[3+1]: three times bullseye wakes you up in the middle of the night, and one time you're waiting for him
pairing: benjamin "dex" poindexter x fem reader
content&warnings: breaking and entering, threats of violence, swearing, blood/wounds, making out, partial nudity, highly suggestive, dex spinal scar :p, benjamin poindexter. lmk if i missed anything! proofread & may be crossposted onto ao3. like and reblog to support your authors ♡ thank you for reading! dividers by @.honeyluvsw
the first time, of course, is scary—you wake to a masked man in your apartment, in the middle of the night, pointing a gun at you.
"scream, you're dead. got it?" bullseye switches the safety off.
you nod, whisper out a yes. your lungs have stopped working at maximum capacity.
"give me your phone," he says plainly; oh god, you think, he's taking it so you can't call for help while he kills you. wait, do you throw it? or—
"slide it over. on the ground. don't try to move, i can shoot without looking." he sounds less patient this time, though there wasn't much of that in his voice in the first place. gun still aimed at you, he picks it up, examines it.
"okay," he says, putting it in one of his multiple pockets. "you got a first aid kit?"
you nod, speechless, shaking, and that's when you see the way the fabric darkens around his left side. "holy shit—"
he ignores you. "where is it?"
"in the bathroom," you respond, but your mind is moving a mile a minute. "oh my god, you're bleeding, i can't have a dead guy in my apartment!"
"your cat's orange," he deadpans. "your bedsheets are blue."
"oh, i thought we were stating the obvious." you're going to throttle this man; now is not the time for jokes.
you swallow, clear your throat, hope your voice doesn't shake as you go into autopilot. "listen, um, bullseye, you should sit down. i'll get the kit, okay?"
he stares at you suspiciously, gun still raised as he sinks to the ground. "okay. but you try something—"
"and you'll kill me, i get it. but seriously, something's wrong with you, so let me help, please."
he glares at you; his gloved fingers graze over the bloody patch lightly. "i know there's something wrong with me."
"oh, god." you're just realising what you said a moment ago. "that is so not what i meant!"
"i know." his voice is an agonised rasp as he repeats himself, and also really attractive. now who said that?
you rush into the bathroom to get the rectangular box, hands fumbling as you open it in front of him. the gun's still almost in your face. nervous, you tell him to take the top half of his suit off, and he obliges, but even with the most careful of movements, his breathing quickens painfully. now he's only in his mask, cargo pants and boots, head tipped back against the wall. blood leaks out of the wound just below his ribs, but it seems shallow enough that it can be sutured shut.
you rip open a packet of sterilised gauze; on second thought you put on a pair of gloves before you take one out. he sucks in a breath through his teeth when you press it against the wound, tensing up.
"i—you need to hold it like that," you whisper, and his right hand comes up to cover yours. for a moment, it's strangely intimate, his gloved one absolutely dwarfing yours as he adjusts his hold on it with a groan, before he gives you the okay to let go. incredibly selfishly, you notice just how firm his body is, even now.
he's holding the gun in his other hand, and you jump at the click when he switches the safety back on and quietly puts it down on the ground beside him—it's enough to show that he's trusting you for now, but you're still not completely safe.
when his blood overflows the first piece of gauze, you hand him a second one and he nods in thanks.
but now you actually have to clean and stitch it up, and you're no professional.
you decide to start from the outside, dabbing at the dried blood gingerly; he remains stoic. by the time you get to the actual wound, however, his breaths come in shallow and fast, fists clenched. and when the needle finally breaks skin, you think you actually feel the way his heart rate speeds up. you're repeating i'm sorrys under your breath, hating that you're hurting him, even if he is a homicidal maniac with scarily accurate aim.
"it's fine," he murmurs when you're done, tone unlike anything he used before. "it—i should go."
you stand up from where you'd been kneeling between his legs—which, in hindsight, sounds a lot more sexual than it had been—and dust off your pyjama pants, looking down at the large pile of bloody cotton and gauze.
you watch as he examines his gear before putting it back on, then holsters the gun across his chest again. he's so built, you think lazily as he stands up in front of you.
"huh?" you respond, only to realise he's holding out your phone to you. it's mortifying. "oh."
you take it from his hand as he walks back to your open window, then turns back.
"thank you," he says; if it'd been anyone else you'd have thought his voice was gentle. "and lock your window."
you really don't expect bullseye to come back again, not until he's already in your room, weeks later, swearing and apologising under his breath.
maybe you'd neglected closing the window—just to have something to think about before sleeping at night, okay? it's not a big deal.
this time, he's not as vigilant with the gun, although he's not as roughed up as last time, so you think he might be able to fight you if you try to do something. not that you were planning to, of course. and either you're extremely delusional, or there's definitely tension simmering underneath your interactions, the way your fingers brush against his gloved ones, or the look in his eyes when you catch him staring for a moment too long.
you only realise he didn't take your phone this time when it buzzes from your nightstand moments after you finish washing your hands of his blood. he looks at you enquiringly and you lean over to check; it's your ex-boyfriend. he's probably drunk, you tell him, and he says fuck that, like he's more important, and even though you've only met him twice and you've seen him more on the news than with your own two eyes, you think he might be right.
you offer him water, turning away respectfully when he pulls up the mask. he helps clean up after himself, so meticulous, you think.
"this won't happen again," he says when he's leaving. he's standing right in front of you, and for a moment you're stupid enough to think something will happen. he raises one hand cautiously to brush some hair out of your face; the smallest contact of his glove on your skin is enough to make you feel like a live wire. "and lock the damn window."
"you know i can't," you reply, entirely aware of how stupid how sound right now, and you think he smiles.
the third time is when you finally get to see his face. you wake at the sound of his boots landing on the floor, and you're awake enough to register who he is, but not enough to realise that he'd already pulled his mask off.
he's pretty, for lack of a better word. his hair is messy, dark golden brown, and there's a healed scar dragging across his cheek (you could find home in there). he's not "perfect" in any way, but you think you've never seen something more beautiful. there's crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, something you hadn't noticed before, the slightest shadow of stubble on his jaw. you have to physically tear your eyes away from him.
"what?" he asks, when he realises you're staring. you shake your head, embarrassed, before looking over him for any injuries.
"i'm not bleeding," he inputs helpfully. "just need to hide out for a bit."
"oh?" you say, sitting up.
"task force's being a bitch."
"so the usual." you get out of bed, stretching lightly. "so, um, you want some, um, tea or something?"
you're awkward, this is new.
his lips twitch up at your discomfort; his smile is sharp, the kind to make butterflies erupt in your stomach. "sure."
it's oddly domestic, having a vigilante at your kitchen table like this. there's a pile of belongings on one side, a gun and gloves (his), phone and hand cream (yours). he's as quiet as you'd imagined; neither of you speak much until your phone lights up. you both look at it simultaneously, and you sigh. "it's him again."
another text. then another, then—
he reaches over and switches it off, placing it facedown. "why don't you just block him?"
"it's… weird," you say. "i know we're not together anymore, but it's kind of nice to have someone to turn to or think about. occasionally."
"so you're broken up, but not really."
"kind of?" to tell the truth, you haven't thought of him at all since bullseye's world collided with yours.
"you deserve better," he comments.
you lean forward, interested. "like who?"
maybe it's the lack of sleep making you so adventurous today.
he leans back, holding eye contact. the word stays between you, unspoken, heavy. after a moment, he changes his mind. "someone… nicer."
you know you'll regret it as soon as you say it. "you're nice enough."
"you don't even know my name."
"you know you can just tell me, right?"
there's a pause. you tell him your name, and he there's a self-satisfied half-smirk on his face. "i know."
you don't question it, and it's kind of nice that he cared enough to find out.
you can call him dex, he tells you. it's not his actual name—you'd asked—but it's what everyone calls him. or used to.
"okay, dex." you like how it rolls off your tongue. (and he does too.)
then, when he's leaving, he looks at you like this meeting, like you had been a moment of weakness. "this was a mistake."
"no," you respond vehemently; it's the first time you've really gone against him since the two of you met. the fire in your eyes intrigues him.
"no?" he tilts his head to one side, amused. his mask is still in his hands.
"i'm a grown ass woman," you argue. "i know what a mistake is and what isn't."
you stride up to him, pulling him down to your level by the front of his shirt. "yes, dex, it is."
his hands automatically come up to cup your face, mask forgotten—he's not wearing gloves, you realise. are they still on your table? was he planning to leave them behind?—and his thumb smoothes across your cheekbone, gentle. you cannot imagine these to be the hands of a killer, though you've seen the carnage he's left in his wake firsthand. "you're going to regret this."
he kisses you. it's fast; you don't see it coming until it's already happening—not that you mind, of course. your hands fly the back of his head, the nape of his neck. he closes the window with one hand (your body screams at the loss of contact) before it comes back to you again, thumbing at your jaw, then lower, finding your pulse point. you whine into his mouth; he grins into yours as he walks you backwards towards your bed. you let go of him long enough to sit down, taking the opportunity to finally catch a breath. he sinks down between your legs; this time, he's yanking you down to kiss him again, hand on your thigh like puzzle pieces fitting together.
"don't you dare regret this," he pants, leaning back on his haunches. you laugh, breathless; you know you won't.
you scream when dex pulls his mask off. the lower half of his face is covered in blood, the origin appearing to be his nose. he winces at the noise. "don't panic, it was just one good hit. nothing's broken."
you're clambering out of bed, already headed for the bathroom. "i still need to clean you up!"
you pause at the sound of his voice. it's different—deeper, more intense than usual somehow. you can tell he's not in the mood to be bossed around.
"c'mere," he says. not exactly an order—but you do as you're told. "you mind the blood?"
you shake your head, no. if anything, he looks good, in his natural habitat—covered in the bloodshed he spends most of his time in. when he kisses you, you're already reaching back to unclip his holster; there's blood in (and smeared around) your mouth when he pulls back to unlace his boots, shedding the rest of his gear in quick succession until he's only in his boxers.
you're lying on the bed under him now, breathing hard. he places one hand over your heart, feeling the elevated pulse. "excited?"
you roll your eyes, propping yourself up on your elbows so he can kiss you again. when his knee slides between your legs, you let out a choked noise, and he takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, greedy. your hands pull at his hair in the way you know he loves, and he's letting out little whimpers almost subconsciously. he grinds down once, twice; he's the excited one, you think.
"how come you still get to keep everything on?" he demands, whiny. you like when he gets like this, all hooded eyes and swollen lips and everything that haunts him forgotten because he's so focused on you.
"just a sec, baby." you're about to pull your cami top off when one of his big hands reaches past yours and rips it down the front. you sit up, outraged. "dex, that was my favourite!"
you cut yourself off with a gasp when his teeth sink into your neck; he licks over the spot before moving lower, and his words are slurred, running into each other when he speaks. "mm, i'll buy y'one, no, ten more, m'kay? lemme have this—"
he doesn't even bother to finish his sentence before sucking a bruise into the space right under your collarbone; from the way he's holding you, you know there'll be marks from his fingers all around your hips and thighs. not that you mind, of course, not when he'll see them later and be almost possessive of them and of you.
he watches like a hawk, you beneath him, glassy-eyed and panting, voice hoarse. no one else gets to have you like this, no one but him. you're his, and his only, and in return—
"dex, you're mine," you breathe, fingers dragging oh-so-slowly down the scar on his spine. he shudders; a broken sound spills from his lips as he nods into your shoulder, blunt nails digging into your flesh.
it takes a second for him to regain composure before he looks up. there's a foreign glint in his eye—he's never seen you be this possessive of him, and he's not sure how to feel about it. proud? turned on? or maybe both. "that's right, baby, 'n you gotta take care of what's yours, right?"
his lips curve up into a self-satisfied smirk.
author says: i want him so bad hahaha i meannnn 👀 lmk what you think! requests are also open !!! thank you for the love on the other fic, i didn't expect this at all :3 !!
