Punk | HCs
Benjamin ‘Dex’ Poindexter x Punkrocker!Reader
a/n: this a BIIIIG BOY, it was so fun to write though (even if it was infuriating sometimes), it just kept getting longer every time i worked on it, it took over two weeks to get this done bro (literally started on the 9th), but thats my own fault for being lazy lol.
cw: Dex being Dex, pathetic!Dex (kinda), stalking/obsessive behavior, filthy language, implied nonconsensual groping (not described), reader is not afraid of getting hurt, friendly to one sided ‘hate’ to lovers?, violence, alcohol, Dex kind of corrupting the reader (kinda?), they toxic, implied age gap (reader calls dex ‘old man’ once jokingly), FREAK4FREAK, suggestive.
it was rare that he’d go out to the local bars but tonight was just one of those nights, and he needed a drink. while walking to his usual spot, he spotted a sign for one of the other bars in the area, Punk Night, and a local band was playing music tonight, hell, why not. when he walked in he was hit by the smell of cigarettes and booze, the buildup of whatever song that’s playing vibrating in the air, he went to the bar ordering a drink as he leaned on the counter. on the stage stood a 4 person band, decked out in studs and black denim, all of their clothes looking hand made in some way, even the worn out boots having a bit of customization. hair crazy or unkempt, though there was something with it, a rawness few cared for. then as he took a sip of his drink; his eyes landed on the singer, the stage lights hit their face just right, making his heart squeeze in his chest. it was as if time slowed down and sped up at once, the raw vocals ripping from your throat like a plea, the sweat mixing with your smeared eyeliner as it ran down your face, he couldn’t take his eyes away.
once the next band took the stage, you and your mates went down to the bar, some taking shots and others just taking a beer or two, relaxing a bit while watching the show. but of course, peace never lasts for long. something had caught your attention and suddenly you’re grabbing a man by the scruff of his neck, dragging him out the back door, “get the fuck out of here you sicko” you scolded, throwing the stumbling man to the ground, but he grabbed you by your hair, slurring insults at you “i was just having some fun, what are you a prude?!”, a fight escalated from there, you getting in a few good hits and kicks, but he was stronger, ending up with you pinned to the wall. a small audience of people watched on, none intervening, enjoying the entertainment. the bloodied smile on your face grew, laughing in the face of the prick holding you up by your collar, “does this make you feel big and strong? touching girls who’d never fuck you if you were the last man on earth, beating on someone half your age,” you huffed, “you’re a cop right? that sounds about right don’t you think?” you kept chuckling even as he slammed you back again, your head buzzing at the pain, “awww another piggy with a complex, when was the last time you got your dick wet, old man?”, “thats it you little-!“ he lifted his fist to hit you again but got stunned by your head crashing against his, sending him stumbling back as you slid down the alley wall, wiping your bloody nose. just as he was about to get up and kick you, a broad figure grabbed him, throwing him into the wall with a loud crack. the body slumped down on the ground and your eyes snapped away to the dirty blonde man before you, having his hand out for you.
he had taken you back to his place that night, patched you up and let you wash up in the bathroom. you didn’t even know why you went with him to begin with, maybe you were concussed, or maybe it was the fact that he was the only person to step in and help unlike your band mates. he had asked you why you would pick a fight with someone clearly stronger than yourself as he handed you an ice pack for your head, not judgmental or anything, more confused. you’d tell him what you had seen and that you tried to be amicable, but were pushed over the edge by the man’s behavior, you also told him it wasn’t the first time you’ve gotten yourself in a similar situation, that you’d rather defend someone too scared to defend themselves than just stand by and act as if nothings happening. the way you spoke about it, it really was something, your morals so strong, it was something he admired in you immediately. he lent you some clean clothes for the night, letting you sleep in his bed while he took the couch, exchanging numbers by the morning, “just in case you need help patching up again.”
he was completely taken with you, he followed you around, went to all your shows, and tried to make up some excuse to bump into you again. he wanted so bad to know you, to be with you, or at the very least be your friend, having become rather protective of you, after having seen you shield other protesters from cops, running to pick up someone who’s fallen in the stomping crowd, and cleaning out tear gas or blood from the eyes of bystanders caught in the crossfire’s of a protest turned violent by the AVTF. you were just that good, a genuinely good person. you always put others before your feelings and health, thats the one thing he didn’t like about it, you got hurt for your goodness, and he knew you wouldn’t stop being good, so he had to step in, right? you could get yourself killed if he wasn’t there to keep you safe from harm, from yourself.
you’d hang out a lot after a while, listening to 90s and 2000s music, walking the streets talking shit without a care in the world. but then he up and ruined it all with one little slip up, “you’re a fed!?” you sounded actually pissed, “used to, i’m not anymore” he carefully tried to correct, hoping to calm you but it didn’t work, “oh as if that makes it any better! why not anymore huh? guys like you don’t just quit—“, your words hit in a way he didn’t expect, you saw right through him, you knew exactly the type of man he was, unstable, clinging to the power his job had given him, a man who lost his authority, fighting to get it back in some way, to get back the structure that kept him sane enough to live. going so far as to become the opposite, a criminal, a killer, not that you’d see it as such an opposite.
you hadn’t talked to him for weeks after finding that out, avoiding him like the plague, it drove him crazy. so one night you’d come home to find him in your apartment, “the fuck is wrong with you Dex!?” you snapped at him, “i just want to talk— please” he’d try and step toward you but were only met with you moving away, “i’m not here to cause any problems, okay?”, his hands raised, putting his gun on the table to show that he’s no threat, only for you to snatch it up pointing it at him “stay the fuck-.. away” you clenched your jaw, glaring at him. pausing for a second, he lowered his hands, eyes locked with yours as he slowly moved closer, your hold on the gun tightening, but he knew you wouldn’t shoot. you tried so hard to keep the tough mask up, but deep down you felt petrified, mentally begging him to just leave so you wouldn’t have to pull that trigger. the closer he got the more your hands trembled tightly on that gun, stepping back as he grew closer and closer, and suddenly your backs against the wall, his hand on yours, carefully lowering the gun to the ground, his eyes still on you, “it’s okay.. just breathe” he whispered leaning closer, your breathing hitched once you felt his lips gracing your pulse, “you fucker..” your whisper barely audible as he kissed your neck, “i know.”
you still felt on edge around him, a small piece of you still hated him, hated what he stood for, but there was a different part that still leaned into every touch he gave you. he had to work for your trust, and he would. he’d do anything to get back in your good graces again, nothing was beneath him, he would strip himself down and get down on his knees to beg if you wanted. he’d do anything, truly anything. still he’d be hovering in your space, waiting and wishing for you to look his way, he’d hold and kiss you when life would stress you, sit and listen to you rant about your day, and still you were holding back, slowly pushing him away each time you retained clarity in the comfort of his arms, and he hated that, it made his chest cave in in dread, he wanted so bad for you to trust him, need him, only him.
it took a while, like months until you didn’t get that constant aftertaste of bitterness in your mouth every time you saw him, he had proven himself, he’s changed, and he’s tried so hard, so you softened up to the idea of having him in your life again. he felt like passing out the first time you fully leaned into his touch again, he was so happy, you were finally relaxed around him. Dex no longer having to be the only one asking to hang out (as if he wouldn’t just show up regardless), you’d ask him out to do mundane things which almost felt more intimate than any date could, like going grocery shopping together, him helping you pick out a new color for your hair by the hair dye aisle, which he’d gladly help you dyeing too, precisely penciling on the color, setting a timer, helping you wash it out, anything, making sure it looked just how you wanted without any mishap. going on night walks together, going back to how life was before that whole thing. slowly moving his things into your place as your lives became intertwined more and more by the day, learning to live with your chaos as you learn to live with his need for structure.
as your relationship became more official, not something that could just suddenly end over a single disagreement. he would get so jealous, especially when you’d talk fondly about other vigilantes, like just how you look up to them, especially Daredevil, and he would just sit there, his eye glossing over as he zoned out, his mind sprinting with all kinds of negative thoughts towards daredevil and himself, only snapping out of it once he hears you giving the vigilante some criticism, cause of course you didn’t see Daredevil as an idol who could do no wrong, you had valid critic towards all the vigilantes running around New York, well all except Spider-Man; so far. He’d carefully prod at your opinion of Bullseye, as if you didn’t already know that he was him, you’d just sigh, acting as if in deep thought before starting, “he’s got impressive aim, i’ll give ‘em that” you lean back onto your couch crossing your arms, “but that’s about it” you shrug causing him to stammer “that’s— that’s it..?” he sounds so disappointed at the lack of depth you went into, making your mouth twitch, you glanced at him “well he’s a murderer, why would i care about someone like that, and his justification is nothing but pathetic really” he froze at your words, looking almost like a lost puppy before you couldn’t hold it in anymore, “oh my gosh you idiot, i know it’s you!” you push his shoulder in jest, “oh!.. bu-but do you really think that? or— or um..” his words shook in his mouth as he slightly avoided eye contact, “course not, i’m just playing with you” you grabbed him by the jaw, forcing him to see the truth in your eyes, relief rushed through him as he sighed, leaning forward into you, “yeah?” his murmur vibrated onto you neck, you wrapped your arms around him rolling your eyes playfully at his reaction, “yeah” you kissed his forehead.
he loved your sense of style, even if it was unconventional and messy, it was so real with it’s rawness. and even though some would find you intimidating by the way you dress, you were the sweetest person anyone could meet, if they deserved it at least. Dex has seen you go out of your way to help out your community and neighbors, helping your elderly neighbor carry their groceries up the stairs, handing out colorful plasters to the kids playing in the streets if they scraped their knee, or just vibing with random people playing music in the street. you were like some kind of whimsical creature in Dex’s eyes, you never saw people as threats like he did, you treated them well because you cared, not to get something out of them like he’s seen others do all his life.
being in the punk scene, you knew how to sew and mend clothes, it was a must in the community if you wanted to express yourself with your style, and it was a skill you used almost every day in one way or another, sewing on a new patch onto your pants, fixing a rip, or just straight sampling your boots together after the sole threatened to break off once again, anything to keep your clothes that you cared for so much for out of the trash. it was also a skill you used to help Dex out sometimes without telling him, like if you ever saw that his favorite clothes had gotten a small hole while you were hanging them out to dry, you’d quickly just fix it so it’d last longer for him. he wouldn’t even notice at first until it was his turn to do the laundry, he’d turn out the pocket off all the pants before throwing them in and he’d see your handiwork, a small smile growing on his lips as he ran his thumb over it, not mentioning that he found out, but you certainly noticed his almost gleeful look and extra sweet acts during the day, still not prodding him for a reason, just enjoying it as you went on with your day. one late night you’d wake up just for some water, but then the bathroom light would catch your eye, finding the Bullseye suit bloody and teared up, you tried to ignore it and go back to bed with a bandaged Dex but your mind just kept gnawing at you until you just couldn’t get to sleep no matter how hard you tried. you got comfy on the couch with a lamp on, seamlessly mending his shirt and gloves for him for when he’d wake up, and when he did, he found you passed out on the couch with the fixed gloves beside you on the couch and the shirt still on your lap, realizing you’ve been up all night just to fix his work clothes without him having asked for it or anything, it made him choke on the gratefulness he had for you, his eyes burned, forcing himself to swallow down that feeling, he carefully took you off the couch, placing you into bed, kissing your head before calling your work to get you a day off so you could rest.
you liked messing with him sometimes by snatching his knifes from his utility belt (which he’d only allow cause it’s you) and run off, playing a game of cat and mouse, standing on each end of the dining table, acting like you’re going one way only to switch up so he wouldn’t catch you, all the while you throw unserious insults his way, making him laugh and tease back until he’d quickly reach across the table and grab at you, “yeah? c’mere punk—“, you’d just burst out laughing at his choice of words, choosing to play into it for the bit, “whatever you say old man” your words caught him off guard, “old?” his brow cocked up, “basically ancient” you whispered playfully making him gasp, grabbing you, “could a man soooo old.. do this!” smirking as he picked you up your legs hooking around his waist, kissing you all messy walking you to the counter, his hands faux confidence sliding up under your shirt, moving up your spine making you shiver. your fingers fisting his shirt as you pushed him back with an amused look, “well.. yes, cause it’s you” you teased him, humming from your chest, clawing up the nape of his neck, tugging at the short hairs.
Dex loves it whenever you end up doing your rough little ways of showing affection, as it lets him shut his brain off for a second. you grabbing him by his jaw or neck, squeezing down just enough for it to sting but not hurt, or biting him randomly just ‘cause you felt like it’ or ‘cause he tastes good’, he enjoyed them way more than even you did, cause in his head the longer or how much he felt your affection the more loving it was, so he craves the ache those acts leave behind on his flesh. he’d get dizzy if he ever noticed that you’ve left behind marks on his skin too, bite marks, hickeys, soft bruises, god he loved it! sometimes asking you to grab him harder, bite him harder, until you’d make him bleed, theres no pain to it, only pure euphoria. you making him a even bigger mess with your soft kisses and licks over the marks whenever you were done, murmuring praises and sorry’s into his skin. “sorry baby..” you mumbled quietly once you got that iron taste stuck to your teeth, hugging him feeling bad for going too far, “noo no.. i loved it sweetheart” he panted softly, his eyes dazed in pleasure.
you would be a really big target for the AVTF, being a activist; who would defend other protesters, they hated you, and would always try and arrest you during the protests, but you were too quick, always having been able to get out of their grasp. until one day, you didn’t. they held you at gunpoint, forced you onto the ground as the cuffed your wrists tightly, hauling you into the back of their truck, you never stopping the struggle, fighting back even as they threw you into a cage. the hours you were there, they beat and tortured you, tasing you when you’d fight back or spit at them, your blood coughed up and smeared on the concrete floor when you heard the windows smashing, each one of the men dropping dead like flies around you as you laid there, painfully pushing yourself up with a groan, Dex came down from the windows steadying you to him. “you’re safe now..” he soothed as he carried you out of there, your brows knit together as your head swayed to his chest, “i didn’t call you..” your words slurring with a small playful tone, “don’t need to call me to patch you up anymore..” he tried to sound lighthearted to keep you calm but there was a tiredness to his voice that was almost bitter in self-contempt, quiet groans of pain came from your throat, too out of it to fully register. running with you in his arms, he quietly chastised himself more firmly “i should have been there.”
you were impulsive, chaotic, always in a good way, in a way that did good for the things you believed in, but there was something darker underneath, a darker rage you held back on cause you knew it’s only end in bad things, Dex knew you were holding back on that anger, he had seen it firsthand, holding back in a fight to not end up being the bad guy like the cops and media wanted. but it ached on you every time, so Dex came up with an idea, letting you go to that dark place without consequence, wanting you to indulge in that inner rage he knew you had. he’d take you out with him for one of his missions, a simple hit, the sniper already set up and ready pointed at it’s target, he had you look through the scope as his hands guided yours onto the weapon, telling you about all the horrible things the man in the scope was responsible for as his chest pressed against your back, he could feel your heartbeat through your back, sensing how much your blood was boiling at every word he spoke. he hummed lowly pressing his cheek against he side of your skull, “you wanna help me out baby? get rid of this scumbag..” his voice so low, like lulling honey into your ear, leading your finger onto the trigger, “think of all the people he’s hurt, the ones you could save by just pulling that trigger”, his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, soft whispers and murmurs ghosting against your eardrums, sucking in a breath your chest tightened, and just like that, the trigger was pulled, and a few seconds later the man was dead in the street. the cold euphoria dripping into your gut as you let out the breath you had held, Dex’s quiet chuckle muffled onto your neck as he mouthed at your warm pulse, “good job.. did it feel good?” he murmured, feeling you slowly nod your head, letting out a shaken breath as your eyes burned, “it’s okay, you did so good” he reached his hand up to your face gently wiping the single tear before it fell, pulling you into a comforting kiss.
<3
