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May 27

One Good Deed

Bullseye x reader // Virgin! Dex x Reader

Rating: 18+ (Smut, Explicit content, slight degradation kink, praise kink, Dex trusts women a LOT)

Summary: Dex nearly loses his life over his final search in one good deed left to do. He admits something to you in a haze, and presents you with an offer.

note: omg this took so long to write. i hope you all enjoy!

ao3

You met Murdock in the staircase leading to the apartment complex, the back of your head hitting the concrete slab as you waited.

New York nights were not meant to be marred with ridiculous tasks, so you gazed at the night sky, wondering of her beauty without the littering of air pollution from this greedy city you loved. You made a deal with the Devil months ago, your friend’s life spared in exchange for a voluntary retainer for the Devil to exhaust at his whim.

At first, you hesitated, contemplating the dear consequences of such an agreement; then, as if your body wasn’t your own, and your choices weren’t, either, you shook his hand, and he let go of your friend. Weeks later, you stepped into your apartment, with which you shared with your boyfriend, to find that your boyfriend was to be shared with her, too - without your knowledge.

“In here.” The alley over your shoulder spoke out to you, and you glanced over at it, recognizing the reflective halo of the Devil’s horns. He carried something heavy with him, his breath carrying it, too, the way he heaved, but you didn’t question him, only following him to the hideaway he introduced you to weeks after your first encounter with him.

Through the tunnel, you could finally make out the Devil’s face - quiet rage splattered across the only skin that his cowl revealed, yet when you tried to make out the thing beside him - a bag of potatoes, a corpse, maybe - you just simply couldn’t.

You only followed until you walked past the double doors, waiting patiently while Matthew exchanged words with Karen, settling the unknown figure into a medical bed for you to assist him. She cursed the Devil’s weakness for grace in abrupt, hoarse whispers, and pursed her lips when she watched the same Devil replace his cowl, and leave through the doors.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Still, she managed to reserve compassion for you.

“It’s not your fault.” You studied the animal’s body lying motionless on the medical bed. If not for the occasional winces and grunts of distress, you would have believed it truly was dead.

Karen repulsed each time it moved, removing the pistol from underneath her waistband as she weighed whether or not it was worth the worry to shorten its life. “I don’t know why he brought it here.”

You began to assess the heartrate, first with your fingers against its bloodied wrist, then with the stethoscope you removed from your luxury purse. It was tailored for this purpose, the special compartment opening underneath the bottom of the original stitch, so nobody could easily detect what reason you have to converse with the Devil at this hour.

“I’m guessing a second chance.” You continued to talk Karen back into the hollow end of the pool, your attention half on the animal’s gunshot wound in his abdomen, and half on Karen’s finger toying with the trigger of her personal pistol.

“Why does it need one?” She, too, saw it as an animal, but for another reason entirely: the same bullet that was lodged in its side was the same that stopped Foggy Nelson from seeking justice against the underprivileged; it was the same bullet that stopped her from hearing his jokes, laugh, poking attempts to stop Murdock from completely diving into the Devil’s work.

It cost him his heartbeat, and Karen her life. After this, the Devil spilled blood, dropping the hooves of the animal from its mountaintop and back into the ruthless ring of hell in which he resided. Matthew renounced the role, promising he would never truly step back into such a trance, but after your meeting tonight, old habits die hard.

You sterilized surgical tools stolen from the hospital before removing the bullet that penetrated its skin. No organs were hit, yet its bleeding didn’t cease, and it was soon before you realized you utilized all of your gauze on the single wound.

“I can’t let you do that while I’m here.” You commented when Karen’s fingers were finally relaxing in their grip of the pistol. You couldn’t see it, but you felt the presence behind you transform into something too sinister for your liking, “I don’t know what beef you have, but I don’t gotta be part of it.”

“Believe me. Eventually, you will be.” Karen rose to her feet at this point, pacing to the other end of the makeshift loft to fix another wig on her head, and glasses shielding her identity from the public’s eye. She made an excuse under her breath only out of respect to you, and left through the set of doors, leaving you with the unforgivable beast that still lay unconscious.

When the sun stretched her rays through each line of skyscrapers and into the slivers of open windows in the hideaway, she kissed the animal’s skin as it slept. The warm hues against cold flesh allowed it to be depicted as somewhat of a doe that was lost in the wild in search of her home.

Yet when he grunted, blond lashes blinking dust away from his eyes, it was clear to you that he was a human man, and that alone shook you enough to take three steps back and hold your breath for whatever horror the human man may destroy in his path.

He rattled the handcuffs that restricted him - thank goodness for Karen and the Devil’s doing, or else you may fear for your safety - and winced in pain once he attempted to utilize the muscle that was injured. He was lost in his own plan for escape to notice you, who was studying him like a subject in a zoo.

“Don’t move, it’ll only make you bleed more.” You nearly startled him (or perhaps you did - his reaction did not give him away entirely). “You already lost more than you can afford.”

“Who cares.”

The voice that came from him was saturated, an aged wine pulled from a cold cellar. As he poured his words out into a glass, the rosewood liquid stained the thin paper cloth that covered the medical bed. He was staring at you while you processed the two words he spoke, and how they contrasted from the way he appeared under the morning glow just moments prior.

“We need you breathing.” You parroted the Devil’s orders he huffed while carrying the blond man back into a cage.

“We.” The two letters almost came out mockingly, like he was teasing you for having someone to follow orders. “He tried to kill me, then is saving me, for this?” He sat upright, bare abdomen tensing. You don’t remember when you removed his top, or if it was even you who did it; the hours were blending together, and apparently, so were the actions between you, Karen, and the Devil himself.

“What did you do?” You asked after minutes of silent reflection, and of him watching you like another shadow haunting him.

He shrugged, and the small movement alone caused the cuffs to rattle against the metal rod of the medical bed. “Killed some people. Killed some more. Then,” he inhaled as much as he could, his breath shaky as he realized his lungs were too weak to accommodate what he was demanding of them. “I got myself back. Leveled it all out.”

The sentence came out of him like a delusion, his face, dirtied with dirt, rocks, and blood, illuminating. He smiled so sinisterly, it would have scared you off, had you not been so fearful of the Devil. And if the Devil was carrying this man barely alive, then surely he could not pose more of a threat.

When the sun was especially gracious, extending her arm beyond the window once more, it shone a bright light at the man’s face, revealing himself to you; Dex. The infamous, knife-wielding Dex. The same one that previously worked for the federal government, for Wilson Fisk personally, lost over a liter of blood over your street shoes as you hemmed his punctured skin into a disarrayed line.

Why weren’t you scared? “Leveled it all? What did you do?”

“Fisk.” He hissed in a serpent smile. “He took everything from me. Now I have from him.”

The brunette’s face appeared behind his, her ghastly features a sharp contrast from his dirtied skin. Vanessa, you thought to yourself. Relief washed over you, before being overtaken by an overwhelmed sense of dread. If Fisk’s heart stopped beating, what will become of New York when the undead beast searches each crevice of the city for the man smirking at you?

You weren’t against death, yet it was thoughtless to eradicate one sour apple, not two; it is ironic how a man with such accuracy could execute a plan so impetuous.

Pulling a chair closer to the medical bed, you examined Dex’s wounds. It was only hours - if that - since you finished the final stitch, yet the bleeding ceased almost completely. The way his chest sounded when he breathed, creaking like a dilapidated house without caretaker nor miracle, you figured it would be best to measure any cracked ribs he could potentially have.

“Can you sit up for me?” You placed the stethoscope earpieces in your ears, and instead of sitting on the chair close to Dex, you waited for Dex to follow your orders, which he did, and stood behind him while you pressed the cold metal of the diaphragm against his shoulders. Dex huffed at the contact, but quickly returned his breath to normal as he realized what you were doing.

“Does it hurt when I press?” You dug the fleshy part of your thumb against the rippled trapezius muscles, searching for swelling or sore points.

Dex leaned back into your touch, shutting his eyes as he embraced the contact. “Not at all, Doc.”

“Not a doctor. Yet.” You replied cursorily, attention fixed on searching for the source of the pained breaths Dex took. Despite moonlighting as a nurse for vigilantes, you took the volunteer position seriously, and for the most part, the Devil was thankful for it.

You moved to Dex’s front, leaning over as you pressed the diaphragm to Dex’s pecs. He continued breathing to the best of his ability, following a command you hadn’t even set, yet his obedience juxtaposed his criminal stare at you.

“What were you going to do after you killed Fisk, anyway?” After gauging his health with the stethoscope, you picked up the conversation where you left it, in the middle of the hideaway between you and the man whose eyes are glued to you.

He shrugged. “Kill myself. Make sure nothing else happens.”

Professionally, suicidal ideations and thoughts ought to be reported; you and your patient were far from a professional setting, though, so when you sat in the chair near the medical bed, you sat back and chose to probe the vigilante’s brain.

“What purpose will it bring to you if you do that?”

“What, are you a shrink?” He cocked his brow at you, his tone mocking.

You rolled your eyes. “You know there are things for all of us. Sounds like bullshit, but there is.”

“Like what?”

Dex almost laughed when he begged the question, and he relished in the time it took for you to conjure an answer. “Friends. Girlfriend. Something.”

Something. In that moment, you acknowledged that the light behind Dex’s eyes dimmed because, as it turned out, he had no friends. Nor did he have a girlfriend. All of it was admitted to you in the silence that screamed between you two.

“I mean, have you ever had friends?” You thought at one point, maybe Dex even befriended the Devil based on the way he was carried in like a continental soldier; truthfully, even the most sorry attempts at friendship were for ulterior motives, selfish actions based on a directive provided by his former psychologist. A north star, he heard echoed in the empty halls of the haunted home within his chest.

None. The four letter word left him before he could censor himself - for what reason does Dex need to share secrets with a stranger, when he does not know of her intentions, or of how sharp of a dagger she carries behind her back?

“I’m sorry.” It was pity that hit him, and Dex shut his eyes and inhaled sharply - before a dull pain caused his breath to hitch.

“To be honest, I didn’t have much of a life.” He looked at the set of doors longingly, waiting for his parents to return and validate him the way he ached. “Just another pathetic sob story.” Dex’s grins rarely hit his eyes, but this one was the least convincing, his facial muscles tired of yanking his lips into a forced smile. “I’m still a virgin.”

The detail was too invasive for you to learn about a stranger, even if it was a notorious one you quietly admired from afar. His voice was perplexed, unsure of whether or not to feel resentment or indifference. “You never had any opportunities?”

“I think some people wanted me to.” Again, Dex seemed dumbfounded at his own judgement, like he should feel negatively, but couldn’t convince himself to. “But I didn’t want to. Didn’t feel human.”

“Human?”

Dex nodded. “Bodies unclothed, pressed together, mixing bodily fluids. It is unsanitary.”

“It’s human nature for most, Dex.” It was the first time you spoke his name aloud. He liked how sterile it sounded when it left you. “But there are some who don’t like the idea of it for reasons similar to yours.” You crossed your legs, Dex’s eyes flipping to watch as you did so, before returning to your face. “I understand why you could say that.”

It was a gentle avowal that didn’t require additional inquiry; Dex’s eyes softened into something while you scooped handfuls of your ego and collected it into a jar sitting beneath your ribcage. You were the subject under the supervision of the handcuffed vigilante, studying your reaction to the impervious sores that came to mind. Dex understood the point of pain behind such sores, but hesitated to respond with an offering of good will and pure intention.

Sincerity, however, was not far from reach for Dex, and he grasped it with his question: “Why would you understand someone like me?”

Would, not could. The difference in wording was not significant to you, your mind stirring in potential avenues of answering his question; yet Dex acknowledged the pivotal distinct meaning of would, because he knew already that most humans were capable of sympathy, but choose - often for self-serving purposes - to suppress such a wretched feeling.

“Just because I don’t break the laws like you doesn’t mean we aren’t too different underneath the surface.” You searched in your purse for a mint, removing it from its wrapper and popping it into your mouth. “Eventually, we all become the same.”

“We bleed the same.” Little pause was given before Dex replied in agreement. “And how does it feel that you agree with a virgin assassin, Doc?”

“You know,” you chuckled in response, massaging your forehead with your knuckles. You bit the mint, the crunch louder than you hoped. “You really are layin’ it on thick with the virgin stuff. Is this like an obsession with you?”

Dex cracked his knuckles. “No, but I saw how you reacted to it. Anything you wanna say to us? We’re all listening.” He smiled wickedly, despite the abrasions on his cheeks.

“I don’t know.” You looked away from the pair of eyes prodding at you. A familiar light shined on your blood-stained shoe, and you looked back at the window, half-surprised at the time that passed, and half-wanting to distract yourself from the discomforting question. “I didn’t have good experiences in the past.”

“Hm.” The noise left Dex’s closed lips. You were unsure as to why you admitted what you did to Dex, and the potential ideas it could give him, if they hadn’t already passed his mind. “So you don’t feel like I’m a charity case or somethin’.”

You shook your head and scoffed. “Charity case, no.” You chewed on the mint as you continued. “Maybe batshit crazy, sure.”

“You know, it would be kind of a shame, I was hopin’ you would consider me a charity case so we could work somethin’ out.”

You squinted suspiciously at Dex. What the fuck is he on about? Your morbid curiosity is often muzzled by the consequential, yet this time, it slipped through the cracks of your larynx. “Go on.”

“You seem interesting.” The compliment seemed lethal when Dex pointed it at you. “And I’m aware of how you see me.”

Sympathy be damned, he was still cocky, even having nearly bled out. You can’t fault him for it, necessarily, and found it almost adorable, if not for the way he recognized you catching glimpses of him when you thought he wasn’t looking. Or the way that your hand lingered on his back when you were checking for his health.

Regardless, you read the writing on the wall, and a thick clump of saliva formed in your throat for you to choke on when you feigned thoughtlessness. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at here.”

“Come on, it’s only human nature.” Dex tilted his torso forward, his arms behind him as they were still constrained. He was mocking you, knowing you could clip the stitches you had sewn on his toned figure, and watch the wound drain blood until he was nothing but a marble statue to be ogled at by his enemies. Dex didn’t care, the man with a soul made of wind as he carried himself without fear. “Come on, I know you’re thinkin’ about it.”

He was egging you on, and like a hungry fish in a lonesome sea, you took the bait dangled before you, rising from your chair and moving to straddle his lap on the medical bed. It creaked under the weight, and if not for the sheer ire that ignited you, you would have worried about the flimsy frame buckling. Dex watched you with glee as you did this, painfully amused as you adjusted yourself on his lap; he stifled the groan that left him when you brushed against his wound.

Your mouth was inches away from his. You felt his hot breath sprinkle your cheek with an unwarranted warmth, one you didn’t know you craved. It wouldn’t have been your first time with a man, but based on the suggestion, it would have been the first time with a man who wasn’t evil.

But he was, wasn’t he? He murdered Foggy, slaughtered innocent lives before repackaging his bloodlust as a pursuit for justice and the righteous; Poindexter was a lunatic, a case study so lost that most had given up on him. What would Karen think of you after this, if she found out? Any minute, someone could walk in, intrude on the moment and cut the tension short with an axe.

You liked it this way, it appeared, from the way your hands pressed against Dex’s chest, fingers curling around the base of his neck as you adjusted yourself to become more comfortable. He liked the contact, too, exhaling a harmonic hum when he felt your clothed plump ass brush against his growing need.

It was a line between unprofessional and scandalous, yet deviant and indulging. There was barbed wire between you two, yet when you crossed the line, it felt like thorns from a rose bush as you plucked his rosy gaze from its trance.

“Don’t tell anybody.” You whispered, nearing Dex as you closed your eyes in anticipation.

“Secret’s safe with me.” He whispered back, eyes open as your lips finally brushed against his. He only closed his eyes when you deepened the kiss, the sensation of your teeth grazing against his upper lip sending him reeling.

He was too overwhelmed by the feelings of pain in his side, and pleasure succulent on his lips; Dex was hypnotized by you, entranced and willing to submit, if he ever lived to do anything else.

Against your medical recommendation, he leaned into your touch when your hands slid down his bare chest, along his abdomen, and to the small of his core, hiding everything that has yet to be explored. As if reading his mind, his every silent plea to you only communicated with a soft pout in his eyes, you palmed his clothed need.

His mouth fell agape, only a ghost of a whimper slithering out of him.

His lips came to your chin, the tremor in his touch haunting you. Even with such light attention to the knot in his core, he was painfully submissive, willing to shatter the Earth’s core and pour its scorching magma down his throat in exchange for your physical attention.

It is such a pity to see a man in such a desolate state. Had he never even been kissed?

If he hadn’t, why was it so intuitive for him to take your bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing lightly at it; why was it so natural for Dex’s palms to paw at your back in search of a stable brace to hold on to; why, if Dex hadn’t kissed before, did he know to stifle your moan against his, the reverberation of his pleasure triggering a wave of bumps layered on your skin as you returned the kiss?

“Yes,” he provided an answer to a question you begged with your hands as they ghosted over his hard cock, constrained by his tactile pants. You stood and removed them, the waistline sitting at his knees.

“Please, yes.” He wept when you wrapped your fingers around him, choking on himself as you stroked agonizingly slow.

Another day, you would watch him like this, teasing him for hours as you coaxed an orgasm out of him; yet you made a promise to him, and you were bound to keep it, as you could no longer deny how wet your panties became under your pants.

The heat possessed you, and you shimmied out of your pants and underwear in an almost rhythmic motion, Dex watching you underneath the thick strands of hair that poorly hid his lust. His lips remained parted, eyes fixated on your exposed lower body before shifting to your torso and chest after you removed your top.

Dex was motionless on the bed, his arms obediently draped on either side of his torso, and only his eyes moving each time you revealed more of your own skin; never had he willingly placed so much trust on a stranger he hadn’t pursued and researched, but this was a period of many firsts, based on the way his stomach was already tightening into a knot when you lowered your unclothed pussy onto him, your walls squeezing him as he entered you.

“God.” he choked out. His neck was nearly beet red, and you were almost concerned for his blood pressure, when you simply pressed your finger to read his pulse at his throat, and he groaned and bucked his hips.”I’m not gonna last.”

“You don’t need to.” You rocked your hips with a gentle sway, a dance unfamiliar to Dex, who always remained in the sidelines, if he chose to attend at all. “Just breathe. You need to breathe.”

Your voice was volcanic magma oozing into his ear, the extreme temperature leaving burns near his inner ear. He wanted so desperately to be freed from his chains, to caress and hold you with his hands; he couldn’t, helplessly bound as you continued grinding your hips against his.

Dex gave in. He gazed up at you, swallowing your every movement and expression with his eyes, not knowing when the next time he could ever make someone feel this good. Your mouth shaped into an oval, and your brows furrowed; the room was cluttered with noises of skin on skin, your breathy moans, and Dex’s grunts.

“Can’t hold back.” His eyes rolled back, head tilting backward as he better exposed his neck to you. Keen on remaining an opportunist, you dug your teeth into the flesh of his neck, drawing a broken moan from the blond man slowly unraveling underneath you.

Against your wishes, Dex bucked his hips, fucking up into you. He didn’t care how much pain it caused him, nor did he allow you to complain, his lengthy cock stretching into your g-spot each time he thrusted into you. He fisted the handcuffs to brace himself, letting out filthy noises each time he thrusted.

“Uh-huh, you like that?”

“Gotta be a mouthy tease, don’t you?”

“God, you’re amazing.” The compliment was stripped from him, a secret he didn’t want to tell. He admitted it nonetheless, eyes fluttering shut as he selfishly fucked you. You braced yourself with one hand on Dex’s shoulder, and another moving to circle your clit, chasing your own taste of liberation from the woeful temptation of man.

“Gonna cum.” You gasped, feeling a snap in your belly the moment you finished your warning. Dex’s eyes popped open, and he watched you while fucking up into you with relentless precision as he ushered you into your orgasm.

“Good. Cum, cum on me.” He cooed into your ear, throat sore from mouthing off at you. “Make a mess all over my cock.”

Without a moment to spare, you obliged; you threw your head back and let out a string of babbled words, your walls squeezing the last control Dex seemed to have over his urges; he, too, descended into madness, a temporary euphoric state as his mouth fell open, eyes screwed shut, and throat pushed out a series of elongated, low moans from his vessel as he pumped hot cum into you.

Your forehead dropped to his shoulder. Dex groaned as he felt your weight on him, too much for his liking, and once the adrenaline wore, he felt the soreness of his wounds again.

On the other hand, it took you longer to collect yourself. Whether it was the temptation of eyeing the wild beast for hours, or simply that you hadn’t experienced a moment this blissful, and you didn’t know how to calm yourself.

Either way, you cleaned Dex up with tissues from the hidden pocket in your purse. He cocked his head to the side as he stared at you - not predatorily, or even in distaste, but simple curiosity - because you didn’t owe him anything. After care wasn’t part of the deal, yet you offered it so willingly.

When the Devil returned, his love walking in his shadow, you were excused. He could detect the pheromones beyond the stench of musky mildew and copper pipes , but the tension in the city was too high for him to address it now - he shelved it for another time. Dex ignored the Devil’s proposition as he watched you walk away. When you left the double doors, your footsteps leaving his earshot, he looked up at the Devil and asked for your name, a sinful smile forming on his face.

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