𖥔 hurts like hell, she's a painkiller .ᐟ (miniseries — part one)
pairing: benjamin poindexter x reader ᥫ᭡
chapter summary: first encounters don't really go as planned. an attempt on your life (at least, you're fairly certain that's what it was) fails, and things get...unconventional from there. to your dismay, the encounter leaves both you and your tracker wanting more.
series tags / warnings: miniseries, reader insert, strangers to ...more?, masochistic!dex (more so coded but whatever), dex has a slight blood kink??, light violence, dex is stalking reader somewhat (does it count as stalking if you know and allow it to happen?), sort of dark themes, reader has a vague backstory but it’s essentially that you were an agent in the past (i had SHIELD in mind, but it’s up for interpretation!), intended to be female!reader but fairly gender-neutral?, reader takes prescription meds (intended for this to be for stress or something similar!), implied age gap but reader is full at an adult (i had late 20s in mind), i’ve probably used too many italics but i’m kind of a fiend for them, be warned i have not seen ddba season 2 so this is based off of what little we got of dex in season 1!
wc: 1.1k
. next chapter ➛
sure, you’ve retired from your days as an agent.
but you haven’t been out of the game long enough to miss when someone is tailing you. whoever it is, you can tell he’s good — despite not glancing back to get a read on your pursuer.
too risky at the moment, you decide, and too many years of staying on your toes to make that kind of rookie mistake.
it’s early enough in the evening that crowds are still flocking on the streets, to and fro with little coordination, in an rush to get home quickly.
when the opportunity comes, you duck into a nearby alley, the ever-moving bodies allowing you a few gracious seconds of cover. slipping back out onto the busy street promptly, you watch as the figure takes the bait, diverting into the alley you had just feigned taking safety in. it’s only about the span of a breath before he realizes that no one is there, facing the end of the small nook between two adjacent buildings.
by the time he starts to whip around — presumably to try and resume tailing you — thin, sharp metal meets fabric-covered flesh as you jab him in the shoulder with the last resort you’ve kept at the bottom of your bag, saved for situations like this. a… parting gift of sorts you had given to yourself from your previous (and unsuspecting) employers, at the tail-end of your ‘previous life’: a paralyzing agent.
the figure — who you can now see is a sharp-eyed older man, maybe early forties, a jagged scar set into his right cheekbone — is only caught off-guard for a moment, if the briefest widening of his eyes says anything. he jolts slightly, shoulders slumping directly after.
the rest of his body follows his shoulders — down.
you manage to catch him by his upper torso before he hits the ground, grunting with the effort of bearing the weight of a man you are quickly becoming aware is pure muscle, a hulking mass of six-foot-something, for all your dog shit luck.
bending at the knees, you do your best to set your tracker down relatively gently, pushing his broad form against the wall of the alley as his head lulls to the side, indicating to you that the drug has taken full effect.
“it’s temporary,” are the first words out of your mouth, void of any sympathy, closer to cold-cut steel than anything resembling reassurance.
his eyes flutter, half-lidded as they manage to track you again. you’re surprised to note that his breathing has barely changed. most people would be heaving right about now after being involuntarily reduced to a rag doll.
must not be most people, you note absently.
his lips part a sliver, indicating to you that he’s most likely trying to speak. it’s a futile attempt, and he seems to realize this soon enough.
“yeah, it does that.” you murmur as you crouch down to eye-level, the crook of your arms coming to rest on your bent knees, regarding the man with mild intrigue.
you feel a bit bad, even if he was probably trying to kill you.
your gaze shifts to the hem of his shirt, which you tug up just enough to reveal the gun he had been concealing. figures.
a raised brow is the extent of the reaction he gets from you, and you exhale sharply from your nose.
the silence is only broken by the occasional coo of a nearby pigeon and the unintelligible chattering of passersby just outside the secluded alley.
“look, you want to fight, or try and kill me? fine by me, buddy,” you start, unamused, as if this is somehow a completely normal encounter to have.
“but don’t hide or ambush me. it’s just frowned upon, from one professional to another. hell, you wanna talk? come and find me again, but do it right.”
should you be a little more concerned? probably.
should you just let him go? hell no. but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been missing the thrill of your past life, just a little.
ever since, the days have begun to stretch and blend, all muddled shades of grey that leave a dull ache in your chest. for so long you’ve been wired for chaos, you’re still not quite sure how to live without the thrill of crises.
going somewhere as mundane as a cafe, you habitually choose the spot that gives you the best vantage point to spectate and evaluate threats; you could find every single exit in your neighborhood grocery store blindfolded; you pass alleys with the tinge of anticipation that danger is seeking you out—maybe in the form of a pickpocket, or a helpless civilian in duress that you just can’t turn away from—not the other way around.
it hums in your blood, a white noise that lingers incessantly: the need for more.
the man in front of you happens to look a lot like that.
it sets your blood alight.
the observation comes as such a shock to your system that you’re rattled out of your internal dialogue, a pang of panic hitting you at what you surmise.
no. i’m out of the game, you drill into your head, steeling your expression as you rise. you look down at a man who has managed to make you startle yourself, nod stiffly just once, and turn to exit the alley.
you feel as if you’ve left a piece of yourself behind with him. forcing your head to stay set forward, you make the journey home — allowing you to miss the look in his eyes.
dex is taken aback, more than accustomed to the expectation that others would want him to bury his true nature, had they ever learned of it.
you’ve had no introduction to that watered-down, hollow version of himself that he projects to the world in the hopes that he won’t be shunned or locked up like a creature again, more brute than man.
but you weren’t disgusted. you weren’t even surprised for that matter, let alone scared.
hell, you even told him to to hide from you. you, frankly, just didn’t care.
that’s alright, he tells himself. i can fix that.
the idea is nothing short of thrilling. there’s no pretense; no hiding from you now that he’s exposed himself; now that you’ve decided to let him live after his clear attempt to harm you. and for all that dex is, like voltage galloping through his veins, he feels hunger.
hunger for more.
and now? now, he has no intention of letting you go.
notes: title is a lyric from "painkiller" by DREAMERS btw! this was very self-indulgent if you couldn't tell. this is my first time truly writing x reader, so please bear with me! this series will most likely be three parts ;) i'm honestly not too happy with how this chapter turned out tbh, so constructive (polite) feedback is welcomed! also i hope i did ddba!dex justice??? let me know what you think, and thanks for reading!
forcemasc!winchester brothers but not even in a kink way. like they were raised as girls until mary died and then john basically reasoned that they’d be safest as boys. he also selfishly always wanted boys to raise too, but he used the excuse that in order for them to survive his lifestyle, they had to be raised ‘like men’. thinking about forcemasc!dean specifically, having to learn to bind his chest on his own and having permanent marks from how tight he’d been binding, refusing to take it off even sometimes for bed. …ok goodnight
─ hallelujah, i need your love (matt murdock x reader)
﹅ drabble. | a small glimpse into how matt feels about you .ᐟ
⤷ benjamin poindexter .ᐟ
─ hurts like hell, she's a painkiller .ᐟ (benjamin poindexter x reader)
part one. | part two. | part three.
﹅ miniseries. | you ruin your mysterious hitman’s plan to kill you. complications follow, and you manage to get tangled up in each other’s lives. he keeps coming back around, but then again — so do you.
─── ࣪ ׅ⋆ ✧ miscellaneous ˚｡⟢
⤷ bloodhounds .ᐟ
─ too close to temptation .ᐟ (kim gunwoo x hong woojin)
﹅ drabble. | (before s2) woojin having a nightmare about all the kim myeong-il stuff and it wakes gunwoo. feelings that have been pushed down stir upwards, for both parties .ᐟ
⤷ CAPELLA .ᐟ 18 . they/them . queer . capricorn . 4w5 . avid superhero fanatic . lover of poetry and the stars; intrigued by misery and minds . occasional and sporadic writer . mdni .
"and lovers, you run
always from something;
come back to me to be saved,"
── dream woman, suki waterhouse
⤷ asks open for hot-takes on characters/fandoms , requests, etc .ᐟ (please note that requests are something i'm unlikely to do, but i am open to them! i struggle with motivation and unless i am very inspired, the request may not be fulfilled. i apologize in advance .ᐟ )
⤷ mainly writing blurbs and headcanons for current interests .ᐟ includes: the boys, marvel (daredevil, punisher, spiderman, x-men, avengers), supernatural
⤷ will not write .ᐟ pregnancy, overly graphic/dark themes, a/b/o and similar themes, age play / age regression (even non-sexual)
⤷ end notes .ᐟ though i am not new to tumblr, i am horrible at its mechanics and lingo, so please bear with me as i learn .ᐟ also, if you ever see me claim to know what i'm doing on here, please assume i have been hacked. i do not, in fact, know what i am doing at any given time. thank you all, and welcome .ᐟ
