Anything & Everything
Crossposted on Ao3
Benjamin Poindexter x gn!reader
No pronouns used for reader (let me know if I missed any)
CW: minor blood/injury, BPD, Dex has unhealthy obsessions
Word Count: 2k
Summary: Dex is losing his North Star. His pushy neighbor keeps trying to nudge into his life and he isn't quite sure whether he should let this perfect angel into his life or let himself stay in his solitude.
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The apartment was clean, everything was pristine from the few glances you got whenever he entered and exited. It was white, almost blinding. Like if the sun shone too bright through the windows, it would hurt your eyes to look at it.
Your apartment was different. It had the same white walls—your landlord was against painting them—but they were covered in photos and memorabilia. Some of your family, others of your college friends. Your diplomas hung by the door, encouraged by your mother. Why she had suggested that, you weren’t quite sure. But she’d helped you through university and grad school, co-signed on the apartment and helped you move in, so you didn’t object.
He had moved in a year after you did. He was quiet, kept to himself. From what you could tell about him and from those sparing glances at his lack of decor, you concluded he didn’t really have friends or anyone close for that matter.
You made a point to say hello whenever the two of you passed in the hallway. You even tried to make conversation when you rode the elevator together. His cold exterior made it seem like he was almost trying to push others away without even saying a word. If you didn’t know better, you’d think that he could kill you with just a glance.
After 6 months, you pried his name from his pretty lips—he was attractive, that was a given. His name was Ben, but everyone called him Dex.
“Your friends call you that?”
“Some.”
“Didn’t realize you had any of those.”
He’d looked away after that and you left him alone. Murmuring a goodbye as you parted ways, stepping off the elevator and parting to your respective doors.
It took you a couple months afterwards to get him to tell you that he worked as an FBI agent.
“So what’s that like?”
“It’s…tough.”
“I bet. What’s the craziest case you’ve worked on?”
He had looked at you like you were crazy, grinning at him. He thought you might be just as fucked in the head as he was.
“Well, right now I’m guarding Wilson Fisk.”
“That bald prick?”
He’d laughed at that and you’d never felt prouder of yourself.
“Yeah, that one.”
“That’s gotta be a rough job. Just hearing about some of the things he’s done makes me sick to my stomach.”
“Yeah…”
You weren’t one to give up. You were determined to keep making this man smile and laugh because you believe he deserves it. You were going to be his friend.
When you’d told some of your coworkers about him, you were met with people telling you he didn’t seem worth it.
“He seems like a dick.”
Over and over again, what you perceived as loneliness and a longing for connection, your coworkers deemed to be some sort of sociopathic solitude.
You were walking to work one morning when the newspaper stand you always walked past had a front page that stuck out to you through the messy chaos of New York City. A picture of Dex. “FBI INVESTIGATES ONE OF THEIR OWN”. Your heart dropped. The thin paper crinkled in your grasp.
“You gonna buy that sweetheart?” The man in the cart muttered with a cigarette pressed between his lips.
You frowned, fishing your wallet out and handing the man a few crumpled bills. You read the story as you walked, mind racing as you struggled to comprehend why they were investigating Dex. He’d only been protecting the other agents, and well, Wilson Fisk.
Your whole shift you sat puzzled. Your coworkers poking questions at you that you couldn’t be bothered to answer. All you wanted was to go home and check on him.
When you did get home, you heard crashing, the sounds of glass breaking and things being thrown about. Before you even fished your apartment key out of your pocket, your fist was pounding against his door.
“Dex!” You shouted. “Dex! Can you hear me? Open up!”
The door cracked open. Dex peered at you, both of you breathing unsteadily. His hand on the door frame was bloody.
You chewed on your bottom lip, flicking your eyes over his disheveled appearance. “Are you okay?” Your words were just above a whisper, dripping with worry and concern.
Dex looked on the verge of tears. “Yeah, um, I’m fine.”
You frowned, unsatisfied with his answer. “Dex, you’re bleeding. Can I come in?” His eyes shot to the interior of his apartment which you assumed to be in disarray. “I can help, Dex. I won’t judge. I just want to help.”
His eyes met yours and you could see the desperation beneath them. Reaching out for something you couldn’t quite understand. Without saying another word, he closed the door. Your breath paused for a second as you contemplated whether or not he was blocking you out. Then, you heard the soft, bare perceptible sound of the chain lock moving and the door opening once again. Dex opened the door just enough for you to walk in before closing it gently behind you.
You scanned over the apartment. A hole in the wall and a knife through a picture frame that was hanging right beside the door. The knife cutting straight through a woman, an ex maybe?
You didn’t let your gaze linger. You snapped your attention back to Dex. “Do you have a first aid kit?”
He nodded, slipping past you to move through his apartment. When he handed it to you, you directed him to sit down at the table so you could clean him up. You noted the damp white shirt that sat limply on the edge of the kitchen sink. You tried not to look at his bare chest as you inspected his knuckles. They were slightly torn, but mostly superficial. You cleaned them and gently wrapped some gauze around his hand, tying it securely once you were finished.
You raised your head to look at his face. His hazel eyes pierced through you. He had a conflicted look on his face. His injured hand was held loosely by yours, resting in your lap. You offered him a small smile, rubbing a few tight circles against his wrist.
Dex wasn’t sure what to think of you. Were you an angel? Or maybe just another false gift meant to pull him away from his routine. Fisk had taken Julie from him. If you were offering him such kindness, he didn’t want to lose this as well.
“Dex,” You murmured gently, a hand raising to cup his jaw. “Go take a shower, put on some fresh clothes. Try not to get this wet.” You squeezed his hand, giving him another smile. He nodded carefully, deciding then that he would follow any instruction you gave him without question. If Julie couldn’t guide him, maybe you could.
Once he got up and you could hear the shower running, you started cleaning up. First the medical supplies, sticking them back in the medicine cabinet you’d watched him pull the container from. Then you searched for cleaning supplies, finding a dust pan among other supplies tucked away beneath the sink.
You carefully took the shattered picture frame off of the wall, dislodging the knife that had further embedded itself into the wall, which you pried out of the frame and left in the sink to be dealt with afterwards. You cleaned up the broken glass, swiping into the dustpan and discarding it in the trash. You couldn’t easily fix the holes in the wall, that would have to be fixed on a different day—you had the next day off so you could pick up supplies then, giving you some time to look up youtube tutorials.
Cleaning what you could wasn’t too hard of a task. Gathering the thrown items into piles that you could ask Dex to direct you to their homes once he was cleaned up.
When he exited what you presumed to be his bedroom, he was dressed in a fresh pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. His hair was damp, you could smell the freshness of the shampoo permeating the air. What struck you, more than the faint outline of his chest from where his shirt clung to wet skin, was the heaving, laboured breaths coming from his lips. His fingers clenched around nothing.
You stood instantly, nearly sprinting to him. You held your hands out and he took them, palms landing on your forearms, holding onto you for what seemed like a lifeline.
“Dex,” you murmured gently, “I want you to copy my breathing. We’re going to breathe in and out together, real slow, okay?” He nodded quickly and you squeezed his arms. “Okay, in….and out.” You repeated it a few times, taking deep breaths until you were sure his breathing had evened out. You smiled, “Good job, Dex.” You led him to the couch, sitting down beside him. His hands landed on his thighs, raking up and down. You gently touched his bicep. “Dex, is there anything I can get you?” You asked slowly.
His eyes squeezed shut for half a moment before staring at you again. They were watering and he seemed to be on the verge of bursting into tears. He cleared his throat, “uh, in the back of my closet there’s a safe. It has my tapes.”
“Okay, what’s the code? And is there a specific one you’d like?” You offered him another smile, gently squeezing his arm.
He shook his head, telling you the code. “Any of them will work.”
You got up and walked into his bedroom. You glanced over the room, just as empty as the rest of the apartment and just as pristine as you assumed it was when Dex was having a normal day. The bed was perfectly made as if it had been done by a professional.
You didn’t linger long, making your way to the closet, pushing aside the suits you often saw him wearing. Behind them was the safe, perfectly aligned. You worked the locking mechanism quickly, only screwing up the dial once before twisting it open.
When you opened the safe, the arsenal of weapons shocked you. You knew it shouldn’t surprise you, he was FBI after all, not to mention serving in the army. Shaking the tinge of fear off, you grabbed one of the tapes and the headphones.
When you returned to the living space, Dex was shaking hard enough that he was practically vibrating.
You quickly crossed the room, “Hey, hey, it’s okay.”
You popped the tape into the player and slipped the headphones over his ears. He took the device from your hand and hit play. You were crouched in front of him. With his other hand, he grabbed yours. His eyes were closed. As the seconds, minutes passed, his face grew calmer and more relaxed. His steady grip on your hand relaxed and eventually, his eyes opened again. The fearsome storm that was once held behind those glassy eyes, dissipated faster than you’d expected.
The calm smile that graced your lips slowly echoed on his face. With your free hand, you cradled his face, wiping a stray tear that had fallen. “Are you feeling better?”
It was a quiet question, one that he should’ve expected. He knew the car was waiting downstairs for him. The man that had been at his door while you were in his room, he was terrified. You’d taken this much time to take care of him, to talk him down from the ledge and for what? Was he really going to throw that away to do the bidding of the very man he had sworn to keep locked up.
And you- you were so kind to him. He’d tried Julie and she’d rejected him. He wasn’t that sure what to think of you. This perfect soul who seemed to do no wrong. You had to be some sort of angel. He was almost certain of it now.
And you just had to be perched so perfectly at his feet. So beautiful. He could feel the obsession growing. He wanted to claim you as his—protect you at any cost. He would do whatever it took to keep you safe.
Anything, everything.