before i go, let me look at you for one last time

I want to thank all the writers of ff for helping me stay alive I love you all with all my heart. Victoria, she/her, 30, queer demon, pleased to meet you. Adapt, evolve, become

[aquaticmercy]

if you’re still taking short story request, maybe a hate sex scenario with Dex but it’s not really hate sex it’s just complicated with a lot of history.

(congrats on the wedding btw! I feel like everyone and their mother in this fandom knows of you getting married and I’m personally treating it as a celebrity wedding hehe)

You and Dex Have a Complicated Relationship

WC 1.1k

TW does this count as exes with benefits? violence, gun threat, ex!FBI reader, toxic situationship, enemies-to-lovers-ish-maybe, explicit sexual content, Dex is implied to work for Mr. Charles.

You and Dex used to sleep with each other, back when you worked together in the FBI.

Now, almost a decade later, he’s apparently a CIA black ops assassin and you’re working private security for dickheads.

Your dickhead for the evening is a billionaire who’s aware he has too many enemies, attending a gala full of people pretending not to hate him. He pays well enough that you spend the night in silk with a gun strapped high on your thigh, scanning balconies, reflective surfaces, and every bored rich bastard with a hand inside his jacket.

Then you see Dex across the ballroom, and you know immediately who he’s been sent to kill. 

His eyes drop, not subtly, to the slit of your dress where he knows a weapon is hidden, and he smiles. 

Dex doesn’t make attempts at your client like an amateur. He waits until the crowds gather and the music swells. Then, your client steps too close to the west corridor because he wants to whisper some disgusting thing to a senator’s wife.

Dex tries to get him there.

You catch his wrist before the blade clears his sleeve and twist. Dex pivots into it, because he was always slippery like that. You drive your knee into his side, hook your ankle behind his, and put him on the ground.

The knife skitters under a decorative table and Dex hits the carpet on his back.

You step over him and plant your heel in the middle of his chest.“Stay down.”

Dex looks up at you, pupils blown, mouth parted.

He should be calculating his next move, except Dex has always liked being overpowered by you.

He swallows. Your client makes a pathetic noise behind you.

You can see exactly how much Dex is enjoying himself.

For the next two hours, the gala becomes the most expensive foreplay you have ever been forced to participate in. Dex tries the balcony so you shove your client under some cover. Dex switches to the service corridor, and you’re already there. He tries to use a champagne flute off a waiter’s tray as a projectile, and you push your client behind a marble pillar.

Every time he gets close, you put your body between him and the target.

At midnight, your contract ends.

Your client checks his watch smugly, like surviving the evening means he won. You escort him to his car, already done, already thinking about getting out of the dress.

Dex kills him in his own home. Technically not interfering with your job. 

You find him in your hotel room twenty minutes later because he wants to be found. He is sitting on the edge of your desk, still in that black suit, bruising blooming at his throat where you grabbed him.

The bastard looks pleased with himself.

You sigh and take off your earrings. “Did you kill my client?”

Dex tilts his head. “Technically, he stopped being your client at midnight.”

You tilt your head. “You think that makes it better?”

“I think it makes it funny,” he says. 

You slap him, and then he looks back at you with a red mark on his cheek.

You grab his shirt and shove him further into the desk.

He lets you be rough with him like it’s a privilege. After all, your anger is still attention and attention from you is the only thing he has ever really wanted 

“You ruined my job,” you hiss.

His hands find your waist. “I’ll pay whatever they dock you.”

“You can’t.” It almost makes you laugh thinking he can afford you. It doesn’t matter anyway. The contract was done, you still get paid.

“No,” Dex says, and there he is, honest in the worst possible way. “But I can make it up to you.”

Dex flips this around and drops to his knees. He’s on the floor in front of you, hands sliding under your dress, mouth pressing against the inside of your thigh.

Your hand goes into his hair to shove him away, but it’s a weak attempt. Before you know it, you’re gripping him to drag him closer to your arousal. 

“I missed this.” His teeth scrape carefully over your thigh enough to remind you exactly what his mouth can do. “Missed when you were mad at me.”

You pull his hair hard enough to make his eyes lift. “Shut up and do your fucking job.”

For once, he does and puts his mouth where you need it.

After your first orgasm, he looks up with his mouth wet.

“You forgive me yet?” he asks.

You shove him back by the forehead.

He laughs, then stands because he knows you too well. He knows the limit of your patience, he knows that you’re two seconds from climbing him like a tree.

He turns you around and bends you over the desk, and for whatever reason, you let him. Papers scatter and  the lamp wobbles. Dex is behind you, one hand dragging your dress over your hips while the other works his belt open.

He fills you in one steady stroke.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes as he thrusts, pressing in close behind you. “Come on. ‘M sorry.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s the idea.”

You should hate that it makes you laugh.

Dex kisses the back of your shoulder, your spine, anywhere he can reach while he takes you apart like he used to in the New York FBI office, in the blindspot between the filing cabinets and the copy machine. He keeps saying please like it means something. Please forgive me. Please don’t throw me out yet. Please, sweetheart, I missed you, I missed you so much, you have no idea.

By morning, the desk has moved halfway across the room and your dress is ruined.

Dex is sitting on the edge of the bed, buttoning his shirt carefully as if he didn’t spend half the night on his knees and the other half making a mess of you.

You pick your gun up from the nightstand and point it at his chest.

Dex looks at the barrel. He knows you won’t pull the trigger. Worse, he knows you know he knows.

You cock your head toward the door. “You can fuck off now.”

For a second, he just stares at you, eyes sparkling with a hint of fondness.

Then the cocky bastard leans down and kisses you.

You should bite his fucking nose off. You kiss him back instead because you’re not entirely sure, anymore, if the gut feeling in your stomach is still hatred. It feels too familiar, like wanting him to come back so you can throw him out again.

When Dex pulls away, he smiles against your mouth. “See you soon, sweetheart.”

You should spit in his face, but Dex would like that too much.

A month later, you are at a different gala with a different dickhead, watching champagne bubbles rise, when you see Dex across the ballroom, already smiling at you. 

You roll your eyes because, unfortunately, you know exactly how this night is going to end.

Rinse and repeat.

—

Note : thank you for all the wedding-related comments! I didn’t expect everyone to care this much, I just wanted people to know why I would be on a little break. Eternally grateful, though!🫶🫶🫶

[mayhemi]

Dex is the kinda man who will grovel for your forgiveness when he does something bad in your dream and you wake up mad.

oh 100%. when you wake up before him from a dream where he cheated on you, for instance, and you just can't stand the way he's sleeping so peacefully on top of you. face buried in your chest drooling, arms wrapped around your waist and soft snores falling from his stupidly pretty lips. you just wiggle out of his grasp and head to the kitchen, pissed off that dream him would even try something like that.

and he inevitably wakes up freaking out because you're not in the bed anymore, and you don't usually slip away with out telling him first unless you're mad :( he literally has to pace around the room and calm himself down before heading to the kitchen to talk to you.

he timidly approaches you where you're standing at the coffee machine, fidgeting with his fingers awkwardly. "b-baby? what's wrong?" he tries, only to be met with silence. he's literally holding back tears, so angry with himself that he upset you (he has absolutely no idea what he did).

you sigh deeply, letting a minute pass before speaking. "im mad at you." you grumble out the words. his heart drops at that, and you turn around to see it written on his face. it almost makes you feel bad, the kicked puppy look always makes you feel a bit bad.

"m'sorry" he immediately starts apologizing, not even caring to ask what he did because whatever it was you must have a good reason. he's panting, almost hyperventilating because he can't stand the thought you of being upset with him. "m'so sorry– baby," you cut him off with a finger in the air, making him pause and his eyes go wide. "aren't you gonna ask what you did?" you ask, voice drenched in annoyance.

his mouth opens and closes, words failing him. you roll your eyes, groaning. "you cheated on me." you state, making his eyebrows furrow in confusion. "in my dream, duh" you state it like it's the most obvious fact in the universe.

he sees this no differently than as if he actually cheated on you, with the way he shakes his head and takes your hands in his.

"i'd never– you know i'd never do that to you..." his voice shakes, "m'really sorry, baby" he's asking for your forgiveness, for something he had no part in.

+ you make him spend the rest of the day making it up to you, even though you stopped being mad at him when he apologized the first time.

© mayhemi | all rights reserved.

[poindextersgirlforever]

Devil In Disguise

Pairing: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Reader

Description: Dex was a priest until he wasn't.

Warning: Demon fucking, talks of being a priest, dad's friend, older men, breeding kinks.

A/n: I can never write fanfiction, especially one shots or longer stories. I love writing headcanons so much. Please give feedback and I tried my best.

HEADCANONS

Priest!Dex... Who comes to live with your family. He is your father's friend and slowly develops a soft spot for you. However, he is the devil in disguise.

Priest!Dex... Who told your family that you are going through some ghosts of your own. He makes them believe superstitious things are happening. But he is the one who is responsible for everything.

Demon!Dex, who is an incubus demon, after you. Every night he watches you sleep, but never does anything more. He wants to be with you and will do anything to get you.

Demon!Dex... Who convinced your family to send you away for a while in order to help you. They agree immediately because they want everything to get better. So you go with him. No one knows his true colours at all.

Demon!Dex slowly reveals his true colours to you; he doesn't want to upset you at all. But you are repelled by this idea, the idea of being with a demon and sleeping with one.

Demon!Dex feels insecure and disgusted for having explicit thoughts of you. You are starting to warm up and feel bad for everything that you have done.

Demon!Dex runs out of energy because he stopped taking care of himself; he only wanted you. He falls into your arms, and one thing leads to another. Everything changes for you guys; he marks you up as his mate. He even reveals his true colours to you.

Demon!Dex has horns with black eyes but blue skin, long nails, and a tail. One of the most beautiful beings you have ever seen. You are enchanted by his beauty.

Demon!Dex wants a big family with you; he wants to fill your home with many kids. He is also very enthusiastic about your relationship.

Demon!Dex loves using his tongue on you; his tongue is long and split into two parts. Which gives you so much pleasure, his split tongue goes deeply inside of you. Rubs against your g spot and always makes you squirt. You never knew you could do that.

He also has a huge cock that reaches the depths of your body. You have been with other boys before, but no one comes close to him. They all cared about their own pleasure while he cares about yours.

His tail... He also uses his tail during sex; when he's inside of you, he wraps that tail around your body. Usually fondling with your breasts. The ends of his tail always give you goosebumps.

Since he is an incubus, this man has endless energy. He can go on and on, but he cares for you and stops whenever you need. He has breeding kink; as said before, he wants many mini demons with you.

[killshotx]

when Dex figures out you have an oral fixation he starts like, offering himself up to you at any given opportunity. you’re laying in bed together and he wraps his arm around your neck with his bicep tucked up against your mouth. you’re sitting against his chest on the couch and his fingers come up to brush against your lips. he’s still too nervous to ask for it out loud but he’ll try to bait you into it.

he just loves it when you show your desire for him in strange ways. like yeah actually he does want to be cannibalized by you. you can crawl under his skin and live there forever. you can cut a piece of his hair off and keep it in a locket around your neck. just please love him more strangely and intensely than anyone else you have ever loved before.

you come home crying one day and he just flat out asks “do you want to bite me? do you want to suck on my fingers? :(“ and he’s sooooo sincere. he knows it’ll make you feel better, like offering a pacifier to a child. and you know what. yeah. yeah I do want to chew on him. put your fingers in my mouth now.

[4stephanie4]

You and I ‎ꫂ᭪݁ B.Pointdexter

pairing: benjamin pointdexter x reader warning: cursewords, kissing, mentions of blood, punches, kicks, murder, mentions of abuse, stalking, obssession. word count: 5922 summary: running from the man you once loved, you find an affordable aparment in nyc, leaving your life in Lousiana. All you want to do is escape the man that taught you love is violent. You land a job in Nelson and Murdock and fourtantely meet Dex who shows you he's more than ready to do anything for you. Even going to murdering your ex-husband A/N: purple lace divider by @mieluno simple line divider by @starrliqhtt

Dex swears he’s a good person. He’s finally got his mind back and the first thing he wants to do is be one of the good guys. That's what he thinks is best.

That’s what he says as he settles on the rooftop in one of the towering buildings of Hell’s Kitchen, eyes patrolling the murky alleyway beneath his feet that’s overcrowded with a large amount of trash.

Dex swears when he stalked that man for a good couple of hours and found out things about him that family wouldn't even know, it was just to help him catch him just so he could have a little chat with the guy, not like he was going to do anything to the guy. He just used up half a notebook to memorise and write down the man’s schedule. All this just for justice. That’s what good guys do, right? 

Dex’s mind explodes in happiness, a sense of overwhelming euphoria erupts in his mind as he spots a familiar, shadowy figure moving in the alleyway, whistling and unaware that a few metres up, lay the man who’d end his fate with a precise knife to the heart. Ha, got you!

Dex won’t let the man go that easy.

After escaping prison, Dex chose a worn-out apartment to reside in tucked in the corner of the city. It was nice, livable, which was the most important aspect of the flat really. Dex didn’t really make friends with any of his neighbors except the lady next to him with the cat. Everyday, Dex has the same routine, sleep, eat, work out, take a walk, and then repeat.

One morning, while he pets the old lady’s cat, she mentions a new tenant in the apartment on his left which had been tenantless for months. In response, he just hums, flashes the lady a charming smile and strides away down the stairs. He doesn’t meet the new tenant, you, until much later.

He learns that you live downstairs and come from Louisiana, possibly escaping family or something that young people do nowadays he jolts down in his notebook. Not that he made a notebook especially for you. He does that for anyone. You’re not special. Okay, maybe you intrigue him a bit, only because you don’t speak a lot like the weird lady next to him.

He observes you, observes the way you walk, the way you make small talk with the former veteran downstairs, and how you carry the groceries for the neighbor on crutches. To Dex, you are a mystery and he’s already obsessed. 

One time, fate brings you together. You’re carrying hefty groceries up the stretching stairs, at the same time, Dex is going down for…a walk. When he goes down the stairs, he finds you having trouble carrying huge bags, so like a good guy he helps you.

You spot your neighbour moving towards you, before you can ask for help, he scoops some of the bags on his arms. God, his biceps! Makes you feel like a Victorian man seeing ankles for the first time. “You don’t have to do that.” You say as both of you take the stairs. “I want to.” He replies with a charming smile. 

“Good thing my taxes are becoming of use!” You joke, but Dex doesn’t fully comprehend the joke, not reacting with a laugh or a smile like you expected. You both stand in uneasy silence staring at each other before you break and say:

“Sorry, that was a joke.” You awkwardly laugh, giving him your name with a soft smile. 

“Uh, no problem. I’m Dex. Nice to meet you.” 

A couple of stairs later, you find yourself in front of your wooden door. Dex drops the bag on the doorway as you look for your key through the pockets of your jeans. While you’re unaware, Dex’s gaze admires your face as it tries to catch the small details.

Dex’s eyes stare aimlessly at you, almost seemingly in a trance. The only thought in his mind was the fact that you were undoubtedly the most beautiful girl he ever saw in his life.

“Aha! There it is. Thanks, Dex. See you around.” You give him a small smile, waving at him before opening the door and pulling the heavy weight of bags with you inside. The door shuts softly, giving him the cue that you left obviously, but Dex’s feet are planted on the floor, unable, no, not willing to move. He finds himself staring at your door even after you left. 

Dex makes it his mission to know you.

So, like any good person would do, he times your schedule with his. He knows exactly when you go for a run at the park and when you go to your favourite cafe for a coffee. He knows everything, not in a creepy way, but in more of an observable way.

He’s looking out for a friend, isn’t he? That’s what friends do.

You barely know the girl.

One fateful morning when the scorching sun was shining and the birds were chirping in content, he ran into you accidentally at the coffee. He spots you standing at the cashier ordering your usual, not that he memorised your order too, that’d be ridiculous! Okay, maybe only how you take your coffee. And how you like to order cookies with that. Only that, though!

To anyone outside, you seem like the typical shy, open girl that could apologise to a snail if she stepped on it by accident, but to Dex, it looks like an act…a coverup for something deeper no one has realised.

The way you positioned yourself the first time you met Dex was defensive, like you were waiting for something bad to happen and even the way your eyes kept flicking back to him while you were looking for the keys, like he was a ticking bomb that was going to explode in seconds if you didn’t find the keys.

He watches you take your order and perch yourself on the table next to the enormous window that gives a beautiful view of the towering, eerie  buildings. 

With all the act he could muster, he walks towards you and makes a surprised face. 

“Oh, you’re the new tenant, right? Didn’t know you came to this cafe.” Liar.

Good guys don't lie.

“Yeah, it’s my favourite. Do you want to sit down?” You ask with an enchanting smile, your eyes glinting under the light of the cafe. 

“Yes, sure.” He replies as you gesture to the chair in front of you. Sitting down, he looks at you, really looks at you, noticing the minor purple bruise on your neck that was barely covered by your turtle neck shirt. Dex furrows his eyebrows, maybe she’s clumsy, but he knows better than that. Why does he care anyway? It’s not like you’re friends. Heck, you barely know each other; this is your second meeting.

Unaware of his criticising gaze, you enquire, “so, you come here often?”

That seems to break Dex out of his haze, “yes, actually.” He retorts. Liar.

Why do you keep on lying, Dex?

“That’s good, guess we’ll see each other.” You flash him a grin, hands wrapped around the mug of coffee. He inspects your hand, and, unsurprisingly, finds you fidgeting badly, especially on the ring finger of your left hand, like it was a habit. Like there was something there that is now gone.

For the first time when he even heard your name from the neighbor next to him, he felt this inevitable pull between you and him, like he was destined to protect you. Like a good guy would do. From there, both of you chat about multiple things, such as how long you’ve been in Hell’s Kitchen and what you do on the weekends. You tell him about your life in Louisiana and how you are the eldest of your siblings. He doesn’t tell you much, which just makes you assume that he’s a private guy.

After that meeting, Dex keeps hoping to see you, but hope kills, so he just goes to the places you go. For example, one morning when the sun was still rising, he hears the sound of your keys, he deduces that you’re going for your morning walk; therefore, he waits for exactly three minutes before executing his mission.

Bumping into you in Central Park. 

Dex fakes it flawlessly: bumping into you, then dropping his not-so-full coffee. He knows you’ll feel bad, then offer him another cup of coffee, and Dex will agree.

It works perfectly. Since when does Dex fail? Everything he does is precise.

At the coffee shop, the buzzing of the music playing softly above you accompanied by the chatter and laughter of the people around you is enough to calm you down. You like Dex, really. He’s one of the few friends you have except for Matt, Foggy, and Karen. They’re all very amiable people, but you feel like they have their own circle and by joining that circle, you’re just imposing on something personal.

Dex makes you feel comfortable, like you have nothing to worry about. And here you are sitting in front of him again at the cafe, staring at him in awkward silence.

“It’s weird we keep bumping into each other, right?” You manage a joke, but you’ve never been a person of great humor unlike your husband, no, your ex. He was always loved by your friends because of his superb humour, only if they knew what kind of person he was on the inside.

Thank God you escaped that hell.

“Yeah, like fate knows something we don’t.” Looking at his cup, he replies as nonchalant as ever. Your breath hitches, not expecting that answer, oblivious to the fact that this was not fate. This was a mission, all of it, with steps and many plans. Avoiding eye contact, you look at your paper cup.

“Listen, I-” Dex starts, almost desperate to get the words out of his mouth. However, the words die on the tip of his tongue as the roaring sound of a ringtone fills his ear. Embarrassment floods your face, the tip of your ears going hot.

“I’m so sorry, I have to take this. It’s my boss.” You apologise, pulling the phone to your ear. Your voice is muffled and under your breath as you answer, Dex catches something of ‘I’ll be right there, and sorry’.

“I’m sorry, it’s my boss he needs me,” standing up, you excuse yourself while grabbing your cup of coffee.

“It’s fine,” he stands up too, watching you walk out of the cafe, the door jingles. Without rethinking his idea, he catches up to you in quick strides, hoping to catch you before you leave. 

“Wait!” He yells, stopping you in your tracks. “Dinner? Italian place next to the library? I’ll pay. 7? It’s a…date.” He acknowledges. Sweat falls on his forehead, his hands shaking next to his side. Don’t mess this up, Dex.

Nodding, you reply with a smile, “I’d love that.” 

When you arrive at work, you’re out of breath, you’re barely there early. You’re sure Matt wouldn’t say anything about you being a couple of minutes late, but you need this job, you can’t, by any means, give them a bad impression about you or even give them the thought of firing you.

As usual, the office is packed with people. Before greeting anyone, you make sure to place the cup of coffee on the miniature, black desk covered in paper and in immense mountains of files. By the time you’re about to sit down, Karen appears at your desk like a menacing shadow.

“You’re late.” She implies, crossing her arms with a look and handing you a new file on your desk.

“I know, traffic.” You excuse yourself, groaning when you catch sight of the file, “already?”

“Yes, and have you finished the Jack Finnily file? We need it for court after tomorrow.”

“After tomorrow? Matt said court wasn’t until next Monday, today’s Tuesday!"

“The prosecutor demanded it to be changed. Just don’t forget, okay? And today we’re going to Josie's, are you coming?” She inquires with a hopeful glint in her eyes. Karen likes you. She thinks you’re smart and extremely clever all while being helpful and kind; a friendship like that is worth millions of dollars.

“Can’t, sorry! I, uh, got plans…?” When you reply, it comes out as a question instead. Grimacing, you correct yourself, “I have a date, just don’t tell anyone, please?” You beg Karen, hoping to keep it a secret.

Karen smiles with a knowing look in her eyes, “so Matt doesn’t know? Don’t act like I don’t see you staring at him all the time.”

With a face getting warmer, you defend yourself, “I do NOT like Matt! And, by the way, that’s extremely unprofessional.”

 She scoffs jokingly, “whatever you say, sweetheart.” 

Jokes aside, you don’t like Matt. Yes, he is handsome and bright, but he’s just not your type. You still have the dream everyday of finding your prince charming.

He’s just not Dex.

Cut it out! You do not like Dex. He’s just hot, with a cool scar on his face. You bet he’d make a great boyfriend though.

Okay, that’s enough thinking for one day.

The time passes sluggishly, the constant tick of the analogue clock beside you on the wall keeping you on edge.  The day is mundane, nothing happens except the fight that starts between two clients. Foggy steps in to stop it though. 

However, there was a  cute, British guy with silver, gray eyes and sand coloured curls that fell on his forehead, with a jaw so sharp, it could be used as a cutter. His words were smooth and controlled with a deep, gravely voice that sounded so mellifluous that it was almost illegal. He kept on flirting with you nonstop to the point where Matt had to stop him twice as all of you sat together to discuss his case.

When work finished, you didn’t hesitate in breaking into a full sprint towards your apartment to get ready. You spent an hour doing an everything shower that includes shaving and applying cream, because a girl can only dream. 

Also, you spent an hour choosing the perfect dress that would flatter you, curving at the right places and making you feel confident in your own skin. For makeup, you were a specialist, especially after what happened with your husband. You learnt to cover bruises, what specific foundation and concealer  colour shades you should get to cover them up, which brands were water-proof just in case, what to do if you forgot to cover them just in case, because just in case was your life now. You were living on ifs just to survive, because he vowed to kill you if anyone found out.

But he’s not here anymore. You’re alone. It’s going to be okay. You’re safe!

In fifteen minutes, you reach the Italian place Dex chose. During the whole ride, you spent wondering, staring at the seat in front of you, because what if it was a mistake? What if I don’t move on?  What if Dex doesn’t like me? What if, what if. You didn’t even realise the taxi came to a halt until the man pointed it out, “we’re here, ma’am. Have a nice day.” 

With a deep breath, but a leaping heart, you exit the taxi, heels clicking against the concrete pavement. When you enter through the restaurant, you find Dex already resting on a table next to the window; his mouth explodes into a grin when he spots you.

“Hi,” you mutter softly, sitting in front of him as the waiter pours your drink in the glasses standing on top of the table. “Italian? Are you a spy for them or something?” You giggle. God, someone needs to tape your mouth because the jokes are getting worse everyday. How more awkward can you get?

In response, Dex gives an authentic laugh, something that warms your chest. Your gaze falls on him, before he motions for you to sit down. “I was going to sit down, wasn’t gonna stand the whole time, haha!” No seriously, someone needs to eliminate the gene or chromosome or whatever responsible for this.

The place is serene, softly dimmed light above you with non-scented candles on the table. It’s not enormous, but it’s quiet and lovely. The tables are covered with a white, lacy drape that creates a romantic theme in the restaurant.

You spend the rest of the date laughing and talking about your life back in Louisiana, but you keep one significant part out; he doesn’t need to know about it though, it won’t matter. Turns out, you and Dex have multiple things in common more than you predicted. It seems almost comical. 

At the end of the night, well, obviously, both of you walk home together, because both of you live next to each other, but it’s comforting anyway. For once in a long time, you feel serene. You’re brain isn’t in flight or fight mode like you used to be.

While walking out of the place, you almost trip on the sidewalk.Almost immediately, he grabs your arm, but you flinch, hot white pain flooding your pain from Dex’s grip. Even though his touch was tender, bruises still lingered there.

He gives you a look, but you don’t look at him. Clearing your throat, you say, “that shocked me.” You force a laugh, but it comes out as a shaky breath instead.

His eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t comment. He just stares at you.

You hope he doesn’t see the shame on your face.

Stop it! What if you get too close and he finds out? What will be your excuse when he knows you’re a divorced woman?

The embarrassment!

This was a mistake 

Both of you don’t talk the whole, opting to stay in silence. You don’t want him to question you or interrogate you like a suspect.  No matter how much you deny it, you’re scared…of him? Of what he’ll say? 

You’re scared you’ll scare him away.

In no time, the sight of the enormous house appears in your view. You almost trip again while taking the flight of stairs, which could almost be comical if you weren’t sweating beads on your forehead.

“Uh, yeah, this is me!” You joke as you and Dex stand in front of your door. “I guess I’ll see you around.” You just hope the ground would swallow you already.

“Night.” Dex replies gruffly which makes you worry that this is the last time you will be seeing Dex. 

Both of you retreat to your apartments. Before you go to bed, you take a hot, steaming shower. You sit in your shower as the water gushes down your back in smooth rhythms. You don’t know when you start crying and you don’t know how long you sit there just staring at the wall. It has become a very bad habit.

When you awake, you take a look at yourself in the mirror. You look worse than you did in the marriage. Black under your eyes, bruises that somehow still linger no matter what. They stay like a silent reminder that you belong to him.

Dex, on the other hand, achieved no sleep last night. Not that he tried to, but he sat in the kitchen playing with the knife between his hands. He had only one thought in mind.

This man had to go.

The man who was laying his hands on you should be six feet under and Dex will make sure of that. 

Dex has never felt this protective over someone. He just met you a few days ago, but his heart does jump every time he sees you. He hates the way you looked at him last night, like you were scared of him, like you thought Dex would ever dare raise his hand on you.

In the haze of fifteen minutes, you try to make yourself somewhat presentable for work. You arrive early for once, shocking Matt who was already there. Matt has a knack of arriving early to work, mostly arriving with foggy by his side, but today he was early.

“Are you working on a Guinness Record?” You laugh, placing your bag on your desk. Your attempt at a joke is successful as Matt’s mellifluous laugh fills your ear. Your voice, however, is gruff from crying all night which catches Matt’s attention.

“You sound horrible.” Matt comments. Damn his sensitive ears. Is this normal? You don’t think so. It’s like he has superhearing!

“Bad sleep last night. Bed bugs did bite unfortunately.” Oh my God, you need to stop with the jokes! They probably laugh out of pity. Your father is rolling in his grave from the amount of bad, unfunny jokes you’re telling.

“Make sure they don’t bite today too. We’ve got court tomorrow.”

“Ay ay captain.” You smile, “oh and brought you coffee by the way. Can’t believe I forgot to give it to you. The barista said it was…couples day, so they were handing out free pairs of coffee?” You say, handing him the paper cup.

This time, the day passes on rapidly, making it a very arduous and booked day. You don’t think you had time to breathe and take a moment for yourself. Your ankles are sore and red from the amount of pacing you did in the office.

At the end of the day, you’re still buried in your files when Foggy and Karen leave and even Matt does which is surprising considering he likes to stay late at work.

You don’t leave until past nine, walking through the lowly dim streets with nothing but pepper spray in your bag.

You feel watched. You feel someone watching you as you walk.

Alarmed, you clutch your bag tightly as if it could save you. 

Suddenly, you feel yourself being pushed into a gloomy alleyway, falling on your side with a loud groan. You don’t know what’s happening. Everything’s happening too quickly

All you see are obscure movements. You blink once, twice. Ignoring the pain in your side, you try to stand up, but the man, you assume, kicks you hard in your stomach. Then, a rough slap to your cheek. It stings as hell.

You let out a loud cry, hands moving to your stomach to soothe the pain, but he grabs your hands with one of his hands and forcefully pulls them away from your body.

“You bitch thought you were gonna escape me? You’re stupid just like your parents.” He laughs and it almost sounds like a roar.  You can recognise this voice from a mile away. There’s nothing in the world that can make you forget him.

You try to sit up, but he kicks your stomach again. With a loud cry, you land on your back. The tears come quickly like waves in a tsunami. They’re loud as you sob. You shouldn’t be crying. It gives him power, but what can you really do when you’re being beaten up in an alleyway by your ex-husband?

 You can smell the beer on him. One sniff of it and it takes you back to your marriage. 

You wish you hadn’t stayed late at work. You wish you could’ve accepted Murdock’s invitation to walk you home, but you didn’t. 

He’s tipsy. You see from your restricted vision in the dark that he can’t even stand on his legs. You reach around you, trying to find your bag and reach for the pepper spray.

“You’re still my fa-favourite girl, don’t worry, sweet baby.” He slurs, trying to make his voice sound soft. He squats down to look at you, but you’re too busy sobbing in pain and waving your hand around in search of your bag.  He caresses the side of your face with his free hand. Squirming, you try to move out of his grip, but it’s no use.

Fortunately, not all sad stories have a bad ending.

The silhouette of the familiar Hell’s Kitchen’s Hero appears in the sight of your ex-husband. Your ex-husband, not being a resident of NYC and not being familiar with the hero, squints his eyes  like he can’t tell if he’s been drinking too much or if this is actually real.

You don’t notice the hero though, eyes shut as you try to sit up. You only hear him though, and when you do, you let out another sob, but this one was in relief.

“Move away from the lady, and I won’t have to hurt you badly.” Are Daredevil’s words. They’re ominous. Even though the words are quiet, the words land on your ex with a loud blow. They’re supposed to blow his ego away, but, unfortunately, he has the ego of a blue whale. It means he won’t back down without a fight.

You take this as a cue to leave. You don't look back, only hearing the sound of bones crushing and breaking. Groans fill the place. Your breath becomes short gasps, as you try to sit up. Leaning against the wall while standing up, you scurry out of this alleyway in the fastest way possible despite the fact of the way you’re injured.

You barely make it up the stairs of the house, the lights above you shining harshly in your eyes. The worst part is the way the dizziness kicks in. Black and white fills your vision.

You don’t know why you knock on his door instead of yours, but you can’t be on your own right now. It’s not that you can’t deal with this, you’ve fixed up worse bruises and wounds in the past that he has given you, but something inside of you tells you to trust Dex. That you could depend on someone for once. That’d feel good for once, wouldn’t it?

Gently, you knock on his door, hoping not to wake up the neighbors. You can barely stay up on your own feet anymore. While leaning against the door, you slide against his door, falling slowly to your knees. The tears come again. What if he’s not home? Where are the people when you need them most?

Luck’s on your side this time.

The door swings open. 

Dex appears in the doorway like a guardian angel, the lighting shining from behind him. His eyes land on you. They look almost worried, but you’ve learned to read people. While other wives were giving birth to lovely children, going on dates with their husbands, travelling with their families, hosting holiday dinner, you were learning to read people like paper. You created a schedule of his drinking, you learned first aid kit, you learned how to become a good wife, because nothing could please him. You learned when to talk and when to stop talking, and most importantly you learned to never ask him for anything, he’d hit you with the glass cup immediately. 

Dex’s eyes look like he knew something would happen.

Both of you don’t break eye contact. Then, he just carries you silently into his apartment and places you on his elastic couch that feels like heaven to your back. 

You try to open your mouth to explain anything, but nothing comes out. You’ve stopped crying by now, mostly because you’re embarrassed of the way Dex’s sympathetic eyes are looking at you. He opts not to say anything, noticing how fatigue is written all over your face.

He just nods, gives you a glass of water with a painkiller, but you don’t ask what it is. You’re too exhausted to talk, you’ll tell him tomorrow about what happened.

But unknown to you, he’s pieced some of the puzzles together.

When you awake, the dim light filtering through the beige curtains catches your attention. Then, the smell of breakfast overwhelms your nose. Trying to sit up, a banging headache forms in your head. 

“Ow, gosh, where am I?” Eyes fully shut while sitting up, you acknowledge. Your eyes fly open. You take a single look around, noticing Dex’s apartment. It’s bland, but not too bland. It’s only full of the necessities. 

Turning your head to the side, you spot Dex standing in the kitchen cooking eggs in a pan. With weary bones, you carry yourself to where he’s standing. 

“You gonna tell me what happened, or should I make my own theory?” He questions. It must’ve been his try at a joke, but you didn’t laugh or even chuckle. The words that were gonna come out of your mouth right now were going to either make him a close friend or you’d lose him.

“Do you know why I moved here? Did I ever mention it?” You ask with furrowed eyebrows. You sit on his kitchen counter. Dex shakes his head, turning off the stove and placing a plate in front of you with a mug of coffee as black as dirt.

“I was escaping something, someone. I used to be married, but I divorced him, because he was…hurting me. We divorced quietly, because he was trying to run for mayor at that time in Louisiana, and apparently hitting your wife doesn’t look good on a resume. So he talked to my parents, offered them money, and they agreed to keep it quiet. Last night, I left work late and he just pulled me into an alleyway, but Daredevil was there thankfully. I’m sorry, I should have said something.” 

You feel a cold touch of a hand on your cheeks, forcing you to look in his eyes, “never, I mean ever, apologise for something like that. I don’t need you to say anything else, just give me a name.” Is his reply. You would’ve expected him to criticize you or tell you it was your fault, but he didn’t.

“Please.”

“Wh-why?” You stutter, “are you going to hurt him? Don’t- don’t do that. I’m…he won’t hurt me again.”

“I know that sweetheart. I won’t hurt him. It’s just for the future, y’know?” He tries to make up an excuse, what kind of bullshit excuse is that? Looking at you once, his rage bubbles in his throat. He’s sure that if he doesn’t take it out on something, it might make him explode like a balloon.

In a quiet voice, you give him his name. 

He really looks at you for once, taking his time to admire your face. A black eye adorned your alluring face. He took his time to look at the way you pouted while eating the food he made you. You bit on your inside cheek, like you were trying not to sob.

Sighing, Dex starts to move his legs towards his front door. He wants to murder this man are all his thoughts, before you call out his name. He stops in his tracks, looking back to find you behind him; the space between you was so little it was almost non-existent. 

“Don’t go. I don’t want to be alone, Dex.” You whisper. Your eyes were vulnerable and so clear he could see a line of tears forming. He couldn’t manage seeing you cry. What the hell was happening to him? Why did this woman that he’s only known for a week manage to make him wrapped around her little finger.

“Please, Dex.” In a surprising motion, you wrap your arms around him, an army of tears falling onto his shirt as you cry quietly.. His eyes widen, he doesn’t really know what he should be doing. In a half-effort, he wraps his arms around you awkwardly. 

Dex tries to convince himself he doesn’t care about you, but it’s no use, but here you are, standing in his apartment, crying in his arms.  You stopped crying, but your breath is uneven. You don’t remember the last time you cried this hard. 

Dex does care about you.

He wishes not to, but he can’t stop, not now and now ever.

Breaking the hug, you look into his eyes, but you can’t help yourself as you close the gap between you and Dex. Your arms wrap around his neck, his wrapping around your waist as he gently pushes your back towards the kitchen counter. You don’t stop. The kiss is deep and full of hidden admiration. It’s a very passionate kiss for people who’ve known each other for a week. His muscled arms help you sit on the counter as he stands between your legs. His lips move from your mouth to your neck, leaving a series of scattered kisses. Both of you break apart.

For the rest of the hour, you and Dex lay on his couch, with your head leaning against his shoulder. Dex’s arm is around your shoulder and once in a while he looks down at your cuddling form.

A few minutes later, you fall asleep, softly snoring. Dex leaves your body asleep on his couch, closing his curtains and opening the TV to whatever channel is on. He’ll be gone for a while, so he wrote you a note that he placed on the coffee table.

And so, that’s how Dex found himself on top of the rooftop. 

And that’s also how Dex found himself dangling the guy upside down on the rooftop while the man screams and begs for mercy, but Dex won’t let that man go easily. He has a whole plan planned out, because how dare he lay his filthy hands on you? He has fun watching the guy squirm and cry, it’s more of  a hobby really. It makes him feel on cloud nine.

Killing him slowly would take the enjoyment out of the whole thing, so give Dex a reason why he would do that. Isn't it meant to be enjoyable? He punches him, but not enough to take him into unconsciousness. He has to be awake to experience all the pain. He made his bed, so he must lie in it.

And when Dex opens the door with blood thrown on his face and bruised knuckles, your thoughts are confirmed. The worst part is that you should be afraid of him, but you aren’t. You know exactly what he did, and you don’t care. You can’t help the feeling of happiness that lodges in your heart.

“You killed him, didn’t you?”

Dex’s eyes are full of pride as he nods. He doesn’t care if you leave him if you’re scared. The most important thing to him is the fact that the guy is long gone. He won’t be able to hurt you anymore and you won’t have to leave in fear forever.

“Okay…that’s…something.” Is your reply. You try to keep your emotions discreet; you don’t know why. With a soft smile, you hug him again. You hug him maybe due to the fact that you feel safe, or the fact that Dex did all of this just for you. Your heart leaps, not in fear, but in pleasure and joy.

For once, you feel safe. You’re sure you’re safe. That’s what you tell yourself, but why are your hands still shaking?

You sit down on his rusty couch. You expect him to sit down next to you, but instead he kneels in front of you and captures both of your hands in his in a tight but gentle grip. His loving eyes stare into yours.

“Tell me what you want me to do. I’ll do anything for you. Just love me. That’s all I ask."

[killshotx]

I am just so obsessed w the concept of dex crying during any emotional / intimate moment w his partner it’s like he has absolutely no control when you’re around and the dam breaks and he’s sobbingggg into your shoulder in bed or tears in his eyes when you smooch all over his face before work or those warm salty tears dampening the skin between your thighs just❤️‍🩹muah sweet damaged boy❤️‍🩹

he is such a crybaby and it’s one of my favorite traits of his. like. god just look at him, he’s beautiful when he cries.

I want to gentle parent him so bad. and he would love being coddled by his partner when the tears spill over. I think the first time he cries in front of you he would be insecure about it, furiously wiping the tears away and so frustrated at himself for not being able to keep it together. but then your whole body softens, and you just take his face into your hands and coo at him. you don’t think any less of him. you don’t say anything cruel or condescending (do we think he got bullied at the lindhurst boys’ home for being a crybaby? I think yes).

it’s a big trust building moment for him but it’s also a bigggg big mistake on your part because now he’s going to cry around you a lot. especially now that he knows your instinct is to comfort him, he’s going to get a little manipulative with it and bring out the tears anytime you’re mad at him or he thinks you’re pulling away from him. his feelings go from 0 to 100 in an instant and he’s never been good at regulating them himself. he desperately wants you to take control and do it for him, soothing him and bringing him back down from that emotional ledge.

I’ve said this before but to be his partner you would need to have very strong boundaries, because things will get very codependent very fast if you can’t draw those lines. he needs affection and understanding, of course, but he also needs to learn to support himself and master his own emotions.

on a lighter note. yeah he absolutely cries during sex, before, during, and after. especially at the beginning of your relationship when it’s all so new and overwhelming to him. he just can’t believe that you love him! he’s never been loved before! he’s never had someone to come home to before! he had accepted that it just wasn’t in the cards for him and then you came along and took his miserable life and turned it into something worth holding on to. your body is so soft and warm next to his, when he used to wake up every morning cold and alone. how could he not be overwhelmed by you?

[daystarpoet]

benjamin poindexter takes nights very seriously.

he takes sleeping next to you very seriously. not necessarily in a sexual way, but rather in the knowledge that you are there with him, completely unguarded.

for most of his life, people have threaded carefully around him. he's observant, he knows when people have thought the sentences out in their heads three times before saying them.

it was the same when he was a kid after his parents died and he was sent to the orphanage, and it was the same after he killed his coach, the same when the fbi started to investigate him, and the same when he was being held prisioner by guards who shivered at the sight of bullseye.

you never hesitated, though. not when you met him, and not right now.

the window is open, much to dex's dismay. the soft summer night air slips through the window and makes the white curtain sway.

your breath comes out in short and relaxed puffs. dex watches you for hours. he's not much of a sleeper himself, but you are. and you love sleeping on him.

your head is rested over his bare chest, with a few strands of your hair falling over his skin. they tickle him in a way that reminds him that you're real.

it flatters him to a point that makes him feel almost cocky. sleeping on him means letting your guard down. it means you trust him with your life. it means that you won't go anywhere and that, at least for the night, dex has earned himself another day by your side.

hi people!!! its been a little while. I've been having my best time traveling around with my best friend, and I finally caught some time to write little bits. this was written on my phone, so I apologize for any mistakes.

[poinandshoot]

ִֶָ🪽་༘ uhmmm... boobs

guiding his hands around your body

benjamin poindexter who melts whenever you guide his hands yourself. he's already touch-starved, already eager to have his hands on you, but knowing exactly what you like is even better. he wants to learn every little preference. every small adjustment teaches him something new, and he memorizes it all. more than anything, he wants to know exactly how to make you feel good. your pleasure always comes first in his mind.

you take his wrists, drawing his palms flat to your shoulders. sweet. innocent. a kiss pressed to his jaw, a smile warming his skin before you drag his hands higher. you spread his fingers against your collarbone. they spasm. his throat clicks.

wanting to test that reaction, you lift his hands again, winding them around your throat.

“wait… baby… i might-” concern cuts through his voice.

you cut him off. “i like it.” a smile plays on your lips.

he nods slowly. “okay… okay.” the words slip out. his eyes drop from your face to his hands locked around your neck. the sight makes his cock ache. he bites his bottom lip, subtle.

you hum, pressing his grip tighter. "looks pretty?”

a shaky exhale. “so pretty.”

then you slide his hands lower. down your sternum. over the swell of your breasts. you press his palms into your curves, squeezing his fingers so that he squeezes your tits. a quiet moan from you as you keep your eyes locked with his. he’s watching intensely. focused on your reaction, on the way your hands move his.

then he takes over. he kneads your tits exactly how you taught him. you let go of his hands, fingers sliding down his wrists, just holding him. letting him work your breasts. no surprise he makes you feel this good.

bullseye is indeed very skilled with his hands.

the sight of you moaning, looking down at him as he shapes your tits, makes his cock jump.

“you like that, baby?” nervous. managing. his fingers graze your nipples, then pinch soft through the fabric of your clothes. earning a whine from you.

you nod, your hands drifting back down his biceps, your fingertips skimming over the firm lines of his muscle. a laugh nearly escapes you at how nervous he sounds. neither of you breaks eye contact.

your hands cover his again. you guide them down your waist, over your hips, along your thighs. he squeezes automatically, gently pulling you closer.

his hands massage your thighs, stroking up and down. your pussy clenches, slick and hungry, aching for him to go higher.

you moan lightly as your cunt pulses. you pull his hands up, curling his fingers around the waistband of your shorts. you work his grip, making him tug them down slowly, agonizing, along with your panties. he’s just as eager as you.

you pry his fingers off the waistband. stopping him just short of baring you. a tease. his fingers twitch as you push his hands back down, settling them on your hips. they stay there. patient. waiting. hope flickers in his eyes. maybe you’ll want his hands to go even further. maybe even deep between your legs.

[imsarawoods]

benjamin poindexter who doesn't know how to ask for affection.

it’s not as if he’s never felt that burning sensation on his skin, spreading fire through his chest and making the nape of his neck tingle when he sees you. whether it’s when he spots you in a sea of people on his way home from work, when you’re sitting next to him when he's at the gym or when you’re chatting about your day whilst you’re trying to brush your teeth, his body recognises you as you. he never had to make an effort to learn it; it’s second nature to him to see you as part of his destiny—something as simple as being born, growing up, finding you, loving you and dying before you do. that was the cycle of his life, and he knew it.

you are such an overwhelming feeling that just thinking about it makes his chest tighten. when he’s with you, he doesn’t know if his blood is still red or if it’s turned to water, and flowers have blossomed in his lungs and heart. that ambiguous, strange feeling – you – was what kept him from thoughts of suicide and from taking such dangerous risks, in case the day came when you needed a kidney or someone to make you laugh. that feeling… the name of which eluded him, but which he felt in every fibre of his being.

so, yeah, he's akward enough to restrain his own hands when it comes to you. dex thinks it's stupid for a grown man like him to ask for something so…childish like cuddles and kisses. what is he? a five year old? he rarely remembers hugs and kisses from his own mum, he doesn't need it. it's not like he'll die without it.

he'll just wait for you to initiate, like you always (have to) do.

except that you aren't quite a clingy person either. yes, you take his arm when you’re out in public, and sometimes you kiss him on the cheek when a little voice in your head tells you you’ve been in your own space for too long. you both know that when you get into bed there’s a break where, as you switch off the lights, your hands mingle with each other’s, but that’s it. your way of showing affection wasn’t to be right next to each other at every moment of the day, and you’re killing him. why don’t you rest your head on his shoulder when you sit next to him? why does he have to follow you if you move to another room?

like now, when you’ve got your glasses on and your hair’s all frizzy from spending too long poring over the invoices, too lost in thought to notice that dex has come into the open-plan office and been standing there watching you for a good ten minutes, waiting for you to do something. you’d just got home from work and, after kissing him and complaining about your aching feet, taking a shower and putting on your pyjamas, and telling him you had an excel spreadsheet to finish… you’d drifted off again. you were too far away from him.

he's been debating the whole time if he should just ask you for a kiss, but his feet and mouth refused to cooperate with him, leaving him hanging there to stare at you.

"hey, baby. did you need anything?" you ask, finally noticing him as you wonder how long he's been there. must've been a while.

dex shook his head instinctively, but his lips formed a thin line and his face held a displeased look.

luckily for him, you could read him like a book now. it wasn't easy since it didn't come with some sort of manual or tutorial, but it was definitely worth it since you knew that this meant he wanted a kiss from you.

"do you want a kiss?" you ask again, looking up at him expectantly.

god, you don't think you've seen anyone nod that fast.

[thenightwinggf]

root around

The lack of personal space was why you hadn’t wanted to live with Dex. 

The sheer lack of alone time. Everything was together, everything was in tandem. He was always touching you, hand in your back pocket, touching the crease between your forearm and elbow, big ass hand splayed across your lower back, against the nape of your neck, the back of your thigh. 

You didn’t mind it, for the most part but in moments like this, where he was caught doing something that you knew that he knew he wasn’t supposed to do that the apartment felt like it would suffocate you. Every small inconvenience coming to the forefront of your mind.

“Dex.” Your fists were clenched at your sides. Your tone meant business—he knew. “You left it out.” Dex stated, never ‘I’m sorry for snooping through your personal belongings’ always ‘it’s your fault for leaving them out.’  When you knew you didn’t leave your sketchbooks out, you never did. 

“We’ve talked about this,” you began, closing the distance and trying to yank the book from his hands, “Get out of my freaking sketchbook.” Dex wasn’t letting go and if you pulled any harder, you would’ve ripped the pages, so you stopped, but kept your grip firm on the book. 

“Let. Go.” 

“You have more drawings of this character than me.” Dex pointed towards the spread in front of you: paint marker, meticulously done, Vigilante. A fictional character that did not exist and contrary to popular belief (Dex’s made up scenarios) only occupied two, three, maybe five pages. 

“That’s because he’s my favorite character.”

“Okay, well. I’m real and Vigilante isn’t.”

“That has nothing to do with this conversation.” Dex huffed, petulant. “You should be drawing me.” You tugged at the sketchbook again.

“Gotcha, just pages and pages of Bullseye. Hows that gonna look to my students?”

“It’ll look right." there wasn't a trace of humor in your expression. Right, that wasn't the word you thought anyone would use. "Also, you have two drawings of him in civilian clothes."

You can recall at least twice that you’ve caught Dex unnecessarily posed perfectly in your line of sight as you drew. Hm.

“I’m not drawing you out of spite for how nosy you are. So stop double-checking.” 

“I’m not nosy. If you don’t want me looking then you shouldn’t leave it out.” You started trying to pry his fingers off the book, “Okay, but I didn’t leave it out. I actually hid it in the fabric under the couch, so I know that you had to get on your hands and knees and then root around underneath—” Dex let go, harshly shoving the sketchbook at you. You immediately set to work on smoothing out the crease in the spread as Dex is crossing his arms, having the audacity to look affronted. 

“I do not root around.”

You tucked the sketchbook under your arm once satisfied with your work, “Like a red river hog.”

[cheshmenoor]

[cheshmenoor]

[cheshmenoor]

[cheshmenoor]

[cheshmenoor]

[cheshmenoor]

[blackshvck]

the idea that every summer will be as hot if not hotter than this for the rest of my life is unbearable i need to (remembers suicide jokes are bad for my mental health) murder an oil executive