angel

thank you for asking anon!!

ok so

sorry for the hiatus and the cliffhanger. i really appreciate all the love for Ricochet and I’m pretty surprised you guys actually liked it. I got really busy before I could finish the next chapter and also started second guessing the plot because the whole Volokov gang plot stuff was starting to give me booktok mob vibes and I was starting to over complicate things.

i was initially going to say something about it but kinda forgot about tumblr until i saw that clip of dex’s muscles and had to come out of retirement.

i’m still very busy but do want to at least finish the series because i know what it’s like when a story goes unfinished. i will probably continue the series but dilute the mob stuff because after all it is a Bullseye fic.

i do plan on writing more in the future. this was my first fanfic with multiple parts and i really like writing. thank you all for your support, patience, and concerns. i will definitely have more time during the summer AND more inspo with the next comibg spisodes of born again!!!!

really hope more people are converted to dex love with his new scenes and character development.

When will you update ricochet ??? CUZ I CANT WAIT ANYMORE IM LOSING MY MIND ( I love your work sm )

Thank you so much!!!

I really appreciate all the support and love for Ricochet and i’m so sorry i haven’t updated in so long. I’m gonna try and finish the next chapter this week i’ve just been really busy and also trying to figure out the plot and stuff.

Benjamin “Dex” Poindexter x Vigilante Reader summary: After getting a tip from Matt, you find yourself in a compromising situation. You manage to strike a deal with an enemy. warnings: murder ig, guns, knife, blood, self h@rm reference kinda a/n: ahhh I'm so sorry this took a month to update, I was trying to make the enemies as best as possible. thank you so much for all your guys support and patience wc: 4,100 taglist: @blxckwidxxw @mondaymourningg

It wasn’t supposed to come to this.

You promised him he wouldn’t be apart of this— not after everything he went thought with Kingpin not that long ago. But right now, you needed help.

Who else was there?

The roof was empty, colder than usual. Out of habit, you pulled off your mask, tucking it into your belt while you looked around for a sign of your familiar horned-friend.

“Matt?” You called.

No answer.

You didn’t even know what you were expecting. He probably didn’t even want to talk to you— you have been ignoring him for the past few days, your phone littered with missed notifications. And now you just show up, selfishly wanting help. You let out a sigh, contemplating your actions. It was late anyways. You turned to leave, only to be startled by the shadow behind you.

You clutched your chest, heartbeat thundering while he took off his mask. “Shit, Matt you scared me-“

“Where have you been?” He interrupted, anger barely controlled. “I woke up and you were gone.”

You didn’t say anything. He was right— you ditched. So you just stood there, gaze down like a guilty kid being scolded.

“And then you ignore my calls? Just disappear to investigate what I told you not to?”

“I’m sorry,” your words genuine despite your recent actions. “But I’m actually on to something here. Remember the O’Connell brothers? They’re off the streets because of me.”

“Oh, really? Because I haven’t heard anything about their arrest.”

Fucking Poindexter.

You grit your teeth at just the thought of his name. “That’s where my problem is,” your arms crossed in front of you, contemplating how to break the ice. “When you were around Fisk after he left Rikers, and he was being kept in that hotel with the FBI, were there any Agents that were close with him?” Matt sighed, a hand rubbing his face, “You know, I didn’t really spend a lot of time hanging around there. The only reason I’m still Daredevil is because I distanced myself from killing that bastard.”

“Right,” you hissed, cursing yourself for uncovering old wounds. “Well one of the agents from the FBI is being used by Fisk to babysit his network. A guy by the name of Poindexter.”

Matt nodded. “I know the name. He was the one who saved Fisk when the Albanians ambushed the escort,” he smiled with a scoff. “Stopped me at the elevator the next morning when I went to kill him.”

“Yeah, he’s great at getting in the way,” you muttered. “I can’t get anything done when he’s been practically breathing down my neck stationed watching Ivan. Showed up right when I took out the O’Connells to sweep the evidence— that’s why you haven’t heard about it. Fisk had it covered up by his pet Fed.” You took in a breath, the words rushed and angry. You could feel your blood pressure rising, sizzling under your skin just by the thought of him.

Matt just tilted his head, probably listening to you. “Are you hurt?”

You didn’t know if he was talking about the possible concussion or the blood rushing to your numerous bruises. “It’s nothing, just from the fucking psycho who attacked us that night at the drop,” you muttered, rubbing your darkened jaw.

“Bullseye.”

You stopped, looking up at him. “Bullseye?”

“It’s Fisk’s code name for him,” Matt clarified. “Some mercenary or something. Poindexter isn’t the only pawn you have to be worrying about. Have you seen him around during your little infiltration scheme?”

“Haven’t seen him since that night,” you sighed, raising an eyebrow. “And how do you know this?”

“Just did a little digging of my own to find out who tried to kill us.”

You shrugged. “Fair.”

The roof stayed silent for a few moments, a shared calm before Matt sighed. “You’re not giving up on this, are you?”

“C’mon Matt, I’m making progress. This is good, what we’re supposed to do. Take out the bad guys, remember?” You hoped he would soften up to the idea, but you knew Matt wouldn’t budge. “I promise I won’t drag you into this anymore.” Your mask returned to your hands, but you were interrupted before you could put it back on.

“There’s a warehouse,” he said. “Volochiy. Probably more guns and stuff there for you to check out.”

For the first time in a week, you genuinely smiled. “Really? And, how do you know that?”

“Only one of us has enhanced hearing, (Y/N),” he said, patting you on the shoulder.

Unlike all the other spots you had found, this one made you feel much more uneasy.

The bricked warehouse was completely dark in the night and isolated to the streetlights. Dread welled in your chest, breath filled with dust and trickling smoke, every fiber of your being screaming to just go back home and get much needed sleep.

But Matt said this was the one.

You found your way in through an unlocked door on the side one of Ivan’s goons must have foolishly left unlocked. The first floor was empty, only a few workbenches of scattered weapon parts and bullets being assembled earlier in the day. It was definitely Volochiy. You scaled each floor, silent, boots muted by your agile steps, hope dwindling at each vacant story until you finally reached the top level. Faint laughter echoed off the walls, leading you to a spacious panoramic concrete room sparsely illuminated by the far off city lights through the broken out windows.

There were three of them. A cloud of smoke lingered around their table of cards, barely visible with their tiny lantern. You were completely unnoticed to them, but you remained on the wall, listening. The things you heard were not so much about business plans, but rather foolish chatter and banter. You should have left— its not like you were gaining anything just spying in the dark. You were getting sloppier, more distracted from fatigue that had welled up these past few days. Your foot must have scuffed the floor, staggering to stay balanced and awake. You didn’t even notice you had caught the attention of one of the men, dabbing the remains of his cigarette in the ashtray as he looked at you.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You woke up fast, lunging into action before the men could scramble for their guns, quickly immobilizing the man who had spot you. With a side sweep you knocked the other to the floor, but before you were back on your feet an arm wrapped behind you. The third man was clutched to your back, your only defense left was to keep his gun aimed away from you. You struggled against the mans grip, the barrel of the gun aiming closer and closer with each movement, his finger shaking against the trigger, just itching for the right moment to open fire. His strength was beginning to crush your ribs, feet scrambling to reach for the floor as you were overpowered.

Bang.

You fell, hard, crumbling to the floor with the corpse still attached around you. Two more shots rang out— than silence. You gasped, shoving the limp arm off your neck as you struggled to your feet, eyes frantically searching in the dark. Three bodies were laid around you, but there was something else here. Lurking.

Then you saw it, standing still in the shadows. You were so close, so close to reaching the knife in your belt and stopping the shadow if the voice hadn’t said it.

“(Y/N).”

You froze. Spine turning to ice, chills creeping over your skin. Knife forgotten.

Like a deer in headlights, your name entranced you. You couldn’t fight it— the trance that made you unable to dodge the piece of metal careening towards you. It hit like a bullet to the forehead, sending you to the ground into darkness.

Your head throbbed, hanging on your limp neck like a bar of lead.

Lights burned into your eyes, only sending your already disoriented head into overstimulation. You were half asleep still, barely able to catch your breath from your still crushed ribs. The only proof you had that you were still even alive was the feeling of your hands bound behind you, rough ropes digging into you wrists.

You snapped back to consciousness real fast at that realization.

You bucked against the constraint, only for the hard wood of the chair to dig tight into your back. “Fuck,” you whimpered. Regret consumed you at the sound of shuffling in the distance behind the lights that blinded you.

“(Y/N),(Y/N),(Y/N)…” A taunting chant clicked its tongue in disappointment.

You managed to look up, squinting through the flood lights on stands to see a dark silhouette lingering in the shadows behind it, a clinking of boots as the voice stepped forward.

Maybe you were dreaming.

Or maybe it was the constant blacking out that made you think you were seeing things.

But he seemed too real to be fake.

“I should have known it was you,” Bullseye hissed.

You blinked, eyes widening at the familiar masked form of evil. Cold air hit your bare face, the tight feeling of your own mask gone. You jolted against the chair, but the bindings kept you secure from your desperate escape. A low chuckle left his throat, almost amused. “Fucking pathetic…”

Something left your mouth, sputtered words you didn’t even remember thinking. A plead maybe. Maybe a snarky comeback or chuckle. But your words came out as gibberish, only making your head hurt more as he approached.

It was no use, the only thought blaring in your skull was confusion as to how you were still alive. Bullseye wouldn’t keep you alive twice for nothing.

“What do you want?” You finally managed to slur. He stopped in front of you, a shadow blocking the lights from your eyes so you could finally see him better.

“Oh sweet (Y/N),” he taunted. “I just wanna talk.”

“How do you know my name?” You coughed, struggling to lift you head to meet his eyes.

His own head tilted, studying you. “I know a lot about you.”

You saw it.

The way he lost his guard for a moment, just a split second.

It was in his eyes.

The dark eyes staring at you, the only thing visible behind the black mask, the only thing you could see.

You knew those eyes.

You stared to long at them not to know them. Hatred bred into obsession inside of you because of those eyes.

“Dex?”

You barely whispered. Almost like you wished you didn’t say it. Like you wished it wasn’t true.

It pained you to say it. It hurt you even more for you to be correct.

He smiled. It was almost terrifying. Unsettling. The way his stare of hatred held no joy in it, but you knew his lips had twisted into an amused snarl under his mask from your discovery. It ran deep in his eyes— the burning stare of Bullseye, taunting you.

He must have sensed your fear, the way you sunk back into the chair, trying to grow distance between you two. The corner of your eyes caught the deep red pooling on concrete, the corpses splayed out on the floor where they dropped.

Dex’s work.

Bullseye’s.

“What the fuck?” Your voice small, cracking. “What the hell are you doing, Dex?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” he shook his head in disapproval. “Like you’re all innocent in this.”

He held up your mask, gripped hard in his gloved hand. “A vigilante? Really? What will Ivan think?”

“You’re one to talk,” you scoffed, the returning adrenaline turning into pure joy at the opportunity. “I don’t think Ivan will be too happy knowing he had a Fed planted in his office,” your lips twitched into a snarl.

“Agent Poindexter.” His name dripped like venom off your tongue as you glared up at him. His eye squinted back, reading you. You held up your smug act knowing you hit a weak point and a minor upper hand in your captivity. He didn’t say anything— but neither did you when he shot his hand into your stomach.

You jolted forward, gasping. You struggled for a steady breath as he leaned down lower to meet your pained face. “Well I guess we’re fucking even then.”

You looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed as you struggled to smile. “How many years it for a Fed aiding a crime boss anyways?”

Dex straightened out, moving away with his back turned to you. He stepped slowly, like practiced pacing as his hand was massaging his head. “You shouldn’t know that,” he muttered, almost as if to himself.

Dex was angry with himself. He had become sloppy. His whole plan was a mess, two lives colliding that he tried so hard to keep separate.

Even this was a mess— three men dead and a failing interrogation.

Just to get to you. He should have known better.

“I saw you,” you called after him. “Thought you were doing me a favor with the O’Connells? I was the one who called it in, you fucking idiot.”

He looked back at you, brow furrowed, realizing his mistake.

“You’re pathetic. Trying to do me favors,” you scoffed, remembering his words from earlier in the evening. “Why would I thank you when you were the one who fucked it all up!” You strained against the chair, lunging to scream at him.

In a quick stride he was back in front of you, knocking you back into place. “Jesus Christ, keep you fucking voice down,” he hissed. He glared at you with disdain, regret pooling in his mind for ever caring about you.

That was his error. His identity slipped because of his obsession. His need to please you.

He was pathetic.

He loomed over you, slowly coming closer. A gloved hand suddenly gripped your chin, pulling your head sideways. His finger brushed your jaw, the purpled bruise tingling.

“I do that?” He teased, pressing hard enough to make you involuntarily whimper. You didn’t answer, but he forced you to keep your eyes on his.

“Wanna see mine?”

His hand left you for his sleeve, shoving his wrist so close to your face you could feel the black strings of snapped stitches ticking your skin. It was a raw, bloody incision— deep in the wrist and snaking up the forearm. A look of disgust involuntarily smeared your face at the wound.

It was messed up. Definitely far from healing, the cut freshly reopened within the hour.

You squirmed back as he continued pressing it to your face, but the unscathed hand grabbed you by the jaw, forcing you to watch. “Look at all the pretty work you did.”

You were surprised the hazardous wound wasn’t infected— especially now that it was reopened. That happened days ago. And yet it was still freshly bloody like you just cut him in a fight this night.

Your eyes looked up at his through your brow, only meeting a deranged glare right back. No sign of the once present guy at the bar, but a lunatic showing off how you maimed him like a trophy.

“Sure thats all my work?” You sneered.

Dex wasn’t amused by your taunt. Because he knew it was your fault either way.

“Not such an innocent little fucking hero, huh?” He spat, letting you out with a shove.

“At least I’m not a murderer,” you said, nodding to the bodies on the ground. “Killing your own, Dex?”

Dex brushed it off with a scoff, yanking his sleeve back into place. “Oh, these were Fisks orders, sweetheart. Who, might I add, is your boss too,” his finger back in your bruise with a rude press.

“You’re Volochiy now,” He rasped. “Family.”

Your eyes rolled at the idea of any of these crime ridden bastards being your family. There was only one you really had any sentiment for. “Does Ivan know about this?”

“Not yet,” Dex shook his head. “He’s going to be really disappointed in you, (Y/N).”

Your eyes rolled, a scoff leaving your throat. “And what about Fisk?” You asked, Dex slowly pacing the floor.

“Will he be happy knowing you messed up?”

His boots scuffed the floor when he stopped. A low chuckle left him as he nodded his head at you question. Fingers hooked into his belt, pulling out a small knife that caught the light, revealing perfectly polished steel that danced between his fingers. “Y’know,” he breathed out, knife handle twirling in his hand. “All I can keep thinking about is— where’s your little friend? Daredevil, right?”

You froze. “He’s not apart of this,” you asserted.

“Good,” He nodded, creeping closer. “So he’s not going to jump from the shadows and rescue you?”

You couldn’t back away, the wood digging into your spine as he closed the space, knife gleaming at your lip. “So I can really enjoy my time doing this.”

Before you could flinch away, he stopped.

A voice called out from below.

Volochiy. You could hear the steps approaching, scaling each level to investigate the radio silence of the watchmen.

Dex cursed under his breath, knife leaving your face. Relief washed over you, though it was corrupted by the new incoming threat of approaching gang members.

You didn’t even notice Dex had come up from behind you until the ropes snapped against your wrists. You would have bolted if the knife wasn’t already on your neck, forearm wrapping over your chest as you were dragged behind a wall.

The footsteps grew louder, incoherent speech from men entering through the stairwell.

“Sh-sh-shh…” Dex’s grasp tightened around you, sending dots of black into your vision, darkening the shadows where you two were now hidden in. Footsteps clambered into the room you were just in, men shouting incoherently about their discovery. You almost screamed out, maybe in search of help or from the pain of your back being pinned flush against Dex. The crook of his elbow forced into your windpipe as you thrashed against him, your voice muffled by his hand.

“I swear to God if you don’t shut the fuck up— I’ll kill them,” he rasped into your ear, quiet enough for only you to hear. “That what you want? Blood on your hands because you can’t keep quiet?”

Any hope for help was diminished at the threat, and you doubted the Volochiy would be too happy helping an unmasked vigilante after finding three of their own dead.

Dex’s grip was tight around you, bruising your ribs and inhibiting your breathing. Your vision flashed, threatening to black out again with his hand wrapped over your mouth. You were desperate for air, and desperate to get away from him. Your legs struggled to kick the floor, his hold leaving you dangling high enough so only the toe of your boot could reach it.

Dex hissed as you bucked him into the brick wall, hold tightening over you to stop your writhing.

“Don’t move,” he commanded, silencing you with an elbow into the ribs that sent you gasping, biting into the thick material of his glove to stop from screaming out. The voices grew quieter, the sound of dragging as they took the bodies away, shadows flicking from their flashlights or your dimming vision. You were barely breathing, the terror of passing out and Dex finally getting rid of you now creeping in the back of your mind. The sounds of the men leaving was you queue for retaliation.

You bucked him back into the wall again, hands shooting up to his injured wrist where you wrapped your palms around it with a mean twist. Dex hissed, grip lost on you as you broke away, pushing yourself off the wall and sending you both down to the ground. Your knees quickly locked around him, straddling his torso as you pushed his wrist next to him, blood soaking through the fabric and onto your hand.

“You said you wanted to talk,” you yanked off his mask, tossing it to the side and switching it for a knife from his belt that you kept at his uncovered neck. “Let’s talk.”

Despite knowing it was Dex, seeing his face threw you off guard. His hair was messy, lips twisted into a ignorant snarl out of annoyance of being overpowered, still holding up his cocky act despite you being the one pinning him down.

You squeezed his wrist to stop that. “Fuck—” He groaned out, but you shot your knee into his ribs hard enough to keep him listening.

“You don’t tell Ivan, I won’t tell Ivan.” Your truce was weak, but there wasn’t much to negotiate with. At best, you would be lucky if Dex didn’t kill you the second you let him go, but considering he hadn’t yet, you were willing to take the risk.

He rolled his eyes, lips twitching from the pain. “Not gonna happen.”

“Do you want to keep your job in the FBI or not?”

His chest sunk beneath you with an exhale, adams apple bobbing as he swallowed. “I’m listening.”

You shifted your weight, ensuring he wouldn’t make a move that could leave you compromised. “Based off what I know, I doubt Fisk truly cares about the Volochiy. And considering neither of us are Volochiy, I suggest you just stay the hell out of my way, or I swear to God I will make it my new mission to ruin your life and get you and Fisk in prison for the next decade. Do we have a deal?” The blade pressed deeper with each word, the memory of his bullying from moments ago barely holding you back from slicing his throat.

He didn’t say anything, only hissing as your fingers began to claw into his bloody sleeve. You pressed the steel harder into his skin, making him tense up to prevent it nicking his skin. “Do we?”

“Fine.” It was all he uttered, pushing himself off the floor as you got off of him. You both stood, trying to catch your breath in the dark, waiting on edge for the other to attack.

But you didn’t. Maybe it was because you had just made a deal, and wanted to keep the few fragments of integrity you both had left. Or maybe it was because you were both equally exhausted. But for the split second you caught his eyes, they didn’t seem as empty.

You were to distracted to hear it, the approaching footsteps.

A light beamed at the two of you through the dark. “There they are!”

Dex hissed. “Shit.”

Blinded by the piercing ray, a stream of bullets careened from across the room.

Pain struck you.

You cried out, collapsing as Dex caught you and pulled you back behind the wall. You were too in shock to be able to help as Dex fired back, the sound of bodies falling and piercing gunfire blurred when you saw it.

It burned. Blood pooled from a tear down the side of your suit.

The injury was strange— only a graze, no bullet embedded thanks to only being hit from the side. But it was a long tear, not deep and damaging but definitely life threatening, catching from just above your hip to down your upper thigh.

The heat of the bullet still lingered. You were bleeding— fast.

It was survivable, but you didn’t have the energy to save yourself. Your hands were trembling so hard you couldn’t even apply enough pressure to stop the flow of blood. You found yourself blacking out again, the mixed feeling of freezing and sweltering pain overcoming you, filling you with dreadful fear of death.

You couldn’t hear anything anymore, you could barely feel.

Benjamin “Dex” Poindexter x Vigilante Reader

summary: Dex had to make sure you got home safe. His infatuation is killed when he learns a secret he wishes he never found out about his North Star.

warnings: stalking, tw: self harm, blood, bpd, bpd splitting, non consensual watching reader undress

a/n: omg so sorry this took way to long to post here’s a dex pov

-inspired by rooftop watcher

taglist @blxckwidxxw

wc: 2,200

Dex couldn’t understand.

His mind was bleeding for an answer. Trying to rationalize everything he did wrong.

It just didn’t make sense.

He got rid of the O’Connells. Ivan seemed happy about it. Fisk was proud of him.

But you weren’t.

He back tracked through scattered memories, trying to find the shift in the fault line, a place where he did something wrong to offend you and make you so mad. The moment you first spoke to him that night at the bar seemed like a fractured dream. The past few days spent separated from you almost made him spiral— just waiting for the next chance to talk to you.

It was a good thing Fisk assigned him a post in the Volochiy. Dex could maintain order while keeping an eye on Ivan. And he got to be close to you.

He couldn’t care enough to even pretend to be paying attention to the drunken rambles of Ivan when his mind was far off, in the warm lights of the bar. If he concentrated hard enough he could still feel your touch on his hand, the faint relief spreading towards the burning tear in his wrist. He cherished it. But when the idiot spewed his brilliant plan of sending you to the drug den to fend for yourself, the flesh began to burn again.

Those men were bad— evil.

You could be hurt.

An innocent, sweet girl like you couldn’t manage it.

That’s why Dex took great pride in tugging on the those brothers’ extra tightened cuffs, dragging them away before they ever had even a chance to lay a hand on you. He didn’t even care for the approval his fellow agents at the bureau gave him for the discovery— endless praises at how cunning he had been for picking up that unverified tip in the comms line as truth.

He just wanted you to notice.

To thank him for being so brave. For saving you all the trouble. Maybe even invite him back to the bar to share a drink. He didn’t even want the credit— he would have gladly told Ivan you were the one to take the O’Connells down if it made you like him more.

He just wanted to do something helpful for once, to gain your favor.

Maybe it was his fault. He shouldn’t have taken your job.

That was rude of him.

Dex dug his fingers into the still fresh wound on his wrist as punishment. His teeth almost shattered from being clenched so tightly.

Good.

He deserved it.

Dex just couldn’t understand why you were mad at him— like you hated him. He missed how sweet you were, how understanding you had been when you first met. Now you spoke with a tinge of disdain that pierced his chest and made him want to beg on his knees for forgiveness.

The blood on his fingers began to dry, sticking to the metal. His wrist began to throb again, but his grasp remained tight.

He hated how desperately he wanted your approval. He felt like a fucking loser. Like a teenage boy in need of his crush to like him back.

But it wasn’t like that.

Not really.

Dex didn’t understand those kind of emotions. Crushes, relationships, love.

At least not in the way he felt them.

When he did feel them they were like a grenade to his head— all too intense to process and hold in. No matter how hard he tried to shove it down it still bled through, an inescapable desperation he needed to claw out of his skin before it burrowed too deep inside.

What he felt for you wasn’t a crush.

It was obsession.

He tried to suppress his infatuation. Keep it buried. But the longer he tried to ignore you the thoughts only built up more and more. Daydreaming slipped through his mind like conscious thinking, pervading his mind like addiction.

He couldn’t help it that you were just so good— kind, pretty, smart. Somebody he could look up to. Nothing he did felt bad if a person as good as you was doing the same. You were both pawns for Fisk.

Partners.

A smile grew at the thought.

Dex felt like he knew everything about you despite only talking to you once. But he didn’t need to talk to you to understand you. You were easy to watch.

Dex was flattered to see how wide your smile was walking home that night after meeting him. Now he knew it must have been you were just excited Ivan had given you a job to deal with the O’Connells.

That must’ve been why you were mad at him.

You wanted that job. You were excited to be useful.

Oh, you were so cute— so innocent.

He was bad. Selfish. Terrible.

It was his fault you looked so hurt right now.

His fingers dug harder.

Dex ignored the blood trickling down his forearm from a snapped stitch, his eyes burning down the scope. It didn’t matter— your frustration hurt him more. The idea of you walking alone so late at night when there were bad people in the city made him sick. You disappeared so quickly he couldn’t even follow behind to make sure you got home safe. Thank God he remembered the route.

You were already there when he arrived, completely unharmed and pacing— which you hadn’t stopped doing since he had gotten into position on the roof across the alleyway a while ago.

Striding frantically, forearm clasped over your chest with an elbow propped against it, letting your chin rest in a trembling hand.

Even with the O’Connells locked away he was still worried someone might have followed you home; those bastards eyeing you from the bar, that one guy whose fingers brushed your coat when you walked by his table. He would have broke the guy’s hand if he wasn’t so set on reaching you before you got to the door.

It was bad enough you don’t close your curtains. He could see right through your windows perfectly. Imagine if someone else who wasn’t as careful as him wanted to look into your apartment. The thought made him shudder.

Not on his watch.

Dex rationalized it as protection. Ivan told you to get home safe. He was going to make sure of it. He blinked when the wind caught in his eye. Maybe lingering for such a long time wasn’t a good idea. He already knew you were home safe. But he just liked watching you. You really were interesting.

You kept to yourself, but always smiled at the barista and dropped your change in the tip jar. Your apartment was a bit messy for his taste, but he liked the charm. You liked to walk every morning in the park, although you were absent from your regular schedule today. Dex was worried all day until the moment you walked into Ivan’s study, glowing in the warm light, reassuring you were alright.

It wasn’t weird what he was doing. It was only the past few days since you met and he never got close enough for you to see him.

He just wanted to get to know you.

To study you, know what you liked, how he could be better for you. It wasn’t hard—being in the FBI and knowing your name had its perks.

Dex snapped back to reality when you stopped. Standing frozen, eyes flicking to the floor. Your shoulders moved with a deep breath before turning on your heel and revealing the furrow of your eyebrows.

You had an idea.

Dex smirked at his ability to pick up so quick on your mannerisms. The studying paid off.

His expression twisted as you left his view, frustration rising as you became invisible to him. He almost moved his scope to see if he could get a better angle when you suddenly came back, carrying a dark heap of fabric to your bed. He squinted to get a better look at what it was you just dumped onto your sheets, when your hands suddenly gripped the hem of your t-shirt, pulling it off in one fast swoop.

His breath hitched.

The circulation cut off at his wrist when his grip on the scope tightened.

Fuck.

Dex couldn’t tear his eyes away from your unclothed torso. Your stomach and arms flexed as you leaned down to fiddle with the button on your jeans, offering the perfect view of your cleavage peaking from behind a black bra.

Dex painfully forced himself to look away.

It was wrong.

Well, he knew it was supposed to be wrong, but it didn’t feel wrong.

Not like it mattered—the moment you shimmied down your jeans, all integrity was lost.

A look of annoyance smeared your pretty face as you struggled to pull your ankles stuck in the pant leg out, but Dex didn’t care. He wasn’t looking at your face anyways.

You looked good.

Better than he imagined. He adjusted the sights to get a clearer magnification of your body, an unconscious smirk growing in the shadow of his face.

Dex slowly trailed down your chest, over the flexing of your ribs and stomach. The outline of your hips and the faint show of the lace that hugged them. The show of the sweet curve of your thighs, all just for him. His eyes burned un-blinked over your figure, watching you— studying you.

The roof didn’t feel so cold anymore as heat swelled from his bleeding arm up to his thundering head. Blood dripping down his fingers as he gripped the brick laid barrier of the ledge.

You looked like something straight from a Calvin Klein ad as you threw the loose strands of hair out of your eyes and crossed a few steps over to the bed.

Dex didn't even care what you were putting on, his mind was too filled with corrupt thoughts and appreciation for how it only tightened around your form. It looked like a skin tight body suit, an idea that made Dex excited to see, but uneasy about your social plans for the night. He brushed it off— you’re weren’t one of those types of girls. He scoffed at the stupid idea and watched with hungry eyes. He’d be there to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid tonight anyways.

You pulled it over your legs, bringing it up to your shoulders where you wiggled your arms through. The sliver of skin disappeared behind a zipper you pulled from waist the neck, securing it with a belt.

It wasn’t until your gloved hands picked up the mask did his fantasy fall apart.

When you pulled it on you disappeared. His sweet girl (Y/N) was gone— replaced by the mask that haunted his dreams.

The realization hit like a grenade to the fucking head.

Blood dripped off his twitching fingertips.

No.

Dex staggered back, clutching his chest like he had just been shot point blank as the scope clattered to the freezing cold ground.

Blood smeared over his chest, staining his shirt— but that was the least of his problems.

It was you.

He held his breath as you disappeared off the fire escape, slipping into the shadows like you were never even there.

A scoff of disgust dragged out of his throat.

You fucking liar.

Stitches tore open, blood drooling to the floor.

Dex’s fingers clutched into layers of muscle, nearly tearing tendons as a strained groan of agony crawled from his throat.

The pain was blinding.

You caused it. It was all your fault. You were that fucking shadow that aimed glass at him that night— you made him hurt himself.

Dex’s entire world just shattered beneath him. His breathing grew erratic as he pounded a palm against his forehead, trying to get the vision of you in the goddamn suit out of his mind. He cursed himself for being so stupid.

He fucked it up all over again. He shouldn’t have been watching you, like a fucking pervert. This is what he gets for trying to make sure you were safe. Didn’t matter when you were the monster.

Every fantasized thought about you began to burn. The light in your eyes when you looked back at him replayed as a judgmental glare, your sweet laugh became a mockery of him. You were taunting him.

Fisk was right— nobody would ever accept him. He was a fucking fool to think you were ever good for him.

Things could have been so good for you two if you didn’t have to go and throw it all away. Dex steadied himself against the wall boundary, eyes dead set on the pavement far below him.

Ricochet- Chapter 6: Guarded Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Vigilante Reader summary: Still in recovery, you find yourself meeting with Ivan in a daze- unsure if the figure in the corner is real or a threat. warnings: blood, drugs mention, hangover

a/n: (N/N) means nickname taglist: @blxckwidxxw

w.c: 2,700

Your hangover was brutal.

Honestly, you were surprised you even woke up at all. Visions still flickered in your blended brain, neurons firing into your skull so fast you couldn’t do anything but try to fall back to sleep and burrow deeper in your mattress to escape the buzzing noise of the awakening city.

You spent the entire morning sprawled under layers of soft, cotton sheets to block the piercing early light from your window, but even then, the left over glitter still managed to reflect directly into your bloodshot eyes. You couldn’t sleep no matter how tight you shut them, no matter how much your trembling body writhed for comfort, every time you closed them— you saw him.

Always lurking in that infrared dark behind your heavy eyelids, you could’ve sworn he was haunting you.

You couldn’t get Dex out of your mind.

The paranoia mixed with drugs only fueled a really fun terror you couldn’t shake— clutching deeper into your blankets, you were on edge all day expecting the FBI or Volchiy henchman to break down your door and shoot you right where you slept. If the O’Connells hadn’t ratted you out by now, it wouldn’t be long until Dex pieced together you were the voice on the comms who called it in. And, of course, there was still the idea he saw you in the alleyway. He probably sensed you. Felt you watching him from the dark, lingering on the fire escape like a guilty, drugged moron.

But you knew that was irrational, since if he had seen you he would’ve put a bullet in you immediately.

Teeth burrowed into your pillow, trying to add pressure to your throbbing head where you couldn’t reach.

You were the worst vigilante ever.

The only actual progress you had made in the past few days was becoming a member in a Russian gang, getting knocked out with a still present and piercing concussion, a near overdose, and over a dozen missed calls from Matt. The most infuriating part was the fact you were so close to actually accomplishing your little infiltration scheme if you hadn’t been so rudely interrupted—twice.

You let your bruised jaw relax from the memory of getting it jammed into your skull, the glove of the man in the mask still striking the tender skin.

At least it was better than a stab wound.

Not only did you have to worry about a fellow masked vigilante, but now an undercover fed gripped by Fisk’s control lingering around the Volochiy. Both aspects of your investigation were now compromised—on the street and in the base of operations, with bad guys lingering behind every dent you made.

An exhausted grunt of frustration burned into your mattress.

You wanted both of them dead.

By the time it was dark enough for your head to not throb from every ray of light that burned into your eyes, you had sobered up enough to move and think clearly.

Of course, not clearly enough— since you gained consciousness walking down a hall in the back of Berezka. You shook the disorientation from your head, though you were still unsure at how you even got here, while you tried to follow in a semi-balanced manner behind Oleg.

You had never gone to Ivan’s penthouse on the fourth floor. The route seemed to stretch on endlessly, but you appreciated the warm dim lighting reflecting off the burgundy walls hallway and quiet seclusion away from the busy, loud restaurant level during peak hour. Your eyes wandered over the sprawling pattern on the carpet runner, wondering if it was actually moving with you while you walked. You came out of hypnosis at a foyer, the sound of Oleg knocking on the dark oak door waking you up.

You made it inside, feeling worse when the scent of smoke swelled through your dried blood coated nose. Dark oak bookshelves lined the walls as a fire blazed in the red bricked hearth, the only original part of the room that hadn’t been lavishly furnished in art deco revival. Ivan sat sprawled in an velvet armchair in the middle of the lounge smoking a cigarette and examining a paper.

“(Y/N)s here for you, Boss.” Oleg announced.

Ivan’s tattooed neck rose as he looked to see you lingering at the doorway. “(N/N)! Come on in, make yourself at home!” He beamed as he beckoned you to join him. You shot a kind smile, the nickname from when you were younger calming you down for a second. Oleg waved goodbye and closed the door, sealing you inside as you stepped forward.

You felt relaxed.

Everything was fine. If Ivan asked about the O’Connells, you would tell him about your discovery, deflect the blame to the other new guy. How could he get mad at his friend from childhood— little (N/N).

You took an inhale through your mouth, each step grounding you further—when a movement caught your blurred eyes.

Your breath caught in your throat, all sense of security shattering in a stumbled step.

He was already watching you.

Arms crossed, carved from shadow where he against the wall, unmoving as stone. It was unnerving how much you only saw him in the dark— how perfectly he belonged in it.

Dex never blinked, never shifted— just stared.

His gaze stayed locked on you like a chain, inescapable and heavy, even while you eased onto the sophisticated green velvet sofa across from Ivan, watching you adjust your posture into the stiff fabric.

You swallowed, a drip of blood sinking down the back of your throat from the flesh burned raw by chemicals.

Ivan took a swig of his crystal glass and smothered the cigarette in an ashtray, beginning to talk about his day like you were the only listener here. He rambled on about nothing like it was important.

Like anything mattered when you were too busy distracted by the silhouette preying on you from across the room. You couldn’t even hear what Ivan was saying as your blood thundered in your ears, anxiety pounding your stomach so fast you could hardly breath.

He shouldn’t be here.

You forced a hollow smile and stared at the rambling drunk, trying to ground yourself—but your gaze kept drifting, watching Dex from the edge of your vision, his motionless form looming in the near dark. You began to consider the drugs hadn’t fully worn off— that you were imaging things.

That he really was haunting you.

Ivan clapped, pulling you back, “Alright, now to business.” He smiled, rubbing his hands together as he nestled into the couch.

You stopped, looking at him. “Shouldn’t we talk in private?”

Ivan blinked. “Huh?”

You exhaled slowly, almost wishing he would laugh it off— say you were being crazy, that no one else was there.

He scanned the room— searching for what you meant, before turning around and casually acknowledging Dex.

“Oh, him?” he said, pointing like you could have meant someone else.

“Don’t worry— he’s good. Poindexter, you’ve met (Y/N) before, haven’t you?”

“Yes sir.” His voice was low and even, a calculate calm that made your nerves burn.

His eyes flickered to yours. “Hello, (Y/N).”

Fury erupted through your pained body at your name leaving his mouth.

“Hi.” You forced through clenched teeth as stared right back at him, fingers digging into your knee.

“A security precaution.” Ivan reassured. “Mr. Fisk decided it was best I had some protection.” He said so certain, like it never crossed his mind it could be an obvious attempt of constant surveillance.

“How kind of him.” You muttered.

“Yeah, guess I’m just that important. Y’know, that reminds me—”

You cut him off before the rambling could spiral. “I’m sorry Ivan, but why did you call me here? Is this about my assignment?” Before you could begin blurting an excuse as to why you had it ripped from beneath you, Ivan tilted his head.

“Assignment?” He repeated, almost amused. “I didn’t give you an assignment.”

You blinked at him. “The O’Connells.”

His eyes lit up. “Oh, ha!” He hit his palm to his forehead like he was the one who reminded himself. “Forgot about them. We don’t have to worry about them anymore— Fisk had it taken care of.”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Dex’s smug smirk, his shoulders rolling like he was proud of himself—like he wanted you to know. You clenched your teeth, not giving him the satisfaction of looking over.

“How did he take care of it?” you asked, voice flat.

“Uhhh, I don’t know.” Ivan shrugged, casually. “Probably sent a guy to raid them or something.”

You breathed. At least Fisk kept Ivan in the dark.

“It was me, sir.” Dex said smoothly from the shadows. Your heart dropped.

“Huh, really?” Ivan lifted an eyebrow, resting his arm on the top of the chair’s back as he twisted around, a grin cracking. “Well, thank you, Poindexter! Its like your first day here and you’re already making a mark! Clean work too— I didn’t even hear about it. Really covert.”

Of course he had to take the credit. Wipe the convicting evidence clean.

You sunk into the rough velvet, scratching against your numbed skin. You doubted Ivan would even care if you blurted about the FBI— if Dex didn’t kill you before you left the room. Your eyes drifted to him, disbelief and hate seething in your trembling hands.

He smiled at you.

“I’m gonna miss them though, my Frost collection is probably going to run out soon.” He turned back to you. “You should try some— that shit is crazy.”

“Is it?” You said, voice sharp, sniffling back the reignited nose bleed as it trickled down your strained throat.

Ivan spaced out for a second, probably fantasizing about the Frost before snapping back and looking at you. “Well, I guess everything’s all good then. Thank you for coming (Y/N).”

The adjournment of the meeting brought very little relief. You pushed yourself off the couch, defeat swelling from how everything had gone wrong— especially with Ivan only making it worse the moment you stood up.

“Dex, could you be so kind to show (Y/N) out? I don’t want all those drunkards eyeing her down there.”

You stopped, eyes wide, “Oh, its alright Ivan. I know my way out.” Your eyes flickered to Dex, hoping he wouldn’t see how terrified you felt.

“Please?” Ivan pouted. “It would make me feel better. Besides, best you two got to know one another— both new to the business and all— you could help each other out. You don’t mind Poindexter, right?”

You couldn’t even find the strength to object, Dex had already stepped out of the shadows, eyes locking onto yours as he passed by. “Of course. It’s no problem at all.”

Dread poured through you, blood pooled in your stomach from swallowing so much of it.

“Goodbye, get home safe!” Ivan called as you walked away, head low as you offered a defeated farewell.

Dex pushed open the door and held it open for you. “C’mon, let’s go (N/N).”

“Don’t call me that.” You hissed, brushing past him into the foyer, not waiting for him as you headed down the familiar corridor.

You could sense him behind you— hands in his coat pockets, every movement calm and deliberate like he had nowhere better to be. He kept even strides behind you down, only a few paces back and in tune with your own.

The hall seemed even longer now, darker, the wood-paneled walls and stretch of carpet gleaming faintly under the dim sconces. It didn’t help that you were alone, every movement watched by the man behind you.

“What can I call you?” He asked, voice low.

The walls burned a darker shade of red. “Don’t call me anything. Don’t talk to me, just— leave me alone.” You wiped a drip of blood off your lip, hoping he didn’t see.

His stride didn’t falter. “Sorry, I gotta follow the boss’s orders.”

You scoffed. “Ivan’s your boss? I thought it was Fisk.”

“My orders were to listen to Ivan.” He said plainly, unbothered by your subtle contempt.

You rolled your eyes, striding faster to reach the end of the hallway, staying in silence during the aggravatingly long journey until you reached the end where the shadows gathered thicker, pooling at the stairs.

Your wobbly knees bounced down each step, weakening as you descended each level, but the relief was already washing over you— so close to getting the hell out of here and escaping Dex.

You hit the corner landing of the last floor, light from the restaurant and faint clatter of glasses and chatter welling louder. But right before you could turn to the the last set of steps, Dex broke the silent peace.

“You’re welcome for the O’Connells, by the way.”

You fell cold.

He didn’t even look at you when he said it—like it was just a casual remark. He continued his stride, only faltering when you spun to grab his shoulder, shoving his back into the wall. Fists curled into his jacket collar, the tension that welled up through out the night lit like a fuse by his arrogant provocation.

Despite his towering height he didn’t seem to fight back, letting you trap him in.

“Relax, (N/N).” Dex looked down at you, almost amused by your fit of anger, “We’re on the same side here.”

The hilt of the knife in your pocket jabbed into your hip bone, begging for you to pull it out and darken the already crimson walls.

“What do you mean?” You seethed, paranoia welling deep inside from his taunt.

Dex blinked, almost like he was confused. “I though I was doing you a favor.”

“I don’t want favors from you, Dex. I want you out of my way.” You seethed, hoping he didn’t catch you double meaning.

He didn’t say anything.

He looked at you, that same unsettling stare—calm and piercing— the one that made you feel exposed, even though you were the one pinning him against the wall.

You snapped your gaze away, suddenly aware you had been staring back too long. Your eyes flickered down, catching on your hand around his collar, a speck of glitter on your skin still stained from the night before. You shoved yourself off of him, pulling your hands to you sides to wipe the evidence before he noticed, striding down the final steps and leaving him dumbfounded against the wall.

Smoke and brighter lights hit your face as you steeped into the voice-filled restaurant. It all felt like a dream, as you weaved through the crowded tables of drunk ruffians, too disoriented to care as a few heads turned to watch you storm past.

You were so close, fingers almost brushing the brass on the door to freedom, when an hand wrapped around your bicep, tight.

“Wait, just-” Dex’s hand whipped you around, his grip firm, expression shadowed with something like worry. He closed his mouth, swallowing the words he wanted to say. “At least let me call you a cab.”

Annoyance was consuming you, disdain for his false concern conjuring into your tone. “I’m fine.”

His dark eyes pleaded. “It’s late.”

Your brows furrowed, your hatred overshadowed by an off-settling disturbance. “I know my way around.” You shrugged off his touch, “Now go be a good boy and return back to your boss, alright?”

Ricochet- Chapter 5: Frost Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Vigilante Reader

summary: You encounter the O'Connell Brothers to gather evidence against the operation. In a daze, you discover a shocking secret. warnings: drugged reader, drugs, hallucinations, blood, guns, knife, fighting

w.c: 3,000

Ivan wasn’t kidding- this place was a shit hole.

A decrepit townhouse nestled on a deserted street in Hell’s Kitchen, your surprised they hadn’t been busted sooner.

Graffiti stained the brick, trash lingered on the pavement and into the side alleyway, and smoke trickled from a chimney in an almost luminescent glare—even from across the street the chemicals burned your sinuses and wafted your mind.

It didn’t take you long to find. At first, you filed through past reports and tried to triangulate their crime patterns to where they lived; convenience store robbery within a three block radius, corner sales at possible street intersections, and your general knowledge of the neighborhood piled together to try and find the address.

You were actually really close to figuring it out. Until you stumbled upon the online ad— an open broadcast plastered with their name, address, and product.

It was really that easy.

You didn’t even need to come in your vigilantes suit get-up, you just wore a long dark coat and brought a knife with a police transmitter. You’d be in and out like you were never even there, maybe even take a few samples for evidence or as a gift for Ivan.

You walked across the street, clicking the transmitter and holding it to your lips, repeating the address through the police comms. “Active drug den, four possible suspects. Need backup units ASAP.”

The static crackled off, a beat of silence before a voice interrupted. “Who is this?”

You clicked it off, tucking it back in your pocket before you reached the front. Cops should be here in about ten minutes— that was all you needed.

Boots scuffed over the soot embedded concrete steps as you approached the black gated door, the acrid scent of chemicals and smoke now stronger.

You took a breath in. Don’t fuck it up.

You rapped on the gate, waiting with fingers clenched around the knife burrowed far into your pocket, peering over your shoulder one last time.

The front door creaked open, a large man inspecting you through the crack. An Irish tinted gruff voice spoke. “What do you want?”

You let your face relax back to a calm expression, trying to fall into character of a new customer. “I’m here for a pickup.” You flashed a sweet little smile like you were here for a slumber party— not narcotics.

He wasn’t as amused as you.

“Hughie!” A voice called from down the hall. You watched through the cracked door as a brother tumbled from a room of smoke, sucking one last drag from his joint before flicking it at the wall. “Don’t scare the damn customers away!”

Hughie mumbled as he pushed the gate open for you, barely stepping aside before you took one more inhale of fresh air and crossed the threshold.

It was dark inside— the front windows covered in shutters with only a light down the hall for guidance. You swallowed when the gate swung shut behind you, a lit up pair of eyes landing on you from the guy in the hall, “Especially when they’re a fine looking jewel like this.” He whistled, punching his towering brother in the shoulder.

“Sorry about that love,” He nodded and flashed a half rotted tooth grin. “Name’s Sean, what can i do you for?”

Reluctantly, you shook his ash covered hand. “I’m looking for some Frost. Is this the place?” You chirped with a forced smile.

“Oh yeah, this the place.” He rocked back on his heel, practically twirling around as he beckoned you to follow him. “Come this way, we’ll get a fresh one for you.”

You nodded a good-bye to Hughie, who remained guarding the door as you followed Sean up the stairs. Landing in the second story living room, the pungent aroma of metallic chemicals lingered in smoke filled air, cascading in ripples through fluorescent white light and trailing to a guy lazily sipping a bong atop a filth colored couch.

Sean pointed at the guy while he walked to a paper covered table. “That’s Donny— he usually handles the transactions, but his heads been knocked up a bit. Say Hi, Donny.”

Donny waved at you, “Hi.” Smoke poured from his puffy bandaged nose and through a wide grin. “You’re pretty.”

You waved back. “You too.”

Donny blushed as you turned to Sean, who was shuffling things around on the table before landing on a clipboard and pen.

He double clicked the pen and gripped the board, looking up at you. “How’d you hear about us?”

You blinked. “The ad.”

Sean tilted his head, raising an eyebrow.

“The one online.” You clarified.

“Ha!” Donny almost giggled off the couch, nearly spilling everywhere. “I told you the ad was a good idea.”

“Alright, alright.” He rolled his eyes and marked one tally on a table chart. “If there’s one thing that could make you more likely to buy from the O’Connell Bros Co., what would it be?” He bit his lip, waiting for you answer intently.

You prayed the cops would roll up at this moment. “A welcome mat.”

He nodded as if that was the right answer. “Got it. Ok, now— how much you looking to purchase, Love?”

Your eyes scanned the room, not bothered as he wrote. “What would you suggest?”

“Well, a pretty first timer like you, I’ll do an ounce for the price of half, how’s that?”

Guns spilled out of a crate in the corner, bullets rolled out of cases and littered the stained floor.

Volchiy guns.

You smiled. “Sound great.”

Donny sputtered out a cough of smoke. “An ounce for half-off? We gotta meet the quota by the end of this week, Sean.”

Sean threw his head back in annoyance. “Oh c’mon, like you ain’t give away deals all the time.”

Donny shook his head. “Not anymore, remember last time? Fisk wasn’t happy with me, and he won’t be happy with you.

Your body tensed up, blinking to concentrate on acting like the name didn’t just send a shiver through you. “Fisk? Like, Wilson Fisk? Like that crazy criminal guy?” Your voice pitched and tinged with blind curiosity.

“Yeah, Fisk.” Sean smirked, putting down the clipboard and straightening up. “We, uh- not to brag or nothing- are the number one drug supplier for him, actually. You came to the top-dog for your first frosty.”

What fucking idiots.

Donny scoffed. “Yeah, top-dog until that deal coming up. He’s gonna snub us, I know he will.”

Sean twitched, shooting his brother a look. “Shut up.” He hissed.

He turned back to you, shaking his head. “Sorry, my brother don’t know what he talking about. Drugs killing the remaining braincells in that concussed, empty sack of nothing.”

Donny seemed unbothered, taking another hit and waving goodbye as Sean beckoned you down the hall to a lit up kitchen. Sounds of boiling and clashing metal loudened, a full hazmat-suit covered figure busy mixing over a steaming pot.

Fingers gripped at your watch covered wrist noting the time—you really didn’t want to be here when the cops pulled up, especially dressed as a civilian.

“Kieran!” He yelled. “How’s that batch coming along, buddy?”

A goggle covered face peered up at you, offering no answer.

“Ah, don’t mind him,” Sean smiled, brushing it off. “He don’t talk much. The chemicals fried his throat a bit. But it’s alright, we got one from earlier today.” He twirled around to the next doorway that lead to a converted dining room— boxes scattered up the walls and a single folding table in the middle. A lightbulb dangled loosely over it, moving with each tremble of the kitchen next door.

Shadows rippled over the clustered room— you wondered how many of those boxes held Volchiy guns, more drugs, maybe papers, contracts, and deals. This could be a gold mine.

“Ah! Here we go,” Sean chuckled as he walked over to a tray filled with small bags of powder sitting on the table. “Fresh.”

Sean held up a tiny clear bag stuffed with powder in the light of the hanging bulb. You knew that bag— it was the same kind Salvatore gave to Ivan.

Your brows furrowed, squinting to make sure you were seeing it right. “Is that glitter?”

He nodded, happy you noticed. “Helps with the presentation.”

You tried to match his enthusiasm as he opened it up, his nose hovering over the dust rising over the plastic and sparking in the air.

He smiled, pupils dilating while he smacked his lips in satisfaction before offering it to you.

“Try it.”

You froze.

Your smile almost faded away, but you quickly covered it with a giggle. “Oh no, I’m good.”

“I insist.” Sean chuckled, ushering the bag closer. “A free sample.”

There was no time, cops would be here any minute now. You tried to reach for the bag. “I’ll try it when I get home.”

Like a game of keep-away, he pulled it back. “C’mon you gotta try it.” He poured a small bump onto his finger, holding it up to your face. “This shit’s crazy, especially the first time.”

It glinted in your wide eyes while you struggled to form a better excuse.

The silent tension hung still beneath the light.

Sean’s brows furrowed, head tilting at your refusal as a finger slowly raised toward your lips. A sting hit your nose, blending your neurons and halting the ability to form a coherent thought.

You blinked. Sean wasn’t offering anymore.

No backing out now.

Your arm swung at him— knocking the bag and sending a plume of white smoke into the air. In the moment of chaos you kicked his chest, both of you tumbling backwards through the cloud of drugs.

A fresh burn trickled into your throat. You stumbled blindly, frantically trying to exhale the drugs out of your system. Everything swirled. Tear stung eyes blinked open to see Sean on the table, gripping at his face while he cursed you.

You leaned into the supportive barrier of drywall to ground yourself. The room spun. Voices were shouting throughout the house and mixed into a sound of animal roars in your drug altered mind.

Practically clinging into the wall, you found yourself in the light of the kitchen— an alien in a spacesuit looking at you over the pot of magical stew.

Fuck— this shit was crazy.

A robotic voice interrupted your confusion. “Did someone call the cops?”

Donny stood in the doorway, pointing at the flashing red and blue sirens leaking through the shutters.

Uh oh.

You tore the bong from his grasp, tossing it back as he just let it smack into his nose. Donny screeched, tumbling to the floor as his nose grew legs and ran away like a tiny, frenzied mummy.

The clamber of footsteps made your brain hit your skull.

“You fucking bitch!” A really big Leprechaun ran up from behind you, fist raised.

You stepped back, hands finding the pot and splashing the scalding materials into Hughie’s face, half expecting him to melt into a puddle through the floor boards.

More screaming. The Frost was really starting to mix into your blood stream and probably alter your DNA at this point.

Kieran just stood there, shoulders low and fogged goggles looking at the spilled pot in defeated surrender.

The sirens sounded like they were coming inside your head, vision twirling with different colors, everything bedazzled. You retreated out of the burning white lights, finding a door and pushing it open to a dark bedroom, a window calling you like a lost moth to a streetlamp.

It was a miracle you made it onto the fire escape. Hovering two stories high above the alleyway, you gripped the bars so your newly sprouted fairy wings didn’t lift you into the night sky.

You managed a smile, wiping your bloody nose on the back of you hand as you focused on the flashing lights through your dizzied state.

It was all worth it.

Four incapacitated Fisk employees were now cornered in the apartment, ready to be carted off to the nearest courthouse to testify. You considered going back in for a bag of Frost to present to Ivan, but the thought of ever encountering that shit again almost made your eyeballs fall out.

Sirens squealed to a halt as blacked out cars blocked the street, uniforms filing out with guns drawn and the sound of the gate rattling when they moved into the house.

You were in a daze— but something wasn’t right.

This wasn’t NYPD.

You tried to backtrack through spilling memories.

You called it in.

You were on the right frequency.

It didn’t look like SWAT— or maybe it did, and your mind was to drugged to see it correctly.

Honestly, you were astonished you weren’t seeing a cavalry of wizards on unicorns right now.

“Secure a perimeter.” A voice ordered from below.

Through the alley’s entrance you caught a glimpse of a man standing, head turning as he gave out orders to passing uniforms.

You crept closer to the bars, peering through to get a better look. But your coordination betrayed you— a hand slipped and your forehead cracked on the hard metal with a sharp thunk. You hissed, gripping the vibrations before it could last long enough to be pinpointed.

A head turned toward the alley.

Shit.

You inched into the shadow, grasping your mouth before a high giggle could leave your uncontrollable self.

A figure lurked forward out of the brightness offered by sirens and street lamps to join you in the dark.

His eyes were intently scanning, surveying the alleyway with cold precision and concentration.

You were still, praying he wouldn’t see you as you watched him— closely.

You couldn’t breathe.

No.

You were seeing things.

It couldn’t be.

It was dark— your vision was betraying you. Maybe you were hallucinating.

He didn’t belong here.

Not like this.

Gun in hand like an extension of his arm, his vest adorned by bright white letters.

FBI.

“Poindexter.” A voice called.

Dex turned. Red light caught across his jaw and dead stare.

Your heart stopped.

“All good?” The voice asked.

Methodical hands lowered the gun, looking around one last time before rolling his shoulders.

“All clear.” Dex’s voice rasped in conformation.

You sobered up real fast, watching as he left without even spotting you.

Fucking hell.

He was a fucking double-agent.

Not a charming, slightly off-putting guy from the bar.

Dex was a corrupted fed working for Fisk.

You nearly toppled from the fire escape, gripping the bar even though you felt like the metal was melting beneath you. It was bad enough he was working for Fisk— but a federal employee? Weren’t there oaths, contracts, laws against that?

If the drugs hadn’t already fucked up your mind, this sure did.

Your eyes never left him as he emerged back onto the street, the light only confirming you were seeing correctly. He stood tall, surveying as men filed in and out of the building, watching intently to make sure everything was in order.

The fear of being caught lingering at a crime scene evaded your mind, replaced with an overload of thoughts as you watched him.

He must’ve found your transmission in the comms. The location he needed to find the O’Connell brothers—you had given it to him. Now he could bury the evidence and erase all links to Fisk under the guise of lawful duty.

You could just imagine the news tomorrow—“Federal Agent busts drug den”— he’d be hailed a hero.

What a fucking dick.

You buried your turning head in trembling hands, covering your ears at the overbearing noise of the agents tearing the house apart, O’Connells spewing curses and groaning in agony at the rattle of cuffs.

Shit.

They knew you.

They’d tell everyone about the mysterious customer, inquiring about Fisk before beating the shit out of them. You should’ve brought the damn mask.

If Dex found out it was you— that you were the rat— you were dead.

You stumbled through the maze of unstable fire escape bridges, finding your way down the alley while evading the perimeter as you pulled your coat extra tight, trying to look as sober as possible with each pathetic stumble.

You couldn’t believe you could be so stupid. So careless to think this was going to be easy.

Nice going (Y/N). You cursed yourself, willing your dulled senses to be on high alert to make sure you weren’t followed back to your apartment.

But you did do good. You just took on four drug dealers with ease and led the cops to them. You survived that bomb of Frost that you felt still sizzling your brain cells. You did everything right.

It was Dex. He fucking ruined it.

Rage brewed deep inside of you.

That smug, son of a bitch.

You couldn’t believe you let him get so close to you in Berezka, returning a sweet smile to the guy who just stopped you from toppling the entire operation.

You wondered if Ivan knew— if he was in on the fact that Dex was a fed.

Sure, he was loyal— but he was loyal to Fisk. You just watched him bust the O’Connells, what would stop him from being ordered to do the same to the Volchiy? A giggle escaped your dry lips, making you look like a maniac on the streets, but you didn’t care— at least you had something for leverage against Dex.

Thanks to you, Ivan and Fisk would be happy to know the O’Connells are dealt with, though Agent Poindexter would get the credit. Sure, you were the only one left with possible permanent brain damage and glitter in your lungs— but at least no one else on the street was.

When you arrived home you stripped your clothing and left it stranded in a glitter quarantine at the door while you flushed your nose with water in your bathroom. Sparkling blood dripped down your sink, your mind still buzzing with disbelief and drugs as you tried to think.

You didn’t know what you were going to do next.

All you knew was that you fucking hated Poindexter.

Ricochet- Chapter 4: Contact Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Vigilante Reader

summary: Bruised and disappointed by your failure the night before, you find unexpected comfort in a fellow new stranger. Ivan gives you your first real mission, a new chance to crash the operation from within.

warnings: tw: wrist cut injury, mentions of drugs, alcohol, guns

w.c.: 2,550

Your head hung low as you cradled the glass on the table. Staring at the ripples of alcohol, the buzz of music faded from your head, leaving you waiting in silence for Ivan.

Berezka was empty; too late for the dinner service and too early for the crowd of gang associated regulars. Oleg had reluctantly poured you a glass and disappeared behind the door, leaving you in the stillness of the dim warm lights at the bar.

Your coat covered the growing bruises from the fight the other night.

Your back was sore and you had a throbbing headache from being knocked out, but you’ve had worse. Everything was a blur.

The vision of a gloved hand clubbing you in the face had burned into your mind all night.

You had woken up on Matt’s couch right before dawn this morning, sneaking out before he could find you and continue scolding you. His disappointment in you hurt more than your sore body. Not only did you lie to him, you failed.

A pointless altercation that almost got you killed by a guy in a mask.

It was haunting you.

Maybe it was just a one time thing. Or this was just the beginning of something you should’ve never become a part of.

When Ivan called you to come in tonight, you nearly fainted from anxiety.

He knew.

Your paranoia overtook you. Scenarios flooded your brain.

He knew you were a rat. The man in the mask must’ve reported it—two vigilantes scheming to take his precious deal and run it through the gutter.

The other men were loyal— you were just a stupid, new girl desperate for a spot in their gang. How would they be there when you were the only other person in the room who knew the plan?

You swallowed another sip from your drink, blinking to prevent the tears that came with the burn.

Pull yourself together.

You wore a mask. Ivan trusted you— and he was an idiot.

Nobody saw you.

The only loose end was the man in the mask.

You should’ve killed him.

The dark thought pervaded your mind all day.

You should’ve dug that knife into his neck and twisted it until that glint in his dark eyes faded.

He would’ve done the same.

He hurt Matt. He stopped you from getting the crates or going after the Italians. He almost killed you.

But he didn’t.

He had the chance— the knife was right next to him.

He had you pinned.

You almost killed him.

But he let you go.

Sure, there was a yellowed bruise on your jaw and it hurt every time you opened your mouth, but you woke up alive.

You couldn’t get it out of your head.

Even know, as you waited anxiously for Ivan to summon you. The thoughts started to fade, lingering away as the liquor settled into your nerves with a comforting hum.

“Hello.” A raspy voice pierced the silence.

You managed to lift your head, turning to see if the source was real or a figment of your hazed fatigue.

He stood in the doorway, half-shadowed by the hallway light behind him.

Tall, broad-shouldered, his figure framed by the soft amber glow of the restaurant’s quiet interior. His jacket hung loose around him, hands buried in his front pockets.

There was something unreadable in the way he held himself—relaxed, but not casual. At ease, but alert.

And then there was a shadow of a smile, carving faint dimples into an otherwise sharp jawline.

You straightened, turning your shoulders to the man.

“Hi.” You replied softly, trying to keep the lick of burned alcohol from your anxious tone.

“Sorry,” He said with a small shrug of surrender, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You shot a half smile as he approached further into the room. “No worries.”

“Mind if I join you?”

You swallowed. “Not at all.”

He moved to the bar, but didn’t take a seat. Instead, he leaned on his elbows against the polished wood beside you.

“Pretty nice place.” He smiled as he met your eyes.

There was a strange friendliness in his gaze. You searched in the soft brown for an answer. “Have we met before?”

“Not formally, no.” His answer only confused you more as he shook his head like the words had slipped. “I’m sorry— where are my manners.” He chuckled, removing his hands from his pockets.

“Dex.”

He extended an arm out in front of you, the sleeves of his jacket clasped at the base of his broad hands.

You gave a polite smile, meeting his hand with a firm shake. “(Y/N).”

Your name echoed off his lips as he whispered it to himself. His grip lingered, just a second too long before releasing, his fingers brushing against yours. “Nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

He stared at you, but not like he was thinking of what to say— it was like he was trying to read you. You shifted in your seat, regretting inviting this strange guy over as he willingly basked in your silence.

You tilted your head. “Are you new?”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his mouth. “That obvious?”

You turned back to your drink. He didn’t move away.

“You’re new.” he stated, like it was a fact he needed to confirm.

“That obvious?” Your eyes looked at him from the side, echoing his ambiguous answer.

He shook his head, correcting himself. “Sorry, I just overheard them mention you. One of the guys— it’s nothing. They seem to like you.”

“Well,” You sighed, “Everyone is family here.” Your grip tightened on the glass as you brought it to your lips, sipping through clenched teeth.

He chucked. “That’s evident.” he shifted his position on the bar top, breathing out as he clasped his hands together. “I just met Ivan. He seems… welcoming.”

You nodded in agreement before raising an eyebrow. “Is today your first day or something?”

“Well, my first day here.” He clarified. “I’m usually at the other spots. But now that the Volchiy are apart of everything, I was sent down to check it out.” His hand tapped twice on the dark resin covered wood as he looked around at the picture frame covered walls.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to understand him.

“Do you work for Salvatore?”

“No, no. I uh- I work for his boss.” He smiled. “I’m just here to keep an eye on things.”

You processed what he said.

“Kingpin.” You clarified, flatly.

His smile faded, eyes catching on his sleeve covered hands. “Yeah.”

The energy shifted, a beat of silence skipping.

The moment rippled in your mind. A reminder of your true job. A reminder of where you were.

He worked for Kingpin.

The only semi-normal nice guy you had met here, worked for the worst man in New York.

But at this point, so did you. And you needed as many connections as possible.

Dex took in a breath, looking back at you.

“Well since we’re going to be working together, it’d be nice to get to know one another.” He gazed at you, a twitch in his jaw as he paused.

“Since we’re both new.” He added.

Becoming more known was probably the worst thing you could do in your position. You already had the attention of the other Volchiy, and now this guy. You swallowed your reluctance— you had to keep up your sweet innocence act.

You replied with a slow nod. “Yeah. Yeah that’d be nice.”

His dimples reappeared with his smile.

“(Y/N)?” Ivan’s voice called from the hallway, pulling your attention away from Dex.

Your head hung on your shoulders, a sigh of uneasiness falling from your throat.

Dex leaned in just slightly, voice low. “Don’t worry, he’s in a good mood.” He inched closer, breath almost brushing your face with a whisper. “Drunk.”

You looked up at him, unable to stop the smile that spread over your alcohol flushed face.

“When is he not?” Your fingers clutched your glass, bringing it your lips as you finished the remnants. You stood up, steadying yourself and realizing how much he towered over you.

“It was nice meeting you, Dex.” You shot him one last smile before escaping from the bar and turning to go down the hallway he came from.

His eyes followed you. “See you around?”

“You will.” You nodded before disappearing down the hall, away from his sight.

Dex lingered at the bar, silence buzzing around him.

Your finished glass stood with a drop of liquid lingering at the bottom, imprints of your lips around the rim.

He couldn’t take his eyes away from it.

The amber light burned into his vision, blurring red as he refused to blink.

It was you.

The girl he saw in that room, in the red light.

He didn’t imagine you.

You were real.

And from your short conversation, you were better than he could’ve ever dreamed.

You smiled at him.

You talked to him.

You were kind to him.

His fingers reached for it, wincing as the half hazard stitching he carved into his wound shocked pain through him under his sleeve.

The pain was worth it.

Fingertips caressed over the delicate rim, searching for the feeling of you he had felt when you touched his hand, offering a blazing comfort where your soft fingers skimmed only an inch away from his scorned wrist.

The lounge was on the second story, third room on the right.

You almost walked past it— until your eye caught on Ivan beckoning you in. You flexed your hands and took in a deep breath before entering, the thick smell of cigarettes doing little to calm your re-erupted nerves.

You lingered silently behind the couch as Ivan poured himself a drink at a bar cart.

With a deep breath, you swallowed the lingering taste of liquour down your dry throat. “How’d the drop go?”

He chuckled, turning around so fast the drink nearly splattered everywhere. “Oh wonderful! The Italians sent some bullets and cannolis as an appreciation gift!” He gestured towards an opened bakery box on the table, “Want one?”

Relief rushed over you as you shook your head. “I’m good.”

He seemed too drunk in his celebration to mind your refusal. “Things are going well for Volchiy, (Y/N). Ever since you joined, what— two days ago? Everything had been going wonderfully! You are our lucky charm.”

You winced at his praise, a sense of dismay running through you as Ivan patted your shoulder.

“Well… almost everything perfect.”

You braced yourself again.

His hand squeezed your shoulder as he stared past you, eye twitching.

“If it weren’t for those damn Irish.”

He chugged back his drink with a unbroken glare.

You raised an eyebrow as he stood lingering at your shoulder. “Irish?”

He snapped from his trance. “Can you believe that? We make one good deal with them and now they’re swinging around Chelsea like fools. Killed seven people with Volchiy AKs— they’ll get this entire operation uncovered if they get caught. But don’t worry (Y/N), I have a plan.”

Your anxiety washed away as his hand left you, a smile creeping on your face as he turned around.

Entire operation uncovered if they get caught.

“Where did you say these Irish operate?” You prodded— carefully, even though he was drunk.

Ivan shook his head, placing the glass on the coffee table as he massaged the bridge of his crooked nose. “Some shit hole in Hell’s Kitchen— I think it’s their house, actually. It’s only a few of them, some independents. They went rogue after Fisk hired them for something. I think he’s a bit on edge with them because they know more than they should. I’m surprised its been this long and they’re still operating, I though they’d be dealt with by now.”

You’ve dealt with things like these your entire vigilante career. This was a two birds one stone moment, and you were screaming at the coach to put you in.

“I can handle it.”

Ivan chuckled. “Oh (Y/N), you’re new. I couldn’t possibly-” His smile fell, twisting into a realization. “Well, this could be a good opportunity to prove yourself. Not that you haven’t. It’s just, those bastards are wild. The O’Connell Brothers. Heard of them?”

“Yeah,” You nodded with a sigh. “I’ve heard of them.”

Oh, you knew them.

They were those four creepy brothers who prowled around Hell’s Kitchen, searching for quick robberies and easy targets, all while they tormented you and Matt. They had fallen off your radar a while back, but they were always a problem.

Last time you saw them was three months ago, when you caught them robbing a convenience store. They forgot the cash in the register and instead went for alcohol and scavenged ingredients for their homemade street-acclaimed “Frost”—a drug which you had stumbled upon multiple times on patrol, and looked very unappetizing.

If knocking these guys meant it could ripple up to Fisk, you were going to take the opportunity.

“So you understand why I am reluctant. This is dangerous. They’re crazy— the one time I invited them over, Donny knocked his head through the oven door. They nearly caught the kitchen on fire trying to heat a spoon.” Ivan frowned at the reminiscence, like the failed meet up had hurt his feelings.

“But I don’t think Fisk likes them. This will help him favor us if we take them out as our first order of business.” You waited as Ivan rambled with himself for reason, almost like you weren’t even there. “I’d send more men, but it’s better to be stealthy.”

He paused, calculating before reaching a consensus. “So you should be able to handle it. After all, you are my lucky charm.” He voiced with a smile, pinching your cheek as the fumes of alcohol pervaded off of him.

That nickname was really starting to get on your nerves. You forced a smile, gently tugging your face away from his hold. “I won’t let you down, Ivan.”

The relief was euphoric. Not only was Ivan clueless to your near intrusion of the trade deal, he just dropped a redemption into your lap.

It was going to be a breeze. Those idiots were the soft spot that would send the entire operation crumbling, the evidence you needed spewed from their foolish lips straight to the police.

By the next day, Fisk’s penthouse would be swarmed with cops and he’d be back in prison before Matt could even apologize for ever doubting you.

You walked out of the empty restaurant and made your way home, practically skipping. You were going to let those O’Connell’s fall into the hands of the authorities, let the law take care of it the way Matt intended. You both would win.

This time, you weren’t going to mess up.

Ricochet- Chapter 3: Shattered in the Dark

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Vigilante Reader

summary: You bring Matt to prevent the deal, a shadow in the dark stops you.

warnings: tw: graphic description of cut on the wrist, mention of scarring, blood, gun, knife

w.c: 2,250

It was late– only a few minutes after midnight and the factory was still silent.

You lingered on the second floor, a lofted overhang shadowed by boarded industrial windows—perfect cover with a clear view of the floor below. Dust covered glass shards crinkled between your boots and the concrete with each small step. You stayed frozen against the wall, watching every car that passed on the silent street at the opening of the alleyway, like you have been for the past half hour.

Matt was growing more impatient with each passing moment, swinging his bully clubs in his fingers as he leaned against a pillar. It was only because he had no clue why you were spending your night camped in an abandoned building, senses on high alert. It was partly your fault, lying and saying the tip was anonymous, that you were just as clueless about the trade as him.

“They’ll be here soon.” You reassured though broken silence, your mask muffling your voice.

Matt picked his head up from being slumped against the tall stone. “How do you know?”

You held a breath from your small slip. “I just know. Hear anything yet?”

Matt tapped his stick against the pillar, shaking his head as he pushed himself to stand. “Sure this is the right place?”

“I don’t think there’s a lot of abandoned buildings in Tribeca. This is probably the last one that hasn’t been renovated.”

You felt him reading you, your timidness revealing a deficit in your story. “Strange place for a trade. Black market? Did the source tell you what this even was?”

You shrugged, trying to brush his questions away. “Just said there was shady business going on here.”

Matt’s head was tilted at the ground, but you knew he was staring at you. “Uh huh.”

Before you could form a defense against the provoking lawyer, his head tilted toward the opening. “They’re here.” He whispered, moving next to you.

Car headlights illuminated the room below, casting shadows up your face as tires screeched to a halt. Doors slammed open as a group of men filed out and diverged to the back of the van, the doors swinging open as two climbed inside. The reemerged, straining as they shared the weight of a familiar dark crate, hauling it further into the building.

Even you could hear the rattling of the guns’ metal echoing. The box clattered to the floor, left in the middle of the vast room as the men returned to the car to retrieve the next.

Matt tilted his head, observing the scene.

“This is a weapons deal.” His whisper laced with disbelief.

You were silent, watching intently to memorize the faces of the fellow Volchiy men you would be working with as they carried a second box to the pile.

“(Y/N).” An arm grabbed your forearm, yanking you back from the opening. “I told you to drop it.”

“I did.”

“Liar.”

“Matt, listen–”

“I can’t believe it.” He scoffed, stepping away as he tilted his head up.

A pang of regret hit your chest. “I know, I know– I’m sorry. It was the only way I could get you to come.”

Even with a mask on you knew Matt’s expression matched his disappointed frown. “Investigating’s one thing. Lying to me? Dragging me into this? What the hell were you thinking?”

You objected, trying to calm him down with reason. “Just– Listen. If this deal works, it cements the Volchiy to Fisk. But if we break it now, stop this transaction from happening, their contract falls through and the Volchiy remain independent. We can continue this without Fisk being involved, but only if we act now.”

“You think Fisk is going to let this go? If we intervene, he’ll probably kill every last person involved.”

“Not if we just, take the crates.” You nodded your head at the men placing the third crate in a cluster at the center of the room. “Salvatore will think Ivan shorted him, or he’s just an idiot. Either way, they won’t see him as worthy for their alliance.”

Before Matt could scold you for your stupid plan, he paused— attention pulling away from monitoring the men below and aiming it at you.

“How do you know about all of this?”

Your breath hitched before you could construct a lie, Matt’s tongue poked at his cheek with a click of disapproval. “You went to Ivan, didn’t you?”

The silence gave it away. You didn’t look at him, only turning your head back to see the men piling into the van and the door sliding closed with a loud boom. “They won’t even see us.”

Matt caught you by the shoulder before you could jump down, spinning you to face him.

“(Y/N), you’re not listening. A new girl shows up out of nowhere and their operation fails— they’re going to know it was you.”

You peered over your shoulder, breath hitching as the echo of tires screeched into the distance, fading into the hum of the city.

“They’re leaving,” you whispered, eyes locked on the lone crates now abandoned in the isolated darkness.

“Good,” Matt replied, his voice clipped. “So are we.”

“Matt, wait—please. This is our chance—”

But he didn’t stop. He turned on his heel, boots scuffing against the dust-covered concrete as he strode toward the jagged opening in the roof where you’d entered, moonlight spilling in like silver smoke, casting fractured shadows over his retreating figure.

You stayed rooted to the wall, heart pounding. Below, the crates sat in the center of the floor, exposed—unguarded. Your boot crunched over glass as you stepped forward to the opening, creeping close to the wall before you moved to go down.

“Wait—” Matt said suddenly, voice low.

A hiss of air grazed your mask and slammed into the wall. You blinked.

Embedded into the boards a breath away from your face a steel blade glinted in the low light.

You couldn’t peer your eyes away from the precise strike, catching your breath at the close call and near hit.

That wasn’t a miss.

Your head whipped into the direction of the throw— eye catching Matt lunging at a figure in the dark.

Another knife was sent careening into the air as he sent a blow into the figure's arm, both wrestling in the distance.

You looked down and saw a new van pull into the carport, doors sliding open as a group of men poured out.

Shit.

You hesitated.

You shouldn't have.

In the field, quick decisions were crucial to the integrity of a fight or mission. But now torn between the decision of stopping the deal or helping your best friend, your thoughts stopped. Two men from the group hoisted a box up, shuffling their feet as two other armed men escorted them to the van with guns in their hands.

Only one of the options mattered at this moment– the other could wait. There were still two boxes.

You rolled your shoulders, gripping the handle of the embedded blade– yanking it free as you flung the force toward the masked figure.

It caught on a raised arm about to pummel Matt, only skimming over the black material of the suit just as the blow landed.

The masked figure loomed over your knocked out partner, cocking its head to look at you.

Now unarmed, you sprinted through the dark with only the silhouette to guide you. You were caught off guard when the figure ducked down and rippled an object towards you , a hard chunk of loose concrete catching on your foot as you tumbled hard into the ground. You rolled and landed on your back, glass threatening to rip though the material of your suit as you struggled to regain the air knocked form your lungs.

Your eyes picked up on the cascading shadows from below, turning your head to see the men filing back into the van and driving away, headlight disappearing back down the alleyway. Your chance was gone— and you were now stuck in the dark. Your breath rasped as you frantically looked around for any sign of the figure, eye catching on Matt’s unconscious form slowly rising and falling with shallow breaths. At least he was alive.

A crack of glass skimmed over the floor. You whipped your head to the left to see the shadow approaching. You groaned as your gloved hand clutched onto a shard next to you, so sharp it nearly pass through the material. You managed to lift your legs, kicking yourself up and to your feet.

A hand in the dark raised, the knife glinting in the light as you flicked your arm to disarm it before the deadly trajectory was sent careening at you.

The glass flung through the air, sharp edge catching on the moonlight.

This time you knew it sliced through the fabric as the knife clattered to the floor, a second hand clutching the wrist as the figure staggered back.

You took your chance, sprinting into a leap as you swung your legs around your opponent, knocking it to the ground with you on top.

Your knees pinned the arms in place, reaching over to grasp the handle of the knocked away knife and hold it over it’s head.

You stopped mid-thrust when your eyes caught it.

Dark eyes glinted at yours.

His torso raised beneath you in tandem with his shallow breaths, black blood pooling from a tear in his sleeve at the wrist, speck of glass clinging to the dark material. Proof of life and not a machine.

It was a man. Not a shadow lurking in the dark.

The blade trembled in your grip, inches from his throat. Just one connecting strike and there was no witness to your invasion— prowling in the dark for a deal you shouldn’t have known about.

But you didn’t.

You let it hang there in the dark silence, you chests beating frantically with adrenaline as you heaved for air.

A flicker of confusion in his eyes mirrored your own.

Your conscious overcame you. A weakness. A vulnerability.

You don’t kill people.

It was a sacred cardinal rule shared between you and Matt.

Not when they almost kill you. Not even when they’re pinned underneath your mercy of a blade.

Your grip on the knife collapsed as you let it fall to the ground next to you, clattering into the glass.

Neither of you moved. Eyes locked in a quiet violence of restraint.

A groan echoed in the silence, your head turning to see Matt rolling on the floor. Your relief cracked your focus.

A mistake.

A hand hooked around the back of your knee.

In one swift pull your position was reversed, pinning you to the concrete with an overbearing force. Your eyes caught his as he sent a connecting thrust to your jaw, sending you into complete darkness.

DEX

Dex pulled off his mask in the alleyway, throwing his head back to the wall as he clutched his throbbing arm.

We hissed as he tore off his glove and pushed up a blood soaked sleeve, fragments of glass catching his skin as the wound was revealed to him.

It caught deep. Any deeper and there would have been blood spurting from an artery or caught on a tendon. That one shard of glass had tore through the thin delicate skin of his wrist and nearly caused irreparable damage to his arm. His aim could have been ruined.

The one thing that made him special— his one worthy, redeeming ability.

He cursed himself for being so careless, clutching the incision to prevent anymore blood from leaking everywhere, hissing as he felt the glass ground deeper into raw muscle.

You let him go.

Well, you let him live. But he saw it.

You restraint in your eyes, the hesitation in the easy kill.

The mysterious figure in the dark who unarmed him with skillful ease. A shadow he couldn’t catch. Someone who didn’t belong there.

A thing he would have to report from his supervision over the deal.

The man in the mask he took out with ease— he caught him off guard, his attention was too focused on you to see him strike from behind.

But you— you were interesting. Stealthy and fast, Dex didn’t expect a girl in a mask to overtake him like that.

His mind buzzed. You let him live.

Your mercy burned deeper than the wound, it scarred his mind more than the mutilation on his arm ever would.

Dex limped out of the alley, blood still warm on his fingers, making his way back to the penthouse with clenched teeth and a fractured pride.

He would tell Fisk the deal went through.

That there was no altercation, that everything went perfectly. Nobody could know what happened.

Clean. Silent. Controlled.

The Volchiy would be welcomed into the alliance with open arms as business continued.

He couldn’t tell anyone about you. You would only haunt him more.

The cut would heal.

But the scar marked on his arm would torment him.

Steady - Benjamin “Dex” Poindexter x Rookie FBI Reader

summary: As a new FBI agent, you’re paired with Dex for your first mission manning a sniper’s nest. Your aversion for each other has you both struggling with staying on objective and following the rules.

warnings: Gun, unprotected sex, smut, semi-public sex, bruises, scratching, strong pull out game

a/n: first smut let's goooo

w.c: 3,400

You were new to the unit.

A fresh graduate from Quantico, you proudly wore your badge of Special Agent for the FBI with a smile. The other agents had been welcoming and kind; throwing out tips about the rugged New York streets, helping with the overwhelming paperwork— and even assigning a more experienced agent to show the ropes and keep a watchful eye on you.

Agent Benjamin Poindexter.

Even the name gave you chills.

When his dark eyes glared at you for the first time, greeting you with a raspy voice and that smug smirk, you knew it was going to be rough.

Unlike the other agents, Dex wasn’t that enthusiastic on helping a rookie.

Cocky and independent, you could tell he hated you.

It ruined his order of things.

He would always send you down to fetch his coffee or do some other chore he couldn’t be bothered with, anything to get you away from him. Yet whenever you weren’t next to him, obediently waiting and ready for the next task, you could feel his piercing gaze from a far, just in time to see him quickly look away when your eye caught his.

You could really feel his stare when he was assigned to man the sniper position with you.

One of your first ever real missions; keeping watch during a high profile event where some underground crime network might attend, of course you were thrilled— until you found out you were going to be stuck with Dex all night.

The job was easy, if things went south while the other agents were in the building, the sniper would take out the problem from an isolated distance.

The kind superior he was, Dex of course gave you the honor of being the sniper—which was really just lookout and a punishment for ruining his night. The bright streets of Midtown were alive with distant sirens and pedestrian chatter echoing off the buildings. Too bad you had to enjoy it on a cold rooftop lying stomach down on the ground next to the one guy who hated you the most.

Six feet of Dex was towering next to you, completely engulfed in his work and eyes rarely leaving the building through his telescope. Your bones had began to ache— your hips had been digging into the floor for the past hour and your arms were tired from gripping the rifle, which was positioned on a tripod at the edge of the roof. You were becoming dizzy from the height, multiple stories and the cold concrete being the only thing separating you from falling whenever the wind shifted.

It was late, but you didn’t know how long this event was going to last and if things were going to even get exciting. As far as you knew, you would be stuck like this next to Dex until dawn.

After a while of staring at the windows and entrance, you began scanning the New York skyline, trying to name as many familiar buildings as possible.

Just when you were adjusting the sights to see the Brooklyn Bridge, a rasped voice pierced the silence.

“Do you even know how to handle that thing?”

You pulled back, looking up to see Dex had lowered his telescope and was now watching you.

“If you didn’t know if I could handle it, why give me the gun?”

He only shook his head. “Stop messing with it, its not a toy from your training.”

“I’m not.”

Your objection was no use. You could see that smug look in his eye through the dark, peering down at you like an ant near his boot.

“Then take a practice shot, rookie.”

A nervous feeling formed in your gut at the future criticism that was bound to happen.

“We’re not authorized to fire unless its for approved force.”

Dex was almost surprised at your defiance. “I’m your superior, you can do what I say or leave. There’s not going to be any action anyways.” He sighed, putting the telescope back in the sniper case, crossing his arms over his chest with a patronizing smirk. “Now c’mon, lets see if you’re really the hot shot you think you are.”

You swallowed your pride for a moment, looking back into the scope and gripping the gun steady. You brought the sights back to the area, scanning the nearby rooftops for a target to hit.

There was a low groan of annoyance when Dex landed on his knees next to you. He took one close look at your form and position and scoffed.

“Lower.”

You rolled your eyes, shuffling your hip against the hard floor. “I can see.”

“No-” A rough hand pushed your shoulders, knocking your chest to the ground and nearly your jaw. “Here.”

You gritted your teeth to stifle the whimper at the hit to your ribs. “I got it.” You managed to hiss, nudging your shoulder to get his hand off of you.

“No, you don’t.”

Before you could fit another snide remark in, arms wrapped you— caging you to the ground and gun.

His broad forearms were on the concrete floor on both sides of you, biceps flexed and brushing against your numbing arms. Dex’s chest was hovering just above your flexed back, shifting his weight to draw closer to the scope.

His head loomed over your shoulder for his eye to reach down the sight, so close you could feel his breath on your cheek— hot and raspy. His knees were anchored to the ground next to you, the holsters and buckles of his belt dug into the side of your leg, your hip brushing his waist.

He felt close.

Way too close.

You were now pushed nearly face forward into the ground, your superior almost completely on top of you and so close you couldn’t tell if it was his heartbeat you were hearing or just the blood thundering in your ears.

You had no choice but to try and slow down your breathing and not make a noise every time you felt him touch you. You kept your eye through the lens, not even realizing his hands were reaching for yours until you felt them wrapped over the sides of the weapon.

Dex moved the gun around on the ground, just enough to find the new target as you laid there in a daze.

“Right there,” he whispered. “You see that billboard?”

You could only manage a small nod as you felt your breath catch in your throat. The large billboard was on the building parallel from you across the street, featuring a model posing in the newest collection of a fashion designer; big blue eyes peering at you through the dark night, sparsely illuminated by the bright lights on the street level.

“I want you to hit the eye, got it? Right in the middle.”

His hand brushed against yours as he reached the scope, adjusting the ring until it was in perfect focus for the distance and looking right into the model’s pupil. Rough skin cradled your own as he gently moved your loosened grip around until he decided it was right.

“Deep breath,” His right hand disappeared from your own as it reached back, gently resting on your back below the end of your vest.

The vision in the scope seemed to blur and fade away for a moment as he brushed it lower, sending a shiver straight through your body from the contact. You obeyed, stirring the night air into your nervous lungs as his hand pressed deeper into you the more you inhaled.

“Just like that.”

He assured, yet it sounded more like a growl than a whisper.

His index finger lightly applied pressure over your own, pressing on the trigger. You breathed in tandem with him, your back brushing against his tense chest as the heat between your bodies overwhelmed you more than the cold air ever did.

He let out a deep exhale against you, pushing your finger down as your body jolted against his, a shot ringing out into the night and piercing the eye perfectly in the middle.

You could finally breathe again when the sound of the shell clattered to the ground and snapped you from the trance, a sheepish smile formed on your face as you admired the perfect hit.

You pulled your eye from the scope and looked over your shoulder to suddenly become face to face with Dex.

His jaw clenched, a flicker of something raw flashing behind his eyes. The grip on your hand tightened, just slightly, like he was holding onto restraint by a thread.

A soft gaze— his dark eyes glinting with the reflections of city lights. It was out of character seeing Dex look at you like that.

He must’ve realized he was staring at your lips— his adams apple bobbed as he swallowed, “Good.”

The praise lingered in your ear, whistling in the wind and reverberating in your mind.

His lips hovered inches from yours. You could feel his breath ghosting against your skin, every inhale shared in that narrow space. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to find a reason not to do it, trying to remember what lines he wasn’t supposed to cross.

But then his hand slid further down your back—deliberate, grounding, possessive.

He hated that he was stuck with you.

He hated that he was always partnered with you. He hated that he couldn’t get your body out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

He hated every single second he was near you. And he hated that he couldn’t stop himself.

Your lips brushed.

A mistake.

You gasped softly, and that was all it took—Dex’s mouth crashed into yours like he’d been starving for it, rough and hungry and angry at himself for wanting it this badly.

His hand gripped the side of your neck, tilting your jaw up and holding you like he was afraid you’d pull away, the other still pressed firmly into your back, anchoring you in place— slowly skimming lower down the curve of your spine and over your hip.

Your breath hitched and his smirk pressed into your lips.

You kissed him back just as desperately, your teeth grazed his lip— you weren’t sure if it was punishment or need—but it made him moan against you, breath hitching as he pushed you further into the rooftop floor.

A hand hooked under you, flipping you to your back and pulling you by your hips away from the edge and the gun as you struggled to regain your lost breath. Dex loomed on top of you, straddling your body with his knees on each side of your legs.

His belt clinked as he shifted above you, his weight pressing into you harshly. One hand slid up your shirt—calloused fingertips exploring every line and curve like he had to memorize, methodical and precise , just like how he handled the gun.

You moaned into his reconnecting kiss, your hands clutching into his hair.

Your conscious returned for a moment and you managed to breath out a plead.

“Dex—the mission-”

“Fuck the mission.”

He practically ripped your vest off from the sides in one brute stroke, tossing it the dusted concrete next to you.

He leaned back just enough to rip the rest of your shirt over your head, his eyes dragging over your body like you were something he couldn’t believe he’d kept his hands off this long. There was something frantic in the way he moved now—like weeks of tension had finally cracked open all at once.

His eyes stayed on you as he shrugged off his vest, tossing it next to yours and pulling his shirt off in one brisk motion. The warmth of his chest hit yours, your fingers digging down his neck to his back, pulling him against you.

A deep groan escaped him as he dropped his head to your neck, gently biting your sensitive skin as his arms hooked under your back, lifting you from the cold concrete to unclasp your bra.

A trail of heat led from your collarbones to your breasts as Dex kissed your exposed skin, fingers caressing over your peaking nipples and gripping your ribs as he trailed down your torso.

You were breathless and flushed, looking down to see Dex’s arms flexing as he manhandled you to lift your hips, tearing off your pants as you kicked off your boots in desperation.

The cold night air brushed at your bare legs, but it was nothing compared to the burn his mouth left as he trailed kisses along your jaw, down the slope of your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make your pulse stutter.

Your back arched off the concrete as his hands dragged down your thighs, rough palms searing into your skin with every possessive touch as he reunited his lips to yours.

This wasn’t the same Dex from a moment ago, complete control and smooth precision—this was chaos breaking through, hungry and shaking as he grappled your body with a wet mouth and trembling hands.

You whimpered as his belt dug into the thin fabric of your panties, sending a sensitive throb in between your legs.

“Dex-” You breathed out as his hands gripped your thighs. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Shut up.” He growled, spreading them wider as he pressed his hips against yours. “They’ll call if they need us. Right now, I need this.”

He looked down at you from half lidded eyes as his fingers hooked under your waistband, dragging them down as your bare legs moved to cling to his hips.

Dex grunted as he leaned back on his knees, towering over your vulnerable form as his fingers undid his belt— never breaking eye contact as he freed his straining cock, stroking the pre-cum over bulging veins.

In one swift, harsh motion he pinned your hip in place and thrusted inside of you, stealing the air from your lungs as you managed a breathless whimper, fingers digging into his tense shoulders to stabilize the blinding pressure that pierced your body. Dex began a rhythmic pace, digging deeper into you with each movement, grinding you into the ground as the silent rooftop filled with the raw noise of your bodies slamming together.

“Oh, fuck—” Your hand reached for his stomach, nails trailing down firm abs to his v-line as you clutched at his skin, palm pressing into his tense muscle.

His outstretched arm holding him up from the ground next to you buckled for a second, breath catching in his throat as he hovered closer over you.

Dex brought his mouth to yours, your moans mixing together with a sloppy kiss.

You were ruining each other, abandoning all sense of the mission to fuck each other senseless, the rooftop dissipating as his body slammed against yours. Your muscles strained to keep up with his movements, hips bucking and back arching.

His mouth bit into your neck, sucking at your pulse and hand pushing into your hip so hard you knew it would be a black bruise by morning. He was fast, desperately driving deeper to reach both your climax’s before you were caught. The anticipation was driving you mindless, resisting the impulse to let your eyes fall back by keeping them locked on Dex.

Your moans were erratic, high pitched and needy as tension in your body became overwhelming against the friction. You whimpered incoherently as your fingers clung into his shoulder, a plead to continue. He grunted as your nails dug into his skin, obeying with a sharper thrust.

You cried out as the orgasm shook through you, your hold on Dex being the only thing keeping you grounded. He groaned with his last thrusts, trembling as your pulse around his dick sending him over the edge.

Dex tore himself away, spilling hot cum over your belly and dripping down your thighs as you both struggled to catch your breath in the cold night air. Hot pants rippled through the quiet, your chests heaving as you gasped for air. Dex collapsed back onto his knees, muscles twitching and abs trembling with rapid breaths and covered with red welts left from your nails.

Your eyes locked in the dark, staring at each other in awe as you resisted regret. You swallowed, remnants of his spit trickling down your throat as his hand flinched close to your skin.

“Poindexter.”

The static of the comms tore through the silence. “We’ve got movement.”

Dex didn’t move, breath rasping as he looked down at you.

“Dex, do you copy?”

The sudden wave of shame and cold air rippled over you as Dex pulled away, harsh reality pulling you from your lust induced trance.

He switched into sniper mode in an instant, like a trained command and subconscious pull of routine. All distractions of the mission fell away.

He would curse himself for abandoning procedure, for falling through and giving in— to you.

As you breathlessly stared at the dark sky, Dex was already at the edge of the roof, pants zipped and in position, one knee down cradling the gun in his arms— eye trained down at the street.

“Suspect exiting through west side.”

He was back in his domain, grip steady— the same tight force around the gun like he’d used on you.

But metal doesn’t bruise.

He gripped it harder, forcing it down as he breathed out. A sharp roar of the gun rippled in the night. Dex jolted with the weapon, the end jabbing into his tight uncovered shoulder, red marks decorating the skin.

A yelp pierced the air from below, a man screaming echoing across the street as sirens lit up.

After a few seconds the comms crackled back on. “Nice shot, Dex. We got him.”

He lingered with the rifle, his bare back glistened with sweat in the faint light, flexed muscle trailing from his shoulders to his biceps as he moved with rapid breaths.

A finger trembled over the trigger— like it was taking everything in him to resist the urge to plunge the next shot through the bastard’s skull for so selfishly interrupting your moment.

He had to follow orders. Keep the suspect alive.

Not like he was good at following them— not when a second body laid breathlessly naked behind him.

Finally, he pulled himself from the gun, keeping his eye on the scene below, refusing to look back at you. With practiced ease he dismantled the rifle, stowing it back in the case as he retrieved his shirt and vest like nothing had ever interrupted the job.

You managed to tug your clothes back on, wincing as the fabric clung to skin smeared with cum and dirt, every movement a sharp reminder of what had just happened.

“Transporting suspect to Mass General—shot obliterated his kneecap. Recon at lobby.” The comms buzzed and clicked off.

As you clipped your vest into place, Dex loomed over you—one hand gripping the case handle, the other securing his belt with a harsh tug.

Without warning, he grabbed the strap of your vest, hauling you up with one arm until your toes barely scraped the ground.

His face lingered inches from yours, looking down at you. “You don’t tell anyone about this, got it?” He rasped, low and cold. “Not a fucking word.”

You nodded fast, breath caught in your throat before you could mutter a promise.

Then, without warning, he kissed you—sloppy and raw, more claim than affection. He pulled back just enough to flash that crooked grin.

“Good girl.”

He let you go, sending your half tied boots staggering for a grip on the floor as he brushed past you. You looked back at the empty roof, red and blue lights cascading through the dark from below, revealing the emptiness— proof nothing had ever happened.

The only evidence left now marked both of your bodies in reddening lines and darkening bruises.

Ricochet- Chapter 2: In the Red

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Vigilante Reader

Summary: You reunite with Ivan and successfully secure a position within the Volchiy. During your first mission, you catch the eye of someone lingering in the dark.

warnings: alcohol, drugs, organized crime

slowburn, enemies to lovers, secret identities, bullseye x vigilante reader, use of (y/n)

wc: 3,700

YOU

You stood parallel to the building, incognito—at least trying to be– adorning a long coat and sunglasses to fit the soft chill of the early morning as you scanned from across the street. In disguise of not, you felt out of place lingering on the sidewalk amongst the movement of passing pedestrians

It was easy to find– it was the same building on every newspaper of the arrest of Dimitry Volkov. The shootout had blasted the front windows and killed six cops, but today there were no remnants of a criminal past.

The five-storied red brick restaurant with black trimmed windows fit perfectly with the surrounding neighborhood of the East Village, nestled between shops and bars on a tree lined avenue. Nobody would suspect it as a criminal headquarters, just a welcoming family restaurant with green canopy shading the sidewalk entrance and a red blazing neon sign that read “ Berezka ”.

From your experience, it read suspicious from a mile away. 

You couldn’t tell if the pit in your stomach while you crossed the street was from uncertainty or encountering Ivan, but you swallowed any sense of cowardliness and let your expression fall to apathetic stone. 

The glass door was unlocked, squeaking on a brass hinge as you entered onto the red carpet mat.  It was surprisingly cozy– warm morning sun reflected off of specks of dust in the air across the table filled room. The walls were dark polished paneled wood covered with framed pictures and artwork. It was classy and newly renovated, still keeping a traditional charm that yelled “family” at you. 

“We’re closed.” 

A deep Russian tinted voice reverberated from behind the bar. Your eyes followed it to find a tall, broad man– his stoic face wrinkled on a bald head despite his seemingly young age. He seemed indifferent to your presence, continuing to wipe a glass in his hand towel. 

You stepped closer, removing your sunglasses to look at him. “I’m here to talk to Ivan.”

He didn’t look up. “There’s no Ivan here.”

“I’m an old friend.”

“Don’t care, we’re closed.”

You could tell he was lying and annoyed by your presence, but you kept pressing, acting clueless. “When will he be back?”

He picked his eyes from the glass, seeing you had advanced closer to the bar. He set the glass down, hand reaching below the bar top. “Why you asking so much?” 

Your hand gripped inside your coat, the handle of a pocket knife warming at your touch. You nearly jumped when you heard another man from behind the bar door. 

“Oleg! Who’s there?” 

Oleg glared at you, moving his hand back to the bar top. “A girl.”

“A girl?” The voice questioned, door swinging open to reveal the second mystery figure.

Cold blue eyes set on you– his brow furrowed, pushing the door back as he walked behind the bar. “Who are you?”

He looked different; pale with a more matured face, his dark hair freshly sheared to a buzz cut, a pattern of tattoos led down his neck and to under his shirt, creeping back out to down his muscular arms. 

You’d be intimidated– if you didn’t recognize him.

You blinked back to reality, anxiety washing away.

“Hi, Ivan.” Your voice was calm as you slipped your hands from your pockets, posture relaxing. 

He seemed even more confused, eyes scanning your face to search for an explanation as to how you knew him. The second it dawned on him, a pearly white smile and silver tooth greeted you. 

“(Y/N)!” He threw his arms up in the air and chuckled as he shook Oleg by the shoulders. “Relax Oleg, it’s (Y/N)!” He gave a rough pat on the back to his indifferent colleague before making his way around the bar, giving no warning to his great bear hug that engulfed you.

He rocked you back and forth, still giggling so hard you could smell the liquor on his breath. You tried to hide your weirded out expression as he pulled away and held you by your shoulders.  “It's been so long! Last I saw you, you were half this size.” 

You remembered Ivan was always welcoming, but he was definitely in a different state of mind at this moment. 

“Welcome! Please, have a seat. Need anything? A drink? Oleg, make her a drink. Two drinks. Do something useful.” Ivan led you to the bar, guiding you into the red leather barstool as Oleg prepared the drinks. You let out a breath of relief as you realized how much better this went then you thought it would.

Ivan settled into the seat next to you, smiling. “Well, (Y/N), what can I help you with? You are family of course. Unless you are just here to visit. Are you hungry?” Ivan was just about to tell Oleg to fetch you some food when you interrupted. 

“I do need some help actually.” You had prepared your speech all morning, and considering Ivan’s state at the moment, there was no sign of failure. Oleg set two glasses between you, Ivan sipping his as a sincere expression fell over his stone face. “What’s the matter?”

You decided to hold off the fake tears for later. “Well, you see, things on the street have been tough lately. Y’know, all these new muggings and robberies and such. I just actually lost my job recently– one of those vigilantes couldn’t even stop some thugs from looting the place. New York is getting scary. And I know you have some, well– influence, in the area.” You traced your finger over the rim of the glass, trying your best to give a look of innocence and fear.

Ivan was listening intently, raising a brow. “Influence, huh?” He sat up straighter with a pleased look on his face. “So you know about my area of expertise?” 

You nodded, hand twitching as you pulled it back to your lap. “Yes. But, I’m not like a rat or anything, y’know?”

He snickered. “Ha! No worries. The authorities are not a problem.”  He finished the drink with one gulp, placing it back on the bar top. “What do you want with the Volchiy, (Y/N)? Money? I have plenty if you need it.”

You took a sip of your own drink to calm your nerves, burning your throat as you swallowed. “No, actually. I want to make a difference, maybe earn something. I’d like to be– involved.” You waited for Ivan to try to piece together what you were saying. 

Ivan’s expression fell, neck craning. “You're asking for a spot in the Volchiy?”

“Well, I am family, right?” You shot a half smile. 

He sat silent, looking at you. A wave of despair ran through you. 

You failed. Might as well begin running out the door now. 

Before you could make a move, a cackle of manic laughter erupted from the man, echoing through the empty room as he nearly toppled over. “Yes! Yes, of course (Y/N)! Family is family and we are all family here in the Volchiy! Isn’t the right Oleg?” 

Oleg rolled his eyes and disappeared behind the bar door. 

An uncontrollable grin spread across your face. You were in. That was easy.

“Thank you. Thank you Ivan, truly. I promise I won’t let you down. I can keep up, anything you need me to do, I’ll do it.” You couldn’t control your satisfaction. You were proud of yourself– how good you had gotten at lying.

“Incredible! I know you will fit right in. I always knew you were tough with potential (Y/N).” He winked at you as he stood from the stool. 

You stood with him, grabbing onto his extended hand and shaking it, unable to keep up with his erratic movement. “Welcome to the Volchiy! I promise, you will be protected with us. We’re going to make so much money!” He laughed again, grabbing your unfinished drink and chugging it down before slamming it back onto the bar top. 

You raised your eyebrows and tried to keep up with his joy. “Well, when can I start?”

Ivan smiled. “This is perfect! I have a meeting tonight, you can come with me. Usually we have the guys do something a little more–uh, bold. But for you, I already have our trust. Come, I will show you around.” 

You spent the next hour being led around the halls and various rooms of the headquarters. Ivan rambled on and on as you went through each level, showing the living areas and lounges, storage and arsenal. It was surprisingly beautiful, elegant and filled with art and a vintage quality– obviously new additions from their recent earnings. The halls were long, the building extended across the entire block from street to street. The top level was where Ivan’s apartment was, but you never got to that part because he said he had some business to attend to. 

He kindly led you back to the front, where customers had begun to gather for lunch.

“Come back tonight at ten o’clock. This is a good outfit– wear black. Do you know how to handle a gun?” 

You nodded without thinking, quickly objecting. “A little.”

He smiled. “Good, good. You made a good choice (Y/n).” Ivan held the door open for you as a cluster of customers entered after, Ivan greeting them as he looked back at you and waved. “See you tonight!” 

You waved back, your smile fading as you walked down the now busy sidewalk. You were still in a daze at how well your plan had worked– when a wave of disappointment fell on you. 

You just basically betrayed Matt. You tried to brush it aside, rationalizing as you threaded through people on the crowded street. This was the best way to approach the problem. 

Matt would be thankful how good this all worked out. 

You smiled, proud at your work as you went home to prepare for the night.

The street looked different in the dark. Only a few stragglers wandered in the streets with the warm light still streaming through the front windows and neon red light of Berezka to guide them. 

Warm air engulfed through your coat as you stepped in, the room looking completely changed from the morning. Despite the late hour, the warm lit restaurant was at peak service, with dozens of patrons roaring with chatter over the muffled jazz on the radio. Oleg was behind the bar, mixing drinks faster than any bartender you’ve ever seen.

Peering through the crowd, you finally caught sight of Ivan– sprawled in a booth, two empty glasses in front of him with a girl nestled next to him that was trying to gain his drunken attention. His face lit up when you managed to push past a group and land in front of the table.

“(Y/N)!” Ivan stood as the girl tumbled off of him. “You came!” His words were slurred as he shuffled off the seats, greeting you with another hug. You gave him a pat on the back before pulling away. 

“Are you ready?” You asked through a smile. You were a little worried about his current state, but Ivan brushed it off. 

“Don’t worry, I’m on my top game.” He winked and beckoned you to follow him to the back. 

Down the now familiar halls you went to the weapons room, Ivan handing you a black handgun. You brushed a finger over the handle, catching onto the familiar V as you stashed it in your pocket, Ivan reassuring you it probably wasn’t even necessary. You nodded, though you wondered how happy the associates would be dealing with a drunk Ivan. 

You were armed and in a blacked out Mercedes within minutes, you and Ivan in the back as Oleg drove you to an unknown location. “It’s just gonna be you and me. Makes us look more affable that way. Oleg will stay in the car. He’s not that good looking anyway. Ain’t that right Olly?”

The divider window rolled up as Ivan nestled into the leather seat to give you a quick debrief. By the time you were caught up, you stepped out into the streets of Little Italy with a smile– you could take down this operation within the week at the pace things were going. 

You followed Ivan into a decrepit alleyway, a set of stairs leading to a door where a single dim light hung from above.

“Just let me do the talking, okay?” Ivan smiled at you as he knocked a quick pattern, a small panel screeching open, revealing squinting eyes through the dark.

 “What do you want?” 

Before Ivan could respond, a second voice whispered from behind. “It’s Volkov .” 

The eyes widened, pulling away as the door groaned open. 

You let your expression fall blank again as you stepped inside. Two men in suits silently greeted you at the doorway, a long black hall of low light behind them. Distant blaring house music reverberated from beneath you, colorful lights glowing from the lower level down a nearby flight of stairs. 

“Who’s she?” One of the men asked. 

“She’s with me.” 

You couldn’t tell if he had begun to sober up or it was the new environment, but Ivan felt like a different person. He was no longer the bubbly guy from a few minutes ago, but a guy who radiated indifferent cold energy, carrying himself with the power of the Volkov name.

You followed his even stride as the henchman led you down the hall, music fading as you eventually ended in front of a metal door. It screeched open as you stepped into a dark room, smoke filling your lungs as soft jazz settled over the soft chatter.

 In the dark you could see a total of four people, a man sitting with a guy behind him, and the silhouettes of two guards stationed at the back wall of the small room. 

Red light streamed from a hanging lamp above the center table, looming through waves of stagnant smoke. A man in a suit and slicked back hair sat puffing a cigar, quickly standing to greet the two of you. 

“Volkov! What a pleasure!” He smiled with a cigar between his teeth, quickly shaking Ivan’s hand from across the table as you lingered behind him. 

“Luca.” He nodded, taking his hand away to pick an unlit cigar from the center of the table. 

“How are you?” He bit the tip of the cigar and spit it to the ground, pulling a zippo lighter from his pocket. “It’s been a while. What, two years?” He raised an eyebrow and flicked the silver latch open, cradling it to his face.

Luca’s smile faltered as he took a seat, Ivan remaining standing as he looked down on him. He cleared his throat. “My apologies for not inviting you sooner. Things have changed. ”

Ivan puffed out a cloud of smoke through his teeth. “Kingpin .”

You rolled your shoulders and adjusted your footing– Matt was right.

“I received Fisk’s message. He seems eager for my response. Now that he has every faction under control, he wants the Volochiy. Seems reasonable– we do distribute every weapon from here to Queens.” Ivan chuckled and took another drag of the burning cigar, ash falling at his loafers. 

Luca nodded, a charming smile stretching across the dark red light. “Volchiy are a big name on the streets again. We’re all very impressed with the comeback after you gained power.”

Ivan smiled. “Last time I was here, you laughed in my face and refused my proposal. Now that I’ve built it up all by myself,  you wanna reach into my business and take all that you can get your greedy Italian fingers on. Why should I consider risking my honor by selling it all to a man who is still under federal custody?”

The seated boss chuckled. “Ha! There is no worries, Ivan. The Feds are not a problem– Fisk is off their radar as long as they think he is harmless in his bird’s nest. But we are down here, this is our time to restore order for him.”

You stood motionless, silent, as the men rambled with deals and offers, both indifferent to your presence. Smoke curled lazily around your head, the low red light warping the room into something unreal. You began to disassociate, your gaze drifting from the center table to the shadows beyond.

Behind Luca, his personal guard stood rigid, hands clasped neatly in front of him. Farther back, a second man loitered in the dark, barely visible—bored, fiddling with a sidearm. The walls swallowed the light, leaving only outlines and impressions.

Your eyes flicked back to Ivan, still negotiating with a slow-burning intensity. 

Then you felt it.

Black eyes met yours from across the room.

You froze. A cold ripple spread through your chest as your breath caught. The stare pinned you in place—pitch-dark irises, gleaming faintly in the smoke, locked onto you with chilling focus.

You straightened, trying to regain your off set composure and focus on the meeting, but the words muffled away as blood pounded in your ears.

Your eyes flickered back to the dark, landing back on him. 

The red light carved across his angular face—high cheekbones and a knife-edged jaw cradled eyes sunk deep in shadow, watching you with unblinking stillness.

He wasn’t a henchman. 

He wasn’t wearing a suit like everybody else– only a black t-shirt with his arms crossed over the front, reading you from across the room like he could hear your thoughts.

 All sense of confidence drifted away as you feared he knew the truth. You were a rat. You didn’t belong here. Yet you had the feeling he didn’t belong either– both of you felt out of place in the room; two bystanders in the dark, equally guilty watching the crime unfold between you. 

You pried your eyes away, looking at Luca as he adjourned the meeting.

“The drop will be at the old print factory in Tribeca– just leave the order there and I’ll send some guys to pick it up. Easy and clean. If all goes well, Fisk will personally wire the money into your account.” Luca nodded at his guard, his hands reaching into his breast pocket and flicking a small bag onto the table. “A sign of my fidelity.”

Ivan smothered his cigar in the ashtray as he eyed the bag, picking it up with practiced calm, and cracked it open. He dipped a finger in, tapped a quick bump, then tilted his head back with a sharp inhale. He groaned and shook his head to regain himself before extending his arm with a wide eyed grin.

“Looking forward to doing business with you Mr. Salvatore.”

Luca chuckled and stood, walking around the table with his guard close behind to reach Ivan with a connecting palm. “Welcome, my boy! Fisk will be pleased with your answer.”

Luca clapped a hand on his shoulder, the two turning and heading for the door you entered from.

You stepped out of the red haze to follow, but your head turned instinctively, eyes dragging back to the figure in the dark.

Still rooted in the corner. Still watching. Unmoved, unreadable—his gaze followed you, steady and cold, as you vanished into the dark hall.

“That went well.” Ivan sighed as he nestled into the warmed leather seats of the stagnant car, Oleg pulling away when the door shut behind him. “You did amazing, (Y/N)! I can tell Luca already likes you.”

You didn’t object, despite the fact Luca only acknowledged you right before you left by giving a kiss on your hand and complimenting your beauty with an Italian euphemism. 

“So,” You turned your head away from the window and the passing buildings to look at Ivan, who seemed to be eyeing the small bag of powder in his palm. “When’s the drop tomorrow?” 

He secured the bag tightly and tapped it into his pocket. “Oh, you don't need to worry about that. My boys will pack it and trade it off at around midnight tomorrow. Your work is done for the night. Your first mission! I’m so proud. Are you hungry? I’m starving.”

You arrived back to your studio apartment, shrugging off your coat as you collapsed onto your bed, fatigued with the pizza Ivan insisted on getting from his favorite hole in the wall spot. The breeze hummed through your cracked open window, distant sirens echoing through the street and faint city lights illuminating your walls.

You were exhausted, eyelids heavy and the threat of sleep ever present. But no matter how much you willed yourself, they kept blinking open. 

The red lights had burned into your head, cementing the vision of those haunting eyes you saw, the feeling they were still watching you in the darkness of your room. You groaned, peeling off your clothes to try and get more comfortable on your mattress, tossing in the duvet for what seemed like hours. 

But sleep didn’t come.

Every time your eyes closed, you saw his silhouette—still and silent in the smoke. Those eyes, void of light, like something inhuman.

You finally surrendered to lethargy, the vision fading away and pushed into the back of your mind as you fell asleep and gained much needed rest. 

Tomorrow was a big day. 

You had a drop to bust. 

DEX

It pervaded his mind.

 Intrusive, corrupting thoughts.

All with an irrepressible fixation– you . 

He could stop thinking about you. 

You didn’t belong there– surrounded by evil men, dealing in the dark for blood and money. 

Yet there you stood. Silent. Calm. Hands in your coat and calculating eyes looking back at him.

An angel soaked in the dark lights of hell– a sculpture untouched in the smoke drenched atmosphere. A nameless ghost he watched like a creep from the curtains of veiling red fumes.

He didn’t say anything. 

It was his job to watch– to report back to Fisk, everything that happened. He was proud when Dex told him the Volchiy were now in his grasp– happy, even. 

He exempted you from his report. It wasn’t necessary. You were harmless, an escort to Ivan, an intimidation tactic to the other men in the room. An innocent witness. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about you. It clung to him as he fell asleep that night. 

Ricochet- Chapter 1: The Beginning

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Vigilante Reader

Summary: In the streets of New York, injustice thrives in the dark. Despite your work alongside Daredevil, you have to dig deeper into the criminal underground of NYC to discover the roots of corruption. Your vigilante life becomes entangled with your past as you work to infiltrate the underground mob run by the infamous Kingpin, freshly released on parole. Loyal federal agent Benjamin Poindexter is tasked with overseeing Fisk’s house arrest– and aiding in his empire under the alias of Bullseye. The both of you become interlaced within the Volchiy, a Russian gang led by your childhood friend; you moonlight as a vigilante, trying to take down the mob from within, while Dex is unaware the new girl he can't get his mind off of is the same one in a mask he fights in the streets. Torn between secret identities, lies, and threat of betrayal, you and Dex navigate a tension filled clash between loyalty and justice.

warnings: drug dealing implication, fight scene, blood, mention of h@nging

slowburn, enemies to lovers, secret identities, bullseye x vigilante reader, use of (y/n), reader is an orphan

an: Chapter 1 of my first full length fic. Hopefully you like it and I actually finish.

disclaimer: ivan volkov is an oc and the volchiy gang is a fictional mcu gang i made up. i dont speak russian so sorry if any of the langauge is wrong or stupid.

wc: 3,500

YOU

New York City was different at night. 

A different city during the day, and different from anywhere else in the world. 

But to the fortunate millions who are unlucky enough to burrow within the labyrinth of streets nestled between skyscrapers and offices, twinkling streetlights and billboards that replaced the stars, living in rows of century old bricked townhomes and eating at their corner store bodegas– it was home. 

With its dreams and flaws and all, it was the one place where in a crowd of millions you could feel so close– yet so alone. 

You weren’t a stranger to the deep poison that drained into the ground of the city. Bloody– like black bile– the cruelty of crime and lies that had been ever present as a New York native. 

Justice had to be paid with a high price, but only by those willing to sell. Even with the haunt of knowing there was at least one person out in the streets below you who needed help, just someone to be noticed and saved by a dashing hero in the night, was enough to send you on the streets every evening in a skin tight costume, face guarded in a mask.

Every night was different. 

Tonight could change. 

“(Y/N).” A voice called from the other side of the roof as the access door’s hinges squeaked in the wind. 

Devil horns pointed to the heavens as the fellow masked hero walked across the roof, where soot and dirt had caked into layers from decades of the building's abandonment. 

“You’re late, Matt.” You with a tinge of annoyance through a cracking smile. This wasn’t an uncommon late appearance, but you didn’t mind; it gave you more time alone to breathe.

This has been your routine for the past year. 

Late nights alongside Matt. 

You couldn’t picture what your life would be like if you hadn't crossed paths. There were few heroes in New York, some that were unknown to anyone but thugs in the shadows. But meeting Matt put you on a clear path. It was refreshing to come across a normal person who understood you, even if you met that someone by nearly bashing each other's ribs in. 

 Your tired arms pushed your body up from its spot of legs dangling over the ledge, tingling as they gained feeling to stand up. 

“Apologies. Got held up in the office.” He flashed a charismatic smile from beneath his half exposed cowl, stepping onto the ledge next to you. 

You rolled your head over your shoulders, stretching your back with a scoff. “Don’t let your job get in the way of your hobby.”

“Ouch.” Matt said. 

“And to think you actually enjoyed working with me.”

“No,  no, I’m strictly here for business.” You patted a gloved hand over his padded shoulder and sighed. “Where are we going tonight?”

“Yesterday, there was a robbery on 56th. Three men from the Italians, all armed with guns and high out of their minds. Through their drugged rambling they managed to tell me about a warehouse at the piers; they said it was a hideout for some operation, only ever occupied for drops and pickups. Figured we would check it out tonight and see where it leads.” 

You nodded, eyes wandering to the river distant in the horizon, the black waters gleaming with reflections of moonlight. “Sounds fun.” You said, pulling on your mask. 

The warehouse was near the docks– an old canning factory in the early industry days turned moonshine distributor in the twenties. Abandoned for decades the red brick had faded and been engulfed in tangles of long ivy that covered the frosted pane windows. 

Semi-trucks were parked for the night on the surrounding lot, stacks of shipping containers and a chain link fence keeping it guarded from a pedestrian road and isolated to the water. There was a small dock of rotting wood with a single boat bobbing in the black water. 

You jumped the fence after Matt, the impact absorbing into the heel of your boot as you scanned the area. “It looks like a drop point.”

Matt rolled his shoulders as he crept around a shipping container. “Does it?”

You ignored him, piecing together as many clues as possible. “Shipments must be coming down from the Hudson, either local or overseas. Did the Italians say who owned it?”

“No, he passed out before he could even say what it was. It's empty, smells like gunpowder.”

“Weapons?”

He nodded. “Or there was trouble here recently.”

You managed to find an unlocked side door, making your way inside to the spacious warehouse. There was a layer of stagnant dust covering pillars of stacked crates and workbenches, the faint glow of a lantern as you peered from behind a wall. 

Before you could advance further inside, a glove layered hand clutched onto your shoulder, pulling you back behind the corner. 

“Stop.” Matt whispered. 

You quickly scanned the area and tried to listen for what Matt was sensing. “What’s wrong?”

His head tilted. “Five men, armed. Coming from the dock.”

Through a shattered window you could see it, a second boat tethered at the water and the muffled sound of speech. 

“Shit .” You muttered. “Great timing.”

There was a rumbling of an iron door and footsteps as the men entered– foreign speech echoed across the walls. A loud crash sent them into disarray. You peered over to see a crate had been knocked over, black guns scattered over the floor as they began to yell at eachother, fingers pointed at a retreating peer. 

Matt took this opportunity to creep from the shadows, throwing a punch into the back of a straggler at the edge of the argument. You quickly followed suit, throwing your momentum into a kick that sent another on the ground as the other three were too busy engulfed in their bickering to notice they had visitors. 

You were quick in the dark, it was where you worked best. Maybe that was why you and Matt worked so well together– you both had an advantage of being invisible. 

You propelled yourself with your legs, wrapping them around the smaller of the accusing pair as you wrapped his neck and slammed him into the ground. 

Despite your stealth, it came at the cost of your strength, especially against guys twice your bodyweight. You groan as you hit the pavement, thankful his head collided and knocked him out on the first try.

The other men finally caught on to the ambush. They snapped from the dispute, reaching for their holsters only to be hit away with a baton. One of the guys was on the ground before you even managed to stand back up. The last one standing, the guy who had dropped the crate, stood frozen– scrambling to unlock his safety as he walked backwards into a pile of boxes that clattered over him. 

Your smirk dropped when an arm wrapped from behind you. Before you could dodge the impending blow to your face, Matt had pulled him off of you and pummeled his face.

Halfway between consciousness and falling to the floor from his knees, Matt held him up by his collar, fist raised. “Who do you work for?”

His head rattled frantically, pleading to the dark eyes of Daredevil’s mask. “N-n--nobody. N-o work-” Matt hit him again, grasping a tighter hold and looming over him. 

“Who do you work for?” 

The man choked, blood spurting out of his throat and dripping to the ground, eyes near swollen shut as he managed the words. 

“Ivan Volkov.”

The name echoed in your mind as Matt struck a blow to his bloodied face, a quick knockout as he fell limp to the floor. There was a moment of silence– only heavy breathing echoing through the large warehouse.

Matt was listening, slowly turning to look at his partner who hadn’t moved.

 “You know him.”

Not a question– a confrontation. You really hated having a human lie detector to work with.

Suppressed memories of your childhood seemed to flood in with no reason. Just one name and you were suddenly seven years old again; running through the streets of Brooklyn with your friends to escape classes taught by the nuns, scavenging for change in the gutter to buy candy and spend on petty bets, breaking windows with rocks to enter the abandoned buildings just like this one. 

Just parentless, uncontrolled children–  dreams still far and the ever lingering hope of finding a family one day. Through those early formidable years you had countless siblings. 

Ivan Volkov was one of them. 

A few years older than you, Ivan was orphaned at age ten when his father was imprisoned for his position in the Russian mob, only to be found hanging in his cell two days before the case went to trial. As far as you ever knew, Ivan’s mother was a nameless woman never present in his life, most likely killed for knowing too much when he was a child. 

Nonetheless, Ivan was one of the few older kids at St. Michaels Orphanage. Aggressive, erratic, and manipulative– how he was labeled in his file. But you only knew Ivan as sweet, caring and funny. 

He was just troubled, like the rest of you. 

He would leave some nights and return bloodied in the morning; it was only a secret from the nuns that Ivan was slipping into a life similar to his father’s. You and the other children had watched him steal and do deals in the park near the church. He would only smile at you and buy ice cream with the leftover money so you all kept your mouths shut and never questioned anything.

He was like a brother to you. 

When he aged out, you and three other kids cried all night; one of you even begged him to adopt you all. Ivan never visited after he left. He moved on in life. 

But everytime a group of men in dark sunglasses, trench coats, and brooding energies walked down the street near gang territory you looked extra closely to see if you could recognize his face.

Now, years later, the truth was revealed. Heavy dust in the air and echoing clatters of distant machinery confirmed you weren’t dreaming. Ivan was alive and making a name for himself. 

Reminiscence broke as you furrowed your brow and blinked your dry eyes to focus, a reluctant nod and click of the tongue.

“Yeah. Yeah I know him.”

Matt was watching you closely, reading you through subtle movements. “Have you worked for him before?” 

You shook your head, sweat dripping as you rubbed your mask-covered brow. “We- uh,  grew up together– in the orphanage. He left as soon as he turned eighteen and I never knew what happened to him. Last I knew he had run off to join a gang his dad had been a part of.”

Matt cocked his head, pieces coming together. “Dimitry Volkov, right? Christ, I remember studying that case in law school. He had the cops running circles back then– the biggest weapons bust in city history.” 

“And now I guess he’s built it back up.” You reached your hand into an opened crate, fingers brushing cold metal as you hauled a handgun from its depths. You studied it in your hands– the weight, model, balance. As you turned the hilt you could see it. Carved into the shiny black was two thin converging lines, a watermark– “ V ”. 

You swallowed, holding it out for Matt. 

“Volchiy .”

 He sighed as he took it. “Russians.” He removed a glove and brushed his thumb over the inscription. “I felt the same thing on the guns I found on the Italians. It's new– oiled. My guess, they were manufactured abroad and altered in the city. The Volchiy are dealing them underground so the weapons can’t be traced. There's probably hundreds of them distributed in the streets right now.” 

You stood silent. The warehouse was filled with boxes. “Well, what do we do now?”

“They’re going to realize their stashpoint is compromised, probably move it or reinforce security. For all we know there could be dozens of locations scattered across the city– factories, hideouts, headquarters. It runs deep. This is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“What, we just leave an anonymous tip to the NYPD? ‘Hey, here's a new crime ring, good luck.’ We have to find where this leads.”

Matt was hesitant, placing down the gun. You knew the reason he didn’t want to keep searching. 

“ Fisk .” You hissed, the name a curse. “You think he’s involved?”

He lowered his head, shaking it.  “I know he’s in charge.” 

“He’s on house arrest. He got the justice you wanted. He can’t possibly be doing damage from a penthouse.” You protested, but it was no use. Fisk haunted Matt more than you could realize. You could tell his release from prison infuriated him, despite when he claimed the FBI had the right to keep him locked away under supervision, even if it was in the comfort of a luxury apartment. 

“He’s got the whole city wired from that penthouse. He’s pulling strings with the FBI– he’s only locked in there because he wants to be. He’s brutal, (Y/N). A man like Fisk– we can’t.”

You nodded despite your disappointment. This was a serious lead Matt was willing to abandon just because of his past with Fisk. 

“Fine. I guess we’ll just stick to disarming the thugs on the streets after they’ve already striked.” You took one more look around the spacious warehouse before stepping over a knocked out gang member to the open door. 

You were exhausted climbing up the fire escape to the roof, gripping the rusted rails to haul yourself up the next step. You were relieved to pull off your mask and breathe uncovered air when you landed on the same decrepit rooftop overlooking Hell’s Kitchen. You and Matt had made your way back through the shadows in silence, tensions high about your splitting decisions. He finally broke it as he lingered behind you. 

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). Really. If things were different, then maybe. But right now– it’s just not safe.”

You understood. You hated that he was partly right, Fisk wasn’t a figure to be messed with. Especially when every criminal organization was under his command. Just going after one would domino all the others to come to aid. But deep in your bones you knew there was more. This was the whole point– protecting the city. If just one guy got to dictate how it ran, then there was no justice at all.

You turned around, nodding with sincerity. “I get it Matt. It’s alright. I’m sure there's something else we can do.”

He read you for a moment, a twitch of a smile when he realized you were telling the truth. “Thank you.” He gave a nod of approval before turning around. “Stay safe (Y/N).” 

“You too, Matt. Good night.” 

“Good night,” Matt called out as he vanished down the fire escape. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

You rolled your eyes and beckoned a wave, crouching back down onto your rooftop perch, gripping your mask in your hands-- hard. A sigh of aggravation fell through the air, caching back in your throat as you looked up. 

Your eyes lingered in the skyline. Nothing felt so far anymore. Everything that was happening was in your territory– the one you promised to protect. 

 It was right there, stretching its influence across the city and trickling into Hell’s Kitchen.

It was a dumb thought, really. But what more was there to lose? How many people could get caught in the crossfire before you decided to sacrifice your integrity? 

You tucked your mask into your belt, taking one more glance at the alive city before retreating home. 

It was time to pay an old friend a visit. 

DEX

Dex was haunted. 

By the things he’s done, the things he was bound to do all over again. 

He fell for it.

 He fell right into Fisk’s grasp. 

Every order he followed, it was because he wanted to.

Testified in the trial for Wilson Fisk’s parole and appeal. 

He lied under oath– not like the truth has ever mattered. 

He took out the fellow agents who refused loyalty. 

Wore a mask.

Pulled the trigger. 

Killed people.

The rest of the FBI would move on from this assignment and continue their work. Dex would be left to linger in the past-- more trapped within the house arrest boundary than Fisk ever was. 

The thick bulletproof glass was the only thing keeping him from falling over sixty stories to the muck filled streets of New York. His gaze fell over the skyline, light filled windows of the Midtown high rises imitating the stars in the midnight darkness. 

The sterile apartment of Fisk was like a familiar sanctuary above the city.

It was the same way he had his apartment– clean and orderly. The only thing visible in the fresh white painted walled penthouse were the dozens of modern art pieces on display at every turn, a museum worth millions for only Fisk and his wife to see. 

At first, Dex could understand how only a deranged monster like Fisk could find solace in those strange pieces. 

As time grew on, he began to grow fond of them too.

His favorite one was hanging right in the foyer.

Much of the art Fisk kept was just geometric shapes of paint on canvas, nonsensical patterns he never cared for of bland color.

This one was different.

Organic. 

Messy.

Raw. 

It wasn’t art to him– it was real.

Splatters of crimson that stained the linen canvas, no clues of the former cream color it once was. Streaks of different hues and splotches of unidentified circles. It was chaotic, but organized. 

Just a red, bloody, mess. 

For the quick glance where his eyes fell each day when he entered the front door, his dread disipated. He would forget he was in the same sterile apartment with the one task of being ordered around by Fisk; instead he was back in the field, gun in hand and steady throw at his will– complete precision and control. This was the only art in the world he could truly digest. 

Every time he saw it there was a reminder that the artist– a name of a painter unknown to him and probably long dead– understood him. 

Even with the entire city in his field of vision, Dex’s mind was far behind him in the entryway, glaring at the red and trying to understand it. 

“Special Agent Poindexter.” 

A gravelly voice echoed through the abnormally large apartment,  rippling a chill through Dex’s spine, ears perking up as he turned to face the dim lit room.

The brooding force in a white suit– Wilson Fisk stood across the living room, hands behind his back like a marble statue. 

“Sir.” Dex straightened, legs shoulder width apart and arms crossed over his thundering chest. 

A vicious smile crept across his round face, city lights from the window bouncing off his bald head as he crept closer to the agent. 

“Please, there is no need for formalities. I owe my gratitude for what you have done. For me, for Vanessa.”

Dex flexed his hands, fingers aching and knuckles bruised.

Killed people.

Fisk began his creep forward, careful steps across the white tiles that reverberated through the sparsely furnished room until he was parallel to the windows next to him. 

“I am proud of your work.” Fisk sighed out the reluctant praise. Dex could tell the corruptive man wasn’t one to hand out sincerities like this.

“From that very night you saved my life, I knew you had an exceeding talent. One that could never be fully appreciated under the constraints of a federal agency. Where rules and standards demanded you set aside these strengths and neglect your abilities for a noble pursuit. The Bureau never appreciated you the way I do, Benjamin. With your help, I can restore the city. To the way it needs to be. Tamed. Disciplined.”

Dex rocked back on his heels to adjust his footing, becoming more aware of his time standing all day. “Thank you sir. It’s an honor to work for you.” The words forced from his voice, a tinge of a smile and nod at his approval. 

“Now that I am free, the true work may begin. My time incarcerated has enacted a toll on the order of everything. They are becoming more sloppy and arrogant, my workers. I would go myself, but as you know I am still constrained.” He smiled. 

Dex’s eyes flicked to the black banded ankle monitor, light beeping in the dark over Fisk’s pant leg. “My prospects are in desperate need of management in my absence. It is much to ask of you– but it must be done.”

Dex rolled his shoulders, glancing from the city to his boss. 

“Anything you need, Fisk. I’ll do it.”

Benjamin "Dex" Pointdexter x Reader

Summary: Dex loves watching you from a distance, but hates not being able to give the pleasure you deserve from him.

an:This is my first ever published fanfic one shot so hopefully its not that bad. I've been obsessed with Bullseye edits recently and just needed to write a stalker fic.

warnings: Dark!Dex, stalker, f masturbation, cumming in pants, dark thoughts, Dex daydreaming and wanting to hurt a guy (he's so precious he would never)

w.c.: 1,300 (edited 5/25/25)

A fresh breeze of the city hit Dex’s face as he adjusted his binoculars. It was the perfect view. It didn’t take him long to find it. He only had to find a building adjacent to your apartment and with a higher outlook. How lucky he was for it to have an unlocked rooftop no one ever went to. It was almost like you were inviting him to watch you, not ever closing your curtains at night. Didn’t you know there were bad people who could see you living all alone? Thats why he had to be there. To make sure you were safe.

It was a late Friday night, and Dex was so proud to see you were staying home tonight, instead of venturing out into the unsafe city where it would be hard to keep an eye on you.

You probably would go out with your girlfriends in a skimpy outfit-- that sexy, black plunge top and skirt he loved so much, the one that showed your ass perfectly--all of it earning sinful gazes from prowling men in the night who would offer you drinks and a night at their apartment. He would have no other choice than to watch you blush and smile at them, too drunk to make a decision that was good for you.

If Dex had the courage he would be the man.

He was a coward, too unworthy to approach you. Instead he would just follow from a distance to make sure the guy didn't get any wrong ideas-- make any moves that made you uncomfortable. If he did, he would leave him bleeding in the alleyway, before asking if you were alright, if that man was going to hurt you.

Maybe he wasn’t-- but he would still earn your thankful praises.

A hero in the night.

You would be so grateful for him and insist on bringing him back to your place-- oh, that would be so nice.

But that wouldn’t happen tonight. No, tonight you had chosen to stay in and rewatch that show for the third time. Dex didn’t pay attention to the show, he was too busy adjusting the magnification of the lens to get a better look at your tank top and shorts. They must’ve been new and not worn in yet because they were just so tight.

In the faint glow of your dark room he would see your delicate nipples pushing at the fabric, your breasts stretching the cotton. The sleep shorts riding up your thighs as you mindlessly gazed at the TV under drowsy lids. How cute you were sprawled across your bed sheets for no one else to see but him.

Dex was getting agitated in the soft chill of the night. He deserved to be in the warm bed with you, holding you close as you smiled at the cheesy joke on the screen, caressing your soft exposed skin still fresh from the thirty minute shower you just took. Dex didn’t know what it was that made you switch on, but it snapped him back to his watching when he saw it.

Maybe it was an intimate scene on the television, or a passing thought of him, but a drowsy smirk played on your lips as your hand slowly slid down your chest and slipped down your shorts.

This was going to be a good night for Dex.

You were rubbing slow, soft methodical circles underneath your shorts. Dex prayed you would take them off so he could see your pretty pussy just once. It was unfair how you didn’t even take your clothes off. Dex wanted nothing more to see you naked—unfortunately you only ever seemed to put your clothes on in the bathroom.

Your other hand had dipped under the hem of your tank top, palming at your breasts as your eyes closed to your sensual movements. It only took a few seconds until you began to squirm, legs reaching out as your mouth fell agape to soft moans and whimpers.

His cock twitched beneath his pants, fighting the urge to take it out and stroke himself alongside you. But he resisted. He had to take in every moment. Dex noted to bring a camera next time.

Your hair sprawled out on your pillow, back arching to the pleasure Dex wished he could give you. if only you were kind and gave him a chance— it tortured him to the fact you hardly ever even looked at him.

Dex allowed his hand to fall to his hips, palming at the erection you selfishly gave him. He couldn’t contain his grunts of frustration as you fucked yourself, teasing him mercilessly from a distance.

You were a whimpering mess. How easy you got off, your sensitive self didn’t even need a toy.

He couldn’t take it, the thought that he could make you feel so much better. But tonight he would contain himself, and admire your needy form pleasuring yourself from a distance.

Dex couldn’t stop himself as his hips bucked into his hand in tandem with yours, his dick straining the fabric of his pants as he breathlessly fought to control himself. The form of your hand rutting underneath your shorts was enough to set him off completely.He could feel the pre-cum on the tip of his cock, white knuckling the binoculars so hard he thought he would break his damn hand.

You were so pretty, lips agape and body shuddering with your struggle to cum. Arms tensing as you fucked yourself all alone, whimpering to the dark air of your room. Next time you would be moaning his name into his ear as he did all the work for you. He would make you feel as good as he felt right now watching you.

You were close, fingers clutching your tit as you fingers moved faster under your shorts, legs straining to reach the climax he could give you faster. Your index finger was rubbing circles on your nipple from under the fabric, hip bucking into your hand at a faster pace. He could image in the lewd sounds of your moans and slapping of how wet you were. One final cry out and you became undone, falling back onto your mattress as you chest rapidly fell and rose, fingers still lazily drifting around your nerves to let the orgasm ride out.

“Fuck.” Dex breathed out and shuddered in the cold. Cum filled his boxers, sticking to his pants and hips as he gripped the brick boundary of the roof to steady himself.

Only you could make him so pathetically mindless to cum in his pants. Just imagining your tight body clenching aorund him and making him cum was almost enough to make him grow hard again.

When Dex gathered himself again to look back into your window, he was disappointed to see it had become pitch black, and you were lost in the dark to him. You must have grown tired from your orgasm and shut the TV off for the night, drifting off the sleep without him. He cursed himself again at how stupid he was to have looked away.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Perhaps tomorrow when you were on your morning run he would follow more closely behind. Maybe he would accidentally bump into you at the coffee shop you like so much and make a comment about the show’s upcoming renewal. The plan was all coming along, just so you could be together. Maybe tomorrow night you could get fucked by him instead of your lonely fingers.

He took one final peak and whispered a good night before he returned home.