, criminal minds au (ish)
Ao3 Link - here!
Series Masterlist - here!
I awaken abruptly; it’s still pitch-black outside, but something is wrong. I take a breath and realize that Dex is tossing and turning, muttering, no, he’s pleading. He’s having a nightmare. I should probably wake him, I realize, and I sit up, twisting so I can grab his shoulder and shake him awake.
“Dex.” I shake him firmly. He awakens with a gasp and sits up, arms snaking around my waist as he pulls me into his chest.
“Oof,” I exclaim at the sudden movement. His arms are gripping me tightly, and his face is tucked into the crook of my neck as the sudden change in position puts me in his lap. I freeze for a moment, unsure of what to do as he pants into my neck. My hand comes up to run it down the back of his head and through his hair. He shudders at the contact, gripping me tighter, as if that’s even possible. I repeat the motion. Again and again, my other hand came to rest on his shoulder. His breathing starts to slow a couple of minutes later, and his grip relaxes. I don’t stop, though, not until he pulls back, eyes searching my face in the dark. “You were having a nightmare.” He nods. “Do you want to talk about it?” He shakes his head at this, eyes dropping from mine. “That’s okay. I get nightmares, too.” I rest my forehead against his, and he lets out a shaky breath. We stay like that for a couple of minutes, breathing in sync, until he lets me go and leans back on his hands and sighs. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” His voice is scratchy with sleep. “Thanks.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’d do the same for me.” A quick nod, confirmation enough that he at least has the same brevity of care for me as I do for him. “You’re so warm, you’re burning up.” And he is, his skin is hot to the touch, though he’s not sweating.
“When…” He pauses, as if he’s unsure about whether he wants to say what he’s thinking about. He starts again, “When your father broke my spine –” I stiffen at the confession, but he plows forward. “Whatever they did to fix me, the adamantium, it changed something about my body. It’s never quite been the same. That’s why I feel hot.”
“My father broke your spine?” He flinches, and I feel bad for asking for confirmation on the confession that I already know in my bones to be true. He nods, not looking at me. “I’m sorry.” He shrugs.
“It was a long time ago. Doesn’t matter now.”
“Why?”
“He killed someone I cared for, so I tried to return the favor. Didn’t quite work out for me.”
“Ah. So that’s why you don’t get close to people anymore. And that’s what my father has over you.”
“That’s part of what he has over me. The rest can be told another night.”
“You’re no fun.” He gives me a tired smile.
“Fine. You want to go back to bed now?
“Can I…” His voice trails off, and he clears his throat. “Can I hold you?” He looks so vulnerable as he glances at me, and I’m surprised that a man of his skill set and size can look so small.
“Of course.” I slip off his lap and lie down on my side, and his chest presses against my back a moment later, and he engulfs me. I can smell him now, eucalyptus and pine and the woodsy scent of his shampoo. The smell comforts me, and I’m not quite ready to explore what that means for me, and I relax into him, asleep moments later.
I awake to an empty bed and noise coming from the kitchen. I shuffle out of bed and rub my eyes as I walk into the kitchen, shirt riding up one of my hips from my arm being in the air. Dex’s back is to me as he stands at the stove. He’s in a pair of joggers and the same t-shirt from the night before, and he’s making…
“Scrambled eggs?” I ask, and he shoots back a quick, ‘yes’, not taking his focus away from the pan for a single second. “I’ve never seen you cook in the whole month we’ve been together. In this arrangement, that is.” I quickly amended.
“Is it a crime for me to cook eggs?” He says over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised.
“No. It’s just…every time I think I’m starting to get to know you, you do something out of character.” I say with a chuckle and join him by the stove. I open a bag of bagels, slicing it in half and popping both halves in the toaster. “You’re very good at deflecting when you feel as though I’m getting too close to you.”
“Hmm.” He won’t look at me, though, and judging by the tension in his shoulders, I’ve hit the nail right on the head. I plow forward.
“Last night was probably too real for you, the first time you’ve opened up in a long time, so this morning you’re distancing yourself, as a way to protect yourself. But I see right through this little charade, so I’m telling you right now – I’m not going anywhere.” The tension in his shoulders eases slightly. “I’m taking these North Star duties very seriously, you know.” And there it is, a small smile, just a quick one, but I see it all the same.
“Whatever.” He says, bumping his shoulder into mine. I bump his shoulder back with much more force, and he stumbles a step. “Easy, princess.” He offers me half of the eggs, and I accept them, putting them on a plate. My bagel pops, and I smear it with cream cheese and plunk one half on my plate and a plain half on his plate.
“You know, it’s honestly psychopathic that you don’t like anything on your bagel.”
“Technically, I have psychopathic tendencies, but I’m not a psychopath.”
“Touché.” We eat in silence on the couch, and he only speaks again when I get up and take our plates into the kitchen.
“So, what’s the plan for today?”
“Honestly? Probably doing nothing all day because socializing tonight is going to be hellish enough.”
“That’s fine by me. I’ll have to go to my apartment to pick up my suit.”
“Let me shower, and we can go right after.” He just nods and settles into the corner of the couch, pulling out his phone. I take a quick shower, making sure to keep my hair dry, and when I’m dry, I slip into a pair of black biker shorts and a black t-shirt. I grab a pair of socks and a small black crossbody purse before making my way out of the bedroom and towards the front door. Dex has donned what has become his uniform in the last couple of weeks: a light-colored t-shirt, jacket, and dark jeans. It’s calm and bright when we step outside and make our way to the car. It then hits me that I’ve never seen Dex’s apartment, and I wince as I realize he’s probably still paying rent while basically never seeing his own apartment.
The city is vibrant today, the tail end of August, and the promise of cooler weather guarantees a good mood for most. I crack my window, letting the sounds of the city and some fresh air in. Dex is quiet the whole forty minutes we’re in the car. I wonder what he’s thinking about but ultimately decide to let him brood as I’m not in the mood to argue with him, even though we’ve been doing less and less of that lately. We pull up outside a nondescript apartment building.
“You can wait in the car if you want.” He finally says. “I can lock the doors.”
“And miss the chance to see where you spent all your time before you met me? No way. I’m coming with you.” He sighs but doesn’t object, and we cross the quiet street and cross into the building. His apartment building has stairs like mine, but he’s on the fourth floor. The whole building is quiet, no screaming kids or barking dogs, quiet and clean, just like him. He leads the way and unlocks the door to apartment one hundred and thirty-one. The air is stale in the apartment, and I again feel bad that he has been saddled with watching me. The first thing I notice is that it’s clinically clean. Everything has its own place; all the coffee mugs are turned the same way, there are no pictures in the apartment, and if I didn’t know him, I would think that this apartment was the show apartment, staged for future tenants to inspect and pick apart before renting. Everything is in shades of gray, white, and a very light blue. He walks through a door on the left, and I follow him, taking everything in. I chuckle when I see that his sheets are indeed a very light shade of blue. His closet is small, as are all New York apartment closets, and he grabs a garment bag from the back corner. I whistle as I catch a glimpse of the gun safe in his closet; it’s almost as tall as I am. “I’d hate to be the poor fucker who breaks into your apartment.”
“Yeah, Matt Murdock found out that firsthand.” He says with a chuckle. I’m then struck by the fact that I never questioned him about how he knew Matt, but it was obvious then that just questioning him wouldn’t get him to crack. I’d have to be subtle to figure out their connection – or I could just ask Matt myself. I decide I’ll figure that out later and leave the bedroom and run a critical eye over the rest of the apartment. There are some books that look like they’ve never been touched, and as I’m looking at the blank wall beside the bedroom, I notice something looks off. There’s a fist-sized area that is a slightly different shade of white than the rest of the apartment, as if he had punched his hand straight through the wall. I run my fingers along it, and it feels different from the rest of the wall, confirming my assumption. He walks out of the bedroom, and my fingers drop from the wall quickly. “Come on, we need to stop by the office. The boss has something for me.” I perk up at the statement. I had only been to the New York FBI headquarters once when they first recruited me.
It’s a short ride over to the FBI office, and we park and make our way inside within twenty minutes. The building is imposing yet sleek, and I feel at home surrounded by so many agents. Dex guides me to the small waiting area on the first floor and tells me to stay put. So much for seeing his office. He strides off, disappearing into the throng of agents. My phone buzzes.
Prentiss: 3 o’clock.
My head shoots up and I look that way to see a grinning Emily Prentiss walking towards me, sleek black hair flowing. I shoot up and meet her halfway and she gathers me into a bone crushing hug.
“Oof!” I exclaim. She lets me go.
“Sorry, it’s been way too long since I’ve seen you.”
“You’re almost as bad as JJ. First, she scolds me for not ‘following my heart,’ and now you hug me? Who knew I had two moms?” I say and chuckle.
“First of all, I agree with JJ on the whole ‘following your heart’ thing. And second of all, what are you doing here? You’re on leave.”
“Dex – my bodyguard needed to talk to his boss.”
“He’s here?” She says, eyes suddenly guarded. I nod, weirded out by her sudden shift. “Be careful, Y/N. I still have Garcia digging. I don’t think he’s who he seems.”
“We both know I can handle myself. Besides, I think he’s alright. Despite what may have happened in his past.” I scratch at my neck. She gives me a look, one that feels like she’s figuring out just where Dex and I stand with each other.
“Ah. That makes sense.”
“What makes sense?”
“Your tell. It gives you away. You scratched your neck. You feel something for him.” My cheeks start to feel hot.
“Fucking profilers,” I mutter. “It doesn’t matter what I may or may not feel for him. This is just a job.”
“No, it’s not–not to you. I can tell. And it’s certainly not just a job for your father. Be careful, Y/N. Something is afoot here, something bigger than just this. I knew it when I saw his wiped file. He’s dangerous, maybe not to you right now, but that can always change. People crack under pressure; your father just has to figure out how to crack him. You cannot trust him. You can only trust yourself.” She’s gripping my shoulders now, and I gently push her hands off.
“Emily, I’m capable of handling this myself. I appreciate the concern, I really do, but I’ve got this.” He’s not going to hurt me. That's what I want to say, but Prentiss is just trying to protect me, and I’ll seem naïve if I voice those words to her. She nods. “What are you here for, anyway?” I say, swiftly changing the subject.
“Leadership conference. Just for a few more days. We miss you, by the way. We need our little genius back. You’re wasted up here. Mayoral campaign, my ass, all you do is stand there and look pretty. No offense.”
“None taken, you’re exactly right. Just a couple more months and I’ll be back with you guys.”
“And not a moment later, Y/N. I mean it. Once the election is over, you come home, okay?” I nod and laugh and see Dex walking towards us over Prentiss’ shoulder. She notices my attention shift and turns just in time for Dex to join us.
“SSA Prentiss, this is Special Agent Poindexter,” I say, motioning between them.
“Just Dex is fine, ma’am.” He says and sticks his hand out to shake hers. I breathe a sigh of relief when she doesn’t even hesitate to shake his hand.
“Agent Poindexter, nice to meet the man who’s taking care of our girl.”
“It’s an honor, ma’am.” She raises her eyebrows and looks at me.
“Well, take good care of her so she can come back to us quickly. Understood?”
“Of course.” She bids us a good day and starts to walk away, Dex’s back now to her. I see Prentiss mouth ‘He’s whipped’ to me, and I grin and mouth back, ‘Shut up,’ and she just shrugs with a bland smile and turns to keep walking. I turn to him.
“Ma’am?”
“Shut up. She’s intimidating.” I tilt my head back and laugh, and when I’m done, he’s looking at me, though the whole world rotates around me. “What did she say to you after she walked away?”
“Nothing important. Just something about you being whipped.” I shrug and start to walk away.
“Whoa, whipped?”
“And she’s a profiler, so her assumption is probably correct,” I call over my shoulder, and see him speed up to fall in line beside me.
“She doesn’t know anything about me. That was, like, a minute-long conversation.”
“And she’s been a profiler since her twenties, so a minute is all she needs. I hope I’ll be that good someday.”
“You will be.” His tone is so sincere that I almost stumble, but I keep my cool.
“What did your boss have for you?”
“Just a security briefing on tonight’s gala. Typical bodyguard stuff. Lots of important people are there tonight. They’re afraid something is going to happen.”
“I know the city isn’t exactly pleased that my father is running for mayor, but I have no idea who would be stupid enough to do something at a gala so public.” I think for a second. “The Albanians, maybe. They still aren’t pleased they got ratted out, though I believe they were fully financially compensated for that. Though that’s just a rumor from my father.”
“It’s not a rumor if you heard it straight from the source, Y/N. Most people would call that a fact.” I make a face at that, and he chuckles. “Sorry to burst your bubble.”
The ride back to my apartment is quiet, and I retreat to my bedroom as soon as we’re home. I scroll on my phone for what feels like forever, and I don’t remember falling asleep. I wake up a couple of hours later to the bathroom door creaking open and Dex walking out, a towel slung low on his waist. I’m suddenly very awake and shoot up on the bed, eyes wide.
He pauses, brushing his teeth, to mouth around the toothbrush,
“Sorry. I thought you’d be asleep longer. Until I could get dressed, at least.”
“You–You–You’re fine.” I choke out. Water is glistening on his chest, and I want to lick it up. Cut it out. Don’t think like that. Oh, but it’s so fun to think like that. For once, he doesn’t seem embarrassed; in fact, he actually seems proud of the fact that I can’t formulate a single coherent thought right now, and he’s smirking around the toothbrush. He retreats into the bathroom, and I hear him rinse out his mouth, but when he comes back out, he’s still not dressed. And if I’m remembering correctly, the towel is now even lower on his hips. His V-line is pronounced, and his abs are defined. I gulp. Surely, he’s toying with me. He leans against the doorframe of the bathroom.
“So, I was thinking we leave here at six, which gives us plenty of time to get into the city at rush hour. What do you think?”
I don’t have any words. Truly, speechless. How can he be casual right now while practically naked in front of me?
“Y/N? Is something wrong?” There’s confusion on his face, but I can see the glint in his eyes – he’s enjoying toying with me.
“Can you put some clothes on? Please?” He grins now. Dammit, I fell for his trap.
“I mean, I can, but it seems like you’re enjoying what you’re seeing, so I’m good. Answer my question.”
I stiffen at the demand. I wonder if he would be like this in bed, cruel, taking what he wants, and I’d be helpless to his whims. I guess it’s only fair for him to get his lick back after last night.
“Six is fine,” I say tightly, my whole body vibrating with some strange sort of energy.
“Okay. You sure you’re okay? Your face is really red right now.” Asshole.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly – too quickly. He smirks, one arm coming to rest above his head on the doorframe, and his muscles ripple. “Oh my god, can you not?”
“What? Did I do something wrong?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. Just put some fucking clothes on for Christ’s sake!” I exclaim, burying my head in my hands in frustration. He chuckles. When I peek out from between my fingers, he’s standing over me at the edge of the bed. He gently peels my hands away from my face, and when I turn my head to avoid looking at him, his thumb and forefinger firmly guide my eyes back to his.
“I like knowing I have the same effect on you that you do on me. Consider this payback for last night and that dress that left nothing to the imagination.” I blink at his confession, and he’s gone a moment later, presumably to get clothes and leave me sitting here…wanting. Aching for him, this close to begging him for release. For anything as long as it’s him. I shake my head and can’t help but chuckle. Emily said he was whipped for me, but I honestly think at this point it's a two-way street. I check the time and decide it’s time for me to get ready too. I collect all my favorite makeup items from where they’re scattered around the room. I like to listen to music when I get ready, which means I spend most of the time dancing around in my room, and my makeup tends to travel with me. I wash my face in the bathroom, the mirror still foggy from Dex’s shower, and take a seat at my vanity. I take my time, even completely redoing one eye because I fucked up the eyeliner on it. It takes me a good hour to achieve something I’m pleased with. Cat-eye eyeliner makes my eyes seem hooded and sultry, and the dark eyeshadow with pops of warm mauve accentuates it. My cheeks are carved out, and my favorite, pink-tinted highlighter decorates my cheeks, inner corners of my eyes, and the tip of my nose.
Now to deal with the hair. With such a low back on the dress that I’d like on display, I go with pulling my hair up and out of my face. I arrange it artfully, practiced from years of galas and parties and balls I never wanted to go to in the first place. My father used to pay someone to do it all, but they never quite achieved what I wanted, so I taught myself. It takes me another twenty minutes to get my hair just right. And I’m pleased with what’s looking back at me in the mirror. I pull the dress out from my closet and shut the bedroom door with a soft snick. I admire the black silky fabric as I pull it out of the garment bag. I slip into it easily and fiddle with the straps for a second, making sure they’re the right length. I grab a pair of black kitten heels from the myriad of shoes in my closet and grab my phone from the charger. I slip on a thigh holster and put my gun in it – never know when you’ll need it. I walk out, and Dex is checking his reflection in the black mirror of the TV screen. I stopped in my tracks. He looks good. Too good. Very good, given I know what muscles lie underneath that suit. He glances at me, almost nervously. His tie is slung around his neck, not tied yet.
“I never wear a tie. Will you help me?” My heart softens toward him, and how much effort it probably took him to ask me for help. I nod and stride over to him, setting my shoes down by the door and my phone on the kitchen island. I make quick work of his tie, and when I look up at him and say,
“All done!” I watch as his eyes dip from my eyes to my lips. His hand is resting on my hip, and I can feel his hand flex before I watch his eyes shutter, and he takes a small step backwards. I decided to break the tension by asking, “Can I drive tonight?” And the question cracks through his nervous mood.
“Absolutely not.”
“What? Why not?”
“If I’m remembering correctly, you crashed a squad car down in Quantico in pursuit of a suspect.” My jaw drops open.
“You’ve read my file?” I screech.
“Of course, I’ve read your file. I considered it research for my assignment.” He shrugs.
“My file is confidential! How did you get access to it?”
“Princess, are you really asking that? I can get access to anything. Especially when your father is involved.”
“That’s so not fair.” I pout and cross my arms, and he chuckles.
“It’s just a part of the job, Y/N. Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me.”
“I don’t have any secrets.”
He looks me up and down.
“You sure about that?” He murmurs, an eyebrow cocked. “You’ve told me plenty of secrets in the last month.”
“Whatever. Let’s go.” I huff and slip my shoes on while leaning one arm on the doorframe. He smirks, knowing he’s won this round, and pulls on his own sleek dress shoes. I can almost see my reflection in them, they’re so shiny. I hand him my phone to put in his pocket, as I don’t want to carry a purse, and there’s nowhere for me to put it within my own outfit. He wordlessly takes it and tucks it away in his suit jacket.
The drive is long, traffic is particularly bad tonight, and I’m glad we actually left a little before six. I enjoy seeing the city at this time, though the bright orange and pink bleed of colors as the city is just getting started for the night. People heading home from work, disappearing into the subway and into taxis, people venturing out for dinner, arms linked with lovers and family, people walking dogs, even one person walking a cat on a harness, the food trucks turning their lights on to stand out as the night goes on. I love this city, and I love the people in it. I crack my window as per usual, but about ten minutes in, I open it halfway, letting the city noise fill the sleek black interior.
“Roll up your window, Y/N, that’s a safety hazard.”
“Just a couple of minutes, Dex, please.”
“Why do you always crack the window, anyway?”
“The sounds remind me what it feels like to truly be alive.” He makes a noise of what I take to be understanding, maybe even slight agreement. And a few minutes later, I roll the window back up so only an inch or two of the sky can be seen through the tinted windows.
“You know, for someone who’s being forced to be here, you seem to love this city a lot,” Dex says quietly, as we cross Newton Creek.
“It’s…complicated. I love this city and the people, but I hate that I can’t be myself here. Always my father’s lapdog. This is the most freedom he’s given me in years, but I was a child then. I think I’m still a little naïve, but I’ve learned a lot in five years. Maybe he’s starting to realize that. Despite everything, he’s always had a soft spot for me. He once said I always favored my mother, and that he’s happy to have a piece of her here with him, the piece that lives in me.”
“I cannot imagine Wilson Fisk having a soft spot but given the fact that I’m his daughter’s personal bodyguard, I’m inclined to believe you.”
“Before Vanessa, we had something good. Not perfect, not normal in any way, but something that worked for both of us. I knew who he was, and he trained me as he would any soldier, but Vanessa corrupted him. Made him weak in a different way, and she turned him against me. Or tried to. I’m not quite sure where he stands now. Getting my own apartment was a small victory against her. There’s no one I hate more than that woman.”
“Yeah, the feeling’s mutual here.” I turn and look at him.
“What’s your history with her?”
“Nothing good. She…I wasn’t in my right mind. She took advantage of my skills, and I ended up doing something I’ll be repenting for, for the rest of my life.”
“Hmm.” I pause, thinking. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize, it’s not your fault.”
“Well, fuck her.”
He chuckles.
“Yeah. Fuck her.” We’re silent for the next couple of minutes.
“You look nice.” I finally say, changing the subject.
“So do you.”
“People are going to think you’re my boyfriend. Are you prepared for weird questions?”
“If I can handle BB, I think I can handle random people.”
“Speaking of BB, you’ll probably have to endure another round of twenty questions from her again tonight.”
“I can’t wait.” He says drily.
“And you’ll have to endure people leering at me. Don’t worry, though, I’m used to it. Comes with the territory. Untouchable women are always desirable, or some bullshit like that.” He’s white-knuckling the steering wheel by the time I’m done talking, and his jaw is working.
“That’s unacceptable. No one should do that to you. And they won’t if I have anything to say about it.”
“What are you gonna do, kill them?” I joke.
“If you wanted me to, yeah.” He admits, not looking at me.
“Oh,” I say, a little surprised, though not too much. Murderous intent certainly does seem like it would be his vibe, “That’s kind of hot,” I say, grinning at him.
“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” He says with a sigh.
“A sexy, dangerous, older man is exactly my type. It’s not my fault you got saddled with me. Blame my father. He should know my type at this point.”
“Oh, believe me, I know I’m your type.” He says quietly, focusing on not rear-ending the Nissan in front of us, which is riding its brakes.
“What does that mean?” I say, feigning shock, barely holding back a shit-eating grin.
“You know exactly what it means. You were drooling over me earlier. If you had kept your mouth open any longer, you would have caught a fly.”
“Dickhead.”
“Princess.”
“Well, I think I’m your type too. You stare when you think I’m not paying attention, every little thing I do seems to rile you up, and we bicker. All. The. Time. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re attracted to me.”
“You wish.” He spits out, but he’s beet red, even the tips of his ears are pink.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you have the hots for me. It wouldn’t look good on your resume. ‘Will develop a crush on the person he’s supposed to be protecting,’ you’ll never get another bodyguard gig again.”
“Oh my god, please stop.” He looks as bright as a tomato, and as the Nissan in front of us slams on its brakes again, he starts to curse under his breath. I’m fully grinning now, well aware that he’s riled up.
“See, look, I’ve got you all riled up again,” I say sweetly, and he pins me with a glare so nasty I laugh. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Jesus, no need to get your panties in a wad.”
It takes him a whole five minutes to return to his normal color, and another ten minutes later, we’re crossing into Astoria. I know better than to poke him now that he’s mostly back to normal, so I stay quiet for the rest of the ride. The traffic as we approach the Museum of the City of New York is horrendous, and we’re stuck in it for a good ten minutes until we pass the conservatory and are the next in line to get out of the car.
“Stay put,” Dex says, getting out of the car and handing his keys to the valet. He comes around to my side of the car and opens the door, offering me a hand and helping me out. I take it and give him a small smile. Cameras are flashing as we round the car and step onto the red carpet decorating the outside walkway of the venue. Dex’s hand is warm and firm on my lower back as he quickly guides me up the stairs and into the venue, not stopping for any of the reporters clamoring for a statement from Wilson Fisk’s daughter. It’s dimly lit in the foyer, but it’s stunning all the same. We’re about to walk up the stairs to the second-floor reception hall when I hear my father’s voice through the din of the crowd.
“Y/N!” I stiffen and turn, Dex’s hand still at my back. My father quickly approaches us in his signature white suit.
“Father. You look nice.”
“As do you, daughter. Happy to see your company cleans up nice as well.” My father gives Dex a stiff smile, one that Dex doesn’t return, but he does nod at him. “I trust you will behave tonight?”
“Yes, father.”
“Good. Good.” He turns his attention to Dex. “Keep an eye on her, I trust you’ve been given a briefing on tonight’s…company.”
“Yes, Mr. Fisk. She will be looked after.”
“Good. If something happens, she comes first, understand? I cannot go about losing my most valuable asset.”
I withhold cringing at the brazen statement, but I feel Dex’s fingers twitch with rage and indignation against my lower back.
“I understand.”
“I’ll leave you to it. Be sure to enjoy yourselves tonight.” And with that, he’s off into the crowd, shaking hands and kissing babies, or whatever it is mayoral candidates do. Dex lets out a breath.
“That was…” He trails off.
“Horrible, right? God, that was bad. ‘Most valuable asset’? Gross. Just gross.” I shudder and turn back towards the stairs. “Now, can we please go get some tiny appetizers? I feel like I’m going to keel over from hunger.”
“Whatever you want, princess.”
We make our way up the curving stairs to the spacious ballroom on the second floor. Everyone we pass gives me a polite nod or a small smile that soon fades when they see Dex looming over me. Some people look confused, some have a spark of recognition, while others have a flicker of fear. It’s a curious reaction to him, but I keep pushing forward to the long food tables on the left wall. There’s an assortment of small finger foods, and I reach for a couple of my favorites, putting them on a small plate. A waiter offers me champagne, but I turn him down, instead getting a glass of water.
“No champagne?” Dex asks, quietly.
“No. It’s been a long-standing rule that I don’t drink at these things. These people are salivating, practically waiting for me to say the wrong thing or embarrass myself. It’s safer this way.” He nods and surveys the crowd decked out in millions of dollars’ worth of clothes and jewelry. It’s disgusting, the display of wealth in this building, something I’ve grown accustomed to, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I’m saved from my doom spiral about the state of our city by a beaming BB with my father’s political aide, Daniel, in tow. Daniel and I had met briefly at a rally a few weeks ago, and he seemed bright but a little naïve in the ways my father functions.
“Y/N!” BB exclaims, gathering me up in a hug. She looks stunning in a deep purple strapless gown. “You look hot, holy shit.” I feel my cheeks grow hot.
“Oh, shut up. That’s you!” She laughs.
“I assume you’ve met Daniel?”
“Briefly. It’s good to see you again, Daniel. Everything going alright with your job?” It’s a veiled question, one that BB would definitely pick up on.
“It’s going well, Y/N, thanks for asking. Learning more every day.” I hum and nod in agreement.
“Have you seen the commissioner around? I had a couple of questions for him.” BB asks, lowering her voice.
“I haven’t. Though you should enjoy yourself. Take a night off for once.”
“Yeah, right. I take a day off, and I miss fifteen new stories – not happening.”
“I’ve never seen BB take a day off. Even when we’re partying.” Daniel says with a chuckle.
“I believe it!”
“How are you, Dex?” BB asks, finally turning her attention to him.
“Fine.”
“‘Fine’? That’s it?” She says. Dex just shrugs, suddenly looking awkward. “Surely something has happened in the two weeks I’ve seen you guys.” She turns to me, and I suddenly remember last night, sharing a bed, him overpowering me, the shirtless incidents, and I flush a deep crimson. I can’t hide it, and I’m looking everywhere but her eyes. “Ah, there it is,” BB says, grinning. “I expect some details shortly, Y/N.”
“There are no details to share.” I choke out.
“Mhmm. Yeah, sure.” She says slyly. Poor Daniel just looks confused, but a few glances between Dex and me, and the realization dawns on his face. He looks intrigued, as he knows who Dex is in relation to me. I shoot him a look, one that says, ‘Please don’t tell my father’, his eyes soften, and he gives me a small nod. The ache in my chest eases. I hope my eyes convey the thanks I’m giving him.
“Can we please move on?” I hiss at BB as our little party is starting to gain some attention. She just laughs and nods, eyes sparkling, which tells me I will be getting grilled at a later date. We traipse off to find a table after I stock up on appetizers again. We chat about mundane things for the next hour, interrupted by people coming to talk to me about my father’s campaign, hoping to get in his good graces. BB ribs me endlessly every time they leave, and I just shrug and move on. The least I can do for these people is listen to them when my father would not. We’re interrupted by my father taking the stage and addressing the crowd. They practically swoon at his words, swelling with brazen confidence from a man who would toss them in the line of fire if it ensured it got him what he wanted. I sigh softly as he drones on. He finishes up his speech and leaves the stage, making his way to our table at the front when it happens. A crack of a bullet ripples through the ballroom and hits my father in the shoulder.
Wolf Like Me // Benjamin Poindexter (Bullseye) x Reader // Chapter Three
Summary:
Y/N Fisk has returned to the city to aid in her father’s mayoral campaign, leaving behind her profiler job at Quantico. Her plea to live alone, away from her father’s prying eyes, is met with one condition - a bodyguard. Desperate to have some semblance of freedom in the city, Y/N agrees. Enter Benjamin Poindexter - a disgraced FBI agent with nothing to lose and everything to prove. When tensions climb, will they give in? Or will Wilson Fisk haunt their every move?
Words: 10766
Tags: eventual smut, slow burn, canon typical violence, mental instability, childhood trauma, gun violence, sexual tension, falling in love, protective Wilson Fisk, profiler!reader, criminal minds au (ish)
Ao3 Link - here!
Series Masterlist - here!
We fall into an easy rhythm. He sleeps on the couch; I sleep in the bed. I make public appearances. I party; he begrudgingly tags along. But I saw him have a singular drink last week, so I’m counting that as progress. We argue constantly and then move past it almost immediately. It’s a strange dynamic. I talked to my father twice about the situation, mostly because he asked, and I gave as few details as possible. He seems pleased by Dex’s work, so they have been short conversations. It’s been two weeks of this when ‘the incident’ happens.
It’s just after 8 A.M. when I wake up that morning. Not unusually early for me, but I usually lounge in bed for a few hours until I drag myself out and get ready for the day. I’m grouchy when I wake up, and I’m deciding on how to make that Dex’s problem as I walk out of the bedroom. To my surprise, he’s not asleep on the couch. Instead, he’s shirtless in the kitchen, eating a bagel, sweaty muscles glistening. Holy shit. His back is a sight to see, and he doesn’t seem to know I’m standing there staring because he has headphones on. He’s in tight black shorts and tennis shoes – he must have gone for a run. He nods to the beat of whatever song he’s listening to, and I’m still staring. God, why am I still staring? (I know why.) He turns, bagel halfway to his mouth, and abruptly halts when he sees me, a red flush creeping up his chest and into his cheeks. God, he’s a sight to see. Absolutely chiseled. So much so that one might think he was a Greek statue sprung to life from the Met. We stare at each other for a beat. His breathing starts to pick up. He clears his throat.
“You’re up early.”
“You’re shirtless in my kitchen.”
“It appears I am. Sorry.” It should be me apologizing to him; the unholy thoughts in my head are very loud.
“No, don’t apologize,” I say hurriedly and wince. “Not that I want to see you shirtless in my kitchen, I just–uh, fuck.” A slow grin starts to spread across his face, as if he’s realizing that him being shirtless has an effect on me. I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes. “Can you please go put a shirt on?”
“Why? Am I bothering you?” So cocky, so different from the man who just apologized for being shirtless.
“Yes. Immensely so.” I crack open an eye and he’s now leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed and fuck if that doesn’t make his muscles pop more.
“Dickhead. Dex. Come on. Put a shirt on.”
“No thanks. I’m all sweaty.” I can hear the grin in his voice. I make an exasperated noise and retreat back to the bedroom and slam the door. I hear him chuckle through it. He gets under my skin so easily. I don’t want him to think he can rattle me that easily, but fuck if he doesn’t irritate me.
He finds ways to be shirtless for the next week. I’m vibrating with anger and need by the end of the week, and the little shit knows it. It’s 8 AM and usually I would still be asleep, but Matt wants to get coffee, so I am at the mercy of a lawyer’s grasp of time. I walk out of the bedroom and in on him doing push-ups in the living room. Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
“ENOUGH!” I shout and he pushes up and onto his knees.
“What’s wrong, princess?”
“Don’t. Call. Me. That.” I say, stalking up to him and pointing my finger in his face. “This stops now. I’m sick and tired of it. You’re hot. Is that what you want to hear? Are you happy now? Now, for the love of GOD, can you please stop finding ways to be shirtless?” He grins up at me, and I didn’t realize how closely I had come to him. And God damn me, but that grin makes my heart stutter. His hands come up to rest on the backs of my knees, and I actually gasp.
“Aw, princess, you find me hot?” He says, mockingly. “That must be so hard for you.” I’m shaking with rage and every rational thought I have flees my body when I feel his thumbs start rubbing small circles into the back of my thighs.
“Stop. Stop that.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Bullshit. Get your hands off me!”
“Or what?” I shove him, hard, and as he regains his balance a foot away, his grin is feral. Oh, I fucked up. But I’m too amped up to back down. He’s staring me down, seemingly accepting my challenge, and he watches as I quickly braid my hair and tie it off with a ponytail holder on my wrist. I drop low, balance on my knees. He gets up, slowly, and assumes a mirrored position. I’ve never actually seen him fight. This bodyguard business has been slow, if I’m being honest, so I’m at a disadvantage here. But so is he, because he’s never seen me fight. I may be small, but I’m quick; a jab to the throat should do it. He takes a tentative but confident step towards me, and I make my move while he’s still deciding what he wants to do. I lunge, easily clearing his arms as they try to find purchase. He’s holding back, I realize, which is why I get the first hit; he eats the hit like a champ, and I’m too close to get away. He grins, and one minute I’m facing him and the next I’m pinned on the floor, the air knocked out of me, and I wheeze. “I win.” He says.
I kick my legs but to no avail – I’m well and truly stuck. Fuck. His knees are on either side of me, caging me in, both of his hands holding my wrists above my head. I should not be turned on right now, but all I can focus on is how slick I feel between my legs, and I’m staring at him, breathing hard. His gaze drifts down to my lips, and that doesn’t help the situation downstairs.
“Get off of me!” I say, wiggling.
“Is that what you really want? I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking. For a profiler, I would have thought you’d be more subtle.” I stiffen, then resume wiggling, and then I feel it. Something hard pressed into me. His athletic shorts do nothing to hide his boner and its impressive length. I stop moving, and his eyes are hazy, gazing down at me.
“Let me go!” I say, and that breaks the spell, and he finally does. I scramble to my feet, practically sprinting for the bedroom. I shut and lock the door behind me, not taking any chances, and my heartbeat in my chest and between my legs is strong. I press my thighs together, and I can feel my damp underwear with the motion. Fuck. I walk into the bathroom and turn the shower on, stripping down and stepping into the hot stream. It takes about five seconds of inner turmoil over whether I should get myself off before my fingers find my clit. I rub tight little circles, and my thoughts are consumed by him. I know it’s wrong. That I shouldn’t want this, that there’s something wrong with him and me, but I can’t stop myself. I come a few minutes later with a shaky gasp and then rest my head against the shower wall. What the fuck is wrong with me? I stand in the stream of scalding water, hoping it will burn away the dirty thoughts. A few minutes pass, impure thoughts still running rampant, and I sigh, scrubbing down with an efficiency that’s frightening. I’m still pissed when I get out of the shower, blindly shove my legs into a pair of leggings, and throw on a sweatshirt from the top of my laundry pile. What the? The sweatshirt swallows me up, and I realize I did not put on my sweatshirt – I put on Dex’s. I grin to myself. Two can play this game.
I unlock the door and waltz out of the bedroom to find him on the couch watching a show on the TV I finally managed to buy. He hears me coming and looks over, and I can tell he’s about to say something smart, but all of a sudden, he’s speechless. I can feel his eyes on me, but I just putter around the kitchen, popping a bagel into the toaster before leaning against the counter, picking at invisible hangnails. It takes everything in me not to glance over at him, and I wonder if he took care of himself the same way I took care of myself while I was in the shower. Don’t think about that. I scold myself. The toaster is done, and the bagel pops up I grab it and burn the tips of my fingers and quickly toss the bagel onto a plate. A generous smear of cream cheese later, and I’m about to take the first bite when I give in.
“Is there a reason you’re staring at me?” I ask, not even looking at him. I take a bite.
“You’re wearing my sweatshirt.” He says, voice low.
“I am?” I say, finally glancing at him just in time to see him push off the couch and stalk into the kitchen.
“Don’t play dumb. You’re wearing my sweatshirt.” He’s inches away from me, and his nostrils flare as he looks down at me.
“Oh, I guess this is your sweatshirt. It was just on top.” I shrug and jump as his arms land to rest on the counter on either side of me. “Sorry. Want me to take it off?” His gaze darkens, and he looks me over.
“No.” He murmurs. “It looks good on you.” He pushes off the counter and walks back towards the bedroom, and I hear the bathroom door shut. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding. I take my bagel to the couch and dig in, absentmindedly watching the cop show on the TV, and I’ve just swallowed the last bite when my phone rings – it’s my father.
“Father,” I say when I pick up the phone and press it to my ear.
“Y/N. I take it you are well?”
“Yes. Your campaign is going well.”
“Yes, it is. I have need of you. There’s a gala tomorrow and I would like you to be in attendance. Black tie, of course.”
“Yes, Father. I will be there.”
“Good. That’s what I thought. Make sure your bodyguard is…presentable. He will be in attendance with you, understand?”
“Understood.”
“Very good. Goodbye, Y/N.” He hangs up so quickly that the phone is still pressed to my ear when the line goes dead. I have less than twenty-four hours to find a dress. Ugh. Dex walks out of the bedroom, and he must clock the pinched expression on my face because he asks,
“What’s wrong?”
“We are going to a black-tie gala tomorrow. I hope you have a nice suit.” He gives me a tight nod. “Well, that’s great, one less thing we have to shop for. I hope you like shopping because that’s my new plan for the day. I need a dress for tomorrow.”
“You have plenty of dresses in your closet.”
“My father prefers that I wear things to events once. All those dresses have been worn before; therefore, I need a new one.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from the Princess of New York.” He says, but there’s a small smile on his face, and I know he doesn’t mean it. It’s getting easier to figure out when he’s joking now that we’ve spent a couple of weeks together.
“Exactly. Let me change, and then we can leave.” I head back to the bedroom and change, throwing on a jean mini skirt and a pink babydoll tee. I slip into a pair of strappy white heels and quickly put on some mascara and blush.
“Do you always have to get so dressed up when we go out?” Dex says, as I walk back out, heels clacking on the hardwood floors. I scoff.
“Some of us have an image to upkeep, Dex.” He rolls his eyes but says nothing more as he follows me downstairs and outside. The car ride to Midtown is quiet, but at least he turns on the radio now, thanks to me asking last week. This week’s greatest hits play softly in the background, and I crack my window to let some of the city sounds in. September is right around the corner, and the brisk winds that ripple through the city are a good indicator that this heat is going to cool down soon. I punch in the coffee shop on the map.
“Bibble and Sip? What kind of a name is that?” Dex asks, snarky.
“It’s a coffee shop. I have a coffee date before our day of shopping commences.”
“BB, again?”
“Nope.”
“Who is it this time? Business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure. And it’s none of your business. You can stay in the car.” I avoided telling him about the coffee date in the first place because him knowing I was meeting Matt would just get him riled up, and I so didn’t want to deal with that right now.
“You know I’m not going to stay in the car, so you might as well tell me who it is.” He’s white-knuckling the steering wheel. I sigh.
“It’s Matt.” Dex sucks in a breath. “Before you get your panties into a twist, it’s just a quick catch-up. He’s just checking in on me.”
“Mhmm, sure.” It sounds forced coming out of his mouth, but he puts the car in park a few spots down and helps me out of the car. He’s practically vibrating by the time he yanks open the door to the coffee shop. Matt is already there and smiles as I come towards him. His smile quickly turns into a frown when he realizes he’s not alone.
“You just had to bring him with you, didn’t you?”
“That’s kind of the whole ‘bodyguard’ thing, Matt.” I huff. Dex takes a seat at a table a few steps away, just out of earshot. Even though I can tell he’s not happy, I’m glad he’s still giving me the space to have a conversation with my friend. Matt and I catch up, he with black coffee and me a lavender latte. We chat about work, the city, always dancing around the topic right in front of us. I glance at Dex for the third time in our conversation, and Matt goes,
“That. What is that? Your heart rate is picking up.”
I blush.
“It’s nothing.”
“Hmmm. You’re looking at him, aren’t you?”
“No,” I answer too quickly. He gets serious very quickly and lowers his voice.
“Y/N, I’m telling you now, to be careful. He isn’t who you think he is. Getting caught up in…feelings will not end well for you. We both know your father. Getting involved will end poorly. For both of you.”
“Understood.”
“And what’s the likelihood that you’re going to listen to me?”
“I’m still figuring that out myself.” He sighs but drops the conversation. We chat for another twenty minutes, and I tell him how much I miss Quantico and my team, the campaign work, or lack thereof, that I’m doing for my father, and how he’s doing since Foggy’s passing. We part ways with a hug, and Matt gives me a knowing look when Dex joins me on the stoop of the coffee shop.
“Remember what I told you, Y/N,” Matt says, and walks off into the bustle of the city.
“What was that all about?”
“Just a friend looking out for me, that’s all. Come on, we’re losing daylight, and I still need to find a dress.”
-
We pull up to Saks and park the car, and I immediately head for the designer section. There are lots of beautiful dresses here to choose from, but I’m immediately drawn to a black dress tucked in the corner. One of the employees asks me if I would like to try it on, and I nod, telling her my size. She leads me back to the dressing room, and I’m able to slip into the dress with no difficulty. It has a slight V in the front with spaghetti straps. The dress is backless with a hint of lace peeking out of the low point at the small of my back. It’s stunning and perfect, and I know I don’t need to try anything else on. I hear someone clear their throat through the thick curtain.
“Did you find something?” Dex’s voice is slightly muffled. I respond by flinging open the curtains, and he jumps a little, then looks me over once. Twice. A nod of approval, “It looks nice.” There’s a blush creeping up his cheeks, and he’s making a point not to look at me.
“Better than your sweatshirt?”
He flushes deeper but doesn’t respond. I walk over to the full-length mirrors and step up on the little pedestal. I smooth my hands over the silky fabric and smile to myself. I’m able to fully see the back of the dress in these mirrors, and I hear Dex suck in a breath as I move my long hair away from my exposed back to see the details. He murmurs something, but I don’t catch it. “What was that?” I ask, glancing back at him.
“Nothing.” He says quickly. The attendant walks back in and gushes about how the dress looks on me. I thank her and tell her we’ll take this one. She’s ecstatic, the commission on a couple of thousand-dollar dress is probably pretty nice. I change back into my clothes and step out, and promptly curse. My heel has come undone. I start to bend over to get it.
“Don’t. I’ll get it. Your heels are so tall I’m afraid you’re going to break an ankle.” He kneels down on one knee in front of me, busying himself with my heel, and I’ve never seen a sight so beautiful. Why am I denying myself this? His golden hair is slightly tousled, and his muscles move under his dress shirt in a way that has me salivating. “There you go.” He looks up at me, and it knocks the breath from my lungs; my breath stutters, and his gaze darkens. One hand comes up to cup the back of my knee, and his hand on my bare skin makes my stomach start to flutter.
“I’ve got the dress up at the register for you, Miss Fisk.” The attendant says, breaking the moment and not even batting an eye at our compromising position. Dex clears his throat and quickly gets up and follows me to the register. I check out, thank the woman for her time, and the next moment we’re downstairs and out into the blazing midday sun. That took a lot quicker than I thought, and I’m struck with the idea that I have no idea what to do for the rest of the day.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Dex asks as he puts my bag in the back of his car.
“I’m bored,” I say, and sigh. He chuckles.
“Am I boring you, princess?”
“No, it’s just…I have no purpose here. In this city, I’m only my father’s daughter, not Agent Fisk, not a friend, nothing. I just exist here. It’s exhausting. And if I’m bored, I can’t imagine how bored you are having to deal with me.”
“I’m not bored – because you’re not boring. If I’m being honest, this is the best assignment I’ve ever been given.” I blink in surprise.
“You’re joking.”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Hmm. Interesting.” I look at him, and he puts his hands in his pockets and leans against the back of the car. “Want to go to the park?”
“What’s at the park?”
“Nothing, really. The park was always my escape growing up. My nanny would take me there when my father was doing business. She fed the birds. I guess the park is just sentimental to me.” He nods.
“Park it is, then. It’s not far from here, want to walk?”
“See, this is how I know you’re becoming my friend, despite your best efforts not to,” I say, as we turn and start towards Central Park.
“What makes you say that?”
“The fact that you offered to walk, knowing I prefer it, rather than driving.” He shrugs, trying to make it not seem like a big deal that he’s breaking my father’s rule at my request.
“What the princess wants, she gets.”
“Oh, shut up,” I say, and bump my shoulder into his. It’s a short ten-minute walk from Saks to Central Park, though I do wish I had worn my boots rather than these heels. I hear a shutter click and whip my head around. A younger paparazzi woman looks over her camera at me a few feet away. Father must not have paid her off yet. That or she’s too stubborn to take the money. Paparazzi were nothing new to me, always wanting to catch me slip up and plaster it across the tabloids. After my rebellious stunt, which earned me the “Princess of New York City” nickname, my father paid off most of the paparazzi who followed me. An attempt to clean up my reputation, I think, is what he called it. Some were still bold. Or stupid. Not sure which one it is for this girl. I ignore her and keep walking, keeping a healthy distance away from Dex. We find a bench by the pond and sit, and I watch the ducks swim back and forth, dipping their heads into the water every so often to find food.
“Secret for a secret?” Dex asks, stretching his arms and resting one on the back of the bench. It had become a little game we played over the last couple of weeks. Our way of testing the water, see how much the other person would say until one of us awkwardly moved on. If I didn’t know better, I would say that I’m his North Star if I keep prompting him to open up to me and he obliges. So far, I had learned about his first kill – a neighborhood cat – his official diagnosis as a sociopath, and that he spent time in prison for something he did for my father. He won’t tell me what, though, but I have a feeling I’ll get it out of him sometime. I had told him about throwing a knife at Vanessa (I missed, obviously, but I missed on purpose), the time I tried to run away at fifteen, and my most gruesome case with the BAU (a killer clown who had a penchant for hunting children).
“Hmm.” I think for a minute, then decide to go with a riskier one. “I’ve never been in love.”
“You’re twenty-three, you have plenty of time. Don’t sweat it.”
“I’ve never even dated anyone. I was never allowed, and then I never had the time. Work was more important.”
“Same here.”
“What?” I turn and look at him.
“I guess that’s my secret, too, the same as yours. I’ve never been in love. Obsession? Sure. But love? I don’t think I’m capable of that. Not when I don’t even remotely like myself.”
“I like you.” I blurt out. “Not like in a weird way,” I backtrack immediately, trying to cover up what I’ve said. He chuckles.
“No, I understand.” He pauses a second, as if he’s not sure if he wants to say something else. He takes a breath and says, “I like you too.” My heart jumps. Not the confession I want, but one I’ll take.
“You’re running out of time for love, though, old man.”
“I’m thirty-seven.”
“Practically geriatric.” He shakes his head, still smiling, and bumps his shoulder into mine.
“The geriatric who pinned you this morning, yeah, that’s a really good look for you.” My jaw pops open.
“Excuse me?”
“I think you heard me perfectly fine.” He’s full-on grinning now, and it transforms his face. He shoots me a mischievous glance, and his eyes are lit up as he looks at me.
“Whatever, asshole.”
“Anytime, princess.” We’re quiet for the next couple of minutes, and I revel in the easy silence. I steal a glance at him, the way the sun hits his hair making it seem brighter than the dirty blonde it actually is, the curve of his scar across his cheek, his high cheekbones sloping across his face. He’s devastatingly handsome, and it’s in this moment that I know I’m too far gone. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him, no mountains I wouldn’t move at his behest. I need him, world be damned. And I think he needs me, too. I don’t belong to anyone, but I belong to him. He must feel me looking at him, because one second, he’s looking out across the pond, and the next, his eyes are on mine. His gaze strips me bare and makes me feel safe at the same time. His eyebrows furrow together for a split second, like he’s trying to figure something out, figure out why I’m looking at him. A split-second look of surprise, and then it’s gone, smoothed over into that mask he likes to wear but consistently doesn’t around me. The mask he puts up to protect himself. But it’s too late, I’ve already seen past it, knows he’s realized what I’ve realized – he’s a wolf, just like me. Both are dangerous in their own ways, but together? We could raze the world down. We can’t acknowledge this. My father would never allow it, never mind the fact that Dex is, how did I put it? Geriatric? My mouth twitches in amusement. Maybe it's time for me to rock the boat when it comes to my father. Maybe it’s time for me to do something I want for once.
“Secret for a secret?” He whispers, the words barely reach my ears. I nod. “I think you’re my North Star.” My heart takes off into a gallop. I nod again, my breath suddenly shallow. I glance away, and his hand softly grabs my chin, turning my face to look at him again. I didn’t know he could be this gentle. “What’s your secret, Y/N?”
“I-” I don’t know what to say. What I want to say would irrevocably change whatever this relationship is that we have. I can’t say it. I’m too scared to say it. “I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“This. Whatever this is. I’m scared, but I want it all the same. And I don’t know what that says about me.”
“I think that makes you human. I’m scared too, if that makes any difference.” His hand drops from my face and rests in my lap, palm up, waiting. I tentatively place my hand in his, and his fingers close around mine instantly. It’s private and intimate – a moment for only us. His breath catches in his chest, and his fingers tighten around mine. We stay that way for a while, watching people walk by, a child drops their ice cream cone, and Dex chuckles to himself, a couple walks two dachshunds by, and I smile to myself. My stomach growls, interrupting our peaceful moment, and his hand releases mine. “Hungry?” I nod, not trusting myself to speak. He gets up, and we make the ten-minute trek back to the car.
“I could kill for a burger right now.” I groan as I hop into the car.
“Malone’s is right around the corner. Is that okay?” He says, starting the engine.
“God, that sounds so good. Lead the way, chauffeur.”
“Eww. No thanks. Didn’t like that.” He makes a face, and I laugh.
“Every day I find new ways to piss you off, and it’s my favorite thing.” He glowers, but I know he doesn’t mean it. I’m humming along to the radio and looking out the window when I feel his hand land on my thigh. His touch sets my skin on fire, and I don’t look down at him, can’t, when all my rational thoughts are quickly packing up their bags and fleeing my mind as though they’re under evacuation orders. I’m holding my breath, and I let it out slowly and shakily when I realize. I feel feverish. This is different than holding hands; his grip is…possessive, consuming. And I want to chase the feeling for the rest of my days. The ride is short, much shorter than I would have liked it to be due to the fact that Dex’s thumbs had started rubbing circles into my thigh. The warmth of his hand on my skin leaves as he parallel parks on the street outside Malone’s. He looks at me as he turns the car off, and my stomach is in my throat as I register what the heady look in his eyes is – lust. I have to get out of this car before I do something reckless. I clear my throat and check for traffic before opening the car door. He’s at my side the next moment, hand on the small of my back as he escorts me across the street into the restaurant. We’re seated at a two-top in minutes due to the hostess recognizing me and gushing about the latest outfit I wore that ended up in Teen Vogue. I give her a small smile and thank her, complimenting her hairstyle, and she’s practically glowing at the praise as she excitedly seats us.
“You know, for someone having the kind of childhood you did and the father you have, you’re a very kind person. Even if that’s not the image you portray to the great state of New York.” He says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. I make a face. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s obviously something.”
“It’s just…I try to put up this mask, and you see right through it every time. You’ve done it since the first day we met. It’s kind of creepy. I’m trying really hard to get you to portray me one way, but you see through it without even trying.”
“Then stop trying to hide who you truly are. It’s not that hard.”
“Coming from the man who does the same thing to me?” A smirk from him. “But I see right through you, too, you know. Not as broody and mysterious as you think when everything you feel is written on your face, Dex.” My turn to smirk.
“Oh, yeah?” He leans in closer, his gaze darkening. “And what exactly is written on my face right now?”
Dangerous territory – we are in very dangerous territory.
“I don’t think what’s written on your face in this exact moment should be said out loud when we’re two feet away from the next table.” He leans back, grinning.
“Fair enough. Tell me later, then.” My toes curl in my heels.
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes at him but curse myself knowing that his words had the desired effect on me. “What are you getting? Chicken strips?” If there’s one thing I’ve learned about him, it’s that he likes plain, predictable foods. Minimal seasonings.
“I’m not a psychopath; I like a burger just like everyone else.”
“But probably plain, just cheese, maybe ketchup if you’re feeling crazy.”
“Oh, fuck off.” He looks pissed.
“You’re upset because I’m right.”
“It’s not fair that you profile people for a living.”
“Well, I’m sorry that my IQ is 147 and I excelled at the FBI Academy.” Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes at me. He’s about to say something, probably something sassy, when the waiter interrupts us. I order the burger, and as I predicted, he orders the same burger with just cheese and ketchup. As a profiler, the moment is satisfying and predictable, but as his friend, it’s immensely funny. I let out a small laugh as the waiter walked away. He shoots me a hostile look, but I see right through it and can tell he’s amused; he just doesn’t want to give me the satisfaction of knowing I was right. We’re silent for a while, I scroll on my phone, and nothing really interests me save for a text from BB asking for information on my father. It’s veiled, of course, we’re not stupid, but I tell her the truth when I text back.
BB: Any info on Paris?
Y/N: I don’t have much interest in going to Paris anymore.
BB: Too bad, it was fun while it lasted.
Y/N: It was. Will I see you tomorrow at the gala?
BB: Wouldn’t miss it for the world.
I heart her message and scroll through the numerous others. One from JJ catches my eye. It’s from a week ago, but I missed it…and her subsequent follow-up texts. I wince.
“What’s wrong?”
“Missed some messages from a friend. That’s all.”
JJ: I asked Penelope to do a deep dive on your new bodyguard. It’s strange – his slate has been wiped clean. No dirt, nothing. I can’t find anything remotely interesting about this man. He seems like a normal run-of-the-mill FBI agent. But that can’t be right.
It’s not right. Just based on what he’s told me about himself and his past. Surely his file would be chock-full of psychiatrist notes, incident reports, and the like.
JJ: Y/N? Are you doing okay? We haven’t heard from you. I’m giving it another couple of days, then I’m calling you.
From a few days ago. My thumbs fly across the keyboard of my phone.
Y/N: I’m so sorry. I’m doing just fine. Pretty boring up here, actually. Wish I were down there working cases with you guys. I can only party so many times before I start to lose my mind. Odd about Dex’s file, though. Wonder if someone on the inside wiped it.
She replies almost instantly. I don’t even get to turn my phone off and set it down before her typing dots appear.
JJ: Glad to hear you’re okay. I’m upset that you didn’t text me back sooner, Y/N. If it’s so boring up there, you should be able to text me back. I worry about you.
JJ: First name basis with your bodyguard?
Y/N: I’m sorry. And I guess we’re kind of friends now? Not sure.
JJ: ‘Kind of friends.’ Yeah, that’s exactly what someone says when it’s much more than ‘friends’. How about you be honest with me, Y/N?
Y/N: Maybe more than friends. I don’t know. It’s complicated. My father would never approve.
JJ: I hate to say this, Y/N, but it’s time for you to be your own person and make your own decisions now. You can’t blame your father for your own inaction forever, you know. Someday, you have to take accountability for who you are as a person and do something you want to do. Joining the FBI was your first step. It’s up to you to chase who you want to be now. Your father cannot be your scapegoat forever.
Y/N: …Ouch.
JJ: I’m not sorry. Chase what you want, Y/N. It’s time.
Y/N: Thanks, JJ. I’ll think about it. I promise I’ll text back more often.
JJ: You better. Or else I’m taking the train up to meet this bodyguard/boyfriend of yours.
Y/N: JJ! STOP!
JJ: That’s a threat, I hope you know that.
Y/N: I do. Sorry, Mom. XD
I mean the second sentence as a joke, but she just hearts the message and sends a bunch of heart emojis. I chuckle and put my phone away. I guess she is the closest thing I have to a mom, even though she’s my coworker. I’m promptly distracted from my train of thought as a burger is placed in front of me. I beam at the waiter and thank him, and he blushes just like the hostess.
“Of course, Miss Fisk. Let me know if something isn’t to your liking; we’d be happy to accommodate any needs.” I nod, and a burger is placed in front of Dex; the waiter then leaves.
“Are you a regular here?”
“I used to be. My nanny was the owner’s great aunt. I practically grew up here.” I take a bite of the burger and have to hold back a moan – it’s even better than I remember. Dex follows suit, and it’s quiet for a long time as I inhale the burger and fries with copious amounts of ketchup for the latter. When I’m done, I lean back against the booth and look Dex over. It’s selfish and downright sinful the way I look at him. I notice a woman eyeing him from across the room, and I pin her with a look so nasty that Dex says,
“What the fuck is that face for?”
“That woman to the right keeps looking at you. I don’t like it.”
“You don’t need to worry about her, princess. But good to know I’m not the only possessive one.” A sly smile decorates his face. I stick my tongue out at him.
“Whatever. I don’t like people looking at what’s mine.” His eyebrows shoot to his hairline, and I wince. I’ve become quite loose-lipped around him.
“The feeling is mutual.” He’s looking at me again with that gaze, the gaze that ignites something low in my belly and crawls up my spine, begging for a release. I shift in my seat, and the movement doesn’t go unnoticed by him. He looks at me, really looks at me, and I squirm at the sudden intense attention. His gaze strips me bare, as if he can see through me to my very soul. The moment is interrupted by the waiter bringing the check over. I immediately hand him my Amex Black Card, and he takes it with a smile. One of the perks of having Wilson Fisk as your father is the credit card he supplies you with. He brings the check back a minute later, and I tip 100%, as I always do at Malone’s. It’s the least I can do for them. As we get up to leave, the woman is still glancing over at Dex.
“Come on, babe, let’s go,” I say, loud enough that she can hear, and I make a show of grabbing his hand. She glares at me, and I give her a sickly-sweet smile that she just rolls her eyes at. Dex just rolls with it, thank god, and we’re out of the restaurant a minute later. The ride back to the apartment is long, and the sun beating into the windows and the rhythm of the car stopping and starting lull me to sleep. I shoot awake as he’s carrying me upstairs, my hand grabbing onto his shoulder. His chest is rock hard, and he’s holding me firmly.
“Put me down! I can walk!” I say, lightly slapping his chest.
“Not a chance, princess. Not. A. Chance.” I pout and cross my arms as best I can, and he just chuckles. “Cute.” He finally sets me down when we reach the landing just outside my apartment. I fumble with my keys as per usual, and just like he normally does, he plucks them from my fingers and swiftly unlocks the door.
“Want to go out tonight?” I ask as I kick off my shoes and walk back towards the bedroom. I hear him groan and smile to myself. “So, that’s a, yes?”
“You know it’s not.”
“I won’t stay out too late, I promise. Besides, you could always stay at home.”
“Very funny.” I stand in front of my closet thinking long and hard about the outfit I want to wear tonight. Actually, I know the perfect dress. Given everything that’s happened today, it would be fun to tease him. We both know we want each other. What’s stirring the pot a little bit going to do? Maybe his façade will finally break, and he will take what he wants. A girl can wish. It’s shoved in the corner of my closet, a little black dress that cuts low, just above my belly button. It hugs my breasts just right and barely covers my ass. This dress paired with some strappy stilettos – Dex won’t know what to do or where to look, precisely what I want. I throw the dress on the bed and flop down next to it, scrolling on my phone. God, I’m so bored. I wish I were back in Virginia. The cases are gruesome, but at least it was something to do. Evening rolls around, and I finally get out of bed and get ready to go out. I send Dex out to grab some pizza from around the corner, and he obliges, though he’s always reluctant to leave me alone. I wait to put the dress on, and Dex comes back with pizza within twenty minutes. I scarf it down and retreat to the bedroom to put the dress on. I’ve never worn this dress and for good reason – it’s downright scandalous. One wrong move and my black lace thong will be on display for the world to see. That, or a nipple. Whatever – you only live once. I grab my strappy stilettos from my closet and quietly pad out to the entryway. Dex is in dark jeans and a black short-sleeved shirt that hugs every muscle. A black jacket is slung over his shoulder as he hangs onto it with a finger. He turns when he hears me approach, and he stops dead in his tracks. He opens his mouth and closes it a couple of times, speechless. His cheeks are pink, and he scratches the back of his neck.
“Ready to go?” I chirp, fastening my shoes around my ankles and tossing my hair. He just stares. “Dex? Is something wrong?” He shakes his head.
“No. Nothing’s wrong. I’m ready.” I’ve rattled him, and I’m pleased by that thought. We make our way downstairs, and I grip the railing for dear life – these are the tallest heels I own, and I’m not steady in them. Somehow, Dex still towers over me even in these shoes. We’re on the street in a minute, and it’s actually chilly tonight. I’m shivering in my shoes as Dex pulls the car over.
“Turn the damn heat on!” I bark at him as I fiddle with the controls. He smacks my hand away and obliges me.
“Maybe if you had on more than just a scrap of clothing, you wouldn’t be so cold!” He mutters under his breath.
“What was that?” I ask sweetly, and he just shoots me a glare. “Anyway, here’s the address.”
“Temple Bar? Isn’t that a little…intimate?” He asks and cringes.
“Yeah, but it’s also where there will be the least prying eyes. I’d rather not flash half of New York, thanks.” I shudder at the thought, and I can see him roll his eyes out of the corner of my eye. My outfit must really be rattling him if he’s so loose with his expressions. I settle in for the thirty-minute car ride. Five minutes later, Dex speaks.
“So, if we’re constantly going into Manhattan for things, why didn’t you get an apartment there? Even the East Side would have been better.”
“And live that close to my father’s prying eyes? No thanks. I’m happy in Brooklyn. I like it a little bit quieter. And older. Too many young people in Manhattan.”
“Y/N, you’re twenty-three.”
“I’ll be twenty-four soon, thank you very little. And I guess what I mean to say is they’re too immature, too happy-go-lucky. I guess when you grow up like me, you can’t afford to be that way for long. You get hurt eventually.” I shrug.
“I’m sorry. That sounds hard.”
“You don’t have to say that you know. I’m well aware that everything about me isn’t normal. I don’t need your half-hearted attempt at sympathy.”
“Ouch.”
“Sorry. I just…I feel like a caged animal in this city. Sorry if I bite.” I roll my head from side to side. “There’s only so much shopping and partying and drinking I can do before I feel like choking the life out of someone.”
“I would say I’m worried for my life, but I doubt you could sneak up on me, so I think I’m fine.”
“Hey!”
“Kidding. I know you could probably kill me.”
“Statistically speaking, though, you have every advantage over me. You’re taller, weigh more, and somehow, you’re faster than me, and that aim you have is truly something else. My money’s on you, Dex.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Oh, shut up. It wasn’t a compliment.”
“You sure? Because it sure sounded like one.”
“You’re insufferable.” I groan.
“You do have one thing over me. Well, maybe two.”
“Oh, yeah? What?”
“You’re a lot smarter than I am. Brute force can only go so far.”
“I guess that is true. Brain over brawn, or whatever they say.” I pause. “What’s the second thing?”
“I’ll tell you another time.”
“What? That’s not fair! If I have a chance to win, I wanna know!”
“And I’ll tell you another time!” He’s smirking now, as if whatever he’s holding over me is good enough that it would let me beat him. I make a show of pouting and crossing my arms, which just pushes my breasts together more. He clears his throat, and I watch as a red flush creeps into his cheeks. Maybe that’s what I have over him – me. Maybe I am sexy or something. I’m flushing now, thinking about the prospect of what would get me to triumph over Dex – the fact that he’s attracted to me. That’s crazy though, he couldn’t possibly…
Oh.
Oh.
Maybe he’s as far gone as I am. I can certainly test that theory tonight. Temple Bar is known for close quarters and a heavy pour. I fully intend on drinking tonight, maybe I can make a move. God, that sounds so stupid just thinking about it. As if he’d be interested. It’s just a proximity thing; we’re together 24/7, and attraction is a natural side effect of that. You did give him a boner. Okay, there’s that. He can’t look at you for longer than ten seconds in the dress you’re wearing. Also, that. He also tells you things about himself that he probably isn’t telling the average person. Okay. Whatever. Maybe he might have a thing for me, too. It’s not like we can do anything about it, though; my father would never allow it. It’s then that I think back to what JJ told me earlier. It’s up to you to chase who you want to be now. Damn. As hard as it was to hear, I think I needed to hear it. Damn the consequences, I’m going to jump feet first.
“You’re thinking awfully hard over there. I can almost hear the gears turning.” Dex says quietly.
“Sorry. Just a lot on my mind.”
“Want to share?”
“Not really. It’s hard to explain.”
“I understand.” I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. Too many what-if’s too many consequences rolling around in my head. I need a drink, desperately. I’m quiet the rest of the ride and turn up the radio to drown out the thoughts in my head. We have to park two streets over, and as soon as we’re out of the car, I’m striding towards the bar, hoping the brisk pace will warm my bones and shake these thoughts out. Dex has to catch up to me once he hops out, unaware that I had already started walking. He settles into place beside me, and I can feel him glance at me a couple of times, almost as if he’s worried. I pay no heed to him and round the corner to the bar. Miles lights up when he sees me.
“Y/N! I wondered when you’d give us a visit again. It’s been a long time.”
“Only two years, Miles. Nice to see you’re still working here.”
“Someone has to keep the riff-raff out. Come on in, Y/N.” He waves Dex and me in, and Dex is chuckling as we’re enveloped in the warm darkness of the bar.
“What?”
“So do you just know everyone in New York or…”
I laugh.
“I probably know more people than the average person, yeah. Knowing the right people gets you places.” I push my way to the bar, and the bartender greets me with a soft smile. “Can I get a Lifetime Ban, please?”
“Of course.” She makes quick work of my drink order, and I tell her to start a tab, handing her my Amex.
“A Lifetime Ban?” Dex says, quirking an eyebrow.
“It’s the strongest drink on the menu,” I say with a shrug, and turn around to take the martini from the bartender.
“Ah, so you’ll need to be carried to the car when we’re done here.”
“That happened once, a week ago. And that was only because I rolled my ankle.”
“Because you drank too much and tripped on the dance floor.”
“Touche.” I take the drink and sip it, Dex turns to take in the bar, and I down the rest of the drink in three big gulps. The blend of gin and vermouth burns my throat, and I welcome the burn. I turn around and motion to the bartender for another, and within a minute, another is in my hand, and the empty glass has been returned. Dex turns back around, and I give him a small smile. The music is thumping in here, and I close my eyes and welcome the strong beat. We find a secluded corner, just watching until I feel enough liquid courage to join the throng. I’m leaning my back against the wall, legs long and out in front of me. Dex is beside me, opting to lean his arm against the wall as he’d take up too much space leaning how I am. He’s intimidating at this angle, especially because I’m shorter than usual standing like this. Everyone is giving him a wide berth, and a woman who bumps into him on the way to the bathroom profusely apologizes. He just tells her it’s fine, and her eyes are wide as she steps past us. “Stop brooding. You’re scaring people.” I say, turning my head to look up at him.
“I’m not brooding.”
“You totally are. It’s intimidating.”
“You don’t seem intimidated.”
“Yeah, because I know you. Smile at people, god, Dex.” He scoffs, and I toss back my second drink. I can feel it now, that liquid courage pooling around my bones, my tongue starting to go fuzzy. “Be useful and get me another drink.”
“Are you sure? You had the first one quickly.” For being so sharp, I’m surprised he didn’t figure out I was already on my second drink.
“Shh. Just get me another one. Pretty please?” I look up at him and bat my eyes at him. He rolls his eyes again and takes my empty glass and walks over to the bar. Dex comes back with my second (third) drink a minute later. People are really starting to dance now, the small floor crowded with bodies desperate to feel alive, and for a moment, I feel just like them. I grab Dex’s hand and pull him to the middle of the crowd, and I let the music guide me. I don’t know how long it’s been, but my third drink is gone, and I’ve grabbed a fourth and am making my way back through the crowd of people, searching for Dex, when I feel his rough hand grab my wrist, pulling me towards him – an anchor in the sea of people. I look up at him, grinning. I’m really feeling the gin now, and the warm ache of alcohol has turned into a fire. His hand comes down to my waist, and we’re swaying to the beat. My tongue is truly fuzzy now, and I’m feeling a little lightheaded, but I sip the fourth drink anyway, wanting to wash away every doubt and insecurity I have about my insignificant little life. Fuck it. I down the fourth drink and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Dex takes the glass, setting it on a table to the side. Both hands are on my waist now, and I can’t fucking think straight, not with the way he’s looking at me, as if he truly sees me. Not just Miss Fisk, but Y/N. God, I want to kiss him.
“Secret for a secret?” I shout over the pulsating thrum of the crowd.
“Sure.” He laughs and shouts back.
“I think you’re hot!” I shout and giggle, twirling away after the words leave my mouth, the drinks pounding through my system, dulling the embarrassment.
“Very funny!” He shouts in my ear, arm coming around my midsection, pulling my back into his chest.
“What’s yours?” I shout over my shoulder. The music pounds on.
“I want to fuck you so bad.” He whispers in my ear, teeth grazing my earlobe, and heat pools in my body in response as I gasp. His arm tightens around me as the music builds, his grasp making me unable to turn and face him and the truth he just stated. I want to fuck him, too. The realization is not a surprising one – it was only a matter of time. I press into him, grinding my hips on his, and I hear him groan in my ear. The sound makes me clench around nothing. I’m overstimulated, the press of the crowd against us, the feel of him behind me, the music, it’s all too much, and my head is spinning. The music is building, and I want to turn and face him, but his grip is so tight that I can’t. I can feel his heartbeat through his shirt; it’s fast, and I realize that he’s probably just as nervous as I am to have the realization that we’re attracted to each other. Damn my father and his taste in bodyguards. This is getting to be an unethical arrangement. Maybe he did it on purpose. I guess I’ll never know. The song ends, and there’s a brief reprise. My head is truly spinning now. I drank too much too fast, and I’m already a lightweight to begin with. I need water. Now. Or to throw up. Throwing up would be good, too. I stagger away from Dex, and he’s quick to grab onto me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Drank too much. Water, please?” He’s gone in the next instant, and a minute later, a plastic cup of ice water is pressed into my hand.
“Drink slowly.” He shouts, hand on the small of my back as he guides me off the dance floor and out of the small building. There’s a small stoop to the side, and he pushes me up against the wall there. I groan and sip the water.
“Are you a lightweight?”
“I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to notice. It’s my one flaw.”
“I would say you probably have more flaws than that.”
“Shut up, Dex.” I spit out. Another sip. He chuckles.
“Very ‘Princess of New York’ of you to not be able to handle your liquor.”
“Dex, seriously, shut the fuck up.” A sip. He chuckles again.
“Come on, I’ll drive you home, and you can stick your head out of the window like a dog.”
“DEX! I swear to God I will throw the rest of this water in your face.”
“You need it much more than I do, princess.” My head has stopped spinning, at least, and I carefully sip the rest of the water. Dex takes the cup from me and throws it away, and when he comes back, I’m shivering on the stoop. “You look pathetic.” He says, but he slings his dark jacket around my shoulders, and my fingers grip it, pulling it tight around me. I flip him the bird and start walking back to the car, and stumble over my feet. I hear him sigh behind me, and one moment I’m walking, and the next I’m scooped up and pressed against his chest.
“Put me down!” I smack his shoulder. He says nothing and keeps walking towards the car. I huff and settle down and give in to the urge to rest my head on his shoulder. He’s stoic as he walks, not even breaking a sweat at having to carry me two blocks. He’s so pretty. Dangerous, but beautiful all the same, like one of those vibrant poison dart frogs. My hand comes up and traces his jawline. He stiffens, and when I pull back, he mutters a quick ‘sorry’.
“You’re pretty,” I state, looking up at him. He refuses to look at me, and his cheeks flush.
“Hmm.”
“You’re being very quiet for someone who said they wanted to fuck me not even an hour ago.” He makes a noise in the back of his throat, flushing deeper.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Well, it’s too late to take it back now. I heard it.”
“Any chance you’ll forget I said that?”
“Not. A. Chance.” I’m grinning at him now, and I hope I’m not too drunk to remember this in the morning.
“Fair enough,” he sighs. We’re at the car, and he carefully sets me down before opening the door for me.
“Ever the gentleman, Agent Poindexter.” He stalls out, and it looks like every rational thought is leaving his head as he stares at me. His jaw ticks. “Oh, do you like that?” He just motions for me to get in the car. “Yes, sir,” I say and give him a mock salute. He just stares, and something in his eyes has shifted. It’s the same look he had earlier in Malone’s – that hunger…for me. “Oh, that gets you going, too? Be careful, someone might say you’re easy.”
“Careful, princess,” He murmurs, one arm coming above his head to rest on top of the car door as he looks down at me. “Get in the car.”
“Or you’ll do what? As far as I’m aware, I’m the one in charge here.” I cross my arms.
“You’re a belligerent drunk, you know that?” I glare at him, and he sighs. “You want to see how quickly you change your tune?”
“As if.” His arm drops faster than I can register, and he’s closing in on me, taking a slow, deliberate step toward me – a predator hunting its prey. I swallow and stumble back a step, and he presses in. I can feel his body heat as he stops a mere inch from me.
“I’d advise you to get in the car, princess.” My whole body is short-circuiting from him being this close to me. I nod mutely and get in the car before I register that I lost the battle and yielded control to him immediately. He shuts the door and stalks over to the driver’s side.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself. Our little back and forth has my panties wet. He gets in the car and starts the engine, looking over his shoulder to back out of the spot he’s parked in. Fuck why is that hot too? I’m truly fucked. I’m in too deep. I’m manually breathing as he peels off, racing through the streets like a bat out of hell. “Something bothering you, Dex?” I say sweetly, but I am quickly distracted as my favorite song comes on the radio. “Oh my god, this is my song!” I crank it and roll my window down all the way, shouting the words. My hair is whipping around me, and for the first time in a while, I feel free. As free as I can feel when the city is my cage. The bridge hits, and I turn to Dex and grin, and he looks at me as though he’s mystified by me. It’s a soft sort of reverence, one that shines in his eyes. He grins back at me and floors it, darting through traffic like a deer. I laugh and sing, the song ending too quickly. He glances over at me as I turn the radio down and catch my breath.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” He says, not quite daring a look at me as he says. Hands gripping the wheel.
“Was that a compliment? Did you hit your head at the bar?” I say quickly, smothering my shit-eating grin with my hand.
“Shut up and take the compliment, Y/N.”
“Oh my god, you definitely hit your head. Benjamin Poindexter is giving me a compliment. Is this what the world has come to, people?”
“I’m never complimenting you ever again if this is how you’re going to behave.” He says, tightly, but I can tell he doesn’t mean it. He’d spend the rest of forever spilling soliloquies at my behest if I simply asked. And the thought of it sends something warm through my tummy that isn’t liquor.
“Okay, fine, I accept your compliment.”
“Good, because I meant it.”
“I know.” Oh boy, do I know. I’m quiet the rest of the drive, silently starting to sober up, and I’m mostly steady on my feet when I hop out of the car twenty minutes later. I shut the door and look both ways before starting to cross the street, and I make it two steps before I’m swooped up into the air for the second time that night. I don’t even protest this time, just settle into his chest as he carries me up all three flights of stairs without even so much as huffing. He sets me down gently on the landing and unlocks the door. He wordlessly crouches down and undoes my shoes, and I wince when my bare feet hit the floor.
“What’s wrong?” He says, looking up at me through his eyelashes.
“My feet hurt.” I groan as he removes the second shoe, and I place that one down on the cold linoleum.
“That’s what you get for wearing those fuckass shoes.”
“Fuckass? You have got to get more friends, Dex, you’re picking up on my slang.” He just shrugs, and I walk inside. I pad quietly back to the bedroom, and he follows me, suddenly shy. I wordlessly slip out of my dress, and he makes a panicked noise in the back of his throat, but I don’t turn around to look at him; I simply pull on the big t-shirt I have lying on the edge of the bed and finally turn to look at him when I’m done. I’m too tired to care about what he did or didn’t see. “Come on,” I say as I turn down the bed, “I can’t in good conscience let you sleep on the couch anymore.”
“Where are you going to sleep?”
“In the bed, dumbass. It’s plenty big enough for both of us.”
“No.”
“I’m not fighting over this. Get in the damn bed, Dex.” I get in bed and lean against the pillows. I can see him fighting with himself in his head, all the worries and what-ifs trying to drown out my request. I win, though, when he sighs and agrees, and unbuttons his pants. I’m fully paying attention now, and he flushes.
“Turn around.”
“You’re no fun.” I don’t turn around, but I do shut my eyes. I hear shuffling and crack my eyes open to see him practically jump into bed with just his underwear and a t-shirt on. Very little is left to the imagination, and it takes everything in me not to pounce on him. He pulls the blanket up around his waist.
“Happy?”
“Very much so.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m well aware. I’m going to bed now. Goodnight, Dex.”
“Goodnight, Y/N.” I settle down into the darkness, moonlit peeking through the blinds to paint the room in a ghostly hue. It’s a matter of minutes before Dex’s breathing deepens, and I can tell he’s asleep. I smile to myself and am tugged into the sweet relief of sleep a little while later.
Wolf Like Me // Benjamin Poindexter (Bullseye) x Reader // Chapter Two
Summary:
Y/N Fisk has returned to the city to aid in her father’s mayoral campaign, leaving behind her profiler job at Quantico. Her plea to live alone, away from her father’s prying eyes, is met with one condition - a bodyguard. Desperate to have some semblance of freedom in the city, Y/N agrees. Enter Benjamin Poindexter - a disgraced FBI agent with nothing to lose and everything to prove. When tensions climb, will they give in? Or will Wilson Fisk haunt their every move?
Words: 9517
Tags: eventual smut, slow burn, canon typical violence, mental instability, childhood trauma, gun violence, sexual tension, falling in love, protective Wilson Fisk, profiler!reader, criminal minds au (ish)
Ao3 Link - here!
Series Masterlist - here!
A sharp rap on my door wakes me up. I rub the sleep from my eyes, look at the time. One p.m. Shit. I yank open the door and see Dex, who must have gone home and showered, and changed in the time I was asleep. He looks fresh-shaven. Not that I notice or anything. I push past him to the bright kitchen. There are two coffee cups sitting there. I raise an eyebrow and look at him.
“You got me coffee?” He shrugs. “Thanks.” I take the top off one, the black liquid swirling inside, and dump three hefty scoops of sugar into it from the canister on the counter.
“Jesus.” He mutters, taking the other cup and drinking it straight black. Disgusting.
“Gross.” I make a face at him and take a sip. I add a fourth spoonful of sugar. Another sip. That’s much better. I sit down on the green couch opposite him and sip my coffee.
“I’m Y/N. By the way. Though I guess you probably already know that.”
“By the way everyone calls you ‘Miss Fisk’, I was beginning to think you didn’t have a first name.”
“Ugh. I hate when they call me that. Makes me feel like I’m nothing without my father.”
“And you’re something without him?” I glare at him and he just smirks.
“Yeah, asshole, I am.” A sip. “Seriously, though, we can bitch and fight all we want, but, please, call me Y/N.” He nods, conceding – my first victory. “Enough about me, what’s your sob story.” I fold my legs up under me, staring at him in a way that usually gets even the hardest of unsubs to crack. He glances away – second victory.
“I’m nothing special.”
“Yeah, sure, like I’m going to believe that. Like my father would just pick some random FBI agent to be my bodyguard. There’s got to be something about you that he likes. Kill count?” A tick of the jaw. “Leverage.” His hands tighten around the coffee cup. “Ah, leverage and kill count. You’re turning out to be very interesting, Benjamin Poindexter.”
“I didn’t even say anything.”
“Didn’t have to.” A profiler always knows.
“And what about you, party girl?”
“I do much more than party. Like you would even care. I’m here for the campaign.” I scoff.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be a great help.”
“Hey!”
He shrugs.
“I’m here to play ‘perfect daughter’. Though I can’t say how nice I’ll be being back around Vanessa.” His jaw ticks again. Interesting.
“And you're supposedly pleasant right now?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. I huff and shoot him the bird, and he actually chuckles. “That just proves my point.”
“So, you don’t like Vanessa, too?” I question, hoping the change in topic will keep him from pissing me off.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Many reasons.”
“Elaborate.”
“No.”
“Dickhead.” I mutter, and he smirks. Dex, 1, Y/N, 0.
“What’s the plan for this week?” He asks, downing the rest of his coffee and tossing it in the trash can a good ten feet away from the couch. It bounces off the corner of the wall, then the edge of the counter, before landing perfectly in the can. What the fuck?
“I just kind of see where the wind takes me.” I shrug. “I’m on leave from work right now and don’t really have anything planned other than what my father sends me.” He sighs and rubs his eyes. “So, I guess you’re just at my beck and call,” I say, smiling. He sighs again.
“And remind me again why you need a bodyguard?”
“It was my father’s one stipulation of me living alone.” Doesn’t hurt to be honest on that part at least. “He thought I wouldn’t agree, but I did. I guess I just wanted out that badly that I had to accept. But I know it’s impossible to escape him. And given that he has you on babysitter duty, he has something over you as well. So, I guess we’re both trapped.” I look at him and he looks pensive, face more open than before.
“So, he picked the one agent with nothing to lose and everything to prove.” He murmured, more to himself than me, but I note it all the same and tuck it away for later. He shakes his head, and the mask is back. I’m about to ask him another question when my phone starts shrieking. I hastily pick it up, noting my father’s caller ID and slide to accept the call.
“Father.” I say, as I get up from the couch and walk to the back bedroom.
“Y/N. I trust you have met Agent Poindexter.”
“Yes. Though I don’t think he’s too pleased with his assignment.”
“He echoed the same sentiments to me. But what job is more important than protecting my greatest asset?” He pauses. “I have need of you today. A press conference at the penthouse. No speaking required, just photos. Vanessa will be there. I trust you have something appropriate to wear?”
“Yes, father.” God, it’s stifling being back in this city, catering to his every whim and demand.
“Good. I’ll see you in an hour. Don’t be late.” The line goes dead. I shake silently and start to dig through my closet for a dress that won’t scar the public. I settle on an all-black number that falls to my mid-calf and has sleeves. It hugs me in all the right places and with some short heels it will be perfect. I’m just starting on my makeup when Dex leans against the doorframe.
“So, how does this bodyguard thing work? We don’t have to become friends, do we?” I ask, rubbing primer into my face. He huffs and shakes his head. “Okay, so strictly professional. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together until I go back to my job. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be…friends?” I cringe at the word. I can’t imagine being friends with this man.
“I don’t like to mix my personal and professional life.”
“So, you have a personal life? Because from what I’ve seen in the last twelve hours, you’ve only hung out with me. And showered and changed your clothes. Yeah, your personal life seems riveting.” I turn back to the vanity, pouring a little bit of foundation on my hand and warming it up with my fingers before dabbing it on my face.
“Okay, maybe I don’t have a personal life. Not that it should matter to you anyway.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Good.” Blush and contour are next, and I blend it into my skin well. “You didn’t make the bed before you slept in it?”
“As you said, I fell asleep ‘three minutes into the car ride’ so no, I did not care to make the bed last night.”
“Actually, I said ‘two’ minutes. But whatever.” He strides into the room, taking the fitted sheet that had been thrown on the corner and unfolds one of the corners, lifting the mattress corner to tuck the sheet under it. I watch in the mirror as the muscles in his back and shoulders shift as he does so. I gulp down a breath. Don’t look at him like that, he doesn’t even want to be friends with you. I scold myself. He looks at the sheet. “Bows? There are little pink bows on your sheets.”
“And what about it? I have cute sheets. I can buy you a pair if you’d like.” He glares at me in the mirror. “Let me guess, you seem like a pretty straight cut guy. Your sheets are probably light blue, so blue they’re almost gray. Maybe a blue accent blanket at most. Two pillows, though I doubt you’re having anyone over given how hostile you are with me, and I’m hot.” He stares at me.
“How do you know that?”
“Know what? That I’m hot?” I smile as I pat rosy colored eyeshadow on.
“No. About my bed.” I just shrug and give him a bland smile.
“Lucky guess.”
“Lucky guess aside, it’s creepy.”
“Oh, and you’re not creepy?” Darker shadow in the outer corner to define, highlighter in the inner corner. He doesn’t say anything else, just continues to angrily make the bed. He almost rips the pillows in half trying to stuff them in the pillow covers, and I bite back a laugh. I don’t know why he’s so bothered by me.
Eyelashes curled, mascara on. I let down my hair from the braid it was in last night; the waves are the perfect finishing touch to my outfit once I run some hair oil through them. I stand up, grab my black kitten heels, and head towards the door. I glance over my shoulder at him, and he’s made the bed almost clinically. It’s literally perfect. My guess is he has military experience. Actually, I’d bet my money on it.The pink bow accent pillow is smack dab in the middle of the bed. I chuckle as he hurries after me, not seemingly bothered by the fact that my very pink and girly bed was just made by him. I step into my shoes, grab my everyday purse, just a plain black bag I got from Target, despite my father wishing I would carry something like a Birkin, and step out the door. Dex says nothing as he follows me down the stairs just like he did last night, though this time it’s less angrily. The sun hits me as I step onto the step, and I stop for a second, close my eyes, and just take it in.
I walk over to the car I now know is Dex’s, but he still beats me to the passenger door and lets me in. I scowl but let him. We’re cutting it close by the time we pull into the Presidential Hotel drive. The valet takes the car, and Dex leads me through the throng of people gathered outside, a hand on my lower back. I shiver a little bit at his touch but shake it off as I’m led into the hotel and smack dab into Vanessa. I stumble a little, and Dex’s warm hand closes around my elbow, pulling me out of the way of imminent collision, and I fall back into his chest. Vanessa, whose eyes never miss a thing, watches the whole interaction with a glint of curiosity and something more sinister before she turns her attention wholly on me, giving me a once-over and a nod.
“Acceptable.” She says tightly.
“I wasn’t aware I had to ask for your approval on my outfit choices. My father made himself perfectly clear on the phone.” She purses her lips at my backtalk.
“Well, let’s just be thankful that you’re not talking today. I can see you’re not in the mood to be pleasant. Not surprising given what you were up to last night.” Of course, she knows. Nothing happens in this city without her knowing. It’s part of the reason why I left. That, and because she hates my guts. But thankfully, that feeling is mutual.
“Your father has quite a sense of humor if his taste in a bodyguard is any indication,” Vanessa says, now turning her attention to Dex, who stares her down with such an intensity that the hair on the back of my neck stands to attention. Interesting. I’ll unpack that later. It’s clear there’s some animosity there. The sudden, intense hatred actually makes me think that maybe we have more in common than I actually thought. “No matter. We’re needed outside.” And right on cue, my father appears around the corner with Buck. We’re an odd group if I’m being honest, and my father makes Dex stay inside the hotel while he speaks. I shoot him a look before I walk out, and he just shrugs. It’s so human coming from him that I have to bite back a smile. The cameras start flashing immediately when we walk out, and I glance over at my father to see that he has that mask on, the one that the whole public knows. Vanessa is smiling tightly beside him, and Buck is a few feet behind us, scanning the crowd. I put on a bland smile, looking the part of a perfect, obedient daughter as my father begins to speak. It’s over quickly, my father tactfully answers a few questions from the reporters, and before I know it, we’re retreating inside, and I let out a breath, rolling my shoulders a couple times as I make my way over to Dex who has found a seat in the lobby, aimlessly flicking his way through a magazine left on one of the coffee tables. I nudge his foot with mine to get his attention, though from the way he watches me, I’m sure he clocked me the moment I stepped foot back in the building.
“Let’s get out of this hell-hole,” I mutter. “You hungry?” As if on cue, my stomach growls, and my cheeks heat. He nods and pushes himself off the couch after he flings the magazine perfectly on the coffee table four feet away. “That’s so weird,” I say to him as he follows me to the valet desk.
“What is?”
“Your aim. First the coffee cup this morning, and now that magazine.” A smirk. “You know, my father won’t be pleased if you’re one of those ‘masked vigilantes’ running around.” The smirk falls.
“I’m not.”
“Mhmm. I guess if you were, he’d already know.” The rest of the walk is quiet. I drum my fingers on the check-in desk as the valet grabs Dex’s keys and pulls the car around. The crowd has cleared out for the most part when we exit the hotel. I’m almost to the door when Dex halts, eyes wide, and whips his head around. “What?”
“Get in the car.”
I stop.
“Why?”
“Y/N. Get in the car.” He yanks the door open and is motioning for me to get in. I turn around in time to hear,
“Y/N? Is that you?” I brighten immediately at the voice, and even more when I see the face it belongs to.
“Matt!” He smiles, both hands on his cane. I can feel Dex looming behind me, something like dread pouring off of him in waves. “Long time no see.”
“I could say the same to you. Two years since the princess has graced our city.”
“Well, technically five. I don’t count that summer camp appearance.” I say with a laugh.
“Ouch! You don’t count it?” He grabs at his chest in mock outrage. “That’s when you met yours truly.”
“And I’ve been trying to forget it ever since,” I say with a grin.
“You wound me, Y/N.” It’s then that he turns his attention to Dex, and I watch his fingers tighten on the cane.
“Dex. Been a while.”
“Yeah. Sure has.” His hand lands firmly on my lower back now, towering over me. Matthew’s eyebrows raised as if he knew the action that his just occurred.
“Matt is a friend, Dex. Knock it off.” He doesn’t. If anything, he pushes his hand more firmly into the small of my back. “Father said I could live on my own if I had a bodyguard. Not sure why he picked this one, but it appears you two are familiar.”
“Unfortunately.” Both men say at the same time.
“I’m surprised they let you back in given your…track record,” Matt says, a smile on his face, but it’s anything but friendly. “Fisk pull a few strings for you?” Dex just glowers at him. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out. Y/N, if you ever want to ditch this guy and grab a couple of drinks, let me know. You’d be safer with me than you are with him.”
“The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and the Princess of New York would be quite a pairing to see in a local bar again,” I murmur, just loud enough that he can hear. Dex stiffens. Ah, so he knows. But how much? Matt smiles, a genuine one now.
“Well, whenever you’d like to make the headlines again, let me know, Y/N.” He turns and starts tapping the cane we all know he doesn’t need as he leaves the hotel drive. Dex relaxes as soon as he’s out of sight and steps away from me, a jagged breath releasing from his lungs.
“Now what the fuck was that about?” I say, whirling on him, hands on my hips. He’s so tall compared to me, and I scowl up at him.
“Nothing. Will you get in the car now?”
“Oh, it’s very clearly not nothing. I’m not getting in the car until you tell me.” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He crosses his arms and stares down at me, not backing down from my gaze at all. We’re going toe to toe, and he’s not relenting. My father didn’t raise me to break, though. We stand off for a whole minute before he goes, “Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime, but we’re starting to make a scene now, and I’d rather not be plastered on the front page. Unlike you, some of us like to maintain some sense of anonymity in this city.” I blink.
“You will talk about it sometime. I always get my way.” I say, jutting out my chin.
“Fine. But not here, not now. Just get in the damn car.” I huff and shoulder check him on my way to the car, but the movement barely affects him. I angrily buckle my seat belt, and he slams the door so hard the car sways for a second. He starts the car once he gets in, and we practically peel out of the lot. “Still hungry?” He’s offering an olive branch, and I sigh and take it.
“Yes. And then I have an appointment.”
“Appointment?”
“No questions. Just drive. I want to change, so just go to the house.” The thirty-minute ride is silent, no radio or anything, just both of us breathing. Sometimes I prefer it this way, actually, gives me time to think. Dex strikes me as the type of guy who never listens to the radio. I should ask him to turn it on sometime just to piss him off.
We make it back to the house, and even though I tell him to wait in the car, he still parks and follows me up the stairs into the apartment, lingering just outside the door as I head in and back to the bedroom to change. I pull on a pair of dark jeans, a loose black t-shirt, and tie my hair back. I tuck my gun into the holster in my pants. A glance in the bathroom mirror, yeah, still a badass, and make my way to the entryway of the apartment. His eyebrows raise as I tug on a pair of boots and shut the door behind me.
“Is your whole closet black or something?” He asks as we make our way down from the third floor. I laugh.
“Hazard of my occupation. Black is just easier.”
“You have a job?” He sounds a little incredulous.
“Yes. And a doctorate in psychology. Any other questions?”
“What’s your job?”
“That’s classified.” His eyebrows find his hairline for the second time in five minutes.
“Yeah, right.” He scoffs. I just smile at him, and he scowls, but still opens the car door for me. We head over to Cuts and Slices around the corner, and he gets a plain slice of cheese pizza, which I rib him for. I settle for a veggie slice, and he makes a disgusted face at it. Both slices are gone in a matter of minutes. “So, where’s your appointment?” He asks, twirling the keys around his fingers.
“Seneca Sporting Range.” A stumble. “What?”
“You know how to shoot?” I let out a big laugh.
“Of course. Have you met my father?” He doesn’t need to know that it is also an occupational skill, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
“Right.” A beat. “Are you carrying right now?”
“Dex, I carry all the time. I have a concealed carry license.” A beat. “Do you think Wilson Fisk is going to leave his only child defenseless and unable to handle a firearm?” He shakes his head.
“I take it your childhood was unorthodox?” He says, holding back a grin.
“I started training in every form of martial arts when I was four. I could fire a gun a year later. Is that unorthodox?” I fully grin at him now, and he rewards me by letting some of his smile come through. The scar on his cheek crinkles with the movement. “How about your childhood?”
“I was an orphan. So, I guess that’s unorthodox too.” His smile fades a little bit.
“That must have been lonely.” He nods. “I’m sorry.” He shoots me a look.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m over it.”
“Clearly,” I mutter, “because you’re so normal now.” He actually barks out a laugh at that, and this sound is so bright my heart stutters in my chest for a moment. Damn traitor. The ride to the range is uneventful, and Dex actually manages to find a parking spot right outside. We walk in, and John brightens when he sees me.
“Y/N! I didn’t know you were back in town. What name did you put your appointment under this time?”
“Amelia Banks,” I say with a small smile. Covering all my tracks has always been important. Even before my job as a profiler. My father had taught me well and I had slew of aliases and IDs corresponding to them. John laughs and waves us through. “Thanks, John!”
“Frequent flyer, huh?” Dex asks. I nod.
“This place was always my favorite. John was always nice to me. Probably because he has a vested interest in my father’s ‘business’. Who knew arms dealing was lucrative?” The shooting range is almost empty save for one person at the far end, but people usually mind their business here. I set my purse down on the counter and pull out a couple rounds of ammo. Dex just chuckles and then I pull my Glock19M. He doesn’t miss what type of gun it is.
“Are you an agent?” He asks, voice pitched a little higher than usual.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I say and smile at him.
“Are you an agent?” He’s more demanding now, his hands coming to grip my biceps.
“Jeez, calm down. Yes, I’m an agent.” He looks genuinely surprised, releasing my arms as I tug them free and pull my badge out of my purse, and toss it at him. “Happy?” He flicks it open and looks sick to his stomach.
“Why would he let you risk your life like that?” He asks, leaning against the far wall.
“It’s the one decision he’s actually allowed me to make fully on my own. He understood the risks, but also understood what he stood to gain by having me on the inside. Not that I work for him. I would never risk my badge like that. Besides, I’ve only been held at gunpoint maybe…six times in my life? I think I’m okay.”
“SIX?”
“Shh! It’s not a big deal. The first time was when I was sixteen. Don’t worry I broke both his wrists, and I’m pretty sure my father killed him.”
“Y/N I-…” He whispers.
“My father thinks I need your protection, but honestly, you might need protection from me. Unless you’re secretly crazy or something, which, knowing him, you probably are.” I chuckle, and he just stares at me, dumbfounded, before schooling his face into forced ambivalence. “So, are you a little crazy?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He shoots my own words back at me, and I chuckle again.
“Fair enough.”
“What do you do for the FBI?” He asks, coming to the spot next to me and pulling his own Glock out of his waistband.
“Profiler. Behavioral Analysis Unit.” A surprised look.
“So, you’re smart?”
“A doctorate at 23 isn’t normal for most people. My father doesn’t just prize me for my name and connection to him; unfortunately, I’m smart. I started college at sixteen and was done two years later. Off to the academy after that, and Prentiss recruited me. Got my doctorate in two and half years. I’ve been working for the BAU ever since I graduated from the academy. It’s tough work, but I love it. At least there I was my own person.”
“So, this ‘Princess of New York’ deal…is it real or just a front?” He fires off a shot, and it hits the target right in the center.
“A little bit of both. Definitely true when I was younger. I was a rebel, and when my father went to prison? Yeah, I rebelled. Got myself in a lot of situations I shouldn’t have, but I learned from them. Now it’s more of a front to keep me safe. Keep my job and personal life hidden, keep me separate from the…business of my father. That’s how everyone looks at me, so I play into it. No reason for anyone to know the real me.”
“That seems lonely.”
I shrug.
“So what? Who would want to get involved with me anyway?” I fire off a shot and hit the center. He whistles, impressed. “All my friends were fake. I just learned not to get involved anymore. No use when no one is ever good enough for Wilson Fisk, not even me.”
We’re silent for the next couple of rounds, but it’s a comfortable silence. I’ve told him more than I tell most people, but if we’re going to be spending a lot of time together, maybe it’s not a bad thing for him to see more of the real me than anyone else. Don’t get attached. It won’t turn out well. My conscious whispers. I should probably listen to it, but I know I won’t. The Princess of New York has a reputation to upkeep, after all.
“So, what’s your type?” I ask as I reload. It’s a way to break the tension, and I hope the question is ridiculous enough that he forgets everything I’ve just told him. He actually chokes and clears his throat a few times.
“What?” He asks, going through the motions of reloading as well.
“Your type? Like, what are you into? Just making sure you won’t accidentally fall in love with me or something.”
“Well, that definitely won’t happen, princess, so don’t even worry what my type is.”
“I’m hurt. You don’t want me?” I’m baiting him now, barely hiding a smile as I raise the gun and fire.
“Nope.” He’s trying really hard to be nonchalant, but his tight shoulders as he fires his own shot, and it’s a centimeter off target, are an indicator enough that I’ve ruffled him. Mission accomplished.
After the next round, I roll my shoulders and put my gun back in the holster. I’m feeling much better now, I always do after a few rounds. I put my things away in my purse and sling it over my shoulder. He finishes his round, and I can see he’s shot a perfect circle around the center of the target. I let a breath out of my nose and shake my head.
“What?” He says, holstering his own gun.
“Showoff.” He smirks and shrugs. “You’re gonna teach me how to do that next time. I’ve gotta have something to show for my time in New York once I go back to Virginia.” We make our way out of the shop, I say goodbye to John and Dex just gives him a tight nod.
“So, you’re going to go back to Virginia?” He asks as we get in the car and start towards my apartment. Traffic is atrocious at this hour.
“Why wouldn’t I? There’s nothing for me here.” He nods. “Though I will miss the bars…”
“There it is.” He chuckles.
“What?”
“You say something slightly personal and then immediately deflect. You did it earlier when you asked about ‘my type’.” He grimaces at the thought.
“Whatever.” I cross my arms and slink down into my seat. “You try being Wilson Fisk’s daughter for a day and see how far honesty gets you.”
“You’ve been fairly candid with me in the last twenty-four hours. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to befriend me.” He’s not smiling, but his eyes are lit up in a way only mischief can accomplish.
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I spit out, slinking down further in my seat.
“And now you’re pouting because I see through your ruse. Very mature, Y/N.” I stick my tongue out at him, and he actually laughs. I stare at him for a second but decide to make it look like I don’t care instead. So, he does have a personality under all that…aggression. “So, what’s the plan for tonight? I take it you don’t want to stay at home?”
“Nope.” I say, putting more emphasis on the ‘p’ than I need to. He sighs, all traces of amusement now gone from his face. We’re back and parked at the apartment sooner than I thought, and I hop out of the SUV and start to cross the street when I’m grabbed from around the waist and yanked back, out of the path of a car barreling down the street that I didn’t even see. I turn around and look up at him. There’s a shade of panic on his face, and our chests are brushing. Neither of us says anything for a second, then he releases me.
“Y/N. You could have gotten killed. Are you serious? Look both ways!” My heart is still stuttering, and the way he’s staring at me, as if he was starting to get attached too, is not helping. I turn and make an obvious show of looking both ways, anything to get away from those piercing eyes, and slowly make my way across the street. He’s quick to follow, and he’s standing so close to me that I fumble with my keys when we finally make it to the third floor. He plucks them from my hand, unlocking the door with ease, and I mutter a soft thanks and head straight to the kitchen.
“Chinese food?” I ask and pull my phone out from my purse.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Tonight. Do you eat Chinese food? Or is that too advanced for your palate, Mr. Cheese Pizza?”
“There is nothing wrong with cheese pizza. Or Chinese food.” He quickly adds, making himself at home on the couch as I pace back and forth. “What are you doing?”
“Pacing.”
“Why?”
“It’s what I do to process.”
“Hm. And what do you need to process?”
“Nothing.” You.
“Right.” He draws out the ‘I’ and stares at me. It’s not helping.
“Stop staring at me!” He glances away. I pace around the small kitchen island for a couple of minutes, and he pulls out his phone, tapping away.
“Ugh!” I exclaim and head back to the bedroom. He’s so…confusing. He was so angry last night, but today he listened to me talk about my childhood and even laughed at me. He somehow knows Matt and who he is. And he makes my heart gallop in a way I’ve never felt. God, this would be so much easier if he weren’t hot. But he is hot. And mysterious. And deadly. And he’s probably not into you because you’re a brat and too fucked up. Yeah, there’s that too. But the way he looks at me sometimes, like he’s feeling the same way as me – confused, yet slightly aroused. Now that’s confusing. I flop down on the bed and open up my phone. Texts from people who don’t truly care that I’m back, a text from JJ, which I actually answer, a text from BB Urich, the one person who probably does care that I’m back in town. I debate for a minute and then text her back as well. Her response is immediate.
BB: Wow, she does know how to reply
Y/N: Haha. I’ve been busy.
BB: According to my sources, you’ve been back for a whole week, AND moved into a new apartment. But have only gone out once. That’s unusual for you.
Y/N: Nice to know you’re keeping tabs on me.
BB: Keeping tabs on your father means keeping tabs on you…
Y/N: Careful, BB. I can’t go losing my only friend here because you stuck your nose where it doesn’t belong.
BB: That’s kind of sad if I’m your only friend.
BB: Kidding. What are you doing tonight?
Y/N: What I always do while I’m in town – drink.
BB: So that hasn’t changed XD
BB: Want some company?
It would be nice to catch up with BB but with Dex looming over my shoulder I probably can’t be as candid as I want to be. But it would be fun to watch BB interrogate Dex. I grin and quickly text back.
Y/N: Of course. I’ll text you the details.
BB likes the message and I then move to checking my email. Nothing there. Fine, social media it is. Instagram has nothing of substance, just all my ‘friends’ posting about their ‘perfect’ lives in the least amount of clothing possible. Twitter is just a bunch of shit about my father. His mayoral campaign has sparked interest in the whole country, some people are still talking about the president hulking out (old news), and I see a couple of cute cat pictures. I don’t even remember falling asleep, but I’m gently shaken awake sometime later. I check my phone, and it’s been two hours.
“Shit.” I groan. “Anything happen?” I look up at Dex, and he looks awkward. “Did you fall asleep too?” A grimace. “Agent Poindexter, some bodyguard you are! Falling asleep on the clock? How scandalous! I’ll be sure to tell my father.”
“Well, let’s be thankful your snoring woke me up then.”
“I do not snore.” My back stiffens with indignation.
“Oh, you most certainly do. Quite loudly. I wouldn’t be surprised if your neighbors put in a noise complaint.” My jaw drops open, and I smack him on the shoulder.
“Cut it out! I do not snore!” He just raises his shoulders in mock defeat.
“So, about that Chinese food…”
“Right, right.” I pull open my phone and search for the nearest place. “Hong Kong Café has 4.6 stars. That should be fine. What’s your number? I’ll send you the menu.” He tells me his number, and I send him the menu. “We probably should have exchanged numbers when we met; that would have been smart, Mr. Bodyguard.”
“Oh, I have your number. I just didn’t give you mine.”
“Asshole.”
“Brat.”
I glare at him, and he just offers up a smirk.
“What are you getting?” I ask.
“Chicken chow mein. No veggies.”
“God, you’re boring. Your food choices, that is.” I’m quick to amend what I say. Now it’s his turn to glare at me. “Whatever.” I dial the phone number for the restaurant. “292 Jefferson Ave, Apt 3. Amelia. Thanks. Chicken chow mein quart, no veggies. Yes, no veggies. My… boyfriend's picky.” The woman on the other line laughs and confirms no veggies. Dex is looking at me like I’ve grown a third eyeball right in the middle of my forehead. “And for me, Kung Pao Chicken, quart. House Special Fried Rice, pint. And three egg rolls. Yes. Sweet and sour sauce, please. Twenty minutes? Okay, thank you!” I hang up, and he leans against the bedroom wall.
“Boyfriend, huh?” He’s smirking now, and I feel so small sitting on the bed.
“Whatever. She was appalled at your order. Didn’t want to explain our uh…situation. Boyfriend just seemed simpler.” I shrug.
“Well, how about your ‘boyfriend’ asks where his lovely ‘girlfriend’ is taking him out tonight?”
“Dickhead. There’s a bar a little way from here. Captain Dan’s. Just something chill tonight.”
“I don’t think you know how to be ‘chill’, princess.”
I roll my eyes at him.
“Get out. I need to get ready.” I say and get up off the bed, settling into my vanity chair, pulling out my makeup for a much-needed refresh and maybe some more dramatic eyeliner. He simply sits down on the bed, looking at me with every intent that he’s going to watch me get ready. “Ugh. You’re insufferable.”
“At least I’m also insufferably good-looking.” His nap must have rewired his brain or something. That or he got hit in the head in between because I almost swear he’s flirting with me right now.
“You wish.” I touch up my contour, which was smudged on one side from my nap. More blush. I extend the wing of my eyeliner a little further, tongue poking out slightly as I concentrate. I can feel him watching me, but I do my absolute best to ignore him. I finish after a couple of minutes, set my face again, and turn around to look at him. “If you’re going out with me, which I know you’ll insist on doing, you have got to change. You looked so out of place last night in your dress shirt. Certainly, you have pedestrian clothes.”
He glares at me. “Of course I have ‘pedestrian’ clothes. I keep them in my car.”
“No need to keep them in your car since I assume you’re under orders to sleep here.” I feel a pang of remorse. Hopefully, he doesn’t have any pets or anything. “I’m sorry if the couch is uncomfortable.”
“I’ve had worse.” I nod. He doesn’t elaborate.
“Well, you can keep your clothes in here. I’ll empty out a drawer for you.” I say.
“Very funny.” He says, leaning back on his elbows on my bed. What he doesn’t know is that I’m serious. If I’m inconveniencing his life by simply being in this city, the least I can do is offer him a drawer to put his clothes in. I decide to fully commit and get up and very quickly empty a drawer in the pale wood dresser as he watches. “Oh, you were serious.”
“I’m a very serious person.” He chuckles at that and gets up off the bed.
“I’ll be right back.” I hear him leave the apartment and shut the door firmly behind him. I stand in front of the closet trying to decide what’s casual enough to wear to this bar. I settle on a maroon wrap crop top with short sleeves. It shows off my tanned back and is low cut, more so than the slip dress last night. I pair it with black high-cut jeans and my combat boots. The door opens as I’m walking out of the bedroom, and it’s Dex, a travel bag slung over his shoulder and a hefty bag of Chinese food in his hands. “Two birds with one stone. The driver pulled up right as I was walking up the front stairs.” I take the bag of food from his hands and set it on the counter, ripping into the bag and pulling everything out. It’s steaming hot, and the plastic bites at my hands as I pull off the lids. It takes me a second to remember where I put the plates, and I open two wrong cabinets before the third one is correct. They’re just plain white, I guess I’m like my father in that regard – I like things clean. I hear Dex putting his clothes away in the drawer, and I smile to myself.
I set the plates down and dish up my own meal, and Dex makes quick work of his own, dumping the whole quart of food on a plate. I raise an eyebrow at him.
“You want to try some fried rice?” I ask, as I set down the container of Kung Pao Chicken and move to grab the egg rolls.
“The white rice is fine by me.”
“Scared of some vegetables?” I ask, dumping the rolls on my plate and grabbing the numerous packets of sweet and sour gathered in the bottom of the bag. They join the menagerie of food on my plate, and I use my spoon to give Dex exactly two spoonfuls of fried rice – veggies and all. “Try it. It’s good, I promise. It’s really hard to fuck up fried rice. And if you don’t like it…I guess you can have the bed tonight.” His eyebrows shoot up, but he wordlessly takes his fork and scoops it up, and tries it. I thought that would be much harder. He chews, swallows, then nods.
“It’s fine. I get the bed tonight.”
“Dude! I was only kidding about the bed thing.”
“A deal is a deal.” He makes his way to the couch and sits, digging into his veggie-less food.
“Come on, you know I wasn’t being serious.”
“But I still tried it anyway, even though I didn’t want to. So, honor the deal.” I sit down next to him and huff out a breath.
“Fine. But I’m taking a picture of you in my pink bed.” He glowers, suddenly not pleased with his victory. He shoots me a displeased look and keeps eating, and I resign myself to do the same, albeit with a small smile on my face. It’s awkward and quiet, and I can hear him chewing his food. “Fuck, I have got to get a TV. Why are you chewing so loudly?”
“I could ask the same of you. I’ve never heard someone chew so loudly when it’s literally just rice.”
“Fuck you.”
“You wish.” He spits back, and my mouth drops open a little bit. I quickly shut it. Normally, I’m well composed, at least, that’s how I let people see me. When I let loose, it’s still composed, scandalous, but not too much lest it lowers the public’s opinion of me. But he fucking short-circuits my brain or something, I’ve loosened up too much. I clear my throat and sit up straighter, plowing through the food on my plate, and when I eat my fill, I scrape the leftovers back into their containers and put them back in the fridge. I scroll on my phone, half paying attention to the videos but mostly paying attention to him. The way he eats is clinical, like food is only fuel, not something to enjoy. It’s kind of sad, honestly. He seems so buttoned up and angry. But there’s something lurking just below the surface, something dangerous, something that makes my toes curl in my boots, and my cheeks flush as I think about it. But I shove the thought away because exploring that would be dangerous for both of us, for his job and my reputation. It will never happen. Even if I think I might like it. He’s volatile – a wildfire ablaze, consuming everything in its path. It will consume me if I let it. I’m roused from my traitorous thoughts when he clears his throat, and I look up to find him looking at me from across the kitchen island, plate in hand. His head is cocked, and the look in his eyes – like a predator assessing his prey. His gaze strips me bare, and I hate it and want more at the same time. I look back at him, really look at him. He meets my eyes, wholly, and this is unlike earlier when we were going toe to toe. Now it's like…like recognizing like. That we’re cut from the same cloth, that same hunger for life and freedom, always chasing something we’ll never attain. A spark of recognition in his eyes as they soften. Almost like he sees exactly what I’m thinking. His eyes flare with something deeper, darker, and I’m so close to opening my mouth and begging him what it is he truly wants when my phone goes off. We both jump, and the moment is gone.
BB: Bitch you never texted me the plans. It’s almost 8 P.M.!!!
I sigh, thumbs working as I text her the address and tell her we’re leaving shortly. She likes the message. Dex rinses off his plate and sets it in the sink before leaning against the kitchen counter beside me.
“Who’s BB?”
“A friend from school.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have friends.”
“BB is different. Friend isn’t quite the right word for it. Our friendship is…mutually beneficial. Let’s just put it that way.” He nods, seemingly understanding what I’m not saying out loud. “C’mon, let’s get going.”
There’s a breeze in the air when we finally make our way downstairs into the August air. It feels nice, and the sun is just starting to go down, painting the sky in vibrant shades of orange and yellow. Dex starts the car and I grab his bicep to stop him. God, his muscles are rock hard.
Focus, Y/N, focus.
“We’re walking. It’s only fifteen minutes away.”
“I’m under strict orders not tolet you walk anywhere.”
“Well then, it’s a good thing I have a bodyguard to protect me while I walk,” I say, and start in the opposite direction. I hear him sigh behind me, but his steps soon shadow mine. We’re quiet for the first couple of minutes, and I’m racking my brain for something to say when I blurt out.
“Tell me a secret.”
His steps falter, but he recovers quickly.
“What?”
“Tell me a secret. And I’ll tell you one of mine.”
“And why would I want to do that?” I shrug and glance at him. A minute passes. “I’m not mentally stable.”
“Well, duh. I could tell that by the…everything about you.”
“That’s what your father has on me. That and a few murders. But he made himself my God to keep me under control. But I see through that now. I’m a danger to myself and others. I need a North Star to guide me.”
“A North Star?”
“It’s a term my childhood therapist used. Someone to steer me straight. But every time I try to have someone help me, they end up dead or just…gone.”
“Hmm. That was surprisingly candid.”
“I figured I at least owed you something because of how you opened up at the gun range.” He shrugs and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Besides, doesn’t hurt to tell you something your father already knows. Can’t use it against me.”
“Ouch.”
“Your turn. What’s your secret?”
“I’ve got plenty to choose from. What do you want? Something light-hearted? Super dark? I don’t really have a happy medium here, unfortunately.”
“I feel as though mine was dark. Secret for a secret, has to be on the same level, I guess.”
I nod.
“I killed my first man at the age of ten.” This time, surprisingly, his gait is steady. I can feel him glance at me, and my cheeks heat. “Someone had broken into our home. He was not quiet. Screaming about how my father had wronged him. My father was out of town that weekend, and my nanny was a heavy sleeper. I don’t think I meant to kill him, but I shot him square in the chest, and he bled out on the white rug while I watched. Father put me in therapy after that, but I never wanted to talk about it. I guess in my mind, I was protecting my father. He’s good at that, you know. Making you do something evil but feeling like it’s a gift to him. Anyway, it was a long time ago.”
He hums, a low sound in his throat, but doesn’t say anything. We’re a couple of minutes out from the bar now, and I’m panicking about the fact that he didn’t say anything.
“Are you gonna say something?” I ask, picking at the hem of my shirt.
“What do you want to hear?”
“I don’t know, maybe that I’m not an irredeemable monster incapable of love?” He chuckles at that.
“Don’t worry. That would be me, not you.”
“I think you think that, but I don’t think you actually mean it.”
“You don’t know me.”
“No, but I’d like to.” Shit. Did not mean to say that out loud. He glances at me, eyebrows raised.
“Careful, Y/N.” He murmurs in a low voice I haven’t heard yet. It makes me weak in the knees. He clears his throat. “You’re not an ‘irredeemable monster incapable of love’. I promise. I’ll let you know if you start leaning that way, though.” I give him a small smile and am promptly tackled into a hug.
“Shit!” I hug the woman back, knowing it’s BB by the jasmine-scented perfume. And the fact that she’s squeezing me to death. She lets go and is grinning at me. Then she spots Dex.
“Who the fuck is this guy?” She asks, pointing directly at him.
“That would be my super sexy bodyguard, Dex.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not. Daddy dearest insisted on it when I asked for my own apartment.” She rolls her eyes at the mention of my father and loops her arm with mine, walking towards the propped-open door of Captain Dan’s.
“And he gave you a hot FBI agent?” She whispers conspiratorially in my ear, and I laugh.
“Tell me about it. You’re not the one who has to share an apartment with him.” I whisper back, and she gasps.
“He’d better be careful, or he’ll be seduced by Miss Fisk.” I groan and squeeze her arm.
“Cut it out! He can probably hear you. You’re a horrible whisperer.” There are three seats at the bar, and Dex scoots his chair a little bit away from us to give us some privacy, but still within arm’s length of me to give us some privacy. BB and I catch up, talk about her time in college, the frat boys she tried to date, and her latest stories. The bar starts to fill up, and Dex is forced to move closer to me, his back brushing mine every so often. I don’t mind it, really.
“Dex looks so familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it,” BB says, twirling the straw in her drink. I can feel him stiffen behind me, back now definitely pressing into mine. He murmurs an apology in my ear, and that low voice from earlier has my insides heating up.
“He’s an FBI agent in New York City – they’re not exactly known for being low profile here,” I say, and shrug, “You’ve probably just seen him in stuff related to my father. No big deal.”
She nods, lost in thought, and glances at Dex a few times. He’s practically vibrating behind me, and I don’t know if it’s due to fear or the fact that we’re so close together. His thigh is resting on the outside of mine, the bar packed now.
“So, can you give me any info on your dad?”
“BB. Come on. Digging for info in a public bar? You know better.” I laugh, and Dex relaxes, still pressed into me. I shoot her a sly smile. I’m her best informant, and in return, I can spin the stories in ways that are better for the public to hear. I think she suspects she’s not getting the full truth, but it’s one of those unspoken rules in our friendship. That and the fact that our friendship gets her into places and parties press usually aren’t allowed into. Mutually beneficial. We talk for another thirty minutes, and I’m well and truly tipsy when we part ways. She gives me one of her bone-crushing hugs and whispers,
“Take care, Y/N. I’m here if you need anything.” She steps back, glances at Dex, and drags my arm, pulling me a few feet away from him. I glance at her, confused. She says, “The way he watches you is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. You move, and he moves in response. It’s uncanny. Be careful. I’m not sure this is someone you want to get entangled with.” What if it’s too late? What if the very fiber of his being already answers the echo in my soul? I nod.
“Thanks, BB. I’ll be careful. I always am. It’s a shame he’s hot, though.” She laughs and hugs me again before heading off into the night.
“Come on, princess,” Dex says, and I walk back over to him.
“Don’t call me that.”
“What? Princess?”
“Yeah. I don’t like it.”
“And why don’t you like it?” He says, leaning down to look into my face. I don’t like it because of the way it sounds coming out of your mouth. Because of the way it makes my stomach feel and a heat grows low in my belly. Because it makes me want to figure out how soft your lips are and trace my fingers over that scar in your cheek. Because –
“I –” I don’t have any words. My brain is consumed by him and the way he’s searching my face. He must find what he’s looking for because he just gives me a cheeky smirk and straightens back up.
“That’s what I thought. Come on, princess.” He offers me his hand, and I strut right past him, fuming with indignation. He doesn’t miss a beat, though, and his hand is on the small of my back before I make it five steps.
“Ugh. Cut it out.” I shove his hand away from me.
“Why?”
“Because it makes me feel weird.” His hand returns to the small of my back. “Come on! Stop!”
“Weird in what way?” His gaze is dark as he keeps walking, practically pushing me along with his hand.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” I say, jutting my chin out. I try to walk faster to get away from his heated touch, but damn it, he’s got at least six inches on me and is much faster. I huff and don’t look at him once the whole way back to the apartment. “You’re infuriating? You know that, right?” He doesn’t answer. His hand only drops when we take the steps up the stoop and into the building.
I take the steps two at a time, and as soon as I get to my apartment on the third floor, I kick my shoes off at the door and slam the bedroom door behind me once I’m inside. I’m stripped and in the shower in the next thirty seconds. God, I hate him. I hate him, and I want him, and those feel like one and the same. I scrub down, wash my hair, and am out of the shower in under ten minutes. I wrap my towel around me and braid my hair down my back in a Dutch braid. I swing open the door and promptly shriek at the sight of Dex sprawled out on my bed in black joggers and a black t-shirt. He shoots up, eyes wide and apologetic.
“Jesus Christ, Dex. What the fuck?” I have a death grip on the towel where the corner is tucked in.
“Sorry, I – uh.” He’s looking everywhere but at me. Cheeks flaming red. “I – uh, came in to get my clothes and thought it’d be funny. Seeing as you made me try the rice earlier, and my prize was the bed. I thought you’d put clothes on in the bathroom. I didn’t – uh – I’m sorry?” He scratches at his neck. The sight of him rambling is so comical that I actually chuckle.
“Okay, okay. Now get the fuck out so I can put on my pajamas.” He nods quickly and bolts from the room, shutting the door behind him. I’m still chuckling as I pull on a big t-shirt and a tiny pair of sleep shorts that aren’t even visible with the t-shirt on. I brush my teeth, do my skincare, put my phone on the charger, and open the door to be met with a dark apartment. I pad out quietly to the living room, where Dex is sprawled on the couch, snoring. What is it with men and falling asleep so fast? At least I’m not the only one who snores. He’s lying there sans blanket and I feel bad for him, so much so that I walk back to the bedroom and pull a pink throw blanket out from the storage ottoman at the end of my bed. I walk back out, unfolding the blanket and very carefully throw it over him. If he’s anything like me, he awakens violently, so I’m careful not to wake him with the motion. I pull a sideways corner over his feet and step back, and admire my handiwork. He looks so at peace asleep. I shake my head, admonishing myself, and walk back to the bedroom and shut the door. I toss and turn in bed for a while, thinking about Dex, thinking about my father, and I don’t remember falling asleep.
Wolf Like Me // Benjamin Poindexter (Bullseye) x Reader // Chapter One
Summary:
Y/N Fisk has returned to the city to aid in her father's mayoral campaign, leaving behind her profiler job at Quantico. Her plea to live alone, away from her father's prying eyes, is met with one condition - a bodyguard. Desperate to have some semblance of freedom in the city, Y/N agrees. Enter Benjamin Poindexter - a disgraced FBI agent with nothing to lose and everything to prove. When tensions climb, will they give in? Or will Wilson Fisk haunt their every move?
Words: 3517
Tags: eventual smut, slow burn, canon typical violence, mental instability, childhood trauma, gun violence, sexual tension, falling in love, protective Wilson Fisk, profiler!reader, criminal minds au (ish)
Ao3 Link - here!
Series Masterlist - here!
The leaves were starting to change color when I found myself on a train from Virginia back to NYC. The late August heat was in full force, and a rough breeze had battered me around on the platform before I grabbed the sticky railing and made my way into one of the cars. Father had offered to have someone drive me back home, but I refused, savoring the last bit of freedom that would be allowed to me before I stepped foot back in the city. I should be excited. I loved the city, always had, but as the train inched closer to my destination, I was filled with a looming sense of dread. In Virginia, I had a purpose, a place. I knew who I was without my father breathing down my neck. It’s not his fault though. When my mother died while giving birth to me, I became the most important thing in his life. Until Vanessa, but neither he nor I deign to talk about that. So, I have come to the city one last time to play the part of “perfect” daughter in a “perfect” family and help my father secure his seat as mayor. That didn’t mean I had to be happy about it. I sigh, lean back in the seat, and pinch the bridge of my nose. Coming home meant living with my father again, which ended in a screaming match between Vanessa and I the last time.
I’d prefer to live alone, as I had done in Virginia and the FBI academy, but I know my father wasn’t likely to agree. I’ll think about it, but you know you belong with me. This city doesn’t understand you like I do. He had said, last time I had asked. Which I knew really meant “right under my thumb so I can track your every movement.” But I wasn’t eighteen anymore, no longer naïve to the world and my father’s line of work. Being twenty-three going on twenty-four isn’t that far removed from eighteen, but I had done so much in the world in those five years that surely I could talk him into it this time. I would at least try, and I would devote the next four hours of this train ride to the idea, as fruitless as it might be.
The train rolled into Moynihan Hall far too quickly for my liking. I rose to my feet, rolling out my stiff joints before reaching for my carry-on bag and joining the queue to get off the train. A small child tripped and fell over my feet, and I helped her up as her mother profusely apologized. I just offered her a small smile and told her it was “no problem” and let them cut in front of me. The mother shot me a grateful, yet tired, smile and hustled out of the train car. I stepped into the air and made my way outside of the station, taking a deep breath as I exited and felt the city come alive around me. Sirens blaring, taxis honking, people yelling to be heard over the sound of the city. It settles in my skin, and I square my shoulders, determined to walk to my father’s penthouse before I hear someone shout my name. I turn and see Buck standing next to a big black tinted SUV.
“Hi, Buck. I was going to walk.” He levels me with a look, and I sigh, allowing him to take my bag as I slide in the backseat. He gets in the driver’s seat and glances at me through the rear-view mirror. He says nothing. “Hello to you too,” I grumble, and there it is, a faint smile.
“How was your time in Virginia, Miss Fisk?”
“You say that as if I were on vacation. I was gone for five years, Buck.”
“Touché, Miss Fisk.”
“Please just call me Y/N.” I shoot back, knowing that he won’t. It rubs me the wrong way. In this city I’m not Y/N, I’m Miss Fisk. Or, better yet, “The Princess of New York” to most. Not that I like the title, but I have to admit it does have a nice ring to it. And I played into the stereotypes that role gave me while growing up. I partied hard and pissed my father off even more. But when your father goes to prison when you’re twelve, I’m sure anyone would rebel. I’m lost in thought during the short drive, and before I know it the car is stopped and Buck opens the door for me, ever the polite puppet.
“He’s waiting for you.”
I nod.
“Your boxes were delivered last night and are in your room. You’ll find it exactly how you left it.”
“Oh, joy,” I mumble, craning my neck to look at the top of the Presidential Hotel. I hear a shutter click and glance over to my left. Paparazzi. Just what I need. I quickly make my way inside the hotel and into the elevator. The air in the penthouse is stale, it always is. There’s no life in this place. Actually, I’m pretty sure it just sucks the life out of people. It certainly did to me. “Hello?” I call out, my voice almost echoing off the sterile walls.
“Y/N!” My father says, coming around the corner with a smile. A rare smile, one that makes him look like who I imagined he was before my mother died – the last time he was truly happy. He hugs me, almost crushing me, my feet lifting off the floor slightly, and I try to hug him back, but my arms are pinned by my side. He sets me down and searches my face, then frowns. “You’re unhappy to be back.”
“Not necessarily.” I look down. No reason to beat around the bush – not with him. “Do you remember our last conversation?”
“Of course. You want to live alone.”
I nod.
“The city isn’t safe, Y/N. Not with these vigilantes running around.”
I don’t know why but tears well in my eyes. I don’t want to be babied. “I can take care of myself.” I grit out, pushing the tears down. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“Oh, I know you can, the FBI academy made sure of that. Top of your class. I would expect nothing less.” I don’t say anything. We didn’t talk much these last five years, but I knew he’d kept tabs on me. He’s good at that – keeping tabs but never truly engaging with me. He sighs. “Y/N. Walk with me.”
I set my bag down and followed him to the windows that overlook the city.
“I know life hasn’t been…easy for you. I have not made it easy for you. I have given thought to your…question. I will agree.” I whip my head around and look at him, but he’s still looking out at the city with a pensive look on his face. “Under one condition.” I groan inwardly but keep my mouth shut. I’m so close to getting what I want. “You will have a bodyguard. One of my choosing. At all times. I cannot risk losing you when this race is too important to me. When this city is too important to me. I hope you’ll find it in you to agree.”
I take a deep breath. There’s always some sort of stipulation with him. Something that guarantees that he’ll always have a say, but my heart is beating so fast and I’m so close to getting the approval that I don’t care. I have to agree. Not only for my sanity, but for any kind of freedom.
“Okay,” I say, and look back out at the city. It’s his turn to look at me. I feel his gaze on me, but I do not wither, do not show a single sign that I’m aware of him. I see him nod out of the corner of my eye.
“Okay.”
-
It’s surprisingly easy to get an apartment in NYC when your cosigner is Wilson Fisk. I could have pretty much any apartment I want when I let the name drop and the recognition hits their face. They practically fall over their feet to get me to sign a lease. The place I do fall in love with, 292 Jefferson Ave, has that right amount of New York charm but also a washer and dryer. Score. The movers are bringing the last of my boxes up when my work phone blares from a pocket in my purse. I curse and dig it out. I don’t even glance at the caller ID before I answer it.
“This is Fisk.”
“Y/N, it’s JJ. How are you settling in up there?” I break into a smile.
“JJ! Why didn’t you call my personal phone? I thought something was wrong.”
“Because I’ve texted your personal number twice and you haven’t answered. I thought something was wrong.” I winced. It was true I had been avoiding my team. It hurt too much to be away.
“Sorry.” It’s a half-assed apology and we both know it.
“It’s okay! I figured I’d call because I was starting to get worried.”
“No need to be worried. My father agreed to let me live on my own, but only if I have a bodyguard.”
“A bodyguard? He can’t be serious.”
“Unfortunately, he is.”
“You’re more than capable in the field. I’m sure he knows that.”
“Ah, yes, but to everyone here I’m just the ‘Princess of New York,' who’s been away at school for five years. I guess he’s trying to keep up appearances. Doesn’t look good for your mayoral campaign if you have a daughter on the inside, I guess.” He has plenty of men on the inside, and JJ and I both knew that, but we didn’t talk about it.
“I still can’t believe you agreed to go back. Even if it’s just for a little bit. We miss you here. And your skills. And your ability to work our haywire coffeepot. Emily has cussed it out twice since you’ve been gone. It’s actually funny to watch, but don’t tell her I said that.” We both chuckle.
“Yeah. I have to oblige my father sometimes, and this seems important to him. I feel like I’d have been a bad daughter had I said no.” A beat. “Besides, there’s way more parties here than in Virginia. I can only go to so many work parties without wanting to scream.” Deflection. Hopefully it works. I want nothing more than to be back in Virginia right now, but I have to bide my time.
“Well, don’t party too hard, okay? And send me the information on your bodyguard when you get it. I want to do a background check.”
“I think he’s another agent, at least that’s what my father implied.”
“Doesn’t matter. And don’t go falling in love with him either.” I laugh. She means it as a joke. I think.
“He’s probably old and decrepit, but good at his job. My father should know better than to hire a hot bodyguard. Come on, that’s a rom com waiting to happen.” It’s JJ’s turn to laugh. We chat for a couple more minutes. She stresses again to send me the information on the bodyguard, and we agree to talk again, on my personal phone, soon. I hang up and feel lighter than I have been since I left. I look around at all the boxes and sigh. This is going to be a chore, but it’s one I welcome. My bodyguard has yet to make an appearance, but knowing my father, he’ll show up at an inopportune time. I get to work, unpacking the myriad of boxes and it’s almost eleven when I’m done. I flop down on the unmade bed and huff. My clothes are bursting out of the closet and a little black lace slip catches my eye. The gears start turning. Clubbing would be nice. And it’s a great way to get my mind off things. I make my decision and roll off the bed. I have my makeup down to a science, so it only takes twenty minutes. Another five and my hair is pulled up and away from my face, swooping down my back in a loose braid. Another minute and the dress is on, heels strapped securely to my feet. A finishing touch of red lipstick and I’m out the door. Or, I would be out the door had I not slammed into someone standing right outside my apartment.
“Excuse me?” I say pushing back from a broad chest and staring up at the man who’s looking at me, bewildered.
“Excuse me? Excuse you? Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?” My mouth drops open. Who does this man think he is?
“What the fuck? Who do you think you are? Move!” I shove him and he doesn’t budge. I shove again.
“Cute.” He says, a crooked grin on his face. “I’m Benjamin Poindexter, but you can just call me Dex. I’m your bodyguard.”
Oh.
Oh.
Oh no, he’s hot.
I curse and finally manage to get past him and halfway down the stairs before I hear him thundering behind me.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He says, and I ignore him, making it down the rest of the stairs and to the front door.
“Clubbing.”
“Not alone, you’re not.”
“Exactly. That’s why you’re coming with me.” I don’t give him room to argue as I open the door and step into the sticky air.
“Get back inside!” He barks, and something about the tone and possessiveness makes me weak in the knees, but I ignore it.
“No, thanks.” I hike my little purse up on my shoulder. “Now, where’s your car? I’m not walking in these heels.” He just stares at me like I’m crazy. I widen my eyes and stare back. “Come on, I don’t have all night. Either you’re coming with me or you’re staying here. Your choice, but I’d hate for you to get fired on your first day as a bodyguard. That would look terrible on your resume.”
“I’ll just carry you back upstairs.”
“If you lay a finger on me, I’ll lay you out and run screaming about you attacking me. I’m sure the police will care a lot more about the ‘Princess of New York’ getting attacked by her supposed bodyguard than a random FBI agent. Not a good look for you, buddy.” His jaw drops as he looks at me, like he doesn’t know what to do with me. “Close your mouth or you’re going to catch flies. Now, where’s your car?” I jut my hip out and put my hand on it, staring him down.
He closes his mouth and mutters something.
“What was that?” I speak.
“I said, you’re a brat. Come on, princess.” He says, crossing the street to an unmarked SUV. Now it’s my turn to stare at him.
“BRAT?” I screech, following him as quickly as my heels will allow. “Unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable. Of all the possible people in the entire New York branch of the FBI my father sends me a sass-mouthed agent?” I mutter, but I say nothing more as I get in the car and fasten my seatbelt.
“Do you have to sit in the passenger seat?” He asks, starting the car.
“I’m sorry, do you want me to sit in the back like a goddamn pedestrian? So not gonna happen.” I give him the address for my favorite nightclub, and he’s clenching his jaw as the car starts to move. I can see the muscles working, and it’s helping me to not be so pissed off. Only because I can tell he’s royally pissed. I smile to myself.
“Did you have to pick a club all the way in the Lower East Side?” He mutters, more to himself than to me. Traffic is still bad but not as horrible as usual as we make our way over. I love seeing New York at night. Everything is lit up, and it’s when the city truly feels alive to me. I crack the window, enough to let the sounds in but not enough that paparazzi could see my face. We pull up in front of Virgo Nightclub, and I can hear the music pouring out from here. The valet comes out for our car and Dex begrudgingly hands the keys over before opening my door for me. I’m surprised when he offers me a hand and helps me down but by the look in his eyes he’s not pleased to be here. The bouncer, Jaime, lights up when he sees me.
“Y/N! It’s been a while.”
“Still letting in barely legal girls, Jaime?” I say with a sweet smile. Dex bristles.
“Only the hot ones!” Jaime laughs and waves me through. “Who’s your hot new boyfriend?” He whispers loud enough that everyone can hear.
I grin. “You think this geriatric is my new boyfriend? Ha, he wishes! Just a new toy!” I wink and Jaime laughs loudly, waving Dex in as well. He’s practically fuming as we make our way downstairs, and I’m shaking with barely controlled laughter. Oh, this is going to be fun. “How old are you anyway?” I shout over my shoulder and the music. He glowers.
“Thirty-seven.” I nod, keeping my attention on the last few stairs before I’m sucked into the vibrant crowd. The music consumes me. Filling up my very bones with rhythm and noise. I throw my arms up and let myself go. Some time goes by and I feel hands on my hips. I jump and see a seedy looking man with a gold chain behind me, grinning. Gross. I firmly remove his hands and shout, “No thanks!” and he scowls and places his hands on my hips again, more firm this time. I see red and am about to show this man exactly what the FBI has taught me before he’s yanked away by the back of his shirt by a livid Dex. The man takes one look at him, mouths “sorry” and runs off. I look at Dex and shrug, turning back around, and feel another pair of hands on my hips. I turn around. Who the fuck would try this again after the stunt Dex just pulled? I lock eyes with Dex, who is glowering at me.
“Get your hands off me!” I shout, still dancing.
“No way, princess. Not with all these sleazeballs in here.”
“How am I supposed to get laid if you’re scaring off all the prospects?” I shout. I don’t mean it, not really. I don’t have time for anything like that, but a flicker of shock seems to cross his face before he schools his face back into bland anger. It’s my turn to be pissed off tonight, but now people are giving us a wider berth, and I feel like I can breathe for the first time since I’ve been sucked into the crowd. Fuck it. Whatever. I turn back around and keep dancing, and a few times I accidentally grind my hips against Dex’s. His hands grip me tighter when I do, and I bite back a grin every time. Around two a.m. I’m feeling well and truly tired, and I lead Dex out of the throng and into the cool air. I shiver as we wait for the valet and feel something slung around me. I practically swim in it but am grateful for the lingering body heat residing in the jacket. I look up to see Dex fixing his windbreaker around my shoulders, but I’m too tired to fight with him babying me at this point. The car arrives shortly after, and we’re quiet on the ride back to my apartment. I don’t even remember falling asleep, but I’m gently rocked awake by the motion of Dex carrying me up the three flights of stairs to my apartment.
I halfheartedly hit his chest.
“Set me down, I can walk,” I say between yawns.
“No. It took you all of two minutes to fall asleep in the car. And you took your shoes off, and this floor is filthy, so, again, no.”
“Careful. To a passerby, you might sound like you care. It would really ruin your ‘dark and mysterious’ persona.” He scoffs and unlocks the door, and then carefully sets me down on the hardwood floor. He follows me to the bedroom as I’m starting to slide the straps of my slip dress down. I turn around. “Are you going to watch me get naked too?” I quirk an eyebrow at him. He flushes a shade of crimson so deep I actually laugh, and he quickly turns and walks out, shutting the door behind him. I pull on an oversized t-shirt, take off my makeup, and groan as I look at the unmade bed. I give up and just pull out a blanket from the closet and lay my head down on the bare pillow. I’m out in seconds, pulled into a fitful sleep.
Wolf Like Me // Benjamin Poindexter (Bullseye) x Reader
Summary: Y/N Fisk has returned to the city to aid in her father's mayoral campaign, leaving behind her profiler job at Quantico. Her plea to live alone, away from her father's prying eyes, is met with one condition - a bodyguard. Desperate to have some semblance of freedom in the city, Y/N agrees. Enter Benjamin Poindexter - a disgraced FBI agent with nothing to lose and everything to prove. When tensions climb, will they give in? Or will Wilson Fisk haunt their every move?
This fic is COMPLETE and set at the beginning of season 1 of DDBA. It is canon adjacent, but will not follow the plot of season 1. Chapters will be posted as I have time to format them for Ao3. Thank you for your patience!
Steve Harrington is keeping a secret - a wolfish secret. Late in the woods on the night of the full moon, he runs into you. Will he let the primal animal inside of him take over?
Pairing: Werewolf!Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader
Steve had been keeping a secret. A big secret. The demo-bats that attacked him had turned him into something…other. The first month after the attack, when the full moon struck, he had no idea what was happening to him. And when he awoke the next morning, naked, in Merril Wright’s pumpkin field with faint memories of claws, and fangs, and running, he was worried that he was going crazy. So much so that he went to the library. Steve, who had never once set foot in the library on purpose, was very much out of his element.
The librarian kept eyeing him, but Steve was used to that. He muttered something about mythology, and the librarian eagerly pointed him in the right direction, asking if he was looking for anything in particular. He waved her off and got lost in the aisles, fingers tracing mindlessly over the spines. He eventually found the section he was looking for, but wasn’t sure which book would help him. He settled on the oldest-looking book there, “The Book of Were-Wolves”. It smelled something awful, and the spine was rotting off the pages, but he shoved it in his jacket and made his way to the front of the library, walking out without checking the book out.
The drive over to Dustin’s had him wrought with worry, but if anyone knew anything about the Upside Down and the demonic creatures that inhabited it, it was that little shit. He just hoped Dustin’s sister wasn’t home. Dustin’s sister, who was kind, nerdy, and smart-mouthed, just like her brother. She was a year behind Steve and kept to herself for the most part. She had unwittingly been roped into this Upside Down bullshit when she started a summer job at Scoops Ahoy with him and Robin. Y/N and Robin had been fast friends, and Robin delighted in the way that Steve fumbled every interaction with Y/N. He shakes the thought out of his head and screeches to a halt, puts the car in park, and walks up to the front door, book still in his jacket. He knocks three times quickly, his other arm leaning against the door frame.
No answer.
He knocks again.
No answer, again.
He knocks again.
“I’m coming! Jesus Christ…” A voice calls out. Steve registers who the voice belongs to a moment too late and finds himself standing in front of Y/N Henderson, with wet hair in a big t-shirt, when the door wrenches open. “Oh, it’s just you. Dustin’s here, but he’s in a funk today, just warning you.” Y/N’s face softens. “It’s hard for him…the Eddie stuff.” She whispers, looking over her shoulder quickly.
“Of course. I just uh – need to ask him a question.” Y/N nods and motions him inside, shutting the door behind him. Steve starts towards Dustin’s room.
“Hold on. You have grass in your hair.” Y/N says, with a chuckle. Her soft hands came up to pick grass out of his hair. Steve stands stock still, brain short-circuiting. “You roll around in the bushes or something?” She chuckles again. “There you go. Much better.” Steve just stares at her, a flush creeping up his cheeks. Y/N stares back, as she just realizes what she’s done, and he notices a matching flush spreading across her face.
“Steve-O! You gonna keep staring, or are you gonna let me go back to hanging out with my best friend?” Robin’s voice booms from the hallway behind him. Steve jumps, and Robin laughs. He mutters a quick apology and makes his way to Dustin’s room. The door is wide open, and Dustin is tinkering with something at his desk.
“Henderson.” Steve says, approaching him and taking the book out of his jacket, “What do you know about werewolves?”
-
“The unaffable Y/N, starstruck by Steve Harrington staring at her. I thought I’d never see the day. You almost said something there! Would have finally put us all out of our misery.” Robin says, shoving a handful of bugles in her mouth.
“Oh, shut up.” Y/N groans, rubbing the heels of her hands into her eyes. But Robin was right. Usually, being around Steve didn’t affect her, but something about his doe eyes looking at her as she fixed his hair did something to her.
“I give it three more moments like that before you’re ripping at your clothes and panting in each other’s mouths.”
“ROBIN!” Y/N screeches, thoroughly embarrassed.
“What? It’s clear the guy likes you, and I know you like him. What’s the big deal? Just get it over with and tell each other how you feel! I’m sick and tired of being the third wheel.”
Y/N throws a pillow at her, and Robin fends it off with a giggle.
“What was so important that Steve needed to show up at 8:00 AM, anyway?” Robin says.
“That’s a great question.” The girls share a look, a mutual understanding passing between them, as they both jump up and creep over to Dustin’s room to eavesdrop.
“What do you mean, you don’t remember what happened last night?” Dustin’s hushed voice said.
“I remember waking up in Merrill’s pumpkin patch, and that’s about it. No idea where I was all night. Or where my clothes had gone.”
“You were NAKED?” Dustin’s voice cracks on the last word. Y/N and Robin share a panicked look and clasp their hands over their mouths to keep laughs from escaping.
“Keep your voice down, man! Yeah, I had to steal the clothes off the scarecrow in the field.” Dustin laughs, and Steve shushes him. “It’s not funny, man! There’s something wrong with me!”
“And you think…” Dustin trails off.
“It was a full moon last night, man. I don’t know, is that crazy?” Y/N can hear the frustration in Steve’s voice, and also a tinge of fear.
“With everything we’ve seen, definitely not crazy. Let me do some research. I’ll call you if I need you.” There’s some shuffling, and Robin and Y/N scramble up and back to Y/N’s room. They’re quiet as they hear Steve leave and don’t say a word until they hear his car start up and drive away.
“What the hell was that about?” Y/N whispers, eyes wide.
“I have no idea,” Robin says. The girls theorize, lycanthropy is briefly mentioned once but waved off as an impossible solution. The conversation falls to the back of their minds for the next month.
-
It was happening again. The urge. Steve scratches at the back of his neck. It’s only 8:00 PM, plenty of time until the moon reaches its peak. He figures he might as well beat the disease, or ailment, as Dustin calls it, and go for a walk in the woods. He was bound to end up there anyway. This month, he was prepared. He stashed two different changes of clothes on each end of town, so no matter where he ended up, he hopefully wouldn’t have to walk far to get clothed again. The weather was balmy, so he threw on an old t-shirt and sweatpants, clothes he wouldn’t mind shredding.
Dustin had helped him a lot over the last month, but they had both concluded that there was no cure for whatever this was. Steve shudders as he thinks about the fact that he’s going to be a…werewolf for the rest of his life. It’s an unpleasant thought. He’d probably never be able to get married, he thought to himself. The thought made him sad. Steve walks onto Cornwallis before taking a shortcut through Mirkwood, as the kids call it, and finds himself walking through the woods.
A stick cracks to his left, and his hearing, having much improved by the ailment, has him whipping his head towards the noise. He doesn’t see anything and keeps moving. He soon finds himself in the woods behind the Byers’ house and rounds a corner around a tree before slamming into a warm, soft body. A soft yelp arises from the body, and Steve realizes with panic that it’s Y/N.
“Oh, Steve, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Y/N says, taking a step back, camera in hand.
“What are you doing out in these woods, Y/N? It’s dangerous this time of night.”
“I think I can handle myself, thank you very little,” she huffs, “But if you must know, I was trying to take some photos for my senior project, about the small beauties in Hawkins. I guess I just lost track of time and have been enjoying the woods.”
“You should go home.” The urge is there again. She smells so good to him, warm and faintly like vanilla. Her scent is driving him crazy. The urge to claim her is strong. He shakes his head, trying to clear the scent from his nostrils, but it doesn’t work.
“Are you okay? You don’t look so good, Steve. You should go home. Let me walk with you.”
“NO!” It comes out sharper than he means it, but she doesn’t even flinch, just continues to approach him. She reaches her hand out to touch him, soothe him, and he grips her wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough to get his point across. Her eyes soften, not a single ounce of fear in them.
“Steve. What’s wrong?” He’s breathing heavily now, almost panting, and he feels it – the fangs that have elongated in his mouth.
No, too soon, too soon. This shouldn’t be happening yet.
He drops her hand and covers his mouth as he talks to her.
“Just some…personal stuff. You need to leave me here, Y/N.”
“Steve…you’re acting weird. Just tell me what’s going on! Maybe I can help!”
“No, you can’t. You can help me by leaving.”
“Steve…” He turns and starts to walk away from her. “STEVE!” He stops moving at the sheer authority in her voice.
“I…I know something’s wrong. Please, let me help you.” Her voice is soft, wounded. He sighs.
“Y/N. You can’t help me right now. And if you stay, I don’t know if I can control myself.”
“What do you mean?” A crinkle of leaves. “Steve?” Her hand on his shoulder is soft, and he whips around, panting.
“Please.” It’s a broken word falling from his lips.
“I’m not leaving you, Steve.” He knows he can’t get her to leave. Which leaves one option – warning her of what might come. He turns away, runs his hand through his hair, and starts to pace.
“When…when the demo-bats attacked me, they changed something about me. My genetics, or whatever. Last month, when the full moon came, I changed. Became a monster.”
“What, like a werewolf?” Y/N says, jokingly. She’s met with complete silence and a stare. “Oh, shit. Like, for real?” He just nods and rubs at his face with a hand.
“Well, that explains the fang situation you’ve got going on right now.” He stills. “It’s kind of sexy,” she adds.
“Do you have a death wish?” He says bluntly, staring at her. There’s mirth in her eyes as she just shrugs. “Because the longer you stand here, refusing to leave, the sweeter you smell to me. The more I want to take you in these leaves. That primal urge rising up inside of me to claim you.” Now it’s her turn to stare, a pink flush creeping up her cheeks. “If you stay, I won’t be able to control myself – the urges. I don’t want to hurt you.” He finishes with a whisper.
“And what if I want to stay?” She whispers, setting her camera down and taking a step closer to him.
“Y/N…you don’t know what you’re saying.” She takes another step closer to him, and he can’t bring himself to move away as they’re now chest to chest. Her breathing is just as erratic as his, a wild streak in her eyes as she peers up at him.
“I’m letting you make your move, Harrington. Or I guess I’m making my move.” He wars with his thoughts for a split second, and the next moment, his lips are on hers. She gasps into his mouth, and he takes that as an invitation to slip his tongue past his canine fangs and into her mouth. She meets him stroke for stroke, and his hands come up to grip her face. He takes his time, getting to know her soft body under his hands and her warm, wet mouth.
His mouth leaves hers, and he makes his way down her neck. She arches her head to the side to give him better access. He makes full advantage of the angle, sucking bruises into her soft skin, her hands tangled in his hair as she gasps at the sensation. Her nails dig into his scalp, and the slight sting grounds him. He pulls himself away from her neck to look into her eyes. Her pupils are blown, and he figures he probably looks the same. There’s blood in the corner of her mouth, and he realizes with a pang that he probably nicked her lips with his fangs. He murmurs a soft apology and wipes the offending blood off with his thumb.
He feels the shiver down his spine – the shift is soon. His body stiffens, and his fingers flex, his fingernails starting to lengthen into claws. The primal part of his brain is starting to take over – claim, claim, claim – it seems to chant. Her scent is everywhere, something he’ll never forget, and it’s mixed with something sweeter now, which he realizes is her arousal. She’s looking up at him with a grin.
“What?” He asks, brows furrowing.
“I just can’t believe this is finally happening.” He barks out a laugh. “I thought you’d never make a move on me. I’m kissing the Steve Harrington.”
“Oh, shut up,” he chuckles, fangs glinting in the moonlight.
“And I’m really digging the fang thing,” she says, lust written over her face as she regards what he believes to be an abomination. Her gaze turns pensive.
“What are you thinking in that pretty head of yours?”
“What would they feel like if you bit me?” She admits, quietly. He crowds around her, and she yanks him to the ground after her. Steve realizes that he would very much like to bite her.
“What if…what if that makes you…sick, too.” He says, hovering over her on the leaves.
“Oh, Steve, you’re not sick,” she says, hand coming up to cup his cheek. “You’re just different. And I like different.” She says with a wink. He chuckles.
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” And he kisses her again. Soon, she’s pulling at his t-shirt, and he sits up to remove it for her. As her hand runs up her chest and through the hair that’s there, he shudders. Her shirt follows shortly after, and the urges are stronger now. “I can’t fight it much longer. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, do your worst.” She says with a soft smile, and with that, Steve Harrington gives in.
He’s letting the urges take over, and he’s tonguing lazily down her throat and the bruises he left before his mouth closes around her right breast. He slowly works the nipple, alternating with circular tracing with his tongue and sucking. She seems to like it, arching into him, and when her thigh brushes against his boner, he moans around her nipple. The sensation has her crying out, and he switches to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. When he’s satisfied with the stiff peaks, he kisses his way down her body and slides her sweatpants and underwear off in one move. Ever the gentleman, even in his addled state, he tucks his discarded t-shirt underneath her.
She’s naked beneath him, and he’s never seen a more beautiful sight. His fingers flex, claws digging lightly into her thighs. His fingers trail down her body and between her legs. She’s so wet, and he collects some of her arousal before finding her clit and rubbing tight circles, mindful of the claws. He leans down to kiss her, and she’s panting into his mouth as he continues his ministrations. A minute later, and she’s crying out his name as she shudders and shakes underneath him. Her sounds please him and go straight to his cock, which is begging for attention. Every sensation she’s offering him is like bliss, and he sheds the rest of his clothes.
She pushes up on her elbows and takes him in, an eyebrow raised. She says something about him being big, but he doesn’t even register it; he’s just focused on the apex of her thighs, which is currently dripping onto his t-shirt. He hovers over her and slides his cock through her slit a couple of times, collecting the wetness there.
A garbled “fuck” leaves both their lips as he starts to push in. She’s so wet, and impossibly tight. His fingers find her clit, and he rubs it as he starts to slowly rut into her – short, shallow thrusts – as her body starts to adjust to him. A couple of thrusts later, her body unexpectedly welcomes him in, and he slides in all the way to the hilt suddenly. They both gasp, and her legs are shaking around him. He stills, relishing in the feeling. She feels so good around him – like she was made just for him. He gives a small experimental thrust, restrained.
“Let go,” she whispers, “I can take it.” He thrusts into her, harder, and she gasps and nods. He lets go and lets the primal part of his brain guide him, thrusting into her body. It feels so good, and his mind has narrowed down to the slick feeling of her body and how she squeezes his cock just right.
He leans back and places one of her calves on his shoulder, kissing it, as the angle deepens. He realizes he’s drooling around his fangs as his saliva drips onto her pussy. The squelching sound of his thrusts is obscene, and he brings one hand down to toy with her clit. A few moments, and a few angled thrusts later, and she’s clenching around him, hard, as she comes. He curses and lowers her calf back to the ground. He presses into her, caging her in, as his hands reach under her to grip her ass and angle her up into the air a little better. He can feel everything here, every twitch, every soft moan in his ear, her fingers digging into his shoulders, the sweat slicking between their bodies, her heels hitting the small of his back.
He’s so close, and she knows it. She whispers something in his ear.
“Huh?” He pants out.
“Bite me when you come inside me.” He groans at the invitation and ruts faster. Any second now, he’s going to come, and when she tightens around him, coming again, his release barrels through him, and he clamps down on her shoulder, hard. She cries out and writhes against him, but his grip is like a vice, and there’s nowhere for her to go. He spurts inside of her, and when his high wears off, only then does he unclamp his mouth and try to slip out of her, hissing.
The urges have dissipated for the time being, but they’re still there, in the back of his mind, abated for now. His fingers are normal again, but the fangs remain, and he can taste her blood on them. He runs his tongue over them, looking down at her, cleaning the rest of the blood off of them. Steve pushes back a little bit to get a good look at her.
“Are you okay?” He says, hurriedly, worried that it was too much for her. There are hickeys all over the left side of her neck, and four puncture wounds that are already bruising a pretty shade of purple.
“Never been better!” She croaks out, grinning at him. “But ah, I think you’re stuck inside of me.”
“Yeah, I – uh – sorry about that. Something about my anatomy changed when I turned. It’ll go down soon. I’m sorry if it’s uncomfortable.”
“Not uncomfortable at all, just a good stretch.” She says with a soft smile.
“Good, good.” Steve scratches the back of his neck. “So, uh, this is awkward now.”
“So how long have you had a crush on me?”
“And you just made it more awkward.”
“Steve! Come on!”
“I’m kidding, sweetheart.” He pauses. “Do you remember Mrs. Click’s class?”
“Of course. The same class you never noticed Robin in?”
“Ouch, but yeah.”
“Mrs. Click had a date wrong for one of the battles of the First World War on the board. You – you sat behind me. You asked me to fact-check you and see if your hunch that the year was different was correct. I had no idea, so I just agreed that you were right. And when you raised your hand, I felt the fear of God in me. But Mrs. Click realized her mistake once you said something and you whispered to me, ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence. ’” From that moment on, you were more than just Dustin Henderson’s older sister; you were Y/N. And I wanted you.” He shrugs a little after the confession, mildly embarrassed to be spilling his feelings to the girl he’s had a crush on forever. “And then Scoops happened, and because Dustin told me you were off limits, I tried and failed to get over you. I even crushed on Robin, trying to get over you, and that definitely didn’t work.” He says with a chuckle, and she laughs too. “So, what about you?”
“When I worked at the Snowball Dance, I saw you drop Dustin off, but you were too busy ogling Nancy to notice me.”
“Yikes. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I think we figured it out just fine in the end.” She says with a small smile, and he agrees.
Steve and Y/N stay tangled up in the leaves for the next ten minutes, talking softly, until Steve’s knot deflates and he’s able to pull out of her. Both hiss at the loss of sensation, and Steve helps Y/N get dressed before slipping into his own clothes.
“Do you know how to get to my house from here?” Steve asks when they’re both clothed. Steve winces at the sight of Y/N’s hickeys poking out of her t-shirt.
“Yeah, of course.”
“I’ve gotta…go do my thing. There’s a key under the frog-shaped pot on the back porch. My parents aren’t home. I’ll see you there tomorrow morning. Please stay the night.”
“Okay.”
“I just…I want to see you first thing when I wake up tomorrow.” She blushes at that and nods. “Now go, I don’t know how much longer I have. It’s quiet right now, but it will be back stronger.” She nods and gives him a chaste kiss before dashing off into the woods in the direction of his house. Steve realizes what they had just done, and his cheeks feel hot, and he second-guesses if any of it had really just happened or if he had imagined it, but his dick leaking into his underwear tells him that it really happened.
The rest of the night goes off without a hitch – or at least that’s what it seems like to Steve. He wakes up near the trailer park, conveniently just a few hundred feet from his set of stashed clothes. He dresses, bemoans the fact that he’s going to have to figure out this whole ‘shredding clothes’ thing, and makes his way back to his house. The house is quiet when he lets himself in, and he’s greeted by the sight of Y/N, sprawled out in his bed, snoring without abandon. He chuckles softly to himself and gently wakes her up. She’s confused at first and then remembers the events of last night and greets him with a kiss.
“Wanna take me home to get a change of clothes and a shower, and then we can go get something to eat?” She says, stretching her arms out and yawning.
“Of course, sweetheart.”
On the way over to the Henderson house, they chat about various things. Y/N asks if he eats out of dog bowls now, which Steve takes great offense to. They’re still bickering about various aspects of lycanthropy when the beamer rolls to a stop outside the house. Y/N lets herself in with a key and promptly drops it on the floor when they’re greeted by Dustin, sitting on the couch, looking pissed.
“Oh, shit.”
“Good morning, sister. You never came home last night. And I – holy shit.” Dustin’s eyes widen as he looks at Y/N’s neck and the puncture wound peeking out of her shirt. “DUDE. DID YOU WOLF OUT ON MY SISTER?” He screeches.
“I – uh.” Steve starts, but Dustin is shouting incoherently, and Y/N is cringing at her brother’s tirade.
“I CANNOT believe this. One month as a werewolf and you bite my sister?”
“Dustin! Calm down! It was consensual!”
“That’s even WORSE! I can’t stand you two! Ugh!” He storms off and slams his bedroom door.
“Well, that could’ve gone a lot worse,” Steve says with a shrug, and Y/N slaps him on the shoulder. “Did he say, ‘Did you wolf out on my sister?’” Steve asks, confused. Y/N chuckles.
“He’ll come around. Come on, you must be starving.”
“Nothing can appease my wolfish appetite. I must wolf some food down.” Steve says, grinning.
“You’re ridiculous. I can’t believe I have to endure wolf puns for the rest of my life now.” Steve’s heart skips a beat at her sentence.
a/n: little blurb because big dick!steve is REAL and CANON and IN OUR WORLD PEOPLE!!!!!
"it's too big, it's not gonna fit."
"steve hears that all the time, and he goes in anyway. don't you steve?"
and you nearly choke as the words tumble out of robin's mouth.
thinking of how she's right, and how he's trying to immediately divert the conversation. but as his eyes avert her gaze, his lands on you-and you can see him swallow-thickly, fingers enveloping the collar of his knitted sweater as he tugs gently.
you know his mind has already gone there, too.
how last night he had you pinned beneath him, forehead glistening with sweat as he pounded into you, his muscles flexing and veins threatening to burst from his biceps. how he had somehow crunched your knees to flex to your ears. how he had all of his body weight pressed into your contorted form, his chest flat against your lifted thighs, inevitably caging you beneath him. how he groaned on the verge of a growl-nearly animalistic every time he rightfully earned endless moans from you. how his chest hair tickled the inside of your knee as he kissed your ankles, still pressed into you before moving to your neck.
"steve," you breathe, strangled and raw, his name barely surviving your throat after all the moans he's pulled from you. you can swear you'll lose your voice from it.
you don't care.
he groans again, vibrating against your neck as his head burrows in the crook of it. "jesus fuckin' christ." he snarls, and his thrusts become erratic. "s'too big-" you try, your eyes glassy with tears of what you can only assume is ecstacy.
you wish there was a word stronger.
"nuh-uh, baby. s'all good. s'okay," he replies, somehow managing to ground you. hold you. despite his primal urge to fuck you-stretch you-he always snapped his attention back to you in a heartbeat.
"takin it so good," he slurs, pulling his face from your neck to look at you. he almost wishes he didn't, because he'll finish right now. cum right on the spot.
"so pretty," he manages, jaw slack, his thick hair toussled, yet somehow still holding most of its shape.
"my pretty baby. takin' my big cock for me, yeah? you like that, yeah?" he whimpers, brows furrowed at his feigned mockery of you, and it earns him an eye roll, gasping and panting.
sometimes, only sometimes does steve's suppressed cockiness rear its head, and it's always when he's balls deep in you, stil needing to hold your hips against his own to fit all of it. and you let him, because part of you wants him to talk that way.
you have steve harrington. you're his girlfriend.
and the thought of that alone makes your clit throb, aching and begging for some sort of friction.
the warmth nestled in the pit of your stomach starts to blossom, lips parting absentmindedly as you maintain your gaze, eyes locked on steve's.
he nods knowingly, and you can swear you see a smirk.
" i know you're close, honey. c'mon," his voice is ragged and deep, and as if reading your mind, his callused thumb flies to your clit-moving in circles with just the right amount of pressure. his cock stretches you in a way that you didn't even know was possible-you had only read things like this in books or seen it in movies, but you didn't think it was real. but steve harrington is splitting you in half.
for probably the millionth time, but you're positive your body will never fully accommodate to his size, and you're selfishly grateful for it. every time feels like the first time. steve has to pump his fingers in you, tongue brushing against yours while he works you open, cooing and murmuring against your lips about what he's going to do to you.
"gonna be nice'n pretty for me, yeah? gonna be so wet for me-can already feel it now." he'd say, and you swear you could cum by his words alone.
your breath starts to hitch, losing its rhythym-and that's all he needs.
"steve-" you manage once more, except this time it's a warning, and he knows it.
"that's it, baby. cum for me. c'mon, sweetheart. god, i love you." he's talking at a hundred miles an hour, and you know he's close too. he always lets you cum first, but you didn't want that.
not this time.
"cum in me." you breathe, eyes hazy.
"what?" he replies, and you can feel his cock twitch inside of you. "baby..are you..are you sure?" he asks, locking his attention on whatever you have to say.
"please. do it, steve."
you've never heard the noise that comes out of him.
he works feverishly, rushing down to your face to kiss you-teeth gnashing and swallowing one another's moans. your pussy starts to clench around him, milking him for what you need.
"please-" you beg, teary eyed and desperate.
"jesus, fuck-" he stammers, hips drilling into yours. you couldn't be closer if you tried.
and then you feel it.
the warmth of his cum spilling inside of you, drawing a sharp gasp from you. his cock is so big that eventually his cum has nowhere to go, and you feel it spilling out of you-but steve only pushes it back in, slow thrusts into you, his lips softly making out with your own.
"god.." he breathes, and you laugh softly.
"that good?" you tease, and he can only nod, the warmth of his laugh gracing your skin as he nods, resting his forehead against yours.
"always."
-;
and so you finally crack the smile you've been trying to hold, eyes still locked on each other as the rest of the squad continues dissecting and creating a plan.
"later?" he mouths, brows raised, and you nod silently, attempting to hide you grin.
"later."
Persephone Writes Sometimes @persephonewritessometimes - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
