(๑✪ᆺ✪๑)

♡♥︎♡feeling a little𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂♡♥︎♡

[rae-requiem]

.·:*¨ ✘♚✘ ¨*:·.︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵.·:*¨ ✘♚✘ ¨*:·.

.·:*¨ ✘♚✘ ¨*:·.︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵.·:*¨ ✘♚✘ ¨*:·.

HELLO LOVELIES~

˚ ༘♡ ·˚꒰ᥕᥱᥣᥴ᥆꧑ᥱ t᥆ ꧑ᥡ bᥣ᥆g꒱ ₊˚ˑ.

♥︎You can call me Rae♥︎

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ 18+ || female || Bi || INFP || ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉─┉┈◈◉◈┈

Masterlist

♡Gachiakuta jinki ideas♡

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉─┉┈◈◉◈─

(❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)"Let's eat cake together!!~♡" (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

[ct-rhom]

Masterlist: Updated 7.12.2026

Pretty Privilege Universe

Pretty Privilege

Impressive

Irish Goodbye

Baggage Claim

Sleep Aid

Someone for Everyone

Please?

Mind the Gap

Baby Talk

I've Got It

Pretty Privilege Drabbles

Lets Be Unsettling Together <3

Dex has a Staring Problem

You Stare Right Back

[ct-rhom]

Pretty Privilege

FBI!Benjamin Poindexter x female!reader

16k+ words

Please Read: This story contains stalking, self harm, discussions of mental illness involving both Dex and the Reader, a female reader, an age gap relationship (Dex is 34 and Reader is in her mid 20's), and consensual sex.

MDNI

Story takes place in 2018, please see the authors notes at the end for more background on the story.

Masterlist

+++

He had seen you around.

The first time was in the mail room, 8:30 on a Thursday night. Work had kept Dex late and he always checked his mail before going up to his apartment for the night. He remembers feeling frustrated that the day ran long, an unnecessary briefing he believed he shouldn’t have had to attend in the first place, so he was edgy by the time he arrived home. Dex stomped into the mail room and beelined to his box, but still took the time to notice you.

Standing in front of an open mail slot dressed in a soft, worn t-shirt that was wet at the neck because your freshly washed hair was leaching into the fabric. You had glanced at him for a brief second then went back to rifling through your own mail. Your face was shiny and smooth in the dim light of the room, recently moisturized. When Dex brushed past he caught a whiff of your body wash, something cool and reminded him of the color green.

He grabbed his mail and by the time he turned back around you were gone. 

A few weeks later when he got home after another late night, hands shaky as he slid open the door of his safe and snatched the tape player, he sat on his couch and looked out the window of his apartment. Deep breath in, hold, slow exhale. The soothing voice of Dr. Mercer played in his ears as Dex looked out into the courtyard of his apartment complex. It was early spring, the days were getting a little longer and people had their windows open letting in the fresh air. Down in the courtyard someone was sitting on the bench near the tree that was turning green again.

Dex was a few stories up but he already recognized you. Wet hair, dewy skin, baggy sweatpants and a pair of slides. An old, faded Polo Sport t-shirt with a marlin printed on the front. He wondered if you were cold as you sat on the wooden bench watching the squirrels run past. Out of instinct Dex grabbed his telescope and watched as you slowly sprinkled out the contents of a ziplock bag into the ground in front of you. Squirrels and birds gathered at your feet but you seemed unbothered, sitting still and quiet as they pecked around you. They came, then the went, and when they were gone you got up and headed towards the entrance to the mail room. 8:30 on the dot.

At 8:45 Dex is still looking out the window, his heart no longer racing in annoyance from his long day, and he catches movement in the corner of his eye. He looks up and sees into the window directly across the yard from his, and it’s you. Dropping your mail on the table in front of your couch, a brown tabby cat jumping up on the furniture to greet you, and you falling onto your sofa. 

A neighbor. A girl. A nonthreat.

Weeks go by and Dex almost forgets about you. A cold snap hits and you keep your curtains closed while Dex gets caught up in a major case at work. His team successfully pulls off a sting operation against the Albanian mob. There are raids and Dex picks off two men from a rooftop with his rifle making him feel antsy and giddy which was maybe why he agreed to go to the bar after work with a few of the guys. Another case closed, another criminal off the street. A routine and a purpose that kept Dex good.

11 PM on a Friday night and while his colleagues were just getting started Dex was itching to go home. The bar was getting more and more crowded, Ray had already left to go home to his wife and son, and Dex had no desire to have another drink. But still he stayed, keeping up with the self-assured cocky persona he had created for work. He smiled, he laughed at jokes, and he looked normal even though the nagging thought about how he should be home cleaning his pistol kept making his fingers feel itchy.

A quarter till midnight he finally decided to head out when his colleagues decided to switch bars. Dex stood against the sticky bar counter as the tender left to close out his tab. He was half heartedly paying attention to his surroundings, his head pounding from the loud talking and annoying music. A girl next to him was telling her friends how she found another friend’s fiance on Tinder.

“That’s terrible.” A soft voice murmured, sounding genuinely hurt in regard to the story. “How did she react?”

“What do you mean?” The original girl asked. The bartender had dropped Dex’s card and receipts in front of him. He slowly signed his name as he continued to listen. This was the most interesting conversation he had heard all night.

“Is Leah okay? How did she react when you told her? That’s heartbreaking.” The soft voice said. Dex finally glanced over and was shocked when he saw you. Neighbor. The girl across the yard. You had left your cozy clothes at home and instead wore a black cropped tank-top and baggy, ripped jeans. You had heavy boots on and a leather jacket draped over your right arm.  

Your friend scoffed and your face winced with hurt. “Why would I tell her? I am not getting involved with that. They’re supposed to get married in four months.”

“Because she’s our friend.” You said steadily. You swallowed harshly and tucked a stray hair behind your ear. “It would be wrong not to tell her, cheating is a horrible thing to do.”

“Babe,” Another girl said, standing across from you and placing a hand on your shoulder, “it’ll come to light, but it’s not our job to make that happen.” You shrugged off your friend's hand and clutched your jacket over your arm. 

“Yes it is our job!” You hissed. Dex could see the rise and fall of your chest, rapid and unsteady. Your knuckles were white with how hard you were ripping at the fabric of your jacket. “I’m telling her, she has the right to know.”

You turn around and you leave and your friend makes a half-hearted effort to stop you. Once you’re out of sight they scoff again and murmur something about how you were starting unnecessary drama. Dex stares straight ahead counting liquor bottles on the shelf, one for every second, then he leaves.

You’re already at the end of the street when he spots you but he knows which way you’re going. Your apartment complex was close, another reason why Dex agreed to go out. With each step, each slight movement to stay out of your line of sight, he reminds himself that he is just going home and you happen to live in the same building as him. There’s nothing wrong with what he is doing.

He almost avoids getting into the elevator with you, not wanting you to notice him quite yet, but you’re distracted by your phone which is already held to your ear. Dex can hear the line ringing, your baited breath as you pick at the skin of your nails. The elevator dings and you part ways. When he rounds the corner of the hall he sprints to his door, wanting to get in front of the window before you’re back at your apartment. 

He leaves his lights off so he remains unseen and looks through his telescope to see your cat lounging in the windowsill perk up when you open your front door. You’re talking, presumably to Leah, and you’re running your hands through your hair. The more he watches the more you look upset. You start to hyperventilate, you wince again, you pull the phone away from your ear abruptly and collapse onto the floor in front of your couch. Looks like Leah didn’t take the news well and blamed you for something that was never your fault.

And even though Dex had seen you around the apartment this was the first time he had really seen you. Noticed you. Paid attention in any meaningful way because as you tried to calm your breathing by stroking your cat's fur the voice of Dr. Mercer echoes in his brain. 

“Your North Star.”

All this time Dex had been following her words like the gospel. Years of rigid military service directly followed by Quantico which provided the job in the FBI. Structure, discipline, strict routine with occasional release that came from pulling the trigger had kept him sane. Every monotonous minute of every day had brought him to you, and you had been right in front of him for so long. Finally he was able to look up to you. His North Star. 

The moment at the bar intrigued him. You had the opportunity to look the other way but instead you decided to gamble all of your social credit knowing what it would cost you. Friendships put on the line just so you could do the right thing.

Dex Decided to cash in some long accrued PTO claiming he needed some time off from the last case. The department psychologist signed off on it saying some mental health days were in order because Dex’s job could be oh-so taxing, and Dex decided to get to know you a little better.

He wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t delighted at what he learned. 

You had a routine. Not just weekly habits or a schedule that you semi-adhered to no, a strict routine that you followed diligently. Dex wondered if your routine brought you that same peace it brought him, that every task that was lined up and completed throughout the day brought you relief. He watched with fascination and found ways to rework his own schedule so it could align with yours. 

Sundays were for errands. You woke up at 8 AM and spent ten minutes in bed petting your cat before getting up and washing your face, then applied serums, then brushed your teeth, then moisturized. You’d get dressed in silence and Dex would always turn away to give you privacy, then you’d inspect your small fridge and pantry and make a list. He found out that you liked lists and you especially liked when you could cross something off of one. When he tailed you in the grocery store he couldn’t help but notice how your lips would curve into a smile every time you stopped and placed an item in your basket and got to cross off the item in one swift line of ink. 

When you got home you would do laundry and paint your nails one of four colors that you kept on hand and watched a movie. Whatever you watched he would watch too. It seemed like you weren’t just a creature of habit with your routine but with what you consumed as well, whether it be music or food or media. You stuck to the same handful of meals every week. You watched a rotation of about fifteen movies. He found your Spotify and listened to all your favorite songs. 

At night you would read before getting ready for bed and it seemed like reading was the only part of your life you felt the need to branch out. You would read anything ranging from horror to non-fiction. Books littered your apartment as the tiny bookshelf in your living room was already stuffed full. He read what you read and he found himself enjoying it too. 

During the week you worked at an accounting firm in the operations department. You assisted with billing and worked out of a decent sized cubicle in a quiet part of the office. He observed you Monday through Friday, sitting alone at your quiet desk listening to the same music and podcast episodes that you enjoyed. 1 to 1:30 you had your lunch break where you sat outside your building on a bench and ate whatever leftovers from the night before you packed. You fed your crumbs to the birds, watching as they fluttered around you without flinching. You kept to yourself at work, friendly but you didn’t have anyone you were close with. You left at five every day and took the same train home. 

By 6 you were making dinner and Dex mirrored you. Ate when you ate with baited breath, smiling when he tasted what you tasted. Then you showered and so did he and while he didn’t change his body wash or shampoo to yours, he did buy the bottles and smelled the soapy contents of them while standing under the showerhead. By 8 you were dressed in your usual soft sweats and t-shirts and headed outside with a ziplock of birdfeed. Doves and chipmunks swarmed around you, occasionally you would place birdseed in your hands and sit unmoving as pigeons pecked at your fingers, and when it was all gone by 8:30 you would check your mail. Dex started checking his mail at that time too, the one time a day when you would share the same space and he found himself looking forward to it more than anything. 

The following week when Dex returned to work, refreshed and happy with a few new adjustments to his routine, he kept you in his thoughts and made time for you when he could. 

He sat in his car across the street during your lunch break. He tailed you to and from work telling himself that he was just making sure you were safe. He grocery shopped with you on Sundays and followed you to the bookstore every Friday night when you picked up whatever you’d be reading for the week. On Saturdays you went to the farmers market a few blocks down where you’d buy a new bouquet of flowers that you kept in the apartment all week. Dex would buy a duplicate of whatever bouquet you picked out and stared at them longly. 

Dex learned what you liked and disliked. You enjoyed the company of animals, something Dex found difficult at first considering his troubled past with small creatures as a kid. When he observed you feeding the birds he listened to the recording of himself as a child recounting how he killed a family of robins with skipping stones. When you sat on the floor of your apartment next to your cat, who he learned was named Penny, he recalled the time he kicked a stray dog nearly to death as a teen. 

This is good for me. He thought to himself as you pet an outdoor cat on your walk to the subway station one afternoon. You were kind to animals so therefore he should be too. You were good and to be good like you he needed to be kind to animals too. He bought a hanging birdfeeder over the weekend and installed it outside his window so while he watched you feeding the birds he could feed them too. Just like you.

You didn’t like leaving your apartment once you got home on weekdays. Errands and time out of the apartment were meant for weekends whether it be a trip to the store or the diner you went to for breakfast on Saturdays. Dex liked that you were a homebody. It meant you were more likely to be safe. 

You enjoyed quiet moments. Your lunch break on the bench. Time spent in your living room watching your cat take a nap. The book store. You kept to yourself and you liked when other people did too.

You liked being clean. You swept and dusted your apartment every other day which Dex could appreciate because he took care of his own apartment diligently. You liked showering. You liked laundry. You liked fresh smells like cucumber and pear and wheatgrass. Your perfume was Elizabeth Arden Green Tea and Dex kept a small bottle on his nightstand just so he could remind himself what you were like up close. The scent made something in his chest unravel.

He found himself smiling more. You had become something for him to look forward to. He was less snippy at work and found himself actually laughing at a few of the guys' jokes in the breakroom. Paperwork was no longer as trivial as it used to feel. Briefings and strategy meetings suddenly not as mind numbing. Dex often thought about what you were doing at that exact same moment, at work dressed in your pleated skirts that went past your knees and logging bills for tax clients while listening to a podcast.

Ray even picked up on the shift. While sitting in a van on a stakeout he asked if Dex had been seeing someone and all Dex could do was smirk and try not to make eye contact. 

“Kind of.” Dex allowed himself to say and Ray grinned. 

“Oh yeah? I’ve known you for almost five years and this is the first I’ve heard of something like this.”

That’s because I keep it that way.

“It’s new.” Dex replies as he watches their mark who is sitting outside at a restaurant and is a suspect in a high profile human trafficking operation. He’s dressed in an expensive suit and smiles at his wife who is wearing designer shoes, all bought from the blood of their unsuspecting victims. Dex pictured ripping the fork out of the man’s hand just before he went in for another bite and stabbing him in the eye with the utensil. His wife would scream but he’d shut her up by taking her champagne flute and throwing it into her windpipe. He’d kick the man’s chair out from underneath him and watch him tumble to the ground then end his life by slitting his throat with the steak knife. The man and his wife deserved it because their operation targeted young women like you.  

“Well whoever she is, must be good for you.” Ray said as he popped his gum and smiled over at Dex who had been ripped away from his own thoughts. Dex nods in agreement, cracking his own while he pictures the way your hair falls over your neck. 

“She keeps me sane.”

By the first week of May it seemed like spring was finally deciding to stick around in New York. The magnolia tree in the courtyard started to bud and you don’t look like you’re shivering anymore when you feed the birds. Dex has gotten to know you for weeks. Your routine folded and adapted into his.

However as the weeks went by he couldn’t help but notice how morose you seemed to be. Sadness clearly induced by loneliness as your friends hadn’t reached out to you since the fateful night. The few times you talked on the phone were with your parents every few weeks. When he was able to view your phone screen you were rarely texting anyone and you hadn’t posted on social media in over a year. Penny provided as much companionship as any cat could and it seemed to quell your despair, but more often than not you were going to bed exhausted with red rimmed eyes. You started leaving your bedroom window open since it had gotten warmer leaving Dex with an uninterrupted view into your most private space. 

It all came to a head on a Wednesday night.

You had just returned to your apartment, mail in hand and an empty ziplock in the pocket of your shorts. Through the telescope Dex could see how tired you looked. Work must’ve been difficult because you ate on your usual bench with your head hung low and that evening you barely paid Penny any mind when she rubbed against your shins when you got home. Even when feeding the birds you seemed uninterested, scattering seed at your feet aimlessly and not paying attention to the critters milling around you. Your constant state of almost bursting into tears tugged at something deep inside Dex’s chest that he tried to expel at the shooting range earlier in the afternoon. 

As you laid on your couch with the television off and only the surrounding hum of the neighborhood keeping you company your phone buzzed for the first time in almost a month. Dex watched as you shot up and grabbed at your device. Leah’s name was on caller ID and with shaky hands you answered her call. 

Years of sitting behind lenses, watching and waiting for the perfect time to pull the trigger, allowed Dex to be skilled at lip reading. While raking your hands through your hair you asked, “Hello?” and Dex imagined your soft spoken voice he had listened to a handful of times. 

You waited patiently as Leah spoke on the other end, biting at your lip as your breathing picked up. You tried to speak at one point but got interrupted causing Dex’s nostrils to flare in anger as Leah wouldn’t let you get a word in. After a minute he watched as your face crumpled and you let out a sharp gasp that cut through the silence of the courtyard and into Dex’s own open apartment window. 

The phone slipped from your hand and thumped against the couch cushion. Bottom lip wobbling as you harshly rubbed at your eyes and heaved for air. Penny, aware of your distress, nosed at your arm but you ignored her as you stood shakily and went to your kitchen.

In your half-present state you managed to bump the bookshelf near the doorway which shelved your special glass vase that you kept your weekly bouquet in. If Dex had been with you he would’ve caught it instinctually but by the time you turned your head it was already toppling to the floor. The shatter was loud enough to echo into the courtyard and you stood in its broken wake looking helpless. 

Penny was scared by the crash at first but then became curious as she watched you stand silently amidst the mess of broken glass. When she tried to walk to you to investigate you finally snapped out of your daze and shouted for her to not come any closer. The uncharacteristic volume of your voice startled her and she ran away into the bedroom and you winced in regret. 

Through his telescope Dex watched the first tear spill over your lashline as you knelt to the ground. Everything was finally boiling over. The loneliness, the phone call, the accident with the vase and to wrap everything together was the lash out against Penny who Dex figured was your only friend at this point. You struggled for air as you let out a choked sob and something white hot zipped down Dex’s spine and settled in his hips.

It was the first time he had witnessed you cry. All this time you had been keeping and repressing and ignoring the inevitable and it was all coming out in this one moment. Angry, betrayed tears spilled onto your face as your shoulder wracked with harsh cries. Dex’s own chest felt tight and his hands shook, he lowered the telescope and let out a few deep breaths in an attempt to steady himself. After a beat he raised his lens just in time to find you sweeping the glass and flowers into a dustpan all while still letting out pained sobs. 

Something was gnawing into Dex’s ribs as you held the dustpan over your trashcan, hesitant to throw everything away. You must’ve been attached to the vase, or maybe it was everything else that was making you wait. Foot on the lever that keeps the lid open, you hover and let tears drip onto glass shards and flower stems. With a shaky hand you reach out and pick up the largest of the broken pieces. 

Holding in tears your chest starts to heave again. Deep breaths in and out as it looked like you tried to calm yourself but then you started gripping the glass in your delicate hands and Dex watched as sharp edges pierced the skin of your fingers and palms. He gasped at the sight of you hurting yourself, his mind screaming as blood dripped into the open trash. Eventually the shard was crushed in your grip and smaller pieces of glass tumbled into the waste. You gasped for air again and more tears welled up in your eyes as the hurt and pain started to set in. You finished cleaning with an injured hand and cleaned your wounds in the kitchen sink after. It was difficult for Dex to see the total damage done but it was sure to scar.

While you were in the privacy of your own bathroom away from Dex’s prying eyes he laid on his comforter and processed what he just witnessed. His North Start intentionally hurting herself in a response to her own loneliness and maybe as an act of punishment. He wondered if this wasn’t the first time. You were good. So good. Too good. You got sad when you saw missing dog posters and always took a picture of the flyers in case you saw the pet somewhere. You assisted your elderly neighbor down the hall with her groceries and treated your cat with the most care Dex has anyone ever seen give to an animal. You sorted your trash and read the AP. You always did the right thing even if it meant losing everything. 

And yet you punished yourself for it. 

All you had was Penny at this point and as much as Dex had come to respect her, she wasn’t enough. You needed someone who you could talk to. You needed a companion. Someone who could understand the routine as much as you did someone who could keep you safe even from yourself. 

Dex could be that someone for you.

+++

You had never met a guy like Dex before. 

Before he was Dex he was “Mail Guy” because he was the attractive man who usually got his mail at the same time as you. 8:30, right after you finish your “outside evening time”, and he’d be there in the mail room standing in front of his box reading through whatever bills or coupons he had received. The first thing you noticed about him were his broad shoulders and the way his hair always looked neat and parted. He was a bright, small moment of your day that appeared during a dark and intense stretch of isolation. 

A guy like Mail Guy would never be into you anyways, or at least that is what you had always told yourself. Attractive guys, guys who were normal and didn’t carry a mental checklist around in their heads at all times, guys who didn’t feel guilty all the time.

You were the type of girl who was a little too quiet in an off-putting way rather than a cute, shy way. Blue Planet was your favorite television show. Animals were more comforting and loads more interesting than people. Books were your best friends until freshman year of college. At parties you were the first person to leave or, if your friends managed to convince you to stay, you would go so unnoticed that you’d start cleaning up while everyone danced. One time you managed to reorganize a frat house’s entire kitchen in an entire night, your greatest but also most pathetic accomplishment. In class on Monday you overheard one of the boys who lived in the house say that they were convinced a ghost had done it, unaware that the culprit had been in a group project with him a semester earlier. 

His comment made you realize that you were sort-of a ghost in a few ways. You had drifted through your life only occasionally noticed by others, free to roam as you pleased if you were quiet enough. Similar to a ghost you also tended to have the same haunts. 

The routine. 

The routine, the to-do list, the pattern. An entirely made up and self imposed procedure that you adhered to religiously, the first iteration of it dating back to sixth grade. The method had changed and evolved over the years, guiding you through high school then college til the present, post-college early twenties routine that allowed for the most freedom which is why you kept it so monotonous. The fear of falling off track or messing up so badly that you were in complete social and financial ruin plagued you so relentlessly you often found yourself clutching at your chest in an effort to sooth your racing heart as your mind replayed images of you homeless, or unemployed, or so terribly broke that you lost everything and had no one to turn to. 

So instead you lead a simple life filled with simple pleasures and kept your head down and your savings account full so you could enjoy the little things like getting breakfast every Saturday morning or caring for your cat Penny; the first love of your life. 

Your friends had never understood your anxieties and you envied their abilities to be careless. To them, your routine was limiting and annoying, something that got in the way of their abilities to be totally free. They never understood the importance of bed time, the joy that “outside evening time” brought you, or how you had to do your laundry on Sundays or else you would feel like a failure. 

“One night out won’t kill you.” Mary chided over text when you declined to go out on a Tuesday night. 

“A few years ago the Avengers fought an alien invasion in Manhattan. Maybe it will.” You responded, too tired to give any other explanation that they wouldn’t pay attention to. You liked your friends and sometimes it seemed like they liked you too, but they would not ever be able to understand you. No one would, and you knew that was your own fault. 

At night when you buried yourself in a book during your designated reading time in an attempt to stay off your phone you could still remember the way Leah screamed at you when you told her the truth. 

“Why the hell would you accuse him of something like that?” She spat, already crying because even though she was in denial, deep down she knew that you wouldn’t make something like this up.

“This is the truth Leah. Mary and Izzy just told me about it and they did not want to get involved which I would argue is worse.” You tugged fingers through your hair as you paced your living room and Penny started swatting at a stray thread in your jeans. “I’m not lying, Izzy said she found Jeremy on Tinder. I’m telling you because I don’t want you to be with a cheater. You don’t deserve that. You’re my friend.”

“Friends don’t make up lies! You just don’t want me to be happy. You’re jealous because I’m not miserable and single like you are so you’re going out of your way to make me just like you!” Leah was practically hissing and the loathing in her voice made your heart shatter. 

That’s what she thought of you?

You had known Leah since college. At one point you were roommates for almost two years before she met Jeremy and eventually moved in with him. You helped her send wedding invitations and next week you were supposed to go out to brunch. The sage green bridesmaid dress you saved up for was hanging in your closet in a dry cleaning bag and the matching heels were sitting untouched in their box. Leah was your friend who you watched Planet Earth with and was there when you adopted Penny. And now she was telling you that you were a miserable piece of shit trying to ruin her life. 

“I-” You stutter, tears threatening to fall but you hold it in because it would be too embarrassing to cry, “Leah how could you say something like that?”

“Next time we speak it better be an apology!” She shouted before hanging up so you couldn’t have the last word. You yanked the phone back from your ear at the shriek and let it set in that something terrible just happened.

Izzy and Mary texted you later that night after Leah called them and they berated you in long paragraphs and said that you always started unnecessary drama even though you had never started drama in your life. When you tried to defend yourself Mary told you to keep your head down and your nose out of everyone’s business which you found ironic because all you ever did was keep your head down your whole life. 

Three friendships down the drain in the span of four hours. Your already meager social life dwindled down to small interactions at work and the attention Penny gave you. Anxiety ate away at you for days as you clung to your routine that would never hurt you in an effort to stay alive.

So Mail Guy was kind of a blessing. For roughly 55 seconds every day except Sundays you could admire the side profile of your handsome neighbor who would wear things like tight fitting quarterzips that showed off his biceps. One time when he came into the mail room he was still dressed in work clothes and when he opened his box you saw a gun in a holster on his hip. It made you a little nervous but it also made him a little more attractive. 

Mail Guy was part of your routine, a welcome addition to your mental checklist that gave you satisfaction every time you could cross it off. 

The checklist is what kept you sane for all of your weeks of social quarantine. It was timed down to the minute. Perfectly planned so every thirty minutes would keep you occupied and just enough time to anticipate what was coming next. The routine kept your mind off of the clusterfuck that were your friendships and without it you probably would’ve hurt yourself a lot sooner than you did. 

But even the pattern couldn’t cover up the fact that you had barely had a meaningful conversation in over a month. You filled the void by talking to yourself and Penny but the lack of response was starting to drive you crazy. If Penny wasn’t in your life you often wondered if anyone would notice if you were alive or not. It would be easy to slip away if no one was looking for you. Work could easily fill your position and write you off as a no call no show. Your ex-friends would never know you were gone because they made it clear they didn’t want to talk to you anymore. It would probably be a few weeks before your parents realized you weren’t returning their calls. But Penny would notice. If you did kill yourself you’d probably do it in the soft comfort of your apartment where Penny would be. You wouldn’t be able to feed her so at some point she’d start eating you and even though most people find that sort of thing morbid you always thought it was nice. Good. Penny deserved to eat you. You’d hate for her to starve. That would be so sad. 

It would be worse if she got taken by animal control and would probably be put down after your body was finally discovered. You loved Penny more than anything so for her sake you stayed alive.

Then Leah called. 

“Jeremy and I talked it out.” She said firmly. “We are still getting married. He made a mistake and I have forgiven him.”

“Cheating isn’t just a mistake Leah.” You said softly, scared of provoking her as you recalled the way she screamed at you last time you spoke. 

“I have forgiven him.” Leah reiterates. “But neither of us feel comfortable having you at the wedding. You’re not allowed to come.”

“What?”

“It was a mutual decision between Jeremy and I. What you did caused me a lot of pain for the past few weeks and if you would go as far to do something like this now then I don’t know what you’d do at the wedding. You’re not allowed to come and that is final.” She hangs up the phone quietly this time and you are left speechless. 

It’s all your fault. You officially have no one and it was all your fault. You did this. Pushed everyone away. You made the mistake. It’s all on you. 

Your chest felt so tight and you realized you were hyperventilating so you attempted to get water but because you’re such a fuck up you broke your favorite vase. Then you embarrassed yourself by crying then you shouted at Penny who was just trying to check on you and that was worse than anything you did to Leah. You were a bad, bad person. Evil. Despicable. You deserved to be punished. The glass was almost silent as you crushed it in your hand and let it dig and break skin on your fingers. You deserved this. 

That night you went to bed with aching skin and Penny didn’t sleep by your side like normal. By morning she was laying on the foot of the bed and the hurt under your skin wasn’t as present. You changed your bandages and winced at the large cut that was on your palm. It was no longer bleeding but it was sure to scar. 

Work went by with no issue like it always did. You had what you dubbed “outdoor lunch time” and tried to soak up the sun. You always hated crying but you did feel a bit lighter. The calm after the storm. That evening you could only wash your hair with one hand because your fingers stung when you would bend them. Your hand ached from typing on the computer all day but it didn’t look like you were getting an infection. You pressed into the center of one of the wounds over the wrapping and felt the dull twinge. 

Then you went to feed the birds like you always did at 8 dressed in black sweats and an Umbro t-shirt. You headed down the stairs to your usual bench and had to stop yourself from gasping when you saw someone sitting next to your usual spot reading a book. 

Mail Guy.

He was wearing a soft crewneck and baggy pants while reading a copy of Jaws. He chewed on his bottom lip as he read and looked up at you slowly and then grinned politely. Turns out, Mail Guy had really nice teeth, but sort-of an intimidating smile that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You felt your hands start to sweat. 

“Evening.” He said coolly. “Do you mind if we share the bench?”

A tiny gust of wind could knock you over if it wanted to. 

“Sorry,” He cringes but it’s cute because he is unfairly good looking, “I noticed you out here a few times so I know this is your territory but I couldn’t stand being cooped up in my apartment on such a nice day.” He gestures around the small courtyard and you nod your head before trying to crack a smile of your own. 

“You noticed me?” You asked dumbly, chastising yourself mentally for already making such a terrible impression on Mail Guy. You assumed he probably thought you were weird. Feeding the birds and squirrels wasn’t the coolest hobby but “evening outdoor time” was one of your favorite parts of your day. You enjoyed the way the animals interacted with one another and how if you were still enough, sometimes a bird would land on your foot. 

“Yeah, once or twice.” He scooted further into the other side of the bench to give you room and you sat down in your usual spot. Already, pigeons were starting to flock around the two of you. “It’s sweet that you feed the birds.”

“Oh!” You blush and suddenly wish you were wearing anything but the ratty old shirt and pants you had on. Your hair was still wet and your bandage probably made you look like a freak. Mail Guy was just being nice so you wouldn’t feel bad, no way a guy like him thought someone like you was ‘sweet’. “Yeah I feed them every day. I really like animals.” You mumble as you throw your first bit of seed in a wide ark around you. Doves coo and flutter around you and you hear squirrels chatter in the magnolia behind the bench. 

“But this bench isn’t mine or anything,” You said as you recalled the way he said ‘your territory’ and wondered if any of your other neighbors had taken notice of your antics, “it’s a public space. I don’t mean to hoard it to myself or anything.” You look at him out of the corner of your eye and take note of the way the sunshine made the white-blond hairs on his temples glitter in the light. Mail Guy smiled again, his eyes crinkling at the edges. 

“I’ll try to be quiet so no one is disturbed.” He says before running a hand through his hair and settling into the corner of the bench.

There's a moment of silence as just the chatter of animals fills the air surrounding you and him. He goes back to reading and is sitting just as still as you are only occasionally moving to turn a page in his book. You try to keep the fresh bandages on your hands as clean as possible by brushing extra seed onto the hem of your sweats after every throw. A lady bug lands on a blade of grass by your feet and you watch it crawl lazily along the grass before a sparrow lands near it and it flies away. 

The bag dwindles down and soon you will go inside and get your mail before returning home but the fact that you’re sitting next to your silly apartment crush makes your heart go wild. The two of you are sitting close enough together that you can smell his cologne, something that reminded you of teakwood and made your stomach flutter. 

“Do you like it?” You hear yourself ask, voice low as to not disturb the wildlife. You try not to look at him, instead fixating on some of the tape of your wrapping already peeling off of your skin so you try to flatten it down. Mail Guy looks up from his paperback.

“The book?” He asks, holding up his copy. You nod, still fiddling with the tape and trying to ignore the weight of his stare. You think his eyes are hazel but you can’t quite tell yet. 

“Mmhmm.” The last bit of seed is scattered around the two of you and all the courtyard animals flock for one last frenzy. “I read it for the first time a few weeks ago.”

“Well what did you think?” He bookmarks his spot with a yellow post-it that still looks crisp. His movements were clean as he stuck it on his page then closed the book, each action seemingly very intentional. Mail Guy adjusted his posture so he was facing you directly, knee thrown up on to the bench casually but just enough room so he wasn’t touching you. You finally turned to face him, still ducking under his gaze and looking at his chin dimple rather than his eyes. 

“I enjoyed it, it was different than I thought it would be but I think that’s what made me like it more. I don’t wanna spoil anything for you though.” You say, a smile forming on your face the longer you speak as you recalled your experience from a few weeks ago.

“I’ve never seen the movie either.” Mail Guy admits, almost looking sheepish. He lowers his head so he can catch your gaze and you blink up at him surprised which makes him flash his sharp smile again. “But it’s good so far. I think I enjoy non-fiction more than fiction if I’m being honest, but it is keeping me entertained. The cheating plotline though…” He trails off and sucks his teeth, “Not my favorite.”

You nod politely even though the mention of ‘cheating’ makes your chest twinge at the thought of Leah and her soon-to-be husband. “You’ll probably enjoy the ending.” You say offhandedly and Mail Guy is still smiling. The tape on your hand is still peeling and it is 8:30, you should be leaving.

“Is your hand alright?” Mail Guy asks, pointing to your poor attempt at first aid that you’re fidgeting with before you can excuse yourself. 

“Oh!” You blush again and scramble for an explanation that doesn’t make you look crazy in front of your cute neighbor, “I stupidly broke a vase last night and underestimated how sharp the glass was when I was cleaning it up.” A half-truth that he seems to believe because he lets out a soft hum as he appraises your hand. 

“You know,” He says softly as he looks at the already fraying gauze on your fingers, “I’m first aid certified. I can take a look at your hand and bandage it a little more comfortably.”

The offer shocks you and for a second you think you might be dreaming. First Mail Guy admits to noticing you now this direct offer of help. “Is it that bad?” You ask shyly, holding up your injured hand weakly and cracking a self-depricating smile and he chuckles. 

“Let’s just say we can’t have our friends out here in the courtyard going hungry because of your injury.” You smile which makes him smile. 

You consider his offer for a second. On any other day you would’ve been in the stairwell walking back to your apartment so you could sit with Penny and read for the remainder of the evening and a part of your brain was already getting antsy because you were behind schedule. You hadn’t even gotten your mail yet due to this conversation. But the other half of you knew that if you accepted this offer you’d not only get to spend more time with the mysterious Mail Guy but because he’d be fixing your bandages he’d have to touch you. You hadn’t been touched in months.

“Only if I can check my mail really quick first.”

The elevator ride to his apartment was short and when you stepped out of the car you realized you were on your own floor. “This way.” He nodded, heading left when you would’ve gone right to your own unit. You don’t even know this guy's name nor does he know yours but you’re following him back to his apartment. He could be crazy, a psycho killer who was luring you to your demise but you didn’t even care because you were so intrigued at the possibility of feeling someone else’s skin on yours.

His unit was just like yours except it was sparser and exceptionally tidy. A loveseat in the livingroom, a perfectly aligned stack of newspapers on the edge of the kitchen counter, a small breakfast table with a chair on each side spaced evenly apart from the edge of the table. He pulled out one of the chairs for you and asked you to wait for a moment while he got everything in order. By the door you noticed one of the few framed pictures on his walls. A picture of him and a group of men in army fatigues taken somewhere in a desert. Mail Guy was on the edge of the group smiling a bit awkwardly while holding the largest gun you’ve ever seen. 

He returns to the table just after stopping in the kitchen to turn on his electric kettle then settles in the chair next to you. Mail Guy peels the tape and bandages off of your hand so tenderly you think you might melt into his hardwood floors. Once it is all removed he tuts softly, maneuvering your hand gently in his grasp as he inspects the wounds. A large slice into the palm of your dominant hand with four smaller ones on each of your fingers.

“Ouch.” He mumbles, his thumb tracing the edge of the largest cut. “Poor girl.” His voice is a low murmur and you almost don’t hear the last comment and try not to blush again. 

“Where’d you learn first aid?” You ask softly. You were standing over his kitchen sink with the kettle coming to a slow simmer behind you. Mail Guy is washing your hand for you and even though the soap causes your ache to return you don’t mind because his touch is so warm, contrasting the cold water lapping against your skin. 

“Oh! Uh,” He ponders his next sentence as he dabs your skin dry with a dish towel, “It was mandatory for my work. I’m an FBI agent. I do a decent amount of field work.” Mail Guy, or rather FBI Guy, mumbles and you raise your brows in surprise. No wonder he was so attentive. 

You’re back at his table and Mail Guy is prepping each item he plans on using. Unwrapping fresh gauze, pre-cutting ribbons of tape, opening a packet of antibiotic salve, and laying it out in a neat row in front of him. 

“This will sting a little.” There’s an alcohol wipe in his hand and he glances at you like he’s waiting for your permission before he begins his work. You stifle any reaction to the burn, staying perfectly still and hoping you’re a good patient as he works to disinfect each cut perfectly. “I’m Benjamin Poindexter by the way.” 

Finally a real name. You repeat it in your head and your first thought is that his last name is actually kind of dorky and it makes him a little less intimidating. 

“My friends call me Dex.” He adds just as he finishes disinfecting your hand. Suddenly his edge is back. Poindexter is a little silly but Dex is kind of intense and you think it suits him with his sharp smiles and orderly apartment. His hands reach out and grab one of the clean gauze squares with that same precision you noticed earlier and he narrows his eyes as he places it onto your palm. 

“No one calls you Ben?” You quiz, keeping your hand steady and your own eyes on his face. Soaking up all his attention as he wraps medical tape around your hand, each movement completely deliberate. First he admits to noticing you feeding the birds, then he makes an effort to pay enough attention to you to notice your injury, he takes it even further by offering to patch you up with the most tender care anyone has given you in a long time. You wonder if this guy was noticing you in the mailroom all this time. 

“You can call me anything you want.” Ben says, a sharp smile gracing his features once again, but this time it doesn’t make any part of you want to turn and run. 

After ten more minutes of careful and precise work you are left with a much more professional and comfortable dressing than you could’ve managed by yourself. The tape won’t peel and the smaller cuts on your fingers have their own individual gauze squares that Ben cut down to the perfect size. The tape is tight but not too tight and wrapped around your fingers in a way where you can still bend them comfortably. He leaves the table so you can admire his work by yourself while he fixes mugs of tea for the two of you and you can’t help but feel incredibly wooed. 

“I can redo it for you tomorrow if you want.” Ben says almost eagerly but you can tell he’s trying to hide it. You sip your tea, something herbal that reminds you of your favorite restaurant. His soft yet sure touch and willingness to help you is starting to become overwhelming and you wonder if you should’ve been eased into receiving small acts of service rather than all at once. “Just leave it unbandaged after you shower. I’ll meet you in the courtyard at the same time and after we can come back here.”

As you finish your tea and he cleans everything up you gaze out his window. His apartment has a clear view of your spot in the courtyard and it’s interesting to see it from a different angle. Your eyes flick up and just across the yard in the window parallel to his you see a familiar shape. It’s Penny, sitting in her usual spot on your living room windowsill watching a crow hop around on one of the branches of the magnolia. Maybe meeting Ben was fate. 

The next day he’s already waiting for you on the wooden bench, a copy of Jaws still in his hands but this time he’s almost all done. He tells you it’s the final showdown, Hooper has just been eaten and now Brody and Quint are determined to kill the shark. 

“I kind of like the shark.” Ben admits as he inspects your hand in his apartment that evening. “I guess I kind of like sharks in general but it’s a shame he’s being persecuted for what he’s best at. What else is a shark supposed to do?” You let out a laugh which makes him grin and for a second you think that Ben is kind of shark-like himself.

In hindsight you probably should’ve been more cautious when it came to letting a stranger patch you up daily. If one of your friends told you that they were going to an older neighbor's apartment once a day to allow them to perform first aid despite having minimal contact prior, you would’ve told them to be cautious and to go to a doctor. But you don’t have those friends anymore and medical bills are outrageous and besides, Ben isn’t a stranger, he's a Mail Guy. He’s your neighbor. More importantly, Ben is an FBI agent and you remind yourself that psycho-killers don’t work for the FBI because they probably have to go through screenings and training. At least that is what you tell yourself.

The thirty minutes a day in Ben’s apartment allow you to get to know him better. He’s tidy which you admire and appreciate. Ben has shockingly good aim and a good throwing arm because he’s always able to throw your old, balled up bandages in the trash can which is on the other side of the room closer to the kitchen in a single throw and never misses. The third time he does it you wonder if he’s trying to impress you, which he succeeded at, and you ask him if he ever tried to be a professional baseball player. 

“I did honestly consider it back in high school.” He says as he applies ointment to your cuts. Your hand has dramatically improved since Ben started working his certified first aid magic on it. You kind of want to heal a little slower just so you can spend more time with your neighbor. “But baseball can be boring. Also they kept pulling me halfway through the game because I’d strike everyone out the whole time. I never got to  pitch a perfect game.” He lamented, working the salve over each cut with undeniable precision. “There are other ways to have a good aim.”

Through quiet conversation and cups of tea you also learn that Ben has a routine of his own, and not the simple kind that most people have, a strict one that he says is timed down to the minute. “I know it’s kind of weird, most of my colleagues and friends growing up always told me to loosen up but it’s good for me. Keeps me in the right direction.” 

“Trust me,” You’re staring into your mug of tea, decaf because Ben said he doesn’t allow himself caffeine after four PM, in an effort to hide the flush on your face and neck, “I completely understand.”

After a week and close inspection of your hand Ben tells you it doesn’t need to be bandaged anymore and gives you a fresh tube of antibiotic ointment. For a second you’re disappointed, your new extra step in your routine had filled the deep dark hole of social isolation you had been suffering in. But then Ben shyly asked if you’d still like to join him for tea after you feed your friends and check the mail, admitting that he didn't have many people he knew in the city outside of work and had been enjoying your company. You agreed, and suddenly you and Ben made space for one another in your lives. 

Two weeks ago you thought that you’d be spending the rest of your life in almost total isolation and tried to come to terms with your new fate. Making friends had never been easy and with your college connections severed you felt hopeless. It had been so much harder to make friends as an adult and it was difficult for you to relate to many of your peers. The incident with the broken vase had been a lapse that was a long time coming, boiling under the surface the longer you had to ruminate in your self-loathing. For a minute it seemed pointless, you would remain a terribly sad girl who had issues with pain and punishment for the rest of your life. Then, suddenly, you had Mail Guy’s phone number and a promise from him that he would text if he was getting held up at work and couldn’t make your meet up. You had someone and it seemed like your someone needed you just as much as you needed him. 

Evening tea with Ben also became Sunday morning grocery shopping with one another and he always offered to carry your bags for you and push the cart. He tagged along to the farmers market with you and helped you pick out your weekly bouquet and met up with you at the bookstore on Fridays. Ben cooked you dinner once a week on Wednesdays because you mentioned they were your least favorite day of the week. You introduced him to Penny and he’d come over on weekends and watch nature documentaries with you and wouldn’t complain. Thirty minutes a day morphed into almost any moment you had when you weren’t asleep or at work. Your hand was fully healed and the hurt from your old friends was just a scar.

One summer night you’re curled up on Ben’s couch while he sits a little more properly next to you. You’re listening to an audiobook that is playing through the speaker system in Ben’s living room because he mentioned he liked listening to audiobooks during his morning runs. The two of you sit in silence as you listen to the narrator of Sharp Objects talk about the dead body of a teenage girl who was found in an alleyway with all her teeth ripped out. It was your choice, you liked fiction and Ben liked true crime so a murder mystery seemed like an appropriate choice that suited both your tastes and Ben appeared to be enthralled with the story so far. After each chapter he would pause his phone and you would discuss what you just listened to. 

But as the narrator drones on, your attention fades out of focus and you begin to appreciate the slope of Ben’s nose and the way he keeps his jaw clenched as he listens to something with full attention. He’s tapping his index finger on the rim of his white mug. Ben has very well manicured nails despite the rough calluses that you know are on his fingers. He shifts in his spot and your eyes flit back up to his face and hazel eyes are staring back at you and if it was anyone else you’d apologize for staring but instead you hold your gaze. 

Ben is so pretty it could almost make you jealous. He was blessed with even, symmetrical features and good bone structure with cute cheek and chin dimples to top it all off. His high cheekbones and chiseled jaw made him look more like a model than an FBI agent. Still, as you stared at one another while an audiobook echoed around you talking about a gruesome murder, you wondered if Ben’s good looks were the one blessing that Dex received in life. Pretty privilege was a lucky thing to acquire and despite Ben’s perfect features there was something about him that always looked a little haunted. After all, you did see his medicine cabinet the week prior. 

His bathroom is just as clean if not more pristine than the rest of his apartment. Ben admitted that he wiped it down after every use which was evident by the roll of paper towels under the sink and the squeegee hung up in the shower. You asked if you could steal some floss, Ben had made salmon for dinner and it was lovely but something was poking at your tongue. He said it was in the top left hand drawer of his vanity but you were feeling bold and Ben was your friend so when you peaked in his medicine cabinet you expected to find cologne and moisturizer, not a pharmacy. 

Several pill bottles stood in a neat line on the middle shelf of the cabinet, each of their labels faced proudly outward all labeled with his full name and with four refills noted on the bottom corner of the stickers. At first it shocked you, you closed the cabinet quietly and returned to the living room where Ben was sitting on his couch waiting for you to start the next episode of a documentary about the Cold War you were watching together. The rest of the night went on as normal and Ben even walked you back to your apartment afterwards leaving you with a warm feeling blooming through your chest. The second you closed the door you rushed to your laptop where you looked up each of the medications. 

Anti-depressants, anti-psycotics, and mood stabilizers. Sterile web articles illuminate your computer screen and you click link after link trying to figure out what all of these pills would be used in combination for. BPD and PTSD are among most of the results and an ugly, evil, unwanted thought rips through you. 

Ben was almost too perfect. He was attractive, your cat liked him, he enjoyed the same music that you did and even remembered you liked honey more than plain sugar in your tea. Ben understood the importance and sanctity of repetition and even made the time to alter his life so you could fit into his already curated schedule. Ben was perfect, so therefore the universe made sure he was not, all because you liked him. Of course the one, meaningful, companion you were finally able to hold space for would have such a giant issue. Ben’s routine was probably not something he found satisfaction in, it was probably a lifeline. The more you read about borderline personality disorder the more it scared you. 

Before clicking on another web article Penny jumps up next to you on your bed and nuzzles at your hand hovering over the trackpad. Her rough tongue scrapes over your palm and you wince a bit as the familiar ache and sting blooms over your skin. The night of the vase incident plays through your memory like a film and then your greatest, or rather worst, hits flick through your mind after.

The one guy you had any sort of fling with in college telling you that you’re not very fun to be around but you give decent blowjobs which is why he stuck around for so long. You had asked him if he wanted to get dinner at the dining hall after class and that was his way of cutting things off with you. That night you didn’t eat and laid in bed while digging your thumbnail so hard into the skin above your hipbone you managed to break skin. The time you messed up a project at work and had to redo it all resulting in a condescending email from your boss and the four parallel scars on your right shoulder. You were fifteen and your mom just yelled at you for getting a C on a biology exam so you use cuticle scissors to cut off one of your toenails.

You remember that you have issues too and you might be clinging on to your own lifeline more than Ben is. Ben is medicated at least, and if he’s medicated then he goes to therapy regularly and has a psychiatrist and you haven’t seen your GP in two years. The ugly thought fades and you appreciate Ben even more than you did before. It also helps that Ben is very pretty.

Ben has become less intimidating over the weeks that you’ve known and it’s less of you becoming used to how intense he can come across and more of him acting softer around you and only you. It’s evident that he likes you the same way you like him and knowing this information gives you great satisfaction. You’re not the type of girl that guys fawn over and yet Ben does. He speaks softly, he buys your favorite snacks when you have movie nights, he still checks your hand every now claiming he just wants to make sure it’s healing alright. It’s an obvious excuse to touch you and you happily pretend like you don’t notice. It’s fun to dance around one another because Ben is smart enough to pick up on your obvious reciprocated feelings. A brush of the knee feels electric and eye contact burns in the best way possible. The way Ben looks at you while sitting on the couch that night can only be described as vulnerable. 

The chapter of the book ends and you know you’ll have to ask him to replay it because none of the words had any sort of lasting effect in your memory. Ben presses pause on his phone without even looking at it, maybe because he can’t stand the idea of missing out on looking at you. For a guy who works for the FBI he’s not very brave when it comes to his feelings and you know he is too scared to make the first move. By no means are you renowned for being fearless but if Ben hadn’t been so obvious in his affection you wouldn’t have gotten the courage to reach your hand out and brush his cheek with your finger tips.

Ben shutters and leans into your touch so your light graze turns into you cradling his face in your hands. The scratch of stubble threatens to irritate your scar but you pay it no mind as Dex looks up at you with wet, almost puppy-like, hazel eyes. You lean in and he moves to fill the remainder of the gap and presses his lips to yours. It’s a soft kiss, sweet and almost chaste and it tastes like wintergreen toothpaste and your nose is filled with his teakwood cologne. You pull away and he rests his forehead against yours as one of his hands cards through your hair and the other wraps around your waist. 

It’s your first kiss in years and you wonder if it’s his too, not because it’s bad but because he pulls you in for a tight hug after and takes a deep inhale of your hair and the skin on your neck. You quickly realize that Ben’s nice arms are not just for show because he kind of manhandles you during your hug so you’re practically on his lap as he pulls you closer. His touch is greedy, like your first kiss opened the floodgates for all his yearning to spill out. Ben presses a kiss to your cheek and you have to stifle a whimper, unused to all this touch. It feels like you’re drowning but at the same time you welcome it with open arms because Mail Guy is smothering you with affection. It's almost like a dream. 

You kiss him again and this time he does moan into your mouth and an undeniable pang of attraction makes your stomach twist. Ben wants you, maybe even needs you with the way he’s kissing you, like he could die tomorrow and be perfectly happy. His callused hands rest firmly on your waist and back keeping you in place as you make out like teenagers on his couch and you don’t stop until Ben accidentally knocks his phone onto the floor and the steady voice of the narrator announces “Chapter Two” loudly into the living room. You jolt away from Ben and his eyes are wide and frantic until you start laughing as he scrambles to find his phone on the floor to shut off the audiobook. Once it’s quiet again he chuckles along with you, leaning his head into the crook of your neck once again. 

That night he walks you home and leaves you with a kiss on the lips and a warm hug goodbye. When you sit on the couch to give Penny some much needed affection you glance out your window to see Dex neatening up his apartment from across the yard. He notices you looking and waves with a shy smile. You blow him a kiss and you swear you can see his blush rise to the tips of his ears. 

The next night you tell Ben that you can’t handle a casual relationship, it’s all or nothing and you already knew he would understand. He also agrees that he wants the pace of the relationship to be whatever you want it to be which in this case is slow.

Dating Ben is easy because not much changes except you touch more. He’s awfully clingy in the best way, always wanting some form of contact even if it’s just linking fingers as you walk down the street or a knee resting against your thigh when laying on the couch. Sometimes when he gets home from work he gifts you with small trinkets that he said made him think of you. A very smooth stone he found while he was out on his run that morning, a foreign coin, a petal from a poppy that he kept safe in his suit pocket all day. 

He buys you birdseed refills and even helps you scatter it during your evening routine and helps you trim Penny’s nails without complaint. At night when you listen to audiobooks or watch television he’s often draped over you with his head resting over your stomach while his arms are wrapped around you. You comb your fingers through his hair and you swear he actually purrs. Penny has even started getting so used to him that often she’ll lay on his back during these moments.

The first time you spend the night together is at your apartment on a Friday night. When you met up at the book store after work he insisted on buying you whatever your selection for the week was and even bought you one of the cute bookmarks that sit next to the register made out of pressed flowers preserved in resin. You cooked him dinner, pasta and homemade pesto which is one of your favorite meals and he compliments you after every bite. He leaves to shower at his place and grab an extra change of clothes and comes back with damp hair that you think makes him look charming. You feed the birds as normal, sitting in his lap this time while he rests his chin on your shoulder, then check the mail like always and return to your apartment where you watch Blue Planet. 

That night is also the first time you slept with one another and you learn that he is shockingly submissive in bed but in the way a guard dog is submissive to their master. Ben thrives when he’s told what to do even if it’s just a simple direction like “kiss my neck” or “touch me here”. His special precision is perfect in these scenarios because on the first try he finds the pulse point on your shoulder that makes you moan as he leaves a purple, crescent shaped hickey while his thumb presses into your clit. He makes you come remarkably fast with just his touch and practically begs to go down on you after.

Your old friends had you convinced that guys who liked to eat pussy were rare but Ben must’ve been an outlier or they just had terrible taste in guys. He loved having his head in between your thighs, pressing your legs against the side of his head seemed to give him some sort of comfort and he made you come again with his tongue buried in your heat while you tugged at the short, blond strands of his hair. Coming down from your high he presses his face into your slit, taking in a deep inhale whimpering at your ripe scent.

“Fuck.” He says, voice gruff and low as he kisses the bend in your knee. “My perfect, lovely girl. All for me. All mine. Mine, mine, mine.” You realize Ben is not speaking necessarily to you but rather about you, his stream of consciousness slipping out of him in his pussy-drunk state. He crawls up your body and gives you a searing kiss where you taste yourself on his lips and you moan as he slips his cock into you in one slow thrust.

In truth you haven’t had much experience with guys and had only seen a handful of dicks but you have a feeling that Ben’s is larger than most. He certainly walks like there’s something sizable between his thighs and as he presses into you it feels like you’re being split open in the best way possible. You’re undeniably full as he reaches the hilt, his cock is practically in your brain because it’s all you can think about. 

“Jesus fuck.” You mumble, sweat forming at your brow as Ben lets you adjust to him. He presses his forehead against yours and his eyes are completely blown out. All traces of hazel gone as he stares at you in a way that would make anyone else run and cower. But you stay put because as he finally moves in shallow thrusts, you know that Ben is yours and yours alone.

He doesn’t last long but you don’t care as you were more than satisfied by the time he fucked you and the fact that he came so quickly from just your pussy alone is kind of hot. Beautiful and pretty Ben spills inside of you in just a couple of strokes and the sound he made when he finished was so sinful you made sure to commit it to memory. You shower him in kisses and praise as he shutters through his high and eventually he pulls out and carries you to the bathroom so you can clean up before bed. 

That night you fall into a dreamless sleep and are awakened by Penny kneading biscuits into your thigh over the blankets and Ben curled into your chest as you held him all night long. He buys you your bouquet at the farmers market and that night he paints your toenails in perfect strokes so he doesn't get any polish on your skin.

Summer carries on and so do you and Ben. He visits you on his lunch break as often as he can. He buys you books and nail polish and never complains if you want to watch a nature documentary for the fourth time in a row on movie nights. He buys Penny treats and gains her full approval, always greeting him at the door when he comes over and nuzzling at his legs when he sits on the couch. You run errands with him on weekends and stand in line with him at the pharmacy when he needs refills on his meds. You never ask him to explain why he needs them and you know he’s thankful for it. He tells you he made you his emergency contact at work and you do the same. On the nights that one of you sleeps over he fucks you however you want and you fall asleep tangled in each other’s embrace. 

“I very much enjoy our time with one another. You’re the best part of my day.” You know he’s trying to say that he loves you and you know it’s probably too early to admit feelings like that; but you welcome it and tell him you’re glad he’s in your life.

So when you wake up at three o’clock in the morning on a Monday, alone because you only do sleepovers with your boyfriend on weekends, and hear the floor shift in the darkest corner of your room you pretend like you didn’t hear a thing. You haven’t given Ben a spare key yet, you’ve thought about it in the case you’re not home and Penny needs to be checked on, but you haven’t made that next step yet. Instead you try to fall back asleep and pay no mind to the fact that you think you can hear someone else breathing and how Penny keeps staring at the corner of the room.

Ben doesn’t always eat lunch with you but you notice on the days he doesn’t there’s always an unmarked car parked across the street of your building. It’s far enough away that you can’t tell if anyone is in it or not, but it always arrives just before you go outside and leaves just after you go back in. 

He has a Walkman with an old pair of headphones tucked into his nightstand. The first time you saw it was when he was pulling out a condom and when he saw you notice it he shut the drawer quickly and kissed you so hard you almost forgot about it. A week later when he was in the shower and you were laying in his bed you brought it out, put on the headphones, and pressed play. You only listened to it for a minute, thinking you would find a mixtape not a therapy session. You regretted your snooping the second you heard Ben’s young voice, so clearly him with the quiet and measured tone of voice he’s always had. He talked about baseball and his resentment for his coach and then you stopped listening because it was much too personal. 

In his hall closet there’s a large safe that you’ve never seen him open but you know what’s probably inside. He’s never explicitly shown you his gun that he carries for work but it’s always in its holster on his dresser, sitting neatly next to his black belt he always wears for work. You wonder what else is in the safe. His social security card, cash, maybe even more tapes, but most definitely more guns. 

Soon it is early October and your friends in the courtyard are begging for food so they can prepare for winter. You sit on your bench curled into Ben’s side as he murmurs to you in a low voice about his day at work. They’ve been tracking an illegal arms dealer that has ties to one of the scientists that was involved in the Sokovia incident a few years ago. It all sounds very intense but he says they aren’t planning any busts soon, just tracking and monitoring.

“And if there was a field assignment I’d probably be halfway across town perched on a roof, far away from any of the action.” He assures, smirking a little as he pictures it which makes you shiver so he wraps his arm around you a little tighter because he assumes it’s the autumn air making you shake. Ben had told you his actual role in the FBI about a month ago. You had assumed he was just a regular investigator but turns out he had a more specialized position, sniper. It made sense and explained the picture of him and his military squad he had hung by his door, but you had to quickly come to the realization that Ben has definitely killed people and will probably kill more people because that was his job.

The same hands that had pulled the trigger countless times were the same ones that took the time to love and heal your wounded ones all those weeks ago. A trained killer bought you flowers every weekend. A murderer always thanked you every time you had sex with him. It was a little ironic but it was all Ben, and you loved Ben. 

The next day at work you were logging an expense report when your phone buzzed. You expected it to be Ben, who texted you about three times a day while he was at work. Usually a picture of an animal, a plant, or an interesting building he saw while he was out. If you were lucky there would be an occasional selfie, only half of his face while he took a picture of something behind him, and sometimes a picture of his coworker Ray who you had heard about.

Only it wasn’t Ben, it was Leah.

Hey. If you don’t want to talk I will understand, but if you do would you be willing to meet up? I would like to apologize to you in person.

For a second you had forgotten about Leah. The past few months had been filled with anything and everything Ben that the fallout with your friends felt like a distant memory. Last time you checked she had you blocked on everything but when you opened Instagram she was following you again. Half of her pictures had been deleted, including her engagement pictures, and there was no trace of a wedding. 

Yeah, we can meet up. Does this Friday work?

“I don’t like this.” Ben says that night after you show him the messages. Leah asked if she could take you out to dinner and you agreed on the one condition that you go out to your favorite restaurant. She agreed instantly and you mentally started to go through all the items in your closet trying to figure out the best thing to wear. Something that made you look nice but in a sort-of effortless way that made you look nonchalant about the whole situation even though it had your stomach in knots. 

Ben’s reaction doesn’t surprise you, the past few months you hadn’t exactly told him any of the good facets about Leah, the reason why you were friends in the first place, so his view was biased. It also wasn’t shocking that he was feeling a little protective.

“If you go out to dinner we won’t have time to go to the bookstore, or watch a movie together.” His voice was steady but the way he had his arms crossed while sitting on the foot of your bed indicated his frustration.

“I know, and that is annoying because I want to buy the next Earthsea book, but would you be willing to go with me on Saturday after the market?”

“Yes.” He agrees instantly, you knew he would and admittedly you were frustrated that your usual Friday night plans were straying from their usual course, but you also knew you had to do this. Despite the hurtful things Leah had said and done to you a few months prior she was willing to extend an olive branch so it was the right thing to do to meet her half-way. 

“And we will definitely still have time for a movie. We’re meeting at 6:30 and I want to be home by 8:30 at the latest.” You said as you rifled through your closet looking for a very specific plaid skirt. “Do you think you would be willing to feed the birds for me?”

“Only if you let me drop you off at the restaurant.” Ben said, his voice closer to you than you recalled. When you popped your head out of the recess of your closet you jumped as Ben was right next to you. Sometimes he moves so quietly he reminds you of an electric car.

Friday evening you walk twenty minutes downtown hand-in-hand with your boyfriend to the little conveyor belt sushi restaurant that has always been a favorite spot of yours when you have a little extra cash to spend. Ben compliments your outfit three times on the walk over. “My beautiful girl is so dressed up,” he murmurs, brushing hair out of your face as you wait outside the restaurant for Leah to arrive. You’re predictably five minutes early.

At 6:34 Leah rounds the corner and waives tentatively at you as she approaches. You smile and wave back trying to hide the fact that your stomach is twisting and you’ve had to wipe the sweat on your hands onto the fabric of your skirt three times since you arrived. Ben stands firmly next to you with an arm wrapped around your waist, face unreadable.

“Hey,” Leah says breathlessly, pushing her hair behind her ears and wrapping her jacket around her to protect herself from the autumn chill. “Thanks uh, for meeting me.” She glances at Ben nervously and then settles her attention back to you. “Is this your boyfriend?”

“Yes! Yeah um-” You motion to Ben who smiles tightly at her and sticks his hand out for her to shake. 

“Dex, I’m just dropping her off.” His voice is a little more measured than usual and this time Ben smiles with his teeth, shark like, and it makes Leah look a little on edge. A part of you kind of enjoys the fact she seems nervous around Ben, it’s like you have a Belgian Malinois by your side. 

Ben turns to you after he releases Leah’s hand and gives you a tight, warm hug and a kiss to your cheek and temple. “Text me when you’re wrapping up and I’ll walk you home.”

“I promise.” You respond, shy from all his PDA that Leah is witnessing. Ben smiles, warmer because this one is meant for you, and kisses you softly on your lips before leaving you with a final squeeze on your shoulder. Ben disappears into the crowd and when you turn back to Leah she looks a little dumbfounded. Is it because she found Ben intimidating, or was she just shocked you were able to find a boyfriend in the first place. You grab the door and hold it open for her, “After you,” You said softly and Leah smiles before heading inside. 

The first five minutes are awkward. The two of you sit next to one another at the bar and small, multicolored plates pass pay on the conveyor belt in front of you. A waitress takes your order, tea for you and Diet Coke for Leah, and you exchange pleasantries with one another while you wait on your beverages. Leah’s old engagement ring is noticeably gone from her ring finger. After you take your first bite of food Leah finally cuts to the chase. 

“Jeremy and I broke up two weeks before the wedding.” Leah’s pretty face is pale behind her foundation and she’s ripping her napkin into tiny shreds of paper. You chew and swallow as fast as you can, coughing as it goes down so you take a sip of water while Leah looks like she will be ill. 

“Oh?” Is all you manage to say. What exactly does someone say in a situation like this? An ‘I told you so’ would be warranted but also you felt like it was too cruel. “I’m sorry-”

Leah held up her hand in order to cut you off, laughing a little as she brushed shredded paper off her jeans. “Don’t be sorry, you’re the last person who should feel sorry about any of this.” She grabbed salmon nigiri off the belt and set it in front of her before unwrapping her chopsticks and breaking them in half. “I’m sorry. I said terrible things to you and cut you off when all you wanted to do was look out for me.”

The restaurant buzzes around the two of you as you eat in silence for a few minutes. Leah is staring intently at the bubbles in her Diet Coke and your gaze is drawn towards the windows. New York City is bustling outside despite the cool autumn air. People getting off of work, couples getting dinner, college kids preparing for a night out. In the hustle and bustle you think you catch a flash of a familiar navy baseball hat from across the street.

“He was cheating on me with Mary.”

“What?” Baseball hat be damned, you whipped your head back around so you were looking at Leah as tears pooled in her eyes. “Mary?” You ask, confused and suddenly angry.

“Yeah, it had been going on for a while. It’s why she wanted to keep his infidelity hidden so badly and why she got so upset with you when you told me. I think she was afraid of getting found out.”

Colorful plates keep passing by and your chopsticks are making your fingers feel sweaty. Izzy’s behavior was still unexplained but you chalked it up to her just being a bad friend who could apparently excuse cheating. 

That’s so evil. Ben had said when you explained the whole situation over tea only a few weeks into seeing one another. Cheating is immoral. I’d never do something like that. Loyal. Just like a dog.

“Obviously I knew he had been cheating but he swore it was a one time thing and that he’d never do it again.” Leah wipes fallen tears and pushes hair out of her face, trying to stay composed even though Calvin Harris is playing over the speakers in the restaurant and it all feels so ridiculous. “But apparently I’m an idiot and not only was he cheating with random girls he was also cheating on me with my maid of honor.” She laughs coldly and shoves a piece of sushi into her mouth as you try to process it all. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. And please don’t feel obligated to forgive me because you aren’t. I said terrible things to you, things no one should ever say, especially not to someone who was the only one looking out for me. I don’t know why I thought you betrayed me when in reality is was Jeremy and that fucking bitch.”

Your face feels flushed and you set your chopsticks down so you can wipe your hands on your skirt again. Something nasty is licking at your heart, making it bloom with anger and frustration and suddenly your hand starts to ache again. All that hurt and pain you thought you had left behind a few months ago comes crashing down as you remember how Mary and Izzy and of course, Leah, had lashed you with their words and left you for dead in the wake of their betrayal. They hurt you so bad you felt the need to hurt yourself. Their actions had left permanent scars and it was all for nothing.

Herbal tea wafts through the air and cuts through your anger like a hot knife. The waitress is serving the person next to you, an older gentleman who is already grabbing sashimi off of the belt. The cup clinks against the saucer and suddenly you’re sitting in Ben’s apartment and he’s inspecting the damage done to your hand while his electric kettle is simmering in the kitchen. Despite his rough hands he had handled you so carefully as he washed, disinfected, and rebandaged your hand every day for a week until you were healed. Then he served you herbal tea, just like the kind they served at your favorite restaurant.

You’re jealous because I’m not miserable and single like you are so you’re going out of your way to make me just like you!

Leah is reaching for a drink but you surge forward and wrap her in a tight hug. Yes, she caused you pain. She hurt you more than any friend ever had. But without that pain you wouldn’t have made the connection with Ben, and without Ben you would no longer be miserable and single. As much as Leah’s words had cut you it wasn’t like they were a complete lie. You were miserable. You had been living in a lonely existence, never truly seen or understood until you made your connection with Ben. 

“I forgive you.” You mumble, Leah hugs you back and laughs wetly before letting you go so she can finish drying her tears.

The next hour feels sort-of perfect. Leah gives you all the gritty details about how Jeremy’s mother cussed her out after cancelling the engagement and how she lost 3 grand on her deposit for the venue. She moved back in with her parents in Brooklyn but she did get a promotion at her job so she should be able to save up and move out soon. Mary and Jeremy were still seeing each other apparently but neither of you could stalk them on social media because you were blocked, and Izzy seemed to cut ties with everyone and hasn’t been seen since the summer.

“Jeremy can rot in hell.” You say, throwing back the shot of sake that Leah had ordered once the real tea had started to spill. She laughed, a little shocked at your statement because you weren’t the type to usually be that bold, but it’s what Ben would’ve said if he had been there.

Maybe you should’ve held your grudge towards Leah for a little longer, most people would’ve in a similar scenario but you couldn’t. For the past few months it seemed like Leah was experiencing the same type of isolation that you had gone through earlier in the year so you couldn't help but empathize with her. Jeremy and Mary had manipulated her and she seemed genuinely sorry for her actions. Evil guys could make even the most normal girls do crazy things, plus you weren’t really the type to hold a grudge against anyone unless it was yourself. 

By 8:20 you’re waiting for the check and despite insisting on paying for at least your share of food Leah says she’ll foot the bill. “It’s only fair, trust me.” She says as she hands the waitress her card.

“Well then I’ll get it next time.” You say with a smile and Leah grins because you just said ‘next time’. It’s nice knowing that you have a friend again, they came in rare supply.

“So, you gonna tell me about your boyfriend or do I have to wait?” Leah says as she signs the receipt. You smile, blushing as you recall how Ben had kissed you so sweetly before leaving earlier.

“I guess I can share some.” You say coyly. You’re loose and flushed from the alcohol and a little excited because this is the first time you get to gush about your boyfriend. “We’re actually neighbors, he lives in my building and noticed me feeding the animals. We started seeing each other a few months ago, just before spring.”

“Aw,” Leah says, resting her cheek in her hand. “He’s handsome, is he older? No judgement, obviously.” Her eyes widen and her laugh and shake your head in reassurance.

“It’s okay, and he is. He’s 34, but it’s kind of nice. He’s more settled in his life and has an important job. It’s nice having a boyfriend who values routine and stability. I think it’s really good for me.” You say fondly.

“What does he do for work?”

“He’s an FBI agent.”

Leah’s brows raise in surprise. “Oh! Yeah that is really important. I guess that kind of tracks he seems, um…” Her voice trails off and you can tell she’s trying to choose her next words carefully but you know what’s about to come next, “intense.” 

“He is. I like it.”

By 8:30 you’re out the door and it’s already nightfall in New York City. You hug Leah goodbye and wrap your coat around your waist as you watch her head towards the train station. You should’ve texted Ben twenty minutes ago so he could have enough time to walk over and pick you up so you could head home. Instead, you walk down the street for half a block. Normally, you would be in a rush, paranoid even. Anything can happen in the city at night, especially to a young woman like you; but there’s no need to feel scared. Nothing is going to happen to you. The street is empty and you look around at the vacant buildings surrounding you.

“Ben,” You say in a steady tone. Nothing happens, the street is still empty but you stay put. “Ben, I know you’re there.” Still, nothing. It’s getting chillier and you tuck your hands into your pockets. “Dex, come out.” You command. 

The name felt foreign on your tongue. You never called him Dex, always feeling like the name was a little too harsh for you even though that’s what everyone else called him, including himself. It seemed to get his attention though, because after you said it he finally revealed himself as he came out of the shadows of the alleyway across the street. He crosses over to you, walking steadily even though his eyes are wild and red-rimmed. Wet and illuminated in the harsh streetlight that makes the lines of his face look more intimidating. You don’t startle and stand your ground. Ben stops in front of you, further away than he usually would be and despite his broad stature he looks like a scared little boy.

You stare at one another, his lip wobbles, your cheeks grow hotter from the alcohol and nerves that are signaling that you should be running but you’re not. You stay put, so does he, always waiting for your command.

“I’m not mad at you.” But you should be. You should be freaked out and changing your locks and blocking his number.

“You’re not?” Ben blinks rapidly as he tries to hide his tears, his fear that should rightfully be yours even though it’s not.

“I’m not.” You take a step forward and Ben flinches but you ignore it. “I could never be mad at you.” You say softly. Ben looks down at you and bites his lip and furrows his brows.

“But you should be.” He mumbles. You shrug and nod. What’s the point in being mad? You’ve known for a long time that Ben has issues even though he never explicitly said anything about it. You never talked about your problems either but you know that Ben knew the real reason behind your scars. 

You reach up and place your hand on Ben’s cheek and he nuzzles into it immediately. Scruff against scar tissue that makes you shiver. Reaching out you grab his jacket and he immediately pulls you close into a hug. You’re engulfed by his lovely cologne and feel as he kisses along your hairline. You stand on your tiptoes so you can reach the shell of his ear.

“I love you.” You whisper. Ben moans into the curve of your neck, holding you tighter as you comb your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I love you too.” He whispers back, kissing you behind your ear then your jaw then he places a tentative kiss onto your lips as you hold onto the collar of his jacket. When you pull away he rests his forehead on yours and smiles. 

“Take me home?” You ask sweetly.

“Of course.” Ben replies, grabbing your hand and placing a warm kiss on your knuckles. You cling to his side and Ben wraps a warm arm around your shoulders, keeping you close.

+++

Authors Notes:

About a month ago I rewatched season 3 of Daredevil. The only other time I've seen it was back in 2018 a week after it premiered and I remember being blown away by it. What I remembered most was Dex, who upon rewatch is still so captivating and not only because he is played by a handsome guy but also because the way he's teetering on edge and so easily manipulated into a monster, directly contrasting Matt, is so deeply entertaining. I know Born Again season 2 just wrapped and Dex finally got to continue his story almost 10 years later, but I'm unsure if I will watch it. At least not for a while. I think the strongest iteration of Dex's character is the way he was portrayed in season 3. There's something extra special about the way he is so haunted throughout those 13 episodes that really makes him a standout character.

I do want to continue this story but probably just in smaller one-shots capturing more mundane, intimidate moments between this reader and Dex. I'd like to think that this story and anything related to it that I may make in the future is set in an ideal world where Dex is never manipulated by Fisk and Fisk dies in prison where he belongs so both Dex and Matt can know peace :).

If you like the story feel free to comment, I'd love feedback. Thank you for reading!

[aquaticmercy]

more freak 4 freak with Dex please 🙏

Dex Keeps Coming To Your Rescue

WC 1.5k

TW reader (she/her) is batshit insane, knowingly drinking from a spiked drink, mentioned attempted assault (not by Dex), gun threat, kidnapping, violence, blood, murder implied, self-endangerment, obsessive/protective behaviour. (Let me Know if I missed anything)

Dex called you a disaster magnet, which was honestly adorable.

Like, aw. Your boyfriend thought disasters just naturally occurred around you. Your murderous assassin boyfriend thought the universe kept looking at you, his sweet little girlfriend, and going, yes, that one. Let’s put her in Situations.

And to be fair, from the outside, the evidence was damning.

You had been roofied, you’d had a gun pointed to your head, and you had been kidnapped at least twice.

At a certain point, any normal boyfriend would start asking questions. Any normal boyfriend would be like, “Hey, babe, why do you keep ending up in extremely specific danger scenarios that allow me to arrive at the perfect moment and feel morally useful?”

But Dex was not a normal boyfriend. Which meant he looked at the absolute pile of red flags that was your personal safety record and went, my girl :( she is so unlucky :( I must protect her forever :(

And you were like, yes, correct, no further questions.

Because the thing was, you knew that Dex loved saving you.

He would never admit it like that. Obviously. If you said, “Hey, do you enjoy when I get almost murdered because it gives you a chance to feel like a good person?” he would probably start chewing through drywall and die of asbestos poisoning before saying yes.

And of course he didn’t enjoy seeing you in danger. Dex would tear the city apart brick by brick if it meant keeping you safe. Dex even treated a paper cut on your finger like it was a personal failure to protect you. Dex once nearly lost his mind because you burned your tongue on soup.

But after he saved you? Oh, that man was glowing.

He was happy, but not happy in a normal way. He wasn’t exactly smiling and fist-bumping himself because he did a good deed. Dex wasn’t emotionally stable enough for such a mild reaction 

He would look destroyed, doing that heart-eyes thing he did. He got to be the man who came for you. He got to be the man who carried you home. He got to be the man who tucked you into bed and cuddled beside you until sunrise, checking your breathing like your lungs expanding were his responsibility.

So yeah. Dex’s enrichment activity was rescuing his girlfriend. And you, being a generous partner, provided enrichment frequently.

The roofie incident was probably your worst offence.

Not morally. Morally, there were a lot of contenders. But logistically, that one was insane even for you.

Dex had told you not to go to that bar alone.

Which, obviously, meant you went to that bar alone.

You wore something cute but not too cute. Something damsel-in-distress-coded. Something that said, oh no, I’m lost and pretty and perhaps too trusting for this cruel world.

Meanwhile your internal monologue was just: okay, where are the worst men in this room?

You found one in thirteen seconds. You sat next to him and he bought you a drink.

You knew he spiked the drink even before the glass even touched your hand. You saw the stupid man put a tablet in and the drink slightly changed colours. Amateur.

Still, you drank it enough to make it convincing.

You didn’t drink  the whole thing, obviously. You were insane, not auditioning for a true crime podcast episode.

Eventually the drug kicked in enough that the lights blurred, and your body got warm and floaty. When he put his hand on your back and murmured, “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you some air,” you could wobble like a tragic Victorian widow and let him guide you outside.

Dex found you in the alley.

One second the man’s hand was on your arm, trying to reach under your skirt, the next it was not, and there was the noise of a sack of meat being introduced to brick with enthusiasm.

Then Dex was in front of you, hands on your face, eyes wild.

“Baby. Hey. Look at me. Did you drink anything he gave you?”

You blinked up at him innocently. “I don’t know.”

It was a fucking lie.

Dex believed you immediately. His face just… fell.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed.

Sweetheart. 

You almost laughed. You did not, because again, craft, and you gotta commit to the bit, you know?

Then you apparently passed out, which was not ideal, but when you woke up you were in Dex’s lap on the couch with three blankets over you.

So honestly, it was a net positive.

He had blood on his jaw. His knuckles were wrapped. His eyes were red like he had been awake for hours, so you could assume the guy was dead and he got rid of the body. The second you stirred, he looked down at you like you were a miracle.

“There you are,” he whispered.

Fuck. You loved him so much.

“Dex?”

His whole body dropped with relief. “Yeah. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

See, this was the problem.

How were you supposed to stop when he said things like that?

The gun incident was worse because you were fully conscious that time, trying to piss off dudes with guns.

Which, in your defense, Dex had been sad lately. This would give him something to smile about. 

So when some guy with a not-so-concealed-carry gun outside a corner store called you something gross, you smiled.

You turned around and said, “Is that supposed to scare me?”

After a bit more back-and-forth argument, his hand went under his jacket.

And then, very suddenly, there was a gun pressed to your head.

Oops.

Still, the man did not even get to finish his threat.

A knife lodged itself to his wrist, the gun dropped, and Dex sank another knife to his neck.

Then Dex was on you.

“Are you insane?” he snapped, hands grabbing your face, your shoulders, looking you over like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss you or bubble-wrap you.

“What’s wrong with you?” he demanded.

You blinked up at him. “He was rude.”

Dex’s eye twitched a little. Then, he pulled you into his chest and held you so tight you could barely breathe.

“My stupid girl,” he muttered into your hair, shaking. “My stupid, stupid girl.”

There he is!!! Cuddly, wrecked, I-almost-lost-you Dex.

You tucked your face into his shirt and smiled.

Worth it.

Then there were the kidnappings.

The first kidnapping was very cinematic. You were in a van, cuffed in zip ties. Because you told Task force agents you knew where Bullseye was and then proceeded to start ragebaiting them.

It was so clichè.

The agent kept saying things like, “You’re leverage.”

You know better.  You were bait.

Dex caught up before they even got out of the block. You heard the crash first, then shouting, then the van doors being sliced open like Dex was a horror movie monster specifically for guys who underestimated you.

Afterward, he cut the ties off your wrists with such care you nearly felt guilty.

“You’re okay,” he kept saying. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You leaned into his chest and sniffled a little.

The second kidnapping was when he started keeping supplies in the car. A little my-girlfriend-is-in-trouble supply.

The box consisted of: Water, your favourite pack of sweets, blanket, hoodies, specific scissors for zip ties, and a first aid kit.

You opened the trunk of the car and saw them arranged neatly and genuinely had to stare for a second because that was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done.

He made you a kidnapping kit.

You, his disaster magnet. His girlfriend who kept getting abducted because apparently New York had a quota and you were employee of the month.

Dex caught you looking and said, almost shy, “I can get you a spare change of clothes, too.”

You wanted to bite him. You wanted to marry him. You wanted to get kidnapped again immediately just to honour his preparation.

And Dex never suspected.

He never once looked at you and thought, hey, maybe my girlfriend has weaponised her own helplessness because she likes seeing me feel redeemable.

No, he just kissed your forehead, pulled you closer, and whispered, “You have to be more careful.”

And you, professional liar, would nod solemnly. “I know.”

“You can’t trust everyone.”

“I know.”

“You can’t keep ending up in places like that.”

“I know.”

In reality, you knew the opposite. You knew exactly which places to end up in.

Because honestly, Dex needed this.

Dex needed someone to save. Dex needed to feel good about himself. 

And you needed Dex to be happy; that was your higher purpose.

Was it healthy?

No.

Was it romantic?

A little.

Was it good for Dex?

…probably not?

But did he look adorable afterward, curled around you in bed, nose pressed into your hair, whispering, “I’ll always find you,” like he had just earned another little gold star on his soul?

Yes.

So really, who was the villain here?

Not you. For all you were concerned, you were just a girl providing enrichment for her boyfriend 

A girl who had been roofied, picked a fight with a man with a gun, gotten kidnapped twice, and still had Dex looking at her like, my poor baby, the world keeps happening to you.

So tomorrow, you were probably going to take a shortcut through the dodgiest alley in New York. For the sake of love, obviously. 

—

[hart269]

Headcanons for Matt x teen!vigilante reader

A/N : An ask by @hutaos-gh0st, hope this is good. Also my first headcanon, so this is not that good, I'll admit.

Masterlist

• Let's say you two met at a random night while you were patrolling crossing paths.

• You were trying to find information about someone and being all sneaky and he suddenly came up behind you.

• "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm the devil of Hell's Kitchen"

"And I'm Jesus"

• After talking a bit you figure out you were both going after the same person, so you kind of teamed up.

• He figures out you are a kid by the heartbeat thing and is instantly protective big bro mode on.

• "Aren't your parents worried"

"You think i'd be doing this if i had them"

• Which ofcourse leads to more questions because he was worried.

• "So who do you live with"

"Oh yeah, let me tell a stranger everything what do you want next my social security number"

• After a few more encounters, Matt figured out you didn't actually have a place to live, you sort of stayed around.

• "I mean i can barely pay my school fees, where do you think i'll get the money for rent"

• So he offered you to come live with him, which you took after some hesitancy and a NDA contract signed between you two.

• You learning he's blind and being shellshocked also a little fan moment.

• "Dude, that's so cool, so how does it work"

• Going on patrol together

• Meeting foggy and karen

• You and foggy becoming besties talking about stupid shit Matt does.

• Karen is the person you'll go to when you have any trouble.

• Giving life advice to each other

• Being scolded by Claire but also being patched up after.

• Matt also having to pull you away from dangerous stuff despite your protests.

• also you having to pull him away from stupid stuff.

• Running into frank castle and boy that was a awkward moment, seeing the tension between him and matt.

• Overall a weird combination but it works.

• Also imagine teaming up with spiderman and annoying Matt with all the vines and slangs.

[vo1d-bunny]

Blood Is Thicker Than Water Masterlist

“Oh, good. That’s good,” you look around the room before returning your eyes to Fisk. He’s still kneeling in front of you looking entirely too soft for a known crime lord, “so, uh…now that we know my mom wasn’t lying, I’m going to go home, I guess?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

You blink in confusion, “...are you holding me hostage right now?”

“Of course not, but I can’t let you leave.”

“Cool, so by definition, that is holding me hostage,” your eyes dart towards the door, calculating your probability of successfully running out of this building.

Platonic yandere Wilson Fisk & daughter! reader. This fic will also eventually feature romantic yandere Matt Murdock (and maybe also yandere Frank or Dex).

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

[aquaticmercy]

Your supersoldier! Reader accidentally pushing Dex off the bed in her sleep mayhaps?

You Accidentally Push Dex Off The Bed 

WC 1.6k

TW just fluff!!!! Dex in slight emotional distress, super soldier!reader

Totally works as a one shot but in my head this reader is the same reader from No Absolution and Snap Out of It!

Dex knew you loved him.

Most of the time.

He knew it when you curled into him at night, when you cozied up to his side of the bed, when you mumbled his name into his chest half-asleep like it was the safest word your brain knew. He knew it when you complained about his cold feet and still hooked your ankle over his. He knew it when you kissed his shoulder, first thing in the morning, without opening your eyes.

But he also knew that you were cranky about sleep sometimes. Especially when you had just come home from back-to-back missions with that flat look that meant the world had taken a cheese grater to your patience. There was blood on your sleeve that wasn’t yours and a bruise blooming under your collarbone that you refused to let him look at.

He had simply followed you around in silence as you barely made it through the shower. Barely made it through brushing your teeth. Barely made it into bed before collapsing face-first into the pillow. “If anyone wakes me up, I’m gonna bite.”

Dex, who had killed people for less threatening statements, took it very seriously.

Then your hand came out from under the blanket and patted the mattress impatiently, as if to say why aren’t you here yet? 

Dex got in so fast it was almost embarrassing.

You had made a sleepy sound as soon as the mattress dipped, but then you reached back, found his wrist, and dragged his arm over your waist. Not tenderly or romantically. You just put him where you wanted him, tucked his hand under yours, and immediately went limp again.

And everything was fine.

It was fine until 4 a.m., when you clearly started dreaming.

It wasn’t a nightmare. Dex knew what those looked like, and this was not that.

This was just you, half-dead and dreaming nonsense, making the most annoyed, crankiest little sound as you began to migrate away from him like a crab.

At first, Dex let you.

He was reasonable, at least as reasonable as he could be. You shifted an inch, maybe two, and he simply adjusted his hand on your waist. It was no big deal as his palm smoothed over your stomach, his chest following your back, his body staying pressed close behind yours because that was where he belonged.

Then you moved again, a little more this time.

Your shoulder slipped away from his chest. You dragged your hip out from under his hand. Your body started retreating across the mattress like you had somewhere better to be at four in the morning.

Dex frowned, now half awake and irritated by your subconscious, apparently trying to escape his loving grip. 

His arm tightened, restraining you a little in his big arms. It was a pathetic, clingy, half-conscious little no as he tried to pull you back against him.

You made a tiny displeased noise and inched away in deep sleep.

Then, because he was stupid and in love and apparently incapable of learning from warning signs, he tried again. He slid closer, tucked his face near the back of your neck, and gathered you into him with all the commitment of a man trying to keep his favourite person from drifting off the edge of the world.

Unfortunately, you were a supersoldier.

And you had apparently decided that whoever was touching you in your dreams didn't deserve to. 

You let out the cutest little groan.

Dex had half a second to think, Oh, that’s sweet.

Then your elbow drove back into his ribs.

He grunted, more surprised than hurt, his arm loosening just enough for you to wriggle farther away. 

“No,” he mumbled, and reached for you again.

Bad choice.

Your knee came up next, shoving into his thigh with enough force to move him several inches across the mattress. Dex blinked into the dark, confused and heartbroken, but still clinging to the very stupid belief that he could fix this by cuddling harder.

So he tightened his arm around your waist one last time.

You huffed, then you kicked. It was an exhausted, dream-fight little shove of your leg and shoulder and elbow all at once, pushing Dex off the bed completely. 

He landed on the floor with a thud.

You rolled halfway into the warm space he had left behind, made one satisfied little sleepy noise, and went right back to dreaming.

Dex stared at the ceiling.

The floor was cold against his spine, but that barely registered. He had been thrown through worse things than a bedroom. He had landed harder on concrete. He had been kicked, stabbed, shot at, operated on, broken open, put back together.

This was not the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

Unfortunately, his heart didn’t know that.

His heart, because it was stupid and badly trained and had become humiliatingly dependent on you, reacted like you had opened one eye, looked directly at him, and said, You specifically. Leave.

Dex swallowed.

You were asleep. He knew you were asleep. Logically, he knew your unconscious body had simply decided it needed more room. You had been exhausted. You hadn’t meant anything by it. You probably had no idea he was on the floor.

But when had his love ever followed logic? 

Maybe this was better. You had the bed. You had space. He was close enough to hear if your breathing changed. He was close enough to know if someone came through the door. Far enough not to crowd you. Far enough not to be too much.

Maybe being close enough to you on the floor was all he ever deserved. 

Twenty minutes passed.

Dex reviewed the last twelve hours with clinical precision. Had he done something wrong? Had he been too quiet at when you got home? Too intense when he watched you shower? Had you noticed him checking the locks twice when you were changing into your pyjamas? Three times? Had he kissed you too much? Not enough? Had you finally gotten tired of being loved by him?

Then you shifted again.

Dex turned his head before he could stop himself.

Your hand slid across the mattress, searching blindly.

Pat.

Pat, pat.

You paused as your fingers curled around empty sheet. You frowned in your sleep.

“Dex,” you mumbled.

He tried to answer, but nothing came out.

You slapped the mattress harder this time. “Dex.”

“I’m here,” he managed, but it was too quiet. 

You looked down at him on the floor with absolutely no comprehension. You did a sleepy, annoyed squint. “Huh?”

Dex stared up at you. You blinked.

Your voice was thick with exhaustion. “Why the fuck’re you down there?”

He tried to answer, but couldn’t. Because what was he supposed to say?

Because you pushed me away and I thought maybe that was what you wanted. Because I didn’t think I deserved to climb back in unless you asked.

You stared at him for another second, barely conscious.

Then you made an offended sound and flopped your arm over the side of the bed toward him. “Come back.”

Dex didn’t move, still trying to wrap his mind around the last hour. 

You wiggled your fingers, impatient and clumsy. “Dex.”

“I thought you didn’t love me any—”

“Dex….” You hadn’t even heard the full absurd thought. You had simply rejected it on instinct.

“I thought you wanted space,” he said quietly.

You blinked at him again, slowly, like he had just tried to explain taxes to a houseplant.

“What?”

“You pushed me.”

You processed that with the solemn difficulty of someone receiving bad news underwater.

Then you frowned. “I’was rude.”

You reached farther down until your fingers brushed his shoulder. The touch was weak, uncoordinated, barely a touch at all, but when Dex still didn’t move, you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and tugged, enough to make your point.

“Bed,” you mumbled.

Dex got back up slowly, as if he was afraid the mattress might reject him, too.

You watched him climb back into bed with the exhausted disgust of someone witnessing a grown man almost emotionally perish over a sleeping accident.

The second he was close enough, you grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down.

His arm slid around you again, like he had been granted temporary access to holy ground. You immediately grabbed his wrist and dragged it tighter around your waist, tucking his hand against the bottom of your shin like you were putting him back where he belonged.

“Too early,” you muttered.

Dex pressed his face into the back of your neck. “You mad at me?” he asked quietly.

You groaned, still mostly asleep. “I’m mad at being awake.”

“That’s all?”

You rolled over in his arms with dramatic effort and squinted at him through one barely open eye. You looked murderous. Beautiful. Half-dead. Still the love of his life, though.

You half-stared at him for another second, then relaxed when you realised he had spiralled over something stupid and couldn’t help himself.

“Baby,” you mumbled. You shoved your face into his chest, cranky and affectionate, and hooked your leg over his hip. “C’mere.”

His arms tightened around you, relieved to the point of humiliation. You made a content little sound against him, already drifting off, one hand curled loosely at the back of his neck.

“There,” you whispered. “See? Still love you. Freak.”

Dex closed his eyes, breathing a content sigh with a slight smile.

His heart was still doing pathetic and painful flips under his ribs, but your body was tucked back into his, your breath against his skin, your hand holding him there even in sleep.

Dex pressed his mouth to your hair, held you a little tighter, and eventually drifted off, too.

—

[s4ngel]

fbi!dex is controlling in the way he is sobbing violently and pulling you back while on his knees and trembling like a cold and wet cat and u have no choice but to come back

[dexdiaries]

inviting dex to a party with you and getting drunk around him. at first he's annoyed, wondering why you'd inebriate yourself when you're with him. he watches you carefully as you hang out with your friends and act silly.

he begins to like it more when you start stumbling into him and using him as support, snuggling up into him when you inevitably get sleepy. he likes knowing you depend on him when you aren't sober.

soon he's holding your hand and smiling as you stumble to his car beside him, barely able to keep your balance and hugging yourself to his bicep as he practically drags you along.

he starts to drive you home until he hears your breathing slow and glances over to you absolutely passed out. he can't take you home and leave you alone in your apartment like this, can he?

of course not, so he changes course to his apartment. he carries you inside, and gently places you on his bed before stepping out to grab you a glass of water and aspirin. when back, he realizes it can't be comfortable to sleep in the clothes you wore. he gently takes your shoes off, tugging your jeans down and pulling your shirt carefully over your head. he then dons one of his own comfortable shirts over you. you stir and whine which makes his heart soar and his dick twitch, but he simply just tucks you into his bed and kisses your forehead before he leaves to get himself ready for bed.

he's a gentleman, of course, so he only sits atop his bed with you there and watches over you. eventually he's resting his head back and drifting off, too.

when you wake up you feel strong arms caging you in.

[barbecuewithoney]

This is what I mean when I picture Dex with the reader in my fanfic...

Little drawing made by me (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

I'm so naughty, HAHAHA

[barbecuewithoney]

Till death do us part – Chapter Five.

Summary: After believing you have abandoned him, Dex breaks down and falls under Fisk's influence. Trapped in a church, you forge an uneasy alliance with Karen Page to escape and help take down Fisk. But when Fisk's new "Daredevil" attacks the Bulletin, the chaos forces an unexpected reunion in an alleyway, where you must accept that things, from now on, will never be the same.

Dex x disturbed Fem!reader! Stalker.

Warnings: 18+! Strong language. Dex takes center stage in this chapter (or so I think). Lots of angst (sorry). Use of weapons. Blood. A whole lot of awkwardness. Are Dex and the reader even a thing yet, romantically speaking? Who knows. Weird ending. Words: 11.1 k Note: Hiii! I know it's literally been a month now, and I'm so sorry for taking so long to upload this chapter (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠). I had an exam to get into a vocational training program, and I totally bombed it. So I've spent this whole month working to save up so I can get into a private one instead. I'll have more free time this month (July), so I'm hoping to upload more chapters. Thank you for all the comments you've been leaving on the previous chapters; I love you all so, so much, and thank you for loving this fic. Mwah (⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠)

Here the previous chapter!

From Dex's perspective, things were different inside his head. He had returned to his apartment after the disastrous "dinner" with Julie. He was shattered, the sound of flies buzzing in his skull incessantly, along with a cascade of stray words from every person he had ever known.

(Let go of me, Dex!..I would do anything for you...You're alone...)

He shut his eyes tightly, trying to silence the voices that were consuming him from the inside. He reached for his phone in his pocket, searching for your contact.

He needed you.

That was how he started calling you. On the first attempt, he frowned. Why weren't you answering? What were you doing?

Oh.

What if you were with another man? What if he had frightened you and you had run away? What if you never wanted to see him again, just like Julie? Were you angry with him?

He was growing increasingly agitated. He was on the third call and you still weren't answering. Until, all of a sudden, you hung up.

Well, technically it wasn't you, but for him, from his perspective, you had hung up on him without a word. It was one more reason to know that, indeed, you didn't want to see him. Had he done something wrong?

His breathing grew worse, rapid, panting in disbelief. He threw the phone to the floor, without much force. And he looked back at his apartment, no longer able to hear anything around him. He could only hear voices, telling him the worst things about himself. That he was horrible, that he was alone, that he was nothing to the world.

Finally, in an act of pure rage, he screamed and punched the wall, leaving a faint crack in the plaster. He was a little startled, but not by the pain—rather, by the mess he was making. His knuckles were damaged, smeared with blood, and he tried to wipe it off on his white shirt.

It only made things worse.

His white shirt became stained with blood with every wipe, making him even more agitated. In the end, he unbuttoned his shirt with frantic speed, revealing his bare torso, and went straight to the sink, trying to scrub the stain out with water, but it was impossible; the blood wouldn't come out.

"Shit... shit..." he murmured, terrified.

He stopped trying. What was the point? He couldn't go back now. He felt his heart racing a mile a minute, clenching his fists as his head spun and spun. With force, he grabbed two plates and hurled them against the wall, smashing them with ease.

Then he threw another object, which landed with a dull thud on the floor. He began throwing everything he could see: knives, forks, a frying pan... He even punched a mirror in the living room, shattering it and seeing himself in a thousand broken pieces on the floor.

He grabbed one of the kitchen knives and, with all his might, hurled it at the wall. What he hadn't expected was that it would strike the photograph hanging there. That photo of him and Julie at the "Brooklyn Suicide Prevention Center." Only, the knife had pierced directly through Julie's face, as if it were some kind of omen. He was so overwhelmed that he frantically searched through his belongings for his therapist's cassette tapes, putting the headphones over his ears as he listened, trying to calm himself down.

He collapsed onto the floor, his back against the sofa, staring at nothing as he tried to find some peace.

"Good to see you, Dex. How was your week?" his therapist's voice spoke.

"I'm scared, doctor..."

"Scared? What are you scared of?"

Your eyes slowly opened, the ceiling coming into focus through a blur. The first thing you noticed was a smell, something like wax. A candle was burning somewhere in the room, but what truly made you realize it was that you were not in your apartment. You were not on the street, nor on your kitchen floor, and to top it off, you had nothing in your hands.

When you shifted slightly, you hissed at the pain that shot through your body. Everything hurt: your ribs, your nose (which now had a fresh bandage on it), your cheek, and most of all, your arm. It was bandaged from the shoulder down to the middle of your forearm. But still, you were alive. For now.

You looked around. The ceiling was made of stone, with dark wooden beams crossing overhead. There were windows with semi-colored glass panes. You were lying on an old mattress, a rough, greenish blanket covering your legs. Slowly, your hand went to your wound, and you noticed the clothes you were wearing were not the same ones you'd had on last night. Someone had undressed you and tended to you, putting you in at least an old t-shirt, while your pants remained the same, and you had no shoes. This meant someone knew where you were, or at least, that they had found you. You didn't remember much about the night before.

Your bare feet touched the floor, and a shiver ran down your spine. You didn't trust anyone, least of all the person who had saved you, especially after what had happened. You braced yourself against the wall and started walking slowly toward an orange light that glowed from a nearby room. The closer you got, the more sounds you could hear, until you stopped.

There was someone with their back to you, a hunched figure in a veil, murmuring something under her breath while arranging glass bottles on a table. It was a nun. Did that mean you were in a church? Just what you needed. You couldn't see her face, only her back and her wrinkled hands moving. She didn't look like a threat, but you weren't going to take any chances. You carefully surveyed the room until your eyes landed on a glass bottle on the table. With great care, you started to approach, closing your fingers around the bottle and moving closer to the nun. Your hand began to rise, calculating the aim needed to strike her on the head, holding your breath.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she warned.

The nun's voice hit you like a punch. She didn't turn around. She didn't even flinch. She just kept arranging her bottles as if nothing had happened, as if you hadn't just been about to attack her from behind.

"Sit down. You're in no shape to be standing, look at you... you're still trembling," she added, her voice sharp.

You lowered the bottle, staring at her with furrowed brows, unable to believe it. You had so many questions to ask, but the words wouldn't leave your mouth.

The nun turned around, studying you with a neutral expression. She wasn't scared. She took the bottle from your hand and set it down on the table with a soft thud. "Sit down," she repeated, pointing with her chin to a chair. "I'm not going to hurt you. But if you try something like that again, I swear I'll put you out on the street."

When she turned her back, you looked her up and down. Indeed, she was just an ordinary nun. You opened your mouth for a few seconds, on the verge of complaining, but in the end, you gave in, sitting in the chair. You looked like a scolded child after a mother's telling-off.

"Where am I?" you asked, clearing your throat a little.

"Clinton Church." The nun set the bottles down on the table. "And in case you're wondering, yes, you're safe. According to him, for now."

"Him?" you asked, bewildered. "Who is 'him'?"

She fell silent for a moment. "Him," she finally added, as if unwilling to give you too much information.

You slowly opened your mouth, confused. "And that's it?" you said, unable to believe it. After that, she didn't say much, just paced around the room, moving things about.

"How long have I been unconscious?"

"A few hours. It's still the middle of the night." She handed you a glass of water. "Drink. You lost a lot of blood from your arm."

You accepted the glass, murmuring a thank you before drinking slowly.

Suddenly, you blurted out, "And my phone? Was it with me when he brought me?"

She shook her head.

"You didn't have it on you. Just the clothes."

Shit. Your phone had been left in your apartment, on the bed, where you'd thrown it just before attacking the thug. Where Dex had called you.

«Not now...» you remembered murmuring before tossing it away.

And then, the second call. The one the intruder had rejected. Dex had called you twice, maybe more, who knows. And you hadn't answered.

A knot formed in your throat. You had no idea what he must be thinking. You didn't know if he had left you a message. You didn't know if he was okay, if he was worried, if he believed you had abandoned him like Julie, like everyone else.

You needed a phone. You needed to talk to him. But right now, you were trapped in a church, with a nun staring at you as if you were a wounded animal, cut off from the outside world.

"Do you have a phone?" you asked, your voice more urgent than you intended.

She watched you for a few seconds. Then, without a word, she shook her head.

"No. And even if I did, I wouldn't give it to you. You need to rest."

"I don't need rest... I need to talk to someone."

"What you need is to stay put in that chair," she shot back, crossing her arms. "The man who brought you here risked his life to save you. I'm not going to let you throw his effort away because you can't sit still."

You pressed your lips together, somewhat frustrated. But you didn't have the strength to argue. You just bit the inside of your cheek, shaking your head slowly. "Unbelievable..." you murmured.

The nun glanced aside, expressionless. She hadn't heard your mutterings or complaints, but she began to hear the sound of boots, drawing closer and closer to the room.

The same figure from last night appeared, dressed in the same suit with his eyes covered.

"I'll leave you with your visitor," she said dryly, and slowly walked out of the room.

You looked at the figure, narrowing your eyes slightly at him. You got to your feet, slowly, not looking away. The pain in your arm was a constant reminder of how close you had come to dying. And a reminder that this man, whoever he was, had saved you. But he had also stopped you when you were about to finish off the intruder. And that still burned inside you.

"Are you here to lecture me again?" you asked, with bitterness. "Because I'm not in a good mood."

He opened his mouth, emotionless. "I'm glad to see you too. Good morning." He remained standing, a few meters away from you, without invading your space. "I've been to your apartment."

You froze. Your heart lurched.

"And?"

"Let's just say... it seems someone cleaned everything up. The bodies were gone, no traces of blood... not even the broken things. Everything was clean," he added.

"And who would do that?" you asked, frowning.

"What do you think?"

You frowned again. You didn't understand anything, and you had no suspicions, not even about Dex, at least. He, on the other hand, sighed, sounding tired.

"Fisk. It was him," he explained.

"And my phone?" you added. "Was it there?"

He shook his head. "No, unfortunately not. I suspect someone took it, probably one of his people."

Damn. That meant you couldn't contact Dex, at least for now. You couldn't tell him you were alive, that you had no intention of abandoning him, and that no matter what, you were going to find him. And he, meanwhile, was going out of his mind.

"I... I don't understand, why... Why is he after me, then?" You raised your eyes to the masked man. "We've never met face to face. And I haven't done anything, literally. This is ridiculous."

The stranger was silent for a few seconds. Then, in a softer voice, he replied. "I don't think it's a matter of knowing him for him to want to kill you. He does what he wants to people who have never even seen his face. It's possible you did something with someone who matters too much to him. Fisk doesn't tolerate any of his pawns slipping out of his control."

You stared at him for several seconds, still not fully grasping the situation. You hadn't done anything wrong.

"So... I'm asking you, please, to stay here. At least until I can find a solution so that you're out of danger," he added.

"Who do you think you are to tell me what to do?" You shook your head, looking at him.

"It's for your own good. Believe me, if you run out of here, you'll be dead before sunrise... There will be people who want to kill you, or worse." He took a soft step toward you. "Please, I need you to stay," he added.

You narrowed your eyes slightly. In the end, he was right. If you left, you could end up dead, dumped, or wiped off the map. And you wouldn't like that at all. You sighed softly, nodding without looking at him. "Fine... fine... I'll stay," you murmured.

"Thank you..." he said with sincerity. And without another word, he began to walk away, or rather, to move away from you, heading toward another part of the church. You slumped back onto the mattress, staring at the beamed ceiling, pensive.

What was Dex doing right now? You hoped he was okay, and not eating himself alive...

As bad luck would have it, Dex had been paranoid all through the previous night. He didn't sleep well. In fact, he woke up very early, breaking his routine this time. The only way to know if you were still there or not was to go back to your apartment. So he climbed up the fire escape, and the first thing he noticed was that the window was completely open. He entered slowly, surveying the living room with caution.

There was no trace of you.

He wandered through every room, and you were nowhere. Your bed was made, and checking your belongings and closet, he noticed things were missing: clothes, objects, even some books from your shelf... Had you left without telling him anything?

He took a deep breath, a slight twitch in his eye. He didn't like this feeling at all. What had he done wrong for you to abandon him like this?

He pulled out his phone one last time, checked your number, exhaled slowly, and called you again.

He waited... one, two, three, four seconds. No response for the full ten seconds, until...

You hung up.

He saw "call rejected" on his phone and his lips parted slightly in disbelief. He didn't need to know more; with this, he knew you didn't want to see him. That you were scared of him, that you had seen how horrible he was. And even though he had a little faith in you, that you would never leave him, his mind was so broken that it seemed you had abandoned him. He pressed his lips together, his hand trembling with the phone, the voices in his head sounding again, in different distorted tones.

(You see...? You're alone... You need to find your North Star... Doctor, I'm scared... Let go of me, Dex! I told you to let me go! ... You're alone... You're alone... You're alone... You're alone... You're alone... You're alone... You're alone... You're alone... You're alone... You're alone... You're alone... You're alone... You're alone... You're alone... You're alone...)

He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, pulling at some locks of his hair as if to distract himself from the noise. He had to get out of your apartment as soon as possible, and that's what he did, leaving quickly. He went down the stairs carefully. He was angry, with everything in general, but above all, he was very, very furious with Fisk. He was certain Fisk was behind the whole thing with Julie. It was impossible that she had ended up in the same hotel as him by pure coincidence, and given the conversations they'd had before, it seemed like Fisk was trying to help him, to make him understand that... he was the only one who could understand him.

He headed to the hotel in the morning. He wasn't even on his shift schedule, but it didn't matter now. Who would even notice? He didn't greet anyone; he walked with a blank mind, taking the elevator up to the penthouse.

The first thing he did was go to the surveillance room, sitting in the swivel chair and watching Fisk through the cameras, intently. The only thing was, he hadn't realized there was a female colleague in there with him.

She turned around softly, looking at him with a smile. "Ugh... You look awful... You know you're two hours early, right?" she asked.

Dex blinked, the flies still buzzing in his head. "Yeah... the... neighbors, yeah. They wouldn't let me sleep."

"Again? Damn, just move already! Or take 'em to couples therapy. If they were my neighbors, I'd go over there and give 'em a piece of my mind..."

He didn't hear half of what she said, because he was focused on the cameras, and all he could hear were his own voices.

(Do you think someone like that deserves a second chance...? Your internal compass isn't broken, Dex... It'll be better when you're guided by the North Star... Let go of me, Dex... I told you to let me go! Then follow our plan... A safe space... Would you like to meet up later, to talk? Dex... you're not bad...)

A snap of fingers brought him back to reality, and he looked at the girl. "Umm... Yeah."

"Where were you?" she said with a laugh. "We gotta feed him."

"No, no, I know. I know..." he blinked again, until an idea struck him. "You know what? I'll do it."

His colleague frowned. "You sure? It's not even your shift?" she asked, though she was somewhat grateful for the help.

"No, but... I could really use a decent coffee. Do you mind going down and getting me one?" He looked at her. "I'll take care of the animal."

She set the tray down on the table, smiling at him. "He's all yours."

His colleague headed downstairs, and Dex, meanwhile, taking advantage of being alone, began shutting off all the cameras. So there would be no evidence of what he was about to do. Then he grabbed the tray and headed toward the penthouse doors. He took a deep breath, changing his expression, though he still looked terrible. And he opened the door firmly, staring at Fisk, who was seated at his table.

Fisk was no longer wearing the same blue jumpsuit from previous days; now he wore a suit, a plain white one, with a black shirt underneath.

Dex approached, setting the plate down on the table with a firm thud, looking at him. "I don't know what strings you pulled to hire that waitress, but it was a waste of time..." He placed his hands on the back of another chair. "At Quantico, they taught us counterintelligence. Did you think I'd fall for an amateur trap?" He paused. "Did you get it into your head that she means something to me? Well, it's not true." He shook his head. "She doesn't mean shit to me."

He stepped away from the chair, smiling coldly at him. "You think... just because you've been following me for a few days, you know me? That you've got me figured out?" His smile dropped. "Don't even dream it. You don't know shit about me," he added, with bitterness.

Fisk said nothing about it, just watched him with that neutral expression, and that drove Dex crazy. So much so that he swept the plate off the table in anger. "Say something!" he shouted, the sound of the metal lid spinning echoing in the room.

Fisk opened his mouth, his tone neutral. "When I was a boy... I... crushed my father's skull with a hammer." He paused. "I was twelve years old. I was very small for my age, I had no experience with anything. I'd never danced with a girl, I'd never... stayed out past midnight." He added, "I'd never even left the city, never even taken the subway by myself."

Dex didn't understand what he was explaining, and he frowned, breathing somewhat rapidly.

"Twelve years old... Standing over my father's body. Mortally wounded, watching him." Fisk began to rise, looking at him, while Dex took a step back, a little scared. "That... feeling, that moment..." he paused for a long moment. "I have a sense that it's familiar to you." He started to raise his voice, firmly, as if delivering a political speech. "You were taught to hide behind falsehoods, you turned yourself into someone the world can tolerate. A soldier who does his duty, an FBI marksman, the attentive companion to a good girl..."

"You've ruined what I had with her..." Dex murmured coldly, though deep down, he didn't know if Fisk was referring to you or to Julie.

Fisk, however, continued speaking with a raised voice. "If you had been honest and authentic, no one could have ruined it."

Dex clenched his jaw. "I should have let you die." Fisk took another step. "Don't come any closer..." Dex added again, feeling a tear slowly slide down his cheek, defeated.

"Julie would never have understood you... Not even your colleague," he said, referring to you. "Society, either," he added. "They penalize... people like you... like us."

Dex's eyes widened, a little frightened by that last part, and he slowly shook his head, starting to leave the room, trying not to let Fisk's clear and harsh words get into his head. Fisk didn't stop him; on the contrary, he liked that he was leaving.

It was only a matter of time before he would eventually come back to him.

He returned to the surveillance room, acting as if nothing had happened, but he was more paranoid now, this time with Fisk's voice in his head. And now, with his vision distorted, he saw Fisk's figure in every corner of the room, as if he had multiplied: one above, one on the table, one walking down the hallways...

(She would never have understood you... She would never have understood the real Dex... Society wouldn't either. They penalize... people like you, like us...)

"Dex," his colleague called out, making him blink and snap out of his trance once more. "What?" he replied with annoyance.

She handed him a newspaper, with concern. "They're using you as a scapegoat..." she pointed out.

He slowly took the newspaper. No, impossible.

"I'm sorry, Dex," she added. "It's not fair..." Delicately, she set the coffee he had ordered on the table before walking away.

Dex clenched his jaw, staring at the newspaper. "FBI Investigates One of Its Own."

"They're not doing you justice. It's their way of seeing things," Hattley explained, in an office alongside a supervisor and him.

"I assure you we will investigate everything to the fullest extent," the supervisor spoke, but Dex wasn't listening to them. He was back with the flies in his head, the voices of the two of them echoing around him.

"Consider it a paid vacation," she added, firmly.

"Take whatever time you need to collect your things."

(We've prepared for this... You're going to find a job that requires discipline... You're going to stay on your medication... We're going to learn to change...)

Without a word, Dex handed over his badge and his gun, leaving the office in silence. As he opened the door, people stared at him without shame, the newspaper in their hands, murmuring things about him. He kept walking until he ran into Nadeem, who was visibly nervous. "Do you have a minute...?"

"Uh... Yeah, of course, Dex, go ahead," he replied, before glancing at a woman. "Will you excuse us a moment?"

He sighed, looking at him. "They're going to... They're going to suspend me, Ray. They dare to- to..."

"Hey," he tried to calm him. "First of all, breathe." He looked around, without meeting his eyes yet. "Everything's going to be okay... alright?"

"Then tell me that while looking me in the eye," Dex said, his voice cold.

"Hey— I'm on your side." He met his eyes.

"They can't fire me, man... I need this job." It was clear he was on edge. "Please, you have to do something," he begged.

"I wrote up a good assessment of your conduct during the shootout..." And as Nadeem explained, Dex had drifted off again, the distorted voices filling his head.

(You see how alone you are...? It wasn't your fault... It wasn't your fault... Dex, tell me... What scares you is the emptiness that surrounds you... Do you see how alone you are...?)

He didn't even realize another tear was sliding down his cheek.

"You've got nothing to worry about," Nadeem added, looking at him. "Take care of yourself..."

Ray walked away, leaving him alone.

Now he had no job, no one. He had no protocol, no routine, he wasn't even taking his medication. What was he going to do now?

You spent the morning in the church, not speaking to anyone, literally. The nun was nowhere in sight, nor was the figure who had saved you. You were completely alone. You passed the time by investigating the area, coming across a set of damaged boxing gloves and a punching bag. Then, some vials of medication and dried blood on the floor.

And from there, you saw a staircase. You looked around; no one was stopping you from going up. You began to climb slowly, until you reached a set of huge doors before you. You opened them carefully, the sound echoing terribly, and found yourself facing the intense emptiness of the church. Before you stretched an endless aisle of dark wooden pews, worn smooth by centuries of parishioners. The columns rose like petrified trees toward a ceiling painted with religious motifs now barely visible in the gloom. Candles flickered on the side altars, and a faint, orange light filtered through the stained glass, dyeing the floor in muted colors.

Your footsteps echoed on the wooden floor. You walked toward the main altar, feeling tiny beneath the vaulted ceilings. The figure of a crucified Christ gazed down at you from on high, its arms outstretched in a gesture you couldn't tell was welcome or supplication. You stopped before him. You weren't a believer; truly, you never had been. But today, here, in this silence, you needed to speak to someone who couldn't judge you, even if that someone didn't exist.

Slowly, you sat in one of the front pews, staring at the Christ.

"Is this a punishment?" you asked. "For having been born this way?"

You paused. The silence in the church was so vast you could almost hear your own words echoing back against the stone walls, softly.

"If you're really there... and if you see everything, then you already know what I'm truly like."

Your voice grew low, and you looked at the floor, fidgeting with your hands.

"I'm not a good person... I know that perfectly well. And I don't think I ever will be in some distant future. I've done things that aren't normal to people, and I don't regret any of it. I would do it all again..."

You raised your gaze.

"Sometimes I wonder if I was born broken... or if I just broke so early that there's no way to be put back together. There are people who can change, who can repent, start over. But I don't think that's the case for me. I'm already too far gone... And even if I try to pretend otherwise... I know it wouldn't last long."

You sighed.

"Lately... well, no. I'm sorry. For my entire life, I've felt very, very empty. Truly. It's been like... walking through a dark tunnel, with no end. Where you can't turn back, even if you want to, you can't. I've known people who, even if they were the right people, I've never felt any closeness to them... Possibly because I've never had the ability to feel anything, at least. Not even with Ray..." you murmured. "Despite that, I've tried to feel normal... but it's useless, you know? I'm not succeeding, and it doesn't bother me at all." You shrugged. "It's not that I even care anymore..."

You let your head fall back, staring at the ceiling. "I don't even care about dying anymore... But I'm still alive, despite it all. As if life is preventing me from dying, even though I have nothing left to offer it. And the worst part isn't that... The worst part is that it doesn't even scare me anymore."

You paused again, longer this time. When you spoke again, your voice had lost some of that cutting coldness.

"But there's one person..."

Your tone shifted slightly. It grew lower, more sincere.

"Who is the only thing that makes me doubt all of that. Not because I think I can actually change. But because when I'm close to him, I feel like I can be exactly who I am... Without having to pretend. Without him looking at me like I'm a monster. It's like we share the same darkness. Does that make sense...?"

You lowered your gaze to the floor. Your voice became barely a whisper:

"If there's something I must confess to you now... It's that I would kill for him."

The silence in the church seemed to grow even heavier after those words. You raised your gaze back to the crucifix, with an expression that was tired but resolute.

"I don't say it as a threat, I promise. I say it because it's the truth. It's the only thing that still gives my life any meaning. If someone tries to hurt him... I wouldn't hesitate. And if one day his light goes out... if he decides he no longer wants to keep walking through this tunnel... then I'll have no reason to keep going either."

You paused one more time, almost as if it was hard to continue.

"The thought of him being left alone... that's what truly terrifies me. Because if he breaks too... then all of this will have been for nothing. And I'll have nothing left to stop me from becoming the worst thing I can be," you confessed. "So yes... I would kill and I would die for him. And if there's something after this, I would go after him too, without thinking. Because without him, I have nothing... And without me, neither does he."

You narrowed your eyes a little, gazing at the crucifix. "I guess you let me live for him... Or so I think." You bit the inside of your cheek. "If there's anything else I can ask for... it's that I can see him again. Even if it's just once. Even if it's so he can hate me... I just ask for that."

The silence returned the echo of your words. There was no answer, but you weren't expecting one. You stayed there for a while longer, your hands resting on your lap. In the end, you let out a tired sigh and stood up slowly.

You didn't realize you weren't alone.

The nun was standing in the shadows of the side aisle, partially hidden behind one of the columns. She had been there for several minutes. Long enough to overhear almost your entire conversation with the silence. She hadn't come in with the intention of interrupting you, of course. She had come in because she wanted to understand who you truly were.

And now, she believed she was beginning to.

She watched you in silence as you stood. She made no sound. She just remained there, her hands clasped beneath her habit and an expression that was hard to read. Slowly, she walked away through another door.

After that, several hours passed. At first, you tried to stay still, just as that figure had asked. You sat on one of the pews, staring ahead without focusing on anything in particular. But the stillness was unbearable. Every minute that passed without doing anything made you feel more trapped, more useless.

The nun (Maggie, because she eventually gave you her name) watched you constantly, not all the time, but after seeing you talking to yourself in front of God, she kept a closer eye on you.

You could kill her easily, or so you thought. But if you did, it might complicate things too much.

And at one point, while you were downstairs, you heard a female voice greeting her.

It was Karen.

You couldn't make out everything from where you were, but it seemed like she was trying to find someone, and then have a deep conversation with Maggie.

Suddenly, an idea came to you.

Slowly, you put on your shoes and began to climb the stairs again, cracking the door open slightly to watch them, waiting for the right moment to speak with her.

When she passed near you, you stepped out of the doorway and called to her in a low but clear voice.

"Karen."

She spun around, startled. Seeing you, she narrowed her eyes for a second, recognizing you.

"You..." she said, looking you up and down.

You took a step forward, keeping some distance so as not to frighten her further.

"Hello, Karen..." you said with a small, tired smile. "It's good to see you again."

Karen looked at you cautiously, but without fear. More with that expression of someone trying to fit the pieces together. "Wait... What are you doing here?" she asked, before looking at your wounds. "Are you... okay...?"

You shrugged, not caring much. "I've been better. It's nothing."

She frowned. "I... I don't understand. What happened?"

"To sum it up for you, I was attacked, and someone saved me. It was... a masked man in a black suit, nothing interesting. The thing is... he brought me here, locked me up. But... I'm afraid I don't want to be here much longer." You looked at her.

Karen understood immediately who you were referring to, because, well, she especially knew him. "And why did you come looking for me? We don't even... we barely know each other."

"Well... because I need help. And because you're involved in all this too, aren't you? You were asking me about the shootout and Fisk's transfer the other time. Just like me... Even if for different reasons."

Karen studied you for a few seconds, as you guided her further inside; even so, she had lowered her guard a little. "Explain yourself."

"You want information, don't you? I can give it to you, no problem. Whatever you want. Honestly! I'll answer you without any issue. Even about what you're looking for right now," you said, somewhat desperately. "I can help you... In return, you first have to get me out of here. That's all. After that, when we're done, I'll go my way... and you go yours, and I won't say a word, not a single word about this." You added.

Karen raised an eyebrow. "That's... it? That I get you out of here?"

"That's it," you repeated. "I won't say anything about any of this. I just want to get out of here as soon as possible..."

Karen stared at you, as if trying to read whether you were lying or not. In the end, she let out a short sigh.

"You're direct, at least."

You nodded.

Karen narrowed her eyes for a second, but continued:

"I'm looking for someone. An inmate named Jasper Evans... He's the one who stabbed Fisk in prison. Everyone thinks it was a real attack, but I know Fisk paid him to do it. He did it so they'd move him out of Rikers and put him up in that shitty penthouse..."

You fell silent, processing the information. Fisk's name put you on alert, but Jasper Evans' name meant nothing to you.

"I don't know who that guy is," you admitted with sincerity. "Never heard of him. My bad."

Karen sighed. She couldn't back out now, and she went on. "He's hiding out in a rundown building now. I want to find him and take him to the Bulletin so he can testify. If he talks, we can really screw Fisk."

You were silent for a few seconds, processing the information. Fisk's name always put you on alert, especially now that Dex was getting closer and closer to him.

"Does anyone else know about this?" you asked. "About this?"

"Just... two people, that's all." She didn't go into detail. Then she shook her head. "So how the hell are you going to help me if you don't even know who Jasper Evans is?"

You were silent for a second. You didn't take offense at her tone. In fact, you understood it.

"I don't know," you admitted with sincerity, with a slight shrug. "I have no idea who that guy is or what exactly he did. But that doesn't mean I can't be useful to you."

Karen raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

"Oh, really? Explain."

"I'm a forensic scientist. If we end up finding this Jasper Evans and he needs... persuasion, or if there's evidence to verify... I can help perfectly."

You paused briefly.

"And I can also testify. Tell them what happened to me in my apartment. That someone tried to kill me. That could be useful to you, right? For your Bulletin and maybe to screw Fisk."

Karen studied you in silence for several seconds. She seemed to be weighing whether it was worth the risk to involve you. In the end, she let out a long, weary sigh.

"God... I can't believe I'm doing this," she murmured, running a hand over her face. "You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

You nodded, emotionless.

"Okay. Listen carefully. We can't go out the front door. Maggie... she's downstairs, and I highly doubt she'll let us leave without asking questions. At least not you, anyway. Besides, if what you're telling me is true, if the guy in black finds out you left..."

She stopped and looked at you.

"I guess you don't care what he thinks anymore, right?"

"Not at all," you answered without hesitation.

Karen sighed.

"There's a back exit through the sacristy. It's old, but it can be used. The problem is we have to cross part of the building without being seen."

"That's easy. You can walk normally and I'll go behind you. You open the door... and... we're out," you explained.

"Pray we don't get caught," she said, before moving out of there.

You began to follow her down the side aisle, moving away from the main nave. Each step you took echoed a little more than you would have liked on the wooden floor. Your bandaged arm bothered you with every movement, but you ignored it.

Karen, on the other hand, walked with confidence.

You went down some narrow stairs that smelled of pure dampness. At one point, Karen raised a hand for you to stop. She stood still, listening. From downstairs, you could hear slow footsteps and the soft rustle of cloth against the floor.

Maggie.

Karen looked at you over her shoulder and jerked her head toward a side passage. This way.

You slipped into an even narrower corridor, almost in total darkness. You had to walk sideways to keep from brushing the walls. Your heart was beating a little faster than normal, though you felt a rush of adrenaline at the moment; it was like one of those action movies.

Suddenly, Maggie's footsteps drew closer. They were right at the end of the corridor you were about to pass through.

Karen grabbed your good arm and pushed you gently against the wall, pressing herself against it too. You stood completely still, holding your breath. You could hear Maggie approaching. She passed so close you could almost see the shadow of her habit projected on the wall in front of you.

You stayed frozen, watching Karen. Her jaw was clenched, her eyes fixed on the moving shadow. For a second, it seemed like Maggie stopped, as if she had noticed something.

The silence was so thick it almost hurt.

Finally, the footsteps retreated. Maggie continued on her way to another part of the church.

Karen waited a few more seconds before letting go of your arm. She looked at you and whispered, barely audible:

"Jesus... she almost caught us."

You kept moving, faster now. You went down another flight of stairs and reached an old wooden door, half-hidden behind some dusty shelves. Karen pushed it carefully. It creaked a little, but it opened.

The cold night air hit your faces.

You stepped out into the back alley of the church. You were laughing, enjoying the tense moment you'd just been through. Karen closed the door as silently as possible behind you both before continuing to walk with you.

"Good. We're out now..." she said in a low voice. "My car's just a few steps away." She pointed, and you followed her.

You both got into the car as fast as possible, while you laughed quietly at everything that was happening. "This is unbelievable..." you murmured. You were definitely not right in the head to be laughing about it.

Karen started the engine without another word and drove away from the neighborhood with considerably more haste than you expected. For the first few minutes, the silence was thick. The only sound was the engine and the faint rattle of the old car.

Suddenly, Karen spoke without taking her eyes off the road.

"By the way... I saw a story in the Bulletin about the FBI. I didn't read the whole thing, but it talked about an agent who had 'inappropriate conduct.' Something serious, from the looks of it."

You frowned and looked at her.

"Inappropriate conduct?"

Karen nodded her head.

"There's a copy in the back seat, if you want to see it."

You reached back and grabbed the crumpled newspaper. You unfolded it on your lap and looked at the front page.

Your eyes flew open.

You were completely frozen, reading and rereading the headline as if the words would change if you blinked. You felt your stomach tighten. The name that appeared was unmistakable.

Karen glanced at you sideways and frowned at your reaction.

"Do you... know him?" she asked, in a more serious tone.

You didn't answer right away. You just kept staring at the photo that accompanied the story. Dex, in his FBI uniform, literally front and center, probably his intake photo. The headline spoke of suspension and an internal investigation for "inappropriate conduct" during an operation. (You imagined it was about the shootout.)

You felt something tighten hard in your chest.

Your expression slowly shifted to a more serious one.

"Hey, seriously. Is something wrong? Do you know who that is?" Karen asked.

You stayed silent for a few seconds, still looking at Dex's photo on the front page. You felt that tightness in your chest, but you had absolutely no intention of explaining anything to Karen.

"He's nobody," you finally answered, in a drier tone than you intended. You folded the newspaper and placed it back on the rear seat, as if by doing so you could make the story disappear.

Karen raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

"'Nobody'?" she repeated, her tone making it clear she wasn't buying that answer. "Because the way you were staring at that photo isn't exactly how someone looks at 'nobody'."

You faced her directly, your expression closed.

"It's none of your business, Karen."

She let out a short scoff, but she didn't seem angry. More like resigned.

"Fine. Understood. You don't want to talk about him. Perfect," she said, turning her eyes back to the road.

She drove in silence for almost a full minute before speaking again, this time in a lower, almost tired tone:

"Look, I have no idea who that guy is to you. And frankly, I don't care right now. But if you're coming with me to that building, I need you to have your head in the game. Not on whatever's going on with him. Understood?"

You didn't answer. You just kept staring out the window, your jaw clenched.

Karen sighed. "Damn..." she murmured.

You made the rest of the journey in silence. The neighborhood you were entering grew darker and more dilapidated. Karen slowed down and parked two streets away from an old brick building. She turned off the headlights but left the engine running for a moment.

"That one there," she said, pointing with her head to the building two doors down. "That's where Jasper Evans is hiding. Or at least where he was the last time I had intel." She pulled out her phone, showing you a photo of him. "That's him."

You nodded slowly.

Without a word, she started gathering her things, opening her wallet to find the necessary cash, and then... a gun.

"You have a gun?" you asked.

Karen shot you a quick look, unsurprised, as if she'd been expecting you to notice. "Yes..." she replied simply, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "And I'd rather not have to use it, but I'd rather have it just in case."

She was quiet for a moment, studying you.

"This place isn't safe. The people who live here aren't usually very friendly to strangers. If someone tries to screw with us... I'd rather be prepared."

You got out of the car, passing through an alley where there were literally people sprawled on the ground.

You entered the building. The interior was dark, lit only by a few faint lights and candles. There were bottles strewn on the floor and a dense smell of smoke. Several people looked at you with distrust as you passed.

A young man approached you both slowly.

"Are you lost?" he asked, looking you up and down.

Karen put her hands in her pockets and answered calmly:

"If you've got drugs, we're not."

The guy narrowed his eyes.

"You cops?"

Karen shrugged.

"What does it matter? We just want a few grams."

The young man frisked you lightly (without touching too much) and finally nodded.

"That'll be 80 dollars."

Karen pulled out the cash without hesitation and handed it over. Then, lowering her voice, she added:

"And a quiet spot upstairs."

She gave him a few more bills. The guy counted the money, nodded, and handed over a small baggie of cocaine and two pills. "Second floor. Room at the end. Don't bother anyone."

You climbed the stairs in silence. The second floor was even worse than the first: drugged people sprawled on the floor, some moaning, others completely unconscious. The atmosphere was depressing and heavy.

"How depressing..." you murmured without any real pity.

Karen didn't answer. She kept walking, checking every person she saw, until she stopped in front of a man who seemed a little more conscious than the rest. She knelt in front of him and pulled out the baggie of cocaine and the pills.

"If you tell me where Jasper Evans is, I'll give you this," she offered in a low voice.

The man looked at her with suspicion, but before he could answer, a voice sounded from behind you:

"And what the hell do you care where Jasper Evans is?"

You both turned around. It was him. Jasper Evans was standing in the doorway of one of the rooms, looking at you with clear annoyance. He looked weary, with dark semi-circles under his eyes.

"Everybody out," he ordered loudly. "Get out, come on!"

The people on the floor began to get up slowly, dazed, and filed out of the room. Jasper stared at the two of you intently.

"Who are you and what the hell do you want?"

Karen got to her feet slowly, keeping her hands visible. "We just want to talk..." she said calmly. "That's all."

Jasper took a step forward, clearly tense.

At that moment, someone from behind Karen lunged at her and grabbed her by the throat, starting to choke her. Karen reacted quickly, elbowing him hard in the stomach, but the guy didn't completely let go.

Without thinking too much, you stepped closer and punched him in the face as hard as you could. The man let go of Karen and stumbled back, cursing.

Jasper tensed up and took a step toward you, clearly ready to fight.

But then... he appeared.

The same figure in black who had saved you before entered through the broken window at the back of the room. He moved swiftly, flanked Jasper from behind, and immobilized him, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him back. Jasper struggled, but the man in black was quicker and stronger.

The fight was brief but violent. Jasper tried to hit him, but received a knee to the stomach that knocked the wind out of him. The man in black shoved him against the wall and held him there.

Karen straightened up, coughing and bringing a hand to her throat, while she looked at you with surprise.

"Get on the ground..." the man in black spoke, but Jasper refused. "I said sit down," he ordered again, firmly. Jasper resisted, trying to struggle. But the man didn't allow it. With a quick and precise move, he threw him to the floor, put him in a hold, and pinned him face down. Jasper tried to get up, but received a dry punch to the face that left him dazed.

The silence that followed was heavy.

You both stared at him, still amazed at the way he had entered. Karen was the first to react. She stepped closer and asked, in a softer tone than usual:

"Are you okay?" Karen asked, toward him.

You turned your head toward her, frowning. The question had struck you as strange. Too concerned for someone who supposedly didn't know him. "Do you know him?" you asked, staring at her fixedly.

Karen shot you a quick look, as if she realized too late what she had said. She opened her mouth to answer but didn't manage to.

In the end, she raised her hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Damn... okay," she said, nervously. "You knew his location, didn't you? I guess you already knew he was here. So... what were you waiting for?"

The masked man didn't answer right away. He kept Jasper pinned against the floor, but turned his head slightly toward Karen.

"That's none of your business," he replied in a low, firm voice.

You, who had been looking from one to the other, frowned.

"Wait a minute... Were you two already in cahoots?" you asked, looking first at Karen and then at the figure in black.

No one answered you.

Without letting go of Jasper, he spoke again. This time his voice was colder:

"First you should explain to me what the hell she's doing here." He gestured toward you with a slight nod of his head.

Karen glanced at you for a second, clearly uncomfortable, and then looked back at Daredevil.

"She's helping me," she said, though it sounded more like an excuse than a real explanation. "She knows things about Fisk. And... she wanted to get out of the church. I wasn't going to leave her there."

Daredevil was silent for a few seconds. The atmosphere grew more tense.

"This isn't a game, Karen. Bringing someone else here... was a mistake." Later, he added, "And I specifically told you not to leave the church."

Karen frowned, but she didn't look down.

"She can help. And she's already here. There's no turning back now."

He bit her lip, not quite believing it. "So what was your plan?"

"We were going to take him to the Bulletin, and her too..." she pointed at you. "We record it, let them testify in front of witnesses, and... that's it," she said, before adding, "Besides, I'm sure my editor will want to hear it in person."

Without further preamble, he grabbed Jasper by the shoulders. "Wake up, Evans," he said, shoving him onto a sofa. "You're in luck. You're going to have a choice. First option: I call the FBI. And Fisk kills you before you can tell them how you got out of prison. Second: you tell this reporter what you did for him, and you get the hell out of Dodge."

"N-no, I can't..." he replied, his nose bleeding.

"Great, first option—..."

"No! If I do that, they'll kill my son!" Evans confessed. He jerked his head toward his son (who was exactly the one who had sold you the drugs). "I left my son without a father and now... he's into this. If I go back to prison, he'll end up sharing a cell with me soon enough, or worse..."

Karen knelt in front of him, serious. "Either Fisk goes back to prison, or a lot of innocent people are going to die. Tell the truth to my newspaper, and we'll let you and your son go far away... If not, I'll publish the article anyway, as if you had talked."

"That would get us both killed..." Evans said, looking at her.

"Your choice."

You stayed back, watching them in silence. For the first time since you had started getting involved in all this, you realized something:

Karen and the man in black could be just as cold and calculating as you. Their hands didn't shake when it came to pressuring someone, even if it meant putting a child in danger. There was no mercy in their eyes. Only purpose.

No one spoke for a few seconds.

Dex, on the other hand, after his suspension, your abandonment, and Julie's, had decayed terribly. He was in his apartment, his eyes swollen and watery, lost. In his right hand, he held a plastic bag, heading toward the table. He sat down slowly, his gaze vacant. He grabbed his medications and dumped them into the bag, then clasped his hands together, staring straight ahead.

The flies returned to his head.

His hand went to his pocket, pulling out his own gun. And suddenly, he heard Julie's voice.

(Brooklyn Suicide Prevention, can I help you? Oh, hello, Dex. Are you going to kill yourself? How are you planning to do it? Do you have a weapon? Don't worry... It's not your fault... It's not your fault... The world doesn't want you... The world doesn't want you... I don't want you... It's not your fault... Don't worry...)

(Do you know where to aim? You see how alone you are... Do you know where to aim?)

He squeezed his eyes shut, was about to pull the trigger until...His phone rang. He dropped the gun immediately, breathing raggedly, tears in his eyes.

He looked at the phone twice before carefully picking it up and holding it to his ear. "Hello..." he spoke, his voice flat.

"My mother passed away while I was in prison..." Fisk spoke. "Among her personal effects, there was a shoebox with my name on it. A kind of memory box... She kept happy memories of my life in it. The gifts I gave her when I was small. Newspaper clippings... And the hammer." He revealed. "The instrument that caused my father's death. I thought at first she had thrown it away... But she was proud of who I was. Of what I had done." He paused briefly. "She... accepted me, without shame. That's exactly what you need. Someone to accept you without shame."

Dex's face changed completely.

And I accept you," Fisk added. "I've sent you a gift... An opportunity to be yourself. And if you take it, unlike the other people in your life, I will never... abandon you." He paused again. "The choice is yours," he said, before hanging up.

And just then, a few seconds later, someone knocked on his door. Dex got up, gun in hand, moving slowly toward the door. Carefully, he placed the gun against it before opening it.

It was Felix.

"The car is waiting for you, sir. Will you come with me, please?"

Dex stared at him for several seconds, the pistol still in his hand. His breathing was still ragged. He looked back, toward the plastic bag full of pills and the gun he had almost used.

Then he looked back at Felix.

And he took a step outside his apartment

....

You were already at the Bulletin with Karen, alongside Evans. The plan was that, after him, you were going to speak freely about your case and give any leads on Fisk.

Elsewhere in the office, far away, were Matt and Foggy. You didn't know they were there, having been with Karen the whole time.

Ellison's office was in semi-darkness, lit only by the glow of computers and a desk lamp. Jasper Evans was sitting in front of the desk, his elbows on his knees and his gaze downcast. He still had traces of dried blood on his nose.Karen was standing off to one side, arms crossed. You were seated in a chair somewhat apart, watching everything in silence.

Ellison, Karen's boss, was pacing back and forth in the office while looking over some papers. "Good," Ellison said, stopping in front of Jasper. "We're going to do this fast and clean. You're going to record your statement. Everything you know about Wilson Fisk and how he paid you to stab him in prison. Once we have your testimony recorded and signed, we'll publish. Understood?"

Jasper nodded weakly, but didn't look up.

Karen glanced at you for a second and then focused back on Jasper."Whenever you're ready," she said to Ellison.

Ellison nodded and activated the recorder on the desk. The small red LED lit up."Start whenever you like, Evans. Tell everything from the beginning."

Jasper opened his mouth to speak...

And then the lights went out.Everything went dark in an instant. The hum of the computers died. The only remaining light was the faint glow from the hallway windows.

Evans frowned."What the hell...?"

You all got to your feet. Something was wrong, very wrong. From the main floor of the Bulletin, you heard a thud, then another. And then... a scream.

Karen immediately started rummaging in her bag for the gun, aiming it at the door.

"Everyone behind me..." she whispered, though you could see her hands were shaking.

"What's going on?" you asked, positioning yourself behind her, just like the others. You stayed like that for several minutes, listening to thuds and screams. And even objects being thrown around. At one point, the door opened, only to reveal Foggy entering, looking somewhat scared himself.

Karen immediately hugged him, worried about him. You all stared at the door in silence, listening as the chaos drew closer. The thuds and screams were nearer now.

You stayed behind Karen, your heart pounding. Something inside you told you this was no coincidence. That whoever was out there... was here for something. Or for someone.

Jasper Evans was completely pale, leaning against the wall. He looked ready to pass out.

Foggy looked at Karen with a serious expression. "We have to get out of here. Now."

But before anyone could answer... The office door opened again.

This time, slowly.

And the figure that entered made the air freeze in the room. Dressed in red, with horns, and grinning with blood around his mouth.

Daredevil.

But he wasn't the same as before. He was different, he seemed... colder. Karen raised the gun again, pointing it directly at him.

"Don't sho—..."

She didn't finish the sentence.

Daredevil, with a quick and precise motion, flicked a pen he was holding in his hand. The object struck Karen's fingers with force, making her drop the gun. She let out a strangled cry of pain.

Foggy, without hesitation, stepped between everyone and launched himself at Daredevil, throwing two quick punches. But the blows barely moved him. Daredevil looked at him for a second... and returned a single brutal punch that sent him flying against the wall. Foggy fell to the floor, dazed and unable to get up.

Before anyone could react, Daredevil grabbed another pen from the desk and threw it with precision. The object embedded itself in Ellison's stomach, who fell backward with a cry of pain, clutching the wound.

You tried to crouch to grab the gun Karen had dropped, but Daredevil was already walking toward you. His presence was so intimidating that you instinctively backed away alongside Karen and Jasper.

He bent down calmly, picked up the gun from the floor without looking at you even once, and straightened up slowly. He aimed the weapon directly at Karen, who stood frozen, her eyes wide.

For a second, it looked like he was going to shoot her. But at the last moment, he shifted the barrel slightly... and fired.

The shot echoed loudly inside the office.

Jasper Evans took the bullet to the head and fell backward instantly, dead before he hit the ground.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Daredevil ejected the magazine from the gun with calm and dropped it to the floor. Then he walked over to Karen, who was still on the floor, staring down at her with that twisted grin.

"Hello, Karen," he said in a calm voice, almost cheerful. "It's good to see you again."

Karen stared at him with a mix of horror and rage, but she couldn't say anything.

Daredevil stood looking at her for a moment longer... until he slowly turned his head toward you.

His eyes locked onto yours through the mask. He said nothing, just watched you. His expression had changed; he wasn't smiling, but rather neutral, or at least that's what you could see through his lips.

The look lasted several seconds, long enough for a shiver to run down your spine.

Then, without another word, he turned and started walking toward the office door, as if he had already finished whatever he had come to do.

You were a little paralyzed. Did you know him from somewhere?

No. That was impossible, wasn't it?

Karen immediately ran out of there in horror, heading somewhere else in the Bulletin, in search of someone. Foggy was still on the floor, dazed. Ellison was losing blood and possibly unconscious. And Evans... well, he was dead.

You were alone.

You looked at the open door. It was your chance to get out as soon as possible, before the FBI and everyone else arrived. You didn't hesitate; you started walking toward the door, ignoring the dead bodies, but something stopped you.

In the distance, you could see Karen, kneeling, perhaps sobbing as she looked at that masked man, who was lying there, absolutely wounded.

You stared at them for a few seconds before heading for the emergency exit. You went down the stairs carefully, until you opened the exterior door, feeling the cold night air.

Now you were free, completely. You could go anywhere you wanted without anyone stopping you.

And the first thing you wanted to do was see Dex. You figured he was at his apartment.

You started walking quickly down the side alley, moving away from the Bulletin.

You didn't get far.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed your arm with brutal force and shoved you against the brick wall. The impact was sharp and painful. Before you could scream, another hand gripped your jaw roughly, forcing you to look up while a body pinned you completely against the wall.

It was him.

The man in red. The same one who had entered the office. Now, he had you immobilized. His fingers were squeezing your jaw tightly, almost painfully, while his other hand pinned your wrist to the brick. You could feel his whole body trembling.

You froze completely; you didn't understand anything. Why was he doing this to you?

Daredevil (Dex) was breathing raggedly behind the mask. He seemed to be at his limit. His fingers on your jaw trembled slightly, as if he were holding himself back from doing something worse. He was watching you with a sick intensity, as if trying to convince himself you were really there.

And suddenly, he said your name. "...it's you?" he murmured, his voice broken. He released your wrist slowly, placing both hands on your cheeks, stroking you with his thumbs, smearing you with blood. "No... you're not a hallucination..."

His thumbs pressed into your cheeks. You could feel his voice breaking, little by little, as if he were holding back the urge to cry.

"No, I don't understand... I thought— that you had left... I thought— I thought you had abandoned me..."

You tried to move, but he pushed you harder against the wall. His breathing became more erratic.

"Don't move," he said, though his voice sounded more like a plea than an order. "Please... don't move."

The silence that followed was thick. The only sounds were his ragged breathing and the distant wail of sirens.

Then, your mind began to connect the pieces, along with those words he was letting out in front of you. It could only be one person, surely.

"Dex...? Is that you?"

The moment you said his name, his whole body tensed as if he'd been stabbed with a knife. His fingers on your jaw froze. For a second, it looked like he was going to break apart completely.

Dex slowly dropped his head until his forehead rested against your shoulder. You could feel the tears falling from beneath the mask, soaking your shirt. His body trembled uncontrollably.

"Yes..." he answered, his voice shattered. "Yes, it's me."

He stayed like that for several seconds, breathing irregularly. He seemed on the verge of total collapse.

"You shouldn't have been there..." he whispered, his voice full of guilt and desperation. "You shouldn't have seen what I did. I... I didn't want you to see me like this."

Your hands went to his suit, caressing him softly, trying to soothe him.

Suddenly, he heard the sirens getting closer. He tensed up again.

"We can't stay here," he said urgently, though his voice was still shaking. "The FBI is going to come. If they find me... if they find you with me..."

He pulled back a little and looked at you with his reddened, desperate eyes.

"Come with me. To my apartment. Please. I'll... I'll explain everything there. But we have to go now."

He didn't wait for an answer. He let go of your cheeks, but grabbed your wrist firmly and started walking, pulling you along. He wasn't treating you with violence anymore, but with an almost sick desperation, as if he feared you'd leave him alone again.

You walked for several minutes, running. And when you arrived at his building, you climbed the fire escape quickly, almost at a run. He opened the window to his apartment and ushered you in first. As soon as he closed the window, he leaned against it, breathing heavily while his mind raced.

(I'm Daredevil... I'm Daredevil... I'm Daredevil... I'm Daredevil... I'm Daredevil... I'm Daredevil... I'm Daredevil... I'm Daredevil... I'm Daredevil... I'm Daredevil... I'm Daredevil... I'm Daredevil... I'm Daredevil... I'm Daredevil... I'm Daredevil... I'm Daredevil... I'm Daredevil... I'm Daredevil...)

The apartment was a disaster. Everything was broken. Dex ran his hands over his face, trembling, and finally removed the mask. Without it, he looked destroyed. His eyes were swollen and full of tears.

He stood there, not daring to come too close, and spoke in a low, broken voice:

"I know you have a lot of questions. And you have every right to hate me right now. But... please, don't leave. Not yet. If you go... I don't know what I'll do."

He looked you directly in the eyes, more vulnerable than you had ever seen him.

"Stay. And let me explain. But first... let me do one thing..."

Suddenly, you saw him pull out one of his old cassette tapes from the shelf. He put the headphones on and pressed play. Though you couldn't hear what the tape was saying, you recognized the calm voice of his therapist.

Without saying a single word to you, Dex went over to the corner where the vacuum cleaner was, plugged it in, and started to clean.

You watched him, bewildered.

You stood there for several minutes, watching him without knowing what to say. Dex vacuumed up the shards of glass from the floor with concentration, moving from one side of the apartment to the other as if in a trance. Every time he found a larger piece of glass, he would bend down, pick it up carefully, and put it in a garbage bag he had taken out. All with an almost ritualistic precision.

He didn't seem angry. Or sad. Or upset.

He seemed... empty.

At one point, he stopped in front of a broken mirror that was still hanging crookedly on the wall. He stood staring at it for several seconds, the vacuum cleaner still in his hand. Then, very carefully, he took it down and set it on the floor to continue cleaning around it.

You kept watching him, growing more and more uncomfortable. The contrast was too sharp. Minutes before, he had been holding you against a wall, trembling and crying, asking you not to leave. And now he was vacuuming his apartment as if nothing had happened.

Dex, realizing you were staring at him, took off one earphone and looked at you over his shoulder. His expression was strangely calm, though his eyes were still red.

"I usually... clean when things get out of control," he said in a low voice, almost like an apology. "It helps me think..."

He was quiet for a second, gripping the vacuum hose tightly. And then he put the earphone back in, continuing.

You sat down gently on the sofa, watching him as you tried to calm yourself after this whole day. Everything he was doing now felt strange, too strange.

In the end, you couldn't take it anymore.

"Dex," you called out, your voice firmer than you expected.

He didn't hear you. Or pretended not to. He kept running the vacuum over the same corner over and over.

You stood up from the sofa and took a step toward him.

"Dex," you repeated, louder this time. "Stop."

This time he heard you. He stopped, though he didn't turn off the vacuum. He took off one earphone and looked at you with a confused expression, as if he didn't understand why you were interrupting him.

"Stop cleaning," you said, looking at him directly. "And take off the headphones, please... I want you to talk to me. For real. Not while you're doing this."

Dex stood still, gripping the vacuum hose tightly. It looked like your request had thrown him off. His fingers tensed around the plastic tube.

"Sorry..." he murmured, setting the vacuum aside before looking at you. You looked at him, and slowly placed your hands on his cheeks, caressing him, before pulling him into an embrace.

At first, Dex went completely rigid. As if he didn't know how to react. His arms remained at his sides for several seconds, trembling. Then, little by little, one of his hands came up and grabbed your clothes tightly, as if he was afraid you might let go. And then the other, sliding beneath your back.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you..." you murmured, feeling a little better.

"What happened to your face?" he asked, pointing to the bandage on your nose and the dressing on your arm.

"Oh, it's nothing," you smiled. "They tried... to attack me, yeah. But I'm fine, I promise," you added, looking at him.

Dex tensed slightly, but he didn't take his hands from your face. "Do you know who it was?" he asked, in a lower tone.

You stared at him for several seconds. You could feel him watching you, waiting for an answer. For a moment, you thought about telling him the truth. Telling him it was Fisk who had sent someone to kill you. But something stopped you.

You looked into his reddened eyes, the way he was still holding you as if he was terrified you would disappear, and you realized this wasn't the right moment. Not after everything that had happened tonight, not when he was so fragile and at the same time so convinced that Fisk was the only thing holding him together. In the end, you shook your head.

"I'm not sure..." you lied. "Everything happened so fast. I just know someone wanted me dead. But I was able to get through it, without any help."

Dex frowned, clearly unsatisfied with that answer, but he didn't press further. He seemed too tired to push harder right now.

"So... did you kill them?"

"Yes," you confirmed. "I killed them. And then I got rid of the bodies."

Dex looked down for a moment, processing what you had told him. His thumbs kept stroking your cheeks gently "I'm sorry I wasn't there..." he murmured, his voice low. "You must have had a really hard time..."

"Pretty much... I couldn't see you all day..." you said. "But now, none of that matters. We're together, aren't we?"

He nodded softly, looking at you.

"What do you say we get rid of this, and go to sleep?" You pointed at the suit. "You must be exhausted, I imagine..." you said, affectionately stroking his cheeks.

Dex looked down at his own hands, as if only now realizing he still had Jasper's blood on them. He frowned slightly, but didn't say anything about it. He just nodded again. "Yeah... let's go."

He pulled away from you slowly and went to the bathroom without saying much more. You heard him turn on the tap and wash his hands for quite a long time. When he came out, he had already taken off the bloodstained suit and was wearing only a clean black t-shirt and short black pants. He still looked tired, but at least seemed a little more present.

You, meanwhile, started to wash your face with a damp cloth, rubbing it over your cheeks, wiping off the dried blood. Then you went to the bedroom, watching him.

When you got into bed, he did the same, though he sat on the edge for a moment, staring at the floor. It seemed like his mind was still far away.

In the end, he lay down beside you, but he didn't touch you. He stayed on his back, staring at the ceiling with his eyes open.

The silence stretched on for several minutes.

This time, you didn't say goodnight to each other. There was something strange between you. Maybe it was just because of this day.

Your head turned toward him, watching him from behind. You looked back at the ceiling, with nothing to say.

Several more seconds passed.

Then, very slowly, Dex turned his body and looked at you. His eyes were bright, though he wasn't crying anymore. He seemed exhausted to the bone. Without a word, he reached out an arm and pulled you toward him clumsily. He pressed you against his chest, wrapping both arms around you. His grip was strong, almost desperate, as he rested his head against your neck.

You were a little surprised by the change, but you didn't pull away. On the contrary. Slowly, one of your hands went up to his hair and the other settled on the nape of his neck, stroking him softly. Dex tensed at first at the contact, but seconds later, he relaxed against you.Little by little, exhaustion overtook you both, finally able to sleep, in peace, together.

Taglist! @that1weirdweebgirl @xmaliciousx @lettucel0ver @urmotheris @not-the-teen-witch @nbhrhn @tvdumarvelhpsimp @a-starrynightwith-u @mistalli @noblebynura @bitch-spaghetti-o @doesanyonereadthis @groovycass @fixedventilationsystem @madglyphrefuge @erina00 @valhallavalkyrie9 @avidreader73 @cpuffz @junyrosess @sydbeeri

[yukiiaiai]

The most handsome attractive finest man alive he is so fucking gorgeous

[limethefirst]

When You're Gone

pairings: Thunderbolts* x teen!reader

warnings: major spoilers, reader has powers, reader has a form of ptsd from the events of endgame, slighttt survivors guilt, mentions of suicide/committing (in the void), angst but it turns into found family, honestly pretty long fic (3k+ words)

summary: being the youngest ex-avenger was weird, it's even weirder being grouped up with a bunch of misfits to save new york and take down the director of the cia

a/n: just watched thunderbolts and gawdddd, because the timeline in the mcu no longer matches our timeline, i imagine reader is in their late teens, early 20's, but no age is mentioned, so go wild. this is a very heavy topic to write and i'm not taking it lightly, the only mention of any type of self harm is when reader is in the void so please take that into account, love you all (this is cross posted on my ao3, Maaaak95, my only acc ty)

New York was never peaceful, maybe that's why it was called the city that never sleeps.

Leaving New York was something you'd considered for a while, it was crime ridden, constantly under attack by aliens, in need of every hero it could get. That's actually why you chose to stay.

Somewhere in that brain of yours, it was engraved, by Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, everyone you'd once fought with to save the world. It was engraved in you, that if you had the means, you had to fight, because who will protect the little guy?

So, there you stayed, but moments like this made you, slightly, regret your choice.

"How did you even get this number?!" Your expression was exasperated, to say the least. Bucky Barnes- pardon, Congressman, Bucky Barnes, was on the other end of the line.

Somehow he'd gotten your number, most likely from Sam at some point, and was telling you to suit up.

As if you haven't already been suited up daily, protecting New York from minor threats. Which was strange, considering only four years ago, you'd gone against Thanos.

It was weird, going from fighting against a God-like being, to stopping a petty thief from holding a gun against your favorite corner store clerk.

A grumble came from the other end of the phone, Bucky sounded tired, then again he always sounded tired, at least you assumed so from the brief meetings the two of you have had.

"Doesn't matter, listen," He paused, you swore you could hear some weird chattering in the back, "I'm going to be in New York in a few hours, be ready to fight."

"You?"

"No," That was disappointing, it would've been fun to fight him.

"Aw."

"Don't 'aw' me, this is serious, I know you patrol the area. I need, help, with a problem." He slightly hesitated when he asked for help. Bucky was a capable man, that much you knew, if he needed help then this must've been important.

You let out a small sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, "Okay.. just text me when you arrive, I'll be ready."

With that you hung up, quickly changing the new number that was in your phone to 'Bucky Barnes'. Welp, now you had the number of another person from your unpleasant past.

It wasn't that you hated being an Avenger, hell, you technically never became one. You were just destined to become one. But that day never came.

Gifted, blessed, abnormal, savior. Words needlessly passed around during your childhood, all because of the strange power you possessed. A form of light manipulation. It wasn't overpowered, it was cool though.

Being able to create forms of light, alter it, change the trajectory, even make beams that harnessed the heat of the light. Something better than nothing, something that caught the eye of the infamous Tony Stark.

You never exactly got time to bond with them all, well, you were a kid when you accidentally demonstrated your powers in a public setting. The ol' parents weren't fond of that, so when Tony decided to help, seeing you as a future Avenger, they didn't pass up the opportunity to essentially hand you off.

You trained a bit, met some cool people, had a family for a short while, then they split, then they lost half the population, brought it back, half died, half survived. And for a while, you were alone again.

Some of the remaining Avengers checked in, hardly, but maybe it was the effort that counted?

An hour or so had passed before you got your next text, Bucky was finally in the city. He asked you to meet him by.. the old Avengers tower? You lived there only for a brief time. Hardly a few months, because after what happened between Stark and Rogers, Tony couldn't bear to continue to keep the tower.

You don't remember it very well, you were young and still getting used to being trained by hero's.

Shaking your head, you left, making the quick trip to the old tower.

There seemed to be soldiers inside, so you waited. Not for long of course, when suddenly a truck crashed right through the doors of the building.

Pushing yourself off the wall you quickly entered, seeing the man of the hour himself.

"Bucky?" Your voice cut through the commotion, the older man turned. His body now facing you.

He gave a curt nod, "Hey there, kid, no time no see."

You couldn't help but let out a snort at his words, even if you were never close to him, God it felt good to talk to someone with some kind of connection to who you used to be.

"Time hasn't been kind to you, Barnes, you look tired,"

He smirked, through all the stress it was nice to see the kid he once fought next to, grown, still seemingly protecting the people. Before he could respond a voice cut through the speaker of the lobby, a woman who you didn't know spoke.

Something about her having left the door unlocked for them. Whatever, the doors were broken now anyway.

With that, the group headed to the elevator, Bucky ushered everyone in.

You stepped in, looking at the group.

The elevator started its awkward ascent, "Hello there," A woman with a Russian accent spoke, "You must be the person Barnes was calling earlier." She stated, looking you up and down.

"Oh yea, that was me." You gave a small nod, leaning against the railing, offering your name.

"Ahh," The Russian woman said with a nod, "Yelena," She pointed to herself, then the man next to Bucky, "John Walker, Ava Starr, Alexei."

Just as she finished, Alexei interrupted, "You are quite young!" It sounded more like a statement than a question, "Why does the Soldier bring you along, little one?"

"He's not wrong, you look pretty young." Ava chimes before you can answer.

You sigh, not really wanting to divulge into the details, "I'm someone from his past,"

"That's not vague at all," John rolls his eyes, gripping his shield tightly.

Bucky gives him a small glare, you're unsure if it's on your behalf or there is some unsolved beef between the two, "It's almost like that was the idea!" You said with a sarcastic tone, "I'm just someone with certain capabilities, let's leave it there."

"Ah ah! Now I remember where I've heard of you!" Yelena smiles, not a real smile, more of a know it all grin, "You were one of those heroes who fought against Thanos, no?" She asks, causing everyone else to look either at Bucky or you.

You internally groaned at that, "Yea.. yea I fought against Thanos." Geez, was it just you or was this the longest elevator ride you've ever been on. Curse Tony for making his old building so tall.

"We both did, she's an old friend, and she's here to help, so don't antagonize her." Bucky told everyone, but it looked like he was looking mostly at Alexei and John.

Of course, Alexei didn't pay attention to Bucky, instead he put a hand on his belly while he laughed. He kinda looked like Santa, in a weird Russian way.

"Yes!" He pumped his fist into the air, "Now, we are a real team! The Thunderbolts will be unstoppable!" He exclaimed proudly, Yelena lowered her face into her hands in slight embarrassment.

"Oh my god, do not get started on this again."

You raised a confused brow, "What's the Thunderbolts?" You asked.

"Yelena's old soccer team! The West Chesapeake Bay Thunderbolts!"

Yelena just groaned loudly, "Okay, dad, we get it."

A small chuckle escaped your lips, it was nice, the dynamic at least. You'd been alone ever since the events with Thanos ended, so being able to be part of a team, even if for a fleeting moment was, homey.

All moments end though, and this one would end sooner than later, because once those elevator doors opened, everything became a quick blur.

It all went wrong pretty quick.

There was a moment that Yelena paused, as a man named Bob, -well apparently Sentry- descended the staircase. He had blonde hair and a strange yellow suit.

Ava commented on his hair, and he seemed more self aware after that. In the blink of an eye, everyone attacked. Or, at least tried.

He was so strong, for a moment you felt scared. Not because of the fact this guy could probably kill you with a flick of the wrist, but because he reminded you of that damn purple giant, the one who took away the future you could've had.

It felt like Thanos all over again, as dumb as it sounded. You saw Tony's body, you remember hearing what happened to Nat, remember the feeling of standing there as Steve explained on that bench that he lived a full life in the past.

You couldn't hesitate though, quickly using your powers to try and blind Sentry giving Bucky an opening to attack.

It was pointless.

He made quick work of you six, tossing you aside like a rag doll. Not even your powers, which were the only thing you had left worked. No matter how many beams you used, the deflected, in fact, they hit you. Pushing you back against the wall.

You spit out some blood, trying to get up, but Ava put her hand on your shoulder, shaking her head.

Both of you looked at the rest of the group, each one beaten and bruised. John's shield was bent in half, this guy means business.

Bucky was the last one standing, he tried to land a punch but Sentry discarded him with ease. He ripped off his arm, knocking him out with it and tossing, along with Bucky next to you.

Your eyes widened as Ava grabbed your shoulder, along with Bucky's arm, pulling you with her towards the elevator.

Alexei and John quickly grabbed Bucky, Yelena scurried up as well, joining you and everyone else.

The ride down was tense, your breathing felt heavy, your hands clutched to your chest. You've dealt with terrible things, maybe worse? You couldn't tell at the moment, it all felt like it was crashing down on you.

Turning to the side, you saw everyone else. Everyone was utterly defeated, John was trying to fix his shield. Alexei was quiet, for once. Ava still had a small reassuring hand on your shoulder. Yelena stared at the elevator door and Bucky was leaning against the wall with the assistance of Yelena.

There was a clear contrast from how you entered to how you left.

The elevator, that was filled with noise no longer than ten minutes ago, was now eerily still.

The ding let everyone know they'd reached the bottom, slowly making their way to the front of the building.

Ava finally let go of your shoulder, handing Bucky his arm.

There was talking but you weren't listening, the last time you felt defeated, a stupid purple man with a gauntlet had blipped half the universe away.

This wasn't the same, that was something you had to remind yourself of. You were not going to lose anyone else anymore. No, no, this was a corrupt CIA director using a man as a human experiment. Not the end of the world.

The feeling of someone's hand tapping your arm snapped you out of your daze.

Glancing towards the person, you saw Bucky, his arms crossed over his chest, a brow raised, "Kid, you okay?" Bucky was no idiot, he knew the signs of PTSD, the fear, anxiety. It was so plainly rolling off of you in waves.

You wanted to run away, scream, go back to that warm place you called home. But home wasn't a place, it was a fleeting memory. One that grew more blurred as the days passed by.

When you first met the Avengers, Tony brought you in, showed you around, then you met them all. Tony told you to 'put on a lightshow', honestly, it was stupid. A lightshow? Really? But you listened, because you were a kid who didn't know better.

It was a fun first day, you felt like you belonged somewhere.

"No," You shook your head as you responded to Bucky. He didn't push though, he could see in your eyes.

Instead he offered you a nod, patting your shoulder, "Okay." Bucky didn't know how to comfort people, at least not anymore. Maybe before the war, before his Winter Soldier days.

It was enough though, even if for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly you both noticed the way everyone had paused, looking up at the sky.

A shadowy figure floated above New York, you saw the helicopters closing in on it. But they began to spiral out of control, crashing into nearby buildings, causing debris to fall.

Neither Bucky, nor you wasted time, jumping into action. And it seemed you two weren't the only ones thinking that you saw them. The rest of the Thunderbolts jumped into action, helping protect people.

You saw a father running with his son in his arms, when a piece of cement made its way down, it was going to kill them.

Quickly you ran, raising your arms. Hands trained on the failing debris, a faint glow emitted, when suddenly it blasted, hitting the cemented building. It shattered, only smaller rubble fell, the bigger chunks luckily pushed to the side.

The man didn't stop running, but you could hear his grateful sobs as he held his son tightly against his chest.

You returned to the group, making sure everything was okay, when suddenly everyone clapped. Alexei looked ecstatic at that, his grin was proud.

It fell pretty quickly, as he saw a little girl standing right below another piece of the falling building, he rushed over to her. Using his body as a shield he saved the girls life.

At least he thought he did.

The girl became a shadow before your eyes. New York wasn't saved yet, as quickly as it became a rescue mission, it turned into an evacuation order.

You all ushered everyone inside nearby buildings, everyone but Yelena. Who stood before the void.

No one noticed before it was too late. Alexei yelled, both Bucky and John held him back. It wasn't two men holding back a Russian super soldier, no, it was two super soldiers holding back a father.

God, it was hard to watch, the remaining group rushed into an alleyway.

Ava proposed the idea of entering the void, to you, it sounded like a death wish. No one knew what was on the other side.

Actually, that was a lie.

Apparently John Walker knew. Of course he knew, he mentioned what happened when he first met Bob, the interaction that happened when he grabbed his hand.

It gave a vague idea that the void was a place where you relived your worst memories.

And if you wanted to save Yelena, and Bob. Then, dammit, you'd have to.

You all looked at each other, nodding, ready to let the void take you all.

Bucky gave you a quick glance, his expression held guilt, in the midst of trying to take down Valentina, he'd forgotten that he'd dragged you into this mess. To him, you were just a kid, no matter how old you were.

A kid who was raised with the idea that they had to be a hero, it was noble. Stupid, that's also what he thought it was.

He couldn't think about it for long though, because within a matter of seconds, the void had swallowed you all whole.

The Void either wanted to start off strong or you had a pristine line up of terrible memories to choose from.

The first thing you saw was you, standing next to an overflowing bathtub.

You could feel the wince you let out at the sight. This wasn't long after the battle with Thanos, when things were getting harder to deal with.

When the thoughts of how Tony should still be alive with his family, how Nat should've been at the Barton's annual Christmas party.

You tried to grab onto the past version that stood in front of the tub, but you couldn’t.

That person turned around, grabbing at your wrists and threw you against the wall with a hard crack.

Looking up you saw the same image again, it was repeating. This time you didn’t intervene. Instead you watched.

You knew you wouldn’t do anything, you were still here.

This past version of you fell to their knees. The tile floor was cold, and wet.

Instead of getting in, you only dunked in your head, screaming into the water.

A glimpse in the mirror caught your attention, it looked like, Yelena?

You quickly punched the bathroom mirror, shattering it and feeling how it sucked you into another memory.

One where you couldn’t save everyone.

This was a fairly recent memory, that’s why it felt more vivid, at least in your opinion.

New York was a big place, and even if you knew there were other heroes who could help, they also couldn’t be everywhere.

You had stopped a mugging, but not fast enough, not carefully enough. Someone had been shot.

You were careless and stupid and slow. Everything you thought you were taught not to be.

The paramedics were on the scene, your arms had blood, the woman’s blood.

She looked old enough to possible be a mother, maybe she had a partner at home, she was someone’s daughter, aunt, neighbor. And you let her die.

Maybe it would’ve been better if you took the bullet, because at least you wouldn’t have anyone truly worried about you.

The memory replayed, this time, you stepped in front of the gun, trying to save her.

But the trigger never went off, instead, she pushed you away, her face was sad, her frown killed you. Then she was killed.

The memory kept going on over and over, and for a moment, you were somewhere terrible.

You were in front of Tony Starks body, his side was burnt and he looked weak. There was a body in front of him.

You didn’t recognize him though, his face was almost blurred. He spoke the words over and over again , ‘Mr Stark, we did it,’ it was painful to hear.

Then, there she was again, Yelena, being strangled with Bob beside her.

You gritted your teeth. Forget these memories. They hurt like hell, but you had somehow prevailed, each time growing stronger because for some reason, you felt that this was your purpose.

You were still alive because you needed to help people, help them, help Yelena.

Within the blink of an eye you were in the same room as her, along with the rest of the Thunderbolts.

Each one looked confused, and slightly worried for the entire group.

You saw Bucky again, “You look like shit, Barnes,” You let out a shaky, relieved exhale.

“Well, you know my life was pretty good so no bad memories.” He joked, trying to lighten the mood. It wasn’t the best joke to make, but you smiled at the effort.

Ava also seemed to notice you, she had seemingly taken a liking to the youngest ex-Avenger, maybe because she knew the burdens of having powers growing up. Even if her experience was different.

With everyone back together, you all needed a plan of escape. Thankfully, Bob seemed more than ready to try and fight back against The Void.

Everyone began to rush through Bob’s memories, most were sad to see. Just from the small snippets, you could gather that his father was abusive, he was an addict, and he had some mental health issues.

Although it was funny to see Bucky punch a giant chicken.

Finally you all arrived at the last room, “I’ve been here before,” Yelena spoke, her eyes darting around.

In the middle of the room stood Void. His eyes held a faint glow and it was making you more nervous by the second.

Just as everyone got ready to charge, he lifted his hand, and pieces of metal had bound everyone against the walls.

John got it worst of all, his shoulder was impaled, he was stuck against the wall like that.

You tried to kick, get out of the metal bounds, but if three super soldiers couldn’t get out, you doubted you’d be able to.

Then they fought, Bob and his darker half.

The Void was taunting him,

“You thought you were gonna be some great man?” Void had kicked Bob to the ground, he stood tall. He paused before he continued again, “Some savior? You can’t even save yourself,”

Bob got up this time, but Void quickly put him down again, “We will always be alone.”

His words were painful, but Bob stood, and charged at him. Tackling him to the ground.

Yelena was struggling to breath a bit, Void had tied something around her neck, trying to egg Bob on, make him angry, accept the dark part of him.

He kept punching, over, and over.

Beating Void, but that was what he wanted. The shadows began to consume Bob, “Stop, Bob, stop it!” Yelena yelled, trying to get free.

Alexei used all his strength, lifting the metal off them enough to get Yelena out of the binds.

She ran as fast as she could to Bob, hugging him, “You’re not alone” she whispered.

And his punches slowed, but not enough, not yet.

Quickly the rest of you were able to get free, running over as well, all of you wrapped around Bob. As the Void lost.

You returned, all of you.

The shadow that engulfed New York began to retract itself.

Unfortunately Valentina was able to use this to her advantage. Debuting you six as the New Avengers.

Alexei actually thought AvengerZ was better.

It didn’t matter though, because at least this way you could keep that evil woman in check, and you kinda got a new family out of it.

For once in a long time, everything felt okay, you were going to be okay.

14 months had passed since then, you all lived in a new Compound together as a family. You still wonder what the old Avengers would’ve thought of you now.

Maybe they’d be proud, that you continued on, despite the pain. Or would’ve hated the idea of a new team of Avengers.

“Sam’s suing us for use of the Avengers name,” Bucky let out a low sigh, sitting down on the couch beside you.

A small laugh left you, before you stopped and realized his serious expression, “Wait, he can do that?”

Alexei laughed, as he still tried to sell Yelena and John on his new, ‘AvengerZ’ team sweaters.

Bucky walked over to Yelena, getting more info on the supposed unidentified ship nearing Earth.

Alexei gave you one of the sweaters as he argued with John about supposedly using Bob as some kind of rocket to launch them all into space. Safe to say Bob wasn’t amused.

“That sweater looks dumb,” Ava smiles at you, taking Bucky’s empty seat beside you.

“Really? I think it’s growing on me.”

She just rolled her eyes at your words, “Don’t let Alexei hear, it’ll get to his head.”

With that, Ava gave you a light pat on the head.

This was nice, you were happy, even if your team was going through legal issues and was a weird set of characters. You wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Life with the New Avengers(Z) wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[winteryn]

DIZZY, DITZY, DARLING boyfriend!benjamin poindexter x ditzy girlfriend!reader [6k]

— ⟢ SUMMARY: while the world reacts to dex like a threat, you interpret the constant stares as admiration, convinced your boyfriend is just effortlessly captivating, and completely unaware that what others are actually responding to is the violence he carries so quietly. — ⟢ WARNINGS: MDNI (this story doesn’t contain smut but my blog is 18+); she/her pronouns for reader; set into a (non-canon) future; mention of stalking & obsessive behavior; mention of murder; mention of a man being creepy toward reader; protective!dex; dex is down bad; slight hints at possessive!dex; clueless!reader; reader wears skirts & dresses & makeup; fluff; silly light banter; pet names (he’s so soft for reader & reader is head over heels for him ☹️).

A/N: me writing for dex wasn’t planned at all since I still have to catch up with daredevil and all the marvel tv series I missed, but long story short, one night I read @aquaticmercy good eyes! I looked him up and now I have a new character to turn into an obsessed loser 💕 (I’m so sorry for the tag but I wanted to thank you again for sharing your amazing work with us 🫶🏻 go read that story if you haven’t yet bc it’s so good!! I can’t wait for these exams to be over so I can read the entire series 😭). since my stalker!dex fic is going to take a while to be ready, I decided to post this in the meantime to celebrate reaching 2k followers (again, it’s unbelievable, thank you so so much dears 🫂). I always have so much fun writing clueless ditzy!reader with a feral guard dog as her boyfriend so here we are! I’m open to write more about these two in the future, however for now I just wanted to give you a small glimpse into their relationship. hope you’ll enjoy 🤍

Dex has been ready for nearly half an hour by the time you finally call out from the bedroom that you’re “almost done”, a phrase he has learned through experience that could mean anything. Depending on the day, it could be five minutes, twenty minutes... Once, it meant an hour because you somehow got distracted halfway through getting dressed and ended up reorganizing your makeup drawer instead.

He remains where you left him on the couch, listening to the familiar sounds drifting from the bedroom. The rustle of clothes, the opening and closing of drawers, the faint hum of music you are only half paying attention to. Every so often the noise stops altogether, and he knows without looking that you’ve paused in the middle of whatever you were doing because a new thought occurred to you. 

The corner of his mouth twitches when he hears a drawer slide open for what must be the third time.

You are, apparently, still deciding.

He leans his head back against the pillow and looks toward the hallway, listening as hangers scrape together for what has to be the fifth time that morning. A moment later you appear in the living room wearing a thin camisole and panties, visibly distracted as you carry two skirts over one arm and absolutely none of the urgency you have claimed to possess twenty seconds earlier.

Instead of stopping, you cross directly in front of him on your way to the kitchen, pause halfway there as though you forgot why you left the bedroom in the first place, then turn around and head back.

Dex watches the entire sequence unfold with an amused grin on his lips.

“Baby?”

The call floats out from the bathroom.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Have you seen my lipstick? The one with the golden cap.”

Dex’s gaze shifts automatically toward the coffee table. The lipstick is sitting exactly where you left it yesterday night, directly beside your phone.

“It’s here in the living room.”

A few seconds pass before your head appears around the corner.

You follow the direction of his gaze and the lipstick is, indeed, there.

“Oh.”

You walk over, pick it up, and immediately chuckle at yourself, pressing the tube against your cheek as though the object has somehow personally embarrassed you.

His smile only widens.

“Thank you, baby.” 

Before he could respond, you step closer and lean down, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.

The gesture is small, thoughtless in the way all your sweetest habits are, but it lands with far more force than it should have. You have a way of unraveling him, taking ordinary moments and turning them into something he carries around for the rest of the day with a loud insistence that would border on illegal.

He could spend hours listening to you talk, watching you move through your apartment, following the winding path of your attention from one thing to the next, and somehow never grow tired of it. 

Being with you feels so natural now that he rarely thinks about his life before. Somewhere along the way, you have simply become part of every day, every thought, every plan.

The worst part is that, in some ways, none of it is entirely new.

Long before you ever kissed him, long before you started calling him your baby and sweetheart and smiling whenever he showed up at your door, Dex knew far more about you than he ever should have.

He knew which coffee shop you stopped at when you had time before work and which one you settled for when you were running late. Knew the route you took home—the exact same one that, on your second date, brought him to gently suggest other routes in case someone were to follow you. Yes, very hypocritical of him. Knew the names of your neighbors and what role they played in your life, and the days you remembered to water the plant on your small balcony without setting a reminder on your phone.

You walked into his life smiling at him like he was someone worth of kindness, and all those carefully guarded details he obsessed over slowly became ordinary things he was allowed to learn as your boyfriend. Now he knows your favorite lip gloss because you have a habit of leaving it in his jacket pocket. He knows which dresses you reach for most often because he was with you when you bought them, showing your gorgeous body off to him while asking for his opinion. He knows the sound of your laugh from the other side of a crowded room because he has spent too many late nights watching movies with you when your anxiety hit you out of nowhere, and your hand was already reaching for your phone to call him.

Because you trust him.

The thought still feels unsettling sometimes—specifically those nights where sleep evades him, and Dex spends way too much time staring at his dull ceiling, thinking about you.

You trust him enough to hand him your apartment keys; to fall asleep with your head on his shoulder; to reach for his hand without thinking.

If you ever understood the full extent of who he was before you, some of that trust might disappear. But Dex has no intention of finding out.

As far as he is concerned, he can carry that weight himself.

You deserve the version of him that sits patiently on your couch while you search for your makeup scattered around your apartment, not the one who has spent years knowing how to follow people only to make them disappear from the face of the Earth.

Completely unaware of the chaotic mess that is his heartbeat, you smile and start to turn back toward the hallway.

You make it exactly one step. Then his fingers hook loosely around your wrist.

A surprised squeak escapes your throat as he tugs, until your knees fall beside his supine form.

“Dex—”

The protest dissolves into a giggle when he pulls you back toward him. One hand settles at your waist, steadying you as you stumble, and before you can say anything else, his other hand settles on your neck to bring you closer.

This time, the kiss lands on your lips.

When he finally draws back, his expression remains as calm as ever, though there is something unmistakably fond glinting in his eyes.

“There,” he says quietly. “Now you can go.”

For a moment, you just look at him with your beautiful hazy eyes.

The kiss is brief but it still leaves the back of your head tingling. It happens more than you can remember, really whenever he touches you like that without warning. Smiling, you finally stand up and turn away satisfied, already heading back to your bedroom.

Until you abruptly stop halfway through the middle of the hallway.

“Oh, wait!” You spin back around, jogging back in front of him and lifting the two skirts draped over your arm. “Which one of these do you like better?”

There it is, the real reason you’d come looking for him.

Dex glances at the two options with his arms crossed over his chest, then at you, with the same solemn concentration he wears before putting a knife through someone’s throat. His gaze moves again from one option to the other as though the decision carries life-or-death consequences.

The decision itself barely takes a second.

“The pink one.”

You study him suspiciously. “Did you actually look at them?”

“Yes.”

“You answered really fast.”

“Because I bought you the pink one.”

You blink. “That’s your reasoning?”

“And you look gorgeous in it.”

He smiles faintly as he reaches out and lightly pinches the soft fabric, briefly pulling it toward himself before letting it fall back into place.

There is something undeniably satisfying about seeing you wrapped in his gifts. He remembers every single thing he’s ever given you, from the expensive ones to the small, impulsive purchases that caught his attention because they reminded him of you. He likes knowing that, when you stand in front of your closet deciding what to wear, something he picked out is right there, part of your life. 

It always leaves him with a quiet sense of pride burning hot in his chest.

You, on the other hand, brighten at once.

“Really?”

Dex’s gaze lingers on you for a moment before he nods.

“Of course, lovely.”

Appeased, you lean down once more and kiss his cheek before turning toward the hallway again.

“Thank you, honey. You’re the best boyfriend in the world.”

The compliment is tossed over your shoulder so casually that you completely miss the way his chest lifts and lowers with a dreamy sigh.

Dex watches you disappear back into the bedroom, and a second later, he hears you humming to the next song on your playlist specifically arranged for when you get ready.

Despite the fact that the two of you were supposed to leave twenty minutes ago to avoid lunch rush, he finds himself smiling serenely as he settles further into the couch, patiently waiting for the next crisis to emerge from your closet.

You return a few minutes later, finally looking content with your choices. The moment you step into the living room, you give a small turn, the skirt flaring slightly around your thighs before settling back into place.

“What do you think?” You announce, smoothing a hand over it before looking at him expectantly. “Cute enough for a lunch date with my boyfriend?”

Dex doesn’t answer immediately, because he has gotten distracted by you again.

It happens more often than he likes to admit.

A soft smile sets on his mouth as he slowly stands up from the couch.

“I think you spent forty minutes deciding between outfits when you were going to look pretty in all of them anyway.”

You sigh, definitely trying to hide your giddiness.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“No, but it’s the truth.” He shrugs nonchalantly, his hands automatically landing on your waist.

“Dex.”

The warning carries absolutely no weight behind it.

His smile widens slightly.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

The answer comes easily, without the same hesitation or embarrassment that tinged your ex boyfriends’ voice. What a bunch of bastards, that’s what Dex thought when you shyly confessed that none of them did really compliment the effort you put each time in your outfits.

He doesn’t understand how anyone would voluntarily deprive themself of the adorable sight that is your face when it lights up, and your pleased little smile you always try and fail to hide afterward. There is something utterly disarming in witnessing first-hand how much his opinion matters to you.

You wrap your arms around his neck and peck his lips. “Hm, thank you.”

Dex’s hold tightens slightly as you try to pull back.

“You know,” you squint your eyes at him. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re telling me these things because you’re my boyfriend or because you actually mean it.”

That pulls a quiet laugh out of him.

“Doll, if I was saying it because I’m your boyfriend, I’d have stopped after the first hundred times.”

You stare at him for a moment before breaking into a grin.

“You’re the cutest.” You inform him off-handedly, lightly tapping his pectoral before turning around.

Dex’s cheeks are on fire but you don’t notice this time, luckily. 

“C’mon,” you give his hand a tug toward the door. “I’m starving.”

His fingers squeeze yours before he follows you out of the apartment, already knowing that whatever plans the two of you have made for the morning would spend the entire day competing for his attention with you. And fail miserably.

Saturdays are apparently the days when half the city decides to visit this particular diner, because the place is crowded enough that the waitresses are weaving between tables with practiced efficiency, balancing trays on one hand and apologizing to customers with the other.

Cutlery clinks against plates, conversations overlap into a constant murmur, and somewhere near the front entrance a child is making his dissatisfaction with vegetables everybody’s problem.

You like it.

Dex doesn’t.

Or rather, he tolerates it because of you.

He is sitting opposite you in the booth, one arm stretched along the backrest, looking composed yet alert, just detached enough that most people think twice before approaching him.

You take a sip of your iced tea, letting your gaze wander across the diner again.

The more you pay attention, the more obvious it becomes.

People keep looking at your boyfriend.

Every few minutes somebody’s attention would snag on Dex and persist for just a little before moving away again. There is also a strange hesitation to it, followed by a second glance that lingers too long only to abruptly disappear the moment he shifts or turns his head ever so slightly.

A waitress nearly misses a turn between tables because she is looking in his direction, catching herself at the last second with an embarrassed smile before continuing on. A couple at a nearby booth has interrupted their own conversation at least three times since you sat down, each glance more cautious than the last. Even the man who has entered just a few minutes earlier seems to freeze briefly after spotting him across the room. His shoulders stiffen almost immediately, and after another look in Dex’s direction, he lowers his gaze and heads toward the counter instead.

The strange thing is that nobody ever seems inclined to approach him. If anything, they appear determined to do the opposite.

You rest your chin on your hand and continue observing the room with a curious expression as Dex moves his focus on the menu. You have seen him identify a pickpocket three blocks away once. There is no chance he is missing half a dozen people staring at him from across a small diner.

The fact that he isn’t reacting only makes the whole thing more suspicious.

You look at him for another moment. Your boyfriend, meanwhile, appears too occupied with deciding whether he wants fries or onion rings.

The conclusion arrives with such certainty that you almost laugh.

Of course. You finally know what’s going on!

You lean forward across the table.

“Dex.”

“Yes, sweetheart, we can take the fries with the cheddar on top.” He comments absently.

“No.” You frown. “I mean yes, and bacon too! But I have a question.”

His gaze lifts immediately.

Unlike most people, Dex always pays attention when you speak, even when he knows there is a good chance the conversation is about to take a very strange turn.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

You lower your voice, adjusting in your seat so you could be closer.

“It’s a serious question.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, and he copies your stance as he leans forward, the menu completely forgotten. “I’ll do my best.” He whispers back.

You glance around once more before looking back at him.

“Are you famous?”

For a moment, Dex simply stares at you unblinking.

“Am I what?”

“Famous.”

“No.”

You frown. His answer comes far too quickly.

“See, that’s exactly what a famous person would say.”

A quiet laugh escapes him before he can stop it.

“Doll…”

“No, Dex. I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

Your mouth seals shut the moment a waitress appears to take your order and you squint at her lips pressed thinly against each other as Dex calmly speaks to her. You completely miss the way her voice shakes at the edge when she repeats your order back to you, though.

The moment she walks away, you glance around the room before gesturing vaguely toward the rest of the diner. “Then explain this.”

Dex follows the motion of your hand almost confused—maybe he hoped you had let it go—briefly taking in the room before looking back at you.

“Explain what?”

“Everybody keeps staring at you.”

His expression softens at once, the way it always does whenever you become too stubborn about something.

“They aren’t staring at me.”

“They absolutely are.”

You sit back against the booth, already counting the evidence on your fingers.

“The blonde waitress almost bumped against a table because she saw you and then made a double take. That couple on my left has been mumbling about us since we sat down. And the guy near the register keeps glancing over here. This happens everywhere we go.”

Dex listens patiently while you list your observations, his attention fixed entirely on you despite the fact that half the room genuinely is watching him.

You are so earnest about it that interrupting feels almost cruel.

“I think you’re misunderstanding their looks.” He answers gently.

“And I think you’re deflecting.” You cross your arms to your chest, slightly tilting your head as if to challenge him to deny it.

That finally makes him smile. His pretty, little detective.

You point at him. “That.”

“What?” He almost snorts out a laugh.

“That’s the way you smile when you think I’m wrong.” You frown.

He glances away briefly, as if weighting his options. “I think you’ve come to a very creative conclusion.”

Your eyes narrow further. “So you admit it’s possible.”

“Doll.” The fond exasperation in his voice only makes you more confident.

At that point, the same waitress arrives with your food before either of you could continue, carefully setting the plates down on the table. She offers you a polite smile, but the moment she looks at Dex she seems to think better of whatever she was about to say and quickly excuses herself.

You watch her back until she disappears in the kitchen, then your eyes immediately jump back on him.

“Did you see that?” You whisper conspiratorially. 

“See what, baby?” He is already picking up his fork.

“The look she gave you!”

You stare at each other for a long second, before you sigh dramatically and steal one of his fries.

The movement is so familiar neither of you acknowledge it.

“I’ve been collecting evidence for months.”

That earns a genuine laugh. “Yeah?”

You hum, nodding with utter confidence before pointing your half-eaten fry at him.

“Do you remember the woman in the bookstore last week who hurt her arm?”

“The one who walked into a shelf?” A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I remember. But sweetheart, I don’t think she walked into a shelf because of me. That isn’t proof of anything.”

“It absolutely is.” You exclaim, offended.

“How?”

“Because she was looking at you.” You answer as if that should have been obvious.

“Princess, people are capable of walking into things without my involvement.”

“Not like that. She completely missed it.” You shake your head, still unconvinced. “It was a big shelf, Dex.” You explain worriedly.

A chuckle rumbles deeply into his chest. “I’m sure there are other explanations.”

“Name one.”

Dex opens his mouth, but has to close it again when nothing logical enough to reassure you comes to mind.

You sit back looking unbearably pleased with yourself.

“Exactly.”

The triumphant satisfaction that spreads across your face makes him shake his head.

Dex has known you for one year, six months, two weeks and two days, and yet he still isn’t entirely sure how your mind works. 

“You know what?” You quip, reaching across the table to straighten the collar of his jacket without even seeming aware of it. “I think people recognize you from somewhere and you’re too humble to admit it.”

For a split second, the world seems to stop.

Your words are harmless, tossed into the conversation with the same certainty you applied to every piece of evidence you presented him moments ago, but this time they land unexpectedly sharp. His thoughts skip past bookstores and grocery stores, past awkward strangers and curious glances, and reach somewhere much darker. Newspaper articles. Police reports. Crime scene photographs. Names he tries to not remember. Faces he dreams anyway.

A familiar knot tightens in his chest.

There was a time when he assumed you knew, or at least knew enough. Not every detail, but enough to understand what kind of man he was. Is. Enough to see the warning signs everyone else eventually runs from, and to reach the conclusion that whatever existed between the two of you wasn’t worth the risk.

Instead, you got closer.

As the months passed, he’s forced to confront a truth that still occasionally leaves him stunned: you are genuinely clueless to everything that happened. You aren’t overlooking that part of his life, or making a conscious decision to forgive it. As far as he can tell, you are completely unaware it exists at all.

The realization frightened him at first. Sometimes it still does. Every now and then you say something innocent that drifts too close to the truth, and it lands in him like a hand closing around a live wire.

Like the night a man wouldn’t stop following you at the club. You were celebrating your best friend’s birthday and called Dex without thinking twice when you noticed the man loitering far enough to appear innocent at first, yet kept staring at you like a piece of meat. Then he almost followed you to the restroom if it weren’t for one of your friends standing up at last to come with you.

Your boyfriend was already waiting a few blocks away unbeknown to you when the call arrived, because somewhere along the line “I’ll pick you up later” had turned into him just staying there, in true Benjamin Poindexter’s fashion.

The way you said his name was enough for Dex to break every speed limit as he raced to you.

He appeared in front of the creep without a word, just close enough for him to eventually look down and quickly get out of the club without a word. You threw yourself at Dex, still buzzing with adrenaline, laughing and painting his face with your favorite lipstick as you pressed tiny little kisses. Later in his car, still bright-eyed from the night, you told him he was “weirdly good at making people behave.”

Or the time you once insisted on tagging along at the range, because it felt unfair that he was always willing to step into your world. Dex spent months following you to concerts, bookstores, art fairs, coffee shops, and every other interest that caught your attention, while his own hobbies remained strangely compartmentalized, shared only in passing and never fully opened to you.

You watched him shoot with quiet fascination, genuinely impressed in a way that was far too open and uncomplicated. Then, you told him his aim was “ridiculous, but in a good way, baby” like it was nothing more than admiration for a simple talent.

Of course you completely missed his jaw clenching for half a second at the ease in your voice as you complimented the same skill he put to use to eliminate unpleasant people. 

Those moments cling onto his mind with insistent fear. They linger long after you’ve moved on to something softer, something brighter, something that makes you laugh again without thinking about what you’ve just said. Because to you, they are just pieces of him you find charming, even safe. To him, they sound dangerously close to being understood in a way that was never meant for you. Each time, he wonders if that’s the point where this carefully crafted bubble finally bursts. 

For a brief period of time, even dates came with the hollow preoccupation that you could look at him like he wasn’t yours to trust.

Instead, here you are a year later prettily sitting in this quaint little booth as you try to convince him that strangers stare at him because he must be secretly famous.

Dex forces out a laugh that sounds wrong even to his own ears before clearing his throat, hoping to still appear unbothered.

“Now, sweetheart, you know I’m far from humble."

“Yeah, but you’re handsome.”

The correction comes so quickly it catches him completely off guard, causing him to choke on his coke.

You say it as though you are simply reminding him of something obvious, and the contrast between where his thoughts have been a moment ago and where you dragged them now leaves him gaping at you for a second longer than he means to.

Your smile takes shape slowly, the corners of your mouth lifting around the straw still caught between your fingers. There is something unbearably soft about it, unguarded that makes it obvious you aren’t waiting for him to deny the compliment or argue with you about it. Your eyes shine as you look at him across the table, pleased with yourself in the way you always are whenever you think you said something particularly clever. 

The knot in his chest loosens slightly.

It’s always like this: you would wander dangerously close to the parts he desperately wants hidden, send his blood pressure to the roof as his mind races through every worst-case scenario imaginable, and then somehow, without realizing it, pull him right back out again.

“Honestly, Dex,” you continue, reaching across the table to steal another fry from his plate. “Sometimes I forget other people have eyes.”

His laugh is strangled. “I’m not sure what that means.”

“It means if I looked like you, I’d be insufferable.”

You sound completely sincere.

“I’d never shut up about it. I’d walk into every room like I personally invented being handsome.”

Dex purses his lips in a poor attempt to hide his grin, looking down at his plate as a pink blush gently settles across his cheeks.

Your hand finds his almost absentmindedly where it rests idly on the table. You lace your fingers through his, giving his hand a small squeeze.

“I like when you smile.”

After everything he’s spent years being called, after everything he’s spent years believing about himself, you still seem genuinely determined to overthrow that negativity while collecting your favorite things about him and lock them away in your heart.

His smile.

His eyes.

The shape of his hands.

The way he laughs.

Even the scar on his cheek. The first time you kissed him there, like it was just another part of him that deserved love, he stared at the wall motionless for ten full minutes before you came back from the bathroom and worriedly asked if he was okay.

You hand out your affection with the same thoughtlessness other people hand out napkins, without realizing what that does to damned men like him.

Or maybe you do realize.

Sometimes he can’t tell.

“Sweetheart,” he starts quietly, embarrassed by his next shaky exhale.

“What?”

The question is innocent as you glance up from your own plate.

His eyes follow the length of your body: from the pastel cardigan you threw on before leaving the apartment, to the lip gloss sparkling on your lips despite frantically looking for your lipstick earlier. His heart pathetically stumbles on its next beat at the serene expression on your face, just because you managed to make him smile.

Beautiful.

Beautiful and sweet and entirely too good for him.

Warmth settles behind his ribs, familiar by now but no less overwhelming than the first time he took a look at you through the window of this same diner as you were having lunch with your colleagues and realized you were the love of his life.

Across the room, people continue glancing in his direction with varying degrees of unease.

You, meanwhile, are holding his hand across a sticky table, looking at him as though he is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to you.

And if there is one thing Dex has learned since meeting you, it’s that he would believe your opinion over everyone else’s.

In the end, what started as a serious investigation into Dex’s supposed fame somehow turns into a surprisingly passionate debate over how much milk a milkshake can reasonably contain before it starts making people sick. Which then leads to a discussion about whether milkshakes are technically drinks or desserts, which eventually evolves into you explaining a theory that Dex is increasingly convinced has no basis in science whatsoever.

“I’m telling you, in Japan they even have a word for it. I read it on TikTok.” You tear off a piece of toast and Dex rolls his eyes at the mention of that damn app that always steals your attention away from him just before bed. 

“You can be completely full and still want dessert.”

“That’s because dessert is dessert.” He shrugs as though it should be obvious.

“Hm no, I’m sure it goes somewhere else.” 

Dex looks up from the dessert menu.

“Somewhere else.” He repeats slowly.

“Yes.” You nod, completely absorbed in the last pieces of your omelette. “Like a second stomach.”

He stares at you for a moment.

“You don’t actually believe that.” 

You look up offended. “I didn’t make it up!”

His eyebrow lifts skeptically. “Yeah? Who elaborated this theory then?”

“I don’t know.” You mumble, shrugging. “People.”

“Very reliable source.” He nods sagely.

You point your fork at him. “Don’t be rude, Mister.”

The fact that you completely melt when he sends you a wink over the table ruins most of the effect.

By the time your plates have emptied, the lunch rush has begun to thin around you. Families filter out, new customers replace them, and the noise of the diner settles into a softer hum. 

You take the other dessert menu after cleaning the bread crumbs from your fingers with one of those napkins that are far too delicate and small to be useful in a place where anyone can order burgers and fries. Resting one elbow on the table, you consider your options with an amount of concentration most people reserve for major financial decisions.

Dex, meanwhile, is supposed to be returning to his own menu. But he’s too busy looking at something far lovelier.

Which is why you eventually catch him staring.

“You keep looking at me like that.”

Dex tilts his head slightly, the ghost of a smile already pulling at his mouth.

“Like what, sweetheart?”

You pretend to consider it, tapping a perfectly manicured fingernail against the edge of the plastic menu before finally lowering it onto the table.

“Like you love me.”

The thing is, you never say these things to get a reaction. You aren’t fishing for compliments or reassurance. You simply speak whatever crosses your mind, completely unaware of the effect it has on people.

Or, more specifically, on his poor heart.

Slowly, Dex holds the menu shut and sets it aside.

You tilt your head curiously. “What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, he slides out of the booth with a single smooth movement.

Your eyebrows immediately shoot up.

The movement alone would have been suspicious enough, but the look on his face makes it infinitely worse. There is something unmistakably playful about it, a grin he is very clearly trying—and failing—to suppress.

“Benjamin.”

His grin widens and you point at him with your menu as he keeps advancing, too slowly to be unintentional.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Whatever you’re planning.” You sputter out as he looms over you.

“I’m not planning anything.” He lifts both hands up, innocently. 

“Liar—oh!”

He slides into the booth beside you before you can protest further, one arm immediately finding its way around your waist. A surprised laugh falls from your lips as he pulls you effortlessly against his side, his other hand landing on your bare thigh.

“Oh my God, you have a perfectly large seat waiting for you.”

“Mmh, maybe I like this one better.”

You shake your head, trying very hard to not smile and therefore encourage his antics.

His hold tightens slightly when you make the mistake of rolling your eyes, and before you can decide whether to complain again, his fingers find your side.

The squeal that escapes you is embarrassingly loud.

“Dex!”

His grin becomes downright dangerous.

“Don’t you dare.”

Unfortunately, the warning only spurs him on.

You twist away with a gasp, nearly folding in half as laughter bursts out of you. People are definitely staring now: the woman at the next table looks at you alarmed, and a waitress frowns as she walks past your table, deeply confused.

Your boyfriend, meanwhile, appears to be having the time of his life.

“Benjamin.” You gasp.

“Benjamin Poindexter.”

That only makes him chuckle. The sound catches you off guard enough that your protests dissolve into another fit of giggles.

Eventually he relents, though not out of mercy. Mostly because you have ended up curled against his side trying to escape and neither of you seem particularly interested in fixing that.

His arms remain firmly around your body as you try to regain your breath, still smiling when you tip your head back to look at him.

“You’re awful.” It would sound much more convincing if you hadn’t just wrapped one hand around his forearm.

“I know.”

The complete lack of remorse makes you shake your head at him in fake disappointment.

A comfortable silence falls between you. The diner still buzzes around your intertwined forms, plates clattering somewhere in the kitchen and voices traveling between tables, but it all feels like a distant world compared to the little safe bubble Dex has created for you.

You reach up instinctively and brush your fingers through his hair. The terrifyingly dangerous man who could make entire rooms nervous without saying a single word melts into your touch.

You smile. “Hi.”

The corners of his mouth lift.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

You peck his lips before he can say anything else. It’s meant to be quick and sweet, yet his grin sharpens slightly at the edges.

He leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, lingering just long enough that it doesn’t feel like a mindless gesture so much as a habit he developed specifically for you. Your breath hitches at the second kiss, a little slower than the first, like he is testing your reaction. By the third, you’ve gone completely limp against him.

“There she is.” He murmurs in awe.

The way he touches you makes it very difficult to remember whatever point you were trying to make before, because there is nothing performative in it, nothing malicious—just an open kind of attention that never dims, even when the rest of the room exists loudly around him. His right hand stays where it has been the entire time, big and warm around your waist, while the other gently takes yours, his thumb tracing the same absent, familiar motion over your knuckles.

“Dex.” You mumble without any heat as his lips end up on the slope of your neck.

“Hm?” He hums absently, nuzzling your skin as he indulges in the familiar floral scent of your body cream mixed with something inherently you.

“We’re in public.” You sigh, the words feeling like cotton wool in your mouth.

“Don’t care.” His answer is nothing short of a whisper as he traces the path to your cheek with little, soft kisses.

Dex sees the exact moment something changes in you, following the way your hazy eyes fall to his lips before you lean in without much thought.

He meets you halfway in a slow kiss, his mouth still curved slightly against yours as though he can’t quite contain his happiness. When you pull back just enough to breathe, he follows you instinctively, not letting the distance become anything real.

His lips end up on yours again, and again, and again, until your giggle is being muffled by his eager mouth. Dex quietly gloats as he finally leaves you alone, resting his forehead against yours, his hand still holding yours, because letting go has never been an option.

He should look away by now—he knows he should—but the decision never quite makes it through that part of him that is supposed to care about appearances around you.

His eyes aren’t soft in that careful way he learned just for you. They’re too direct for that, too exposed, as if that unhealthy fixation he usually keeps under control has slipped his iron grip and now is just there, raw in the way he watches you like there isn’t a single thing in the world that matters enough to compete with you.

There’s a brief, almost violent flicker in his focus, and something in the back of his mind screams that he needs to rein it in, to pull it back before you can notice. But he doesn’t manage to act on it fast enough.

What remains is the part that doesn’t know how to pretend.  

You give a small, satisfied hum, completely unbothered by the glint in his eyes as your head slowly falls on his shoulder.

“Anyway, I think I’m getting the blueberry pie.”

Dex stares at you for a moment, the laugh slipping out of him quiet and fond as he eagerly takes in the sight of the ruined gloss on your mouth, and your half-lidded eyes.

He did that.

“What?” You murmur, briefly glancing up at him.

Dex shakes his head once, his lips twisting into a tender smile.

“Nothing, princess.”

He shifts just enough in the booth to make room for you more comfortably, the arm around your torso tightening in an absent pull that keeps you anchored to him. The unhurried kiss he presses to your forehead lingers on your skin for more than necessary, to the point your eyelids just lazily flutter shut while being completely surrounded by his warmth.

“I’ll get the cherry one.”

— ⟢ END NOTES: thank you so much for reading 🤍 my masterlist → winteryn's masterlist

🏷️ general dex taglist: @bibiishin @sheriff-bodecker @star-yawnznn

[arervoir]

꒰ 𝓑𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐄 𝓡𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 '

harvard law , chanel purses , walk in closet , her pomeranian bonbon , virgin pina coladas , hearts over i ' s , fashion magazines , everyone loves her , beauty n ' brains , fuzzy pens , beverly hills born , sorority president , gamma nu , class of 2015 , xoxo on the license plate , her baby pink porsche convertible , animal and enviromentalist activist

𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐞 ! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who majored in law and minored in fashion , who says you can't be a stylish lawyer ?

𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐞 ! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who has an eye for her clients going above and beyond to make sure they win any case even going as far as giving gifts .

𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐞 ! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who is unapologetically hyper-feminine, embracing her love for fashion using her interests to use complex legal cases .

𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐞 ! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who , despite being underestimated or looked upon as a " dumb bimbo " channels her setbacks into motivation and proves to everyone what she ' s capable of .

𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐞 ! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who is deeply empathetic and loyal for those around her , actively uplifting friends and even people she doesn't know , she has a strong moral compass and doesn ' t chanel her focus on being malicious .

𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐞 ! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who radiats charisma , she connects with people effortlessly and doesn ' t let the judgement of others dictate he focus

𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐞 ! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who is so effortlessly fashionable , she ' s rarely caught wearing jeans , her style is another pathway to her personality , always wearing designer , there ' s truly never a dull outfit when it comes to her

𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡

clark kent , andrew " pope " cody , bruce wayne , matthew murdock , baran al hashimi , benjamin poindexter , trinity santos , adrian chase

𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤

none yet

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

pinned , reminders , prompts

[northistar]

bf!dex who looks way too pleased with himself when you get angry enough to hit him.

you two make a very disfunctional couple, that much could be said. you patch him up from knife and bullet wounds more often than you go out on dates, and you're constantly arguing about dex's obsessive, infuriating need to keep everything in your life under his control.

on particularly bad fights, you make him grovel for days.

dex will mostly spend them chasing you around your apartment while you pretend not to notice the hulking mass of a man stalking you around every room, an inevitable presence you couldn't get rid of even if you tried. he says i'm sorry and please talk to me and i'll do anything while you try your best to remain unphased, even if the undeniable lack of remorse in his voice only fills you with even more rage.

one day you turn on your heels and slap him across the face.

it's a sudden, sharp crack that echoes around the room like a gunshot. his head turns to the side and stays there, because you struck him hard enough for dex to freeze like that for a moment before he blinks once in surprise, tongue moving inside his mouth to poke the inside of his cheek.

you can see it in him, the change that happens when dex registers the sting and the heat that starts spreading across the side of his face, the shape of your fingertips painting his skin a crimson red. his mouth curls then, lips tugging into a smile as his eyes flutter closed to savor the impact.

you make a disgusted sound, and because you're still pissed, even more mad now than before you realized you can't even hurt him without his deranged brain turning it into this, you snarl: "what the fuck is wrong with you?"

dex only laughs in response, seemingly pulled out of his trance by the sound of your voice. it's the first time you've spoken to him in hours, and something inside him hums in satisfaction at finally earning back your attention, even if you're still scowling at him with an intensity that would make a lesser man feel the urge to bolt.

to dex, though, the only thing worth registering is that he has your eyes back on him once more, your touch back where it belongs—on his skin, burning across his cheek as physical proof.

he reaches out to grab your hand, fingers enclosing around your wrist and lifting your arm with enough gentleness to make you hesitate upon the thought of pulling it right back, then guides your palm to lay flat against the other side of his face.

"i'll let you take it out on me all you want, we both know i deserve it," he says, soft eyes fixed on yours despite the haze of rage still clouding your vision. "but if you really want to hurt me, then you'll have to hit me harder, sweetheart."

[anniflamma]

I have gotten some asks if they could hold Contrarian, so I decided to draw Cheated being held as well, 'cause why not? ^^