Ricochet- Chapter 1: The Beginning
Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Vigilante Reader
Summary: In the streets of New York, injustice thrives in the dark. Despite your work alongside Daredevil, you have to dig deeper into the criminal underground of NYC to discover the roots of corruption. Your vigilante life becomes entangled with your past as you work to infiltrate the underground mob run by the infamous Kingpin, freshly released on parole. Loyal federal agent Benjamin Poindexter is tasked with overseeing Fiskās house arrestā and aiding in his empire under the alias of Bullseye. The both of you become interlaced within the Volchiy, a Russian gang led by your childhood friend; you moonlight as a vigilante, trying to take down the mob from within, while Dex is unaware the new girl he can't get his mind off of is the same one in a mask he fights in the streets. Torn between secret identities, lies, and threat of betrayal, you and Dex navigate a tension filled clash between loyalty and justice.
warnings: drug dealing implication, fight scene, blood, mention of h@nging
slowburn, enemies to lovers, secret identities, bullseye x vigilante reader, use of (y/n), reader is an orphan
an: Chapter 1 of my first full length fic. Hopefully you like it and I actually finish.
disclaimer: ivan volkov is an oc and the volchiy gang is a fictional mcu gang i made up. i dont speak russian so sorry if any of the langauge is wrong or stupid.
wc: 3,500
YOU
New York City was different at night.Ā
A different city during the day, and different from anywhere else in the world.Ā
But to the fortunate millions who are unlucky enough to burrow within the labyrinth of streets nestled between skyscrapers and offices, twinkling streetlights and billboards that replaced the stars, living in rows of century old bricked townhomes and eating at their corner store bodegasā it was home.Ā
With its dreams and flaws and all, it was the one place where in a crowd of millions you could feel so closeā yet so alone.Ā
You werenāt a stranger to the deep poison that drained into the ground of the city. Bloodyā like black bileā the cruelty of crime and lies that had been ever present as a New York native.Ā
Justice had to be paid with a high price, but only by those willing to sell. Even with the haunt of knowing there was at least one person out in the streets below you who needed help, just someone to be noticed and saved by a dashing hero in the night, was enough to send you on the streets every evening in a skin tight costume, face guarded in a mask.
Every night was different.Ā
Tonight could change.Ā
ā(Y/N).ā A voice called from the other side of the roof as the access doorās hinges squeaked in the wind.Ā
Devil horns pointed to the heavens as the fellow masked hero walked across the roof, where soot and dirt had caked into layers from decades of the building's abandonment.Ā
āYouāre late, Matt.ā You with a tinge of annoyance through a cracking smile. This wasnāt an uncommon late appearance, but you didnāt mind; it gave you more time alone to breathe.
This has been your routine for the past year.Ā
Late nights alongside Matt.Ā
You couldnāt picture what your life would be like if you hadn't crossed paths. There were few heroes in New York, some that were unknown to anyone but thugs in the shadows. But meeting Matt put you on a clear path. It was refreshing to come across a normal person who understood you, even if you met that someone by nearly bashing each other's ribs in.Ā
Ā Your tired arms pushed your body up from its spot of legs dangling over the ledge, tingling as they gained feeling to stand up.Ā
āApologies. Got held up in the office.ā He flashed a charismatic smile from beneath his half exposed cowl, stepping onto the ledge next to you.Ā
You rolled your head over your shoulders, stretching your back with a scoff. āDonāt let your job get in the way of your hobby.ā
āOuch.ā Matt said.Ā
āAnd to think you actually enjoyed working with me.ā
āNo,Ā no, Iām strictly here for business.ā You patted a gloved hand over his padded shoulder and sighed. āWhere are we going tonight?ā
āYesterday, there was a robbery on 56th. Three men from the Italians, all armed with guns and high out of their minds. Through their drugged rambling they managed to tell me about a warehouse at the piers; they said it was a hideout for some operation, only ever occupied for drops and pickups. Figured we would check it out tonight and see where it leads.āĀ
You nodded, eyes wandering to the river distant in the horizon, the black waters gleaming with reflections of moonlight. āSounds fun.ā You said, pulling on your mask.Ā
The warehouse was near the docksā an old canning factory in the early industry days turned moonshine distributor in the twenties. Abandoned for decades the red brick had faded and been engulfed in tangles of long ivy that covered the frosted pane windows.Ā
Semi-trucks were parked for the night on the surrounding lot, stacks of shipping containers and a chain link fence keeping it guarded from a pedestrian road and isolated to the water. There was a small dock of rotting wood with a single boat bobbing in the black water.Ā
You jumped the fence after Matt, the impact absorbing into the heel of your boot as you scanned the area. āIt looks like a drop point.ā
Matt rolled his shoulders as he crept around a shipping container. āDoes it?ā
You ignored him, piecing together as many clues as possible. āShipments must be coming down from the Hudson, either local or overseas. Did the Italians say who owned it?ā
āNo, he passed out before he could even say what it was. It's empty, smells like gunpowder.ā
āWeapons?ā
He nodded. āOr there was trouble here recently.ā
You managed to find an unlocked side door, making your way inside to the spacious warehouse. There was a layer of stagnant dust covering pillars of stacked crates and workbenches, the faint glow of a lantern as you peered from behind a wall.Ā
Before you could advance further inside, a glove layered hand clutched onto your shoulder, pulling you back behind the corner.Ā
āStop.ā Matt whispered.Ā
You quickly scanned the area and tried to listen for what Matt was sensing. āWhatās wrong?ā
His head tilted. āFive men, armed. Coming from the dock.ā
Through a shattered window you could see it, a second boat tethered at the water and the muffled sound of speech.Ā
āShit .ā You muttered. āGreat timing.ā
There was a rumbling of an iron door and footsteps as the men enteredā foreign speech echoed across the walls. A loud crash sent them into disarray. You peered over to see a crate had been knocked over, black guns scattered over the floor as they began to yell at eachother, fingers pointed at a retreating peer.Ā
Matt took this opportunity to creep from the shadows, throwing a punch into the back of a straggler at the edge of the argument. You quickly followed suit, throwing your momentum into a kick that sent another on the ground as the other three were too busy engulfed in their bickering to notice they had visitors.Ā
You were quick in the dark, it was where you worked best. Maybe that was why you and Matt worked so well togetherā you both had an advantage of being invisible.Ā
You propelled yourself with your legs, wrapping them around the smaller of the accusing pair as you wrapped his neck and slammed him into the ground.Ā
Despite your stealth, it came at the cost of your strength, especially against guys twice your bodyweight. You groan as you hit the pavement, thankful his head collided and knocked him out on the first try.
The other men finally caught on to the ambush. They snapped from the dispute, reaching for their holsters only to be hit away with a baton. One of the guys was on the ground before you even managed to stand back up. The last one standing, the guy who had dropped the crate, stood frozenā scrambling to unlock his safety as he walked backwards into a pile of boxes that clattered over him.Ā
Your smirk dropped when an arm wrapped from behind you. Before you could dodge the impending blow to your face, Matt had pulled him off of you and pummeled his face.
Halfway between consciousness and falling to the floor from his knees, Matt held him up by his collar, fist raised. āWho do you work for?ā
His head rattled frantically, pleading to the dark eyes of Daredevilās mask. āN-n--nobody. N-o work-ā Matt hit him again, grasping a tighter hold and looming over him.Ā
āWho do you work for?āĀ
The man choked, blood spurting out of his throat and dripping to the ground, eyes near swollen shut as he managed the words.Ā
āIvan Volkov.ā
The name echoed in your mind as Matt struck a blow to his bloodied face, a quick knockout as he fell limp to the floor. There was a moment of silenceā only heavy breathing echoing through the large warehouse.
Matt was listening, slowly turning to look at his partner who hadnāt moved.
Ā āYou know him.ā
Not a questionā a confrontation. You really hated having a human lie detector to work with.
Suppressed memories of your childhood seemed to flood in with no reason. Just one name and you were suddenly seven years old again; running through the streets of Brooklyn with your friends to escape classes taught by the nuns, scavenging for change in the gutter to buy candy and spend on petty bets, breaking windows with rocks to enter the abandoned buildings just like this one.Ā
Just parentless, uncontrolled childrenāĀ dreams still far and the ever lingering hope of finding a family one day. Through those early formidable years you had countless siblings.Ā
Ivan Volkov was one of them.Ā
A few years older than you, Ivan was orphaned at age ten when his father was imprisoned for his position in the Russian mob, only to be found hanging in his cell two days before the case went to trial. As far as you ever knew, Ivanās mother was a nameless woman never present in his life, most likely killed for knowing too much when he was a child.Ā
Nonetheless, Ivan was one of the few older kids at St. Michaels Orphanage. Aggressive, erratic, and manipulativeā how he was labeled in his file. But you only knew Ivan as sweet, caring and funny.Ā
He was just troubled, like the rest of you.Ā
He would leave some nights and return bloodied in the morning; it was only a secret from the nuns that Ivan was slipping into a life similar to his fatherās. You and the other children had watched him steal and do deals in the park near the church. He would only smile at you and buy ice cream with the leftover money so you all kept your mouths shut and never questioned anything.
He was like a brother to you.Ā
When he aged out, you and three other kids cried all night; one of you even begged him to adopt you all. Ivan never visited after he left. He moved on in life.Ā
But everytime a group of men in dark sunglasses, trench coats, and brooding energies walked down the street near gang territory you looked extra closely to see if you could recognize his face.
Now, years later, the truth was revealed. Heavy dust in the air and echoing clatters of distant machinery confirmed you werenāt dreaming. Ivan was alive and making a name for himself.Ā
Reminiscence broke as you furrowed your brow and blinked your dry eyes to focus, a reluctant nod and click of the tongue.
āYeah. Yeah I know him.ā
Matt was watching you closely, reading you through subtle movements. āHave you worked for him before?āĀ
You shook your head, sweat dripping as you rubbed your mask-covered brow. āWe- uh,Ā grew up togetherā in the orphanage. He left as soon as he turned eighteen and I never knew what happened to him. Last I knew he had run off to join a gang his dad had been a part of.ā
Matt cocked his head, pieces coming together. āDimitry Volkov, right? Christ, I remember studying that case in law school. He had the cops running circles back thenā the biggest weapons bust in city history.āĀ
āAnd now I guess heās built it back up.ā You reached your hand into an opened crate, fingers brushing cold metal as you hauled a handgun from its depths. You studied it in your handsā the weight, model, balance. As you turned the hilt you could see it. Carved into the shiny black was two thin converging lines, a watermarkā ā V ā.Ā
You swallowed, holding it out for Matt.Ā
āVolchiy .ā
Ā He sighed as he took it. āRussians.ā He removed a glove and brushed his thumb over the inscription. āI felt the same thing on the guns I found on the Italians. It's newā oiled. My guess, they were manufactured abroad and altered in the city. The Volchiy are dealing them underground so the weapons canāt be traced. There's probably hundreds of them distributed in the streets right now.āĀ
You stood silent. The warehouse was filled with boxes. āWell, what do we do now?ā
āTheyāre going to realize their stashpoint is compromised, probably move it or reinforce security. For all we know there could be dozens of locations scattered across the cityā factories, hideouts, headquarters. It runs deep. This is just the tip of the iceberg.ā
āWhat, we just leave an anonymous tip to the NYPD? āHey, here's a new crime ring, good luck.ā We have to find where this leads.ā
Matt was hesitant, placing down the gun. You knew the reason he didnāt want to keep searching.Ā
ā Fisk .ā You hissed, the name a curse. āYou think heās involved?ā
He lowered his head, shaking it.Ā āI know heās in charge.āĀ
āHeās on house arrest. He got the justice you wanted. He canāt possibly be doing damage from a penthouse.ā You protested, but it was no use. Fisk haunted Matt more than you could realize. You could tell his release from prison infuriated him, despite when he claimed the FBI had the right to keep him locked away under supervision, even if it was in the comfort of a luxury apartment.Ā
āHeās got the whole city wired from that penthouse. Heās pulling strings with the FBIā heās only locked in there because he wants to be. Heās brutal, (Y/N). A man like Fiskā we canāt.ā
You nodded despite your disappointment. This was a serious lead Matt was willing to abandon just because of his past with Fisk.Ā
āFine. I guess weāll just stick to disarming the thugs on the streets after theyāve already striked.ā You took one more look around the spacious warehouse before stepping over a knocked out gang member to the open door.Ā
You were exhausted climbing up the fire escape to the roof, gripping the rusted rails to haul yourself up the next step. You were relieved to pull off your mask and breathe uncovered air when you landed on the same decrepit rooftop overlooking Hellās Kitchen. You and Matt had made your way back through the shadows in silence, tensions high about your splitting decisions. He finally broke it as he lingered behind you.Ā
āIām sorry, (Y/N). Really. If things were different, then maybe. But right nowā itās just not safe.ā
You understood. You hated that he was partly right, Fisk wasnāt a figure to be messed with. Especially when every criminal organization was under his command. Just going after one would domino all the others to come to aid. But deep in your bones you knew there was more. This was the whole pointā protecting the city. If just one guy got to dictate how it ran, then there was no justice at all.
You turned around, nodding with sincerity. āI get it Matt. Itās alright. Iām sure there's something else we can do.ā
He read you for a moment, a twitch of a smile when he realized you were telling the truth. āThank you.ā He gave a nod of approval before turning around. āStay safe (Y/N).āĀ
āYou too, Matt. Good night.āĀ
āGood night,ā Matt called out as he vanished down the fire escape. āDonāt do anything stupid.ā
You rolled your eyes and beckoned a wave, crouching back down onto your rooftop perch, gripping your mask in your hands-- hard. A sigh of aggravation fell through the air, caching back in your throat as you looked up.Ā
Your eyes lingered in the skyline. Nothing felt so far anymore. Everything that was happening was in your territoryā the one you promised to protect.Ā
Ā It was right there, stretching its influence across the city and trickling into Hellās Kitchen.
It was a dumb thought, really. But what more was there to lose? How many people could get caught in the crossfire before you decided to sacrifice your integrity?Ā
You tucked your mask into your belt, taking one more glance at the alive city before retreating home.Ā
It was time to pay an old friend a visit.Ā
DEX
Dex was haunted.Ā
By the things heās done, the things he was bound to do all over again.Ā
He fell for it.
Ā He fell right into Fiskās grasp.Ā
Every order he followed, it was because he wanted to.
Testified in the trial for Wilson Fiskās parole and appeal.Ā
He lied under oathā not like the truth has ever mattered.Ā
He took out the fellow agents who refused loyalty.Ā
Wore a mask.
Pulled the trigger.Ā
Killed people.
The rest of the FBI would move on from this assignment and continue their work. Dex would be left to linger in the past-- more trapped within the house arrest boundary than Fisk ever was.Ā
The thick bulletproof glass was the only thing keeping him from falling over sixty stories to the muck filled streets of New York. His gaze fell over the skyline, light filled windows of the Midtown high rises imitating the stars in the midnight darkness.Ā
The sterile apartment of Fisk was like a familiar sanctuary above the city.
It was the same way he had his apartmentā clean and orderly. The only thing visible in the fresh white painted walled penthouse were the dozens of modern art pieces on display at every turn, a museum worth millions for only Fisk and his wife to see.Ā
At first, Dex could understand how only a deranged monster like Fisk could find solace in those strange pieces.Ā
As time grew on, he began to grow fond of them too.
His favorite one was hanging right in the foyer.
Much of the art Fisk kept was just geometric shapes of paint on canvas, nonsensical patterns he never cared for of bland color.
This one was different.
Organic.Ā
Messy.
Raw.Ā
It wasnāt art to himā it was real.
Splatters of crimson that stained the linen canvas, no clues of the former cream color it once was. Streaks of different hues and splotches of unidentified circles. It was chaotic, but organized.Ā
Just a red, bloody, mess.Ā
For the quick glance where his eyes fell each day when he entered the front door, his dread disipated. He would forget he was in the same sterile apartment with the one task of being ordered around by Fisk; instead he was back in the field, gun in hand and steady throw at his willā complete precision and control. This was the only art in the world he could truly digest.Ā
Every time he saw it there was a reminder that the artistā a name of a painter unknown to him and probably long deadā understood him.Ā
Even with the entire city in his field of vision, Dexās mind was far behind him in the entryway, glaring at the red and trying to understand it.Ā
āSpecial Agent Poindexter.āĀ
A gravelly voice echoed through the abnormally large apartment,Ā rippling a chill through Dexās spine, ears perking up as he turned to face the dim lit room.
The brooding force in a white suitā Wilson Fisk stood across the living room, hands behind his back like a marble statue.Ā
āSir.ā Dex straightened, legs shoulder width apart and arms crossed over his thundering chest.Ā
A vicious smile crept across his round face, city lights from the window bouncing off his bald head as he crept closer to the agent.Ā
āPlease, there is no need for formalities. I owe my gratitude for what you have done. For me, for Vanessa.ā
Dex flexed his hands, fingers aching and knuckles bruised.
Killed people.
Fisk began his creep forward, careful steps across the white tiles that reverberated through the sparsely furnished room until he was parallel to the windows next to him.Ā
āI am proud of your work.ā Fisk sighed out the reluctant praise. Dex could tell the corruptive man wasnāt one to hand out sincerities like this.
āFrom that very night you saved my life, I knew you had an exceeding talent. One that could never be fully appreciated under the constraints of a federal agency. Where rules and standards demanded you set aside these strengths and neglect your abilities for a noble pursuit. The Bureau never appreciated you the way I do, Benjamin. With your help, I can restore the city. To the way it needs to be. Tamed. Disciplined.ā
Dex rocked back on his heels to adjust his footing, becoming more aware of his time standing all day. āThank you sir. Itās an honor to work for you.ā The words forced from his voice, a tinge of a smile and nod at his approval.Ā
āNow that I am free, the true work may begin. My time incarcerated has enacted a toll on the order of everything. They are becoming more sloppy and arrogant, my workers. I would go myself, but as you know I am still constrained.ā He smiled.Ā
Dexās eyes flicked to the black banded ankle monitor, light beeping in the dark over Fiskās pant leg. āMy prospects are in desperate need of management in my absence. It is much to ask of youā but it must be done.ā
Dex rolled his shoulders, glancing from the city to his boss.Ā
āAnything you need, Fisk. Iāll do it.ā
āGood. Very well.ā Kingpin grinned. āHow familiar are you with my empire?ā












