cut the check

The first time was in the mail room, 8:30 on a Thursday night. Work had kept Dex late and he always checked his mail before going up to his apartment for the night. He remembers feeling frustrated that the day ran long, an unnecessary briefing he believed he shouldn’t have had to attend in the first place, so he was edgy by the time he arrived home. Dex stomped into the mail room and beelined to his box, but still took the time to notice you.

Standing in front of an open mail slot dressed in a soft, worn t-shirt that was wet at the neck because your freshly washed hair was leaching into the fabric. You had glanced at him for a brief second then went back to rifling through your own mail. Your face was shiny and smooth in the dim light of the room, recently moisturized. When Dex brushed past he caught a whiff of your body wash, something cool and reminded him of the color green.

He grabbed his mail and by the time he turned back around you were gone. 

A few weeks later when he got home after another late night, hands shaky as he slid open the door of his safe and snatched the tape player, he sat on his couch and looked out the window of his apartment. Deep breath in, hold, slow exhale. The soothing voice of Dr. Mercer played in his ears as Dex looked out into the courtyard of his apartment complex. It was early spring, the days were getting a little longer and people had their windows open letting in the fresh air. Down in the courtyard someone was sitting on the bench near the tree that was turning green again.

Dex was a few stories up but he already recognized you. Wet hair, dewy skin, baggy sweatpants and a pair of slides. An old, faded Polo Sport t-shirt with a marlin printed on the front. He wondered if you were cold as you sat on the wooden bench watching the squirrels run past. Out of instinct Dex grabbed his telescope and watched as you slowly sprinkled out the contents of a ziplock bag into the ground in front of you. Squirrels and birds gathered at your feet but you seemed unbothered, sitting still and quiet as they pecked around you. They came, then the went, and when they were gone you got up and headed towards the entrance to the mail room. 8:30 on the dot.

At 8:45 Dex is still looking out the window, his heart no longer racing in annoyance from his long day, and he catches movement in the corner of his eye. He looks up and sees into the window directly across the yard from his, and it’s you. Dropping your mail on the table in front of your couch, a brown tabby cat jumping up on the furniture to greet you, and you falling onto your sofa. 

A neighbor. A girl. A nonthreat.

Weeks go by and Dex almost forgets about you. A cold snap hits and you keep your curtains closed while Dex gets caught up in a major case at work. His team successfully pulls off a sting operation against the Albanian mob. There are raids and Dex picks off two men from a rooftop with his rifle making him feel antsy and giddy which was maybe why he agreed to go to the bar after work with a few of the guys. Another case closed, another criminal off the street. A routine and a purpose that kept Dex good.

11 PM on a Friday night and while his colleagues were just getting started Dex was itching to go home. The bar was getting more and more crowded, Ray had already left to go home to his wife and son, and Dex had no desire to have another drink. But still he stayed, keeping up with the self-assured cocky persona he had created for work. He smiled, he laughed at jokes, and he looked normal even though the nagging thought about how he should be home cleaning his pistol kept making his fingers feel itchy.

A quarter till midnight he finally decided to head out when his colleagues decided to switch bars. Dex stood against the sticky bar counter as the tender left to close out his tab. He was half heartedly paying attention to his surroundings, his head pounding from the loud talking and annoying music. A girl next to him was telling her friends how she found another friend’s fiance on Tinder.

“That’s terrible.” A soft voice murmured, sounding genuinely hurt in regard to the story. “How did she react?”

“What do you mean?” The original girl asked. The bartender had dropped Dex’s card and receipts in front of him. He slowly signed his name as he continued to listen. This was the most interesting conversation he had heard all night.

“Is Leah okay? How did she react when you told her? That’s heartbreaking.” The soft voice said. Dex finally glanced over and was shocked when he saw you. Neighbor. The girl across the yard. You had left your cozy clothes at home and instead wore a black cropped tank-top and baggy, ripped jeans. You had heavy boots on and a leather jacket draped over your right arm.  

Your friend scoffed and your face winced with hurt. “Why would I tell her? I am not getting involved with that. They’re supposed to get married in four months.”

“Because she’s our friend.” You said steadily. You swallowed harshly and tucked a stray hair behind your ear. “It would be wrong not to tell her, cheating is a horrible thing to do.”

“Babe,” Another girl said, standing across from you and placing a hand on your shoulder, “it’ll come to light, but it’s not our job to make that happen.” You shrugged off your friend's hand and clutched your jacket over your arm. 

“Yes it is our job!” You hissed. Dex could see the rise and fall of your chest, rapid and unsteady. Your knuckles were white with how hard you were ripping at the fabric of your jacket. “I’m telling her, she has the right to know.”

You turn around and you leave and your friend makes a half-hearted effort to stop you. Once you’re out of sight they scoff again and murmur something about how you were starting unnecessary drama. Dex stares straight ahead counting liquor bottles on the shelf, one for every second, then he leaves.

You’re already at the end of the street when he spots you but he knows which way you’re going. Your apartment complex was close, another reason why Dex agreed to go out. With each step, each slight movement to stay out of your line of sight, he reminds himself that he is just going home and you happen to live in the same building as him. There’s nothing wrong with what he is doing.

He almost avoids getting into the elevator with you, not wanting you to notice him quite yet, but you’re distracted by your phone which is already held to your ear. Dex can hear the line ringing, your baited breath as you pick at the skin of your nails. The elevator dings and you part ways. When he rounds the corner of the hall he sprints to his door, wanting to get in front of the window before you’re back at your apartment. 

He leaves his lights off so he remains unseen and looks through his telescope to see your cat lounging in the windowsill perk up when you open your front door. You’re talking, presumably to Leah, and you’re running your hands through your hair. The more he watches the more you look upset. You start to hyperventilate, you wince again, you pull the phone away from your ear abruptly and collapse onto the floor in front of your couch. Looks like Leah didn’t take the news well and blamed you for something that was never your fault.

And even though Dex had seen you around the apartment this was the first time he had really seen you. Noticed you. Paid attention in any meaningful way because as you tried to calm your breathing by stroking your cat's fur the voice of Dr. Mercer echoes in his brain. 

“Your North Star.”

All this time Dex had been following her words like the gospel. Years of rigid military service directly followed by Quantico which provided the job in the FBI. Structure, discipline, strict routine with occasional release that came from pulling the trigger had kept him sane. Every monotonous minute of every day had brought him to you, and you had been right in front of him for so long. Finally he was able to look up to you. His North Star. 

The moment at the bar intrigued him. You had the opportunity to look the other way but instead you decided to gamble all of your social credit knowing what it would cost you. Friendships put on the line just so you could do the right thing.

Dex Decided to cash in some long accrued PTO claiming he needed some time off from the last case. The department psychologist signed off on it saying some mental health days were in order because Dex’s job could be oh-so taxing, and Dex decided to get to know you a little better.

He wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t delighted at what he learned. 

You had a routine. Not just weekly habits or a schedule that you semi-adhered to no, a strict routine that you followed diligently. Dex wondered if your routine brought you that same peace it brought him, that every task that was lined up and completed throughout the day brought you relief. He watched with fascination and found ways to rework his own schedule so it could align with yours. 

Sundays were for errands. You woke up at 8 AM and spent ten minutes in bed petting your cat before getting up and washing your face, then applied serums, then brushed your teeth, then moisturized. You’d get dressed in silence and Dex would always turn away to give you privacy, then you’d inspect your small fridge and pantry and make a list. He found out that you liked lists and you especially liked when you could cross something off of one. When he tailed you in the grocery store he couldn’t help but notice how your lips would curve into a smile every time you stopped and placed an item in your basket and got to cross off the item in one swift line of ink. 

When you got home you would do laundry and paint your nails one of four colors that you kept on hand and watched a movie. Whatever you watched he would watch too. It seemed like you weren’t just a creature of habit with your routine but with what you consumed as well, whether it be music or food or media. You stuck to the same handful of meals every week. You watched a rotation of about fifteen movies. He found your Spotify and listened to all your favorite songs. 

At night you would read before getting ready for bed and it seemed like reading was the only part of your life you felt the need to branch out. You would read anything ranging from horror to non-fiction. Books littered your apartment as the tiny bookshelf in your living room was already stuffed full. He read what you read and he found himself enjoying it too. 

During the week you worked at an accounting firm in the operations department. You assisted with billing and worked out of a decent sized cubicle in a quiet part of the office. He observed you Monday through Friday, sitting alone at your quiet desk listening to the same music and podcast episodes that you enjoyed. 1 to 1:30 you had your lunch break where you sat outside your building on a bench and ate whatever leftovers from the night before you packed. You fed your crumbs to the birds, watching as they fluttered around you without flinching. You kept to yourself at work, friendly but you didn’t have anyone you were close with. You left at five every day and took the same train home. 

By 6 you were making dinner and Dex mirrored you. Ate when you ate with baited breath, smiling when he tasted what you tasted. Then you showered and so did he and while he didn’t change his body wash or shampoo to yours, he did buy the bottles and smelled the soapy contents of them while standing under the showerhead. By 8 you were dressed in your usual soft sweats and t-shirts and headed outside with a ziplock of birdfeed. Doves and chipmunks swarmed around you, occasionally you would place birdseed in your hands and sit unmoving as pigeons pecked at your fingers, and when it was all gone by 8:30 you would check your mail. Dex started checking his mail at that time too, the one time a day when you would share the same space and he found himself looking forward to it more than anything. 

The following week when Dex returned to work, refreshed and happy with a few new adjustments to his routine, he kept you in his thoughts and made time for you when he could. 

He sat in his car across the street during your lunch break. He tailed you to and from work telling himself that he was just making sure you were safe. He grocery shopped with you on Sundays and followed you to the bookstore every Friday night when you picked up whatever you’d be reading for the week. On Saturdays you went to the farmers market a few blocks down where you’d buy a new bouquet of flowers that you kept in the apartment all week. Dex would buy a duplicate of whatever bouquet you picked out and stared at them longly. 

Dex learned what you liked and disliked. You enjoyed the company of animals, something Dex found difficult at first considering his troubled past with small creatures as a kid. When he observed you feeding the birds he listened to the recording of himself as a child recounting how he killed a family of robins with skipping stones. When you sat on the floor of your apartment next to your cat, who he learned was named Penny, he recalled the time he kicked a stray dog nearly to death as a teen. 

This is good for me. He thought to himself as you pet an outdoor cat on your walk to the subway station one afternoon. You were kind to animals so therefore he should be too. You were good and to be good like you he needed to be kind to animals too. He bought a hanging birdfeeder over the weekend and installed it outside his window so while he watched you feeding the birds he could feed them too. Just like you.

You didn’t like leaving your apartment once you got home on weekdays. Errands and time out of the apartment were meant for weekends whether it be a trip to the store or the diner you went to for breakfast on Saturdays. Dex liked that you were a homebody. It meant you were more likely to be safe. 

You enjoyed quiet moments. Your lunch break on the bench. Time spent in your living room watching your cat take a nap. The book store. You kept to yourself and you liked when other people did too.

You liked being clean. You swept and dusted your apartment every other day which Dex could appreciate because he took care of his own apartment diligently. You liked showering. You liked laundry. You liked fresh smells like cucumber and pear and wheatgrass. Your perfume was Elizabeth Arden Green Tea and Dex kept a small bottle on his nightstand just so he could remind himself what you were like up close. The scent made something in his chest unravel.

He found himself smiling more. You had become something for him to look forward to. He was less snippy at work and found himself actually laughing at a few of the guys' jokes in the breakroom. Paperwork was no longer as trivial as it used to feel. Briefings and strategy meetings suddenly not as mind numbing. Dex often thought about what you were doing at that exact same moment, at work dressed in your pleated skirts that went past your knees and logging bills for tax clients while listening to a podcast.

Ray even picked up on the shift. While sitting in a van on a stakeout he asked if Dex had been seeing someone and all Dex could do was smirk and try not to make eye contact. 

“Kind of.” Dex allowed himself to say and Ray grinned. 

“Oh yeah? I’ve known you for almost five years and this is the first I’ve heard of something like this.”

That’s because I keep it that way.

“It’s new.” Dex replies as he watches their mark who is sitting outside at a restaurant and is a suspect in a high profile human trafficking operation. He’s dressed in an expensive suit and smiles at his wife who is wearing designer shoes, all bought from the blood of their unsuspecting victims. Dex pictured ripping the fork out of the man’s hand just before he went in for another bite and stabbing him in the eye with the utensil. His wife would scream but he’d shut her up by taking her champagne flute and throwing it into her windpipe. He’d kick the man’s chair out from underneath him and watch him tumble to the ground then end his life by slitting his throat with the steak knife. The man and his wife deserved it because their operation targeted young women like you.  

“Well whoever she is, must be good for you.” Ray said as he popped his gum and smiled over at Dex who had been ripped away from his own thoughts. Dex nods in agreement, cracking his own while he pictures the way your hair falls over your neck. 

“She keeps me sane.”

By the first week of May it seemed like spring was finally deciding to stick around in New York. The magnolia tree in the courtyard started to bud and you don’t look like you’re shivering anymore when you feed the birds. Dex has gotten to know you for weeks. Your routine folded and adapted into his.

However as the weeks went by he couldn’t help but notice how morose you seemed to be. Sadness clearly induced by loneliness as your friends hadn’t reached out to you since the fateful night. The few times you talked on the phone were with your parents every few weeks. When he was able to view your phone screen you were rarely texting anyone and you hadn’t posted on social media in over a year. Penny provided as much companionship as any cat could and it seemed to quell your despair, but more often than not you were going to bed exhausted with red rimmed eyes. You started leaving your bedroom window open since it had gotten warmer leaving Dex with an uninterrupted view into your most private space. 

It all came to a head on a Wednesday night.

You had just returned to your apartment, mail in hand and an empty ziplock in the pocket of your shorts. Through the telescope Dex could see how tired you looked. Work must’ve been difficult because you ate on your usual bench with your head hung low and that evening you barely paid Penny any mind when she rubbed against your shins when you got home. Even when feeding the birds you seemed uninterested, scattering seed at your feet aimlessly and not paying attention to the critters milling around you. Your constant state of almost bursting into tears tugged at something deep inside Dex’s chest that he tried to expel at the shooting range earlier in the afternoon. 

As you laid on your couch with the television off and only the surrounding hum of the neighborhood keeping you company your phone buzzed for the first time in almost a month. Dex watched as you shot up and grabbed at your device. Leah’s name was on caller ID and with shaky hands you answered her call. 

Years of sitting behind lenses, watching and waiting for the perfect time to pull the trigger, allowed Dex to be skilled at lip reading. While raking your hands through your hair you asked, “Hello?” and Dex imagined your soft spoken voice he had listened to a handful of times. 

You waited patiently as Leah spoke on the other end, biting at your lip as your breathing picked up. You tried to speak at one point but got interrupted causing Dex’s nostrils to flare in anger as Leah wouldn’t let you get a word in. After a minute he watched as your face crumpled and you let out a sharp gasp that cut through the silence of the courtyard and into Dex’s own open apartment window. 

The phone slipped from your hand and thumped against the couch cushion. Bottom lip wobbling as you harshly rubbed at your eyes and heaved for air. Penny, aware of your distress, nosed at your arm but you ignored her as you stood shakily and went to your kitchen.

In your half-present state you managed to bump the bookshelf near the doorway which shelved your special glass vase that you kept your weekly bouquet in. If Dex had been with you he would’ve caught it instinctually but by the time you turned your head it was already toppling to the floor. The shatter was loud enough to echo into the courtyard and you stood in its broken wake looking helpless. 

Penny was scared by the crash at first but then became curious as she watched you stand silently amidst the mess of broken glass. When she tried to walk to you to investigate you finally snapped out of your daze and shouted for her to not come any closer. The uncharacteristic volume of your voice startled her and she ran away into the bedroom and you winced in regret. 

Through his telescope Dex watched the first tear spill over your lashline as you knelt to the ground. Everything was finally boiling over. The loneliness, the phone call, the accident with the vase and to wrap everything together was the lash out against Penny who Dex figured was your only friend at this point. You struggled for air as you let out a choked sob and something white hot zipped down Dex’s spine and settled in his hips.

It was the first time he had witnessed you cry. All this time you had been keeping and repressing and ignoring the inevitable and it was all coming out in this one moment. Angry, betrayed tears spilled onto your face as your shoulder wracked with harsh cries. Dex’s own chest felt tight and his hands shook, he lowered the telescope and let out a few deep breaths in an attempt to steady himself. After a beat he raised his lens just in time to find you sweeping the glass and flowers into a dustpan all while still letting out pained sobs. 

Something was gnawing into Dex’s ribs as you held the dustpan over your trashcan, hesitant to throw everything away. You must’ve been attached to the vase, or maybe it was everything else that was making you wait. Foot on the lever that keeps the lid open, you hover and let tears drip onto glass shards and flower stems. With a shaky hand you reach out and pick up the largest of the broken pieces. 

Holding in tears your chest starts to heave again. Deep breaths in and out as it looked like you tried to calm yourself but then you started gripping the glass in your delicate hands and Dex watched as sharp edges pierced the skin of your fingers and palms. He gasped at the sight of you hurting yourself, his mind screaming as blood dripped into the open trash. Eventually the shard was crushed in your grip and smaller pieces of glass tumbled into the waste. You gasped for air again and more tears welled up in your eyes as the hurt and pain started to set in. You finished cleaning with an injured hand and cleaned your wounds in the kitchen sink after. It was difficult for Dex to see the total damage done but it was sure to scar.

While you were in the privacy of your own bathroom away from Dex’s prying eyes he laid on his comforter and processed what he just witnessed. His North Start intentionally hurting herself in a response to her own loneliness and maybe as an act of punishment. He wondered if this wasn’t the first time. You were good. So good. Too good. You got sad when you saw missing dog posters and always took a picture of the flyers in case you saw the pet somewhere. You assisted your elderly neighbor down the hall with her groceries and treated your cat with the most care Dex has anyone ever seen give to an animal. You sorted your trash and read the AP. You always did the right thing even if it meant losing everything. 

And yet you punished yourself for it. 

All you had was Penny at this point and as much as Dex had come to respect her, she wasn’t enough. You needed someone who you could talk to. You needed a companion. Someone who could understand the routine as much as you did someone who could keep you safe even from yourself. 

Dex could be that someone for you.

+++

You had never met a guy like Dex before. 

Before he was Dex he was “Mail Guy” because he was the attractive man who usually got his mail at the same time as you. 8:30, right after you finish your “outside evening time”, and he’d be there in the mail room standing in front of his box reading through whatever bills or coupons he had received. The first thing you noticed about him were his broad shoulders and the way his hair always looked neat and parted. He was a bright, small moment of your day that appeared during a dark and intense stretch of isolation. 

A guy like Mail Guy would never be into you anyways, or at least that is what you had always told yourself. Attractive guys, guys who were normal and didn’t carry a mental checklist around in their heads at all times, guys who didn’t feel guilty all the time.

You were the type of girl who was a little too quiet in an off-putting way rather than a cute, shy way. Blue Planet was your favorite television show. Animals were more comforting and loads more interesting than people. Books were your best friends until freshman year of college. At parties you were the first person to leave or, if your friends managed to convince you to stay, you would go so unnoticed that you’d start cleaning up while everyone danced. One time you managed to reorganize a frat house’s entire kitchen in an entire night, your greatest but also most pathetic accomplishment. In class on Monday you overheard one of the boys who lived in the house say that they were convinced a ghost had done it, unaware that the culprit had been in a group project with him a semester earlier. 

His comment made you realize that you were sort-of a ghost in a few ways. You had drifted through your life only occasionally noticed by others, free to roam as you pleased if you were quiet enough. Similar to a ghost you also tended to have the same haunts. 

The routine. 

The routine, the to-do list, the pattern. An entirely made up and self imposed procedure that you adhered to religiously, the first iteration of it dating back to sixth grade. The method had changed and evolved over the years, guiding you through high school then college til the present, post-college early twenties routine that allowed for the most freedom which is why you kept it so monotonous. The fear of falling off track or messing up so badly that you were in complete social and financial ruin plagued you so relentlessly you often found yourself clutching at your chest in an effort to sooth your racing heart as your mind replayed images of you homeless, or unemployed, or so terribly broke that you lost everything and had no one to turn to. 

So instead you lead a simple life filled with simple pleasures and kept your head down and your savings account full so you could enjoy the little things like getting breakfast every Saturday morning or caring for your cat Penny; the first love of your life. 

Your friends had never understood your anxieties and you envied their abilities to be careless. To them, your routine was limiting and annoying, something that got in the way of their abilities to be totally free. They never understood the importance of bed time, the joy that “outside evening time” brought you, or how you had to do your laundry on Sundays or else you would feel like a failure. 

“One night out won’t kill you.” Mary chided over text when you declined to go out on a Tuesday night. 

“A few years ago the Avengers fought an alien invasion in Manhattan. Maybe it will.” You responded, too tired to give any other explanation that they wouldn’t pay attention to. You liked your friends and sometimes it seemed like they liked you too, but they would not ever be able to understand you. No one would, and you knew that was your own fault. 

At night when you buried yourself in a book during your designated reading time in an attempt to stay off your phone you could still remember the way Leah screamed at you when you told her the truth. 

“Why the hell would you accuse him of something like that?” She spat, already crying because even though she was in denial, deep down she knew that you wouldn’t make something like this up.

“This is the truth Leah. Mary and Izzy just told me about it and they did not want to get involved which I would argue is worse.” You tugged fingers through your hair as you paced your living room and Penny started swatting at a stray thread in your jeans. “I’m not lying, Izzy said she found Jeremy on Tinder. I’m telling you because I don’t want you to be with a cheater. You don’t deserve that. You’re my friend.”

“Friends don’t make up lies! You just don’t want me to be happy. You’re jealous because I’m not miserable and single like you are so you’re going out of your way to make me just like you!” Leah was practically hissing and the loathing in her voice made your heart shatter. 

That’s what she thought of you?

You had known Leah since college. At one point you were roommates for almost two years before she met Jeremy and eventually moved in with him. You helped her send wedding invitations and next week you were supposed to go out to brunch. The sage green bridesmaid dress you saved up for was hanging in your closet in a dry cleaning bag and the matching heels were sitting untouched in their box. Leah was your friend who you watched Planet Earth with and was there when you adopted Penny. And now she was telling you that you were a miserable piece of shit trying to ruin her life. 

“I-” You stutter, tears threatening to fall but you hold it in because it would be too embarrassing to cry, “Leah how could you say something like that?”

“Next time we speak it better be an apology!” She shouted before hanging up so you couldn’t have the last word. You yanked the phone back from your ear at the shriek and let it set in that something terrible just happened.

Izzy and Mary texted you later that night after Leah called them and they berated you in long paragraphs and said that you always started unnecessary drama even though you had never started drama in your life. When you tried to defend yourself Mary told you to keep your head down and your nose out of everyone’s business which you found ironic because all you ever did was keep your head down your whole life. 

Three friendships down the drain in the span of four hours. Your already meager social life dwindled down to small interactions at work and the attention Penny gave you. Anxiety ate away at you for days as you clung to your routine that would never hurt you in an effort to stay alive.

So Mail Guy was kind of a blessing. For roughly 55 seconds every day except Sundays you could admire the side profile of your handsome neighbor who would wear things like tight fitting quarterzips that showed off his biceps. One time when he came into the mail room he was still dressed in work clothes and when he opened his box you saw a gun in a holster on his hip. It made you a little nervous but it also made him a little more attractive. 

Mail Guy was part of your routine, a welcome addition to your mental checklist that gave you satisfaction every time you could cross it off. 

The checklist is what kept you sane for all of your weeks of social quarantine. It was timed down to the minute. Perfectly planned so every thirty minutes would keep you occupied and just enough time to anticipate what was coming next. The routine kept your mind off of the clusterfuck that were your friendships and without it you probably would’ve hurt yourself a lot sooner than you did. 

But even the pattern couldn’t cover up the fact that you had barely had a meaningful conversation in over a month. You filled the void by talking to yourself and Penny but the lack of response was starting to drive you crazy. If Penny wasn’t in your life you often wondered if anyone would notice if you were alive or not. It would be easy to slip away if no one was looking for you. Work could easily fill your position and write you off as a no call no show. Your ex-friends would never know you were gone because they made it clear they didn’t want to talk to you anymore. It would probably be a few weeks before your parents realized you weren’t returning their calls. But Penny would notice. If you did kill yourself you’d probably do it in the soft comfort of your apartment where Penny would be. You wouldn’t be able to feed her so at some point she’d start eating you and even though most people find that sort of thing morbid you always thought it was nice. Good. Penny deserved to eat you. You’d hate for her to starve. That would be so sad. 

It would be worse if she got taken by animal control and would probably be put down after your body was finally discovered. You loved Penny more than anything so for her sake you stayed alive.

Then Leah called. 

“Jeremy and I talked it out.” She said firmly. “We are still getting married. He made a mistake and I have forgiven him.”

“Cheating isn’t just a mistake Leah.” You said softly, scared of provoking her as you recalled the way she screamed at you last time you spoke. 

“I have forgiven him.” Leah reiterates. “But neither of us feel comfortable having you at the wedding. You’re not allowed to come.”

“What?”

“It was a mutual decision between Jeremy and I. What you did caused me a lot of pain for the past few weeks and if you would go as far to do something like this now then I don’t know what you’d do at the wedding. You’re not allowed to come and that is final.” She hangs up the phone quietly this time and you are left speechless. 

It’s all your fault. You officially have no one and it was all your fault. You did this. Pushed everyone away. You made the mistake. It’s all on you. 

Your chest felt so tight and you realized you were hyperventilating so you attempted to get water but because you’re such a fuck up you broke your favorite vase. Then you embarrassed yourself by crying then you shouted at Penny who was just trying to check on you and that was worse than anything you did to Leah. You were a bad, bad person. Evil. Despicable. You deserved to be punished. The glass was almost silent as you crushed it in your hand and let it dig and break skin on your fingers. You deserved this. 

That night you went to bed with aching skin and Penny didn’t sleep by your side like normal. By morning she was laying on the foot of the bed and the hurt under your skin wasn’t as present. You changed your bandages and winced at the large cut that was on your palm. It was no longer bleeding but it was sure to scar. 

Work went by with no issue like it always did. You had what you dubbed “outdoor lunch time” and tried to soak up the sun. You always hated crying but you did feel a bit lighter. The calm after the storm. That evening you could only wash your hair with one hand because your fingers stung when you would bend them. Your hand ached from typing on the computer all day but it didn’t look like you were getting an infection. You pressed into the center of one of the wounds over the wrapping and felt the dull twinge. 

Then you went to feed the birds like you always did at 8 dressed in black sweats and an Umbro t-shirt. You headed down the stairs to your usual bench and had to stop yourself from gasping when you saw someone sitting next to your usual spot reading a book. 

Mail Guy.

He was wearing a soft crewneck and baggy pants while reading a copy of Jaws. He chewed on his bottom lip as he read and looked up at you slowly and then grinned politely. Turns out, Mail Guy had really nice teeth, but sort-of an intimidating smile that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You felt your hands start to sweat. 

“Evening.” He said coolly. “Do you mind if we share the bench?”

A tiny gust of wind could knock you over if it wanted to. 

“Sorry,” He cringes but it’s cute because he is unfairly good looking, “I noticed you out here a few times so I know this is your territory but I couldn’t stand being cooped up in my apartment on such a nice day.” He gestures around the small courtyard and you nod your head before trying to crack a smile of your own. 

“You noticed me?” You asked dumbly, chastising yourself mentally for already making such a terrible impression on Mail Guy. You assumed he probably thought you were weird. Feeding the birds and squirrels wasn’t the coolest hobby but “evening outdoor time” was one of your favorite parts of your day. You enjoyed the way the animals interacted with one another and how if you were still enough, sometimes a bird would land on your foot. 

“Yeah, once or twice.” He scooted further into the other side of the bench to give you room and you sat down in your usual spot. Already, pigeons were starting to flock around the two of you. “It’s sweet that you feed the birds.”

“Oh!” You blush and suddenly wish you were wearing anything but the ratty old shirt and pants you had on. Your hair was still wet and your bandage probably made you look like a freak. Mail Guy was just being nice so you wouldn’t feel bad, no way a guy like him thought someone like you was ‘sweet’. “Yeah I feed them every day. I really like animals.” You mumble as you throw your first bit of seed in a wide ark around you. Doves coo and flutter around you and you hear squirrels chatter in the magnolia behind the bench. 

“But this bench isn’t mine or anything,” You said as you recalled the way he said ‘your territory’ and wondered if any of your other neighbors had taken notice of your antics, “it’s a public space. I don’t mean to hoard it to myself or anything.” You look at him out of the corner of your eye and take note of the way the sunshine made the white-blond hairs on his temples glitter in the light. Mail Guy smiled again, his eyes crinkling at the edges. 

“I’ll try to be quiet so no one is disturbed.” He says before running a hand through his hair and settling into the corner of the bench.

There's a moment of silence as just the chatter of animals fills the air surrounding you and him. He goes back to reading and is sitting just as still as you are only occasionally moving to turn a page in his book. You try to keep the fresh bandages on your hands as clean as possible by brushing extra seed onto the hem of your sweats after every throw. A lady bug lands on a blade of grass by your feet and you watch it crawl lazily along the grass before a sparrow lands near it and it flies away. 

The bag dwindles down and soon you will go inside and get your mail before returning home but the fact that you’re sitting next to your silly apartment crush makes your heart go wild. The two of you are sitting close enough together that you can smell his cologne, something that reminded you of teakwood and made your stomach flutter. 

“Do you like it?” You hear yourself ask, voice low as to not disturb the wildlife. You try not to look at him, instead fixating on some of the tape of your wrapping already peeling off of your skin so you try to flatten it down. Mail Guy looks up from his paperback.

“The book?” He asks, holding up his copy. You nod, still fiddling with the tape and trying to ignore the weight of his stare. You think his eyes are hazel but you can’t quite tell yet. 

“Mmhmm.” The last bit of seed is scattered around the two of you and all the courtyard animals flock for one last frenzy. “I read it for the first time a few weeks ago.”

“Well what did you think?” He bookmarks his spot with a yellow post-it that still looks crisp. His movements were clean as he stuck it on his page then closed the book, each action seemingly very intentional. Mail Guy adjusted his posture so he was facing you directly, knee thrown up on to the bench casually but just enough room so he wasn’t touching you. You finally turned to face him, still ducking under his gaze and looking at his chin dimple rather than his eyes. 

“I enjoyed it, it was different than I thought it would be but I think that’s what made me like it more. I don’t wanna spoil anything for you though.” You say, a smile forming on your face the longer you speak as you recalled your experience from a few weeks ago.

“I’ve never seen the movie either.” Mail Guy admits, almost looking sheepish. He lowers his head so he can catch your gaze and you blink up at him surprised which makes him flash his sharp smile again. “But it’s good so far. I think I enjoy non-fiction more than fiction if I’m being honest, but it is keeping me entertained. The cheating plotline though…” He trails off and sucks his teeth, “Not my favorite.”

You nod politely even though the mention of ‘cheating’ makes your chest twinge at the thought of Leah and her soon-to-be husband. “You’ll probably enjoy the ending.” You say offhandedly and Mail Guy is still smiling. The tape on your hand is still peeling and it is 8:30, you should be leaving.

“Is your hand alright?” Mail Guy asks, pointing to your poor attempt at first aid that you’re fidgeting with before you can excuse yourself. 

“Oh!” You blush again and scramble for an explanation that doesn’t make you look crazy in front of your cute neighbor, “I stupidly broke a vase last night and underestimated how sharp the glass was when I was cleaning it up.” A half-truth that he seems to believe because he lets out a soft hum as he appraises your hand. 

“You know,” He says softly as he looks at the already fraying gauze on your fingers, “I’m first aid certified. I can take a look at your hand and bandage it a little more comfortably.”

The offer shocks you and for a second you think you might be dreaming. First Mail Guy admits to noticing you now this direct offer of help. “Is it that bad?” You ask shyly, holding up your injured hand weakly and cracking a self-depricating smile and he chuckles. 

“Let’s just say we can’t have our friends out here in the courtyard going hungry because of your injury.” You smile which makes him smile. 

You consider his offer for a second. On any other day you would’ve been in the stairwell walking back to your apartment so you could sit with Penny and read for the remainder of the evening and a part of your brain was already getting antsy because you were behind schedule. You hadn’t even gotten your mail yet due to this conversation. But the other half of you knew that if you accepted this offer you’d not only get to spend more time with the mysterious Mail Guy but because he’d be fixing your bandages he’d have to touch you. You hadn’t been touched in months.

“Only if I can check my mail really quick first.”

The elevator ride to his apartment was short and when you stepped out of the car you realized you were on your own floor. “This way.” He nodded, heading left when you would’ve gone right to your own unit. You don’t even know this guy's name nor does he know yours but you’re following him back to his apartment. He could be crazy, a psycho killer who was luring you to your demise but you didn’t even care because you were so intrigued at the possibility of feeling someone else’s skin on yours.

His unit was just like yours except it was sparser and exceptionally tidy. A loveseat in the livingroom, a perfectly aligned stack of newspapers on the edge of the kitchen counter, a small breakfast table with a chair on each side spaced evenly apart from the edge of the table. He pulled out one of the chairs for you and asked you to wait for a moment while he got everything in order. By the door you noticed one of the few framed pictures on his walls. A picture of him and a group of men in army fatigues taken somewhere in a desert. Mail Guy was on the edge of the group smiling a bit awkwardly while holding the largest gun you’ve ever seen. 

He returns to the table just after stopping in the kitchen to turn on his electric kettle then settles in the chair next to you. Mail Guy peels the tape and bandages off of your hand so tenderly you think you might melt into his hardwood floors. Once it is all removed he tuts softly, maneuvering your hand gently in his grasp as he inspects the wounds. A large slice into the palm of your dominant hand with four smaller ones on each of your fingers.

“Ouch.” He mumbles, his thumb tracing the edge of the largest cut. “Poor girl.” His voice is a low murmur and you almost don’t hear the last comment and try not to blush again. 

“Where’d you learn first aid?” You ask softly. You were standing over his kitchen sink with the kettle coming to a slow simmer behind you. Mail Guy is washing your hand for you and even though the soap causes your ache to return you don’t mind because his touch is so warm, contrasting the cold water lapping against your skin. 

“Oh! Uh,” He ponders his next sentence as he dabs your skin dry with a dish towel, “It was mandatory for my work. I’m an FBI agent. I do a decent amount of field work.” Mail Guy, or rather FBI Guy, mumbles and you raise your brows in surprise. No wonder he was so attentive. 

You’re back at his table and Mail Guy is prepping each item he plans on using. Unwrapping fresh gauze, pre-cutting ribbons of tape, opening a packet of antibiotic salve, and laying it out in a neat row in front of him. 

“This will sting a little.” There’s an alcohol wipe in his hand and he glances at you like he’s waiting for your permission before he begins his work. You stifle any reaction to the burn, staying perfectly still and hoping you’re a good patient as he works to disinfect each cut perfectly. “I’m Benjamin Poindexter by the way.” 

Finally a real name. You repeat it in your head and your first thought is that his last name is actually kind of dorky and it makes him a little less intimidating. 

“My friends call me Dex.” He adds just as he finishes disinfecting your hand. Suddenly his edge is back. Poindexter is a little silly but Dex is kind of intense and you think it suits him with his sharp smiles and orderly apartment. His hands reach out and grab one of the clean gauze squares with that same precision you noticed earlier and he narrows his eyes as he places it onto your palm. 

“No one calls you Ben?” You quiz, keeping your hand steady and your own eyes on his face. Soaking up all his attention as he wraps medical tape around your hand, each movement completely deliberate. First he admits to noticing you feeding the birds, then he makes an effort to pay enough attention to you to notice your injury, he takes it even further by offering to patch you up with the most tender care anyone has given you in a long time. You wonder if this guy was noticing you in the mailroom all this time. 

“You can call me anything you want.” Ben says, a sharp smile gracing his features once again, but this time it doesn’t make any part of you want to turn and run. 

After ten more minutes of careful and precise work you are left with a much more professional and comfortable dressing than you could’ve managed by yourself. The tape won’t peel and the smaller cuts on your fingers have their own individual gauze squares that Ben cut down to the perfect size. The tape is tight but not too tight and wrapped around your fingers in a way where you can still bend them comfortably. He leaves the table so you can admire his work by yourself while he fixes mugs of tea for the two of you and you can’t help but feel incredibly wooed. 

“I can redo it for you tomorrow if you want.” Ben says almost eagerly but you can tell he’s trying to hide it. You sip your tea, something herbal that reminds you of your favorite restaurant. His soft yet sure touch and willingness to help you is starting to become overwhelming and you wonder if you should’ve been eased into receiving small acts of service rather than all at once. “Just leave it unbandaged after you shower. I’ll meet you in the courtyard at the same time and after we can come back here.”

As you finish your tea and he cleans everything up you gaze out his window. His apartment has a clear view of your spot in the courtyard and it’s interesting to see it from a different angle. Your eyes flick up and just across the yard in the window parallel to his you see a familiar shape. It’s Penny, sitting in her usual spot on your living room windowsill watching a crow hop around on one of the branches of the magnolia. Maybe meeting Ben was fate. 

The next day he’s already waiting for you on the wooden bench, a copy of Jaws still in his hands but this time he’s almost all done. He tells you it’s the final showdown, Hooper has just been eaten and now Brody and Quint are determined to kill the shark. 

“I kind of like the shark.” Ben admits as he inspects your hand in his apartment that evening. “I guess I kind of like sharks in general but it’s a shame he’s being persecuted for what he’s best at. What else is a shark supposed to do?” You let out a laugh which makes him grin and for a second you think that Ben is kind of shark-like himself.

In hindsight you probably should’ve been more cautious when it came to letting a stranger patch you up daily. If one of your friends told you that they were going to an older neighbor's apartment once a day to allow them to perform first aid despite having minimal contact prior, you would’ve told them to be cautious and to go to a doctor. But you don’t have those friends anymore and medical bills are outrageous and besides, Ben isn’t a stranger, he's a Mail Guy. He’s your neighbor. More importantly, Ben is an FBI agent and you remind yourself that psycho-killers don’t work for the FBI because they probably have to go through screenings and training. At least that is what you tell yourself.

The thirty minutes a day in Ben’s apartment allow you to get to know him better. He’s tidy which you admire and appreciate. Ben has shockingly good aim and a good throwing arm because he’s always able to throw your old, balled up bandages in the trash can which is on the other side of the room closer to the kitchen in a single throw and never misses. The third time he does it you wonder if he’s trying to impress you, which he succeeded at, and you ask him if he ever tried to be a professional baseball player. 

“I did honestly consider it back in high school.” He says as he applies ointment to your cuts. Your hand has dramatically improved since Ben started working his certified first aid magic on it. You kind of want to heal a little slower just so you can spend more time with your neighbor. “But baseball can be boring. Also they kept pulling me halfway through the game because I’d strike everyone out the whole time. I never got to  pitch a perfect game.” He lamented, working the salve over each cut with undeniable precision. “There are other ways to have a good aim.”

Through quiet conversation and cups of tea you also learn that Ben has a routine of his own, and not the simple kind that most people have, a strict one that he says is timed down to the minute. “I know it’s kind of weird, most of my colleagues and friends growing up always told me to loosen up but it’s good for me. Keeps me in the right direction.” 

“Trust me,” You’re staring into your mug of tea, decaf because Ben said he doesn’t allow himself caffeine after four PM, in an effort to hide the flush on your face and neck, “I completely understand.”

After a week and close inspection of your hand Ben tells you it doesn’t need to be bandaged anymore and gives you a fresh tube of antibiotic ointment. For a second you’re disappointed, your new extra step in your routine had filled the deep dark hole of social isolation you had been suffering in. But then Ben shyly asked if you’d still like to join him for tea after you feed your friends and check the mail, admitting that he didn't have many people he knew in the city outside of work and had been enjoying your company. You agreed, and suddenly you and Ben made space for one another in your lives. 

Two weeks ago you thought that you’d be spending the rest of your life in almost total isolation and tried to come to terms with your new fate. Making friends had never been easy and with your college connections severed you felt hopeless. It had been so much harder to make friends as an adult and it was difficult for you to relate to many of your peers. The incident with the broken vase had been a lapse that was a long time coming, boiling under the surface the longer you had to ruminate in your self-loathing. For a minute it seemed pointless, you would remain a terribly sad girl who had issues with pain and punishment for the rest of your life. Then, suddenly, you had Mail Guy’s phone number and a promise from him that he would text if he was getting held up at work and couldn’t make your meet up. You had someone and it seemed like your someone needed you just as much as you needed him. 

Evening tea with Ben also became Sunday morning grocery shopping with one another and he always offered to carry your bags for you and push the cart. He tagged along to the farmers market with you and helped you pick out your weekly bouquet and met up with you at the bookstore on Fridays. Ben cooked you dinner once a week on Wednesdays because you mentioned they were your least favorite day of the week. You introduced him to Penny and he’d come over on weekends and watch nature documentaries with you and wouldn’t complain. Thirty minutes a day morphed into almost any moment you had when you weren’t asleep or at work. Your hand was fully healed and the hurt from your old friends was just a scar.

One summer night you’re curled up on Ben’s couch while he sits a little more properly next to you. You’re listening to an audiobook that is playing through the speaker system in Ben’s living room because he mentioned he liked listening to audiobooks during his morning runs. The two of you sit in silence as you listen to the narrator of Sharp Objects talk about the dead body of a teenage girl who was found in an alleyway with all her teeth ripped out. It was your choice, you liked fiction and Ben liked true crime so a murder mystery seemed like an appropriate choice that suited both your tastes and Ben appeared to be enthralled with the story so far. After each chapter he would pause his phone and you would discuss what you just listened to. 

But as the narrator drones on, your attention fades out of focus and you begin to appreciate the slope of Ben’s nose and the way he keeps his jaw clenched as he listens to something with full attention. He’s tapping his index finger on the rim of his white mug. Ben has very well manicured nails despite the rough calluses that you know are on his fingers. He shifts in his spot and your eyes flit back up to his face and hazel eyes are staring back at you and if it was anyone else you’d apologize for staring but instead you hold your gaze. 

Ben is so pretty it could almost make you jealous. He was blessed with even, symmetrical features and good bone structure with cute cheek and chin dimples to top it all off. His high cheekbones and chiseled jaw made him look more like a model than an FBI agent. Still, as you stared at one another while an audiobook echoed around you talking about a gruesome murder, you wondered if Ben’s good looks were the one blessing that Dex received in life. Pretty privilege was a lucky thing to acquire and despite Ben’s perfect features there was something about him that always looked a little haunted. After all, you did see his medicine cabinet the week prior. 

His bathroom is just as clean if not more pristine than the rest of his apartment. Ben admitted that he wiped it down after every use which was evident by the roll of paper towels under the sink and the squeegee hung up in the shower. You asked if you could steal some floss, Ben had made salmon for dinner and it was lovely but something was poking at your tongue. He said it was in the top left hand drawer of his vanity but you were feeling bold and Ben was your friend so when you peaked in his medicine cabinet you expected to find cologne and moisturizer, not a pharmacy. 

Several pill bottles stood in a neat line on the middle shelf of the cabinet, each of their labels faced proudly outward all labeled with his full name and with four refills noted on the bottom corner of the stickers. At first it shocked you, you closed the cabinet quietly and returned to the living room where Ben was sitting on his couch waiting for you to start the next episode of a documentary about the Cold War you were watching together. The rest of the night went on as normal and Ben even walked you back to your apartment afterwards leaving you with a warm feeling blooming through your chest. The second you closed the door you rushed to your laptop where you looked up each of the medications. 

Anti-depressants, anti-psycotics, and mood stabilizers. Sterile web articles illuminate your computer screen and you click link after link trying to figure out what all of these pills would be used in combination for. BPD and PTSD are among most of the results and an ugly, evil, unwanted thought rips through you. 

Ben was almost too perfect. He was attractive, your cat liked him, he enjoyed the same music that you did and even remembered you liked honey more than plain sugar in your tea. Ben understood the importance and sanctity of repetition and even made the time to alter his life so you could fit into his already curated schedule. Ben was perfect, so therefore the universe made sure he was not, all because you liked him. Of course the one, meaningful, companion you were finally able to hold space for would have such a giant issue. Ben’s routine was probably not something he found satisfaction in, it was probably a lifeline. The more you read about borderline personality disorder the more it scared you. 

Before clicking on another web article Penny jumps up next to you on your bed and nuzzles at your hand hovering over the trackpad. Her rough tongue scrapes over your palm and you wince a bit as the familiar ache and sting blooms over your skin. The night of the vase incident plays through your memory like a film and then your greatest, or rather worst, hits flick through your mind after.

The one guy you had any sort of fling with in college telling you that you’re not very fun to be around but you give decent blowjobs which is why he stuck around for so long. You had asked him if he wanted to get dinner at the dining hall after class and that was his way of cutting things off with you. That night you didn’t eat and laid in bed while digging your thumbnail so hard into the skin above your hipbone you managed to break skin. The time you messed up a project at work and had to redo it all resulting in a condescending email from your boss and the four parallel scars on your right shoulder. You were fifteen and your mom just yelled at you for getting a C on a biology exam so you use cuticle scissors to cut off one of your toenails.

You remember that you have issues too and you might be clinging on to your own lifeline more than Ben is. Ben is medicated at least, and if he’s medicated then he goes to therapy regularly and has a psychiatrist and you haven’t seen your GP in two years. The ugly thought fades and you appreciate Ben even more than you did before. It also helps that Ben is very pretty.

Ben has become less intimidating over the weeks that you’ve known and it’s less of you becoming used to how intense he can come across and more of him acting softer around you and only you. It’s evident that he likes you the same way you like him and knowing this information gives you great satisfaction. You’re not the type of girl that guys fawn over and yet Ben does. He speaks softly, he buys your favorite snacks when you have movie nights, he still checks your hand every now claiming he just wants to make sure it’s healing alright. It’s an obvious excuse to touch you and you happily pretend like you don’t notice. It’s fun to dance around one another because Ben is smart enough to pick up on your obvious reciprocated feelings. A brush of the knee feels electric and eye contact burns in the best way possible. The way Ben looks at you while sitting on the couch that night can only be described as vulnerable. 

The chapter of the book ends and you know you’ll have to ask him to replay it because none of the words had any sort of lasting effect in your memory. Ben presses pause on his phone without even looking at it, maybe because he can’t stand the idea of missing out on looking at you. For a guy who works for the FBI he’s not very brave when it comes to his feelings and you know he is too scared to make the first move. By no means are you renowned for being fearless but if Ben hadn’t been so obvious in his affection you wouldn’t have gotten the courage to reach your hand out and brush his cheek with your finger tips.

Ben shutters and leans into your touch so your light graze turns into you cradling his face in your hands. The scratch of stubble threatens to irritate your scar but you pay it no mind as Dex looks up at you with wet, almost puppy-like, hazel eyes. You lean in and he moves to fill the remainder of the gap and presses his lips to yours. It’s a soft kiss, sweet and almost chaste and it tastes like wintergreen toothpaste and your nose is filled with his teakwood cologne. You pull away and he rests his forehead against yours as one of his hands cards through your hair and the other wraps around your waist. 

It’s your first kiss in years and you wonder if it’s his too, not because it’s bad but because he pulls you in for a tight hug after and takes a deep inhale of your hair and the skin on your neck. You quickly realize that Ben’s nice arms are not just for show because he kind of manhandles you during your hug so you’re practically on his lap as he pulls you closer. His touch is greedy, like your first kiss opened the floodgates for all his yearning to spill out. Ben presses a kiss to your cheek and you have to stifle a whimper, unused to all this touch. It feels like you’re drowning but at the same time you welcome it with open arms because Mail Guy is smothering you with affection. It's almost like a dream. 

You kiss him again and this time he does moan into your mouth and an undeniable pang of attraction makes your stomach twist. Ben wants you, maybe even needs you with the way he’s kissing you, like he could die tomorrow and be perfectly happy. His callused hands rest firmly on your waist and back keeping you in place as you make out like teenagers on his couch and you don’t stop until Ben accidentally knocks his phone onto the floor and the steady voice of the narrator announces “Chapter Two” loudly into the living room. You jolt away from Ben and his eyes are wide and frantic until you start laughing as he scrambles to find his phone on the floor to shut off the audiobook. Once it’s quiet again he chuckles along with you, leaning his head into the crook of your neck once again. 

That night he walks you home and leaves you with a kiss on the lips and a warm hug goodbye. When you sit on the couch to give Penny some much needed affection you glance out your window to see Dex neatening up his apartment from across the yard. He notices you looking and waves with a shy smile. You blow him a kiss and you swear you can see his blush rise to the tips of his ears. 

The next night you tell Ben that you can’t handle a casual relationship, it’s all or nothing and you already knew he would understand. He also agrees that he wants the pace of the relationship to be whatever you want it to be which in this case is slow.

Dating Ben is easy because not much changes except you touch more. He’s awfully clingy in the best way, always wanting some form of contact even if it’s just linking fingers as you walk down the street or a knee resting against your thigh when laying on the couch. Sometimes when he gets home from work he gifts you with small trinkets that he said made him think of you. A very smooth stone he found while he was out on his run that morning, a foreign coin, a petal from a poppy that he kept safe in his suit pocket all day. 

He buys you birdseed refills and even helps you scatter it during your evening routine and helps you trim Penny’s nails without complaint. At night when you listen to audiobooks or watch television he’s often draped over you with his head resting over your stomach while his arms are wrapped around you. You comb your fingers through his hair and you swear he actually purrs. Penny has even started getting so used to him that often she’ll lay on his back during these moments.

The first time you spend the night together is at your apartment on a Friday night. When you met up at the book store after work he insisted on buying you whatever your selection for the week was and even bought you one of the cute bookmarks that sit next to the register made out of pressed flowers preserved in resin. You cooked him dinner, pasta and homemade pesto which is one of your favorite meals and he compliments you after every bite. He leaves to shower at his place and grab an extra change of clothes and comes back with damp hair that you think makes him look charming. You feed the birds as normal, sitting in his lap this time while he rests his chin on your shoulder, then check the mail like always and return to your apartment where you watch Blue Planet. 

That night is also the first time you slept with one another and you learn that he is shockingly submissive in bed but in the way a guard dog is submissive to their master. Ben thrives when he’s told what to do even if it’s just a simple direction like “kiss my neck” or “touch me here”. His special precision is perfect in these scenarios because on the first try he finds the pulse point on your shoulder that makes you moan as he leaves a purple, crescent shaped hickey while his thumb presses into your clit. He makes you come remarkably fast with just his touch and practically begs to go down on you after.

Your old friends had you convinced that guys who liked to eat pussy were rare but Ben must’ve been an outlier or they just had terrible taste in guys. He loved having his head in between your thighs, pressing your legs against the side of his head seemed to give him some sort of comfort and he made you come again with his tongue buried in your heat while you tugged at the short, blond strands of his hair. Coming down from your high he presses his face into your slit, taking in a deep inhale whimpering at your ripe scent.

“Fuck.” He says, voice gruff and low as he kisses the bend in your knee. “My perfect, lovely girl. All for me. All mine. Mine, mine, mine.” You realize Ben is not speaking necessarily to you but rather about you, his stream of consciousness slipping out of him in his pussy-drunk state. He crawls up your body and gives you a searing kiss where you taste yourself on his lips and you moan as he slips his cock into you in one slow thrust.

In truth you haven’t had much experience with guys and had only seen a handful of dicks but you have a feeling that Ben’s is larger than most. He certainly walks like there’s something sizable between his thighs and as he presses into you it feels like you’re being split open in the best way possible. You’re undeniably full as he reaches the hilt, his cock is practically in your brain because it’s all you can think about. 

“Jesus fuck.” You mumble, sweat forming at your brow as Ben lets you adjust to him. He presses his forehead against yours and his eyes are completely blown out. All traces of hazel gone as he stares at you in a way that would make anyone else run and cower. But you stay put because as he finally moves in shallow thrusts, you know that Ben is yours and yours alone.

He doesn’t last long but you don’t care as you were more than satisfied by the time he fucked you and the fact that he came so quickly from just your pussy alone is kind of hot. Beautiful and pretty Ben spills inside of you in just a couple of strokes and the sound he made when he finished was so sinful you made sure to commit it to memory. You shower him in kisses and praise as he shutters through his high and eventually he pulls out and carries you to the bathroom so you can clean up before bed. 

That night you fall into a dreamless sleep and are awakened by Penny kneading biscuits into your thigh over the blankets and Ben curled into your chest as you held him all night long. He buys you your bouquet at the farmers market and that night he paints your toenails in perfect strokes so he doesn't get any polish on your skin.

Summer carries on and so do you and Ben. He visits you on his lunch break as often as he can. He buys you books and nail polish and never complains if you want to watch a nature documentary for the fourth time in a row on movie nights. He buys Penny treats and gains her full approval, always greeting him at the door when he comes over and nuzzling at his legs when he sits on the couch. You run errands with him on weekends and stand in line with him at the pharmacy when he needs refills on his meds. You never ask him to explain why he needs them and you know he’s thankful for it. He tells you he made you his emergency contact at work and you do the same. On the nights that one of you sleeps over he fucks you however you want and you fall asleep tangled in each other’s embrace. 

“I very much enjoy our time with one another. You’re the best part of my day.” You know he’s trying to say that he loves you and you know it’s probably too early to admit feelings like that; but you welcome it and tell him you’re glad he’s in your life.

So when you wake up at three o’clock in the morning on a Monday, alone because you only do sleepovers with your boyfriend on weekends, and hear the floor shift in the darkest corner of your room you pretend like you didn’t hear a thing. You haven’t given Ben a spare key yet, you’ve thought about it in the case you’re not home and Penny needs to be checked on, but you haven’t made that next step yet. Instead you try to fall back asleep and pay no mind to the fact that you think you can hear someone else breathing and how Penny keeps staring at the corner of the room.

Ben doesn’t always eat lunch with you but you notice on the days he doesn’t there’s always an unmarked car parked across the street of your building. It’s far enough away that you can’t tell if anyone is in it or not, but it always arrives just before you go outside and leaves just after you go back in. 

He has a Walkman with an old pair of headphones tucked into his nightstand. The first time you saw it was when he was pulling out a condom and when he saw you notice it he shut the drawer quickly and kissed you so hard you almost forgot about it. A week later when he was in the shower and you were laying in his bed you brought it out, put on the headphones, and pressed play. You only listened to it for a minute, thinking you would find a mixtape not a therapy session. You regretted your snooping the second you heard Ben’s young voice, so clearly him with the quiet and measured tone of voice he’s always had. He talked about baseball and his resentment for his coach and then you stopped listening because it was much too personal. 

In his hall closet there’s a large safe that you’ve never seen him open but you know what’s probably inside. He’s never explicitly shown you his gun that he carries for work but it’s always in its holster on his dresser, sitting neatly next to his black belt he always wears for work. You wonder what else is in the safe. His social security card, cash, maybe even more tapes, but most definitely more guns. 

Soon it is early October and your friends in the courtyard are begging for food so they can prepare for winter. You sit on your bench curled into Ben’s side as he murmurs to you in a low voice about his day at work. They’ve been tracking an illegal arms dealer that has ties to one of the scientists that was involved in the Sokovia incident a few years ago. It all sounds very intense but he says they aren’t planning any busts soon, just tracking and monitoring.

“And if there was a field assignment I’d probably be halfway across town perched on a roof, far away from any of the action.” He assures, smirking a little as he pictures it which makes you shiver so he wraps his arm around you a little tighter because he assumes it’s the autumn air making you shake. Ben had told you his actual role in the FBI about a month ago. You had assumed he was just a regular investigator but turns out he had a more specialized position, sniper. It made sense and explained the picture of him and his military squad he had hung by his door, but you had to quickly come to the realization that Ben has definitely killed people and will probably kill more people because that was his job.

The same hands that had pulled the trigger countless times were the same ones that took the time to love and heal your wounded ones all those weeks ago. A trained killer bought you flowers every weekend. A murderer always thanked you every time you had sex with him. It was a little ironic but it was all Ben, and you loved Ben. 

The next day at work you were logging an expense report when your phone buzzed. You expected it to be Ben, who texted you about three times a day while he was at work. Usually a picture of an animal, a plant, or an interesting building he saw while he was out. If you were lucky there would be an occasional selfie, only half of his face while he took a picture of something behind him, and sometimes a picture of his coworker Ray who you had heard about.

Only it wasn’t Ben, it was Leah.

Hey. If you don’t want to talk I will understand, but if you do would you be willing to meet up? I would like to apologize to you in person.

For a second you had forgotten about Leah. The past few months had been filled with anything and everything Ben that the fallout with your friends felt like a distant memory. Last time you checked she had you blocked on everything but when you opened Instagram she was following you again. Half of her pictures had been deleted, including her engagement pictures, and there was no trace of a wedding. 

Yeah, we can meet up. Does this Friday work?

“I don’t like this.” Ben says that night after you show him the messages. Leah asked if she could take you out to dinner and you agreed on the one condition that you go out to your favorite restaurant. She agreed instantly and you mentally started to go through all the items in your closet trying to figure out the best thing to wear. Something that made you look nice but in a sort-of effortless way that made you look nonchalant about the whole situation even though it had your stomach in knots. 

Ben’s reaction doesn’t surprise you, the past few months you hadn’t exactly told him any of the good facets about Leah, the reason why you were friends in the first place, so his view was biased. It also wasn’t shocking that he was feeling a little protective.

“If you go out to dinner we won’t have time to go to the bookstore, or watch a movie together.” His voice was steady but the way he had his arms crossed while sitting on the foot of your bed indicated his frustration.

“I know, and that is annoying because I want to buy the next Earthsea book, but would you be willing to go with me on Saturday after the market?”

“Yes.” He agrees instantly, you knew he would and admittedly you were frustrated that your usual Friday night plans were straying from their usual course, but you also knew you had to do this. Despite the hurtful things Leah had said and done to you a few months prior she was willing to extend an olive branch so it was the right thing to do to meet her half-way. 

“And we will definitely still have time for a movie. We’re meeting at 6:30 and I want to be home by 8:30 at the latest.” You said as you rifled through your closet looking for a very specific plaid skirt. “Do you think you would be willing to feed the birds for me?”

“Only if you let me drop you off at the restaurant.” Ben said, his voice closer to you than you recalled. When you popped your head out of the recess of your closet you jumped as Ben was right next to you. Sometimes he moves so quietly he reminds you of an electric car.

Friday evening you walk twenty minutes downtown hand-in-hand with your boyfriend to the little conveyor belt sushi restaurant that has always been a favorite spot of yours when you have a little extra cash to spend. Ben compliments your outfit three times on the walk over. “My beautiful girl is so dressed up,” he murmurs, brushing hair out of your face as you wait outside the restaurant for Leah to arrive. You’re predictably five minutes early.

At 6:34 Leah rounds the corner and waives tentatively at you as she approaches. You smile and wave back trying to hide the fact that your stomach is twisting and you’ve had to wipe the sweat on your hands onto the fabric of your skirt three times since you arrived. Ben stands firmly next to you with an arm wrapped around your waist, face unreadable.

“Hey,” Leah says breathlessly, pushing her hair behind her ears and wrapping her jacket around her to protect herself from the autumn chill. “Thanks uh, for meeting me.” She glances at Ben nervously and then settles her attention back to you. “Is this your boyfriend?”

“Yes! Yeah um-” You motion to Ben who smiles tightly at her and sticks his hand out for her to shake. 

“Dex, I’m just dropping her off.” His voice is a little more measured than usual and this time Ben smiles with his teeth, shark like, and it makes Leah look a little on edge. A part of you kind of enjoys the fact she seems nervous around Ben, it’s like you have a Belgian Malinois by your side. 

Ben turns to you after he releases Leah’s hand and gives you a tight, warm hug and a kiss to your cheek and temple. “Text me when you’re wrapping up and I’ll walk you home.”

“I promise.” You respond, shy from all his PDA that Leah is witnessing. Ben smiles, warmer because this one is meant for you, and kisses you softly on your lips before leaving you with a final squeeze on your shoulder. Ben disappears into the crowd and when you turn back to Leah she looks a little dumbfounded. Is it because she found Ben intimidating, or was she just shocked you were able to find a boyfriend in the first place. You grab the door and hold it open for her, “After you,” You said softly and Leah smiles before heading inside. 

The first five minutes are awkward. The two of you sit next to one another at the bar and small, multicolored plates pass pay on the conveyor belt in front of you. A waitress takes your order, tea for you and Diet Coke for Leah, and you exchange pleasantries with one another while you wait on your beverages. Leah’s old engagement ring is noticeably gone from her ring finger. After you take your first bite of food Leah finally cuts to the chase. 

“Jeremy and I broke up two weeks before the wedding.” Leah’s pretty face is pale behind her foundation and she’s ripping her napkin into tiny shreds of paper. You chew and swallow as fast as you can, coughing as it goes down so you take a sip of water while Leah looks like she will be ill. 

“Oh?” Is all you manage to say. What exactly does someone say in a situation like this? An ‘I told you so’ would be warranted but also you felt like it was too cruel. “I’m sorry-”

Leah held up her hand in order to cut you off, laughing a little as she brushed shredded paper off her jeans. “Don’t be sorry, you’re the last person who should feel sorry about any of this.” She grabbed salmon nigiri off the belt and set it in front of her before unwrapping her chopsticks and breaking them in half. “I’m sorry. I said terrible things to you and cut you off when all you wanted to do was look out for me.”

The restaurant buzzes around the two of you as you eat in silence for a few minutes. Leah is staring intently at the bubbles in her Diet Coke and your gaze is drawn towards the windows. New York City is bustling outside despite the cool autumn air. People getting off of work, couples getting dinner, college kids preparing for a night out. In the hustle and bustle you think you catch a flash of a familiar navy baseball hat from across the street.

“He was cheating on me with Mary.”

“What?” Baseball hat be damned, you whipped your head back around so you were looking at Leah as tears pooled in her eyes. “Mary?” You ask, confused and suddenly angry.

“Yeah, it had been going on for a while. It’s why she wanted to keep his infidelity hidden so badly and why she got so upset with you when you told me. I think she was afraid of getting found out.”

Colorful plates keep passing by and your chopsticks are making your fingers feel sweaty. Izzy’s behavior was still unexplained but you chalked it up to her just being a bad friend who could apparently excuse cheating. 

That’s so evil. Ben had said when you explained the whole situation over tea only a few weeks into seeing one another. Cheating is immoral. I’d never do something like that. Loyal. Just like a dog.

“Obviously I knew he had been cheating but he swore it was a one time thing and that he’d never do it again.” Leah wipes fallen tears and pushes hair out of her face, trying to stay composed even though Calvin Harris is playing over the speakers in the restaurant and it all feels so ridiculous. “But apparently I’m an idiot and not only was he cheating with random girls he was also cheating on me with my maid of honor.” She laughs coldly and shoves a piece of sushi into her mouth as you try to process it all. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. And please don’t feel obligated to forgive me because you aren’t. I said terrible things to you, things no one should ever say, especially not to someone who was the only one looking out for me. I don’t know why I thought you betrayed me when in reality is was Jeremy and that fucking bitch.”

Your face feels flushed and you set your chopsticks down so you can wipe your hands on your skirt again. Something nasty is licking at your heart, making it bloom with anger and frustration and suddenly your hand starts to ache again. All that hurt and pain you thought you had left behind a few months ago comes crashing down as you remember how Mary and Izzy and of course, Leah, had lashed you with their words and left you for dead in the wake of their betrayal. They hurt you so bad you felt the need to hurt yourself. Their actions had left permanent scars and it was all for nothing.

Herbal tea wafts through the air and cuts through your anger like a hot knife. The waitress is serving the person next to you, an older gentleman who is already grabbing sashimi off of the belt. The cup clinks against the saucer and suddenly you’re sitting in Ben’s apartment and he’s inspecting the damage done to your hand while his electric kettle is simmering in the kitchen. Despite his rough hands he had handled you so carefully as he washed, disinfected, and rebandaged your hand every day for a week until you were healed. Then he served you herbal tea, just like the kind they served at your favorite restaurant.

You’re jealous because I’m not miserable and single like you are so you’re going out of your way to make me just like you!

Leah is reaching for a drink but you surge forward and wrap her in a tight hug. Yes, she caused you pain. She hurt you more than any friend ever had. But without that pain you wouldn’t have made the connection with Ben, and without Ben you would no longer be miserable and single. As much as Leah’s words had cut you it wasn’t like they were a complete lie. You were miserable. You had been living in a lonely existence, never truly seen or understood until you made your connection with Ben. 

“I forgive you.” You mumble, Leah hugs you back and laughs wetly before letting you go so she can finish drying her tears.

The next hour feels sort-of perfect. Leah gives you all the gritty details about how Jeremy’s mother cussed her out after cancelling the engagement and how she lost 3 grand on her deposit for the venue. She moved back in with her parents in Brooklyn but she did get a promotion at her job so she should be able to save up and move out soon. Mary and Jeremy were still seeing each other apparently but neither of you could stalk them on social media because you were blocked, and Izzy seemed to cut ties with everyone and hasn’t been seen since the summer.

“Jeremy can rot in hell.” You say, throwing back the shot of sake that Leah had ordered once the real tea had started to spill. She laughed, a little shocked at your statement because you weren’t the type to usually be that bold, but it’s what Ben would’ve said if he had been there.

Maybe you should’ve held your grudge towards Leah for a little longer, most people would’ve in a similar scenario but you couldn’t. For the past few months it seemed like Leah was experiencing the same type of isolation that you had gone through earlier in the year so you couldn't help but empathize with her. Jeremy and Mary had manipulated her and she seemed genuinely sorry for her actions. Evil guys could make even the most normal girls do crazy things, plus you weren’t really the type to hold a grudge against anyone unless it was yourself. 

By 8:20 you’re waiting for the check and despite insisting on paying for at least your share of food Leah says she’ll foot the bill. “It’s only fair, trust me.” She says as she hands the waitress her card.

“Well then I’ll get it next time.” You say with a smile and Leah grins because you just said ‘next time’. It’s nice knowing that you have a friend again, they came in rare supply.

“So, you gonna tell me about your boyfriend or do I have to wait?” Leah says as she signs the receipt. You smile, blushing as you recall how Ben had kissed you so sweetly before leaving earlier.

“I guess I can share some.” You say coyly. You’re loose and flushed from the alcohol and a little excited because this is the first time you get to gush about your boyfriend. “We’re actually neighbors, he lives in my building and noticed me feeding the animals. We started seeing each other a few months ago, just before spring.”

“Aw,” Leah says, resting her cheek in her hand. “He’s handsome, is he older? No judgement, obviously.” Her eyes widen and her laugh and shake your head in reassurance.

“It’s okay, and he is. He’s 34, but it’s kind of nice. He’s more settled in his life and has an important job. It’s nice having a boyfriend who values routine and stability. I think it’s really good for me.” You say fondly.

“What does he do for work?”

“He’s an FBI agent.”

Leah’s brows raise in surprise. “Oh! Yeah that is really important. I guess that kind of tracks he seems, um…” Her voice trails off and you can tell she’s trying to choose her next words carefully but you know what’s about to come next, “intense.” 

“He is. I like it.”

By 8:30 you’re out the door and it’s already nightfall in New York City. You hug Leah goodbye and wrap your coat around your waist as you watch her head towards the train station. You should’ve texted Ben twenty minutes ago so he could have enough time to walk over and pick you up so you could head home. Instead, you walk down the street for half a block. Normally, you would be in a rush, paranoid even. Anything can happen in the city at night, especially to a young woman like you; but there’s no need to feel scared. Nothing is going to happen to you. The street is empty and you look around at the vacant buildings surrounding you.

“Ben,” You say in a steady tone. Nothing happens, the street is still empty but you stay put. “Ben, I know you’re there.” Still, nothing. It’s getting chillier and you tuck your hands into your pockets. “Dex, come out.” You command. 

The name felt foreign on your tongue. You never called him Dex, always feeling like the name was a little too harsh for you even though that’s what everyone else called him, including himself. It seemed to get his attention though, because after you said it he finally revealed himself as he came out of the shadows of the alleyway across the street. He crosses over to you, walking steadily even though his eyes are wild and red-rimmed. Wet and illuminated in the harsh streetlight that makes the lines of his face look more intimidating. You don’t startle and stand your ground. Ben stops in front of you, further away than he usually would be and despite his broad stature he looks like a scared little boy.

You stare at one another, his lip wobbles, your cheeks grow hotter from the alcohol and nerves that are signaling that you should be running but you’re not. You stay put, so does he, always waiting for your command.

“I’m not mad at you.” But you should be. You should be freaked out and changing your locks and blocking his number.

“You’re not?” Ben blinks rapidly as he tries to hide his tears, his fear that should rightfully be yours even though it’s not.

“I’m not.” You take a step forward and Ben flinches but you ignore it. “I could never be mad at you.” You say softly. Ben looks down at you and bites his lip and furrows his brows.

“But you should be.” He mumbles. You shrug and nod. What’s the point in being mad? You’ve known for a long time that Ben has issues even though he never explicitly said anything about it. You never talked about your problems either but you know that Ben knew the real reason behind your scars. 

You reach up and place your hand on Ben’s cheek and he nuzzles into it immediately. Scruff against scar tissue that makes you shiver. Reaching out you grab his jacket and he immediately pulls you close into a hug. You’re engulfed by his lovely cologne and feel as he kisses along your hairline. You stand on your tiptoes so you can reach the shell of his ear.

“I love you.” You whisper. Ben moans into the curve of your neck, holding you tighter as you comb your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I love you too.” He whispers back, kissing you behind your ear then your jaw then he places a tentative kiss onto your lips as you hold onto the collar of his jacket. When you pull away he rests his forehead on yours and smiles. 

“Take me home?” You ask sweetly.

“Of course.” Ben replies, grabbing your hand and placing a warm kiss on your knuckles. You cling to his side and Ben wraps a warm arm around your shoulders, keeping you close.

+++

Authors Notes:

About a month ago I rewatched season 3 of Daredevil. The only other time I've seen it was back in 2018 a week after it premiered and I remember being blown away by it. What I remembered most was Dex, who upon rewatch is still so captivating and not only because he is played by a handsome guy but also because the way he's teetering on edge and so easily manipulated into a monster, directly contrasting Matt, is so deeply entertaining. I know Born Again season 2 just wrapped and Dex finally got to continue his story almost 10 years later, but I'm unsure if I will watch it. At least not for a while. I think the strongest iteration of Dex's character is the way he was portrayed in season 3. There's something extra special about the way he is so haunted throughout those 13 episodes that really makes him a standout character.

I do want to continue this story but probably just in smaller one-shots capturing more mundane, intimidate moments between this reader and Dex. I'd like to think that this story and anything related to it that I may make in the future is set in an ideal world where Dex is never manipulated by Fisk and Fisk dies in prison where he belongs so both Dex and Matt can know peace :).

You hadn’t realized that had included finding his Greek goddess of an ex-girlfriend curled up in his bed, nothing but his blue button-up on, while he tended to her wounds. The scene you had walked in on had felt like you had intruded on a couple. Not your partner and his ex.

The tenderness of his touch, his whispers, paired with the look on her face as she stared, as if he were everything to her, churned your stomach. The bile rose in your throat as you backed away, overwhelmed by the pain of betrayal and disillusionment, desperate to escape this moment of raw vulnerability. Everything felt fake as you made your way to the door. The floor wobbled, and the walls swayed as you briskly tried to escape Matt.

He had called your name, startled, but gentle when he had realized you were there. But you were already fleeing, not intent on stopping. He chased after you, your name leaving his lips as a desperate plea.

“Sweetheart, please, just-just let me explain it. I-I can explain all of it.”

His voice made you feel the sting of salt being rubbed into a cut. Once at the front door, you whirled around to face him.

“I don’t need you to explain anything to me, Matt. I’ll be by later to get my things.” Your voice quivered from the knot that was forming in your throat, but you refused to cry in front of them.

You were familiar with Elektra Natchios. One night over a round of drinks with friends, Matt had given you the history of their relationship. What he hadn’t told you about was the undeniable pull he had to her and how it never went away. It would only hibernate until she showed up in his life again, reigniting the feeling to burn everything else in Matt’s life.

As promised, you returned later that week to retrieve the items that littered his apartment: your favorite throw blankets, the unkempt line of shoes by the door, the smaller articles of clothing in the hamper, and the fancy unscented soap you bought to avoid disturbing Matt’s space. Each item reminded you of the last year, making your nerves grow short and raw.

Matt stood off to the side, a deep frown wrinkling his whole face. The sniffles you tried to contain echoed off the brick walls while your tears brined the stale air of the apartment. His heart broke more with each passing second.

“Could we please just talk about all of this? Just for a moment, please.” He begged. You kept your back to him as you continued to collect your belongings.

“Jesus,” He whined, “All I’m asking for is five minutes. Can you please talk to me? I-I feel terrible-”

“You feel terrible, Matthew? Do you?" Your voice cracked with venom, each word sharp and cutting. "Explain why your ex was in your bed, in your shirt. All while you’re kneeling beside her, treating her like she was everything. Tell me how you couldn’t text me that you weren’t going to make it to our plans. Explain how comfortable you were with forgetting about me. I am dying to hear how you make all of this better, Matt. So please, go ahead and explain it-quickly!” Your voice trembled with rage, echoing through the apartment, leaving him speechless, your body trembling with the effort to hold back tears.

Brown eyes widen behind red-tinted glasses. His mouth opens, closes, opens again, and finally shuts when nothing comes out. You let out a humorless laugh.

“Yeah, that's what I thought.”

He trails behind you toward the door, voice trembling with guilt. “I’m sorry, all I can say is that I’m sorry.”

Squeezing your eyes and clenching your jaw, you begrudgingly turn to face him. “I know.”

“I-I do love you, so very much.” His voice wavers, turning hoarse as tears begin falling. “I never wanted to hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

You exhale deeply, the anger being replaced with pity for him. “I know, Matt, that's what makes this worse. I know you love me, and I know that you are really sorry. I’m aware you weren’t trying to hurt me. You weren’t intentionally running things between us. You-you were doing something good by helping someone. But I can’t be a placeholder or second place in my own relationship.”

“You weren’t! You never were.” His voice rises, desperate to get it across.

“Yes, Matt, I was. If it wasn’t to Elektra, it was to your own guilt. I truly hope that one day, you can allow yourself to be happy. Whether that’s by yourself or with someone, but I can’t, and I will not stand around to wait for that day.” The words slashed through Matt, sharper than any knife he’d ever felt.

Your hand caresses his stubbly, frowning, tear-streaked face. “Goodbye, Matthew.”

In the span of a week, a myriad of red bubbles overwhelmed your phone as Foggy, Karen, and even Frank tried to reach you. The messages from Karen and Foggy were all the same: “I’m sorry you got swept up into the storm that is Matt Murdock. I’m here if you need to talk. Please don’t ignore me.”

Frank’s two messages read, “Don’t forget about yourself” followed by “Call if needed, kid.”

There was something about the details of your heartbreak being known by your closest friends that had shame twisting your gut. You tried to shove it away, but maybe it was the way you were raised or your own selfish need to be seen as put together that kept it crawling back up, because no matter what you did, there was still that voice in your head that told you to feel embarrassed over Matt’s choices.

​

You gave yourself one week to wallow in the grief of your old relationship. One week to mourn who you had been, the life you had, and the future that now no longer existed. After that week, you pulled yourself up, dusted off, and found a new routine, minus the man you were still learning how to unlove.

Returning to patrol duty was your only way to bleed off the rage that refused to die. Every confrontation became a brutal outlet, and you refused to pull your punches. Some nights, the ER filled up thanks to you alone. In a shadowed alley, you disarmed a mugger with a single twist and shattered his kneecap with a stomp. When two gang members tried to trap you, you responded with cold efficiency, driving your blades into their abdomens and watching them crumple, breath stolen by pain and shock.

Two weeks ago, you started tracking an organization that was notorious for trafficking people. Every night, you were gaining more information, pushing you further along in finding the base of the vile criminals. During all this, you had been deliberate in avoiding Daredevil’s usual haunts, unwilling to risk running into him not on your own terms. Unfortunately, that did not last long. Of course, Matt would be all over the trafficking group. The thought hadn’t crossed your mind while you had been so caught up in uncovering them. But now, standing on this rooftop, across from him, you realize how silly you had been. Seeing Matt hadn’t bothered you at all, like you feared it would have. What bothered you, however, was the man standing beside him.

Bullseye. Benjamin Poindexter. The same man who had once buried a knife in your back, dressed as your own friend.

Both of them stand, frozen under your glare.

Dex watches you closely. He notices the instant cracking of knuckles as you process the two of them in front of you. He watches your chest heave, but before he can say the snide remark he’s thinking, Matt speaks.

“Hi.”

It takes you a moment before you repeat the word back. It’s clipped and void of emotion. Dex can’t help but feel a little entertained by witnessing your couple's fight. He wonders who initiated the fight. He thinks it over, studies Matt, and concludes that Matt was the clear choice. Dex smirks, feeling joy in watching Matt shift on his feet, clearly unsettled by your heavy gaze.

“What, uh, what are you doing here?”

“Tracking a crime ring. You?”

“Uh, yeah, same thing.”

“I see you got a new sidekick.”

Dex meets your gaze with a raised brow and a smile.

“Not a sidekick. Just back up.”

You scoff at this. “Careful, Matt, I’d watch my back around this guy.”

A snort leaves Dex, “Good one. Are you still torn up about that?”

“I spent a week in the fucking hospital because of you, you dickbag. So, yes, just a little bit.”

Something warm flickers in Dex’s chest at the way you square up to him. His smile turns darker as he flips a coin between his fingers. “Do you want to do this right now? It might get messy, and I’d hate to make a mess out of you in front of your man.”

Heat shoots straight through you at his husky voice. You thank the universe that you’re wearing a mask. There's no doubt that if he saw the flush, he’d torture you over it. It is quickly simmered as Matt whispers shouts at both of you to follow him.

As the night progresses, Dex notices every single one of the short, tension-filled interactions between you and Matt. Holy shit, this must be one hell of a fight. He thinks.

“Can you not make this difficult right now?” Matt asks, hands waving slightly in frustration.

“I’m not making it difficult. I would just prefer you not treat me like a child.”

“Sweet-” Matt clears his throat. “It’s not me treating you like a child. It’s me trying to keep you safe.”

“Oh, ok.” Your eyes roll as you turn away from Matt. You don’t speak in a fondly annoyed way, but rather, in the same way you speak to Dex.

That’s when it all comes into view. This isn’t a fight. This is-

“So how long have you two been splitsville?”

Ding, ding, ding. Once again, Dex has hit the mark. Both you and Matt glare at him.

“I’m guessing not for too long, since you’re still moping, and you’re-” He points at you, “Trying to be normal, but are failing miserably.”

“Poindexter.” Matt warns at the same time that you’re gritting out, “Fuck off, Dex.”

He shoves his hands up in surrender, laughing as he does so. The subject is dropped as Matt continues deeper into the tunnel.

Not a single one knows how it happens. One minute, the three of you are walking through the tunnel; the next, a wall is slammed down. Separating you and Dex from Matt. From behind the wall, you hear Matt pound his fist into the wall, then yell something about finding another way.

Turning slowly from the new wall, you face Dex. His green eyes already locked on you.

“Hi.”

You nod back.

With eyes clenched close with a tight, sarcastic smile, you mutter to yourself, “This is great.”

The silence only lasts a few minutes before Dex is pestering you.

“So who called it off?”

You ignore him, searching the area for anything to focus on other than this conversation.

“Did he use the ‘ole catholic guilt under the guise of wanting to protect you?” He hums, pretending to think. “Let me guess, he’s some downright awful sexed out satyriasis and you couldn’t deal with it anymore?”

Without a response, he keeps going. You don’t notice the way he rakes his eyes over your figure.

“Maybe you’re the nympho. Were you too much for poor little Matty to keep up with?”

In a blur, he’s shoved against the wall with a silver blade, kissing his Adam's apple. He looks at you through his brow with eyes that shine too bright to belong to someone with a knife pressed to their throat. His lips pull into a crooked wolfish grin, and the sight of him does something you’d never admit to anyone.

“Shut up. If I have to hear any more sarcastic bullshit from you tonight, this knife is going to find a new home. Lodged somewhere, extra deep in you.” Applying more pressure, the blade is one small movement from breaking the skin of Dex's neck.

Your warm breath fans over his face as you threaten him, and once again, a warmth flickers through him, traveling south fast. He nods. Miming the action of zipping his mouth and throwing away the key.

“God, you’re unbearable.”

You shove off of him, turning quickly to continue down the hall. Dex, thanks god the hallway is dark, and for the extra padding in his suit, hoping you hadn’t noticed the growing tent in his pants.

He stays hunched over for a moment, watching you walk away, before standing to stride after you.

It’s your turn to interrupt the silence this time.

“I found him in bed with his ex.”

You’re unsure of what possesses you to say this, but once the idea had popped up, you couldn’t stop it from happening.

Dex freezes for half a second, his brain fully rebooting before he says the only thing he can think of.

“That must have been hard to see.” You can hear something genuine in the words.

A humorless laugh escapes your mouth. “Yeah, I’d, uh, I’d say so.”

Maybe it’s because Dex is a killer. He’s someone that others fear, an unpredictable, selfish, livewire. Or perhaps it’s because he’s the only person that you’ve been around since everything with Matt. Then again, maybe it’s simply because you don’t think he’d care. But there’s something else, too, something deeper than proximity or convenience. Dex is raw honesty, never pretending to be anything other than what he is. With him, there’s no need for polite masks or careful words. No need to shrink yourself. He’s seen you at your harshest and your weakest and never looked away. Maybe that’s why, tonight, it feels easier to speak than to hold it all inside. Your brain runs through every reason as to why you felt the need to fill Dex in on your personal life.

“I haven’t spoken to anyone about it.” You say, matter-of-factly, in a way that tells him that you’re not looking for pity.

He’ll ask if that’s what you want. “How long ago?”

“Almost two months. And just for the record, I broke up with him.”

Dex smiles, a small laugh leaving him. He knew Matt was stupid, but he didn’t realize that he was idiotic enough to ruin a relationship.

The sound of his footsteps halting causes you to do the same. You turn to face him. He’s closer than you had realized.

“Since we’re on the topic of honesty. I’m sorry for stabbing you. I wasn’t in a good space at the time. I wasn’t in control of my body. I mean, I-I was,” His eyes roll as he pieces together the words he wants to use, “I was lost and broken. Fisk saw that and used it to get what he wanted. Made me his puppet, then threw me aside. I wasn’t seeing you as a person, but rather just an obstacle in my way. But I’m different now. Still broken, just not lost. I control myself now.”

You’re nodding as you listen. Dex thinks that you must be an excellent listener, probably the one that all your friends go to for a shoulder to cry on. He wonders who you turn to in your own moments of need. Wonders if you have anyone, or if you just shove it all down.

“I got a cool scar out of it, so it wasn’t too bad of a deal.”

Dex, like you, isn’t sure why he feels the need to tell you this, but he doesn’t stop the words from coming out.

“I’m working on my redemption. I want to fix past mistakes and balance the scales for me again. I understand if you can’t, but I’d appreciate your forgiveness. It doesn’t have to be today, but someday I hope I’ll-I hope we’ll be in a better spot with each other.”

“I’m happy for you, Dex. Big change is scary, especially if you’re doing it alone. But you’ll have to earn my forgiveness.”

You’re so close to him you can smell his natural musk, combined with something smoky that has permeated his suit. At this distance, you’ve noticed his eyes are speckled with flecks of brown and gold, and they are accompanied by a delicate fray of fine lines that peak out from the edge of his mask.

“Understandable.”

A large room filled with tables greets you and Dex at the end of the long corridor. Each table is fully covered in stacks of paper, money, and bagged substances. While looking around, you hear Matt make his way into the room. No one speaks, all too busy searching for the next trail to follow.

Matt’s voice is barely more than a whisper. “People are coming. We need to go now.” His head cocks to the side, judging the distances of the footsteps.

You shake your head, “I haven’t found anything useful yet.”

He spins to face you before he heads back to where he came from. “Doesn’t matter. There’s multiple men, all armed, coming in here in the next few minutes.”

“Then what the fuck was the point of coming here if we don’t get what we need?”

“What's the fucking point of getting what we need if we’re dead?” Matt hisses back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we’d made a vote that you’re in charge here. If you want to leave, go, I’m not stopping you.”

Matt exhales, shoulders sagging, his head dropping toward his chest. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Don’t even start.” You warn, voice dropping into a growl.

Dex waits patiently, letting the two of you go back and forth before speaking up. “They’ll torch all this the second they know we’ve been here. If we don’t get anything useful now, we won't in the future.”

You shoot Dex a look of gratitude, relief flickering across your face. Matt just scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I think I’ve got something.” You’d found a folder full of invoices all paid for by the same card.

“Great. Now, let's go.”

Footsteps echo from the upper level as the armed men approach the cavern. Matt has begun retreating to the hall he came from. Dex lingers as you grab the surrounding folders, skimming through the papers himself.

Matt barks for you two to hurry. After collecting the papers, you join him in the hall, while Dex trails behind you. Once back on the surface, the noise of people hustling around and shouting reaches your ears.

“On my move,” Matt whispers. There's a beat, then. “Now.”

Keeping low, the three of you slip between the looming cargo containers, shadows swallowing your movements. Matt leads, crouching and darting from cover to cover. You trail just behind, while Dex brings up the rear, scanning the maze of metal and rust with vigilant eyes. At one point, the beam of a flashlight sweeps dangerously close, forcing everyone to freeze behind a stack of tires. Breath held, you wait as the footsteps fade away.

“I’m getting twitchy,” Dex grumbles out.

“We’re almost out. Just hold out a bit longer before you start maiming people.”

“No promises.”

If you didn’t know better, you might have believed that to be him teasing you. You watch his eyes scan the area. His vision is tight and domineering as he searches for a potential target.

Now, on the other side of the dilapidated concrete lot, the three of you begin making it back up to the roof.

Matt calls your name, but he’s both too far and too late to do anything.

A large, warm hand grasps your bicep tightly before it pulls you off your feet with abrupt force. The screech of metal slicing through the air is so close it leaves your ear ringing as you’re slammed into a firm, blue-clad chest. It’s not the impact that knocks the breath from your lungs. But instead, the thickness of Dex’s arm as it looms so close to your face. The feeling of his firm chest under your hands makes your blood pump even more.

A single man stands, no, staggers, as blood sheets from the gash in his throat. His grip slackens, and the gun drops from his hands with a heavy thud. For a moment, he sways, knees buckling, before collapsing face-first onto the pavement.

Peering up at Dex, you’re almost lost for words. His gaze meets yours for a brief moment. Even through the balaclava, you can see his lips edged with a small, teasing smile. The glint in his eyes suggests he’s enjoying your stunned reaction. In an all too smug voice, he speaks, “You’re welcome.”

“What the hell did you just do?” Matt snarls at Dex, his voice shaking with revulsion. His fists clench at his sides, knuckles white, and his breathing labored.

“Something you couldn’t.” Dex’s reply slices through the air, cold and unflinching, daring Matt to challenge him.

“You just killed that kid.”

“He had a gun ready and aimed right at her. I’m not apologizing for saving your girl, or actually, I’m not apologizing for saving your ex-girl.” Dex states this as if it had been common sense.

Matt fires back, voice raw, “You don’t care about saving anyone. This is just another excuse for you to hurt people. They should’ve left you rotting in that cell.”

Matt’s attempt at goading Dex into fighting him fails miserably.

“Ok, guys, enough.” Your voice carries no emotion as you lazily try to stop them.

"You’re just mad that you’re not man enough to do what's necessary when the moment calls. Not with Fisk, not with me, not with that guy, and not even with your personal issues. It always magically falls out of your hands when it’s time for the serious decisions." Dex’s voice remains unamused and flat as he speaks to Matt.

As someone who has been in Matt’s orbit for the past few years, you’re an expert at picking up his next moves. Just as quick as he moves, so does Dex. The taller man blocks the hit from Matt before side-stepping him. Before they get too bloodied and bruised, you intervene.

But when neither of them backs down, you realize talking won't be enough. You plant your feet and, with a surge, lunge between them. Dex comes at you first, swinging wide, but you duck beneath his arm and drive your shoulder into his chest, knocking him back. Catching Matt off guard, you parry his punch that was for Dex, twisting his arm behind his back, forcing him to grunt in pain. For a moment, it's all chaos with fists flying, grunts echoing in the night. Dex recovers and rushes you, so you whirl and deliver a swift kick to his thigh, sending him stumbling. Matt regains his footing and comes at you again, but you meet him head-on, matching his strike with one of your own. Both men, bruised and winded, become still as they plan their next move. You all stand there breathing hard, the heavy breathing mixing with the noise of the city.

"Enough!" you command, your voice cutting through the tension. Matt’s nose flares, his fists still clenched, but he hesitates. Dex wipes blood from his lip, glaring at Matt but not moving forward.

"Jesus Christ, you guys are worse than fucking animals," You sneer.

Matt mutters something under his breath, but he relents when you snap your neck toward him.

“Either kiss and make up or leave each other alone.”

Matt laughs sarcastically at your proposal. “Sorry, but Dex isn’t really my type.”

“What, not Greek enough for you?” Dex amuses back.

Both you and Matt fall silent. The emotional scab peels back ever so slightly, and you feel the warmth of the metaphorical blood coming to the surface as Dex’s words land heavily. Logically, you know it’s a dig at Matt, but it still has that worm of self-loathing wiggling its slimy way back into your brain.

Matt frowns in confusion, a soft ‘what?’ tumbles from his mouth, “Did-did you tell him?”

Unbothered, you respond, “Yeah, Matt, he asked me.”

“I just can’t imagine why you would feel compelled to tell our personal business to him.”

“It’s MY personal business just as much as it is yours. If you didn’t want people to know about it, then you shouldn’t have done it in the first place.”

“It's just him, of all people? It’s one thing for Foggy, Karen, hell even Frank, but,” He wets his lips, “But him?”

“Again, Matt. It’s my business too, and I can choose whoever I want to share it with. Hell, I might even call Fisk after this. See if he’s interested in hearing the latest hot goss on Daredevil.”

A wicked smile covers Dex’s lower face as he adds, “Now you’re just being mean.”

At this moment, you realize he’s lost the balaclava, and it’s the first time that night, actually, the first time in years that you’ve seen his face in the open. The sight hits you with a visceral force.

The years have carved away whatever was left of the haunted boy you once knew. Gone is the wiry, sharp-edged soldier with hollow cheeks and restless, wounded eyes. Dex now stands before you as a vision of dangerous strength, his frame packed with dense muscle that pulls his shirt taut across newly broadened shoulders and chest. The harsh streetlight lights his sharp jaw and high cheekbones, making the scars on his skin stand out pale and striking. His hair, once cropped harshly, is longer now, damp and tousled, giving him a wild, unfinished beauty that feels primal and untouchable. Even the way he holds himself has changed. A contained energy simmers beneath the surface, every movement slow and deliberate, brimming with confidence and a predator’s certainty.

His eyes, no longer hollow but burning with something raw, you feel your pulse skip. Heat flares beneath your skin, hot and unexpected, as a potent wave of chemistry crackles between you. The man in front of you demands attention, makes your breath come faster, and makes your skin prickle with awareness. For a split second, you forget to be guarded; you are only flesh and want, drawn to him like gravity, enthralled by the transformation he’s undergone and the charge that now thrums in the air between you. When your eyes return to his, he’s already waiting. A buzzing slices the air, breaking the moment.

Matt answers the call, lowering his voice to speak softly. You don’t need to guess who’s calling. Your heart squeezes, certain you already know.

Turning to Dex, you whisper, “Do you feel like getting breakfast? I’m starving.”

With a furrowed brow, he squints at you, his eyes searching for alternative motives. When you widen your eyes up at him, he finally nods with a small, “Sure.”

​

Inside the diner, the air was frigid, a biting cold that seemed to burrow beneath your skin and settle deep in your bones. The large glass windows were clouded with condensation, blurring the outside world, while the rough plastic seat beneath you pressed uncomfortably through your jeans. The place was deserted, save for you, Dex, and the three weary figures behind the counter. Silence stretched between you and Dex, thick and expectant, as you waited for someone to notice you. You kept your eyes fixed on the laminated menu, refusing to meet Dex's gaze, though you could feel the weight of it. At last, a kind-faced older lady appeared to take your order. When she left, she seemed to take the fragile sense of peace with her, leaving the quiet to unravel.

“Why did you ask me to join you?” It’s not harsh or mean-spirited, just simple curiosity.

You finally risk a glance at him. "Honestly? I don't even know. Why'd you say yes?"

He parrots your previous response.

You lean forward, voice low. "So what were you doing with Matt tonight, anyway?"

Dex sighs. "I told you. I want to make amends. Trying to fix old messes-"

You cut him off with a scoff. “Right, right, fix the scales. All that righteous bullshit. There’s no better teacher than Matt.” You roll your eyes, the words bitter like the diner’s arctic air.

He stares with a shine in his eyes, “You really are done with Matt, huh?”

Instead of responding, you hum in agreement, absentmindedly picking at the peeling corner of the menu's laminated cover as another silence settles in.

"Not to be insensitive," Dex begins. A loud bark of laughter leaves you at his faux sentiment, but Dex carries on, "Were you really expecting the whole nine yards of a white picket fence with him? I find it hard to believe that you’re that idiotic."

"I wasn’t expecting anything other than loyalty and love from him," you reply. You drag a huge sip of water through your straw before continuing, "It took us six years of friendship for us to get together, but it only took him a year to throw it all away."

“Do you blame yourself?”

You shake your head as you debate how to respond, “No, yes, I-I, the answer changes from time to time.”

As you say it, heat prickles at the back of your neck. Saying it out loud makes you feel raw, exposed, almost shameful. Part of you wants to take the words back, to put on some mask of certainty, but instead you stare at your hands on the table, fingers tightening and loosening around the sweating glass. Some nights, everything feels like it was your fault, like if you could have just been someone else, things would not have fallen apart. Other nights, you convince yourself it was all on Matt. Tonight, it’s neither and both at once, an exhaustion that settles low and heavy in your chest.

“I try not to blame myself, but I’m only human, you know?”

He grunts in agreement, drinking from the steaming cup of coffee.

Soon, the clatter of plates interrupts the silence as the server sets your food in front of you. For a while, neither of you speaks. The scene feels oddly gentle, almost domestic. Nothing like two people with years of tangled resentment between them. You catch your reflection in the window and wonder what story it tells to the world outside: two figures sharing a quiet meal, maybe old friends, maybe something more. For a moment, you allow your heart to feel whole, and yourself to feel joy as you enjoy a meal with company.

You wonder if your history with Dex makes it easier to be honest now, or if it’s just that you have nothing left to hide. He’s seen you at your lowest, bloodied, broken, your pain staining his hands. He’s watched you unravel, felt your insides as he drove a blade into your back, held pieces of you no one else ever has. Maybe that’s why there was never any illusion between you, no sugarcoating, no rose-tinted haze of love or friendship. He’s hated you deeply enough to want you gone, and in that brutal clarity, he’s seen the raw, unvarnished version of you.

Not even Karen, your closest friend, knows how you really feel. You’ve avoided her and Foggy for months now, too worn out or too afraid to keep up the act that everything is fine. The thought of pretending that your circle hasn’t fractured for good because of you and Matt makes you ache with guilt.

“Are you going to finish those?” Dex asks, gesturing with his fork toward the half-eaten pile of buttery, sweet pancakes.

“Uh, no, be my guest.”

Before you can help him take the fluffy circles, he’s already stabbed them with the fork and moved them to his plate. “Fanks,” he muffles out, his words thick from the heaping bite he just shoveled into his mouth.

Stepping out into the thick, pulsing heat of a New York summer night, a different kind of warmth settles over you, one born not from the air but from the strange comfort of Dex’s company. You pause on the stoop, senses thrumming, and catch Dex lingering too, at least you think you do. For a fleeting second, your tired, overworked brain considers closing the distance, saying more, doing something that you’d surely regret. Instead, you force yourself to offer a simple goodnight, destroying the imaginary scenario you had created as you turn away from him.

Dex lets you go, his watchful eyes tracking you until you turn the corner. A heavy breath leaves him, and he breathes in the lingering smell of you before he leaves the brightened sidewalk of the diner. For the first time in a long time, Dex has an extra pep in his step.

​

The club pulses with deafening music, each beat hammering through your chest and rattling your bones. Overhead, colored lights cut through the haze, spinning dizzy patterns across the writhing crowd. Suddenly, a beam splashes across the face you’ve been hunting for weeks. Myron Golubov. The leader behind the recent surge in trafficking. He lounges at a table buried in empty bottles and flanked by women, his grin sharp, predatory. For weeks, he was a ghost, but now, at last, he’s flesh and blood before you.

Perched at the bar with a garish cocktail in hand, you pretend indifference, masking the prickling sensation of being watched. You swirl the straw between your teeth, eyes roaming the crowd with practiced nonchalance. As you steal another look at Myron, you catch a flicker of movement as he’s already slipping through the shadows toward the back exit.

In the alleyway behind the club, it reeks of spilled beer and motor oil. Five men stand, enveloped in shadow, their metallic weapons catching the little moonlight that shines down. Myron ushers two small women into the back seat of a black SUV. Even from your position, their tears are visible. After the car door shuts behind them, you strike.

You emerge from the shadows just as Myron grabs the SUV door, his shout sending his bodyguards scrambling. Guns and knives flash in the dim light. You duck as a shot cracks past your ear. You kick one man hard in the groin, sending him crumpling to the ground. You snatch the gun and toss it aside. Another swings at you, but you sidestep, driving your palm into his nose with a sickening crunch. He collapses

Myron tries to bolt for escape, but you fire at the ground, forcing him to freeze.

Suddenly, a hulking man grabs you and tries to drag you down. You grab his jacket to haul yourself up. His fist clips your head, but you slam your elbow into his skull. He drops, limp.

A fist smashes into your jaw, then your gut. You hit your knees, gasping for breath as three men leer down at you. You bide your time, then surge upward, hands latching around a throat, and the man stumbles backward. A gunshot explodes your hearing, shatters a split second before searing agony rips through your side. Your body jolts, breath catching as your skin tears and burns from the bullet’s impact. Blood gushes, soaking the shredded fabric on your abdomen.

Before the others react, a coin whistles through the air, striking your attacker in the head. You’re too focused on the pain in your side to care about the blood splattering you as the coin punches out the other side of his skull. He drops, limp, onto the filthy concrete.

Another metallic ping rings out, then the whoosh of a blade. It buries itself in the shoulder of one guard with a wet, sickening sound. He howls, while his stunned partner forgets you completely. You fling your own blade, slicing his wrist. His hand weakens, the gun clattering uselessly to the ground.

A pair of footsteps echoes as a large masked figure emerges from around the back of the car. Quickly, the last two men are neutralized, and only Myron is left. When you look at him, he’s a shaken, soiled mess. Forcing yourself to move, you stride over to the car. The two women in the car stare wide-eyed. You nod in reassurance as sirens wail in the distance.

Shuffling around the car, you’ve made it a few feet before your knees betray you, causing you to stumble.

“You’re bleeding.” His gruff voice cuts through the air, unexpectedly pleasing to your ears.

You grit your teeth, forcing yourself upright. “Yes, Dex, thank you for letting me know,” you say, sarcasm sharpening your words despite the pain.

Dex lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Let me carry you. If we take too long, we’ll get caught up with the AVTF.” He glances over his shoulder, analyzing the alley for threats.

You lean heavily against the wall, barely able to catch your breath. Each gasp is a struggle. “I’ll be fine,” you mumble, your voice weak and slurred.

“I wasn’t asking.” Dex stoops and hooks an arm behind your knees. Your legs give out, and you clutch his shoulders for balance. Dex’s other hand never leaves his holster as he sweeps you up and carries you out of the alley, muscles tense beneath your grip.

“Hey, don’t do that.” Dex’s sharp voice jolts you from the edge of unconsciousness, his gaze boring into you.

“Wasn’t doing anything,” you try to snark, but your voice barely rises above a whisper. You blink blurry at Dex, the world tilting around you.

“You’ve got to keep your eyes open.” Dex’s tone softens. You blame the bleeding out for thinking the command sounds concerned. “Talk to me.”

You swallow, fighting dizziness. “What about?”

“Anything.” Dex’s voice is low, almost gentle now as he carries you down the block.

You hum, searching for words, but the throbbing pain in your side and the heat from Dex’s chest distract you. You close your eyes for a moment, steadying yourself against him.

“Were you watching me?”

Dex’s lips twitch. “No, I’ve been tracking Myron,” he says, eyes searching your face for signs you’re still with him.

You shift in Dex’s arms, voice rough. “Where are we going?”

“Off the streets,” Dex replies, moving faster, boots thudding softly on the pavement.

“But where?”

Dex doesn’t answer. Instead, he shifts your weight in his arms and changes the subject.

“What did you order to drink at the bar?” Dex asks, his tone turning almost casual, trying to pull your mind away from the pain.

“Don’t ‘member, was fruity ‘n sweet.”

​An overwhelming heaviness settles on your eyes, too much for your eyelids to resist. Even with both your and Dex’s best attempts to keep them open, they still close. With a final, unfocused glance, the sharp angle of his jawline registers before your eyes roll upward and you go weak in his grasp.

“Fuck.” Dex groans.

You’re unaffected by Dex’s effort of climbing the stairs, the click of your lock, and the yielding embrace of your plush couch as you sink into it. With ease, he navigates your apartment, quickly finding the first-aid kit. Soon, he’s back at your side, cutting the remaining material of your shirt away for better access to the bullet wound. His hands are steady and practiced as he begins cleaning the wound.

A groan escapes you at the sting of antiseptic, making you turn slightly. Unperturbed, he keeps working, methodically wiping away blood and debris before stitching the gash. After stitching, he presses a large wad of gauze against the still-trickling wound and tapes it down securely. His touch lingers a moment before he lets go.

Making his way to the kitchen in search of a trash can, Dex spots a photo in the corner of the counter. A simple wooden frame holds a picture: you stand between Matt and Karen, while Foggy, just behind, holds up his pointer and middle finger to give you bunny ears. If he had to guess, it had been taken at least four years ago. Your hair is the same shade as when he first saw you, and your eyes have a more naive sparkle.

Jealousy flares through his chest as he thinks about how long you’ve known the trio in the picture. How many stories you all must share, the laughs, the fights, the embraces, the love. The thought of them knowing you so intimately twists the bile in his stomach, and his breathing turns ragged. He should have been the one you shared your birthdays with. He should have been the one you relied on. He should have been the one to hold you close, kiss you whenever he wanted, make you smile, make you laugh. It will be me, he reminds himself. Dex repeats this mantra to himself to calm his breathing. When it finally smooths back to normal, he returns to the living room. Sitting in the chair diagonal to the couch, he watches as you rest.

​

The tight pull of stitches in your side is the first thing you notice as you force yourself upright. Sunlight explodes across your pupils, flaring the vertigo and pounding headache. Hissing, you shield your eyes with a trembling hand. You try to remember anything past Dex’s face in the dark alley from last night, but you’re halted as something cuts through the fog. Fists hammer your front door, your name echoing through the room, and suddenly, it’s as if someone yanked cotton from your ears. Every sound sharpens, becoming insistent. The city’s chaos floods in from the open fire escape with horns, engines, and distant voices. You glance at your phone, vibrating in frantic bursts on the coffee table. You shove off the couch, staggering off-balance toward the door, heart pounding.

Throwing it open, it reveals a disheveled Karen on the other side. She whispers your name, throat raw as her red, tear-rimmed eyes scan down and then back up. “Jesus Christ, what happened to you?”

Your eyes follow the path she took and find that your shirt is barely hanging on. The bloodied, bruised, gauze-covered skin on full display for her worried eyes. She moves quickly past you, making you retreat into the apartment as well.

Fierce blue eyes race around the apartment. Once satisfied with what she’s found, she whips back around to you. You hunch, leaning back on the door, hand still clasped around the handle.

“I got shot,” you mumble.

Her arms fold across her torso, “Yeah, I, uh, I can see that. What, h-how did that happen?”

“I was sloppy and got my lesson from it.”

“We’ve been calling you all day. Have you just been-”

“I-I don’t even know what the time is, Karen. I’m sorry that I didn’t answer, but clearly,” You gesture to yourself, “I’ve been out of it.”

She turns, searching for and then finding your phone on the coffee table. She rips it up to check the screen. “Me, Foggy, and,” she hesitates for half a second. “And Matt have all been worried sick, but I’m glad to see that it still works at least.”

You shake your head with a small scoff, “Yeah, I just haven’t had much energy recently. I’m not meaning to avoid you.”

“If it’s because of what happened with Matt?”

“Karen, don’t-”

“No! Listen to me, I don’t care about what went down between the two of you, but I-I do care about not losing my friend. So please put on your big-girl panties and come back to being our friend. Why can’t it be like how it was before you two were together?”

You meet her eyes, “You’ll have to ask Matt that question.” A deep sigh leaves you, “Karen, I wish I could fix everything, but I can’t. We’ll just have to get used to the new way of things.”

Her brows furrow for half a second before glaring at you. She shakes her head. “I don’t want things to change. Nothing has to change.”

You say nothing, opting to look at the open fire escape window instead of her disappointed face.

“Fine. Let me know when you decide to be my friend again.” She marches for the door, and you move to the side. Before she closes it, she looks at you. “Could you at least find the energy to call Foggy? He’s going crazy waiting to hear from you.”

“Yeah, Karen, I will.”

Nodding, she slams the door closed. Leaving you alone in the quiet, metallic-tinged air of your apartment.

Later that night, after a much-needed shower, you climb the old rusty ladder to the rooftop. Already waiting for you up there in the slightly breezy summer air is Dex. He stands with his back turned to you, dressed in his civilian clothes. Approaching him in slow strides, you take the opportunity to admire his broad shoulders.

“How long have you known that I’ve lived here?”

He glances at you over his shoulder, but doesn’t speak.

“Have you been watching me? Following me around?” Your voice rises slightly as you ask him. The thought makes your skin crawl slightly.

“I came here when I got out of prison. I wanted to see if you were still alive or if I had killed you.”

“Were you planning on finishing the job?”

His head shakes, and finally, he turns to face you. His tongue darts out, and you track the movement before your eyes flick back to his.

“I was going to try to make it up to you. Apologize real sweet like, do some groveling, you know, make you forgive me.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his words. The image of Dex pleading for forgiveness at your feet does heinous things to your body. You take a step closer. Dex mirrors it.

“Your first thought out of prison was about me? I must have left quite an impact on your damaged mind.” Dropping your voice low, “It’s not too late for some groveling. I’m feeling pretty generous tonight.”

He smirks at your teasing, but before he can respond, a deep voice cuts through the tension-filled atmosphere.

“You were shot and didn’t call anyone?” Matt demands, his voice heavy in your ears, immediately squashing whatever was building between you and Dex.

“I had to find out by going to the crime scene and smelling your blood. It reeked of your blood. I thought-I thought you were dead. And then you don’t answer your phone all day. Karen has to be the one to come and see if you’re alive or not?” He breathes out sharply, frustration and worry tangled together. "I get it, you’re still pissed at me for what happened with Elektra, but that doesn’t give you the right to be an idiot, on some mission to get yourself killed. And it sure as hell doesn’t give you the right to be a shit friend.”

You wrench your gaze from Dex and square off with Matt. Jaw clenched, your voice slices through the tension. “Feel better, Matthew?”

“You are the last person who should be dogging on anyone for being a ‘shit friend.’ That’s practically in the Matt Murdock playbook.” The words tumble out, knives wrapped in sarcasm. Matt stands there, silent and stiff.

“And I wouldn’t throw that stone of being an idiot getting themselves killed too far, counselor. You might hit a fucking glass wall.” Your anger simmers just beneath the surface. “I’m not still mad about Elektra. Honestly, I haven’t even been thinking about you. I’m not your responsibility to check up on. I’m an adult, and I’ll be fine without the patron saint Matthew Murdock looming over me.”

The clench of his jaw and the subtle twitch of his lower lip let you know that you had struck a nerve, and now you’re witnessing Matt grappling to control himself.

“I just really hope that you’re not doing anything reckless in a desperate attempt to fill the void of being wanted. I’d hate for you to do anything you’d regret.” Matt drops his voice, the heat of anger completely gone. His voice is soft and gentle, carrying the same tone he used to comfort you. Only now, instead of comforting optimism, it’s heavy with pity.

Your anger erupts, but underneath, you go cold. Numb, scraped raw, left wide open. Matt always knew how to drag you to this breaking point, where holding yourself together becomes nearly impossible. Your fists clench, muscles coiled tight, shoulders folding inward. Tears sting your eyes, blurring everything as your throat constricts in agony. His misplaced pity doesn’t just sting; it incinerates, shrinking you into a shadow of yourself. The hypocrisy of his words twists your insides, leaving you furious, gutted, and desperately alone.

“Thank you for your concern, Matt, but please find someone who actually wants it.”

With Matt finally gone, your body can no longer hold itself together. Hot tears stream down your face as your shoulders sag and you begin shaking from the adrenaline leaving your body. You’ve forgotten about Dex until his boots shuffle against the rooftop. Immediately, you straighten up, trying to pull yourself back together quickly.

“Your stitches are ripped.”

Glancing down, you see a dark red circle soddening your shirt. “Huh, I guess they are.” Even to your ears, your voice is flat and distant. Your mind far away from this moment.

Dex notices you aren’t fully present and steps in. He feels a surge of pride and excitement when he realizes he can be useful to you again. He can prove to you that he deserves your forgiveness, that he deserves your attention, that he can treat you better than Matt. He hopes that soon, you’ll begin to associate him with the feeling of being safe and cared for. Silently, he thanks Matt for further pushing you away, making his siege on you even easier.

His warm palm applies gentle pressure to your shoulder, giving you the cue to walk. Your body mindlessly obeys him. Dex trails behind you as you make the trek down to your apartment.

A slight wave of deja vu washes over Dex as you sit on the couch, the soft, battered skin of your stomach bare to him, with him kneeling below you. More gentle than Dex has ever been in his life, he swipes at the area with an antiseptic wipe. You hiss as the cool sting washes over the gash, and dark green eyes flick to your face. Dex takes in, memorizes, and files away the expression of your pained face. His chest warms as he saves this intimate moment for himself.

Your body is tense, and you both know it’s not from the pain of the physical wound but rather from the events of the day.

“It’s funny. I get shot, and yet it’s not even about me,” you scoff, tears clawing for release.

Dex stays silent, struggling to find what you need. Everything he considers sounds wrong, so he keeps patching you up.

“I-I get it. I’ve been distant and different than what they’re used to. And-and I don’t want to be a shit friend, but maybe I don’t want to pretend to be happy around them. You would think that Karen would understand that, and Jesus fucking Christ, I could kill Matt.” You wince when the needle slices through the tender skin. “He wants to pretend that nothing happened, as if we would just return to friends overnight. Like, he didn’t fuck everything up! Like this was all my fault, and then try to shit on my choices!”

A raw whine escapes you from the pain. “Oh, fuck, Dex.”

Your breathy words hit Dex like a punch. Heat floods his body, his eyes drawn helplessly to you. With your eyes squeezed shut, brows furrowed, and lip caught between your teeth, you’re the very image of temptation. It’s almost impossible for Dex to rein in the surge of want that crashes through him as his mind runs rampant with images of him getting that noise from you again.

He grumbles a barely audible apology. His throat felt constricted, preventing him from forming coherent words.

“I don’t even know if I want to be friends with Matt. I don’t know if I’ll ever be willing to act normal around Matt again.” You’ve got that glazed look in your eyes again as you think about what you just said.

“No one is forcing you to do that.”

“I-I don’t know a life in New York without Matt.” Dex hears the anger in your voice at this confession. He feels another ugly flare of jealousy at your words. “I can’t just lose the only friends I have.” Your shoulders droop in sadness.

“From where I’m standing, having friends doesn’t look like what it’s all chalked up to be.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you had any real friends.” Your voice is light as you try to joke with him. Intense green eyes meet yours as he speaks. “Maybe you’re right.”

With a fresh badge over the new stitches, Dex stands up, slightly proud of his handiwork. “If you rip them again, I’m going to let you bleed out.”

“As if. You enjoy playing my knight in blue kevlar too much.”

“I’m just at the wrong place at the right time.”

“You could have left me to die in the alley, but you didn’t.” You sing the last words, and heat crawls up Dex’s neck. “Maybe you could stay and make sure I don’t rip them again.” Something is simmering in your eyes as the words lie thick over the room. Leaving the ball in Dex’s court.

He eyes you up and down before he concedes to staying for a while.

​

You wake to the sharp crackle of oil in the pan, the scent of frying food curling through the air and pulling you from sleep. Padding across the chilled floor, you follow the lure of breakfast and sunlight. Dex stands in your cramped kitchen, haloed in golden morning light that spills through the window, painting his shoulders in soft gold. His back is turned, and you catch a glimpse of a pale scar peeking out just beneath the edge of his shirt. The coffee machine sputters awake, filling the space with the familiar hiss and pulling your eyes from him.

Tentatively, you call out, “Good morning?”

“Mornin’.” His voice is still thick with sleep.

You sink onto the barstool, elbows pressed to the cool countertop, eyes fixed on Dex as he moves with easy grace. He glides through your kitchen as if he’s always belonged there, every motion practiced and sure. The room feels warmer, fuller, with him in it like he’s stitched himself into the fabric of your mornings.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“I woke up hungry. So, I looked through your kitchen, found enough things to make a decent breakfast.” He shrugs nonchalantly, as if this is normal.

You just hum, too stunned and hungry to oppose him.

He plates the food, then swiftly cleans what he’s used. As you pour two coffees, Dex brings the two plates to the small table by the window.

Dex’s broad figure sits across from you, with his elbows resting on the table's surface. Half of him glows with the golden light, and the sharp lines of his face have softened. You’ve never seen him look so gentle, so peaceful. Your stomach flutters, and heat spreads through your chest at the domesticity of this moment. Quizical green eyes look up at you from under his brow as he realizes you haven’t taken a bite.

“What?” Even though the word sounds harsh, you know he means nothing by it.

You smile at him, “Nothing. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t poisoned.”

Picking up more on his fork, he shovels a rather large amount into his mouth. From around the food, and with a quirk of his eyebrow, he responds, “Sure hope it’s not.”

From that day forward, a new routine was formed. For the next few weeks, Dex drops by a few nights under the guise of checking your wound or having you patch him up, and ends up crashing on the couch. The next morning is always followed by food and coffee. Most mornings, Dex takes on the role of chef, but there are rare occasions when you beat him to it, like this morning.

Dex wakes and instinctively looks for you. Pushing himself up, he watches you from over the back of the couch. You move, mouse quiet, around the kitchen, a look of peace across your features. Still drowsy, he stumbles over to lean on the doorway. As he does, one hand comes up to rub the sleep from his eyes.

His heart gets a jump start as he takes in your attire. An oversized shirt covers you completely, and just beneath the hem, a thin line of black hints at a pair of tiny shorts. His softening morning wood begins to fill with blood again, despite Dex trying to think of anything but you.

You turn toward the coffee pot and startle at Dex, leaning against the doorframe. You jump back, crying out, “Oh my god!”

Finally, your brain processes the actual sight of him, standing shirtless, leaning against the doorframe, embodying the perfection of a Greek god. Your breath hitches as your eyes move over his pale skin. The area is littered with scars in muted pinks of varying sizes. When you reach the patch of dark hair that trails down his lower abdomen and beneath his waistband, you begin salivating immediately. You continue making coffee, needing it to distract you from jumping on him.

“Mornin’,” He grumbles as he steps into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” you chirp back. Attempting to keep your voice steady so as not to reveal the way your body is reacting to his presence.

Suddenly, your back is engulfed with heat as Dex invades your personal space. One thick arm extends past your head as it grabs for the cupboard above you, the action causing Dex to lean in even more. You stiffen up completely at the feeling of his breath fanning over you and fiercely fight the urge to press back as something hot and excruciatingly hard presses into your lower back.

“Jesus Christ, Dex,” you side-step away from him. “Ever heard of personal space?”

“Don’t get mad at me because you enjoyed it.”

You're glad not to be facing him, as you’re sure your face is reflecting the sudden need for him. Not responding, you return your attention to the food, ignoring the growing wet spot in your underwear.

After breakfast, you start wiping down the counters, desperate to put some space between yourself and Dex. As you turn your back to the door, you feel him, unseen but unmistakably present. The air grows thick, humming with tension. You don’t dare look, already knowing what’s waiting if you do. But eventually, you have to turn, and when you do, it’s like a match striking gasoline. Sudden, consuming, impossible to ignore.

His eyes lock onto yours, intense and unreadable. The silence presses in, thick and charged. You grip the dish towel a little tighter, knuckles whitening, heart pounding in your chest.

Taking a careful step forward, floorboards groaning beneath his weight. You shake your head, your voice coming out steadier than you feel. “We can’t do this. Whatever it is you’re thinking, we can’t.”

Dex stops, searching your face, his jaw clenched. “What if I can’t stop thinking about it?” The words hang between you, dangerous and electric. “What if I can’t stop thinking about you?”

You swallow hard. Fear and longing twist together in your chest, sharp and aching. “Dex,” you murmur, your voice a tangled knot of warning and want. “This isn’t a good idea.”

He closes the distance, slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to step away. “Maybe not,” he says, voice rough with honesty. “But making good choices was never my strong suit.”

The tension stretches, thin as wire, and you know, if he touches you, you won’t stop him.

Dex continues forward, crowding you until your back presses hard against the counter, the edge digging into you with a subtle ache that only intensifies your awareness of him. He takes his time, no hurry in his movements, as two big, calloused hands reach out to cup your face. Long thumbs trace your cheekbones in a breathtakingly slow and reverent manner, making your eyes flutter shut as you surrender to the sensation. You’re utterly pinned, his body radiating heat that seeps into your skin, wrapping you in dizzying anticipation. All you can do is look up into his eyes, your pulse thrumming wildly beneath his palms.

Tilting your head back, you meet Dex’s intense, hungry gaze, his green irises now reduced to a slim halo around pupils blown wide with want. The air between you crackles, each breath charged, and goosebumps prickle over your skin as a shiver runs down your spine, leaving you trembling beneath his touch.

Before the two of you can go any further, a knock echoes through the apartment. You both freeze, eyes still interlocked as you wait for whoever is there to leave. Instead, another knock rings out. Dex makes a noise similar to a growl when you shove him away. You check through the peephole and, outside your apartment, Foogy Nelson stands rocking back and forth on his feet. You turn to Dex, wide-eyed.

“You’ve gotta go. It’s Foggy.”

“So ignore him.”

“I can’t ignore Foggy.” You shove his shirt and shoes into his arms. “So you need to leave now.”

Dex grits his teeth, swallowing his frustration as you rush him out the window. He tries to convince himself that this is the right move, but the logic feels hollow. There’s no reason for him to be in your apartment, half-dressed, caught in a domestic moment. He knows it, but the anger simmers hot and restless beneath his skin, crawling up his spine and threatening to spill over.

“Fine.” He grunts out.

​

“Hey, Foggy, uh, what-what are you doing here?”

“We’re doing brunch. Me, you, and an endless supply of bottomless mimosas.”

“It’ll take me a minute to get ready.” You say not to dissuade him, but hint that you don’t want to inconvenience him.

“That’s fine!” He plops down on your couch. “Do whatever you’ve gotta do. I’m in no rush.” His lips pull back in his usual warm smile. The sight makes you nod before you turn toward your bedroom.

At brunch, you realize just how much you’ve missed Foggy. Despite your worries about awkwardness after so much time apart, the conversation flows easily, laughter coming naturally as you slip back into your familiar dynamic. The comfort of his presence chases away lingering doubts, reminding you that true friendships can withstand even the longest silences.

“Foggy, I’m sorry I haven’t reached out,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, fingers nervously twisting your napkin. “There’s been so much swirling around in my head lately. I never meant to freeze you out or make it seem like I forgot you.” The words come out raw, your heart thudding as you wait for his response, hoping he understands.

Foggy blows a raspberry as he waves his hands. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. The moments all gone, so now it’s all dust in the wind.”

“Did you seriously just brush off my heartfelt apology with a Kansas song?”

“Yeah, man. Kansas rocks!” He laughs, holding up his hands in a ‘rock on’ gesture.

“I won’t argue with that.” You clink your glasses together, sharing a grin before downing another mimosa, the fizz tickling your throat as the mood lightens.

He says your name gently before he continues speaking, “Look, I can’t apologize for Matt, nor would I. He fucked up majorly and hurt you, I understand that, so I also understand if you say no to this, but I’m going to ask anyway. Will you please, please, come to Josie’s tomorrow? We’re all going to celebrate or drink our sorrows away, depending on how this trial turns out. I would love for you to be there, and Karen would love for you to be there.”

“I’m not sure, Foggy. Both Matt and Karen seem to be upset with me.”

“I know, I know, but I think it’s what we all need. I’m not asking you to be friends with Matt again or make everything magically better. All I’m asking is that you come whip my ass at pool while we both get shitfaced off of cheap room-temperature beer.”

You burst out laughing, unable to resist his infectious energy. “Okay, now that I can do. Who knew you were such a masochist, Foggy Nelson?”

“Not a masochist, just a realist.”

“Fine, I’ll be there. But the second it hits awkwardville, I will be Irish Goodbying.”

Laughing at you, he chokes out, “You and me both, sister.”

After a long day with Foggy, you retreat to the welcome solitude of your apartment. The sun dips below the horizon, washing the room in a moody blue tint that hints at approaching night. Time stretches, each minute thick with anticipation as you wait for Dex to climb through the fire escape window. But he never comes. With three hours gone and no sign of Dex, the ache of disappointment settles in, and you abandon hope, heading for a shower instead.

You avoid the harsh glare of overhead lights, opting instead to light a few candles as you move through the flat. As the warm glow suffuses the rooms in a soft golden haze, the flame's shadows flicker along the walls.

Soon, the little bathroom is alive with the soft, rhythmic patter of water against tile. Steam thickens the air, curling around you and mingling with the gentle candlelight just beyond the door. Under the steady stream, hot water cascades down your back, dissolving the tension in your muscles. You lather up, the scent of soap blooming in the warmth, and rinse until your skin feels new. For a lingering moment, you stay behind the curtain, savoring the cocoon of heat until the water turns cool. Wrapping your favorite towel snugly around your body, you step out and pad softly to your bedroom.

The wooden floor sighs beneath your feet as you move, each step leaving a faint damp imprint that quickly fades. The bedroom is dim, touched only by the golden spill of candlelight and the faint hush of rainfall against the window. You sit on the edge of the bed, letting the towel absorb the last drops of water clinging to your skin. For a moment, you listen to the soft hum of the night, the distant city sounds blurred by the rain, and the steady cadence of your own breath.

From the living room, a thud reverberates through the flat, followed by the squeal of your window being forced closed. The solid thunking of boots begins, purposeful and unhurried, echoing off the narrow walls as they make way to you. You remain unmoved while Dex’s shadow expands across the wall opposite your room as candlelight frames his silhouette, broad-shouldered, imposing, and unmistakable. With a deliberate stomp, Dex plants himself in the doorway, filling the space with his presence. Golden light highlights his sharp features as the flames make his dark eyes glimmer with something unreadable.

Thunder rumbles over New York, as if the world outside senses the tension coiling in the room. Dex’s gaze lingers on you, tracing the line of your jaw, the curve of your shoulder beneath the towel, as if memorizing every detail. For a moment, he hesitates at the threshold, a gentle smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. Dex’s voice finally cuts through the air. It’s thick, low, rough, and edged with something you can’t quite name.

“You going to run away from me again?”

“That depends.”

When he moves forward, it’s with an intention that stirs up arousal deep in your gut.

He sits rigid beside you on the bed, so close that your knees touch. For a heartbeat, you simply breathe together, locked onto each other's eyes. Then, with one calloused finger, he runs it along your collarbone, feather-light. The sensation prickles your heated skin and instantly pebbles your towel-covered nipples.

“Are you done acting like you don’t want me? Done with pretending like just being around me doesn’t turn you on?” His finger traces swirls around the exposed skin as he speaks. You nod at his words, but selfishly, Dex needs more.

“Say it.”

“I want you, Dex. All I’ve been thinking about lately has been you.” Your hands reach out. One resting on his knee, while the other wraps around the arm he’s petting you with.

“That was pretty harsh this morning, shoving me out like I was a one-night stand that overstayed their welcome.” His hand comes to rest at the spot where your jaw and neck meet.

“Did I hurt your feelings, Dexy?”

His jaw clenches at the nickname, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

Your hand travels higher, your nails digging into the thick muscle of his thigh. His arousal is unmistakable now, straining beneath the tight fabric of his boxers. Dex leans in, his grip tightening on your neck as he draws you in until there’s no space left between you.

His lips crash into yours, urgent and desperate. Chapped lips scrape against yours as he claims your mouth, swallowing down your moan. His palm finds the knot of your towel and slowly tugs, giving you the chance to stop him, but your fingers are already threading through his hair, urging him on. The towel loosens and slips, baring your flushed skin to the cool air, to Dex’s heated gaze.

He breaks the kiss to look at you, chest heaving. “Fuck, I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me,” he rasps, voice hoarse with restraint. His fingers trail from your collarbone down to your hardened nipples. Between his thumb and index finger, he tweaks them, making you arch in response to the slight pain. Placing wet, open-mouthed kisses across your chest, Dex revels in the desperate noises that leave your mouth. A throaty moan leaves your parted lips as his warm mouth wraps around one of the buds. His grip on your chest grows harsh as his tongue swirls around the area. The air hits the spit-soaked trail, cooling your heated skin.

Pulling your knees onto the bed, you shuffle onto his lap. His thick legs stretch yours further apart as you place your pulsing, hot, sopping core against his fully hardened length. Grinding down on him as he continues toying with your chest. Your fingers thread and tug through his hair. With an obscene wet pop, he releases a nipple from his mouth. A string of spit follows his mouth as he does.

“Harder.”

Thinking he’s talking about your grinding, you press down harder against him.

“No,” Dex’s hands find yours in his hair. He wraps his fingers around your wrist and tugs harshly. “Pull my hair harder.”

You do as told, yanking hard at the blonde roots. A satisfied groan leaves him as his eyes flutter shut. “Yeah, that's it, baby. Fucking rip it out.”

Depraved desire ignites in your belly so aggressively that it makes your head spin. Soon, the crotch of Dex’s pants is completely soaked from both of your arousal.

“I want your pants off. Actually, I want it all off.” Standing in front of him, you use all your strength to shove him back onto the mattress harshly. The frame shakes from the force, and a hefty breath is expelled from Dex’s lungs.

Propping himself up on his elbows, he looks at you, the perfect image of a man ravenous. He kicks his boots off as you work on getting his pants down. As he pulls his shirt off, you stop to admire the rippling muscles of his torso. Before pulling off the only remaining article of his clothing, you scratch at the skin above the waistband.

“Don’t tease. Go ahead and take me out.”

“Do you always talk this much when you’re getting laid, or do I just make you nervous?”

Dex huffs out a laugh as he helps to get his boxers off. And there he lies, all bare and exposed for your eyes. Between his legs, his pinkish cock stands proudly for you. Thicker and longer than you had expected, with a slight curve to the right, and a long throbbing vein that runs down the underside. The tip has a glossy sheen from the steady stream of precum leaking out.

“Come here.”

When you crawl onto the bed, Dex manhandles you so you’re facing away from him and swings your leg over his torso for you. Big hands spread you apart, getting a better look at your soaking wet cunt, and a low moan rumbles through him. “Goddamn, what a view.”

A sharp hiss escapes Dex as your warm palm wraps around his length. The heavy, warm weight of him in your palm pulls a delighted sigh from you. With the tip of your tongue, you lick from base to tip, enjoying the salted, heady taste of his skin in your mouth. Flicking your tongue against the slick-covered slit, you overwhelm your taste buds with the taste of Dex, and you can’t stop your moan as your licking rewards you with more cum coating your tongue.

Dex's hips jerk violently as the intoxicating heat of your mouth engulfs him. Dex’s mind fragments, every coherent thought slipping away, leaving only raw sensation as your tongue hungrily glides along his length. His guttural moans erupt, echoing with desperation, as you quicken your pace and hollow your cheeks, creating a relentless, tight suction that sends electric shockwaves through his body. Dex feels every nerve ablaze with overwhelming pleasure, teetering on the edge of losing himself completely.

Dex's rough hands seize your hips, dragging you down so your soaked core crashes onto his waiting mouth. His tongue assaults you with wild, hungry strokes devouring every inch, every trembling fold, until you’re writhing above him. His tongue zeroes in, flicking your clit with ruthless precision and feverish speed, each stroke fueling the crescendo of your pleasure. Your moans spill out, long and uncontrollable, filling the air as he consumes every sound and sensation you give him.

Breaking away, your slick follows his lips in sticky strings, “Is that good?” You whine out in response. “I want to know how good I’m making you feel. Tell me how good my mouth feels making out with your pretty pussy.”

Your strangled cry is muffled around his length, still being deep in your throat.

He doesn’t relent when he feels the legs around him begin to shake. Instead, Dex locks his arms tighter around your thighs, anchoring you to his mouth. His tongue strokes become impossibly faster, relentless, coaxing your climax closer with each maddening flick and swirl. Your cries grow as loud as they can with your mouth still wrapped around his cock. His hips buck harder and quicker the louder you moan. Not being able to keep up the sucking anymore, you switch to working him up with your hand.

Using the extra thick saliva that’s pooled at the base of his shaft for lubricant, you begin jerking him off. Tightening your fist and tugging extra hard at the tip, you get more hearty moans from Dex. You alternate between fast, aggressive jerks and slow teasing strokes, the contrast making Dex lose his mind. As your entire body trembles above him with every muscle tightening in anticipation. Dex groans against you, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through you, and you realize you’re right on the precipice, teetering helplessly over the edge. When you warn Dex of your quickly approaching orgasm, he moans into your hole, coaxing it out, needing you to coat his tongue in your sweet release.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, Dex. Don’t-don’t stop, I’m gonna-” You’re interrupted by your own whimpering, tearing through you. Turning his head to the side so he can still lick you up as he speaks, Dex encourages you, “Yeah, that’s it, cum on my tongue. Give me what I want.”

With arms and legs made of jello, you crash onto the bed beside Dex. Chest still heaving as you recover from the blinding pleasure Dex just gave you. He braces himself on top of you. His pulsating length rests against the seam of your cunt. While the post orgasm bliss calms the raging desire for a few moments, you wrap weak arms around his neck and pull him down for a kiss. It’s gentle and full of emotions you're both not ready to speak about just yet. Dex tries to, but can’t control the urge to grind his desperate cock against you as the kiss deepens. The feeling of your soft, plump mouth open for his tongue and breathing against his mouth is too much.

Lacing your fingers through his hair, you pull his head back. You stare deep in his eyes, “Dex, I want you inside of me. I need to feel your pretty cock deep inside of me. Please?”

Dex's eyes roll back, his chest trembling with a guttural groan. Heat surges through him, sharper and more consuming as your compliment lingers in his mind. Your words make him twitch, flushed and needy, the reddening tip glistening with anticipation. A thick, glossy stream of slick pulses from him, pooling against your skin as his hips jerk involuntarily, instinctively seeking more of your praise and attention.

“You don’t need to ask. I’ll give it to you, fuck, I’ll always give you what you want.” He mumbles, eyes glazed over as he lines himself with your entrance. Tenderly, the flared head of his cock pushes past the tight notch of your entrance. Your spasming walls welcome him eagerly, already attempting to milk him dry. A gasp is shared at the feeling of him being fully sheathed inside you, his length so great you feel the pressure in your lower abdomen. A hand rests on your hip as the other holds himself up, and yours dig into the scarred muscles of his back. Dex has to take a moment to concentrate on not cumming instantly. It’s been forever since he’s been with anyone, and your tight cunt feels heavenly enough for him to explode without even thrusting. Soon, the air is filled with rhythmic, wet slaps of flesh as his hips snap against the fat of your ass. Heavy breaths mingle in the heat as his thrusts quicken.

Dex’s intense gaze holds you captive as waves of pleasure surge through your body, bringing tears to your eyes. He notices instantly, and a rush of emotion crashes over him. Your moans are achingly sweet to his ears, the sight of your flawless, unscarred body beneath his own battered flesh sparks a raw, deep shame, and the fiery emotion he sees deep in your eyes overwhelms him. Thoughts tumble through his mind of unworthiness, unworthy of you, and sick for even wanting it. Frustration quickly ignites, turning inward. Soft, broken whimpers escape Dex, and humiliation flushes his cheeks at the sounds he makes, only feeding his anger. Overwhelmed by your gaze, he pulls his hand from your hip, grips your jaw, and turns your head away, unable to bear your eyes on him.

You feel the roughness of his hand, the tension in his grip betraying the storm inside him. For a moment, silence hangs between you, thick with conflicting needs. Dex’s breath comes in ragged bursts against your cheek as he tries to compose himself. Shame and longing wage war beneath his skin. He hovers there, torn between retreat and surrender.

Slowly, his touch gentles. His thumb traces your jaw, a silent apology. You sense his hesitation, the ache in his movements, the vulnerability he hides behind anger. You turn your head back, searching for his eyes, but he lowers them, unable to meet your gaze.

A tremor ripples through him. "Don’t look at me," he whispers, voice ragged. The words aren’t a command, but a plea, a fragile shield against the emotions threatening to unravel him.

“It would be a crime not to look at you. You’re doing so well, Dex. I’ve never felt this good. You’re fucking me so perfectly, ruining me for anyone else.” You cup his jaw, grounding him as his emotions surge. “It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling. Just come back to me. I need you here.” He nods, tears pricking his eyes as he struggles between the praise and his vulnerability.

“Are you going to let me hear you now? I want to hear you whimper for me again.”

He grunts out a tight, “Jesus Christ. You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

You grin wickedly, clenching tightly around him. “Come on, Dex, baby, take what you need. Give me what we both want.”

“I’m going to make you forget your own name.” He grits out, his thrust becoming brutal. Your breath stutters, heat boiling deep in your gut as his pace grows wild. His hands are everywhere. Tight at your waist, sliding up your back, holding you together even as he threatens to pull you apart. You arch into him, meeting every thrust with equal desperation, lost in the heat and the chaos.

“Don’t stop,” you rasp, nails digging harshly into his shoulders, leaving red indents behind. The sting of your nails makes him whine lowly deep in his throat. He buries his face in your neck, voice breaking. “Tell me how it feels. Want to hear how good I’m fucking you.”

Words catch in your throat as Dex’s cock pounds relentlessly against your cervix. The sheer size of him steals your breath, making you feel stretched and raw, as though he’s driving up into your very core. Fingers tighten in your hair, forcing your gaze downward. Now, you’re transfixed by the place your bodies join, the sight almost obscene. Whatever thoughts you had vanish as you watch a thick ring of creamy slick gather at his base. He withdraws until only the head lingers inside, then sinks back in with a slow, devastating thrust, filling you completely. He establishes a relentless rhythm, and soon you’re helplessly babbling praise. Raw, involuntary sounds of pleasure spilling from your lips, torn straight from the haze of your fucked-out mind.

“Dex, mmm fuck. ‘M so close, please, please-”

Dex shushes you softly, a crooked grin uptilting his mouth, “I know, I know, it feels too good. This sweet pussy is begging for me to fill her up.” A ragged cry of his name interrupts him.

“I’m going to cover you in me. Fucking cum so hard you’ll be full of me for days. Fuck, fuck,” his words push you both closer to the edge. “You want that? You want to walk around with me leaking out of you, reminding you who you belong to?”

You cry out, pleading for it, while your cunt tightens around him. The coil winds tightly for you both as your pleasure becomes too much. Blinding euphoria crashes through you, leaving you unable to hold back. Your nails rake down his back, sharp and desperate, as your legs tighten around his waist, anchoring him to you. Dex gazes at you in awe, captivated by the way your face contorts in ecstasy, your eyes rolling back, and your mouth parting in a silent cry. With a final arch of your back and roll of your hips, the tight confines of your pink, gummy walls coax his release out of him.

The pleasure is too intense. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, biting into your skin with trembling desperation, his breath hot and erratic against your flesh. His hands clutch your hips, fingertips digging in hard enough to leave marks as his entire body shudders above you. You feel the heat of his release pulse in deep, heavy waves. There’s too much seed for your cunt to hold, and it quickly begins spilling out of you and across your slick thighs. He thrusts through the throes of his orgasm, muscles straining and chest pressed to yours, his voice breaking into choked whimpers as he surrenders completely to the afterwave of pleasure.

Minutes pass by before either decides to disrupt the afterglow of the moment. With a voice that sounds as rough as desert sand, Dex speaks. “My back is bleeding.”

You huff a weak laugh, “It’s payback from years ago. Don’t act like you didn’t attempt to break skin with that bite.”

Dex, with a sharp smile and chuckle, responds, “What can I say, I just want to eat you up.”

The low inflection of his tone has your overworked cunt clenching around his softening member. He jerks at the overstimulation, “You’re insatiable, huh?”

After another shower and wrapped in comfortable pajamas, you lie back on the freshly made bed. Dex lingers like a ghost by the doorway, unsure of what comes next.

“Dex, you can sleep wherever you want. If that's with me or on the couch, do whatever makes you comfortable.”

A war rages in his mind. One part aches to know what it would be like to finally hold you. To feel your soft, sleepy warmth pressed to him, to let you be the last thing he sees before sleep and the first thing greeting him in the morning. The thought is almost unbearable. It feels more intimate, more vulnerable, than the sex you just shared. Still, he lets the longing win, brushing aside the anxious voice insisting it’s too much. He selfishly tells himself you deserve this closeness, that he deserves the solace of crawling into bed beside you, desperate and worshipful, like a faithful dog at its master’s feet.

With the same warmth you’d get from hugging a mannequin, Dex lies on his side of the bed. Rigid and unmoving. You scoot closer, the bed slightly rocking as you do so. Not to scare him off, you rest your forehead against his bicep, hands tucked into your chest.

“Sorry if this isn’t the post sex pillowtalk you were imagining.” He gruffly says, and you know the combativeness is him protecting himself, even after the intimate moment you shared less than an hour ago.

Sluggishly, you reply, “Is okay. Just glad you’re here.”

Sleep calls to you both, but while you surrender easily, Dex remains restless. He lies awake, tangled in thoughts, anxious about where all this leads. What does this mean for him? He’s never learned how to be an adult in a relationship, to truly enjoy someone’s company, to care for someone else. Yet, he knows one thing for certain: he wants to try for you. He’ll give you everything you need and more. He’ll make sure you’re treated better than you’ve ever been. Selfishly, he thinks, he’ll make you forget all about Matt Murdock and anyone else who isn’t Benjamin Poindexter. He’s a new man, fighting for redemption, and you’ll be the one to reap the benefits of his new nature.

Craning his head, he peers down at your sleeping form. Your face the embodiment of peace. No furrowed brow, no disgruntled creases, just soft features and rhythmic, steady breathing. Dex can’t stop himself from leaning closer to steal a smell from you. The fragrant aftermath of your shower eases his mental load and further aids him in surrendering to sleep.

In the morning, the first thing you notice is the heavy furnace that covers you. On top of your chest lies a sleeping Dex, his long blonde eyelashes resting on the top of his cheeks, and tiny soft snores fall from his parted lips. He almost looks like a different man when he’s not goading anybody on or responding sarcastically to everything. Gently, you try to pry yourself free; his hold laxes slightly, but right as you're almost free, he speaks. Voice heavy and muddy with sleep, “Where’re you goin’?”

“Just need to pee.”

He huffs petulantly before allowing you to move. When you’re up, you decide to begin the ritual of breakfast making. Soon, footsteps thud behind you as Dex makes his way to the kitchen. Stepping in, he moves with you, helping you complete the final steps needed to finish the food.

“How did it feel last night?”

“Which part? You need to be a bit more specific.” Dex smirks over the rim of his coffee mug, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Poindexter. Sleeping in the bed with me?” you counter, giving him a pointed look.

“Do you think I’ve never slept in a bed?” Dex shoots back, feigning offense.

“You’ve never slept in one with me.” You deadpan, tiring of his teasing.

“Not that you know of anyway-”

“Dex! Don’t be unbearable this early in the morning,” you groan, shooting him a playful glare.

His hands splay out in front of his chest in surrender, and a small laugh leaves him. “I…enjoyed it. It was nice,” he says, his tone softer than usual.

A beaming smile lights up your face at the simple statement. “I enjoyed you being in my bed too,” your face warms at the sincerity in your admission.

Dex rubs a circle on the back of your hand, you quickly realize he’s drawing his symbol against the soft flesh there.

“Marking me again?” Bright eyes peer into his clouded ones.

“As much as I can.”

​

Later that day, while you’re sitting at a cafe table across from Dex, your phone buzzes. A simple question from Foggy that makes your smile drop for half a second. The movement does not go unnoticed under the dutiful watchful eyes of Dex.

“What is it?”

"I forgot that Foggy wanted me to join him and the others at Josie’s tonight." You return your gaze to the man in front of you. "He was just telling me when to be there."

“But you don’t want to go.” It was a statement, not a question. You shrug in response.

“Why are you worried about it?”

“I’m afraid that everything will be different, and if I go there and everything has changed, then I can’t ignore it anymore. I’m worried that I’ve lost my friends.” You roll the straw’s wrapping paper between your fingers, thinking about all the years spent with Foggy, Karen, and even Matt, how their laughter and bickering filled up the quiet spaces in your life, how it once felt impossible to imagine New York without them. The thought of that circle splintering leaves a hollow ache in your chest. Even now, after all the mess and mistakes and heartbreak, you can't stop hoping you might find your way back to them, or at least to some new version of what you once had together. The possibility of losing that, or having to rebuild from scratch, is what scares you most.

Dex almost hesitates to ask, “Is Matt included in that?”

"No. Whatever happened with Matt and me, I’ve accepted. But I don’t see it working if we’re not all friends. It worries me that Matt might make things harder." You reach for Dex’s hand. "Don’t worry about me around Matt. There’s nothing between us anymore."

“But there was. What if he’s still holding on to you?” The thought unsettles Dex; the idea that Matt might still hope for something more with you stirs a jealousy he tries to suppress. He doesn’t like feeling threatened, especially when it comes to you. You see Dex’s distress immediately by the tension in his shoulders and the tight set of his jaw.

“That would be unfortunate for Matt, and yes, there was once something between us, but turns out, he wasn’t the one for me. He didn’t deserve me, and he showed me that.”

“He’s a fucking moron.” It’s a low growl as Dex clenches his jaw.

“Yeah, but thanks to him, we found each other again.”

“You know, that's an awfully nice thing to say to the guy that’s physically stabbed you in the back?”

Your smile at him, “Not nearly nice enough for the guy that’s saved my life twice.”

As you approach Josie’s, a knot of dread grows in your stomach, tightening with every step. It bursts the moment you open the door. All three faces turn toward you in perfect synchrony. There’s no chance to retreat; you’ve been spotted. (Un)Surprisingly, Karen greets you first, her signature wide, welcoming smile lighting up her features.

“I’m so happy you came! I’ve missed you.” Karen’s long arms wrap around you, squeezing tightly as she rocks you back and forth. You rub her back.

“I take it you guys won the case?”

“Yes, but that’s not the only reason we’re in good spirits.” Foggy boasts, already thrusting a beer into your hand. “It’s also because you’re here.”

“Yeah, but what's the percentage of the excitement for me and the excitement for winning the trial?”

Matt laughs, and for the first time tonight, you really notice how he looks.

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re here now, and the party has officially begun. Follow me.” Foggy leads you to the dimly lit, dingy pool table that’s already set up and waiting. A few rounds in, you’ve got Foggy exactly where you want him. You call your shot, crack the cue ball, and watch as it sinks cleanly into the pocket. Foggy downs the rest of his beer in defeat, while you raise yours in triumph. As you approach the bar to get another drink for yourself and Foggy, Matt joins you. For a moment, you both stand facing each other, the air thick with uncertainty. You offer a tentative, "Hey," your voice betraying your hesitation. Matt returns the greeting with a faint, uncertain smile.

Then Matt stands for a moment, unmoving and silent, head tilted in that way like he knows something. Like he’s discovered a secret before anyone else has.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Matt says, letting out a huff of humorless laughter. “Have you seriously been with Poindexter?”

You groan, rolling your eyes as you drop your head onto your folded arms on the sticky counter. "Matt, it’s none of your business what I’m doing. Even if it’s coming from a place of misguided love," you reply, already exhausted by the conversation.

“I-I just can’t believe you’d give someone like him a chance. He’s a killer. He-he tried to kill you. He tried to kill Karen and me.” Matt continues, forcing a lighthearted smile so Karen and Foggy don’t notice his real feelings. You mirror him, masking your true emotions with a sugary sweetness.

You lean in, lowering your voice so only Matt can hear. "I know exactly who he is, Matt. But at least he’s honest about it."

Matt’s jaw tightens, a flicker of frustration shining through. "Honest? That’s what you’re calling it now?"

You shrug, trying to keep your tone light. "Better than pretending to be someone you’re not."

Matt’s composure cracks, his forced smile collapsing as he leans in, voice lowered to a raw whisper. "You deserve so much better than him."

Your laugh is sharp, almost bitter. "Maybe. But I get to decide what I deserve."

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The noise of the bar fills the silence between you, heavy with everything left unsaid.

"And when he turns on you? What's your plan then?"

Of course, that's where Matt’s mind would lead him. Not ‘what if’ but ‘when’ as if he already knows how this all plays out.

You glare directly into his glasses, your words cutting through the tension. "Are you trying to protect me, Matt, or are you just waiting for me to fail?"

"I’m not some helpless idiot, Matt. I make my own choices, even when they’re messy. You never once tried to talk me out of dating you. Why is Dex different?"

"Maybe I should have. Maybe I should’ve saved you from both of us."

"Dex isn’t the weapon he was. He’s trying, fighting for redemption, even when it’s ugly. Remind you of anyone? Because it should."

Matt’s voice is brittle with revulsion. "Don’t. Don’t compare me to him. We’re nothing alike."

"You’re right, you’re nothing alike. Dex isn’t pretending to be something he’s not. He knows exactly who he is. Can you say the same?"

You take the beers off the counter. The chilled, sweating glass provides some relief from the anger boiling inside of you. Returning to Foggy and Karen, you plant a bright, wide smile on your face, “Who's ready for more?”

After the brief fight between you and Matt, the tension melts away, and the night resumes with an easy camaraderie. You and Matt share a round of pool, laughing and joking like how it used to be. A couple of hours in, when Karen becomes a giggling mess, and Foggy’s missing both his tie and button-up shirt, you know it’s time to call it a night.

As the four of you spill onto the sidewalk, the cool night air brushes your flushed cheeks. Freed from the bar’s warmth and noise, the full weight of the night and the drinks settle in. You all cling to each other, laughter bubbling over as you stumble toward the curb. Matt raises his hand, summoning a taxi. When the yellow cab arrives, you help him guide a tipsy Karen and a disheveled Foggy inside. Matt rattles off the addresses, pressing more cash than necessary into the driver’s hand.

With Karen and Foggy gone, you and Matt are left facing each other beneath the streetlight, suspended in a silence that feels fragile—neither quite uncomfortable nor reassuring.

“Want me to walk you home?” he asks, an easy, familiar smile curving his lips as he leans against the lamppost, hands tucked in his pockets.

“Nah, I’ll be alright. What about you? A blind man wandering New York at this hour could be asking for trouble.”

He echoes your earlier words, “I’ll be alright.”

You nod, murmur a quiet goodnight, and turn to walk away.

“Wait—”

You pause. He takes a breath. “I’m sorry,”

His apology is gentle, almost lost to the night, but it stops you in your tracks. Matt continues.

“I’ve been borderline cruel recently, and I’m sorry. I know after everything, I don’t have the right to, but I still care about you. I still love you, and I know that it’s all different now, because of me. We’ll never be as close as we used to be, even before we were together. I’m angry with myself and at the situation that I put us in. I hurt you deeply, and I’ll never be able to fix it. I just don’t want you to get hurt again because of me. I’ve let that happen too many times. I can’t promise to be normal around Dex, but if that’s what you choose to do and it makes you happy, I should support that. It’s what a good friend would do in our crazy world of normalcy. I just want us to be friends again.”

Facing him now, you step closer. “Matt, it’s going to take a long time for everything to return to how it was. I appreciate the apology and you taking accountability, but it’s not going to solve it all overnight. I’m not looking for approval from you or anyone else. We both just need to make peace with what happened and where we’re at.”

“I know, and again I’m sorry.” He takes a brave step forward. As he does, a familiar silhouette catches the corner of your eye from the dip between two buildings.

“Thank you for that, Matt.” Your hand rests on his shoulder, “Goodnight, be safe.”

You slip a few blocks down the street before ducking beside an unlit building, feeling the pulse of adrenaline in your veins. When Dex nears, you bite your lip, anticipation curling in your stomach. As he moves to pass your hiding spot, you call out, “You just couldn’t stop yourself from following me, huh?”

He turns, striding into the shadowy alcove with you. Up close, his eyes linger on the flushed heat of your cheeks, a smirk tugging at his lips as he draws closer than necessary. The air between you thickens with unspoken challenge. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You hum, eyes alight with mischief, letting your gaze drift down his frame before meeting his eyes again. “And it had absolutely nothing to do with me being around Matt, right?”

A low, displeased sound escapes him at the mention of Matt. His gaze bores into yours. “Seemed like everything was good between you two.”

In a twisted way, your heart skips a beat at the jealousy dripping from Dex’s voice, your pulse fluttering beneath his stare. “Oh yeah, more than good, practically back to normal.”

You shift your weight, letting your knee brush his leg as Dex grows uncomfortable with your words, his resolve beginning to dissipate. Heat blooms low in your stomach as you watch him battle with his restraint, a dark thrill coiling in your gut as you push him closer to unraveling.

“Really?”

“Yeah, we’re actually planning on having lunch next week at his apartment. Just the two of us.”

Dex’s usually nonchalant eyes widen at the idea of you being back in Murdock's apartment. Surrounded by everything Matt, nothing even remotely close to Dex. Your core throbs at the crazed glint that takes over Dex’s irises. He steps in, the heat from his body pressing you back until your spine meets the wall, his hand braced beside your head.

“I don’t think so.” His words are low, edged with a possessive darkness. His breath ghosts over your lips, close enough to taste the tension.

“Why not? Are you worried?”

“I don’t like sharing. Especially hate having to share you.” He nuzzles into the hollow of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. Sharp teeth graze the faded bite mark, and his hand slides down your side, gripping your hip possessively. The pinch of pain makes you gasp, your back arching off the wall, pressing your body flush to his, every inch alight with want.

“Guess I’ll need to get that point across to you.” His hand bunches up your shirt, knuckles grazing heated skin, the simple touch sending sparks racing down your spine. His mouth wastes no time, teeth scraping and tongue lavishing the exposed skin of your neck and jaw. He makes a low, hungry sound in his throat, his fingers curling around your breast, squeezing and teasing until your breath catches.

“Not in the alley, Dex!” You chastise breathlessly.

“Yes, right here, right now. In this nasty alley.” He grinds his cock against your lower stomach, hard and insistent, making you acutely aware of just how badly he wants you. “Do you feel that? That’s because of your teasing, and now you get to fix it.” You moan, already desperate, at the blunt pressure and the heat radiating between you.

His deft fingers make quick work of your jeans, shoving them down in a heated frenzy. Your lace panties are left stretched across your hips, teasingly in place, and for a moment, you’re left exposed and aching. Dex drops to his knees without hesitation and begins nuzzling his nose against the soft dip of your mound. He inhales deeply, his eyes rolling back as he loses himself in the scent of you. Heat races to your face at the perverse sight of him on his knees, burying his face into your clothed, sopping cunt and moaning. Slick gushes out of you at the shameless devotion in his face. Between ragged breaths, Dex murmurs into the soaked fabric, each word a promise.

“I haven’t thought about anything but you and your cunt since last night. The second I woke up, you were all I could think about. Even when I was plotting how to kill Murdock, all I wanted was to taste you, to hear you fall apart for me.” His words drive you wild, your hips bucking forward, desperate for his mouth.

His chuckle is low and rough. “Isn’t that just fucked up? I’m talking about offing your friend, and you’re grinding your wet, needy pussy against my mouth, like you can’t help yourself.”

“God, you’re so fucking gross. Just shut up and do your job already, Dex.” Your voice is wrecked with need, and his cock twitches in his jeans, a fresh pulse of arousal soaking his boxers.

“Oh, I will,” he rasps, voice thick with hunger. “But I want to savor you first, baby.”

With one last inhale, Dex’s tongue flicks out, tracing the seam of your panties with agonizing slowness. The barely-there touch sends a jolt of electricity through your nerves, your thighs trembling as you fight the urge to grind down for more. He teases you mercilessly. He makes a show of tracing where the lace presses against your thighs and waist, his teeth nipping while his tongue soothes. Large hands rest on the fatty part of your hips, keeping you in place as he has his fun. Dex shifts his attention back to your heated core. His long pink tongue extends out, and he presses the warm muscle flat against the whole of your cunt. His eyes fixed on yours the whole time. The fabric grows sticky and wet from the amalgamation of arousal and saliva. You can’t help but finally writhe, desperate for him to rip the barrier away and give you what you crave.

The sinful thrill of doing this in a filthy alley, combined with the exquisite torment of Dex’s featherlight tongue, has your orgasm building embarrassingly fast. Heat floods your face as you realize, with a mix of shame and wild excitement, that you’ve never been pushed so close to the edge by nothing but teasing and petting.

Thick calloused fingers skim along the inside of your thighs. One hand pushes you open while the other hooks a finger into the gusset of your lace. In a slow, almost too gentle manner, Dex pulls the soaking lace to the side. Cool air shocks your puffy, hot skin, and you hiss as it chills you.

“Oh, fuck that’s perfect. You’re weeping for me.” A fingertip swipes from your crying hole and through your folds before Dex is holding up the glistening digit to his eyes. He inspects his finger like he’s found something precious. As the digit runs along his taste buds, his eyes instantly glaze over. You choke out a cry of his name, hips jutting forward, begging for more. He ignores you, dipping his fingers back against the wet flesh of your core. Desperately, like a man dying of thirst, he hastily collects more of your nectar.

The hands you had previously been resting on the wall find their purchase in his hair. Tugging his face closer as you beg him for his mouth.

“Do you really want my gross mouth on your perfectly pure cunt?”

You hum, raising your hips, trying to get him closer to where you want him. With a tsk, Dex leans further away. “I want to hear you say. Tell me where you want me and what you want me to do.”

“I want your nasty, filthy mouth on my-” He looks expectantly at you, making sure you get your line correct. “On my perfectly pure cunt. I want to hump your face while you eat me out in this disgusting alley, where anyone could see us.”

“That was really good, baby. How could I say no to that?”

His lips finally close around your clit, and a deep, shuddering sigh slips from you. The thick, hot muscle of his tongue circles your cunt, tormenting you with slow, deliberate strokes before plunging inside. The sudden intrusion makes your head swim; you groan, your head thumping back against the wall. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you even wider, forcing you open for him until you’re utterly exposed to his hunger. Dex buries his face between your legs, tongue flattening and shaking side to side, making you slicker, messier, until you’re writhing for more. When he finally sucks your clit into his mouth, he’s rough, nothing gentle or teasing. His teeth graze, then clamp down, sending a bolt of stinging pleasure straight through your nerves. You cry out, all control lost as he devours you with raw, primal intent.

“Dex—ow, fuck!” Your hands tangle in his hair, desperate for something to save you, but he’s relentless. Utterly unmoved by your squirming. You’re completely pinned, helpless beneath the force of his want. It’s like being caught in the jaws of something feral and unstoppable, left to thrash in the grip of a predator whose only goal is to consume you, body and soul.

Your legs quake and toes curl, every nerve raw and exposed. Dex groans against you, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. His grip on your thighs tightens, holding you open and helpless as he devours you, the alley fading away until there’s nothing but his mouth and your shattered breath. Your body bows off the wall, hips bucking desperately into his face, chasing the sharp edge that’s building inside you. You’re babbling his name, half a plea and half a warning, but Dex doesn’t let up. He doubles down, tongue flicking, sucking, then plunging deep as your orgasm crashes over you, ripping a ragged scream from your throat. Your vision goes white, the world spinning wildly as you ride out the waves, Dex’s mouth never leaving you, drawing every last tremor from your body until you finally go limp, trembling and spent.

Dex doesn’t stop, not even when your body tries to twist away from the relentless stimulation. His mouth is merciless, tongue and lips coaxing fresh sparks of pleasure from nerves already raw and burning. You whimper, your thighs twitching with every flick and suck, oversensitive and helpless, lost in the haze of sensation.

Then you realize he’s moving with a strange, deliberate rhythm as his tongue is tracing something over and over against your clit, not random patterns but careful, almost ritualistic strokes. It’s maddening, your mind swimming between raw sensation and desperate curiosity. It takes a moment, but then it clicks: Dex is drawing his symbol onto you, branding you with each swirling pass, imprinting himself on your skin and soul. The knowledge is a spark in gasoline, and you gasp, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming, aching need. The realization tears through you, and suddenly, another blinding orgasm erupts, fiercer and more consuming than the last. You double over him, body wracked with shudders, thighs clamped tight around his head as if you could keep him there forever. Your voice breaks with a sob, Dex’s name a desperate prayer as you’re left trembling, marked, and utterly undone.

When Dex pulls away, his lips and chin glisten, slick with your release. His green, nearly black eyes flicker with untamed hunger and the urge to give you more. Rising to his full height, he looms over your trembling form. With gentle fingers, he brushes your face, wiping away tears and the beads of sweat gathering at your brow.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against your lips, his tongue slipping into your yielding mouth. The taste of yourself on him sparks a fresh wave of longing. As you kiss, your hands find the waistband of his jeans, unclasping them and pushing them down his thighs. You wrap your hand around his cock, still trapped beneath damp fabric.

You break the kiss with a gasp, your palm closing around the soaked material. Dex shudders at the heat of your hand against the cool, sticky cloth.

“Is this from eating me out?”

“Yeah, you taste too good. I couldn’t help it.”

“Oh, Dex, my pretty boy. You get your face buried in a wet pussy and lose all control?”

A broken moan escapes him as your grip tightens around his throbbing length through the clingy boxers.

“I should make you stay in these, wait until later to take them off. Punishment for wasting your cum like that.”

His hips jerk at your words. “Oh, f-fuck.”

“Let’s see what kind of mess you’ve made.” As you tug his boxers down, his cock springs free, smacking wetly against the dark patch of hair on his lower abdomen. It’s his turn to hiss as the cool night air kisses his painfully hard, dripping wet length.

You watch, entranced, as a thick bead of precum wells at his slit, stretching before it drops in a pearlescent ribbon to the floor. With a teasing finger, you gather the sticky strand and swirl it over the flushed, aching tip of his cock. The way he throbs in your hand, leaking even more, is a wordless plea for your attention. Bending closer, you stroke him slowly, addressing not Dex, but his eager cock.

“Poor thing’s been trapped in those jeans all alone, haven’t you, baby?” Dex’s eyes squeeze shut, his face twisting in bliss as you speak directly to his cock. His brain short-circuits at this discovery about himself.

You spit, warm and heavy, letting it coat the sensitive tip before sliding down his length. “I’m sorry for neglecting you, sweetheart. I think you’ve earned a reward for being so patient and generous. Don’t you agree, Dex?” You stare up at him with big, wet doe eyes, expecting an answer.

Dex’s breath comes in shallow, hungry pants as he stares down at you, his cock slick in your grip. The atmosphere crackles with anticipation, every movement deliberate and drawn out. You hold his gaze, letting your hand work him with slow, teasing strokes, savoring the way his composure threatens to shatter beneath your touch.

“Please,” he whispers, the word barely audible, almost desperate. The vulnerability in his voice sends a jolt of power through you, and you answer by tightening your grip, letting your thumb sweep over his sensitive tip, spreading the mixture of spit and precum. Dex’s hips jerk, his need undeniable.

You shift, kneeling, eye to eye with his cock standing proud and flushed. Dragging your tongue slowly along his length, tasting salt, heat, and the raw ache of his desire. Dex moans, his head falling back, fingers tangling in your hair while the other hand braces against the wall.

As you take him deeper, he trembles, every muscle taut, every sound torn straight from his chest. You set a languid rhythm, letting him feel the wet heat of your mouth, the gentle scrape of your teeth, the relentless swirl of your tongue. Every glance upward, every approving hum, pulls him closer to the edge.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he chokes out, voice rough with adoration and need. You glance up, lips stretched around him, and see the flush blooming across his cheeks, the way his body bows toward you, helpless and wanting. You slow, letting him slip from your mouth with a wet pop, meeting his gaze.

“Not yet,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his slick tip. He nods, utterly at your mercy. You drag your nails lightly up his thighs, watching him shudder, before he’s ushering you up and turning you to face the wall. His cock presses hot and heavy against your slick entrance.

“Are you going to take what you want?”

“Yes,” he whispers, dazed at the feeling of your slicks mixing.

“Dex, are you going to take what you want?” You demand, voice low and commanding.

His fingers dig bruises into your hips. “Fuck yes. I am. I’m going to take everything I want.”

“Yeah? That’s it. That’s my good boy,” you purr, breathless. He thrusts into you, slow but unrelenting, both of you moaning at the delicious stretch and fullness that leaves you shaking.

“Say it again.” Each word is punctuated by a deep, claiming thrust. The world shrinks to the heat of your bodies, the slap of skin, the filthy praise that tumbles from your lips. “You’re my good, pretty boy, Dex. So good for me, so perfect.” Tears glimmer in his eyes, a ragged sob catching in his throat, undone by the pleasure and the way you claim him.

The angle Dex has you pressed in leaves you breathless, every thrust knocking the air from your lungs. You reach behind, fingers slipping over the sweat-slicked skin of his neck, grounding yourself in his heat. One of his massive hands spreads across your lower stomach, holding you steady as his leaking tip stretches you, relentless and deep. His other hand braces against the wall, thick fingers scraping at the rough brick.

“If I’d known you’d fall apart for me like this, I would’ve taken you years ago.” His voice is a low growl, breath hot against your ear. “Should’ve bent you over behind that church.”

You clench around him, his words sending a rush of chills up your spine. "When you were dressed as Daredevil and planning to kill me?" Your voice is barely more than a gasp, memories of that night flooding your mind.

He grunts, a deep, rough laugh spilling from his chest. “Yeah, bet you would’ve let me. God, that’s all I could think about.”

“Yeah, but instead, you stabbed me.” You hiss, but there’s no real anger behind your words. Too fucked out to care about your past self.

“I sure did.” His finger traces the scar on your lower back, lingering. “Right here.” He pushes deeper into your skin, making you arch into him. “I left my mark before anyone else could.”

His words push you too far, your body clenching tighter, struggling to take all of him as sensation threatens to overwhelm you. “Don’t fight me, baby. Please, just feel it.”

“God, Dex. You’re such a fucking pervert.”

He slams harder into you, your filthy praise fueling him. “A pervert you’re letting ruin you in a dark alley. What does that say about you?”

“That I’m a poor judge of character.” The words tumble out between your moans.

He shifts the angle of his thrusts, never pulling out, grinding deep as he ruts against you, keeping his full weight pressed inside. Every slow drag of his heavy tip finds that perfect spot, relentless and unyielding. You’ve never felt so thoroughly filled, your slick pools thick around his base and slides messily down his thighs.

Dex’s breath stutters, coming out in hot, broken huffs, letting you know he’s close.

“I want you to let go for me, Dex,” you plead breathlessly. “Give me everything. Please, cum in me, please, baby.”

“Shit, shit.” His hips freeze for a heartbeat, then he surges back into you, rougher, more desperate. His voice is low and guttural. “Oh fuck, I’m cumming. You’re taking it so good—fuck, you’re taking my cum so good.”

The hot rush of him spilling inside you tips you over the edge again, your third orgasm tearing through you in a wave that leaves you gasping, gushing around his pulsing cock. Pins and needles spark down your legs, the world going hazy and distant as you let go completely, nails digging into the back of his neck. Shallow, ragged breaths rack through you as you collapse back into his chest, spent and trembling. Dex remains upright behind you, his length still buried within your slick heat. One hand rests on your hip while the other presses firmly on your sternum, pinning you in place, a grounding force that makes you feel claimed. Dex's hips roll in a final, desperate push that sends aftershocks through you both. A loud squelching echoes through the alley as he shoves the mix of spend back into your cunt as it runs down your legs.

After confining him back in his boxers, Dex tugs your lace against your skin. A surge of pride and sadistic satisfaction hits him, knowing you'll have to walk around with him dripping out of you. You fix each other's clothes in silence, sharing gentle kisses in the quiet.

Dex notices your shaky legs, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “You good to walk back home?”

You stare at him for a moment before a slow smile lights up your face. “I feel like I should be asking you that.”

“I’ll be just fine. But your legs do look a bit unsteady. Maybe I should carry you.”

“You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you, Poindexter?”

Once you were in your twenties, you made peace with the fact that it wouldn’t happen for you. The relationship thing wasn’t in your cards, you just weren’t built for it. It created a sad acceptance within you, but one that was needed to not go into a mental spiral.

“-ey, were you listening?” 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.

“Uh yeah, the closing right?” 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 didn’t need something.

“Yeah, you can do it right? I can’t do it and Marcus needs someone to cover.” Her green eyes stared at you pleadingly.

It was a request, but it didn’t feel like one. Especially since you were the only ones still working in the clothing store this late.

“Ah, I don’t-" 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 didn’t want to close alone.

Just do it, say no. It’s not fair for you to do everything yourself and it’s not like she’ll 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.

“Okay, I can cover.” You blurted, adverting your eyes to continue folding.

She gave you a quick grin, already turning towards the break rooms before replying, “Great! You’re a lifesaver. I’ll definitely pay you back.”

She wouldn’t, just like she didn’t for the four other times you covered her shift. 

“You’re welcome.” It’s 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 didn’t have any customers to tend to.

“You set?”

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 didn’t know how he could move so quietly.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The drawer, are you ready for me to take it? I’m gonna close a little early, don’t think it’ll be picking up anytime soon.” 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.

“We’ll, I’m gonna count this out then I’m off, you know what to do.”

Marcus was already shuffling down the hallway before you could form a response.

He wasn’t 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 didn’t 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 wouldn’t 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 didn’t 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 shouldn’t 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 wasn’t 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.

“Please! I don’t have it, I- just give me one more week I’m begging!” 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 crunch 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 didn’t know if you’d be quick or quiet enough that they didn’t notice you.

Then there was the train. A quick glance at the schedule showed a less than three minute wait. If you timed it right…

“Please, I’ll do anything please-“

He was cut off by the man before who gave the attack order. “You should’ve thought about that before trying to steal from Moretti, fuckin’ rat. You should be grateful it’s just you and not your fucking family too, that’s how nice boss is.”

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 couldn’t make out the words.

In a blink, he dove forward, hand jutting towards the man below him in quick successions.

It wasn’t 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.

“Hey! What’re you doing over there?”

This is how you’ll die, in a dirty subway all alone. Your family probably won’t 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 wasn’t 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 didn’t have good work with them before he would’ve 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 couldn’t 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 hadn’t decided which.

“Taking his sweet time huh?” He wasn’t really speaking to anyone in particular, just musing aloud, but one of the nearby goons replied anyway.

“Sorry, he had something else to wrap up. He should be here any second.”

Dex only clicked his teeth in response, busying his hands with a dagger absentmindedly. The other man’s eyes widened slightly at the display, tracking the dagger is it was thrown in the air.

Behind his mask, Dex’s 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.

“Bullseye, my friend! So kind of you to join us.”

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 they’d 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 people’s heels.

“I would think with all that money you’d own a clock.” The man’s words had ignited a flare of irritation within him. He was always annoyed by fake niceties, especially after he had waited thirty-five minutes.

Moretti’s thick eyebrows scrunched in faux concern, “My apologies, I had something else to finish up, I would never mean to keep you waiting-“

Dex cut in before he could finish the bullshit speech, “Who, and where?”

He was here for a job, not to have a tea party. All he needed was the marks information and the payment, then he’d be on his way.

Despite being cut off, the smaller man didn’t show any sign of anger. He knew better than to start unnecessary fights. “A small problem, you shouldn’t have much issue. It is time sensitive however, if she talks it would cause a great deal of issues for me.”

A woman then. Unlikely she’ll put up a fight. Disappointing.

“She saw some things she shouldn’t have. Here,” he stepped forward, a folded paper in his outstretched hand. “they got the job and her name, you should be able to take it from there yes?”

He snatched the paper, scanning over the information quickly before turning on his heel. “Fifteen thousand, same as before.” 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. “Agreed, you’ll receive the wire tomorrow.”

“She’ll be dead by the end of the day.” 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 wasn’t super strength, or advanced intelligence. It wasn’t even the power to turn invisible.

No, it had to be the ability to get in the worst situations imaginable. Super bad luck. No one’s life could be this laughably bleak, it had to be a higher power.

After that night at the subway, you couldn’t even sleep, much less leave your house. The day after the incident was your off day, so it didn’t affect much. You did however have to call off two days after that, feigning sickness.

You don’t know if your boss bought it, but considering you have never really taken a sick day before, you felt it was due.

But you couldn’t 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 you’d 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 didn’t 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 wasn’t just your hysteria. You could feel it.

The only thing you were confused about was their inaction. Why hadn’t they killed you already? Not that you were complaining of course, but it just didn’t 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 hadn’t 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 didn’t 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.

“Didn’t know you hated customers that bad Oranges.” A mocking voice chimed behind you.

You tried to ignore him altogether, but he picked up his pace to walk by your side. “Don’t worry, I won’t snitch.” Matthew shot a conspiratorial glance your way, winking.

It took all your resolve to not roll your eyes. As if today wasn’t already horrible, you had to work with your least favorite person.

Matthew always found a way to antagonize you somehow. It wouldn’t have been that bad, if it weren’t 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.

“What are we so worried about?” He continued, like you weren’t ignoring him. “If you need to relax I think they have a stress ball in the back rooms. I know you have issues with that stuff.” He could barely get out the words without laughing.

More silence from you.

“Alright then. Don’t blame me if you freak out, see ya Oranges.”

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.

“You should take better care of your things.”

The words stopped you in your tracks. You’d 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.

“Please don’t.” 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. “Don’t what?” His voice was deep but scratchy as it travelled across the room, as if he’d worn it out by yelling.

You could also hear a hint of amusement in his tone. He was enjoying toying with you.

“Don’t mess up my puzzles, or my apartment please. If you can, make it quick.” Your reply was more stable than before, having overcome the initial shock of his appearance.

In truth, you’d come to the conclusion you’d 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 didn’t 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. “Not gonna beg for your life? Plead for another chance?” There was still the mocking tone, but now it carried confusion as well. He genuinely couldn’t 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. “No, not really. I’m sure you’ve noticed, but it’s not much to plead for.”

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. “This is pretty depressing, yes.”

Of course, what were you expecting? Hopefully he doesn’t 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, “What’re you doing?”

‘Waiting for you to kill me’ just sounded silly, so you said nothing, adverting your gaze.

After a few more moments of quiet, you cleared your throat, “If you don’t mind, how long have you been in here?”

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. “About a half hour.”

You blinked, “Oh, okay.”

Quite frankly, you were running out of things to say. How does one even strike up a conversation with their killer? You shouldn’t 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. “What’s your problem? Hm? You didn’t even do anything wrong and you won’t fight for your life? How is that fair?”

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.

“I’m sorry?” 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 wasn’t 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 must’ve 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 ‘balance’ and ‘worth it’ in the rambling.

“Okay,” he dipped away, back to the chair. “okay.”

You blinked at him again, “Okay?”

“Yes.” 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.

“You should go to sleep now. Been a long day.” Like before, his tone was closed off. What might’ve been misinterpreted as a request was definitely a demand.

You slowly rose to your feet, half convinced it was a trick and he’d 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 didn’t 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 wouldn’t 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 couldn’t 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 couldn’t shake. You ignored it, moving to start up your coffee maker.

It wasn’t until you were halfway through your breakfast that you realized the issue. Your place was spotless, much cleaner than you’d 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 you’d 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?

It’s just because you’ve 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 didn’t try calling the police, not even once.

It seems New York is catching on, those scrubs in uniforms can’t 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 hadn’t 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 hadn’t 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 didn’t 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 couldn’t even pretend that the sick worm inside of him wasn’t hungry for more. He didn’t try to act like he wasn’t 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 he’d be waiting there. After that, it be simple, one shot to the head and she wouldn’t be his problem anymore.

Moretti didn’t 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 didn’t do it. Moretti hadn’t asked, and he didn’t tell. But the man wasn’t an idiot, he’d 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 didn’t bother him. He wasn’t upset by waiting, there was a tingling anticipation within him.

Eventually, you walked through the door, shutting it behind you with a click. You didn’t 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 couldn’t wait to see what you’d do.

Would you beg? Offer to pay him for your life?

Despite coming in your apartment with a clear directive, he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d do if you asked him to spare your life.

Not important, focus.

You didn’t do anything he expected. Instead of a blubbering mess, you were composed, if not a little annoyed.

If he didn’t 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 didn’t work, you only seemed more annoyed by the attempt.

Until you weren’t. Something about his stance towering over you seemed to ignite a thought process. He wasn’t 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 he’s 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 wasn’t even his typical area. The snitches he usually tracked down had blood on their hands, a dark past they were scrambling to escape.

You weren’t necessarily a good person, you didn’t 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.

He’d reached his decision. Fuck Moretti, he’d deal with that weasel bitch later. For now, he’d have to get you shuffled off to bed.

There was something he was itching to do since he got there.

He didn’t 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 Matthew’s book and gave him a nickname, if only to avoid calling him ‘the man’ 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 weren’t going to snitch.

You didn’t 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 crack open bleary eyes to look at yourself in the metal walls and wince. Maybe they had a point, you wouldn’t 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 didn’t 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 wasn’t there.

The living room and kitchen were both empty, and you didn’t know whether to be happy about that or not.

Why would he just leave your door unlocked when he wasn’t 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 weren’t sure if you’d 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.

“Hey!” You said, equally in surprise and indignation. “That’s private. Put that down.”

Brown eyes flicked up to you from where he’d been reading your notebook. It wasn’t a diary per se, but it held some personal thoughts you’d rather stayed private.

Knives leisurely sat the book on your bed, putting up his hands in faux surrender. “Were you looking for me?”

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. “What?” 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.

“Nothing. What’s that about?” 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.

“It’s a notebook, you write in them.” You didn’t care to go over your innermost thoughts with a stranger, briskly avoiding the subject.

His eyes flashed in an emotion you couldn’t place, hands finally coming down to rest at his sides. “How was work?” He asked placidly.

What?

The hell?

Your eyes burned with tears that had yet to fall, sucking in a sharp breath to compose yourself. “Haven’t you had enough? I have been waiting for the day you finally-“ you waved your hands around animatedly. “And then you just-“

He only stared on with the same solid expression.

You took another breath, “Are you going to kill me or not?”

“No.”

You swore you could feel your heartbeat hiccup, “No?”

Before you could pull it back, the words were out of your mouth. “Why not?”

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, “Because I don’t want to. You…”

His gaze rakes up and down your frame. “You aren’t my North Star, no, something else. I want to find out what you are.”

Your words were little more than a whisper. “What I am?”

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.

“Yes, I’m going to watch you and learn you. Why I feel this urge to-“ he cuts off abruptly, eyes widened in surprise.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

It seems like he wasn’t 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 he’d initially found you for, he didn’t look like he wanted you dead. So, you believed him.

Your only worry was what he would do with you.

“O-Okay.” 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 didn’t 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 should’ve made you unnerved… it didn’t.

He said he wanted to learn you. That you weren’t 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.

“You should go start a puzzle, it’ll be another five minutes.” He spoke without turning around, still continuing to stir the pot on the stove.

There’s 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 food…

No. Stop. Get yourself together. You can’t just turn into a weirdo at the first attractive man you meet. Who’s to say he’s 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 didn’t notice before, but he had taken off his gloves. His hands were big but deft, he probably would’ve 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 didn’t 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.

“And 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-“

The newscaster was one you’d seen before, usually for the more serious cases around the city. Her mouth was set in a hard line as she continued her warning.

“-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-“

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. Didn’t 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.

“You could’ve just asked me to turn it off.” You mutter, loud enough for him to hear you.

He didn’t answer, setting the plate in front of you with a clink. “Eat.”

You looked from him to the plate of food, then back again. It looked wonderful, a creamy heap of pasta with sautéed vegetables and garlic bread. It was all neatly arranged on your only kitchenware you hadn’t 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. “Not poisoned. Not my style.” 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.

“I know. You prefer to give people a million paper cuts.”

To your surprise, knives barked out a laugh, “That’s one way of putting it, sure.”

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 he’d 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 didn’t seem to want more conversation, just be a spectator. His only movement was circling a small knife around in his hand, but the movement didn’t seem threatening, more absentminded than anything else.

You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you were finishing the meal in record time, only clearing your throat to speak once you’d cleared the last bite, “It was great, thank you.”

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.

“Really, you don’t have to-“ you started, but he was already finished and walking back over to you.

“I know. I don’t have to do anything at all, advantages of self employment.” 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, “You don’t work for the man at the train?”

He tilted his head as if considering the answer. “I don’t work for anyone,” a new tinge of bitterness coated his tone, “but if you’re referring to the bozo who took a hit out on you, yes. I was the one given the assignment.”

“Ah, I figured.” The response came out more nonchalant than intended, but he truly didn’t tell you anything you hadn’t already suspected.

“You’re not bothered by that?”

You shrugged, “Nah, I trust you.” 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 wouldn’t 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.

“Sit back.”

You looked behind you in surprise, wondering how he’d gotten right behind your chair without you knowing. “Why?” You weren’t really concerned about the request, just curious what he intended.

“I can’t keep watching you do that without doing something. Sit back.” 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 didn’t 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 couldn’t 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 couldn’t help but think about what else his hands could do…

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 didn’t retreat too far, barely taking a step back as he stood behind your chair.

You didn’t look at him, focusing on calming your breathing and not appearing like the mess you were on the inside. You didn’t 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, “I have to go.”

“Wait-” But it was too late, he was already closing the front door when you turned around.

Knives arrived more frequently after that night.

He didn’t 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 should’ve probably unnerved you, but it only gave you a sense of serenity. You didn’t 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 you’re into him and just doesn’t feel the same so he’s 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 you’d had it was hard to think about anything else.

To say it was a bad shift would be an understatement. You’d 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.

“About time.” 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.

“Go do the inventory. He wants it in the front on the orange display.” Snapped Matthew behind you. He was pointing at the very boxes you were already walking towards.

You didn’t bother correcting him in saying you were already going to do that, instead giving a curt nod.

“What, you can’t speak today? Didn’t take your meds?” He raised a brow, grinning at you.

Breathe, don’t let him get to you.

“I’m just going to do my job.”

His grin only widened at your answer. “Heh, okay. You do that.”

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 wasn’t 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 you’re always the odd man out, the one no one really likes, the one-

“Shut up.” You spat out the words, making sure you were quiet enough for no one else to hear. Matthew didn’t need more ammunition to call you crazy.

You directed your attention to the store display and away from your bleak thoughts. You couldn’t 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.

You’d 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.

He’d 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 weren’t as upset by the thought as you could’ve 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.

“Shit-” 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.

“Oh no, shit, shit, shit-” You couldn’t think straight, only standing there in a panic as you gripped your bloody arm.

“What the fuck did you do now?” If you thought Matthew was mad at you before, he was pissed now. “I asked you to do one simple thing and you can’t even do that? Who’s gonna clean this shit up?”

He’d left a customer at the desk to see what the sound was, but he didn’t seem to care about their existence as he yelled at you.

“Fuckin disability hire, can’t even stock a shelf. I don’t know why you’re standing there, you should be-”

You didn’t wait for him to finish, bumping into him as you rushed towards the back room with tears in your eyes.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry in front of him, he’s not worth it.

You ignored his calls for you to come back, slamming your work locker open and grabbing your things. You didn’t 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 shouldn’t 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 didn’t think he’d be here this early since he usually met you after your shift.

“What did I say about taking care of your things?” He half turned from the window where you assumed he’d watched you come in.

You’d 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 didn’t take long for his eyes to rake over you, gaze landing on your right arm.

“Who did that?” 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 wasn’t with you; it still took a moment to stutter out a response, “No one, I-i did it myself. Well, not did it, it wasn’t on purpose. An accident at work.”

Your clarification didn’t 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, “Hey, I can still walk. It’s just a cut, you don’t have to carry me.”

“Blood loss causes dizziness, and it looks like you’ve already lost too much.” Someone would’ve thought you were bleeding out by how aggravated he sounded.

You didn’t 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 couldn’t 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 didn’t 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 he’d 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 you’d probably need), and he looked over them quickly before washing his hands and snapping on latex gloves.

“It’s going to hurt, you can hold onto me if you need to.” 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.

“I-ah, you don’t think I’ll need stitches, right?” You were a bit scared to ask, his frown had only deepened once he started working on you.

“No. It’s not to that point, but you’ll need to keep it wrapped tightly for a while so the skin can join back together.”

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 didn’t bother thanking him, knowing by now that he wouldn’t 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.

“It doesn’t really hurt that much.”

He shook it again, insisting, “It will later, take one.”

You knew there was no chance of changing his mind, and it didn’t 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, “Are you upset?”

“Explain what happened.”

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 didn’t 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 weren’t aware had fallen. “You don’t deserve that, none of it. It won’t happen again.” There wasn’t an ounce of question in his tone, he was sure of it.

You let out a weak laugh, sniffling. “I could only hope, he’ll probably be worse after today though. Especially since I left early.”

He hummed, “I’ve always disliked the name Mathew, all of them are annoying.” He sounded like he usually did again, slightly amused as if he were in on a joke that you weren’t.

You laughed again, stronger this time. “I can’t say I’ve had experience with that many Matthew’s to agree with you.”

He ran his thumb over your cheek one more time before backing away. “Trust me, they are. You should take tomorrow off.”

There he goes again, giving demands veiled as suggestions.

“I would love to, but unfortunately some of us common folk need jobs, and if I call out again I’ll probably be u employed. I’m sure you’ve never worked one, so it’s hard to understand.” Your tone is playfully mocking, but it’s 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.

“I have.” He adverts his eyes to your left, “worked a job that is.”

You perked up, it was rare that the man offered information past what model his knives were, and you didn’t want to lose the opportunity to learn more about him.

“Oh really? As what?” You kept your tone light, to not seem like you were prying.

“An officer.”

“Like, a police officer?”

“No. Not exactly.”

You blinked in confusion.

He shifted in his stance, like the conversation was suddenly making him uncomfortable. “Agent, would be the better term. I-” He paused, finding the right words. “I locked away the monsters of the world, and protected the people I needed to.”

You cocked a brow, “So, you were a spy?”

He huffed, giving you a look. “No. How the hell did you get spy out of that?”

“You are amazingly vague at every answer, I figured it would fit.” You shrugged, wincing when the movement aggravated the skin of your arm.

He zoned in on the expression, eyes narrowing again. “You should go to bed, especially if you’re insisting on going to work tomorrow.”

It was clear that was all the answers you’d 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.

“There’s soup in your fridge if you want it. Change the wrapping in the morning, it shouldn’t cause any issues before then.”

You could only blame the strength of the pain pill for your lack of restraint, “Do you have to leave right now?”

A pause. “I do. I have something else to take care of.”

You tried not to take it as a dismissal, but it hurt nonetheless.

Something else. Not you.

“Right, okay.” The disappointment was obvious in your voice.

Steady steps made their way over to your bedside, “I don’t want to, but are some things I need to do. I’ll see you soon.”

You could barely make out the shape of him standing over you, drowsiness and the pain medicine muddling things together. “Aye, aye captian.”

A deep chuckle, and then a quiet response, “Dex.”

Dex. It suits him. You couldn’t tell if you’d 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 didn’t call out, and based on the grumble from your manager, hadn’t 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 wouldn’t 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. He’d never shown up again after that night, and you were starting to get concerned.

Even though he didn’t show up every single day, missing several days in a row was out of character for him. You could only hope that he wasn’t dead or arrested somewhere.

It seemed silly to worry about him, especially with how competent he seemed. You didn’t 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.

He’d never told you it was him, but you weren’t 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 didn’t 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 it’s 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 didn’t stray from.

He wouldn’t 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, they’d 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 didn’t 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 wasn’t 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.

“Dex-” 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.

“Hey. Thought you’d be asleep. I can go soon, just gotta take a breather.”

You scoffed indignantly, quickly going over to him, “A breather? Jesus, what happened?”

“Not Jesus, just me.”

You glared at him. It was not the time for jokes, definitely not as he was dripping blood on your floor.

“You can explain later, here.” You supported him under his shoulder as you guided him to your bed.

“Gonna get it dirty.” He pushed back slightly as you tried to sit him down, but fell back anyway when you applied more force.

“It’s okay, I have other sheets. I’m worried about you right now.”

You could tell he was smirking based off the look in his eyes, further proven by the next statement. “Worried about me?”

You didn’t even bother hiding the emotion in your response, “Yes, I do. A lot.”

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, it’s not like you didn’t know who he was.

Your fingers curled under the edge, lifting it gently, but a firm grip on your wrist stopped you.

“Ben, it’s okay.”

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 didn’t appear to be in a lot of pain. His face showed an openness and tiredness that you’d never seen on him before.

Without thinking, you raised a hand to brush lightly over his mouth, relishing in the slight flutter of his eyes as you did so.

You couldn’t 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 wasn’t 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.

“Don’t say that, you don’t know what you’re starting.” His voice was weak, barely a whisper in the quiet of the room.

“I do.”

“No you don’t. You said you care about me, I’m not easy to care for.” The words weren’t said in self deprecation or a stab at sympathy, just factual. He truly believed that care and tenderness wasn’t 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.

“I know.” You held his face in both palms, a hairsbreadth away from him, “Neither am I.”

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 couldn’t be ignored. Chest heaving, you pulled back and watched as he did the same.

He couldn’t 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, “If I’m going to have you, it’s going to be all of you. If you go through with this, you’re not leaving me, you get that?” 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 didn’t 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 wasn’t 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. “No, get out of that suit first.”

He backed away from you with a half lidded gaze, trademark smirk flicking on his lips. “Yes ma’am.”

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 wasn’t as injured as you’d 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 didn’t 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 he’d 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 weren’t focused on that though, only staring at your chest with intimidating focus. “God, the things I want’ta do to you.”

It was spoken under his breath so quietly, you were unsure if the words were meant for you to hear.

“So do them.”

He only laughed, leaning back on his elbows to watch you.

He knew what you wanted, he just wasn’t going to give it to you that easily. Your frustration only made him impossibly harder.

Despite his blasé 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, “C’mon Dex, show me what you promised.”

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 didn’t stop in your ministrations, leaning down to speak directly in his ear. “You said you wanted all of me, so take it. You have me.”

Your words caused another twitch in your hand. “You have me, I’m yours.”

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 didn’t know him well enough to recognize the want in his expression, he looked almost pissed off.

It only made wetness pool in your core.

“You want this?” He left a trail of open mouthed kisses down your stomach.

It was a rhetorical question, but you nodded anyway.

“Where do you want me? Here?” He bit at your hipbone, soothing the flesh with a lick afterwards.

“Or here?” His breath ghosted across the damp patch of your panties, making you thrum in anticipation.

“Yes, right there.” Any more dilly dallying and you’d probably start begging. You had a feeling that’s exactly what he wanted.

“Hmm, interesting.” 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.

“Dex- c’mon.” You huffed. The feeling of his mouth on yours was amazing, but it wasn’t nearly enough and he knew it.

“Whose are you?” The words are spoken into your skin, in the crease of your hip.

“Yours.”

“And who do I belong to?” He grasped the waistband of your underwear between his teeth, dragging them down slowly.

“Me.”

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 couldn’t 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 didn’t 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.

“I might not last too long. Don’t do this much, or at all really.” He analyzed your face after he’d said it, looking for any shift in your expression.

You were kind of shocked by the revelation, but weren’t put off by it at all. For a normal guy that looked like Dex, you’d assume they had a steady stream of people coming into their bed.

He wasn’t normal, and he definitely wasn’t the type to have one night stands. In fact, before tonight, you weren’t completely certain he was interested in sex at all.

You would’ve accepted him either way of course, but it was nice to know he shared the same want as you did.

“That’s fine, I just need you inside me.”

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 ‘o’ 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.

“Shit- you feel so good. I gotta pause for a sec.” He breathed against your mouth.

So you waited.

Until you didn’t.

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.

“Don’t do that.” His eyes flashed at you in warning.

You couldn’t 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 couldn’t 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 didn’t 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 hadn’t 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.

“You okay?” It was spoken with an air of unsureness that was unlike him. Based on what he’d said before, you had an idea of what his worries were.

“That was amazing.” And you weren’t lying, the entire experience had knocked a bit of your soul out your body and you were certain there’d 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, you’d have to go back to the real world, real responsibilities and concerns, but at the moment you didn’t want the stretch of peace to end. “Wait, not yet.”

He lowered himself back down immediately even though a frown creased his expression. “You need to get cleaned up, it might feel worse later.”

“Well,” you let out a soft chuckle, rubbing a hand along his scared spine, “that’s for later me to worry about. Just a bit longer.”

He didn’t 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.

“Hey Dex?”

He hummed out a response, still mapping you out with his mouth.

“What happened?” You didn’t 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, “The one who put a hit on you, he found out that I hadn’t exactly,” he paused deliberating the words, “followed instructions. He sent a team to finish the job, and I made sure that didn’t happen.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.” 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 he’d 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.

“It’s gonna be a bit longer for that.” He sounded like he detested that fact just as much as you did.

You grinned, “I’ll be counting down the minutes,” 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.

“I meant what I said before,” You started, “it’s no going back for me either. I’m with you.”

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.

“I’m with you.”

You knew that no matter what was coming in your lives that you weren’t afraid, fully willing to delve into the future with the person that knew you best.

Div by: @pixopix