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ta𝓰s MARVEL COMICS . normal au . headcanon fic . semi-dark romance . stalker!dex . no specified gender reader!

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stalker!dex who never wanted to go to the ballet in the first place, only sitting in that plush theater seat because your older brother—his FBI colleague—practically dragged him along using the extra ticket you’d given him. But the second you glided onto the stage under the brilliant glow of the spotlight, his entire structured, rigid world completely fractured.

stalker!dex who couldn’t focus on the music or the plot; his eyes locked onto the precise, mesmerizing grace of your movements, your absolute control over your body striking something deeply primal inside him.

. . . right then and there, his quiet obsession was born.

stalker!dex who suddenly starts finding every excuse under the sun to drop by your brother’s apartment, showing up unannounced under the guise of ‘reviewing case files’ or ‘grabbing a drink after a long shift.’

stalker!dex who wears his perfect, clean-cut agent persona like a flawless mask, politely conversing with your brother while his intense, unblinking focus is entirely trained on you whenever you walk into the room, cataloging the sound of your voice, the scent of your hair, and the way your posture changes when you’re relaxed.

stalker!dex who presents you with a seemingly sweet, thoughtful gift a few weeks later—a plush teddy bear dressed in a tiny, delicate tulle ballet tutu, claiming it reminded him of your performance.

. . . you place it on your bedroom vanity, completely unaware that tucked perfectly behind the bear’s glossy glass eye is a high-tech, microscopic pinhole lens.

stalker!dex who sits alone in his dim, meticulously organized apartment every night, staring at his monitors in absolute rapture, watching you stretch, brush your hair, and drift off to sleep just so he can feel close to you.

stalker!dex who feels his chest tighten with a dizzying mix of anxiety and adrenaline whenever you happen to stand near him in the kitchen or hallway.

. . . outwardly, he remains a stoic, silent wall, but inside his mind, he is spiraling into vivid, meticulously detailed scenarios of a life where you are already his—imagining the exact weight of your head resting against his chest, the phantom feeling of his fingers tracing your spine, and the words of absolute devotion he will whisper to you once he finally removes the barriers keeping you apart.

stalker!dex who becomes your silent, invisible shadow every single night when your grueling ballet practices run late into the dark hours. Keeping a precise distance of exactly twenty paces behind you, his hand rests casually near his service weapon as he tracks you through the city streets.

stalker!dex convinces himself this is an act of pure protection, his eyes scanning every dark alleyway and passing strangers with lethal intensity, ready to instantly eliminate anyone who dares to even glance your way or threaten the safety of his prize.

stalker!dex who starts keeping a meticulous, handwritten journal entirely dedicated to you. Tucked away in a hidden floorboard beneath his pristine apartment floor, the pages are filled with his sharp, neat handwriting, charting the exact times you leave for the studio, your favorite coffee orders, and notes on how long you practice your pirouettes until your toes bleed.

stalker!dex who views your discipline as a reflection of his own, feeling a profound, spiritual connection to the way you push your body to the absolute limit for your art.

stalker!dex who intentionally orchestrates ‘coincidental’ run-ins with you outside of your ballet studio on rainy evenings. He’ll suddenly appear from the mist, holding a massive umbrella aloft, his voice smooth and reassuring as he offers you a ride home in his sterile, immaculate car.

stalker!dex who hoards the tiny things you accidentally leave behind at your brother’s place. A stray, bobby pin dropped on the carpet, a discarded hair tie, or a worn-out ballet ribbon—he collects them all like sacred relics.

. . . when he is alone, dealing with the violent, chaotic noise in his own head, he will sit on the edge of his perfectly made bed, pressing the fabric of your ribbon against his lips, using your lingering scent as his ultimate anchor to reality.

stalker!dex who quietly removes any ‘threats’ from your life before you even realize they exist. If a pushy director critiques you too harshly, or a male dancer gets a little too close during a partner routine, Dex watches from the shadows with a cold, simmering fury.

stalker!dex who, in the quiet sanctuary of the hidden room he built specifically for you, completely worships the ground you walk on. Once the world believes you’ve simply vanished, he treats you with a terrifying blend of absolute tenderness and unbreakable control.

stalker!dex who will patiently tend to your blistered feet with expensive salves, brushing out your hair with agonizing slowness, reminding you with every soft touch that he saved you from the ugly, demanding spotlight so you could perform only for an audience of one.

stalker!dex who, once he finally makes his move and secures you entirely for himself, uses his advanced administrative access to completely purge your existence from the FBI database. With a few cold, calculated keystrokes, he deletes your records, your identification, and your history until you are a ghost to the rest of the civilization.

stalker!dex who, in his twisted and possessive mind, this is the ultimate act of romance—because you are far too fragile and beautiful for a flawed world, and no one else is worthy of laying their eyes on you but him.

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