summary: when a new tenant moves into your apartment complex, your life changes in ways you had not expected. What starts off as a sweet friendship with your neighbour, it turns into something much more sinister. Lives become tangled unexpectedly and obsessive tendencies start blooming gradually. He starts to become rather reliant and attached to his neighbour who keeps getting into dangerous situations.Â
notes: Â short chronicles with neighbour!dex, mentions of suicide, typical DD violence, sweet interaction w/ dex, the beginnings of an unhealthy dynamic, nickname is Star (has a sweet meaning behind it), slow burn? Platonic relationships, Karen is lowkey your unofficial guardian, reader used to work at Nelson & Murdock, symptoms of depression, spoilers for defenders, s3 DD - 4.7k
Heâs near the edge of losing it. He knows what he has to do.Â
The words are distorted in his mind, the incessant buzzing wouldnât cease, and all he can hear is Julieâs voice telling him she doesnât want him. That the world doesnât want him. That nobody does.Â
I donât want you
Julie doesnât want him. And now he was going to kill himself. Gun at the ready, the barrel pressing under his chin.Â
His cell phone rings. His voice rings out. Fisk offers him the opportunity to be who he was meant to be.Â
I will never abandon youÂ
He knows whatever he does from here on out will be going against what Dr Mercer had drilled into his young, pliable mind. How he should find a decent person, anyone good will do to guide him onto the moral path.Â
The phone call from Fisk had soiled his plans of ending it, he had no one to turn to now. He could never rely upon himself to know how to behave without a certain guidance. He needed assurance that he was on the right path.Â
He wanted it to be you.Â
You, who had shown him what it felt like to be cared for, he translated it as love, the way you thought of him, patched him up, accepted him despite his past wrongdoings.Â
The ultimate test was if what he was about to do would destroy what you have. Heâs grown attached in a matter of twelve months. Enough for him to recognise what has been in front of him this whole time. He couldn't ignore it anymore, he had to face the truth.Â
Despite the out he had been given. A choice to become who he truly was, he wishes that Fisk never would have gotten involved before he could get even closer to you. It would have all worked out, if only he did not listen to Fisk, to put on that suit and raid the bulletin, leaving dead bodies in its wake.Â
Though he strongly does believe that no matter how lost he has been throughout his life, the things that did happen, happened for a reason. Without a doubt itâs the same here, this was meant to happen.Â
He meant to meet you, but also he was meant to be whatever he was embracing. It was a matter of time before his true self came out. He just wishes the timing was better. That he could have met you earlier, before he became involved in this absolute shitshow.Â
But alas, he had to play with the cards he had been dealt with.
The words of Wilson Fisk echo in his mind.Â
It were honest and true, no one would have destroyed it
If what you two had built over time was an honest and true friendship, or whatever it was, then it canât be destroyed.Â
He knows he has to let this play out. Otherwise he will never find out the truth. What he had with Julie had dismantled too easily, he had to make sure that wouldnât happen again.Â
â
Three days later you get a message from Dex asking to meet up.
He texted you to meet by the park where he usually ended his run. Something about you needing to leave your apartment on your days off to get some exercise instead of holing yourself up in your room. Old habits die hard you had told him, heâd sent you a questioning look.Â
He did say he would make it worth your while, so you complied because you kind of didnât want to disappoint him after he had made the effort to coax you outside.Â
And logically speaking he would not have sought you out if he didnât like your company, he didnât have to offer you to take a stroll outside if he was being friendly. In your eyes people didnât invite others to places if they were just being nice, there always was a reason for it, like a mutual benefit or some kind of fulfilment by being with each other.Â
While there was a decent gap in age, most people would look at you and assume siblings, despite the stark differences present, people would do a double take, probably since he was more recognisable due to having his face plastered on the front cover of every newspaper, connecting him to being investigated within the FBI.Â
But you didnât really care what people would say if you were both seen together. There wasnât anything wrong with your relationship, at this point you would call him your friend, a step up from just being neighbours who exchanged awkward and polite smiles as a greeting.Â
You recall the apprehension towards being neighbourly towards the new tenant, in no way were you gonna awkwardly try to weasel your way into his life, asking him things he probably was uncomfortable answering, or at least that was what you thought.Â
You knew people who worked in law enforcement found it a little suspicious when they were asked questions about their job and such, so it would be understandable if he were too, it was the nature of the job to be quick and wary to distinguish any questions that probe too far.Â
If he suddenly began asking you about your personal life that would immediately categorise him into the danger zone, you were tied to too many ends that led to people who were or had been involved in questionable things. So if someone came along, seemingly curious about Matt, Karen or Foggy, you felt alerted because it had happened before, it was always never for good reasons too.Â
Thankfully, Dex had not. He mostly preferred talking about the better part of his memories, sometimes his emotional struggles or it would be meaningless conversation with a mix of dumb jokes that set you right into a fit of laughter, and with that he couldnât help himself but preen at the sound he caused.Â
When you meet up with him that day, he looks like a right mess. His eyes were red and had shrunk down a little, still in his work outfit that consisted of some formal navy trousers and a white collared button up.Â
When he reaches the picnic table you both routinely meet at, he hands you a coffee, just the way you like it, some milk to lighten the flavour and sugar to sweeten it, still bitter enough to taste it. Itâs warm in your hands, you look up at him with soft eyes as he swings his legs onto the bench.Â
âThanks, I really needed this.â you beam at him, eyes blink shut for a moment, expressing your gratitude.Â
A pleased look makes its way onto his face, as he sips his own. âDid you have work tonight?â He knows you didnât, but still asks anyway.Â
âNo, I thought you knew?â You were sure you had mentioned it in passing when he asked you the same question.Â
âI must've forgotten. OhâŚum..thanks for the other day, I donât know how toâŚâÂ
You immediately shake your head, âIt wasnât any trouble, really. Do you feel any better?â
âA little. Still, thanks for cleaning up, the stuff you left too,â his voice is low, tired too. Did he feel embarrassed that you saw him like that? You hope he doesnât, but you do understand if he was, you would be if you were in his position.
âHey, you bandaged up my shoulder the other day, guess weâre even then?âÂ
No. No, weâre not even Star.â He huffs, shaking his head not meeting your eyes, they track back to you, âoh is it okay to call you that?â
âYes. Yeah, itâs fine, I already told you itâs okay.â Your eyebrows crinkle, a delicate expression conveying how it felt to be called that again. No one called you that anymore, it was rare when it slipped out by Foggy or even Karen. The one who used to call you that was Matt.Â
âWhat did you mean by that? That weâre not even,â not forgetting his comment.
âI feel indebted to you for some reason. Youâve helped me through some hard moments, and youâreâŚyouâre just soâŚyou.â He says it rather sheepishly, his cheeks redden when he looks at you.
You giggle lightly, âyou shouldn't. Please, we both have helped each other,â pausing for a few seconds before deciding to open yourself up to him, âyou know that youâve made me laugh more than I have in months, andâŚat times itâs been hard for me, but youâve made it bearable.âÂ
His wide eyes gave away his shock, it was so strange to hear how much of an effect he has had on someone. The person who he was starting to rely on emotionally, and at times seeking your company, felt the same way about him.Â
He had never had this kind of impact on someone, never had he even opened himself enough to let that be a possibility, and in turn it was doing something to him as well, he just wasnât able to describe what it was, it was all a swirl in his chest.Â
You carry on with, âI love it when we get coffee together and go on walks, I love that you like my company just as much, or at least I think you do.â You mumble the last part. Saying all this with a grin, teeth poking out the tiniest bit over your lip.Â
âI do,â he blurts, âI do too,â oh no, you might have melted him a little, you laugh. âIâm glad I met you Ben, I mean Dex, sorry I forgot.â you take a few sips of your still warm coffee.Â
He shakes his head, âBenâs fine, I donât mind, or even Dex. As long as Star is okay too?âÂ
âI told you, Ben,â you enunciate his name, âStar is fine.â You nod very sure of yourself.Â
And for the first time, ever since his conversation with Nadeem, his chest has been alleviated from the pressure he had felt throughout the day.Â
It was you. Always you who was ready to talk, to meet whenever he felt this way. You were able to ease that knot in his chest, too tight to unravel it himself, no one would, but you. And he was beginning to realise that what he was feeling went deeper than what he had anticipated.Â
He wantsâŚhe wants something he cannot describe in words. Just a concept of a relationship that doesnât make sense. He wishes that this could go on forever, he thinks he would be content as long as you stayed near him. Being around you felt good.
You were soâŚsoft around the edges, despite how many trials you had faced that had ultimately hardened you from within, but he could still feel the edges, they were pliable, soft enough to break through.Â
Seemingly indifferent to what occurred around you, but he could tell things affected you, just didnât show it explicitly. It was easy to assume you weren't able to react normally, but it was a matter of looking closely at your reactions, you felt things deeply that much was evident, to him at least.Â
You were vulnerable to people like him, and that made his stomach churn at the thought of you being taken advantage of. Physically, you were able to hold your own, the events before when he bandaged your injured shoulder was a testament to that.Â
It was more the capacity in which you lent an ear to others once you deemed them safe. That you showed them the extent of who you were, your face telling a story worth reading, your begrudging compassion that you revealed because it was you. So human.Â
Were you like this with Karen? With the people he read files on. Did you treat them with such love that they couldn't stop wanting you? Did you understand them despite the things they had done? Or were you like this exclusively for him?
No, no, no. Why was he thinking this way? He couldnât ruin this. He had to think logically, heâs too clouded by his desires of maintaining it all with you.Â
If itâs honest and true, no one would have destroyed it
The words remind him of the fragility a relationship has. The way his relationship with Julie crumbled once he said things he wishes he didnât. He cannot risk anything now, not when he has you in his grasp.Â
He watches you drink your coffee, clearly savouring each sip and as his eyes wander down to how you hold your cup, how you lick your lips after each sip, how you look at him. So different from how you look at others. That has to mean something, right?Â
What would you do if he told you that he had a gun pointed under his chin a few days prior? That he was ready to die. Would you cry for him, grieve him the way you grieve your father to this day?Â
Would you talk him down from committing it? Like how he relied on Julie to guide him when he was reading those lines off the chart at the suicide hotline.Â
How he had fantasised about it, imagined it when he couldn't think in a straightforward way.Â
What if he were on the other side of the call.Â
He thinks you'd be too awkward, too stiff. You'd probably read them a little robotically, that monotone voice when youâre unsure or the lack of care when speaking to someone when you havenât personally connected to them.Â
He knows the tone you'd use to talk to him. It was gentler, more careless, allowing emotion to cling onto each sentence, wrapping around each word as you enunciate certain letters, a slight lilt when pronouncing them.Â
And every word that is uttered to him would calm him down like the wind chime outside your window does when you have trouble quieting down your thoughts.Â
Then again, why else would you look at him if you didnât hold an ounce of care for him. You would feel distraught if something happened to him, you carry the same attachment for him. Right?Â
He knows heâs actively spiralling when he feels a hand on his. He looks down at your joined hands before looking at you.Â
âBreatheâŚyou okay?â The concern does things to him as your sweet face contorts into a frown.Â
He nods at your words, gulping down air, then continuing to breathe slowly. His hands tighten on yours, hands intertwining messily. Your head dips to get a good look at his face, you squeeze him back, getting him to lift his face.Â
âAre you sure youâre okay? What happened?âÂ
âNothing, I'm justâŚitâs work,â he sighs out. Partly the truth.Â
âWanna talk about it?â You offer, he shakes his head, basking in the contact of your hand in his, flexing his fingers till they loosely intertwine. Then your phone buzzes in your pocket, you unclasp your hand from his to pull it out.Â
âEverything okay?â He looks alarmed, did you have to go already? It hadnât even been that long.Â
âUmâŚâ a couple messages from Karen and an incoming phone call from Foggy, âI have to go, itâs important.â
âWho is it?â he asks, his face shifts, face blank.Â
âOh, just my friends, they need me,â youâre reluctant to leave him, it had been hectic as of late, with Matt reappearing, the questions floating around. And so you had required a boost, to stop thinking about it all, and preferably a caffeine boost and maybe some good company, you always do, which Dex had provided graciously.Â
You know he wasnât feeling the best and it was cruel to leave him like this, especially when he thought to message you first. You would have to make it up to him, something that he would be able to see your appreciation for him seeking you out.Â
You were glad that you got a well deserved break after getting tackled by a guy in a suit and getting questioned at Mattâs apartment.Â
Unconsciously you rotate your wrist, it has been in the brace for many hours now, you should probably give it a break now. His eyes shift down catching the movement. âStar, you never told me what happened.âÂ
That was true you hadnât answered him. Maybe he knew the guy that tackled you, given the FBI was involved in all this. You should ask himâŚno, that was unnecessary.Â
âLater. Iâll explain later, I really have to go,â you say as you feel your phone vibrating in your hand.
And before you leave, you shove your phone in your pocket to free your hand, taking a shy step forward, you slowly wrap your arms around him, giving him enough time to back out if he doesn't want it.Â
And yet again, he melts a little. He pulls you into him, chest to chest, his chin resting on the top of your head. He canât help but breathe deeply into your hair, it always looked like it smelled nice, was that odd? Yeah it probably was.Â
Still he keeps you there for a few more moments, before feeling like it was time to let go. He didnât want to, but he knew you had to go. âIâm sorry to cut it short, I'll make it up to you, promise.âÂ
Tipping your takeaway cup of coffee in his direction as a goodbye, you turn around fishing your phone out of your pocket as you begin your walk through the park.Â
He watches you turn back to catch a glimpse of him. He likes that you do that.Â
The hug provided him a little warmth, a temporary solution to tide him over, but still his hand clenches into a fist. He thinks about what you said, they need me.
What about him? I need you.Â
â
The lights had just turned off. The whole floor was without power. You had talked to Matt already today before he had decided to turn himself in to the FBI with the condition of hearing Jasper Evans and considering him a witness to Fiskâs operations.Â
You waited by the door whilst Karen and Ellison were listening to Jasperâs statement, a camera had been set up to film the whole thing as per usual.Â
Jasper starts talking, âFisk made me do it.â You will say he is off to a strong start. Just as Karen finishes her first question the lights on the whole floor shut down, leaving you all in complete darkness.Â
You wait with a baited breath, silence fills the room. You head into the room and begin to track the sounds outside the small room. The table had been shoved under the door handle to keep at whoever was on the outside at bay.Â
Everyone was backed away from the door, waiting and waiting. Listening to the sounds outside that left you wanting to flee as soon as possible.Â
The door smashes from the middle, wood splintering as the person punches through it. To your absolute shock itâs a man wearing Mattâs Daredevil suit.Â
With Foggy also knocked out and Ellison crumpled on the floor with a pencil sticking out of his side, he steps past him.Â
âNice to see you again, Karen,â then promptly shoves her to the side, her head knocking against the cameraâs frame. Too absorbed in his objective of getting to Jasper Evans.Â
Your mind blanks yet your body moves to cover the man behind you. Like your mind knows the importance of his life, the need for his testimony so that Fisk could be finally put away for all the damage and suffering he has caused. The only person who is willing to tell the truth is despite the danger he was putting his family in was about to be killed, and the only thing standing between him and a bullet is you.Â
Thus, your body reacts in a manner that shields or attempts to shield Evans from this imposter claiming to be Daredevil. One step back. Two steps back.Â
Your hand moves behind you to clasp Evansâ shirt, steadying him. So that he wouldnât try to flee, because any movements might startle the man to shoot you both. As of now, both of your lives were in his hands, and essentially you were cornered with no way out. The only thing you could do is tread carefully, meaning in your head, no sudden movements that would be perceived as a threat to escape.Â
Evans is pressed so far up against the wall, heâs splayed back like a dead fly, almost ironic given the situation at hand. You can somehow tell that this fake Daredevil is getting a kick out of this, his grin wide and not at all in a hurry to leave.Â
The man in the suit picks up Karenâs gun off the floor, arm begins to stretch into the general direction of you and Jasper Evans, it slowly lands on you.Â
The gun is pointed towards you. The silence is almost deafening as you stare at the barrel. Are you about to die?Â
Oneâs death is inevitable, that is a definite fact. Yet the possibility of dying like this, by the hands of someone else. Is this what you deserve?Â
In those three seconds the gun was aimed at you, you could not process anything other than the fear you felt. Shivers climbing up your spine, the bone chilling realisation set into place. But maybe this was not your time to go, because the next thing you hear is a gunshot.
It is followed by Evansâ head hitting the wall, you hear him slide down the wall. His blood splatters across your cheek, a few drops trailing downwards. He dismantles the gun, tossing it to the floor and steps towards you. Now youâre shaking, gasps leaving you with not enough air in your lungs.Â
You tilt backwards, not enough space to step further back since heâs all up in your face. The red eyes of the mask stare down at you.Â
âDonât worry, I would never shoot you,â head tilted, still grinning at you, ânice to see you again.â
Inside however, there is a swarm in his head, why are you here? It doesnât make sense to him. You shouldnât be anywhere near this place, he should have warned you somehow. But him saying anything would give away what he was about to do.Â
He remembers, reading the files of all four of you, the lawyers, and the journalist and you.Â
He didnât know it at the time, but he figured you would get caught up in their messes, paying the price for the danger they got themselves into, because you dove head first in with them. And now he had to figure a way around keeping you out of it, safely tucked away, but now he realises itâs easier said than done.Â
Itâs a slip up on his part, itâs too fun not to, but his words have the given effect meant to be interpreted against you. No doubt you would be questioned after this debacle, possibly knowing Daredevilâs identity, he knows because the camera on the floor is still recording, he can see the red dot blinking from his peripheral.Â
He tells you he wonât shoot, why? To console you? The fear is almost palpable, and he hates it. Though in some twisted way heâs relishing in watching your face contort in manners he had not seen before. Still, he doesnât want to be the one to elicit such a feeling from you, it felt almost inhumane to do this to someone he deeply felt for. More than you did for him at least, but he says the words anyways, consequences be damned.Â
With that, heâs gone. Leaving you in a trembling mess, choking for air.
You can taste the bile in your mouth, you crouch onto the floor, emptying your stomach into a trash can. Then your chest heaves, eyes squinting shut as tears begin to leak out. You press the base of your palms against your eyes to get rid of the salty liquid.Â
Unsure of how long you had been sitting on the cushions, you waited for somebody to come. Ears ringing as the FBI finally comes barging in. Special Agent Nadeem walks in, looks at you and crouches down to your level.Â
You meet his eyes for a second, lined with sympathy as he takes in your state. Such a young person involved in all this, with drops of blood splattered like freckles on the side of your cheek, evidence of witnessing the brutality of murder, he thinks of Sammi, and he feels sick.Â
Your ears are ringing. You're not all there, he can see it in your eyes, unfocused. Most likely disassociating from it all. Nadeem looks to the right, that tells him everything.Â
â
The ordeal you had been through was horrible to say the least. You also know this will probably scar you for the rest of your life, because right now youâre still feeling numb, no feeling in your chest, which is where you would normally feel everything. When you get angry, annoyed, excited, giddy any feeling that has your heart rate up, it's felt in your chest.Â
That was not a good sign. Will you be able to sleep tonight? To escape it all, to escape the reality of the deaths that occurred in the Bulletin, how Daredevil was framed as a murderer.Â
Sat in the conference room with Foggy on your side and Karen on the other, Nadeem across from you three.
âHow about we watch it again?â Nadeem offers, turning around to grab the remote control.Â
âNo, no. He was talking to me.â Karen finally speaks up.Â
âOkay. Good.âÂ
âBut I donât know him, but what I do know is that psycho is not Daredevil.âÂ
âI got a pretty good look at him, could have fooled me.âÂ
âThe guy didnât even act like Daredevil, this guy killed people,â she let out an exasperated noise at how dense the agent across from her was being. âWhat? Based on the two encounters youâve had?â He shoots back.
âDid you even look into any of the leads I dropped in your lap? Felix Manning? Red lion bank?â her hand gestured towards Nadeem as she spoke to him.Â
The frustrating part was he was not listening, not understanding the situation at all. He didnât have all the facts, only attempting to piece together bits and pieces from what he had seen and witnessed. Too wary that the people involved were on the wrong side of it, not able to trust anyone who was being questioned.Â
He directs the topic to the footage of the incident, âhe name dropped you. Tell me, why would he do that?â then he turns his attention to you, âand in this entire shitshow, he didnât lay a hand on you,â pointing to you.Â
So many questions with no answers to them. It was clear that everyone was confused, especially when the guy in Mattâs suit literally tossed everyone aside, killing Evans and letting you go. Spilling some bullshit about never wanting to hurt you. It certainly pointed towards the fact that he knew you, or that you both were acquainted somehow.
Nadeem thought you knew Daredevil. You did, but not this guy who decided to play dress up with his suit. Wasnât the Daredevil suit buried in the Midland Circle explosion?Â
Your mind whirls round and round, attempting to comprehend the moving pieces, this was definitely the work of Fisk, you know. Youâre sure Foggy and Karen do too, itâs hardly a surprise at this point. Who else but the man that wanted to cover his own ass, and sending Daredevil to kill Evans was killing two birds with a stone.
You canât even answer Nadeem, too wired, overthinking the whole event and you are running on fumes at this point, having not slept almost twenty four hours ago, and now you were half-traumatised and brought in for questioning.Â
âAs you can see Agent Nadeem, my client is in shock. A gun was pointed at her, and she was a witness to a murder,â Foggy raises from his chair, âand if my clients are not being charged with anything, I think we're done here.âÂ
How did he know you? Or it was because he knew the camera would be recovered and you would be questioned afterwards, he talked to you both as if you knew him personally as daredevil.Â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
I absolutely love the running gag of "meanwhile Fusco is starring in an action movie of his own across town." It truly never gets old. Fusco is saving a supermodel from a shoot out with a dozen armed men? Fusco is diffusing a bomb? Sure, why not! What the fuck can't he do.
Summary: when a new tenant moves into your apartment complex, your life changes in ways you had not expected. What starts off as a sweet friendship with your neighbour, it turns into something much more sinister. Lives become tangled unexpectedly and obsessive tendencies start blooming gradually. He starts to become rather reliant and attached to his neighbour who keeps getting into dangerous situations.Â
notes: chronicles with neighbour!dex, but it's literally following the events of DD s3 lol, nickname is Star, slow burn? Platonic relationships, Karen is lowkey your unofficial guardian lol, reader used to work at Nelson & Murdock, symptoms of depression, grief, post-defenders. tiny bit of Nadeem content, some more Dex content, unhealthy coping mechanisms/thoughts, any feedback is welcome :)Â - 4.2k
The days pass monotonously. A routine that numbs you considerably, because nothing spikes your adrenaline or buzzes you with great excitement. There was no shortage of things to do, but you were procrastinating. You still had to do the laundry and pick up some milk because you were out.Â
Mainly you stuck to the archives, dusting off files that had the information you were seeking, bothering Karen at the Bulletin, and working the rest of the days.Â
Despite not knowing what to believe regarding Mattâs supposed death, you were grieving. It was a strange kind of grief, it often worsened the loneliness of living by yourself. The independence meant you had to rely on yourself, fix everything yourself, and despite Karenâs constant presence in your life you didnât want to burden her when you needed someone.Â
Those thoughts pop in your head when you lie at night, staring at the wind chimes outside of your window where you had hung it by the fire escape railings.Â
Sometimes it was your father who you thought of, the ache in your chest that you didnât know how to fill, a want for someone or something.
Or it was the events of Midland Circle replaying in your head, knowing that so many people risked their lives for something meaningful, for the people, for the safety of their city.Â
You wonder what it would have been like if Matt was still here, would he have reconciled with Karen, or thought about convincing Foggy to keep running the law firm together again? Or was that wishful thinking on your part.Â
Maybe it would have been just like this, the only difference being Matt running the firm by himself, without each other, without Foggy, Karen. Living separate lives that were once so intertwined with each other.Â
You suppose there was a loss there too. Something about how Matt ultimately decided to push you all away was part of the grief you felt, melting into the reality that he may be gone for good.
There were too many deaths, too many losses to bear. How many more would you face in this lifetime?Â
Haven't you grieved enough in this life?Â
It had gradually taken effect. More anxious, the listless manner in which you operated. Sinking into the depths of your mind, the only escape being in an unconscious state. It neutralised the heaviness of your heart, allowing you to carry on for another day.Â
And your two good remaining friends Karen and Foggy insisted that you checked in with them constantly. They could see the toll this life had taken on you. Especially Karen, her eyes soft as she watches you falling asleep mid proofreading her piece, sighing at how quickly your eyes had drooped. Sheâd purposely kept the room warm, knowing that the temperature would calm you enough into a drowsy state.Â
She shakes you awake with much reluctance, it was almost seven, she knew you had work at eight tonight. So enough time to head home and freshen up before your shift. You knew that she disapproved of you working so late, often calling you a cab to go to work, instead of taking the subway.Â
âHey,â she lands her palm on your shoulder, âitâs almost seven, câmon.âÂ
You hum tiredly, eyes blinking open. You're met with a greying sky, you must've slept for a few hours then.Â
âCome on, Iâll get us a cab.â She brushed a few locks away from your cheek.Â
âOkay.â You mumble at her, stretching your body till a few pops could be heard, rolling your wrists to shake off the stiffness.Â
You both pack away your things and slip your jackets on. Before you make it outside, she stops you. Hand on your bicep, pulling you towards her, âyou know..â she starts, smoothing down your hair, âI worried about you sweetheart. Are you sleeping enough, eating?âÂ
âI am, yeah. Maybe I need more sleep, but Iâm okay Karen, really.â Eyes still droopy from your nap, but you manage a smile, brows crinkling at her worrisome nature.Â
She blinks down at you, simply trying to read you, âokay, if you say so. But I'm here, I'm always here for you.âÂ
âIâm always here for you too,â you squeeze her raised elbow. And she giggles lightly.Â
She hails a cab when she is satisfied with your answer, waving to you once she sees you safely inside your apartment building.Â
You hurry upstairs, stuffing your uniform into your bag, make yourself something to eat and grab an energy drink to sip on the way. You crack it open once you reach the lobby, taking a much needed gulp, letting the fizz burn your throat.Â
âWoah, easy there. That's gotta burn.â Itâs Dex, you neighbour. He seems to be heading upstairs.
âOh hey, I didn't have time to make coffee.â you gesture to the can.
âOff to work?â He asks, twisting his wrist to check the time on his watch.Â
âYep, I gotta run.â you make a move to start walking past him. âSo late?â Head tilted in question.Â
You twist around, âI do night shifts,â you give him a polite smile, raising your can as a goodbye instead of a wave this time.Â
He looks rather perplexed as he watches you exit the building, not expecting you to be doing night shifts as a young person. Whatever floats your boat, probably why he hears your door shutting close at the crack of dawn multiple times a week.Â
â
Another shift meant another night of working on autopilot. You check the time, itâs already two in the morning, time for your break. You begin to make your way to the staff break room.
You must have missed the whole debacle because the hospital is filled as of late, the mass casualty incident that happened a few days ago. You had the last few days off, so they were probably brought in then.Â
You needed coffee. Maybe that would help you carry through the night.Â
You tried to stay neutral, but that only lasted the majority of the morning until something came along ruining your mood, annoyance spiking, or a surge of energy pulsing late at night had to ruin your neutral state of mind. Your emotions were everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Either numbed by your thoughts or emotions reaching a boiling point.Â
The isolation helped, plugging your ears to block out the noise or working cases with Karen did too. It turned down the noise, the thoughts, giving you no reason to dwell on the past.Â
In need of a desperate cup of coffee, you navigate the coffee machine in the breakroom. Adding some cream, a little sugar and grab a cookie for when you take a little walk through the hospital. You reach the ICU, wanting to see how many casualties there had been during the shootout you had read about in the newspaper.Â
Walking past each room, you send a silent prayer for their recovery. You had watched the news, a squad injured in the line of fire during the Fisk ambush when transporting him. What a waste it had been just to guard him.Â
Your shoes sounded satisfying against the shiny hospital floors, sipping your coffee as you made your way through the hallway. You round the corner, heading for the end of the next hallway where the fire exit was located. More rooms filled with people recovering, EKG machines could be heard as you passed each room, soft conversation flowing through the halls.Â
Youâre almost to the end until you hear a familiar drawl, recognising Dex as heâs exiting one of the rooms. Heâs wearing a black quarter zip, which makes him look like one of those finance bros that you often see when youâre walking in the streets.
You would turn the other way, but youâre already near the exit. The only thing you could do is walk past him or give him a polite smile. You opt for a nod when you make eye contact with him. What would you even say, seeing as you often avoid light conversation with people. At this rate you would never make friends like this. A depreciating thought, nonetheless it was the truth.Â
âHey, didnât expect to see you here,â mouth quivered as recognition filled his eyes. Great. Â
âOh Iâm a cleaner, for the ambulances. Maybe I didnât mention that.â You give him a tight-lipped grin, looking a little sheepish.Â
He watches as the indents dip into the skin of your cheek, how your face contorts so naturally as you speak. It's strange heâs noticing all this when he himself said he was only curious, not this invested in watching your face twist into an expression that matches your words. He already had someone for that.Â
 So whyâŚwhy? Heâs thrown back into reality when he hears you calling his name.
âAre you alright Ben?â and again the change happens as the question is asked, brow furrowed in worry, lips pursing, waiting for his answer. Edges of your lashes touching as you blink tiredly.Â
âUhh yeah, I'm fine,â hand brushing the back of his neck, âlong day. I uhh..came to visit my friend, checking on how heâs doing.âÂ
âIâm sorry to hear that, hope he makes a full recovery,â you nod solemnly, looking down at the floor, a habit you had when things became emotional or when vulnerability was shown.Â
âThanks, I hope so too,â another habit catalogued. He realises there is a lot yet to see.Â
Thereâs a comfortable silence this time around. No words needed, unspoken understanding carrying through the silence.Â
His name is called from behind you, but as he bids you goodbye you stop him. Should you? You should. âHere, it looks like you need it more than me.âÂ
Then you bid him a goodnight, a nod in his direction, replacing your wave with makeshift cheers with your coffee cup, just like you had done with your drink in the lobby.Â
When your back faces him, heâs stood in his spot, loosely holding the packaged cookie. His lips part as he glances down at what you had given him. How should he react? He doesnât know. His name is called again which snaps him out of his thoughts. He turns around, beginning his walk down the hallway.Â
Chocolate chip. He wonders, is that also your favourite?
â
The next few days are chaotic. Reminding you of the crisis of the last few months. It was nerve wracking when you didnât have all the pieces of the puzzle at your disposal. It was best to not keep thinking about what could have happened because nothing could be changed, the past remained the past.Â
Still you remain there, and maybe someday that would be your undoing. Living in the past when you should be looking forward.Â
You had just left a coffee shop, allowing yourself to indulge in a hot cup of coffee whilst working on a few things for Karen. It was just past noon when you had stepped out heading back home when you could feel eyes on you.Â
You look across the road and a man in a suit is staring right back, and heâs following you. Steps behind you confirm that there are multiple people following you, one across the road, and two behind you.Â
They're not even concealing themself, like they want you to know that they are following you. Naturally you quicken your steps, clutching the strap of your bag. What did they want? You had made sure to cover your tracks whenever you got into questionable situations. Could it have been the files you had copied from the hospital? It couldnât possibly be that, right?
A car pulls up just as you reach the crosswalk, you turn around. âDonât move.â What do you do? You turn to the side, taking tentative steps away from them, before you could make it five steps back, the guy tackles you down onto the floor. Heâs twice your size and you can feel it. More specifically on your wrist, already weakened by overexertion, now you would have to wear brace again. Great.Â
This is what you were talking about your day turning to shit when something ruins your mood.Â
âItâs best you co-operate with us, hear me?âÂ
The guy then hauls you up, steering you towards the car. You cradle your wrist, rolling it slowly to see how much damage has been done.Â
Youâre being taken to Mattâs apartment. Heart rate elevated, you try to breathe and calm yourself down. No way they knew about Daredevil. The facts were drilled into you by Foggy and Karen. Matt had left for some time, no contact between you three for months. His bills were paid in case he came back. That was the story.Â
Now you had no idea why they wanted to speak with you. You were merely an assistant, sort of an intern that helped with building cases and filing information. Unless they had something on you, but there shouldn't be anything that you have done that broke the law. Not reported at least.Â
You're led into his apartment, you spot Karen, face etched into one of worry. She sees you.
âAre you okay? What happened?â she pulls you in, giving you a hug.Â
âI donât know, they came out of nowhere. Whatâs going on Karen?âÂ
You roll your wrist, wincing at the strain it caused. She looks down, âdid they hurt you?âÂ
You look to the side where one of the guys wearing an FBI jacket is watching you both, you look back at Karen, âno, no it was my fault.âÂ
You look back at him, âyou were a secretary at Nelson & Murdock?âÂ
âAn intern actually.â
âAnd when did the firm start working for Wilson Fisk?â He asks.
This time Karen replies, âummâŚwe never worked for Wilson Fisk.âÂ
You know you donât have the right answers for him, you did begin working with the law firm fairly recently, mostly working in the shadows. Simple tasks, maybe a couple risky endeavours in the name of finding the right information. And simply speaking Karen was much more involved than you were, and for good reason.Â
Their conversation drowns in the back of your mind, you eye the pile of wet clothes, undoubtedly left by Matt, only to be brought back to reality when you feel a hand clasping around your forearm, careful of your wrist, Karen throws him a bone.Â
To investigate a man called Felix Manning rather than a small time law firm that never worked with Fisk.Â
âCome on, letâs get out of here,â she drags you out of there, you tail behind her, glancing back at the agent.Â
You can hear her breathing becoming heavy, like sheâs about to cry. Once you're both outside, you try to console her.Â
âAs far as they know, Matt has been missing. Thatâs all they know, heâs no law breaker Karen.âÂ
âYes, but they're piecing things together. The FBI is involved for Godâs sake.â she sniffs, frustration rolling off her.Â
âYeah, I know.â You're both right to be worried, you hope this ends as quick as it started. Who knows what kind of dirt they were willing to pile up onto Nelson & Murdock. âLetâs grab some coffee, weâll talk there.âÂ
She squeezes your hand, nodding frantically. âYeah, good idea.âÂ
â
Heâs an overthinker. Always conscious of what heâs doing, how he portrays himself to society. Anything that breaks his structure, the routines he has curated over the years, perfected it even, and when things begin to slip out of his grasp and there is a lack of control, he spirals.Â
He has to fix it.Â
He has integrated within society as one does, but with a past like his, he has to try much harder to become a decent person. Drowning himself in work. Work that allows him to showcase his skills which then achieves the good things a decent person does.Â
He joined the suicide hotline, advising people who were struggling, and he would follow or mimic those around him like he had been taught. Looking for guidance, some kind of moral compass that would lead him towards being a decent human being, like Dr Mercer had taught him to be.Â
She had instilled lessons to allow him to cope, one of them being empathy. To act with kindness, to give back, to help others when they were in pain. He did that, he created a structure in his life that let him to be normal. Or what a normal life looked like.Â
But now, the job is at the forefront of his life. Creeping into the corners of his routine, overshadowing his every step, he was essentially drowning. The stress was building gradually, despite the rigidity of his routine. It was slowly cracking.Â
He needed to focus. On something that would provide him solace in these trying times. He was able to find that with Julie, but he knew their meeting was set-up. Orchestrated by Fisk, and Dex had just ruined his chances of getting close to her, to finally admire someone not from afar, but within his reach.Â
He got way in over his head. Couldnât keep his mouth from running, then immediately backtracking as if he could fix his mistake. But he couldnât.Â
His temperature was high, he was boiling from within, sweat accumulated across his back, trickling down his spine. His fist is the wall, breaking past the plaster and splitting his knuckles till blood seeped out.Â
Walking around his apartment like a mad man, plates and cups scattered across his carpet, glass shards broken on the floor. A knife lodged in the picture frame, directly on Julieâs form. The picture he looked at in the mornings before he left for work, the only picture that stood out was the one she was in.Â
Eyes zeroed on her smile, beaming wide as if she was looking at him. Smiling, at him.Â
With the knife sticking out of the frame, he had unleashed his anger. He felt betrayed. She simply didnât understand him. How could she?Â
He thinks no one will, not after how deep she cut him. No one will come close to him again.
His heart sinks at the realisation that he may have to kill her. No he couldnât do that. Why would he even think that? His pupils blew wide open, heart hammering inside his chest.Â
With that, he sinks down onto the floor, back against the couch. The tape is ready for him to start listening to, his only source of guidance for tonight. He hears a knock. Itâs not the obnoxious knocking he would expect, so he checks the peephole before opening the door, cracking it a little so that he could see who was knocking at this hour.Â
Itâs you. HisâŚneighbour, standing under the amber lamp that hung behind you. The light illuminating your features differently than it had done under the hospital lights. These were softer, made the colour of your eyes more visible, the textures, the lines all more prominent.Â
You take a look at him. His eyes are red rimmed, wet with tears. His pupils wide, panicked even, and his knuckles stained red.Â
âWant me to patch you up?âÂ
â
You get back home late. You realise that you canât find your brace for your wrist anywhere. Youâve been rummaging through your cupboard for the past twenty minutes, but no luck. A run to the 24/7 pharmacy it is.Â
You had to pick up some essentials for your healing cut anyway, so why not? Stocking up on supplies like medication and disinfectant and for the main purpose the wrist brace. You also pass the store for some snacks, youâd rather have something to munch on after today.Â
You know something's off once you've stepped into your apartment. You hear noises you've never heard from Dex's apartment. Usually he was a pretty quiet guy, so this was out of the ordinary to hear, especially at this time at night. You wait until the noise subsides before clicking your door open and knocking on his door.Â
He cracked it open enough for you to see him. His knuckles were split. You'd suspected he may have hurt himself, so you had made sure to bring a small medical kit with you.Â
âWant me to patch you up?â It comes out louder than a whisper, careful not to scare him off with the volume of your voice.Â
As he's getting bandaged up, he studies your motions. And again, taking you in. How you clean the blood with gentle swipes, yet firm in the way you hold his hand, seeming to know what to do, bandages not too tight, just the right amount of stretch to feel comfortable.Â
The table is messy, disorganised. The med kit opened haphazardly with the things piled around in a heap, set in no order at all. A sign that you were not a very tidy person, which he knew already with the time spent with you at your place the other night tending to your shoulder. He watches how you shove all the wrappers and used gauze into the plastic bag. Very messy indeed.Â
It takes his mind off what had occurred previously. Noting how you're still holding onto his hand.Â
You look down at the white bandages, absent-mindedly stroking the sides of his knuckles. An unconscious attempt at soothing him or the anger he had unleashed on his tableware.Â
âYour wrist. What happened to it?â He nods down at the brace. You look down, unstrapping the brace from your wrist to have a look if it has bruised. Itâs only a little red and tender in the middle. You roll your wrist in circular motions, getting the feel of how bad the pain was.Â
He watches closely as you wince when rolling your wrist. âThat bad?â He takes your arm into his hands, smoothing his fingers over the discolouration, pressing around it to make sure nothing is broken. âIce it before you go to sleep.âÂ
If you looked closely, you could see how his jaw had clenched, slightly stiff as he keeps his eyes trained on your wrist, holding it gently as he thumbs over it in a back and forth motion.Â
It was apparent that he wasnât doing too well. He had mentioned in passing how the stress was catching up to him lately, then the papers came out reporting the investigation in regards to the shootout that he had been involved in.Â
It had put him in prime position to be questioned about fulfilling his duty as part of the SWAT team.Â
Who knows? Maybe that was why he had broken down tonight. He looked like he needed a hug too, but you weren't sure if he was comfortable with that. It looked like that would freak him out even more, so you opted to clean his knuckles, offering him a few words of comfort and then directing him to his bed with, "it's late, you'll feel better after you sleep,â and then under your breath, âI hope."Â
You push him towards his bedroom, guiding him by his shoulders, not wanting to invade his private space in his own home, you stay outside until his door closes.Â
You leave some fresh gauze and disinfectant, along with a bottle of water and some snacks you had purchased earlier. And attempt to shovel up as much glass as you could with a dustpan and brush. Discarding any broken items and moving things to their rightful places.Â
It was out of the ordinary for you to go above and beyond like this. You would when it is someone you know and care about, and at least in your books Dex was an acquaintance, a neighbour. That was all. Maybe more, friends?Â
But you knew deep down that this was how a decent person acted, because at times you wished that someone would have looked after you this way, doing much more than what you had done. This was the bare minimum, but you hadnât expected anyone to do the same.Â
Doing what you thought he deserved. Taking in how clean and uniform his apartment looked, it seemed like he enjoyed the look of an organised living space. He would definitely be the kind of person to scold you if he saw your apartment. Too much warmth, trinkets, messy where it shouldnât be. He would have an aneurysm if he saw how you lived compared to him.Â
Still, he might have needed someone to be there for him, offering their company when he was struggling. Helping someone when they were in pain.Â
A quality you possessed that had never left you. It was the kindness that drew people in once they knew you.Â
It's what drew your friends to you, Foggy, Matt, Karen. That caring nature, where you showed understanding, you listened and allowed them to feel without any judgement.Â
Satisfied with the quick progress, you begin to leave. Your eyes linger where a picture frame hangs. Lopsided, with a knife lodged within the frame.Â
Summary: when a new tenant moves into your apartment complex, your life changes in ways you had not expected. What starts off as a sweet friendship with your neighbour, it turns into something much more sinister. Lives become tangled unexpectedly and obsessive tendencies start blooming gradually. He starts to become rather reliant and attached to his neighbour who keeps getting into dangerous situations.Â
notes: chronicles with neighbour!dex, but it's literally following the events of DD s3 lol, nickname is Star (has a sweet meaning behind it), slow burn? Platonic relationships, Karen is lowkey your unofficial guardian, reader used to work at Nelson & Murdock, symptoms of depression, grief, follows the events after defenders and spoilers for defenders/DD s3. mostly just wordbuilding. any feedback is welcome :) - 3.7k
The small apartment that you lived in was built in an area with little to no surveillance. Easy to slip in and out without being sighted, a place that people wouldn't take notice of.
Therefore, it didnât cost much compared to other places, and whilst the security was lax, or non-existent more like, it was also the other maintenance lacking within the building that led to a more manageable rent for someone working part-time jobs with a small inheritance your father had left for you. It also did mean that the tenants did not complain too much.Â
A rat here, or the chipped infrastructure, even the old gym with rusted weights that was located on the top floor, there were only but hushed complaints from your gossiping neighbours.Â
And oftentimes, when the gossip did meet your ears, that was how you knew what was happening in real-time within the building.
Conveniently, this occurred when the tenants were passing by or conversing in twoâs, naturally you caught wind of it, your primary source of news in regards to the apartment complex.
By overhearing the tenants, the ones that lived on a different floor to you, about a new tenant joining the club, your floor was mentioned, piqueing your interest. There hadnât been many tenants moving in and out as of late.Â
You had been looking for some files for Karen who had requested you could fish out for her, some extracurricular digging skills you had acquired over the years came into use when you started helping Karen out for some of the articles she was writing. She was doing you a favour asking, because you had nothing more to do and the extra cash coming in was useful.Â
It was a hobby of some sort, and one you passively indulged in, which came into use for interning at Nelson and Murdock some time ago.Â
You push through the doors and into the lobby, it was just as cold in the lobby as it was outside. You make your way to the staircase, the elevator has been broken for about three weeks now, with no sign of it getting fixed by the manager of the building. It was better to keep your expectations low, knowing there would be no chance it would be getting fixed anytime soon. Or ever, if you look at how nothing was getting fixed around here.
It was good exercise too, taking the stairs, so youâll take it. Not that you had an option in that manner. Exhausted and in your own world, you perk up a little when the name of your floor is being mentioned. You slow down, catching wind of the last bits of their conversation, piecing together the words, something about the new tenant and floor three.Â
You think it may be the apartment next to yours that has been empty for the last six months, nobody had occupied it thus far, so maybe it would be that one?
It would be a matter of time till you met the new tenant who would probably be moving their things in, not that you were looking forward to striking up meaningless conversations. It would likely end up with you giving them awkward smiles as you passed each other in the hallways.Â
Good thing you didnât have a set schedule. Your odd hours allowed you to often snake through the lobby and into your apartment without exchanging pleasantries with your neighbours.Â
â
Since you had the day off from work, you had met up with Karen that day, unable to stay away from knowing what was happening, the curiosity getting the best of you.Â
It hadnât been long since the disastrous incident. Fresh injuries still healing day by day.Â
Too close to the explosion, that is how you got a couple scrapes and bruises from the aftermath of Midland Circle. Cuts still healing, stitches to be taken out soon and fading bruises were still visible on your face.Â
In a place like Hellâs Kitchen, this was not often questioned, but you still felt the need to cover yourself, ducking your head down a little when people did a double take when looking at your face.Â
So you hid your face with a cap, tugging at it constantly, as if it would hide your face away even more. Disliking the attention you thought it was bringing, yet people were probably not even looking, but you still did it anyway. Who likes being perceived anyway?Â
Regardless of how much grief surrounded the aftermath, all of you had to move on at some point. That was what Foggy kept saying, but coming to terms with it was not coming easy. Karen still held onto some kind of cynical hope that Matt was still alive. How could she let go of him when there was a possibility he was out there somewhere.Â
You didnât know what to believe.Â
A weird third thing of denial and acceptance, possibly bargaining with yourself. You were unsure of which stage of grief you were experiencing. It was familiar to you, the grief.Â
Acceptance came late when your father passed, and you were constantly reminded that recovery was not linear.Â
Some days your body just wouldnât co-operate with you, and on other days, your body worked on autopilot. A part of you held onto that hope Karen had, the idea that Matt was still alive, but logically speaking it was unlikely, a whole building had collapsed on him after all.Â
So you were floating around that third thing. Not knowing. Not fully believing anything. Â
But still you worked, researched at the city archives, asked around for information per Karenâs request. It wasnât all too bad, just tiring, lonely. Nothing new, it had become a normal aspect of your life.Â
It had been about a couple weeks since your new neighbour had moved in, and so far you hadnât crossed paths thankfully. In no way were you the kind of person that gave your new neighbours a welcome gift.Â
The only thing that you had noticed from your amazing investigative skills is that his work was pretty demanding. Not that you were keeping tabs, but you canât exactly not listen when the doors are opening and shutting close rather loudly.Â
Then when your timings did align, when you came back from your shift, he was exiting the lobby, and when you crossed paths in the hallway upstairs, tight lipped smiles were exchanged.
After your day of running errands is when you had a silent introduction to your next door neighbour.Â
It involved meeting up with Karen at her office, she asked if you could proofread some pieces for her, she knew you had some insight into the Midland Circle crisis situation.Â
You were able to subtly overhear what some of the officers were saying when all of you were holed up at the precinct, which came in pretty handy for the multiple articles that were published by the Bulletin.Â
Your time with her was spent sitting in her office as she worked. At times, passing out from the lack of sleep, which would eventually catch up to you due to the relentlessness of night shift cleaning. But all in all, it was nice having her around. Maybe it was the other way around, glad she kept you around.Â
To stick together despite how difficult the circumstances were and how quickly things were changing around here. For all of your sanity, not wanting to break off the bond that had been forged many years since.Â
You walked back, grabbing some groceries, as well as passing the library for a new book to read before heading back home. As you make your way up the three flights of stairs, pushing the door to enter your floor, you hear a couple tenants talking amongst themselves.Â
You walk towards your door, bag rustling as you lightly swing it in time with your steps. As you pass the old ladies, you hear them speaking in hushed tones, only catching a part of their conversation as you reach your door.Â
Coincidentally, you note that your new neighbour is also at his door, messing with his keys, trying to find the right one to open the door to his apartment.Â
A short glance his way, seeing as his mouth is quirked to the side, itâs evident that heâs listening. Looking away from him to shove your key into the slot.Â
Your head is tilted slightly to the side, aware of your surroundings, always heedful of your environment when you are uncomfortable, especially now.Â
You both are taking your time, ears subtly peeled for the useless gossip that is more amusing than it should be. His eyes stray from his keys to your direction, and just as they land on you, he can see your brows raised at the old ladiesâ comments.Â
Given your reaction, he assumes they were talking about you. Something about being in an accident. The bag hanging from your hand clenches into a fist, and before he can fully register the comment, you're already halfway through the doorway.
The door echoes shut with more force than necessary. A resounding click snaps the small group into silence.Â
He huffs a little, a small smile present on his face at how easily the tenants had shut their mouths. He then enters his apartment, closing his door with considerably less force.Â
â
With Nelson and Murdock dissolved, no longer partners in law, but people who had separated into four individuals. A journalist, a lawyer, a cleaner, and one dead. Or presumed dead.Â
You had to get a new job because you were no longer interning. A job that paid enough to stay afloat since it had been somewhat a struggle up until now with affording things other than food and rent.Â
Usually the rent was covered by your small salary from interning at the law firm, and the food was covered by Nelson and Murdock's payment that they received through food, or you made do with what you had. Sometimes Karen would lend you things that you couldn't get, she'd always frame it like she didn't need it herself, or that she had it in excess.Â
From the beginning it was her willingness to help others that then led you to intern for the small law firm. Having convinced the two lawyers that you needed a job along with experience, whilst they needed an assistant/intern. It worked well for both parties, a mutually beneficial partnership.
Your apathy towards slipping into situations was rather perturbing for all of your co-workers that happened to become your friends. That was your reaction when coming across Mattâs identity. Funnily, you handled it well enough in his opinion.Â
What brought Karen to vouch for you the quality you possessed where you couldnât rest till you had an answer. Otherwise you would stay awake thinking about what more or how differently it could've gone.Â
Similar to Karen, yet not similar enough for you to make it your day job like she had. Rather choosing to lend a hand in the investigative process where you could just find and report. You think that you were never meant to be a lawyer, or a journalist, you never really knew what you wanted to do.
Having a dream and working towards a career was not something that you had focused on when growing up, not like your peers did. You just floated around, working odd jobs. Mostly enjoying the present, not looking towards the future when your father was sick. Cherishing the moments you had left with him, despite the sorrow that would soon be dealt with, you had appreciated the moments before they became memories that you would look back on later in life.Â
Tired, always tired after your father passed.Â
You needed a purpose, and that wasnât something you could just find easily. You had to work for it, connect with something, because it rarely lands in the palm of your hand. What did ease your worries was interning at Nelson & Murdock.Â
It kept your mind busy as you helped people. Making a difference this way was a good and honourable thing, finding the truth, though it ended up in running into trouble no matter how much Karen, Foggy or Matt tried to steer you away. You always did follow in their footsteps.Â
You think when Karen finally understood why you were relentless in your pursuit of discovering the facts was after how the Frank Castle case panned out. Into the line of fire. It was exhilarating, and for a person with no purpose, this was turning out to be a great purpose to have. It made you feel alive. Skin prickling with goosebumps, those lightbulb moments that allowed the âcaseâ to be cracked, the most important of them all advocating for those who needed someone.Â
It probably wasnât a good thing that you felt this way about getting into risky business. Some may say you were an adrenaline junkie, but that was far from the truth.Â
With one of the people you had looked up to was now dead or presumed dead, you had toned down how you got your information for research purposes. That is what you called it. Research.Â
Finding a job where you cleaned ambulances at night turned out to be mediocre, systematic. Sometimes it was cleaning blood off the walls of the vehicle, but mostly it was disinfecting everything, the equipment, deep cleaning from top to bottom, then re-stocking it all. It was methodical and mindless work. And you got a lot more days off than the average person dueÂ
To the timing of the shift.Â
The rest of the time you were holed up in your apartment, keeping busy, mostly digging up stuff at the city archive or on the internet. Â
A new beginning, which didnât feel like it was. Mindlessly surviving each day, with no direction, and a declining will to live. But you kept waking up each day, so that was something.Â
The soft clinking of the wind chime that had been gifted by Matt for your birthday hung outside your bedroom window. The sound puts you to sleep most nights. Your kind of white noise, preferring it over a fan or meditative music to lull you to sleep.Â
It clinked softly, the thin metal chains that hung at the bottom adding an extra chime. Wafting around in the wind, the little stars at the end of the chain rattling against each other, your favourite part of the whole thing. The stars. And now they all called you Star, it had stuck ever since it had been gifted to you, a reflection of who you were.Â
The reasoning was simple, you had flourished under their guidance, being useful to building their cases more than once, it had slipped out, but it fit you.Â
Sometimes when your alarm woke you out of your unconscious state, youâd contemplate your life choices, as one does, you hear the little clinks of the stars at the bottom of the wind chime, the tubes creating such a melodic sound that roused you enough to get out of bed.Â
The last physical memory of him was what put you to sleep at night.Â
The chimes were how you got that name, Star. Ironic wasnât it?Â
â
The second time you were introduced to your neighbour was about two weeks after the indirect exchange. By now, your stitches had been taken out leaving a red line above your brow, faded bruises were now a yellowish green colour. Enough for you to forgo wearing a cap whenever you left the building.Â
It was still pretty early in the morning, the time where only a select amount of people were awake, including you. You opted to get a few things out of the way. For example, grab the mail, maybe youâd even grab a coffee later and then go poke around places that were probably off limits to someone who wasnât even a journalist.Â
Karenâs hands were full with another Midland Circle piece, so she had politely asked for you to follow up on finding out who had become sick from the release of emissions during the explosion. So rifling through files and reports it was for the rest of the day. Your employment at the hospital granted you access to the filed units upstairs, well more like you snuck in, kind of illegal but no one had to find out.Â
Shoving the key into the slot, you twist it open and grab your mail. With your eyes glued on the letters in hand, you start rifling through the small stack, only for your eyes to shift to the side where a pair of boots is visible from your peripheral.Â
Your eyes trail up slowly, only to be met with your neighbourâs eyes, already watching you. Your fingers loosen a little, taken aback from the sudden eye contact and your letters sill onto the floor.Â
You curse softly, bending down, only to be met with his outstretched hand before you could even pick it up.Â
âHere.â He hands you the fallen envelopes.
âOh, thanks,â you give him a lopsided smile, slightly embarrassed at how this interaction was going. So you stay quiet, toying with the corner of the letter, he watches you curiously.Â
He thinks back on that day in the hallway, overhearing some of the tenants talking about you being in an accident. He can see how they would assume you had been in one.Â
It definitely looked like it had been nasty, he wouldn't typically keep an eye out for this kind of thing, but the interaction that day stuck with him for some reason, given that he knew you were next door neighbours, he felt it would be polite to keep up appearances and exercise some empathy.Â
He knew what he did was questionable at times, borderline weird, he didnât want anyone to assume the worst about him. It was unlikely that someone would pick up on his late night habits, he still had to be cautious.Â
He had a clean record, people who could vouch for him, the teamâs psychiatrist who had already cleared him, partners and coworkers that knew him well enough, trusted him. So he was good. It wouldnât be a terrible thing if he made himself look a good guy to the people residing in the same building as him.Â
Over the years he had developed questionable coping mechanisms and really didnât want the trouble of explaining himself if it ever came to it that someone caught him when his story didnât line up.Â
So at least if things blew out of proportion, these friendly exchanges between his tenants may be useful, he had to think further. A persona fit to convince people he was not a bad person.Â
It was far-fetched, the way in which he would overthink how he interacted or how his behaviour would be interpreted and now it meant he was walking on eggshells all the damn time.Â
It was exhausting, but in his mind it was a necessary burden he took on, especially now that he lived in a new and unfamiliar place. Not a threat exactly, but he had to take certain measures.Â
In his mind he had to portray himself as a normal guy, if heâs able to do that then he wonât be questioned. No one questions the guy who smiles, asks about your day and looks like he works a normal job, because he is a normal guy.
âIâm your neighbour, uh.. next door to you I think. Nameâs Ben, but everyone calls me Dex.âÂ
âYeah, I've seen you around, nice to meet you.â You smile and nod, introducing yourself as well.Â
âI haven't had the chance to ask anyone, but I was wondering why the elevator didnât work,â he gestures with his thumb. âItâs been out of order for weeks now. Any chance you know why.âÂ
âUm, yeah actually. Remember that earthquake ages ago with a 4.6 magnitude, it caused a lot of damage, and the maintenance of the building doesnât cover the cost of fixing the elevator. Itâs been a real problem for some.â Â
âOh I see,â he nods, he pauses before asking, âso you a student orâŚ?âÂ
You shake your head, âno I uhh...work as a cleaner. You?âÂ
âI work in law enforcement, FBI.â He crosses his arms, watching as your eyes crinkle a little after hearing his occupation. Heâs curious about what you think, that kind of reaction definitely has a response behind it, but you donât say anything, rather you avert your eyes elsewhere.Â
âThat surprising?â He probes a little.
âI guess, sure.â you shrug your shoulders, âyou do look pretty young to be in the FBI, I mean dunno about age requirements but..âÂ
Heâs sporting a smile, mouth quirking to the side, he winces from the cut on his lip that you hadnât noticed before, âwhat happened there?âÂ
âWork,â he replies, of course. You assumed so, âyou?âÂ
âAccident,â a sort of smirk makes its way onto your face, he huffs out a short laugh, both finding it a little funny. You both knew where he had heard about your little accident.Â
âYeah I heard. It looks like it's healing well though.â He nods towards your face, eyes trailing back to the cut where your stitches previously had been.Â
So heâs been observing you. You didnât expect any less from a guy who does that for a living. âItâs much better than before.â you check the time, âI have to get going, but it was nice meeting you Ben."Â
You push into the entrance of the lobby, not before giving him a little wave. You need to get a move on, the files would take a long time to rifle through, best to get an early start before the hospital is flooded with people and there would be a higher chance of getting caught in the middle of it. Wasnât exactly legal. Â
Dex stands there, you had called him Ben. A name he hadnât been called in such a long time.Â
As curious as he was, there wasnât much about you that stood out, except the obvious accident you had been in.Â
He knew you were young, worked odd shifts by the look of your dark eyebags, and a little awkward, endearingly so. No threat, that was clear to him. So he clearly had nothing to worry about.Â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
yall want a clingy possessive bf like dex until he's counting how many toilet paper squares were used while he was out, then accusing you of cheating until you finally admit to having diarrhoea
omg i love your sweet reader x dex fics i need more of themđ like a slow morning with them or anything:(( they are so cute
Omg love writing stuff like this, one of my favs bc itâs so self indulgentâŚ.and you know me with self indulgent <3
The weekend mornings are actually often times his favorite. Because of the fact that theyâre slow, not rushed because thereâs no alarms to set. No where to be except exactly where you are, with him and his big arms snaked around your middle. One leg thrown over you for good measure.
Heâs your human weighted blanket, which youâve said many a times and itâs maybe the achievement heâs most of proud of.
He doesnât want to depart from you, wrestles with it for almost an entire hour while you snore in his hold, head rested on one of his biceps while your arms have wrapped themselves around his thick arm completely.
Youâre wearing a massive tee thatâs fallen halfway off your shoulder, and it tempts him. Beckons him. Until finally he kisses the flesh with warm, chapped lips. And then he canât help himself because you taste good, feel real and whole and sleepy and so he travels up your neck - feels goosebumps rise.
You shuffle against him, till youâre turning around and facing him and heâs able to look at all the sleepy lines on your face and tousled hair and swollen lips.
The warmth of his mouth against your nose, your forehead, rouses you to wake. He doesnât move away or pretend like he hasnât been watching you sleep for some time now.
âSleep well?â
He asks, hands on your shoulder, your cheek. He watches your eyes threaten to shut again, feels the tension when youâre reaching your arms up to stretch your tired muscles. He loves the little scrunchy face you make, itâs one of his favorites.
You nod, hands finding his sides, his chest and wandering with a searching touch. You drag yourself closer using his bicep for leverage and this is his favorite part.
You bury yourself as close as humanly possible against his middle, rubbing your face and body against him like something desperate for warmth and safety - and he cocoons you with his arms. Presses you close while you nuzzle him.
âIâm hungry. I want coffee.â Itâs muffled against his bare chest, tickling him badly but heâd never admit that out loud. The shiver that wrecks through him betrays him, though.
âThen whyâd you make yourself so comfortable?â He only says it to tease, heâd let you stay here for as long as youâd like. Wouldnât move a muscle until you told him to. His lazy circles along your soft back pause whenever you start wriggling from his grip.
Youâre trying to be sleepy and stubborn, to move away and incite this exact reaction.
His immovable body going tense, his arms keeping you caged in till you have no choice but to throw your arms around his neck and bury your face in the junction of his shoulder.
And then of course, with your bodies pressed so close and the angle being so awkward, heâs able to surrender to you crawling on top of him. Just using him as a secondary mattress really, going limp with your thighs on either side of his thick waist and your head still rested against his throat.
He rubs slow circles on your back, wide palmed and patient.
âWe can go get breakfast, sleepy.â He mumbles against the top of your head. Neither of you make any effort to move though, and you kiss his Adamâs apple when he talks.
You donât make anything easy. Heâd have it no other way.
âMmmm, five more minutes. You smell gooooood, you left me to go shower?â You pop your head up, giving him your best, most convincing sad face. He doesnât buy it, but he entertains you nonetheless.
He poked your jutted bottom lip, rubs your chin with his thumb.
âCouldnât wake you up, you were drooling.â
You feign offense, scoffing and he smiles like a lovesick puppy when you catch his finger in your mouth.
âNot true! I donât droolâŚ.â Your head is on his chest now, teeth nibbling at his collarbone as a warning. It does nothing but make his skin tingle, his belly warm.
âI have photographic evidence.â He replies, purposefully riling you up because he has nothing better to do. And god, youâre bratty in the mornings.
You sit up, still sat on his waist, arms folded across your chest. You couldnât look more pitifully cute than you do now, and he wants to freeze moments like this. Keep them with him forever.
âIâll kill you, pretty boy.â
This makes him genuinely laugh, because youâre so not intimidating and your eyes are still a little puffy from sleep and your hair is a mess. Youâre the most gorgeous earthly thing heâs ever seen, and itâs times like this that take him out of himself. That remind him heâs got you on top of him, making goofy faces and threatening his life.
Heâs so in love.
His hands reach out and his palms find sanctuary on your upper thighs, rubbing up and down the warm flesh.
âMy brave brave girl,â he says, pretending to be casual about the way heâs staring at you with stars in his eyes. He unfastens your crossed arms, and his fingers are so gentle around your wrists you almost immediately melt back into his touch.
âHow boutâ we talk about it after we get food in you? Hmm?â
Heâs pulling you down, and youâre no match for what he does to you, for the inability to do anything other than fall on top of him again and let him press hot kisses on your face. You hum, a sound of pure delight and he knows heâs gotten you. Disarmed that morning attitude.
âMmmm, okay. I guess, hey that tickles please, Dex!âYouâre giggling is muffled by his throat again and doesnât cease the wet presses of his mouth against your neck.
No, the sound is too harmonic, too beautiful for him to think about stopping. And then youâre being flipped over with zero fight, squealing wildly in the process till heâs hovering over you with intense, adoring eyes. And then he chews on the inside of his bottom lip, searches inside his head for something.
âYou called me pretty.â He states, cocking his head to the side like heâs won some sort of imaginary battle with your will. Like heâs just remembered the words rolling off your tongue.
His sweet girls back again cause now youâre scratching at his scalp, letting him rest his chin against your breasts. You trace the scar on his cheek, admire the lines by his eyes and the length of his lashes.
âYeah, I did, cause you are. Can you kiss me again please?â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
đ¨đŞđ˘đ˘đđ§đŽ: how did one weekly dinner manage to ruin everything?
đŹđđ¤: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter/Bullseye x Female!Murdock Reader
đŹđ¤đ§đ đđ¤đŞđŁđŠ: 2.5k
đŹđđ§đŁđđŁđđ¨: soulmate au, arguing, swearing, mentions of bodily harm, a forced kiss (I think), angst/hurt. If I have missed any please let me know!
đĽđ§đđŤđđ¤đŞđ¨ đđđđĽđŠđđ§: I Can See You
đŽ/đť: Part 3 of this series! A bit of angst/hurt before these two start their journey. I really need to think of a name for this series. Any suggestions? Like before feedback is welcome!
âFlashes of the battle come back to me in a blurâŚâ â The Great War by Taylor Swift
The past three days had been unbearable.
Matt had called six times, Karen had texted eleven, and every single time your phone lit up with their names, guilt twisted in your stomach so hard that you felt sick.
You knew avoiding them wouldnât solve anything and that it would just make them concerned and confused. But every time you went to answer their calls, your nerves made you panic. Because how were you supposed to tell them?
How were you supposed to look your brother and best friend in the eyes and tell them that the man who shot you is your soulmate and you keep letting him back in your life?
Sighing tiredly, you rubbed the mark on your collarbone as your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
Matt. Again.
You stared at it until the ringing stopped, and then a ping indicated that a text had come through. Dropping the spoon into your half-eaten bowl of cereal, you grabbed your phone.
Matt:Â Dinner tonight. No excuses.
You closed your eyes briefly before another ping sounded.
Karen:Â If you ghost us again Iâm coming over there and dragging you out with us.
Despite everything, a weak laugh escaped you. God, you missed them. Which made your guilt even worse.
Your fingers hovered over the screen before finally typing and sending a single sentence.
Mattâs apartment smelled like pasta sauce and garlic bread.
Which made the dread clawing at your chest almost painful.
Karen stood near the stove with a glass of wine in hand while Matt finished plating dinner, movements smooth and precise despite his blindness.
For one horrible moment, you thought about lying again. Considered faking a smile and pretending that everything was fine.
âThere she is.â Matt smiled when he heard you step inside.
Sliding off your shoes, Karen set down her wine glass as she walked over and hugged you tightly.
âYou look exhausted,â she muttered against your shoulder.
âIâve been busy.â You say, hugging her back.
âYouâve been avoiding us.â She said, hugging you tighter.
You forced a weak smile. âThat too.â
Karen pulled back just enough to study your face before letting you go.
Mattâs head tilted slightly. âYou havenât been sleeping.â
You swallowed thickly. âNo.â
The silence lingered a little too long for Matt to not notice your nerves.
âDinnerâs ready,â he said quietly.
The three of you settled around the small kitchen table, the room glowing warm under dim lighting while a soft breeze swept through it from the open window.
Normally this wouldâve comforted you. Tonight it just made you feel trapped as Karen talked about work and Matt complained about a client.
Nodding at the right moments while barely tasting the food they made, your heartbeat refused to slow down, and you knew Matt could hear it.
It was halfway through dinner when Karen sighed and set her fork down.
âOkay,â she said carefully. âWhatâs going on with you?â
Your stomach dropped. âNothing.â
âBullshit.â
âKaren,â
âNo! Youâve been avoiding us for days,â she interrupted. âYou look miserable, youâre barely speaking, and don't think for a second we haven't noticed how weird you get when Poindexter is mentioned.â
You froze as your breath stuttered, and across the table, Matt went completely still.
The apartment suddenly felt suffocatingly quiet as your already racing heart got faster.
âWait.â He whispered.
Your chest tightened painfully as Matt turned towards you, and in that moment you realised by the look on his face that he already suspected your secret.
âThatâs why,â Matt said quietly.
Your eyes burned immediately. âI didnât know how to tell you.â
Karen stared between the two of you, confused. âIs this another one of those twin things?â
âSay it,â Matt said.
âMatty,â your voice cracked as your fingers shook around your fork.
âBug,â Matt softly said your childhood nickname. âJust say it.â
You swallowed hard as you looked down at your barely touched dinner.
âDex is my soulmate.â You finally whispered.
Your eyes lifted as the room fell silent at your confession despite your chest feeling a little lighter.
âOh my God.â Karen's words came out angry as she looked at you like you'd physically struck her.
âNo,â she said immediately after. âNo.â
Beside her, Matt sat motionless.
âDoes he know?â He asked.
You almost released a bitter laugh because, of course, that would be Mattâs first question.
Not are you okay? Or has he hurt you? Or are you seeing him?
But does he know? Because Matt understood exactly what it meant if Dex did.
âYes.â You say.
Karen let out a disbelieving laugh. âYou told him?â
âI didnât have to.â You tell them.
Mattâs jaw tightened slightly. âHow long?â
Your throat closed. âSince the night he shot me.â
Karen inhaled sharply, and Matt looked sick for the first time all evening.
Because now they understood.
Dex had known the entire time. While imprisoned, while isolated, while unmedicated and unstable.
Obsessing about you.
âOh my God,â Karen whispered, horrified now instead of angry.
You stared down at your hands in your lap. âI didnât know what to do.â
âYou shouldâve stayed away from him.â Karen exclaimed, standing abruptly from the table.
You twisted your fingers tightly together, hoping the slight pain would ease the tightness in your chest.
âI tried.â
âHe shot you.â
âI know.â
âHe nearly killed Foggy.â
Your breath caught painfully as your eyes stung with tears.
The apartment went quiet again.
Karenâs eyes filled with frustrated tears. âAnd you still let him into your apartment?â
You flinched as a tear ran down your cheek. But that wasn't the worst part because what was worse was the fact that you wanted him there.
Matt's voice was steady when he spoke again, âHas he been contacting you?â
âYes.â You confirm wiping the tear off your cheek.
âHow?â
Mattâs expression hardened when you hesitated too long.
âHas he been seeing you?â
You looked away as your heart began racing again.
Karen stared at you in disbelief. âYou canât see him.â
Something inside you snapped slightly at her words. âKaren.â
âNo,â she interrupted sharply. âAbsolutely not. He is dangerous.â
âI know heâs dangerous.â
âThen why are you doing this?â
You froze at her question.
Because he notices me. You thought to yourself. Because he makes me feel seen. Because I want him to keep coming back.
Mattâs voice cut through your spiraling thoughts.
âHow can you possibly want this?â
Your throat tightened at the crack in his voice. Because your brother wasn't angry, he wasn't judgmental. He was hurt.
Your eyes burned again. âYou think I donât ask myself that every day?â
Neither of them answered.
So you kept going. Mouth moving before you could stop it.
âI waited years for my soulmate,â you whispered shakily. âYears. And then it was him.â
Your voice cracked.
âDo you think I wanted it to be him?â
Karenâs expression faltered slightly.
But the words wouldnât stop now that the hurt and suffering you had kept locked away for months had broken free.
âI know what heâs done,â you continued. âI know who he is. I know what people think when they look at him.â
Your breathing shook as you looked them in the eyes.
âBut every time I try to stay away from himâŚâ your voice softened painfully, â⌠I canât.â
Silence filled the apartment for the third time that night. This time heavy and miserable.
Mattâs face tightened again. âHeâs already attached to you.â
âDon't,â you looked at him sharply. âDon't use that against me. Against him.â
Mattâs jaw flexed once. âI can hear it every time his name comes up.â
Anger twisted low in your stomach. Because Matt was right, Dex was attached, and you knew that from his gifts and his relaxed attitude whenever he broke into your apartment.
But so was a part of you.
Karen sank slowly back into her chair, rubbing at her face.
âYouâre my best friend,â she whispered. âAnd Iâm terrified heâs going to destroy you.â
The anger in her voice finally cracked enough for the fear underneath to show.
Your eyes burned harder. âI know.â
Because that was the horrible truth. You knew exactly what this could become, how this could end.
And still you wondered about the what-ifs and the maybes and the possibility that this might not destroy you.
The apartment suddenly felt suffocating.
You pushed your chair back abruptly. âI should go.â
Karen immediately looked guilty. âWait.â
But you were already sliding on your shoes.
Matt stood quickly too. âHey, bug.â
You paused near the door, coat on only one shoulder.
Mattâs expression was a mix of protective, worried, and nervous all at once.
âYouâre not alone in this,â he said quietly.
But somehow that only made your tears burn harder because, despite his words, you had never felt more alone.
The rain had soaked through your coat by the time you got home.
Your chest still hurt, but at least your tears had stopped. Karenâs voice still echoing in your skull.
He shot you.
God. You knew that.
Hands trembling slightly, you unlocked your apartment and stepped inside. The lights were off, but you immediately felt his presence.
âYou told them.â Dexâs voice came quietly from the darkness.
You switched the lights on and slowly shut the door behind you.
Dex sat on the sofa, half-hidden by shadows. His head tilted as he watched you again.
You suddenly felt exhausted down to your bones. âYes.â
Silence filled the apartment as rain tapped softly against the windows.
Dexâs eyes moved slowly across your face, studying every emotion there.
âTheyâre upset.â He said.
A sad, humourless laugh escaped you. âThatâs one word for it.â
Dex stayed quiet for a moment. âWhat did they say?â
You dropped your wet coat onto the chair. âThat youâre dangerous.â
His expression didnât change. Because that wasnât news to either of you. âAnd?â
You looked away first. âThey donât understand why I keep letting you come back.â
The second the words left your mouth, anger shifted on Dexâs face.
Sharp and immediate.
Your chest tightened when you saw it.
âYou told them why?â he asked quietly.
âItâs not that simple.â
âIt is to me.â
Of course it was. To him you're not just soulmates, you're fate, you're destiny. And you knew that because Dex had always looked at you like you were it for him.
But for you? Nothing about this was simple.
âYou donât understand what this is doing to my life, Dex, to me,â you whispered tiredly.
Dex stared at you. âYou think I donât?â
âYou have killed people, Dex.â
Your words cracked through the apartment sharply.
âI know.â
âYou nearly destroyed my family.â You could feel the tears forming again.
His jaw tightened immediately. âI know.â
âYou shot me.â
Your words were sharp, and you saw the emotions immediately on his face.
The guilt, the anger, and the frustration.
âDo you think I wanted to do that?â he snapped suddenly.
You blinked, stunned as Dex stood up and stepped closer.
âI didnât know,â he said harshly. âI didnât know who you were then.â
âBut you know now.â You felt the first tear fall.
âYes.â
âThen you know why this feels impossible for me?â
Dexâs breathing came out sharper than before. Because this conversation was turning into something he couldnât fix.
And it was terrifying him.
âYou keep pushing me away,â he said quietly, gently cupping your face.
Your chest ached at his words and actions. âBecause I donât know what to do.â
âI do.â He said as his thumbs gently stroked your cheeks.
A bitter laugh escaped you.
âNo, you donât.â
âI know youâre mine.â
The words hit like a punch as his name burned hot on your collarbone.
âIâm not a possession.â You snap, putting your hands on his chest, ready to push him away.
Dex stepped closer again.
âBaby, thatâs not what I meant.â
âThen what did you mean?â You asked, ignoring your heart fluttering when he called you that.Â
His eyes searched yours desperately, like if he could just make you understand his view, everything would stop hurting.
âYou feel it too. The connection between us. Our bond.â
Your breath caught.
Because that was the problem, you did feel it.
You felt it in every glance, in every touch, and in every moment he looked at you like you were something precious.Â
Something his.
You felt all of it, and you were too tired to deny that you didn't want more.
âI donât know what you want from me,â you whispered shakily and knew that it was a lie.
Dex looked genuinely confused by the question.
âYou.â
The simplicity of his answer made your heart flutter and break at the same time.
âYou canât just,â your voice cracked as more tears fell, âyou canât just come back after everything and expect this to be easy.â
âI donât expect easy.â
âThen what?â You pushed against his chest, but he barely moved.
Dex stared at you for one long, awful second.
âYou keep acting like loving me is the worst thing that could happen to you.â He whispered.
Your eyes widened.
Because that wasnât what this was.
That wasn't what you meant.
But before you could explain, Dex suddenly closed the distance between you.
One hand moving to the back of your head while the other wrapped around your waist.
And then he was kissing you.
Desperate and impulsive, like if he could get close enough, this distance you kept between you two would finally disappear.
For a second you froze.
Because this was your soulmate, and you had imagined this moment for years. But also because this was Dex, and half of you wanted this.
Then reality slammed back into you.
Your hands shoved hard against his chest. âStop.â
Dex stumbled back instantly, his hands leaving your body.
The apartment fell silent except for your uneven breathing, but you could see his expressions shifting.
From confusion to realisation and then panic. Like heâd only just understood what heâd done.
Your own mixed emotions made your head spin.
âYou canât do that,â you whispered.
Dex looked wrecked. âI thought.â
âI know what you thought.â Your tears were flowing freely now.
âBut you canât fix this like that.â
Silence filled the apartment again, and for the first time since meeting him, Dex looked uncertain.
And you hated that look on his face. You never wanted him to feel uncertain around you, but why is this situation making you feel like you have to choose between your family and your soulmate?
âLeave me alone.â Your throat tightened painfully.
The words shattered something between you instantly.
Dex went completely still, and the look on his face nearly made you take the words back. Because for the first time since you met him, he looked scared.
Scared of losing you.
But you forced yourself to hold his gaze anyway, and after a long, horrible moment, Dex nodded once.
Then, without another word, he stepped backwards toward the open window and stopped as if he was waiting for something before disappearing into the rain.
Leaving you standing alone and crying in the middle of your apartment, feeling like a fool for believing that you could have had it all.
â synopsis a chance meeting on a flight and sharing headphones with a stranger somehow leads to building your (fairly unusual) lives around one another.
or, a series of connected oneshots that follow your atypical relationship with dex
â general tags fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, awkward situations, slowburn, canon typical violence, stalking, ddba!dex, implied neurodivergent reader, references to music
Are requests still open? If yes, would you consider writing about rage baiting dex hehe. Something that makes him jealous or something. Reader just wants to get reactions out of him lol
Just a joke, right?
Benjamin Poindexter x gn! Reader
warning: ragebaiting, jealousy, fluff
A/N: LMAO I had so much fun writing this. Heâs definitely falling for the ragebait. Like imagine telling him a guy is waxing you. There is just no way he is staying calmđđ Hope you enjoy this<33
Dex was terrifyingly smart in almost every situation. He could predict someoneâs movements before they even made them. He noticed little details nobody else would ever catch. His instincts were sharp enough to make most people uncomfortable after five minutes around him.
But somehow, the second jealousy got involved? All intelligence disappeared. And you loved it.
The two of you were sitting on the couch in his apartment late at night, your legs thrown over his lap while some boring movie played quietly in the background. Dex wasnât even watching it. He kept absently dragging his fingers up and down your calf while staring at the screen with that distant look he got whenever he was too focused on you to process anything else around him.
You noticed it immediately.
The slight tension in his jaw every time you shifted closer. The way his hand tightened automatically whenever you laughed at something. Dex always acted calm on the outside, but once you learned him, really learned him, it became almost too easy to tell when he was spiraling internally.
Which unfortunately for him made teasing him way too fun.
You looked down at your phone. âUgh. I forgot I have that appointment tomorrow.â
Dex hummed distractedly. âWhat appointment?â
âThe waxing one.â
His hand paused against your leg for half a second before continuing again. âThought that was next week.â
âIt got moved.â
âMhm.â You bit back a smile already. He sounded normal now, but you could practically see the gears turning in his head. Dex noticed details like dates and schedules without even trying. It was honestly terrifying sometimes.
You kept your tone completely casual. âI just hope I donât get the same guy again.â
This time his hand stopped completely. Slowly, he turned his head toward you.
âThe same what?â
You looked up innocently. âThe same guy.
Complete silence.
The movie kept playing in the background while he stared at you with an expression that could only be described as deeply concerned.
âWhat guy?â
âThe waxing guy, Dex.â His entire face changed immediately. Not dramatic at first. Just subtle enough that most people probably wouldnât catch it. His shoulders stiffened slightly. His eyes narrowed a fraction. His jaw locked.
But you noticed. Oh, you definitely noticed.
âA man does that?â
You shrugged. âYeah.â Dex blinked once like his brain physically rejected the information.
âA manâŚâ he repeated slowly.
âYeah?â
âWaxing you.â
You almost laughed already at the disbelief in his voice. âThat is generally how appointments work, yes.â
Dex looks at you for another long second before leaning back against the couch cushions with an expression that looked genuinely offended on your behalf.
âNo.â
You bit your lip. âNo what?â
âNo man should be doing that.â
âOh my god.â you let out a small and quiet laugh. Oh heâs definitely falling for it.
âIâm serious.â
You turned more toward him now, fully entertained. âDex, itâs literally his job.â
âI donât care.â The immediate response made your stomach hurt from trying not to laugh.
He ran a hand through his hair roughly looking back at you again, visibly irritated now.
âWhy would you even book that?â
âBecause I wanted to?â you ask him, acting like he just asked you why the solution of 1+1 is 2.
âWith a man?â
âYes, Baby. Society survived.â He looked personally attacked by your sarcasm. Then you made the fatal mistake.
âWell, his nameâs Daniel, and heâs actually really sweet.â The room went dead quiet. Dex stared at you.
âYou know his name.âYou lost it a little at the way he said it. Like you betrayed him.
âYes?â
âYou know his NAME?â
âHeâs a person, Dex.â duhâŚ
âNo.â You laughed harder while he sat there looking genuinely disturbed by this information.
âHe talks to you?â
âYes baby, Iâm not sitting there in silence like Iâm being interrogated by the FBI.â
His eyes narrowed immediately. âWhat does that mean?â
âIt means we have conversations.â
âOh my god.â You could physically watch the jealousy spread across his face now. It was incredible. Dex looked like he was trying to calculate how acceptable murder would be in this situation.
âHe sees you naked and talks to you?â
âMostly he complains about traffic.â
âThatâs not helping.â
You grinned innocently. âHe says Iâm one of his favorite clients.â
His head snapped toward you so fast you almost laughed again. âHe said that?â
âMhm.â His jaw clenched visibly. You could practically hear his internal screaming. The funniest part was that he genuinely didnât realize you were doing this on purpose yet. He was completely falling for it.
âInterestingâŚâ you hummed thoughtfully. âMaybe he just likes seeing me.â
Dex sat up immediately. âOkay, no.â
You finally burst into full laughter at that.
âNo?â
âNo.â His voice sharpened instantly. âAbsolutely not.â
âOh my god, your face right now-â
âThis isnât funny.â
âItâs a little funny.â
âYouâre enjoying this way too much.âYou were, actually. Mostly because he got so weirdly possessive without even meaning to. He tried so hard to act composed, but the second another person, another man, got involved where you were concerned, he completely unraveled.
You leaned back into the couch cushions with a smile. âI mean, if you were flexible enough, you could do it.â
That sentence broke him. Dex froze for one long second before narrowing his eyes at you suspiciously.
âWhat does that mean?â You shrugged casually. âNothing.â
âNo, explain.â
âYou just donât seem very flexible.â He looked offended immediately. You both know exactly that he is the quiet opposite.
âI am flexible.â
âOh really?â you ask teasingly.
âYes.â
You raised an eyebrow. âCan you even touch your toes?â
His expression darkened instantly. âThatâs not the point.â
âSounds like somebody canât touch their toes.â oh my god he is the perfect candidate to ragebait.
Dex leaned forward suddenly, grabbing your ankle and pulling you closer until your legs tangled with his.
âI can absolutely touch my toes.â
âMhm.â
âYouâre being annoying on purpose.â
âMaybe.â He stared at you for another second before realization finally hit him. A slow dangerous look crossed his face.
âYour smile gave you away instantly. Dex groaned loudly, dropping his head back against the couch dramatically while you laughed beside him.
âYouâre unbelievable.â
âYou make it too easy.â
âI was genuinely considering hunting this man down.â That only made you laugh harder. Dex turned toward you again, still annoyed, but now there was amusement underneath it too. His hand slid around your waist automatically, pulling you against his side.
âYou knowâŚâ he muttered, ânormal people donât psychologically torture their partners for entertainment.â
âI think itâs cute when you get jealous.â
âI donât get jealous.â You gave him a look. Be so forreal now..
He sighed heavily. âOkay. Maybe a little.â
âA little?â you repeated.
âYou said another man was looking at you naked. What reaction did you expect from me?â
âThe exact one you gave me.â
He narrowed his eyes. âYouâre evil.â
âBut you like me.â his expression softened immediately despite himself. That happened every time. No matter how irritated or jealous or grumpy he got, the second you smiled at him like that, he melted a little.
âYouâre lucky Iâm obsessed with you.â he muttered.
Your grin widened. âObsessed?â
The second the word left your mouth, he realized what he said. His ears turned slightly pink immediately.
ââŚDonât start.â
âOh my god.â you laughed. âBenjamin Poindexter, THE Bullseye, has a crush on me.â
Summary: After witnessing something you werenât supposed to, thereâs a price on your head. It would be easy for the excellent marksman to finish the job, but something about you makes him reconsider.
Or- I saw Wilson talking about how Dex needs a weirdo freak gf and was like âwell, yesâ. Reader is implied to be neurodivergent but its kept a bit vague.
Word Count: 15.4k
Warnings & Content: no use of y/n, fluff, smut, slow burn (sorta), swearing, attempted murder, actual murder, stalking, violence, blood and injury mention, mention of death, happy ending, slight angst, toxic attachment, 18+ mdni please
I do not authorize my work to be used for Al or reposted across platforms
For most of your life you felt invisible.
Your friends and coworkers seemed to advance easily in life, getting degrees that led to solid jobs and fulfilling relationships. You, despite your best efforts, did not have the same experience.
In high school, you first became aware of yourâŚdifference. The way people would easily talk to others and make friends, but with you they would only feign politeness and share wordless looks behind your back.
Even teachers thought you were weird. It wasnât said explicitly, they had to be professional of course, but there was only so many times they could call you âan interesting yet quiet young ladyâ without you catching on.
You had tried hard to change it, to âput yourself out thereâ. It never worked out well. Dates would go fine at first until there was something you said or did to unnerve the other person. Even situations you were sure had gone great resulted in you being ghosted.
You wish that they at least yelled at you or complained, then you could know for sure what they didnât like.
Once you were in your twenties, you made peace with the fact that it wouldnât happen for you. The relationship thing wasnât in your cards, you just werenât built for it. It created a sad acceptance within you, but one that was needed to not go into a mental spiral.
â-ey, were you listening?â The words drifted to the forefront of your mind, dragging you away from your trail of thoughts.
You paused in folding the shirts on display before you, turning to your coworker that was looking at you expectantly.
âUh yeah, the closing right?â You struggled to remember what Jess had walked over to you for, but you were sure it was because she needed something. Nobody really spoke to you when they didnât need something.
âYeah, you can do it right? I canât do it and Marcus needs someone to cover.â Her green eyes stared at you pleadingly.
It was a request, but it didnât feel like one. Especially since you were the only ones still working in the clothing store this late.
âAh, I donât-" You thought about what was waiting for you back at your apartment. A relaxing shower, the usual quick dinner, and a puzzle of choice. Not the most exhilarating routine, but you enjoyed it. You really didnât want to close alone.
Just do it, say no. Itâs not fair for you to do everything yourself and itâs not like sheâll appreciate it.
You almost did. The refusal was on the tip of your tongue when you had a flash in your head, the disappointment on her face, the awkwardness of the next shift. How she would talk about you to your other coworkers.
âOkay, I can cover.â You blurted, adverting your eyes to continue folding.
She gave you a quick grin, already turning towards the break rooms before replying, âGreat! Youâre a lifesaver. Iâll definitely pay you back.â
She wouldnât, just like she didnât for the four other times you covered her shift.Â
âYouâre welcome.â Itâs muttered with a sigh into empty air, Jess was long gone. You thought about all the unfinished work you had to do alone, already regretting your decision.
You went into autopilot for the next few hours, slipping into the mindless task of organizing displays and adjusting price tags. The small upside was that the clothes in your store kind of sucked, so you didnât have any customers to tend to.
âYou set?â
The words made you jump. You looked up in surprise to find Marcus, who had meandered out of his office without your notice. Being a middle aged man on the heftier side, you didnât know how he could move so quietly.
âIâm sorry, what?â
âThe drawer, are you ready for me to take it? Iâm gonna close a little early, donât think itâll be picking up anytime soon.â He motioned a thick hand towards the empty room to accentuate his point.
You nodded jerkily, shuffling out the way as he unlocked the cash drawer. Another beat and a ring of keys were being tossed your way.
âWeâll, Iâm gonna count this out then Iâm off, you know what to do.â
Marcus was already shuffling down the hallway before you could form a response.
He wasnât wrong, you did know what to do. Once he was gone you got back into the automatic motions of clean, lock, organize, until the shop is fully shut down.
There was no stress, no talking or loud music, it was almost fun in a way. Fun if you forgot how you were forced into working at least.
You clicked the last light off with a sigh, shrugging your purse up your shoulder where it threatened to fall off. Going out the back door sent a wave of trepidation within you, but unfortunately it was required. The alarm was already set on the front doors and you didnât have the keys to those.
You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. New York had only gotten more dangerous in recent years, with the corruption in politics and anti-vigilante outrage.
Once you were outside, you had to be careful to avoid any trouble. No one could be trusted, not even the police who were put there to protect citizens like yourself. You imagine if you got mugged on your way to the train, the officers on the corner wouldnât even flinch.
Definitely not an anxiety inducing thought. Not at all.
You swung open the door, locking it quickly behind you. Ignoring the trembling of your hands, you started to make way to the front of the building.
The alley stunk of pee and other things you really didnât want to identify. The only light around was motion sensor activated and perched on the doorway. Said light was already fading the further you stepped away, the alley delving into darkness.
You quickened your steps.
There was a slight relief in making it back onto the main street. At least there you had streetlights and the buzz of the city around you.
The sidewalk was mainly empty, and you could count on one hand the amount of cars that passed by. Most people out at this time were like you, getting off work, or getting to an early shift with a bleary look in their eyes.
You kept your head tucked down, avoiding eye contact with anyone around you. All you had to do was make it to the train, from there it was a straight shot to your apartment. Easy, simple. You could do this.
You reached the subway entrance, practically flying down the steps. The trains were relatively reliable in this part of town, so you shouldnât have to wait too lon-
Your thought process was interrupted by a series of grunts, followed by a shout. Ducking behind a pillar, your eyes grew into saucers as you scanned for the cause of the noise.
It wasnât a hard search, in the middle of the station was a group of men standing over something-no, someone. There was a man there, curled into himself on the cracked tile of the subway. You could barely make out his face past the blood streaming from his nose.
âPlease! I donât have it, I- just give me one more week Iâm begging!â His words could barely be understood past a thick Brooklyn accent and the gurgle of blood in his throat.
One of the men snapped his fingers, and another kicked the whimpering man in the stomach, the impact making a sickening crunching noise.
You covered your mouth in an attempt to not scream, mind racing with options. Calling 911 was firmly out of the question, but running back up the stairs seemed promising. You just didnât know if youâd be quick or quiet enough that they didnât notice you.
Then there was the train. A quick glance at the schedule showed a less than three minute wait. If you timed it rightâŚ
âPlease, Iâll do anything please-â
He was cut off by the man before who gave the attack order. âYou shouldâve thought about that before trying to steal from Moretti, fuckinâ rat. You should be grateful itâs just you and not your fucking family too, thatâs how nice boss is.â
It was clear the man speaking was in charge, at least of the small group there. He was faced away from you, but a wayward glance from any of the men could put you in danger.
You stifled a gasp, sucking a sharp intake of air. In focusing on the group, you had forgotten to breathe.
Your heartbeat was a staccato in your ears, the blood flow dimming the sound around you.
They were going to kill that man, and there was nothing to do but watch. They were going to kill him, then they were going to kill you. Oh god, they were going to kill you if they found you.
You felt the telltale beginning of a panic attack start up, your heart rate escalating even further. This was not the time to freeze up. You pinched the skin of your hand between two fingers, the pain sobering you.
This was not the time to freeze.
The man was saying something else, the tone threatening. He was speaking in a much lower tone than before, and you couldnât make out the words.
In a blink, he dove forward, hand jutting towards the man below him in quick successions.
It wasnât until the growing pool of red that you realized he had stabbed him. There was a sick gurgling noise that reverberated around the subway that took the strength out of your legs.
Your purse slipped off your shoulder, clinking to the ground.
The sound alerted one of the guys closest to you. A frown quickly overtook his face as he looked you up and down.
âHey! Whatâre you doing over there?â
This is how youâll die, in a dirty subway all alone. Your family probably wonât even find out what happened.
Light flowed onto the platform from the incoming train. The screech of wheels flipped a switch in your brain.
No, you scrambled to your feet, not like this. You were not going to let it end like this.
You could hear a series from shouts and pounding footsteps behind you as you ran down the platform. Nearly tripping over a bench, you righted yourself as the train finally screeched to a stop.
The doors opened, but you kept running, an internal timer ticking in your head.
A little bit more⌠five, four, three-
You shoved your self to the side, slipping into a train car right as the doors closed. The others tried to follow, but they were too far behind.
You stared, wide eyed as they pounded on the window in anger. You could hear muffled threats behind the metal, but your eyes focused on the man from before.
He wasnât yelling, or beating on the door. He only stared at your chest with a scowl. More specifically, the logo on your work shirt and your printed name tag beneath it.
Shit.
Dex was unbelievably, inconceivably, bored.
This meeting was already taking longer than he usually tolerated, and if he didnât have good work with them before he wouldâve left.
But no, this gang boss in particular was quite an egotistical bastard, and liked to pay a very nice penny on all his hits. It probably made him feel important to wave an excessive amount of money around and have people disappear.
Quite frankly, Dex couldnât give a shit about what he felt. Money or not, his patience was running thin. Another five minutes waiting in this damp warehouse and he might just leave, or start throwing things.
He hadnât decided which.
âTaking his sweet time huh?â He wasnât really speaking to anyone in particular, just musing aloud, but one of the nearby goons replied anyway.
âSorry, he had something else to wrap up. He should be here any second.â
Dex only clicked his teeth in response, busying his hands with a dagger absentmindedly. The other manâs eyes widened slightly at the display, tracking the dagger is it was thrown in the air.
Behind his mask, Dexâs lips flicked into a smirk. He wondered what the man would do if he started using the wall behind his head as a dart board, that would be interesting.
The seconds ticked by, and he was about to start some impromptu target practice when the man of the hour walked in.
âBullseye, my friend! So kind of you to join us.â
Moretti was a small man, much smaller than one would expect the boss of a crime empire to be. There was nothing overtly menacing about him other than the beady gleam of his eyes. Of course, no one vocalized their surprise at that, because theyâd end up at the bottom of the Hudson.
He reminded Dex of a small pet with a snappy temper. Like a rabid chihuahua nipping at peopleâs heels.
âI would think with all that money youâd own a clock.â The manâs words had ignited a flare of irritation within him. He was always annoyed by fake niceties, especially after he had waited thirty-five minutes.
Morettiâs thick eyebrows scrunched in faux concern, âMy apologies, I had something else to finish up, I would never mean to keep you waiting-â
Dex cut in before he could finish the bullshit speech, âWho, and where?â
He was here for a job, not to have a tea party. All he needed was the marks information and the payment, then heâd be on his way.
Despite being cut off, the smaller man didnât show any sign of anger. He knew better than to start unnecessary fights. âA small problem, you shouldnât have much issue. It is time sensitive however, if she talks it would cause a great deal of issues for me.â
A woman then. Unlikely sheâll put up a fight. Disappointing.
âShe saw some things she shouldnât have. Here,â he stepped forward, a folded paper in his outstretched hand. âthey got the job and her name, you should be able to take it from there yes?â
He snatched the paper, scanning over the information quickly before turning on his heel. âFifteen thousand, same as before.â His voice carried behind him as he walked to the exit of the warehouse, hands in constant movement.
Moretti clapped his hands as if he were signing off on the deal. âAgreed, youâll receive the wire tomorrow.â
âSheâll be dead by the end of the day.â Faster than anyone could track, he flicked the paper behind him, the point of a paper airplane imbedding into the forehead of the wide-eyed grunt from before.
The man let out a startled shout as blood trickled over his nose.
Dex ignored the commotion, grinning as he walked into the crisp night air.
Time to find a little tattle-tale.
Maybe you did have powers.
It wasnât super strength, or advanced intelligence. It wasnât even the power to turn invisible.
No, it had to be the ability to get in the worst situations imaginable. Super bad luck. No oneâs life could be this laughably bleak, it had to be a higher power.
After that night at the subway, you couldnât even sleep, much less leave your house. The day after the incident was your off day, so it didnât affect much. You did however have to call off two days after that, feigning sickness.
You donât know if your boss bought it, but considering you have never really taken a sick day before, you felt it was due.
But you couldnât stay inside forever, you had to go back to work eventually. Getting fired would definitely do you no favors.
There was something else.
In the last few days youâd had a feeling, like spiders crawling over your skin. It was the sinking feeling of being preyed upon. Watched.
You knew they were there. You didnât know how you knew, but you did.
There was no evidence, no threatening letters or anything out of place. Anyone listening to you would think you were insane, but you knew it wasnât just your hysteria. You could feel it.
The only thing you were confused about was their inaction. Why hadnât they killed you already? Not that you were complaining of course, but it just didnât make sense.
Were they waiting for you to try to call the police? Were they not fully sure it was you at the station?
It was the cycle you went through. For days just driving yourself mad with questions and counting down the time. You hadnât come up with a plan yet, but time was running out.
You had to go out into the world eventually.
The time went quicker than you expected. You had called off your fourth day when Marcus firmly hinted that your job might be in danger if you didnât come in for your next shift.
You agreed, one last day of hiding and then you would come in.
Your hands trembled as you clicked the combination to your locker in the break room. Taking a deep breath, you took one last furtive glance at your belongings before turning to clock in.
âDidnât know you hated customers that bad Oranges.â A mocking voice chimed behind you.
You tried to ignore him altogether, but he picked up his pace to walk by your side. âDonât worry, I wonât snitch.â Matthew shot a conspiratorial glance your way, winking.
It took all your resolve to not roll your eyes. As if today wasnât already horrible, you had to work with your least favorite person.
Matthew always found a way to antagonize you somehow. It wouldnât have been that bad, if it werenât non-stop. He always singled you out about something, with a fake friendly tone as if you were both in on the joke.
It started with the first week you started working. You were eating your lunch quietly, and as you started to unpeel the included orange a stream of juice shot at your face.
You could only sit there in mortification as Matthew cackled in your face. He insisted on calling you Oranges after that.
âWhat are we so worried about?â He continued, like you werenât ignoring him. âIf you need to relax I think they have a stress ball in the back rooms. I know you have issues with that stuff.â He could barely get out the words without laughing.
More silence from you.
âAlright then. Donât blame me if you freak out, see ya Oranges.â
You let out a relieved sigh at his retreating frame, grabbing the clothing rack near you and resigning yourself to eight hours of torture.
Your neck let out a series of pops as you stretched it in your doorway. The house keys in your hand were tossed in the dish by the door and your jacket was shrugged off your shoulders into a pile on the ground.
âYou should take better care of your things.â
The words stopped you in your tracks. Youâd been so focused on the aches in your body and getting to the shower, you failed to notice the large figure in your living room until they spoke.
There was a man shrouded in shadow sitting on your lounge chair. In his hands was one of your puzzle boxes, and he seemed to be reading over it like it was the most important thing in the room.
âPlease donât.â You could barely recognize the way your voice squeaked out, strained with fear.
He looked up for the first time, eyes glinting behind a blue ski mask. âDonât what?â His voice was deep but scratchy as it travelled across the room, as if heâd worn it out by yelling.
You could also hear a hint of amusement in his tone. He was enjoying toying with you.
âDonât mess up my puzzles, or my apartment please. If you can, make it quick.â Your reply was more stable than before, having overcome the initial shock of his appearance.
In truth, youâd come to the conclusion youâd probably die no matter what days ago. At first, you were scared out of your mind, but like every other bad hand in your life, you accepted it. You just didnât want whoever found you to have to deal with a mess.
His head tilted as if considering your answer, one finger twirling the box like one would do a basketball. âNot gonna beg for your life? Plead for another chance?â There was still the mocking tone, but now it carried confusion as well. He genuinely couldnât understand why you were so calm.
Taking careful steps over to the couch, you could make out more details of him in the light of your living room lamp. He looked like a textbook assassin, wearing all black, save for the blue mask covering his face. The dark fabric of his ensemble held more compartments you could count, and the rest was stretched over a sturdy frame.
He was leaning back in your recliner chair leisurely, legs spread to take up even more space.
You let out a deep sigh as you flounced down on the couch across from him. âNo, not really. Iâm sure youâve noticed, but itâs not much to plead for.â
He stopped spinning the box and looked around, as if taking in the apartment for the first time. Your lack of personal photos, the books and puzzles lining the walls. Every item spoke of a very monotonous lifestyle. âThis is pretty depressing, yes.â
Of course, what were you expecting? Hopefully he doesnât make it too difficult for anyone to clean your blood out the place.
You nodded in acceptance and closed your eyes, waiting for the inevitable. After about a minute of waiting, you opened them to find him staring at you.
The piercing gaze kept you still until he spoke again, âWhatâre you doing?â
âWaiting for you to kill meâ just sounded silly, so you said nothing, adverting your gaze.
After a few more moments of quiet, you cleared your throat, âIf you donât mind, how long have you been in here?â
It was a morbid curiosity that drove the question. The idea of him waiting in your living room just to kill you, twiddling his thumbs was enough to make a sardonic chuckle rise in your throat.
You pushed down the urge. The man seemed fairly calm so far, but laughing at him definitely would do nothing in your favor.
He reached up a gloved hand, scratching at his jaw. âAbout a half hour.â
You blinked, âOh, okay.â
Quite frankly, you were running out of things to say. How does one even strike up a conversation with their killer? You shouldnât have even felt the need to make the man comfortable, but you did for some reason.
In a flash he was leaning over you, one hand on the back of the couch to speak directly in your face. âWhatâs your problem? Hm? You didnât even do anything wrong and you wonât fight for your life? How is that fair?â
His other hand gripped your chin firmly, you could feel the warmth of the of his hand seeping through the fabric. With his face so close, you could see every detail of his brown eyes scrunched in anger.
You could also see more of the little items strapped around his waist and in the compartments of his pants. Knives. More knives than anyone (murderer or not) should need, in your opinion.
âIâm sorry?â Now you were a bit peeved. Who was he to lecture you about valuing your life when he came in here to kill you?
Unless⌠he wasnât here to kill you, but do something much worse. A new flash of fear goes through you. You were prepared for a quick death, you were not prepared for torture, or the other ways a man could hurt a woman.
He mustâve seen the change in your face, because the hand on your chin swiftly dropped to his side.
He moved slightly out of your space, mumbling to himself. You could barely catch the words âbalanceâ and âworth itâ in the rambling.
âOkay,â he dipped away, back to the chair. âokay.â
You blinked at him again, âOkay?â
âYes.â His tone, despite being amused again, invited no further questioning. He had reached a decision within himself, you just had no idea what that decision was.
With that, he settled back into your chair with all the ease in the world.
âYou should go to sleep now. Been a long day.â Like before, his tone was closed off. What mightâve been misinterpreted as a request was definitely a demand.
You slowly rose to your feet, half convinced it was a trick and heâd shoot you at any moment, but nothing stopped you from gathering your bag and going into the bedroom.
Even as you shut and locked the door, there was no action, just a glinting gaze following you in the darkness.
You didnât remember falling asleep. The last thing you recall was the unnerving conversation with the intruder before jerking awake the next morning.
A quick check showed that none of your clothes had been moved and there were no injuries on you. Despite your hair looking like a birds nest, you looked exactly did after work the day prior.
You were alive. Another day knowing someone was out to get you, and another day of being able to do nothing about it.
You groaned, trying to settle your hair with one hand as you rolled out the bed. Washing up in the bathroom was quick business. After feeling clean again in new clothes you moved to unlock the bedroom door.
Wait. He wouldnât still be here, would he?
You highly doubt the intruder would stay for coffee in he morning, but the whole thing had been so strange you couldnât rule anything out.
Slowly, you pressed an ear to the door, straining to hear anything on the other side.
Nothing.
You un-clicked the lock, still moving at a snails pace. Once there was a half inch sliver open, you took a peek into the living room. Empty, no homicidal men with a hundred knives in sight.
You let out a breath of relief, walking into the room. One last search throughout your place proved that there was truly no one there.
Even so, there was an unsettling feeling you couldnât shake. You ignored it, moving to start up your coffee maker.
It wasnât until you were halfway through your breakfast that you realized the issue. Your place was spotless, much cleaner than youâd usually keep it.
You didn't consider yourself a slob, but there was always little things here and there left behind. A few dishes in the sink, a bit of dust. The room was now so clean it looked clinical.
Every can or box of pasta in your cabinet was neatly organized and turned to the front. Swinging open the door to your fridge, you found that all your old food youâd been ignoring was thrown away. Each shelf was sparkling clean and just as orderly as the cabinets.
All your puzzle boxes were in straight, dust free columns next to books sorted by size.
What the hell is happening?
Itâs just because youâve been bored. Nothing else.
Dex had been rationalizing his actions since that first day. He had yet to come up with a solid reason for letting you live, and it sent a distressing feeling up his spine.
He did not do things for no reason.
That was a quick way to spiral, to sink into nothing. No, everything in his life had a reason and purpose. So what were you?
It started the day after the meeting with Moretti, he was poised just across from your window. There was a bolt-action rifle in his hands, and he was perfectly poised to take the shot as promised.
As he watched, you walked around your bedroom in circles. He could see your mouth moving at certain points, but no sign of you talking on the phone. It was clear you were in distress, but made no attempts to get help.
He already had access to your phone line. Throughout the night into the next day, you didnât try calling the police, not even once.
It seems New York is catching on, those scrubs in uniforms canât help you. If you want justice, you have to take it yourself.
He continued to watch you with a detached expression, not taking the time to consider why he hadnât finished the job yet.
He watched as you left to take a shower, coming back a bit later in loose pajamas. He watched as you put a show on your tv, your distracted expression half aware.
You eventually found the television insufficient at calming you, and started digging through the haphazard boxes of puzzles on your shelves.
His fingers practically itched at seeing it, old habits compelling him to march in there and line everything up neatly.
He shook it off, eyes trailing to where you sat on the floor beginning the edges of a very large landscape puzzle.
You were losing yourself in it, the frown in your eyebrows lessening the more progress you made through the picture. Eventually, you had calmed enough that there was almost a smile tilting your mouth.
His eyes stayed there for a moment, wondering what a full smile from you would look like. He definitely hadnât seen one today, and no search online showed any pictures of you exhibiting anything other than mild discomfort or apathy.
He could almost imagine it, the plush of your lips tilting up, then slowly growing. How your eyes would crinkle, glinting up at him.
At him?
At him?
The fuck was he doing?
He had a job to do, a job he was paid quite handsomely over, and he was sitting here on his ass playing make believe.
He whipped the rifle in position, capturing your face in the scope. He didnât really need it, your shot was clear enough, especially with his abilities.
Even though it was simple, the clearest shot in the world, his fingers never pressed the trigger. He sat there, as the sky darkened into reds and melted into a dark navy, never taking a single shot.
He couldnât even pretend that the sick worm inside of him wasnât hungry for more. He didnât try to act like he wasnât coming back the next day.
He thought that would be enough. One more day of observation would be enough to satiate him. Just one more.
Dex felt like the sad sons of bitches at the liquor store on the corner. Just one more bit, I can quit any time I want to.
But he did need just one more bit, and he could quit any time he needed to. This was nothing like Jul-
He broke that train of thought with a snarl. Tonight. Tonight he would end this game and get it over with. She got off work at ten, and when she did heâd be waiting there. After that, it be simple, one shot to the head and she wouldnât be his problem anymore.
Moretti didnât exactly ask for proof of delivery, nobody was stupid enough to question Dex after he worked a job. If he said he did it, then he did it.
Except he didnât do it. Moretti hadnât asked, and he didnât tell. But the man wasnât an idiot, heâd find out eventually.
Even more reason to get rid of you as soon as possible.
He had the plan solidly in his mind. Wait until you walked in with your guard down, lodge a knife in your throat before you could blink.
This night, you took a bit longer than usual. Dex was dully aware that this didnât bother him. He wasnât upset by waiting, there was a tingling anticipation within him.
Eventually, you walked through the door, shutting it behind you with a click. You didnât notice him at first, stretching out your neck and the muscles in your back.
You dropped your coat to the ground, stepping over it without a second glance. You were still shifting your head from side to side, trying to alleviate some tension.
He would be able to do it almost immediately. With his hands on your neck he could target the exact points of your muscle pain. His index finger flinched at the thought.
His eyes flickered to the flash of skin on the side of your neck, words coming out of his mouth before he could recall the plan he came in with.
He was barely even aware of what he said, just your response. He watched with rapt attention as your eyes widened, taking him in.
As your eyes scanned his frame, he could feel his hips shift forward slightly.
A myriad of expressions flickered through your face, fear, surprise, anger. He took them all in with delight. The buzz of anticipation from before rose to a crescendo, he couldnât wait to see what youâd do.
Would you beg? Offer to pay him for your life?
Despite coming in your apartment with a clear directive, he wasnât sure exactly what heâd do if you asked him to spare your life.
Not important, focus.
You didnât do anything he expected. Instead of a blubbering mess, you were composed, if not a little annoyed.
If he didnât already know it before, it was clear you valued your small possessions. You seemed to care about the puzzles more than your own life.
It made him angry.
Who were you to throw him off? Why were you doing this to him? This is not how this was supposed to go.
He got within a hairsbreadth of your face, trying to intimidate you. Break the facade. It didnât work, you only seemed more annoyed by the attempt.
Until you werenât. Something about his stance towering over you seemed to ignite a thought process. He wasnât a mind reader, but he could tell the cause of your discomfort pretty easily.
He let you go quickly, as if he were burned. He would not hurt you, not like that.
Dex weighed his options. Killing you would make things a lot simpler, both with Moretti and the urges in his mind. This is what he knew best, the only real thing heâs good for. You would be no problem to take care of.
Only issue? The more he thought about putting a bullet in your head, the more he was sure that was the last thing he wanted to do.
This wasnât even his typical area. The snitches he usually tracked down had blood on their hands, a dark past they were scrambling to escape.
You werenât necessarily a good person, you didnât volunteer at food drives or regularly give to charity, but nothing warranted your death. There was no scale for him to equal.
You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Heâd reached his decision. Fuck Moretti, heâd deal with that weasel bitch later. For now, heâd have to get you shuffled off to bed.
There was something he was itching to do since he got there.
He didnât show up that day.
Your off day was spent with anxious anticipation, like he would randomly jump out of your cabinets and scare you shitless.
Despite your worry (hope), Knives never showed. You took a page out of Matthewâs book and gave him a nickname, if only to avoid calling him âthe manâ in your head.
The more you thought about it, the more perplexed you were.
A masked killer came into your home, had a fairly civil conversation with you, then did your chores?
No matter how much you thought about it, none of that made sense. You should have been dead days ago. If they decided not to kill you, they should at least know by now you werenât going to snitch.
You didnât even consider calling the police.
You groaned, head tilting back against your apartment elevator. Your day at work had been relatively uneventful.
Nobody really spoke to you much, sans Matthew who always had something to say. This time about your dark circles and whether or not you had a mental breakdown. And he wondered why his girlfriend left him.
You cracked open bleary eyes to look at yourself in the metal walls and winced. Maybe they had a point, you wouldnât talk to yourself either looking like this.
There was prominent darkness under your eyes, framing the haunted look within them. Your face was pinched in a permanent frown, and you lifted up a hand to relax the expression.
The elevator doors opened with a ding, and you started the trek over to your door. You raised a hand to unlock it, pausing half way.
Putting your keys back in your pocket, you tried the handle of your door. It opened easily.
Your heartbeat quickened but you didnât halt your movement, continuing inside the apartment. Everything was just like you left it earlier, dim lights and the tv on as background noise.
You took slow steps to the center of the room, spinning in a circle. He wasnât there.
The living room and kitchen were both empty, and you didnât know whether to be happy about that or not.
Why would he just leave your door unlocked when he wasnât even here? There were robbers in the area, what if someone happened to try your door?
You ran a hand through your hair, barking a laugh. You had forgotten for a moment who he was. He was not a friend or visitor that would care whether or not you were robbed.
But why would he clean your house then?
You werenât sure if youâd ever find the answer to that last question.
Still on edge, you tip-toed towards your couch, where you unceremoniously dumped your bag and coat. Stretching out your shoulders, you walked towards the bedroom.
You were expecting a boiling shower with warm pajamas to slip into before crashing. You were not expecting a six-foot something man to be leaning over your bedside drawer, rifling through its contents.
âHey!â You said, equally in surprise and indignation. âThatâs private. Put that down.â
Brown eyes flicked up to you from where heâd been reading your notebook. It wasnât a diary per se, but it held some personal thoughts youâd rather stayed private.
Knives leisurely sat the book on your bed, putting up his hands in faux surrender. âWere you looking for me?â
His voice was just as gravelly as the first night, snaking over your ears. It was much lighter however, he sounded almost⌠happy?
You cleared your throat, fighting back a shiver. âWhat?â Did he see you searching your apartment like a goof? Probably.
You could see his lips curl into a smirk beneath the mask, capturing your attention for a moment.
You wondered what he would look like without it.
You could see more of him in the daylight, like the light eyelashes framing his eyes and the similar tone of his eyebrows. The mask was filled out with a sharp frame, and you could see the cut of prominent cheekbones under the fabric.
âNothing. Whatâs that about?â He nodded towards your notebook he had been reading.
He was still holding his hands up, for what you had no idea. Maybe he thought it was funny to act like you were the one in power here.
âItâs a notebook, you write in them.â You didnât care to go over your innermost thoughts with a stranger, briskly avoiding the subject.
His eyes flashed in an emotion you couldnât place, hands finally coming down to rest at his sides. âHow was work?â He asked placidly.
What?
The hell?
Your eyes burned with tears that had yet to fall, sucking in a sharp breath to compose yourself. âHavenât you had enough? I have been waiting for the day you finally-â you waved your hands around animatedly. âAnd then you just-â
He only stared on with the same solid expression.
You took another breath, âAre you going to kill me or not?â
âNo.â
You swore you could feel your heartbeat hiccup, âNo?â
Before you could pull it back, the words were out of your mouth. âWhy not?â
You regretted the question immediately, watching as his eyes darkened.
There was a stretch of silence, and you were wondering how to do damage control when he spoke again, âBecause I donât want to. YouâŚâ
His gaze rakes up and down your frame. âYou arenât my North Star, no, something else. I want to find out what you are.â
Your words were little more than a whisper. âWhat I am?â
He sauntered towards you, slow as if walking towards a spooked animal. Or like he was hunting one. He only stopped once he was directly in front of you, toe to toe.
âYes, Iâm going to watch you and learn you. Why I feel this urge to-â he cuts off abruptly, eyes widened in surprise.
âIâm not going to hurt you.â
It seems like he wasnât even prepared for what the answer was.
You stared at him, heartbeat still thundering in your ears. It was silly to believe a masked intruder from his words, but you did.
Nothing about that seemed like a lie. Despite what heâd initially found you for, he didnât look like he wanted you dead. So, you believed him.
Your only worry was what he would do with you.
âO-Okay.â Was all you said before grabbing your clothes out the dresser and locking yourself in the bathroom.
You could only hope you turned fast enough that he didnât see the redness in your face.
He was gone from the bedroom when you got out the shower. Everything was put back in its place, there was no sign of him. It made you wonder how many times he looked through your things without you knowing.
It shouldâve made you unnerved⌠it didnât.
He said he wanted to learn you. That you werenât a north star. What did that mean? Why were you kind of excited about finding out?
You sniffed the air, there was a smell drifting from your kitchen filled with spices and butter. Like it were activated, your stomach suddenly released a large growl.
It seemed no matter how shocked you could get, there were still more surprises, Knives was at the stove, stirring something in a pot. You could see your oven was on as well, the light showing loaves of garlic bread on a sheet inside.
âYou should go start a puzzle, itâll be another five minutes.â He spoke without turning around, still continuing to stir the pot on the stove.
Thereâs a breaking point in a persons life where they stop asking questions. You were at that point.
So you pushed aside the wonder of why he was cooking, or where he even got the ingredients from, and sat down in your lounge chair.
You froze. It smelled like him. Gunpowder and metal, with a tinge of spearmint, the chairs leather still held a hint of him. You wondered how many times you could breathe it in without him noticing.
He was still focused on the foodâŚ
No. Stop. Get yourself together. You canât just turn into a weirdo at the first attractive man you meet. Whoâs to say heâs even attractive? He could be hideous under that mask.
You glanced over at him, eyeing the broadness of his shoulders and the muscle shifting under cloth.
You didnât notice before, but he had taken off his gloves. His hands were big but deft, he probably wouldâve made a good piano player in another life.
The evidence of this life was there as well. White scars marred his hands and trailed up his forearm to disappear under his shirt sleeve. You had no doubt they continued to the rest of his body too.
You tried to remind yourself of what those hands could do, why they were dangerous. Unfortunately your brain didnât think it was that important at the moment, because the only thing you could remember is how they felt on your face.
You shook off the thoughts, blindly grabbing the closest puzzle box to you, it was a city landscape.
The pieces tumbled onto your living room table, sound echoing throughout the apartment. The only other sound past your moving pieces was the crackle of fire in the kitchen.
You needed some background noise.
You clicked on the tv, the low droning of the weather report filling the empty space. The screen had half your attention, but that was enough for your ears to perk when you heard the next segment of the news.
âAnd here we have the aftermath of another brawl from the vigilante known as Daredevil, he was in this very warehouse last night when the reports of gunfire started-â
The newscaster was one youâd seen before, usually for the more serious cases around the city. Her mouth was set in a hard line as she continued her warning.
â-advising all citizens to report any vigilante activity to the NYPD or AVTF whenever you become aware. If you do encounter Daredevil, do not engage-â
The tv went out in a wink, making you flinch. Like a bullet, a flying quarter had hit the power button dead center on your remote. Didnât need many guesses to know where it came from.
The man in question was sauntering over with a steaming plate, glaring at the tv like it had personally offended him.
âYou couldâve just asked me to turn it off.â You mutter, loud enough for him to hear you.
He didnât answer, setting the plate in front of you with a clink. âEat.â
You looked from him to the plate of food, then back again. It looked wonderful, a creamy heap of pasta with sautĂŠed vegetables and garlic bread. It was all neatly arranged on your only kitchenware you hadnât chipped.
You only wondered why the hell he had cooked it.
He seemed to misread your trepidation, leaning down to tug up a corner of his mask and shovel in a bit of the pasta. âNot poisoned. Not my style.â He said after a thick swallow.
The flash of lips, regardless how quick, distracted you. You stared on as a pink tongue flicked out to swipe at his mouth before he tugged the mask back down. It took you another few seconds to get it together.
âI know. You prefer to give people a million paper cuts.â
To your surprise, knives barked out a laugh, âThatâs one way of putting it, sure.â
You turned to the food and started eating in an attempt to bypass the awkwardness. It was hard to suppress a groan when the first bit hit your mouth, the food was as good as it looked. If not better.
Do all hitmen take culinary classes or was it just his hobby?
You thought he would find something else to do, maybe vanish into thin air like heâd never been there at all, but the man chose to sit right across from you on the couch.
Dark eyes fixated on you as you ate in complete focus. He didnât seem to want more conversation, just be a spectator. His only movement was circling a small knife around in his hand, but the movement didnât seem threatening, more absentminded than anything else.
You didnât realize how hungry you were until you were finishing the meal in record time, only clearing your throat to speak once youâd cleared the last bite, âIt was great, thank you.â
He was grabbing the plate from you before you could even offer to clean up, making his way back to the kitchen and placing it inside your dishwasher with the other used pots and pans.
âReally, you donât have to-â you started, but he was already finished and walking back over to you.
âI know. I donât have to do anything at all, advantages of self employment.â It was clear by his tone and the crinkle of his eyes that he was smirking. He took his time walking back to the couch, this time spreading his arms across the back in the appearance of complete comfortability.
What he said made you curious, âYou donât work for the man at the train?â
He tilted his head as if considering the answer. âI donât work for anyone,â a new tinge of bitterness coated his tone, âbut if youâre referring to the bozo who took a hit out on you, yes. I was the one given the assignment.â
âAh, I figured.â The response came out more nonchalant than intended, but he truly didnât tell you anything you hadnât already suspected.
âYouâre not bothered by that?â
You shrugged, âNah, I trust you.â You meant for it to be fully sarcastic, and almost succeeded, but there was a bit of honesty that shone through. Against all better judgement and sound mind, you did trust him.
He stared at you, only providing a small scoff and muttering under his breath as response.
With the newfound silence, you decided to follow his earlier request and complete the puzzle that was started. You almost invited him to do it with you, but your mouth closed with a snap after looking over at him.
He seemed to be lost in thought about something, dark blonde eyebrows furrowed as he stared somewhere out your window.
Your eyes went back to the puzzle, the only sounds being the soft scrape of the pieces and faint breathing. You grimaced while reaching for some of the further pieces, the movement had aggravated the neck pain you usually had after a long shift.
Rolling your neck in a circle only slightly helped, there was still a crick in the muscle that most likely wouldnât go away until after a lengthy soak in epsom salt.
Your distracted mind was only half aware of the other figure rising from the couch and making his way over to you.
âSit back.â
You looked behind you in surprise, wondering how heâd gotten right behind your chair without you knowing. âWhy?â You werenât really concerned about the request, just curious what he intended.
âI canât keep watching you do that without doing something. Sit back.â He tapped the headrest for emphasis.
Okay, bossy.
You rolled your eyes but did as he asked, sliding back to fully rest in the chair. It was a moment of nothing until you felt warmth against your shoulder blades.
You let out a full body flinch at the contact, but his hands didnât falter, continuing a path from your shoulders into the sides of your neck. Strong thumbs dug into the muscles and nerves causing you pain, and you couldnât keep a satisfied sigh from seeping out.
You practically melted into his hands as they traveled over every aching part of your back. Every time he dispelled a knot it knocked a quiet sound out of you.
It was firm but precise, every drag of his warm calloused hands left a tingling sensation in their wake. You couldnât help but think about what else his hands could doâŚ
The idea created a burning within you. The smell and feel of him so close was dangerous, and you were already wanting more of it. Needing more of it. You were absently aware of his breathing kicking up, almost delving into a pant in your ears.
He eventually slowed down, rubbing his fingers in circular motions on the top of your spine before retreating completely. He didnât retreat too far, barely taking a step back as he stood behind your chair.
You didnât look at him, focusing on calming your breathing and not appearing like the mess you were on the inside. You didnât need a mirror to know your the flushed expression you wore.
You opened your mouth, then closed it, not trusting yourself to beg for his hands to touch you again.
He spoke before you could work up the nerve of a response, âI have to go.â
âWait-â But it was too late, he was already closing the front door when you turned around.
Knives arrived more frequently after that night.
He didnât stay as long, or touch you again, (much to your disappointment) but he would usually pop in without rhyme or reason with gifts and a bit of conversation.
You never asked him for anything, but he somehow always knew what you needed.
A new detergent when the old one just ran out, some more butter in the fridge, your favorite ice cream when you were craving it.
As far as you remembered, you never told him what your favorite flavor was, nor did you ever have one in the freezer since meeting him. He still knew.
Someone knowing so much about you shouldâve probably unnerved you, but it only gave you a sense of serenity. You didnât have to worry about explaining yourself to him, there was no pressure on your end. He just watched, and learned.
Except in one area. He seemed to be oblivious to your attraction to him, not flirting with you even once. There were his snarky remarks and knowing smirks sure, but that seemed to be less hitting on you and just more of who he was.
Unless, he does know youâre into him and just doesnât feel the same so heâs ignoring it.
You brushed the thought off, sighing as you unlocked the door to your apartment. It was really no use wondering about it, even with all the time spent with Knives, you barely had a clue what was going on in his head.
Besides, after the day youâd had it was hard to think about anything else.
To say it was a bad shift would be an understatement. Youâd overslept that morning, rushing through your morning routine but still arriving twenty-five minutes late to clock in.
It was a rare busy day in the store, and you could barely push past people to get to your register.
âAbout time.â Matthew shot you a dirty look between filing away the bills in his hand.
Your job was severely understaffed, and today was no different, which meant that in your absence Matthew had to handle the hordes of people on his own.
You gave him an apologetic nod, waving the next person in line over to you. Soon enough, the lines dwindled into nothing as the rush passed.
You wiped your sweaty hands on your pants leg, signing out of the POS to go work on other things. A stack of boxes caught your eye, and you moved closer to start unpacking the items inside.
âGo do the inventory. He wants it in the front on the orange display.â Snapped Matthew behind you. He was pointing at the very boxes you were already walking towards.
You didnât bother correcting him in saying you were already going to do that, instead giving a curt nod.
âWhat, you canât speak today? Didnât take your meds?â He raised a brow, grinning at you.
Breathe, donât let him get to you.
âIâm just going to do my job.â
His grin only widened at your answer. âHeh, okay. You do that.â
You ignored him, quickly pulling a dolly from the back transport the boxes to the front of the store.
You wiped a hand over your brow, starting to sweat with the effort. It would be a lot easier with two people, but like hell you were going to ask that asshole.
Matthew wasnât really nice to anyone, except maybe the new hires he wanted to flirt with, but you still never understood why he seemed to hate you so much.
Because youâre always the odd man out, the one no one really likes, the one-
âShut up.â You spat out the words, making sure you were quiet enough for no one else to hear. Matthew didnât need more ammunition to call you crazy.
You directed your attention to the store display and away from your bleak thoughts. You couldnât help what others thought of you, the only thing you could do at the moment was finish the stupid display and move onto your other work.
You vacantly slapped the folded clothes onto the shelves, mind drifting elsewhere.
I bet knives never had to work in retail.
Youâd be very surprised if he ever had a real job before. Trying to imagine his scowling face behind a cash register made a chuckle bubble within you.
Heâd probably stab someone on his first day.
Shit, he can stab Matthew for all I care.
You half scolded yourself at the thought, realizing how fucked up it sounded to wish that someone stab your coworker. You werenât as upset by the thought as you couldâve been.
There was a sharp creaking noise, and before you could react, the metal shelf you had been stacking on crashed down on your arm.
âShit-â You jumped back to avoid falling with it, but the damage had been done. The edge of the shelf dug a cut down your forearm that was already spurting blood over you and the merchandise.
âOh no, shit, shit, shit-â You couldnât think straight, only standing there in a panic as you gripped your bloody arm.
âWhat the fuck did you do now?â If you thought Matthew was mad at you before, he was pissed now. âI asked you to do one simple thing and you canât even do that? Whoâs gonna clean this shit up?â
Heâd left a customer at the desk to see what the sound was, but he didnât seem to care about their existence as he yelled at you.
âFuckin disability hire, canât even stock a shelf. I donât know why youâre standing there, you should be-â
You didnât wait for him to finish, bumping into him as you rushed towards the back room with tears in your eyes.
Donât cry. Donât you dare cry in front of him, heâs not worth it.
You ignored his calls for you to come back, slamming your work locker open and grabbing your things. You didnât even bother clocking out, only stopping by the lunch corner to grab paper towels and wipe down your arm.
The harsh wind from outside only aggravated your eyes more, but you steeled yourself against the cold.
You got plenty weird looks on the train ride home, but nobody said anything to you. It was probably the mix of blood staining your hands and scowl that discouraged conversation.
A ten minute ride followed by a brisk walk brought you back to where you were, standing at your apartment door with an aching cut.
You shouldered the door open with your uninjured side, immediately dropping your things to the ground once you were inside.
The cut hurt like a bitch and was still freely bleeding, but you shouldnât need stitches or anything dramatic. The med kit from under your sink in the bathroom should more than suffice.
You turned the corner towards the bathroom, but stopped short at the figure standing there.
The visitor was more expected than not these days, but you didnât think heâd be here this early since he usually met you after your shift.
âWhat did I say about taking care of your things?â He half turned from the window where you assumed heâd watched you come in.
Youâd usually muster up something equally as playful in response, but this time, you were not in the mood.
He seemed to sense the shift, whipping his head over to you. It didnât take long for his eyes to rake over you, gaze landing on your right arm.
âWho did that?â His demeanor changed completely after seeing the injury, voice turning steely.
It only took a few strides for him to reach you, hand snapping out to grasp your forearm. His eyes were blazing with anger behind his mask and he looked two seconds away from disemboweling someone.
Even though you knew his anger wasnât with you; it still took a moment to stutter out a response, âNo one, I-i did it myself. Well, not did it, it wasnât on purpose. An accident at work.â
Your clarification didnât seem to calm him much.
He stepped to your side, scooping an arm under your legs to pull you to his chest, his other arm supporting your back. He walked towards your bathroom with purpose.
You let out a squawk of surprise at being airborne, âHey, I can still walk. Itâs just a cut, you donât have to carry me.â
âBlood loss causes dizziness, and it looks like youâve already lost too much.â Someone wouldâve thought you were bleeding out by how aggravated he sounded.
You didnât want to mention that the main reason you were dizzy was his close proximity, not the injury. You were closer to him than you ever were before, and you couldnât stop yourself from taking in a deep whiff. Blood, metal, mint.
He knocked your bathroom door open with enough strength to make it rattle, marching over to your closed toilet where he set you down gently but firmly.
As always, he knew where you put everything, so you didnât have to direct him as he pulled out your small med kit.
It was just the buzz of the fluorescent lights for noise as he rummaged through the kit, occasionally pulling out select items heâd need.
You watched as hazel eyes narrowed in concentration, stomach doing a flip at how focused he was on helping you. How caring.
There was a mix of disinfectant and many bandages on the counter (more than youâd probably need), and he looked over them quickly before washing his hands and snapping on latex gloves.
âItâs going to hurt, you can hold onto me if you need to.â Was the only warning you got before he was gripping your arm with one hand and wiping down the cut with the other.
The antibacterial liquid was cold and stinging, you let out a sharp hiss at the stab of pain. As the blood was cleaned away, you could see that the cut was a bit deeper than you thought.
âI-ah, you donât think Iâll need stitches, right?â You were a bit scared to ask, his frown had only deepened once he started working on you.
âNo. Itâs not to that point, but youâll need to keep it wrapped tightly for a while so the skin can join back together.â
And he was right, after cleaning the wound thoroughly, he stuck some hefty bandages over the opening and wrapped it all in a tight cover of gauze.
He tucked the end of the fabric inside to secure it, and tugged off his gloves to clear away the mess of dirty wipes and wrappers on the counter.
You didnât bother thanking him, knowing by now that he wouldnât accept it.
You looked down at his work, neat as usual. You startled as a pill bottle was being shaken in front of you, eyes focusing to read the label.
âIt doesnât really hurt that much.â
He shook it again, insisting, âIt will later, take one.â
You knew there was no chance of changing his mind, and it didnât seem like the worst idea, so you grabbed the container and swallowed down one of the pills.
Satisfied, Knives leaned back against the wall opposite you, muscular arms folded over his chest.
Despite his quietness, you could still sense the underlying anger rolling off him. Knowing the answer, you asked anyway, âAre you upset?â
âExplain what happened.â
You hesitated for a moment, then started the retelling of what happened that day. You kept your composure for the most part, voice only hitching when you repeated what your coworker had said about you.
Knives stood stock still through it all, watching with that calm dangerous air that he had.
By the time you were done, you felt the telltale signs of tears, but you pushed it down again. You didnât want it to bother you, but it did. After a life of dealing with rejection, it still stung.
A warm hand lifted up your chin, thumb swiping away tears you werenât aware had fallen. âYou donât deserve that, none of it. It wonât happen again.â There wasnât an ounce of question in his tone, he was sure of it.
You let out a weak laugh, sniffling. âI could only hope, heâll probably be worse after today though. Especially since I left early.â
He hummed, âIâve always disliked the name Mathew, all of them are annoying.â He sounded like he usually did again, slightly amused as if he were in on a joke that you werenât.
You laughed again, stronger this time. âI canât say Iâve had experience with that many Matthewâs to agree with you.â
He ran his thumb over your cheek one more time before backing away. âTrust me, they are. You should take tomorrow off.â
There he goes again, giving demands veiled as suggestions.
âI would love to, but unfortunately some of us common folk need jobs, and if I call out again Iâll probably be u employed. Iâm sure youâve never worked one, so itâs hard to understand.â Your tone was playfully mocking, but it was the truth. There was no way your manager was going to be okay with that, plus, you needed to make up for the money lost by leaving early.
âI have.â He adverted his eyes to your left, âworked a job that is.â
You perked up, it was rare that the man offered information past what model his knives were, and you didnât want to lose the opportunity to learn more about him.
âOh really? As what?â You kept your tone light, to not seem like you were prying.
âAn officer.â
âLike, a police officer?â
âNo. Not exactly.â
You blinked in confusion.
He shifted in his stance, like the conversation was suddenly making him uncomfortable. âAgent, would be the better term. I-â He paused, finding the right words. âI locked away the monsters of the world, and protected the people I needed to.â
You cocked a brow, âSo, you were a spy?â
He huffed, giving you a look. âNo. How the hell did you get spy out of that?â
âYou are amazingly vague at every answer, I figured it would fit.â You shrugged, wincing when the movement aggravated the skin of your arm.
He zoned in on the expression, eyes narrowing again. âYou should go to bed, especially if youâre insisting on going to work tomorrow.â
It was clear that was all the answers youâd get out of him, this night at least. You let out a huff of breath, using the counter to pull yourself into a standing position.
There was a wave of wooziness, and you fought to keep balance. Clearly the pill was doing its job.
An arm snaked around to your back, steadying you as you walked to your bedroom. As if there were an invisible barrier, he stopped at the threshold. In the dim lighting, you could only see the dark outline of him and the glint of metal strapped to his person.
To anyone else it would be menacing, terrifying even, to have the attention of the killer focused on them. You only craved more of it.
âThereâs soup in your fridge if you want it. Change the wrapping in the morning, it shouldnât cause any issues before then.â
You could only blame the strength of the pain pill for your lack of restraint, âDo you have to leave right now?â
A pause. âI do. I have something else to take care of.â
You tried not to take it as a dismissal, but it hurt nonetheless.
Something else. Not you.
âRight, okay.â The disappointment was obvious in your voice.
Steady steps made their way over to your bedside, âI donât want to, but are some things I need to do. Iâll see you soon.â
You could barely make out the shape of him standing over you, drowsiness and the pain medicine muddling things together. âAye, aye captian.â
A deep chuckle, and then a quiet response, âDex.â
Dex. It suits him. You couldnât tell if youâd said the name aloud or in your head, already giving way to unconsciousness.
The last thing you felt was a hand lightly trailing down your face before blackness.
Other than feeling like a sledgehammer hit you, your next day at work was uncharacteristically peaceful.
Even though Matthew was scheduled alongside you for the week, he never showed up for work that day.
Or the next day. Or the next one after that.
He didnât call out, and based on the grumble from your manager, hadnât quit either.
You never said anything, never even thought the words in your head, but you knew what happened.
If you were really honest with yourself, you knew what was going to happen when you heard the assurance in his voice that you wouldnât have any more problems.
Kni-No-Dex, was a killer, regardless of how he treated you. You knew how he solved problems.
You were a little nervous at how little it bothered you. You had the same tingling feeling you got when he replaced one of the lightbulbs in your apartment without asking.
Cared for.
But there was another problem, Dex was nowhere to be seen either. Heâd never shown up again after that night, and you were starting to get concerned.
Even though he didnât show up every single day, missing several days in a row was out of character for him. You could only hope that he wasnât dead or arrested somewhere.
It seemed silly to worry about him, especially with how competent he seemed. You didnât steadily watch the news, but everyone in the city had heard of a man in a blue mask who could lodge a knife in your head faster than you could blink.
Bullseye.
Heâd never told you it was him, but you werenât an idiot, all the traits aligned. Not to mention his name, Dex, most likely short for Benjamin Pointdexter. The man who was sent to prison a while back for murder.
You didnât care about any of that. Your only concern was that he was M.I.A. and it was out of character.
Maybe he just got bored, found someone else.
You ignored the slithering thought, knowing itâs not true.
Despite not knowing all of his life, you knew him, he was obsessive to a fault. His cleanliness, the order of his knives, and seeing you all fell into a cycling routine that he didnât stray from.
He wouldnât just dissapear.
Your leg shook nervously as you focused on the television. The news was covering a recent stock drop or something related. You were half listening for anything that could be related to him.
You were sure that an extremely wanted convict being detained would make front page news, so if anything happened, theyâd talk about it here.
So far, it was nothing of substance, just the economy and a new court case with the slime-ball mayor.
You were shaking your leg so vigorously that you almost didnât hear it at first. Your hand shot out, muting the tv before straining your ears.
There it was, a soft shuffling sound coming from your bedroom. You jumped up, heart fluttering in your chest as you rushed over there.
You only stopped short of your bedroom door to grab a nearby book, just in case it wasnât Dex in your room and you needed a weapon.
Turns out, it was unnecessary, you saw him immediately upon entering, slumped against your open window.
âDex-â His name was expelled in a relieved breath, but you only grew concerned again the more you looked at him.
Dark patches covered his mask and the fabric of his suit. His gloves were on, but you could see the clear glisten of blood coating them.
âHey. Thought youâd be asleep. I can go soon, just gotta take a breather.â
You scoffed indignantly, quickly going over to him, âA breather? Jesus, what happened?â
âNot Jesus, just me.â
You glared at him. It was not the time for jokes, definitely not as he was dripping blood on your floor.
âYou can explain later, here.â You supported him under his shoulder as you guided him to your bed.
âGonna get it dirty.â He pushed back slightly as you tried to sit him down, but fell back anyway when you applied more force.
âItâs okay, I have other sheets. Iâm worried about you right now.â
You could tell he was smirking based off the look in his eyes, further proven by the next statement. âWorried about me?â
You didnât even bother hiding the emotion in your response, âYes, I do. A lot.â
That made him quiet, glinting eyes searching your face for any hint of a joke or lie. He seemed to find none, but had no response for you. It was hard to tell his full expression behind the mask, and you found yourself sick of it.
Besides, itâs not like you didnât know who he was.
Your fingers curled under the edge, lifting it gently, but a firm grip on your wrist stopped you.
âBen, itâs okay.â
His eyes widened in slight surprise at your use of his first name, but it did the trick. The hand holding you fell away and you pulled the fabric fully off his face.
You sucked in a breath at the injuries before you. A trickle of blood coated his blond grey-flecked hair where it stuck to his forehead, and there was a bruise blooming on his cheekbone.
The lips you had admired not that long ago were sporting a cut, but even with all that, Dex didnât appear to be in a lot of pain. His face showed an openness and tiredness that youâd never seen on him before.
Without thinking, you raised a hand to brush lightly over his mouth, relishing in the slight flutter of his eyelids as you did so.
You couldnât stop, addicted to the reaction. Your hand trailed from his lips to the side of his face, and over his sharp jawbone. You mapped out everything that was hidden to you before, ignoring the smear of blood on your hand.
His piercing gaze stayed fixed on you as he pressed his head into your palm. His only other movement was twitching hands where they rested over his thighs. He stayed still, not trying to stop you or rush you, just accepting.
It wasnât until your fingertips brushed over his throat that he shivered beneath you. The movement was nearly imperceptible, but he had definitely tilted his head back slightly to give you more access.
It made something swirl in your abdomen. How much he trusted you, how willing he was beneath your hands. How good he looked, injuries and all.
You told him as such, and his eyebrows knit together like he had been hit.
âDonât say that, you donât know what youâre starting.â His voice was weak, barely a whisper in the quiet of the room.
âI do.â
âNo you donât. You said you care about me, Iâm not easy to care for.â The words werenât said in self deprecation or a stab at sympathy, just factual. He truly believed that care and tenderness wasnât made for him.
It sent a pang through your heart, for so many years you held a similar sentiment about yourself. You were difficult to understand-to accept, but he did, and you could do the same for him.
âI know.â You held his face in both palms, a hairsbreadth away from him, âNeither am I.â
Your lips meeting his seemed to ignite action within him, hands that were previously dormant snapping up to grab at your hips firmly.
You were pulled down to straddle his lap, already feeling a poking hardness in the fabric. It was your turn to shiver, giving an experimental grind forward as you continued to kiss him breathlessly.
That caused a deep groan to flood from his throat into your mouth. He quickly found purchase over your ass to guide you into repeating the movement.
While you grinded over the hard length in his pants, his tongue explored the expanse of your mouth, flicking over the ridges and smoothness inside. You could taste the uniqueness of him, but also the metallic tang of blood from his lip.
You only pulled away to breathe once the burning in your chest couldnât be ignored. Chest heaving, you pulled back and watched as he did the same.
He couldnât seem to see enough of you, eyes raking from your chest down your frame and back again. His lips were swollen and spit slicked, and you were sure you had a similar look of dishevelment.
His hands trailed up your spine and back down to where you sat on top of him. You could hear the swallow he took before speaking, âIf Iâm going to have you, itâs going to be all of you. If you go through with this, youâre not leaving me, you get that?â His voice was steady despite being out of breath, tone deadly serious.
You could read between the lines for the warning. There was no going back for Dex if you continued, no breakups, no do-overs.
Lucky for him you didnât want any.
In lieu of response, you surged forward, attacking his mouth with your own as you drug yourself firmly over his crotch.
You gasped out a moan as the movement caught between your legs, right where you needed it most. But it wasnât enough. You needed to be closer.
You shrugged off your top, throwing it to an unseen side of the room. Another shiver racked your body as lips made use of the newly exposed skin, nipping and sucking over your chest and sternum.
His fingers grabbed onto the latch of your bra, but you stopped him short. âNo, get out of that suit first.â
He backed away from you with a half lidded gaze, trademark smirk flicking on his lips. âYes maâam.â
He seemed to enjoy watching you squirm as he unlatched all the zippers and buttons of his suit, moving much slower than necessary. The utility belt came off first, knives clinking as he threw them on your nightstand. The top part of his suit was soon to follow, dark fabric peeling away to reveal fair skin.
He wasnât as injured as youâd assumed, just a dark blooming bruise on his ribs and left shoulder. Every other mark was old and weathered, the raised scars scattered across his torso spoke of years of pain.
You took him in unabashedly, eyes raking over pronounced pectorals and the defined abs that covered his stomach. Light hair dusted his chest and led in a trail past the waistband of his pants.
His smirk only widened as he watched you watching him. Patiently waiting, he sat there for your next move.
It was only fair that you lost the next bit of clothing, so you rose off him to shimmy out of your pants, leaving the underwear on.
His brow rose as he caught onto the little game you were playing. His pants came off quickly after, joining yours in a dark heap.
The only thing shielding the prominent bulge in his lap was dark grey briefs. They didnât leave much to the imagination, clinging to the long rod of him and wrapping around solid thighs. You could see a dark patch in the fabric where heâd already started leaking, your core throbbing in response.
You settled on his lap again, smiling at the soft hiss he let out from the pressure. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, guiding him to your bra clasp as you trailed fingertips past the waistband of his briefs.
His fingers deftly unlatched the clasp, and the cover fell away right as you pulled his length free.
It slapped loudly against his lower stomach, smearing white across his skin and your hand.
His eyes werenât focused on that though, only staring at your chest with intimidating focus. âGod, the things I wantâta do to you.â
It was spoken under his breath so quietly, you were unsure if the words were meant for you to hear.
âSo do them.â
He only laughed, leaning back on his elbows to watch you.
He knew what you wanted, he just wasnât going to give it to you that easily. Your frustration only made him impossibly harder.
Despite his blasĂŠ act, you could see you were having an effect on him. Every rock of your hips made his cock twitch, a bead of white dribbling out the top. His neck and chest were covered in a flush, and every breath he took seemed labored. Shaky.
You decided to play his own game, fuck with him a little, âCâmon Dex, show me what you promised.â
You reached down, rubbing a thumb over the leaking slit between you. He let out a breathy moan, hips involuntarily bucking up into you.
You didnât stop in your ministrations, leaning down to speak directly in his ear. âYou said you wanted all of me, so take it. You have me.â
Your words caused another twitch in your hand. âYou have me, Iâm yours.â
The words were barely out your mouth when you were flipped onto your back, bouncing against the mattress. You let out a startled giggle at the movement, only sobering when you looked down.
The look Dex gave you made your heart stutter for a moment. The only way you could describe it was carnivorous. His eyes were dark and shadowed, and if you didnât know him well enough to recognize the want in his expression, he looked almost pissed off.
It only made wetness pool in your core.
âYou want this?â He left a trail of open mouthed kisses down your stomach.
It was a rhetorical question, but you nodded anyway.
âWhere do you want me? Here?â He bit at your hipbone, soothing the flesh with a lick afterwards.
âOr here?â His breath ghosted across the damp patch of your panties, making you thrum in anticipation.
âYes, right there.â Any more dilly dallying and youâd probably start begging. You had a feeling thatâs exactly what he wanted.
âHmm, interesting.â He ignored the area, trailing lips down your inner thighs. His hands gripped your knees, preventing you from closing yourself off to him.
He bit random spots all the way down your thigh, licking a stripe on the way up.
âDex- câmon.â You huffed. The feeling of his mouth on yours was amazing, but it wasnât nearly enough and he knew it.
âWhose are you?â The words are spoken into your skin, in the crease of your hip.
âYours.â
âAnd who do I belong to?â He grasped the waistband of your underwear between his teeth, dragging them down slowly.
âMe.â
You only saw the flash of a smile before his mouth was on you fully. You let out a shuddering moan as his lips latched onto your clit, sucking hard.
He juggled between your bundle of nerves and trailing his tongue down to your entrance, licking inside.
You could feel him groan against you as you grabbed a fistful of his hair, holding him steady.
Between your existing wetness and his mouth, you were soaking, juices dripping down to the bedsheets past his mouth.
His mouth traveled up again to focus on your nub while one of his hands snaked around to press two fingers against your entrance.
They slipped in easily, quickly building a rhythm trusting into you while his tongue lapped at you from the outside.
You couldnât even make a sound as your peak quickly approached, your body just seized with the amount of pleasure rolling through you.
Your eyesight blanked out, and you took a few heaving breaths before you were able to find your voice again.
Even as your moans turned to over sensitive whimpers, he didnât let up, only slowing down the movement of his hands and mouth. He seemed to be lost in the action, only focused on you and your enjoyment.
You had to yank his head back to get him to stop, and he did so with a bit of reluctance.
His hands trailed over you, running smoothing circles over your hips and legs.
Impatiently, you dug your heels into his back, nudging him upward towards you.
He followed happily, the same hungry expression on his face, except now there was a lack of tension. He seemed more relaxed, like he was the one who came and not you.
âI might not last too long. Donât do this much, or at all really.â He analyzed your face after heâd said it, looking for any shift in your expression.
You were kind of shocked by the revelation, but werenât put off by it at all. For a normal guy that looked like Dex, youâd assume they had a steady stream of people coming into their bed.
He wasnât normal, and he definitely wasnât the type to have one night stands. In fact, before tonight, you werenât completely certain he was interested in sex at all.
You wouldâve accepted him either way of course, but it was nice to know he shared the same want as you did.
âThatâs fine, I just need you inside me.â
The words shocked a groan out of him, and he nuzzled his head into the juncture of your neck.
You could feel his hands wrap around your legs to reposition you accordingly.
He slid out of the last piece of fabric covering him and reached down to position his head at your entrance.
It slipped at first from the wetness, but after a few tries the tip caught onto you, slipping inside halfway.
The pressure punched the air out of you, mouth falling open in an âoâ shape. Even with his preparation it was a tight fit.
Dex let out a noise somewhere between a whine and a moan, dipping down to capture your mouth in his, siphoning heat into your mouth.
The taste of yourself on his tongue only heightened the experience, and you could barely catch your breath between that and his slow ruts forward.
Every movement pushed him further into you, and before you knew it he was sheathed inside you fully.
You both shuddered at the feeling, and you were sure you could feel every ridge and vein of him in your walls.
âShit- you feel so good. I gotta pause for a sec.â He breathed against your mouth.
So you waited.
Until you didnât.
His head tipped forward with a groan as you squeezed around him. One of his hands held your hip in a vice grip, sure to leave bruises later.
âDonât do that.â His eyes flashed at you in warning.
You couldnât even focus on a teasing response, you only wanted him to move.
Then he did, starting in shallow thrusts into you, building into longer drags where he pulled almost fully out before snapping into you again.
He grabbed your wrist, planting the palm firmly over his throat and guiding it to squeeze.
You followed the instruction even as his hand fell away, tightening around the corded muscles of his neck.
His eyes fluttered, hips stuttering before speeding up into a faster pace.
His breaths panted against your face as he pounded into you with quick succession. The angle shifted slightly, and he flashed a sharp grin at me hearing your higher pitch.
He pinpointed that spot, hitting it over and over again, only pausing to slip your ankles over his shoulders before continuing.
You couldnât tell where you began and he ended, mind so blissed out. It was clear from your noises that you were reaching your peak again, and he slipped a hand down over your clit to accelerate it.
He didnât rub, just pressed down his thumb firmly over you as you tightened around his shaft again.
The feeling of your fluttering walls made him follow right across the edge with you, letting out a shuddering moan as he pumped a few more times and released inside you.
All the strength seemed to sap from him once he came, body falling onto you heavily. You could still tell he was holding himself up a bit on his forearms in order to not crush you completely and you pulled him down solidly to increase the weight.
His rapid heart rate beat in unison with yours where you were pressed to his chest, the slick feeling of sweat and other fluids clinging to your bodies as he softened within you.
The time stretched on as you both sat there in breathless blissfulness, neither one eager to move positions.
His face hadnât moved from where it sat nestled in your neck, warm breaths disturbing the strands of hair there. When he spoke, you felt it more than you heard it.
âYou okay?â It was spoken with an air of unsureness that was unlike him. Based on what heâd said before, you had an idea of what his worries were.
âThat was amazing.â And you werenât lying, the entire experience had knocked a bit of your soul out your body and you were certain thereâd be consequences of soreness the next day.
He made a humming noise, satisfied with the answer, and moved to lift off you.
A flare of panic lit up within you. Eventually, youâd have to go back to the real world, real responsibilities and concerns, but at the moment you didnât want the stretch of peace to end. âWait, not yet.â
He lowered himself back down immediately even though a frown creased his expression. âYou need to get cleaned up, it might feel worse later.â
âWell,â you let out a soft chuckle, rubbing a hand along his scarred spine, âthatâs for later me to worry about. Just a bit longer.â
He didnât make much argument about it, settling his head back over your chest where he gave soft nips at your collarbone.
Despite relishing the peacefulness, there was something else nagging at your mind.
âHey Dex?â
He hummed out a response, still mapping you out with his mouth.
âWhat happened?â You didnât have to clarify, you knew he knew that you were referring to the event that caused him to show up in your room covered in blood.
A soft sigh, and he was leaning back to respond, âThe one who put a hit on you, he found out that I hadnât exactly,â he paused deliberating the words, âfollowed instructions. He sent a team to finish the job, and I made sure that didnât happen.â
âI wonât let anyone hurt you.â There was a burning in his eyes that showed the extent of violence he was capable of.
The idea of him choosing to not kill you even though heâd been ordered to do so, and fighting off anyone else who tried was⌠rousing to say the least.
His eyes tightened in a wince of overstimulation as you involuntarily tightened around him.
âItâs gonna be a bit longer for that.â He sounded like he detested that fact just as much as you did.
You grinned, âIâll be counting down the minutes,â you were going to continue with something teasing, but the look on his face stalled you.
The light from your open window casted a bluish tint over his face, contouring the edges of features softly. He fixed you with a searching gaze, like you were the only thing worth looking at.
âI meant what I said before,â You started, âitâs no going back for me either. Iâm with you.â
He traveled up to your face silently and your eyes fluttered closed in preparation. Instead of kissing you on the lips, his mouth pressed firmly over your forehead. The touch trailed down to press two consecutive pecks over your eyelids and finally melt against your mouth.
âIâm with you.â
You knew that no matter what was coming in your lives that you werenât afraid, fully willing to delve into the future with the person that knew you best.
Div by: @pixopix
AN: boss makes a dollar, I make a dime, I wrote this on company time. So if thereâs any typos or inconsistencies⌠sorry. Itâs minimally edited from my flow of consciousness.
If anyone even reads this, lemme know what you think, is it good? Bad? Just meh? Lmk :D
synopsis you're too tired to cook and sick of ordering out. dex has a solution for both of those problems.
notes based on my hc that hes a good cook. i took many liberties here with the ddba timeline just go with it.
tags fluff, humor, stalkerish behavior again not to be taken too seriously, getting winedrunk, happens to the best of us, more music headcanons
wc 2.7k
part 1 part 2
The week was going by torturously slow at work. You were going home every night only wanting to collapse in bed rather than worry about what to cook.
You saw the icon of your food delivery app more than your own face in the mirror by the time Friday came around.
âIâm actually starting to get sick of my favorite fast food place,â you complained, as if it was the worst possible reality for you to live in.
Dex sat across from you at the diner, drinking his coffee, listening to you rant before youâd be off for another mind-numbing day.
It had become routine for you both for the past month, starting one day and neither of you yet breaking the newfound tradition.
âI could cook for you,â he said.Â
Of course, his invitation was accompanied by undertones you couldnât see. He was more eager to have an excuse to see you in his space than he was to help you break your fast food habit you were concerned about.
But you agreed in an instant. You were dying to eat a home cooked meal that you didnât have to make, and admittedly, you had been curious about how he lived.Â
While he did tend to drop the occasional detail about himself in conversations, you had trouble prying much out of him with direct questions.
You sensed that being in public was what made him hesitant to share things, so an invitation to his apartment was an added bonus to the promised meal.
Maybe you were too trusting to agree to meet him behind closed doors when it felt like you still knew so little about him.
But it was a bit late for those thoughts now that you were literally in the stairwell of his apartment building with a tote of cheap wine. The scent of cigarettes, damp wood, and old hallway carpets invaded your senses as you climbed the steps.
It still smelled better than your building.
As you were walking down the hall towards his door, you were met with the sight of Dex already speaking with someone. He was standing in his doorway, trapped in a conversation with whom you assumed was a neighbor.Â
She was speaking to him in a rather affectionate tone, holding a tray of saran-wrapped sweets.
You stood idly by, not wanting to disrupt their interaction just yet. It was kind of a relief to see he was at least friendly with his neighbors.Â
Now you felt better about coming to the apartment of a man you barely saw outside of the diner.Â
He thanked her, taking the tray from her hands and she patted his cheek with an almost maternal fondness.Â
The woman was saying her goodbyes to him when she turned and spotted you in the hall. Her eyebrows raised and she looked between you and Dex almost knowingly.Â
âOh, you invited a girl over?â She asked him adoringly in her heavy slavic accent. âWhy did you never bring her around before?âÂ
Your lips quirked in amusement. Nosy neighbor.Â
âSheâs a friend of mine, Ms. Smithers,â he explained to her with the ghost of a smile on his lips.
Ms. Smithers then walked up to you, speaking in a lower tone only you could hear.Â
âYou let me know if he gives you trouble,â she advised lightheartedly, âBut my Tony is a nice boy.âÂ
Tony? Your eyebrows knit together for a moment as Ms. Smithers left back to her own apartment.
Before you could ask any questions about the strange name, though, you made eye contact with Dex. He opened the door wider, gently flicking his head to the side in a gesture silently asking you to come in. Noâtelling you.
You had no legitimate reason not to listen. It briefly occurred to you that youâd probably be easy to kidnap.
The inside of his apartment was, in one word: neat.
The soft, yellow tinted lighting emitting from the sconces on the wall gave his studio an air of comfort, safety. It drew you in closer as you removed the wine tote from your arms which he then took from you.Â
You thanked him, hearing him carry the wine bottle and the tray from his neighbor into the kitchen behind you. You took the opportunity to continue shamelessly ogling his living space.Â
In your brief survey of the apartment, you came to a conclusion youâd suspected since you first met him.
The rather eclectic style kitchen, the CRT television in the small living room that bled into his bedroom. The CD collection stacked beside a stereo. The headphones and MP3 player he used on the plane. How his music taste rarely seemed to breach the 2000sâŚ
âYouâre really into the vintage scene, arenât you?â You turned to him.Â
He tilted his head in a silent question.
You gestured vaguely to the television in the corner of the living room.Â
âI guess I am,â he chuckled under his breath, like your observation caught him off guard.Â
âAre you a collector, then?âÂ
âNo, I just prefer it over the newer stuff. I use a cellphone for work, but the âvintageâ stuff isâŚâ He trailed off. âIâm used to it.âÂ
In your brief time knowing him, youâd picked up that he was a bit different. Then again, you were too.Â
You made a mental note of the quirk triumphantly. You wanted to keep pressing him for details.
But dinner had to be cooked by someone.
When you suggested helping him cook, you thought you were imagining the flicker of distress in his eyes. Now you knew it was definitely real.
He was a little bit of a control freak in the kitchen apparently, because he had you chopping vegetables you were pretty sure didnât even go to the recipe he was making.Â
You watched him expertly mincing herbs on a cutting board across from you on the other side of the counter, eyebrows knit together in concentration as he did. He was pretty handy with that knife of his.Â
âSo,â you started, and saw how his expression briefly relaxed to attention when he heard your voice. âTony?â
His knife paused for a moment. You took mental note of that.
âYeah, Mrs. Smithers misheard me and I never corrected her,â he explained, like what he said just made any sense at all. âSweet old lady.â
âHow the hell did she get Tony from Dex?â You laughed at the absurdity.
âSheâs hard of hearing, I guess.âÂ
You accepted his answer, even if you didnât think he was being completely honest. What reason would he have to lie to other people about his identity, anyway?
âWhat is it that you do, by the way?â Your gaze fell to how each vegetable in the bowl was cut at precisely the same length and width. âYouâre not a cook, are you? âCuz I would totally believe that.â
âNo,â he turned towards the stove and you didnât miss the slight smile on his lips. âContract work mostly.â
âThatâs pretty vague,â you pointed out, but your comment was soon drowned out by the sizzling of the pan on the stove.
Could have been intentional on his end. Or, could mean nothing.
So he was a mysterious guyâbut lots of people are! You even considered yourself to be mysterious.
Even though you were the same person who shared photos of you and your friends on vacation to a man you met once. And then agreed to go to his apartment and let him cook for you. Found out he gave his neighbor a fake name, then showed off crazy knife tricks in front of your eyesâŚ
All of the above could maybe raise an eyebrow, but it wasnât enough for you to go take up Ms. Smithers on her earlier offer to rescue you or anything.
Dinner was also delicious enough for you to forget about all of that pretty quickly. He opened the wine you brought too, and once it was in your system you couldnât care less about anything but how relaxed you were after such a terrible week.
And Dex had made that happen for you. He once again turned a distressing situation into a fond memory, and all of your doubts and questions from earlier melted into gratitude.Â
âYou are definitely a better cook than you gave yourself credit for,â you laughed, putting your glass back down on the table.
He gave you a nod of appreciation that only encouraged you to sing his praises.Â
âSeriously, donât be so modest, Dex.âÂ
The man was practically blushing, avoiding your gaze by staring at the crimson wine still pooled in your glass. It was endearing how easily some simple praise could penetrate the cooler exterior he seemed to maintain.Â
You remembered the CD collection you spotted earlier and strode over to it, grabbing your wine glass with you on the way over.Â
âWhat do you have here?â
As you flipped through each jewel case, you barely registered him in the corner of your vision, still at the table. He was watching you, having gone completely still.
âLetâs seeâŚâ You took another sip of your cheap wine. âHow about this one?â
The album you held up was by Radioheadâs In Rainbows. It contained one of the songs you listened to together on the plane, and in your nearly winedrunk state you thought it would be cute to reminisce on that moment.Â
But the second you showed it to him, he was shooting up from his chair.Â
It almost startled you, and you turned to look at him with raised eyebrows.
His hand clasped around your wrist, the other taking the case from your hand. You gasped. Not out of fear, but confusion.
He was still holding your wrist, chest rising and falling in even breaths. You noticed how delicate his grip was compared to the urgent seizing of the item that was just in your hand.
You wondered if he could feel how warm your skin was becoming under his hand.
âJustâleave it. The discâs already in the stereo.â He lowered his tone as he released you, and placed the jewel case back into the stack of CDâs.Â
You laughed bashfully, not thinking anything of it. You were too focused on the contact you'd just had. âOh, alright.â
With your finger pressing into the consoleâs buttons, you kept fast forwarding until it reached the track you had in mind.
It was sort of melancholy for the current atmosphere, but you hadnât really recalled that fact until you heard the slow hum of the distorted bass fill the apartment.
He still seemed on edge as he remained standing beside you, and you felt a little bad for the slip-up. Maybe you shouldnât have been touching things without permission.
âSorry, I didn't mean to kill the mood.â You put your wine glass down on the coffee table.Â
âDonât apologize,â he muttered, looking at you again finally with his jaw barely clenched.Â
You noticed how close he was standing at that moment. How little space was between your bodies.
Your pulse throbbed beneath your skin, your brain muddled from the wine. He was gazing down at you with something unreadable in his eyes.
Not affection. Not lust.
Your breath hitched.
The stark vibration of his phone on the kitchen table made you both draw back.Â
Dex cursed under his breath as he went to retrieve his phone. âI have to take this.â
You watched as he put the device to his ear and stepped out the door into the hall, leaving you alone in his apartment.
The crescendoing of the piano flowing from the stereo broke you out of your daze, and you felt the sudden urge to change the CD.Â
That song clearly hadnât done the both of you any favors.Â
Your hands fumbled for the jewel case, knocking a few from the stack in the process. You clicked it open and something slipped from the inside when you did.Â
You thought it was the insert booklet at first. But when you looked at the ground you saw it was actually a smaller paper folded into a small square.Â
As you knelt to pick it up, you felt a dull pang in your head from the alcohol. You stood back up, unfolding the square without thinking.
Your breath caught.
There you were, staring back at yourself with a gleeful smile. Completely unaware of what the present version of yourself had just discovered.
He had the missing photo this entire time. Judging by how strictly he insisted you didnât touch this jewel case, he didnât want you to know he had it, either.Â
Why had he chosen this one to take home, you wondered, instead of the dozens of other ones on the table?
If you never noticed his hand reaching to swipe one of your photographs, then you knew he didnât just grab the first one he saw. He could have picked any of them. Multiple, potentially.
Out of the other photos of you smiling, posingâor the one of you suggestively laid out on the beachâhe deliberately chose the one of you in the aquarium.Â
More importantly, why the hell did he take it in the first place?
You quickly stood up, looking around for the one thing that could get you out of this.
Out in the hallway, Dex was hanging up his phone with an exasperated sigh. They told him they wouldnât need him tonight, but now he had to find a way to cut the night short.
Things were going a little differently than planned anyway. While you were impressed by his cooking and the unexpected praise was nice, you were behaving very unpredictably.
Asking him too many questions about his work, and his neighbor certainly didnât help by showing up right when you arrived, revealing his false identity to you.
Then there was you snooping around and nearly finding the photograph he took from you. He knew he should have hidden it better but he thought plain sight would have worked well enough. Not well enough for you, apparently.Â
That definitely didn't mean he wanted you to go, though.
When he returned to the apartment, he saw you sitting at the kitchen table again. The music was playing in a lower volume now, and he was relieved to hear you didnât try to change the CD while he was gone.Â
âI donât want to end the night like this,â he began, which was the truth, âbut something came up and I have to take care of it.â
Your lips stretched into an easy smile, âthatâs alright. Itâs getting late, anyway.â
To anyone else, your smile and words would have seemed natural. The typical response to what he led with.
But to Dex, whoâd spent ample time memorizing every way your lips moved and learned your mannerisms down to the subtlest quirk of your eyebrows knew that something was off.
Your speech was practiced. Performed.
You had found it. That was the only explanation for your behavior shifting so suddenly after he left.Â
âLet me drive you home.â He said, already reaching for his keys.
âNo, Iâll hail a cab,â you insisted, securing your tote over your shoulder as you walked to the door. âThank you again for inviting me over.â
He could feel you slipping away like sand between his fingertips. For a moment, he wondered if he could blow off work and try again to convince you to stay. To not leave.
Don't leave me.
But you were out the door before he could act on it.
He went straight for the CD case.Â
He popped it open and the photograph was still there, though, folded into a small square.Â
Had you really not found it after all?
Dex plucked the folded photograph from the case and unraveled it. When he held it up, it looked the same as it always did when he admired it.Â
But with the light from the living room beaming down on it he noticed markings shining through, like there was something on the back.
He flipped it over. Red ink.
'Not cool, Tony.Â
Find a way to make it up to me.'
Your first initial was signed beside the message, just as he did the first time he left you a note.
Even in the midst of his crisis, you got a chuckle out of him. Okay, maybe you did find out. But you weren't freaked out by what he did, clearly.
If you took the time to write out a joke for him to find, maybe what he interpreted as fear was...smugness?
The thought amused him as he was slinging his holster around his hips.Â
Oh yeah, he'd definitely make it up to you.
a/n and i pull from my hat...another misleading ending.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Dex takes a liking to the regular at the diner, after a couple of weeks he decides to follow them home.
3.7k
themes of self harm and suicide/ attempted suicide. dead dove do not eat, stalking, smut, obsessive Dex, suicidal reader. fem reader but lowkey gender neutral? overdose, selfharm, blood play? cutting, Dacryphilia:
afab,
one << read on a03?
Soon everything stops. It comes to a sudden halt. You almost miss him.Â
Almost. You couldn't be too certain.
You figure this out on Wednesday when you come home from your support group, upset that you couldn't share a glance with Dex after he had seemingly disappeared too.Â
Wrapped up in shame. There's no candy waiting for you on the counter, and after that it has stopped. A blunt end. You had carried on with life, figuring the stalker had just gotten bored of you, which was to be expected.Â
Everyone gets bored of you in the end.Â
Three months pass and then a year, and you decide that it's finally time to end things, your stalker canât stop you this time. You had been clinging on from the very beginning.Â
This time you will finally finish something.Â
You leave the support group, walk down to the dinner. Order your cherry pie in your booth, sitting in silence, you eat it like always, so quickly you canât even taste it. You don't want to savour it. Then you stand. Grabbing your scarf and jacket. Shrugging it on. Cash falls to the table as you take a cigarette out. You smile to yourself.Â
The tv lights up about some escaped convicts in the area. You recognise the name, âBenjamin Poindexter.â Sometime last year he had been on a killing spree. Resulting in his incarceration. You look up to the tv screen, a picture flashes up. He's grinning, ear to ear. Eyes half glazed over and shut. You find your heart beating quickly. Dex? Like Support group fbi dex from a year ago? Your eyes widen. But you dismiss any worry.
You take in your final look of the Diner, the regulars haven't changed, the paint still peeling. As your eyes gloss over. You spot the man you haven't seen for a year sitting in the back, his face covered by a newspaper. But his eyes stare back at you. You remember those eyes. The paper creases in his grip, and your eyes twitch. Something in your head tells you to leave quickly. You feel the pieces start to click together. You look away, pretending to ignore the bad feeling.Â
Coldness washes over you.Â
The phone calls, the comforter wrapped over you after late nights. The guy at the Diner every Wednesday, the one you never paid any attention to until he came to the support group. And then he left the same time your stalker did.Â
fuck
How could you be so stupid?
You swallow, ignoring that gut feeling that tells you to run as you pass booths and calmly walk out the door. You light your cigarette, wide eyed as you feel his gaze still on you. You don't turn to look at him. You pant in panic. But pretend like you haven't noticed anything.
You walk home with your head down, steady, unshaking.Â
The sound of footsteps behind you doesn't stop as you approach your home. And when you turn to cross over the road heâs there standing still watching you. Your heart thumps against your chest. You blink back tears.
You don't cross and walk further, but then you have to cross to get to your building and heâs not there, which scares you even more.Â
You duck inside your apartment. Avoiding turning on the lights, instead you rush to your bedside table. Pulling out the sharpened hunting knife, the blade flicks out with ease and the cool steel presses into your palm until you bleed, you hiss. You run to the bathroom, shedding off your clothes until you stand in your underwear. You start to run a bath. Locking the door behind you.
Youâve never been in a hurry to kill yourself before.
Heavy steps pound up the stairs, reaching your door. There's a rattling noise, you picture your door handle violently shaking. It becomes more intense every second that passes. And then it stops. You breathe slowly.
A minute passes .
Then the familiar noise of the window into your apartment painfully squeaks out . You hear him stalk into your home, footsteps marking where he is. You know it's deliberate.
He wants you to know he's here.
You don't stand a chance.
They litter the apartment, jolting you from where you stand, you grip the knife in your palm, stuffing your clothes in the gap under the door to prevent any entrance.Â
The footsteps hover at the door as you hold your breath. Clean hand covering your mouth and pinching your nose. You fall to the floor slowly wrapping your arms around your legs. You reach over to the tap to turn it off, the metal screeches. Doors open, slam shut, and then the footsteps come back to the bathroom. The door rattles.Â
You stand quickly, moving to the medicine cabinet, grabbing the pills, your hand grips the lid. It takes a few tries to get it open, smearing your blood all over the orange plastic. Almost jumping for joy when you finally do.Â
The door stops rattling.Â
So you know what's coming next.Â
Solid thumping.Â
The sound of wood splintering inside of the cheap plywood door.
You turn the tap on, emptying the pills into your hand, your mouth over the sink.
By the time the pills reach your mouth youâre flung to the floor by the heavy weight of your stalker, they scatter over the linoleum tiles.Â
Eyes shut tightly as you wait for your head to hit the tiles, but it smashes into a leather palm instead, you grip the knife tightly in your palm as he brings your body closer to his, hushing at you softly. You're all hot and flushed. His masked covered face nuzzles into your neck as you cry.Â
It's overwhelmingly claustrophobic, his smell, his touch.
 Him.
You grip around the knife to bring it up to him, but he pushes your fist into the wall so hard that the knife drops on impact.
You whine at the pain that spreads from your knuckles, and your hand meets his masked face in a solid punch. His eyes smile, he only holds you tighter.Â
Closer.
âIt was youâ you let out a breathy sigh, âThe gifts, that night with the pillsâÂ
âI saved youâ He shuffles with you to stand, youâre still gripped tightly in his hold as he brings you into your bedroom, feet dragging along the floor. Stumbling towards something solid.
You suddenly remember how unclothed you are in comparison to him, not that it matters. You're sure he has seen it all before.
âI don't need saving,â you grunt.
He places you on the bed and moves to your wardrobe. His shirt stretches across the steady muscle of his back; pulling out a tshirt, sweatpants, and thick socks. You don't dare to move. Stuck in place analysing him. He places the clothes to the side of you. And you watch him hook his gloved fingers under his mask, pulling the soft fabric from under his jaw. Freezing his grey speckled blonde hair.
 Eyes on yours. You look away. Hearing him shed his gloves next.
âIt's late, youâve had a big dayâ he kneels in front of you. Arm swinging out to turn your bedside light on.Â
You don't fight it.Â
You feel yourself begin to dissociate.
Glaring at him as he unraveles the socks and slides your feet into them. Then grabbing the sweat pants and moving them up your legs, you lift your hips and he ties them at the waist. You lift your arms and he pulls the shirt down over your chest. And your hands return to the edge of the bed. His own press into your waist, finger tracing the bare skin.Â
Hard and calloused. You figure its from handling weaponry.
Heâs still kneeling before you. âYou canât die, you won't."
It's an order.
You don't answer back, his head presses into your lap. You watch him blink as he stares into the wall. He feels heavy against your thighs. Your eyes begin to water. You bring your hand towards his cheek, still sore from the knife. Taking him into your palm.Â
He presses himself against it. The blood spreads from your hand to his skin. Marking him with red. Hand hot with pain. He watches the tears fall from your cheeks. Blinking softly up at you. He reaches a hand out slowly, like he's trying to pet a stray cat. It's awkward and untrained.Â
He doesn't make any more sudden moves. And when it finally reaches your soft skin, he brushes away the tear with his thumb. Bringing his hand to his lips where he sucks the salty moisture off his skin.Â
You shudder. Eyes still concentrating on his lips as they part. His hand presses in the one that lays on his cheek, and he pulls your palm towards his mouth. Pressing wet kisses against clean skin, you watch his tongue peek out between his lips, as he starts to lap up the blood that pools over the wrinkles on your palm. Teeth dig into your skin. Like a rabid dog.Â
You start to pant, heart thumping against your chest, muscles in your wrist tensing as your eyes lift towards his own. You realise that he hasn't stopped watching you. His eyes are an espresso foam kind of caramel under the warm orange light of your bedroom.Â
You canât find words to tell him to stop. His tongue glides against the wound slowly, spit mixing with your blood, your cut aches, burns and his tongue sends heat down your spine. You feel yourself shuffle in place. The skin is raw and raised, it stings sharply.
When the blood is cleaned from your hand, he pauses. Lips wet with spit and blood. His eyes catch on your own. And suddenly his mouth is on yours. His hands pressing your head closer towards him. You find yourself frozen. He licks and bites at your lips, spit dribbling down your chin, as he pushes it back towards your mouth with his tongue. You find your eyes fluttering shut. Lashes resting against your cheek. He pulls away.Â
âKiss me backâ his thumb wipes at what you can only believe is blood, you're sure itâs smudged on your skin.
 âPlease,â he whimpers. He throws his lips back on yours, and you find yourself moving this time, and as he sucks at your bottom lip, you suck in a harsh breath. He sees the opening and goes in for the kill, His teeth begin to clash at yours. He tastes like coffee and metal.
He kisses like heâs hungry. Not knowing when his next meal is. His hand runs through your hair and then grips hard at the base of your skull. Pulling back tightly, neck exposed to his teeth, He kisses down the column of your throat and then takes the skin between his pearly whites and sucks hard. Your hand comes up and presses at his shoulder. Trying to push him away. But he finds his way closer. Burying into your skin. It travels to his hair knotting into the thick tufts and you pull back, but he only moans in return, hips jolting at your movement. He rises at the movement instead, pushing himself between your thighs, you find yourself laying back on the bed and he straddles over you.Â
âPleaseâ you mutter. Head shaking, Your eyebrows furrow.Â
You watch his head tilt, smile cracking into the harsh panes of his face, it's too perfect, like he's practised this whole routine over and over in the mirror.
You can imagine him doing that now.Â
Perfecting his lines.Â
 âDont act like you don't like thisâ he purrs, hands running up your cotton shirt as they nestle over your heart, he feels the way it thumps over his hand, hot skin pressed against your own.Â
He could kill you so easily, youâve seen the news, but for those months spent watching you, he hadn't.Â
But don't you want to die?
âIâve seen what you watch,â he moves to pull your shirt over your head, and you find yourself complying. Arms lifting back up. Only moments before he had dressed you up like a doll. âReally dirty stuff, huhâ he mocks.
âI know what you readâ his eyes run down your soft bare skin, calloused fingers tracing over the small bruises he had marked onto you. His touch feels like small pricks.
You almost whimper. Catching yourself before he hears it.Â
Too late.
That shit eating grin lights up his face again. And his hand travels to your neck, where the weight of his palm rests against your throat. Heavy. âStalkers, serial killers, Vigilantes. Well sweetheart. You sure have a type. I think I'm checking off all your boxesâ he's teasing you.
Your breath hitches. Eyes twitching. Lips pursed. Your eyes meet his. And then look away immediately, you force yourself to focus on something else. The wall. The floor, his perfect fucking face.
Shit. Your skin jumps.
âYou can't hide from me.â He moves your face, positioning you just how he wants. Lips pursed.
âI just don't get itâ you sigh, his fingers flex around your throat as you catch yourself leaning into them. âWhy me?â
âBecause I noticed you,â he hums, âit's as simple as that.â
You feel his thumb brush against your pulse and he holds it there, just for a few seconds, he feels it bounce.
Thump, thump.
âThat day, when I asked you out for a coffee, you hesitated.â, you pause, â I don't understandâ your voice strains. âWe could have ~no. What im saying is. You had an opportunity and you didn't take it.â
His hand traces your hip, and then searches deeper. Slipping under soft fabric. Burrowing under your panties. You find yourself gripping his wrist, but his eyes tell you otherwise. And you feel yourself give in. You loosen your hold on him. And his fingers dance their ways across your skin.Â
âYou don't know what it was like for me, watching a pretty thing like you for months and suddenly we're talking, you're spilling your guts to me like an old friend. How would I respond to that?â
You gasp, as he finds your clit straight away. Your back arches in response.
âEveryday I spent in that prison I wanted to be at that diner with you, watching you drink that coffee, wiping whipped cream off your lips. I just had to fuck things up. But it's okay. I'm here nowâ he swipes the pad of his finger over you. Watching you hide your whines. âIm here to save you, to balance the scales.â
âmm~â you moan. The sound falls from your lips before you can catch yourself. He smirks. His mouth pressed on yours, his fingers working over your pearl. Slick covering them. One hand lifting you up into an arch by your throat. He kisses softer this time, now he's satiated, slow and precise movements as his lips settle on yours, it's here where you start to fall apart. Your eyes gloss over as he works tight circles. Eyebrows start to touch, you're struggling to kiss back, you feel his nose nudge yours.
And when he notices you starting to give in. how your body starts to relax. He stops, leaning back. Picking apart the small little bow and shedding your joggers quickly. You shiver at the air against your skin.
He sheds his tight black top first. Tanned and scarred. Loosening his holster that sits around his hips. Your cheeks heat at the view, it's like something out of one of your romance books, three weeks ago you would've rolled your eyes. But you find yourself hooked on the feeling he's giving you.
His gear thumps against the wooden floor. And then he straddles, the hard fabric of his cargos brush into your thighs, you feel the stitching rub as he settles over you. You watch his chest rise, his heavy muscle leans against you, you're trapped. Caged between him and your bed. You push yourself up on your elbows.Â
âDo you want this?â He cocks his head to the side. The sides of his mouth flutter.
You find yourself nodding in agreement.Â
âI want you to say the wordsâ he orders
âShit Yes, I want thisâ you agree.
You give in so easily.
âDexâ he nods at you, you cheeks heat.
âI want this Dex, PleaseâÂ
He hums in pleasure at your agreement, eyes rolling back as he smirks. His thick fingers press against the metal, soft leather slapping against his trousers as he works the belt out. Eyes trained on you. Face stern and unchanging.
He takes your hand in his, guiding it to his bulge, he holds it there you feel him throb under you. âthis is what you do to me.â His tongue peeks out his lips. And you suck in a breath, his hand leaving yours. You feel your confidence grow. Hand running over the outline of his cock, it trails up to the button of his cargos, and you yank the fabric until it gives, pulling the zip with it. He stands back, shedding his cargos and boxers. You find yourself doing the same.Â
Unclasping your bra, and ridding yourself of your panties. His mouth is on yours.
Body pressing against you before you can even find time to look back at him. He's radiating heat, body chasing body, while you push yourself up the bed. Your legs part, as he nestles himself between them, eyes flicking down to run the head of his cock against your wetness.Â
When he looks back, your head is turned from him.
âcome on eyes on meâ he taps your cheek lightly with the back of his palm. Eyes finding him. âThat's it, don't be shyâ he sings as he feeds thick glorious inches into you. You stretch around him, he watches your face carefully.Â
Trained on every little twitch. Every blink. He studies. Slack jaw, baring his bottom teeth as he automatically finds that little spot inside of you that makes you arch your back. He cages you into the bed, arms either side of your head, you feel his hot breath against sweaty skin. The soft sheets stick to your back.
Confined into every inch of you, he makes you take it painfully slow. You hate every minute of it, it feels like a heart beat. He pushes slowly and pulls away just as leisurely. One hand running up and down the curves of your hip. Your jaw falls , and he mocks you. Mimicking it himself.
He takes enjoyment in this torture. You see that spread against his features as he lets out a soft inaudible grunt.
Face screwed up. He's taking in every second, savouring the moment.
His breath fans across your skin in the form of a throaty moan. Part of your chest whines, somewhere deep in your heart you feel a little pain, stomach full of impending doom. âI don't want to let you go,â he grunts, he sounds choked up about something. And his brown eyes reflect that pain. âYouâre mineâ
He's going to be the death of you.Â
You clench down on him when you realise this. His fingers grip tight into your skin, causing you to yelp at the pain that spreads through youÂ
He mewls in reaction "Oh you liked that? Huh?â his eyes glaze over. Half lidded, under the soft warmth of your lamp. â That you're mine, that you could do whatever you wanted to me and i would learn to take itâ
A single tear rolls down into your hair.Â
Once it starts, you can't find yourself stopping, face wet with tears, you push your head into his shoulder. âDont hide from me.â he whimpers against your neck, hand pulling you back from him. You watch his hazy eyes, and his lips brush against your cheeks, slowly. And then he's lapping up your tears, moaning into your skin. âDont cryâ he hushes at you softly âplease, dont cryâ, his skin emits warmth, and he tucks himself into you. Still pressed so deeply. His body is oppressive. But the weight of him seems to comfort you. And you stop yourself from hiccuping. Against his lips. You taste the salt of your tears on his tongue.Â
âYou canât kill yourselfâ He whispers into your skin, you feel the words vibrate up into your chest, âIâm going to make you betterâ, he starts to fuck you properly now, Harder. Deeper.
âWhatever you want you can~ah,â he keens, lips parting into a delicious display of pleasure. âhave it. I'll get it for you, make it for youâ
He pounds. And you feel the heavy heat spread against your back, in a state of delirious panic. âI wantâ you let out a sad chuckle, his lashes tickling your skin. âShit, I. Can I come?â
Head cocking, his chest presses harder against yours, your legs tremble. âfuck , you ask so nicelyâ he pants. Your nails scratch against his back. â you can have anything , if you ask like thatâ
His fingers find your clit. Your back arches. Pushing your chest into him.
âDex~â You sing.
Skin against skin, Sheets ruffling.Â
It washes over you slowly, wrapped up in pleasure. Eyes rolling back. Lips parted in ecstasy. You feel his gaze against you, he stutters. Fingers pressing into any bit of skin they can find. He presses his head into your neck. Biting hard as he comes. You're too spent to react.Â
He leaves the bed after a few minutes of you huffing on your back, eyes shut. He watches from the door as you begin to tuck into yourself, like you do at the diner. Arm hanging off the bed.
You find yourself drifting off to sleep, you're not quite sure if he had left. Until you feel him tucking himself behind you, pressing his hand into your now bandaged one.Â
A soft kiss against your temple. You find yourself melting into his touch. And for the first time in a long time, your lips stretch into a genuine smile.
Dex takes a liking to the regular at the diner, after a couple of weeks he decides to follow them home.
3k
themes of self harm and suicide/ attempted suicide. dead dove do not eat, stalking, eventual smut, obsessive Dex, suicidal reader. fem reader but lowkey gender neutral? overdose, selfharm
two. read on a03?
Thereâs something that catches his interest the sixth week it happens. Like always youâre sat in the little corner of the small dinner he visits weekly. Youâre wearing almost the same outfit. A black bomber jacket that falls just below your ass. A washed out grey hoodie. A dark red scarf and a black cap that's been worn out and shredded over time. Sometimes you wear a black pleated skirt, but for the majority it's a pair of Adidas jeans,with three black stripes down the side and the dirtiest pair of converse he has ever seen. The same piece of gum has been stuck to the bottom of your shoe for at least two weeks.Â
When you sit down in the corner you shed the bomber jacket and the scarf comes off with it, and then your hood comes up. He watches you press yourself deep into the cracked leather. The server will fill up two cups of the burnt dark roast coffee, always steaming, and then sheâll come over with a slice of cherry pie. It is cold at this time, the bottom is usually soggy. It's why he orders a slice of Banana Bread instead.Â
Heâll watch you drink the two cups quickly. They do not get refilled and then he watches you stare at the cherry pie, watching the cream deflate for about fifteen minutes with your knees pressed against the table, tucked into yourself. You scoff it down quicker than the coffee. Youâll slam down cash, leaving a two dollar tip. And leave.Â
The whole thing takes 30 minutes exactly. He knows. Heâs timed it thrice.
Every Wednesday for six weeks, around 7:15 you will enter that dinner. You will sit in the same corner booth. And then you will leave. Youâll stand outside with a cigarette hanging from your mouth, the lighter banging into your hand until it lights a strong enough flame. And then you walk away.Â
On the seventh week, while you bang the lighter against your palm, eyebrows furrowed. You meet his eyes through the window, your expression doesn't change. You don't blink. Donât shy away as he stares back. Unwavering until you light your cigarette and then turn back on to the street, the red glow of the neon light slips off your shoulders until you dissipate into the darkness.Â
He canât help himself, already piecing together the story in his mind. As you walk down the alleyway three men will come out.
One will push you against the wall searching your pockets, the other standing by the entrance of the alley keeping watch and the third will search your bag. They find nothing and because of this they get angry.
So, so angry.
He canât imagine your face changing from the straight resting look you gave him. So he imagines that instead, a tear will slip out the side of your eye, and he can see his reflection in it as he comes behind the guy that has pushed you into the wall.Â
The guy pushes you into the wall with a knife, and his friends are already down on the floor.Â
Yes.Â
He did this quietly and quickly with a penny, because he never misses.Â
And he imagines that the knife presses against your pretty little throat. Which he hasnât seen yet. But he already knows how soft the skin will be. Because he's already imagined how he will hold it, without pressing. His fingers will caress softly. And you will whine.
The knife presses into your throat, but you don't look scared, and the assailant gets angry.
 And he's all like. âLook at me! Bitch, Fucking look at meâÂ
Dex would never call you a bitch.Â
But youâll look at him instead, eyes softening and the knife slips slowly and nicks the skin. Your breath will catch. But it doesnt even matter bcs the bad man is on the ground. Dead. Toothpick lodged through his skull.
That's about as far as Dex gets before he's slipping out the door to follow you for the first time, following a trail of ash.
Your red scarf billows in the wind, it's like a big red sign that says âCome quick! Follow me!âÂ
And so he does. It's a short ten minute walk before you cross the road and head inside an apartment building. He waits over the other side of the road. Watching at the windows until one on the third floor lights up a shade of orange and he watches a very solemn you. Pearing out the open window before shutting it. Light switches off and then you move to what he believes is the bedroom, shedding your jacket and lying on top of your bed.Â
He knows your routine by the end of the week.Â
Following you to work at the little boutique, watching you through the window of some rundown coffee shop, dark roasted coffee burnt on his tongue, that's sacrifice. That's his good deed. He keeps you safe.
Heâll call your phone just to hear your little sighs, soft breathy âhello?â savouring those moments of bliss as he watches the phone press against the heat of your cheek. Your voice rings out like a good luck charm. Watching the huff of annoyance leave your lips as the phone slides down your face. âCold-Callerâ youâll think. Youâll go along with your day. No notice of who's watching.Â
When lunch break rolls around you come to the coffee shop, ordering a light salad, black decaf. You take your seat outside on the bright and sunny days, pulling out books, âBad Behaviourâ by Mary Gaitskill, âThe Monkâ Matthew Gregory Lewis. Or tucked away in a big chair on the rainy ones.
Youâll trace the words with light fingers, taking your bottom lip into your mouth. One foot on the chair as the other rocks Back and Forth.Â
Back and forth.Â
You eat slowly, often never finishing a meal. But the coffee is always empty, it doesn't matter how bad the roast is. He thinks its pumping through your veins.Â
After 30 minutes are up, youâll pick up your stuff, and then walk back over the road, cigarette in your mouth, you tuck yourself down the alley next to the shop. Smooth clouds of smoke appear from the alley, and it's ten minutes before he spots you back in the shop window. Preening at the display.Â
Heâll always spend lunch with you. Lunch break. He treasures this time with you. Soft fleeting moment, he's just feet away and you're so blissfully unaware.
He likes Saturdays more, Saturdays finds you sprawled over the couch, a box of take out on the coffee table as you lounge about in underwear and a band shirt. Sometimes Thai food, often a cheap burger and fries. You'll eat half, the rest left in the fridge until you throw away the stale food. Heâll watch you guzzle down a glass of wine, and then watch something on tv. Something light hearted. He sees your eyes light up, giddy from the wine.
When the wine is finished, you'll stumble to the bedroom, pulling off your clothes.Â
Wine makes your skin hot, he realises.Â
Flushed and half naked, you pass out over the comforter, window open, blinds half shut. Lights still on. Heâll watch the way your chest lifts up and down slowly till you're asleep.Â
The first time he did this he felt every nerve in his body light up with proverbial bliss.
Climbing through your window. Shutting the blinds slowly, he double checks the stove three times as he passes. When your skin has cooled and you start to shake, he drapes a thin blanket over you. He leaves two Advil and a glass of water near the coffee, just like you do.Â
As another Wednesday rolls around over three months later, he's at the little support group you go to at six, just a short walk from the diner that sits halfway between your home. He decides it's time to insert himself into your life.
He hovers over the donuts with a steaming cup of black earl grey. He can smell you before he can see you. Cigarettes, Coffee and Whiskey layered over the fresh caramel smell of your perfume. Drug store. So he knows you sprayed it after your cigarette as you walked in.Â
âTheyâre always stale, don't botherâ you sigh, stirring the pack of Stevia into your coffee.Â
It's the first time you've truly spoken to him, He doesn't reply. Too nervous to think. He never noticed you taking your coffee with anything.
His heart rushes. But your presence disappears. He repeats the words in his head until your voice merges into his and then he chooses a glazed donut. The sugar falls apart in his mouth, shedding like snake skin over the floor. And youâre right. The donuts are stale. And he takes to dunking them into his tea so they soften up. He wonders if that's why you order the cherry pie after this finishes.
He sits in the back row for the hour. Staring at the back of your head. Speaking is optional. And you don't make a move to stand, nor do you hang around after the hour is up. So he grabs his coat off the chair next to him and then follows behind you to the Diner. Where this routine starts, he sits at the counter this time watching you, he peers over a book he found in your apartment, some depressing little thing about memories and a library. He orders the cherry pie as well. He watches the cream melt and then takes a bite and a smile cracks into his face.
The pie is terrible. Bitter and sweet at the same time. The crust is warm, gooey but chalky from sitting under a heater all day. He wonders why you like it so much. The cream and coffee help the pie go down easier. When he turns his back to look at you again, youâre pulling your scarf and bomber jacket on. He watched nimble fingers pull out the pall malls from your coat pocket, the pack rattles and you pull out the lucky last cigarette.Â
Lucky indeed.Â
It takes place in the corner of your lips, and the cash is placed onto your table, a few extra quarters this time. You smile. For the first time.Â
And something in his gut tells him something bad is going to happen. He watches you adjust your hat. You take a few steps before stopping in front of him. Grin on your face. You pause. And then walk away. Your posture is different. You stand straighter.
When he follows you home this time, your body sways into the music from the street, youâre almost skipping. He catches up with you fast and dashes for the building on the other side of the road, he sprints up the steps and takes his place on the rooftop, looking through the scope of his gun.
A few minutes past and the light switches on, you shed off your clothes, even your hoodie this time, and youâre wearing a tight black long sleeve that stops an inch before your baggy jeans.Â
The sliver of skin gives him goosebumps, you bend down to what he thinks is your liquor cabinet. The shadow that falls over your face shows youâre still smiling. You pull out the whiskey. Glass on the counter. And you pour half a cup. His sight follows you as you shuffle towards the bathroom.Â
His heart starts to pound on his chest and he's already got an inkling of what you may be up to.Â
Your hand reaches the medicine cabinet and you pull out the codeine pills that have sat in there untouched for months.Â
He swallows as he watches you dance towards the counter pills in hand. When you get there you reach for your phone, and then count out the pills in a neat little line.Â
Heâs seen you do this five times before, but never with a smile on your face, you have never danced your way into any room, nor had you skipped home.Â
Usually after counting them out, you had pushed them all back into the counter, taking your head into your hands, rocking back and forth and then bringing the pills back into the bathroom, emerging with a shiny flushed face.
And so Dex watches you gather the pills into one hand and grab the glass with the other, he watches your head tip back, bringing you hand to your mouth, full of pills.Â
Anyone else and he wouldn't care. But he's been stuck in this routine, for months now, he's been on the right track. He's being good, he thinks you can make him better.Â
He knows he can help you.Â
Help you.
Help him.Â
Together.
He pulls out a hair clip of yours, dropped from your hair weeks ago, fished away into his pocket like a prize. Flinging it through the open window, where it wedges itself between the bones in your hand holding the pills.Â
You let out a cry, so with taken from the impact you drop the pills, they scatter all over the floor. He watches your eyes look upwards to where the clip was thrown from, blood trickling down your hand. And then you spot him. Well his shadow. Youâre sneering.
Looming over the building just over the road, he watches you approach the window slowly.
He thinks you curse at him. He sees you shout. Shouldâve wired the place.
He watches you run to the bathroom, pulling out the little piece of metal. Lips wobbling, wrapping your hand in a towel, your face scrunches up. He thinks youâre going to cry. But then your body rocks back and forth like your laughing, mouth wide open.Â
He wishes he could hear it.
You fall asleep in the tub, but you wake up bandaged in bed. The pills are gone. The whiskey has been drunk.Â
You don't even think to ask any questions. You already know.
You know youâre being followed. Stalked, even. Mugs moved around, panties missing. Lip balms that had been placed in coffee tables bowls, are gone. Sometimes the bed is made, sometimes the washing is done or your favourite candy is sitting on the counter waiting for you when you get home.
You see his figure looming over the building every night. Always gone in the morning.
This happens for weeks, months even. You half expect him to clamber through the window when you can't sleep. Waiting for the day the door swings open.
You focus on other things, like the cute guy that's started coming to the support group. Never speaking, always sat at the back. You'll catch a glance of him at the coffee station. Never finding the words to say to him.Â
Until one time, you're late. You find yourself rushing to make a coffee at the back of the hall, scalding hot water rushing out the catering urn.Â
âFuckâ you shout in pain. You look behind you after a shush rings out, smiling apologetically, the speakers go back to talking. And you press your hand against the water cooler to ease the pain of your burning skin.
âHereâÂ
Your ears perk up, looking behind you, finding the cute guy from the Diner. He's handing you a handkerchief. You pat your hand dry of water. âThank youâ you smile towards him.
âTheres a small kitchenette that way, if you want to run your hand under waterâÂ
You nod, taking a leap of faith. âCould you show me?â
He nods in return. You find yourself following after him, as he leads you to the cold kitchen. Slightly rundown. Mold dusts the pale yellow walls. He guides your hand over to the sink, feeling his jacket brush over your hoodie.Â
You drop his handkerchief on the counter. Hes so close you can smell his cologne. He starts the tap, double checking the temperature before pushing your hand gently under the stream. You sigh, the cool water easing the pain. His hands leave yours.
âIm Dexâ You smile, sharing your name in return. He speaks your name like he's tasting it on his tongue. It rings out slowly in his deep voice.
âWhat do you do for work, Dex?â
âI work for the FBIâÂ
âOh, shit that must be hard, makes sense why your hereâ you scoff.
âYeah, Itâs hard. It's really hard. But I like it, I'm good at my job, I like knowing I'm protecting people, what do you do?â
âI work at some snobby boutique, it used to be a second hand shop. But the owner decided she wanted something more elevatedâ you roll your eyes. â So now we sell Moroccan scarfs and beaded jewellery.â
âDoesnt look like your type of stuffâ he smirks. Eyes running down your body âYou seem a little edgier than thatâÂ
Is he flirting?
âI think she kept me around, because I have the resting bitch face that scares old women to come in and buy a forty dollar plastic tote bag with âshe who is brave is freeâ written in silver âÂ
You turn your hand under the tap, watching water droplets run. His gaze follows yours. Eyebrows furrowing, âI wanted to be a writer, I-um, moved here for college, but I dropped out. Because im a~failureâ
âI'm sure you're not,â he argues. You watch his eyes falter, grin fading. Jaw clenching.
âNo, It's true. I never finish anything. Iâve been engaged twice and I called them off. I've tried to leave my job six times but everytime I go to hand in my resignation letter I just feel this pull to not do it. I've written four books without endings. It's why I'm here. Because I can't go through with it, I have it all planned out and I just can't. I line up all the little pills, the exact amount I need but I just put them back in the pot.â Your head tilts forward. Hat hiding your face. âIts like every time I go to reach the finish line, I turn back.â You pause, lifting your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are restless. â shit, sorry I shouldn't have said anything. You're probably not even trained to deal with that.â
âThat sounds hard, You're not a failure. Even if you think you are. But, it seems like you're clinging on just a little. Why would you be here, if not?â
You pull your hands towards your face, water splashes up your chin. â I just want to know if other people have it worse, does that make me a bad person?â you shake your head, removing your hands âGod you're easy to talk too. Some kind of bullshit fbi technique to make me comfortable I betâ
He doesn't say anything. Instead he grabs the handkerchief of the counter, moving it towards your face, brushing the droplets of water off of your cheeks softly. You look away from his eyes shyly.Â
âDo you wanna grab a coffee after thisâ you utter.
âIs that okay with this group?â He raises his eyebrows.
âIts a suicide prevention group. I'm not trying to thirteenth step you." You watch his face for any sign of agreement. â It's fine we donât have to, actually I should probably go home. I think I-um, left the oven on?â you send him a quick smile, â andÂ
I don't want a fire, ahaâ you walk out the kitchenette shaking your head. Not bothering to finish the session. Windbiting your wet cheeks as you leave.
You find yourself praying for comfort at home, a hand on your back. AÂ thumb grazing your cheek. The bag of candy is left on your counter like always. You want him to break in. You just want comfort. Someone . You pray to god for someone. Bent over the counter. Watching tears run down the wood.
a/n part two shall be with your shortly, if u would like to be tagged, pls comment!
@poruchik-logy
part two
"what you seek is within you, if only you reflect" @grenadez-jk - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook