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Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke by Eric LaRocca | Glenn Brown-Layered Portraits 1-9, 2008 | The Queen of Swords by Judy Grahn | These Hands, If Not Gods by Natalie Diaz | Unknown | I Dont Smoke by Mitski | Bloodsport by Yves Olade | I'm Not Calling You a Liar by Florence + The Machine | Orestes | Salvage by Hedgie Choi | Against Silence by Frank Bidart | The Burning by Venetta Octavia | Birthright by George Abraham | Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente | Romance by Elaine Kahn | Unknown | Bruce Springsteen | Unknown
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Summary: What fear a man like you brings upon a woman like me?
Word count: 3K
Previously
A/N: Another demon exorcized. Hope you enjoy because I can't tell if my writing is good anymore.
Why?
She knows better than to ask for reasons.
That's the one instance where answers get vague, as if he knows how bad it gets when she ruminantes . That or he'll say something that stirs the skittering under her skin.
There's no use for explanation except the sake of knowing.
And yet, she asks.
"Why me?"
"You know why."
It's the same as always; the non-answer that says everything.
You're just like me.
Usually it's infuriating, but she's too tired to brace for another heated argument.
"You didn't have the right." She mutters hopelessly. "I made a choice on who I was going to be, on the life I was going to live. You had no right to take that from me."
"I got you out before it swallowed you."
"You're delusional." Is all she can muster, but it lands on deaf ears.
He presses his forehead to hers, fingers lacing in her hair, like it's supposed to achieve something.
"Stop." She breathes. "Stop with this forced intimacy bullshit."
"You think you can run forever?"
"I'm not running from anything except you."
"What did I say about honesty?" His voice takes on frustrated edge. "You were dying with your head in the sand."
"So getting killed in a bunker is better?"
"You're alive! You're here and you're real." He repeats it a few more times, grip tightening in her hair in a poor attempt to self-soothe. "You're real, and you've been choosing me, whether you like it or not."
"You made sure I had nothing else to choose."
"Then why don't you grab that gun and shoot me!?" He snaps.
"Get fucked." She chuckles weakly. "I'm drunk and you think you can take advantage? Spring this shit onto me?"
The mention of alcohol makes him frown, then nod in understanding, like she made a good point.
Then he's gone.
Off of her, off the bed.
For a second, she thinks he gave up.
But Dex walks towards the table, towards the bottle of bourbon. He grabs it, twists the cap open. And chugs.
She sits up and watches as he take long gulps. He only stops for a second to catch his breath, the liquor burning his senses.
Then he continues, and drinks til the last drop is gone. The empty bottle drops to the table with a loud thud. His chest heaves, eyes a bit red as they lock onto hers.
"There." He rasps. "That evens the playing field."
Disbelief wars with a sense of awe.
What the hell is wrong with him?
"I'm not dealing with this." She stands up on shaky feet and aims for the door.
Dex steps in front of it, blocking the path.
There's a dark look in his eyes. It's something familiar, something that brings her back to Sublevel 2.
Adrenaline stirs within.
It's easy to forget how terrifying he can be when he wants to.
"... get out of my way."
"You wanna know what's wrong with me?" He takes a step forward, but she doesn't waver. "Same shit that's wrong with you."
"I'm nothing like you." The words are barely out before he grabs her chin roughly. She tries to break out of the grip but resistance only makes it tighten further.
"I'm done waiting, Y/N. You're gonna face it."
"Let me go!"
"You're going to tell me how it felt to kill."
"I'm not doing shit!" She spits.
With a quick, effortless throw, her back meets the wall. The impact is harsh, but his voice is unforgiving.
"Talk."
"No."
"YOU'RE GONNA TALK."
"OR WHAT?"
"OR I DRAG YOU BACK!" He loses every ounce of patience he's been cradling for the past month. "I'll drag you back to that bunker kicking and screaming and keep you there til you decide to be honest with yourself."
The threat is enough to stun her into silence.
"You wanna blame me? You wanna make me the monster? I'll play the part." He promises. "I'll do whatever it takes to rip the truth out of you."
You're just like me.
"You just have to say it." He tries to soften, but his impatience is like a live wire. "That's all you have to do."
"I can't."
"You can." He pressures
"I can't, Dex. I-"
"How did it feel to kill?"
"Please, stop-"
"HOW DID IT FEEL?"
"I CAN'T."
"JUST SAY IT! FUCK!" His hand slams the wall by her head. When he steps away, she lets out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
The iota of relief doesn't last long; The bottle of bourbon flies across the room and explodes into a thousand pieces.
"WHY WON'T YOU JUST FACE IT?"
You can still make her proud.
Dex tries to catch his breath while she stays glued to the wall.
"You think I wanna do this? I don't wanna fight you! But you won't. stop. RUNNING!"
Just be good
Just be good
Just be-
"I know you're scared but I'M HERE! I stay and I fight for you! I FIGHT FOR US, DON'T I? WHEN IS THAT GOING TO BE ENOUGH? WHEN-"
There's a knock on the door.
Dex grabs the gun from the table, and lifts it to where Earl's head is on the other side.
He doesn't pull the trigger. Instead, he moves at an angle so he won't be seen and gestures for her to open.
The threat is clear; Act normal or the owner of the lodge gets his brains blown out.
The door may be made of thick wood, but Y/N doesn't wanna find out if a bullet would lodge in the fibers or pass straight through.
Dex is looking like he's begging to be tested.
The handle twists carefully. The door cracks open, just a sliver, just enough to greet the old man.
"Miss." White hair and a stern expression meet her.
"Sir." She clears her throat. "Were we being too loud?"
"Yes." The answer is short, to the point.
"I'm sorry, we had a little too much to drink. I promise we'll keep it down."
"It may be off-season but that doesn't mean you disregard the noise policy."
"I understand, sir. It won't happen again."
Earl sighs, looks her up and down, as if trying to figure out if he should be more considerate.
"Do you need help?" He ends up asking.
The safety of the gun clicks off.
"No, sir. We just had a rough couple of weeks, that's all."
"Hm." It seems he can tell this mess is the tip of iceberg. "Get some rest, miss. And no swimming in the creek."
She nods in agreement. When Earl turns to leave, the door closes with a brief click.
Dex flips the safety back on, then runs a hand down his face. He waits a bit until the footsteps outside fade away.
Then:
"We're going back."
No.
She turns to look at him.
"We'll sleep this off and leave first thing in the morning." He grabs the duffles and puts them on the table, then starts packing.
The gun disappears in the bag. The few clothes they hung in the mini-closet gets folded. Dex sets aside a clean pair of clothes for her to wear tomorrow.
Then, he's on the floor, picking up the blades she'd tossed aside earlier.
"And don't make a scene, or I swear I'll kill everyone who-"
His voice turns into background noise.
I'm not going back
You're not good
I can't do it
You can't escape from this
This isn't what she died for
It's never going to end
Dex is still talking.
I promised I'd be good
You killed to be here
I tried to be good, I'm still trying
It can't be all for nothing
Dex keeps talking and talking and talking.
There's no use.
You're just like him
Just like him
Just like him
Just li-
"-are you listening to me?"
Her senses sharpen all at once.
Fuck it.
"Felt like waking up." She doesn't blink as the words leave her, nor in the long seconds afterwards
"...what?" Dex asks.
"Killing... it felt like waking up at the bottom of the lake."
She finds the bed somehow, sits down, tries to keep her breathing steady. Dex doesn't move at first, afraid to break the moment.
"Felt like I spent my entire life drowning and I was underwater for so long that I got used to it. Forgot about it. Then I finally woke up, swam up for air, and... it all went quiet. Everything is so loud, Dex. But death is quiet."
She doesn't look him in the eyes when he approaches and knees between her legs.
"Did you kill me back at the bunker? Did you pull the trigger on us?" Her voice cracks. "C-cuz I can't tell anymore if we're dead and this is purgatory or-"
"No no no, don't say that." He wipes off a stray tear. "You're more alive than I've ever seen you be. Can't you see? You're finally you."
You're just like me.
Acceptance is as cold as the water at the creek, bitter as it forces its way inside, hollowing everything else out.
Time stretches between them.
The ice must be affecting him too because his fingers are back in her hair, bringing her forehead to his.
"I'll never forgive you for ripping it out of me." She mutters.
"It's ok." He smiles. "I just want it all out."
She wants to disengage, to disappear, to let the scarabs under her skin escape into the woods until she's nothing but a deflated human suit.
Dex can tell she's getting lost in her head, so he grabs her wrists and brings her hands up to his neck.
"Hurt me?" He pleads. "Nobody hurts me better than you."
Temptation takes birth in her chest, tingles through her arms, all the way down to her hands, but-
"I don't want you to like it."
"Don't worry about how I feel." He insists. "Do what you need to do. Be selfish. Just... use me."
Her fingers dig into his throat tentively.
His uses her wrists like an anchor and nods in encouragement.
That's all it takes, truly, for temptation to solidify into conviction.
The squeeze isn't gradual.
One second he's breathing, the other, his trachea is getting crushed.
She watches him endure silently, suppressing the instinct to cough.
His face goes red.
Then purple.
I've been waiting.
She can feel the erratic heartbeat on his carotid.
He doesn't thrash for air.
His eyes roll into his skull.
His mouth hangs open.
Just end it.
The grip on her wrists weaken.
One of his hands lets go entirely.
You're just like me.
YOU PROMISED YOU'D BE GOOD
She cringes and tries to pull away like Dex is the incarnation of a hot stove. The remaining grip on her wrist tightens in a weak attempt to keep her close.
He tries to speak between coughs.
"Don't s-stop" His eyes blink back open, voice barely audible. "K-keep going."
She tugs her wrist away a second time, managing to free it and bolt for the door.
She doesn't even manage to take three steps away from him.
Her face nearly smashes onto the ground when he yanks her ankle. She claws at the floor when he yanks a second time.
Then, his entire weight is on her back, pressing her to the floor until she can't move a single muscle.
"Dex-"
"You're not walking away from me." He pins both her wrists to the ground, somehow still strong as he tries to catch his breath.
To fight and to flee are instinctual reactions.
Freezing is a conscious choice.
Freezing is all she can do if she wants to be good.
Don't play the game.
You lose either way.
"Why aren't you fighting?" His voice sounds firmer now that he has his breath back.
Ignore him.
"Fight." He orders.
Be good.
"FIGHT." He grabs her by the neck. "I'm not going to say it again."
"Fuck you, Ben."
. . .
She can feel the way he freezes, going deathly still.
The silence is heavier than his body.
It's a low blow, really, but self-control died back in the bunker.
"I'm not going to- AAH-"
Her mouth gets covered at the same time pain explodes in her shoulder. Screams are smothered, his palm locking over her lips to prevent any sound from escaping the room.
Biting.
He's biting her.
Teeth dig deep enough to pierce flesh.
She tries to thrash but it only makes his jaw lock in place. Muffled shrieks rake her vocal chords raw, warm blood escaping his mouth and dropping to the ground.
He gets heavier somehow, like he'd been holding back from completely dropping his weight. So heavy, it gets harder to breathe, much less scream.
She can feel the rumble of his chest as he groans and-
... a gulp.
He's swallowing the fucking blood.
She doesn't care about breaking anymore, she just wants to beg.
Amidst the haze of pain, she spots a blade on the floor, under the table, that he missed when putting the mess away. But she can barely move and it's too far out of reach.
She manages to open her mouth just enough to bite the meat of his palm. When metal stains her taste buds, she tries to spit out in immediate regret, but he angles his hand just right so that it forces her mouth to stay open.
Blood licks at the barrier in the back of her throat.
Fighting is just partaking in the game.
Fleeing is an illusion.
Freezing is avoidance.
So she wilts with resignation.
Except Dex won't accept anything other than violence.
When he feels her untense under him, his teeth disconnect from her shoulder to rasp against her ear
"That all you got? Fight."
Please stop.
"You're not taking this seriously enough."
The hand pinning her other wrist lets go to pull her shirt down, ripping it in the effort to expose skin.
His teeth find a new home in the meat of her back.
This time, what leaves her throat isn't a scream, but a growl. The new wave of pain is like poison, fury overriding the attempt at resignation.
Anger is far more comforting than acceptance.
Her free hand reaches back blindly.
Nails sink into his neck, trying to meet hair.
When she finds it, she tugs as hard as she can, and fuck it if he takes a chunk of flesh out with him.
The weight finally eases, giving her enough space to move.
She scramble towards the blade under the table.
When she feels that familiar grip on her ankle, she throws her elbow where his face should be. She feels the impact but she doesn't check if it was enough to incapacitate him.
Hand meets blade.
And swipe it back blindly in his direction.
There's more blood, but she can't focus while lost in the cloud of adrenaline.
She pounces with the intent to kill. His back meet the floor, making him let out a sharp, pained gasp.
She drives the blade towards his heart. Dex tries to grab it, but it ends up cutting through his hand. She yanks the blade out and aims for his head but his forearm gets in the middle.
She struggles to rip it out of the thick muscle. And that little moment is when her vision clears up to see the mess under her.
Dex has a clean horizontal line cut across his forehead. Some of the blood spilled into his eye and made him partially blind. Her own blood stains his lips and teeth.
The hint of concern gets shoved to the back of her mind.
"YOU PROMISED." She screams, and fuck it if anyone can hear. "YOU PROMISED YOU WOULDN'T HURT ME! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?"
His eyes lock on the bite mark on her shoulder.
"Needed you to know I was real." He shakily reaches for the blade embedded in his forearm and rips it out before putting it back in her hand. "Just finish the job. Me for you."
It's just an equation.
"... you don't get to have it end that easy" She seethes.
She covers his mouth to make sure he won't scream, then presses the tip of the blade to his forehead.
It cuts in a vertical line.
Then slices in a circular motion.
Once
Twice.
Until there's a bullseye symbol carved into him.
The blood runs freeling into his hairline.
When she's done, she presses the blade against his neck to make sure he stays still.
She's not sure what she expects afterwards, but it definitely isn't him pouring his heart out.
"I've got nothing to lose, Y/N." His voice shakes from the pain. "But I would give everything for you."
Angry tears fill her eyes. She's so tired of crying.
"Why?! Why me?"
She should know better than to ask for reasons.
"You... you make me feel like myself, like I'm human."
She should know better.
"You're not, Ben." She breathes out, in between tears.
"Don't call me that." His expression finally morphs into true pain.
It's an anguish with no pleasure mixed in. They're both a mess of bodily fluids, but she doesn't miss the rare opportunity to dig deeper.
"You're a fucking animal." The blade nicks the skin on his neck. "You're an attention-starved, stray dog that nobody wants. You're a rat that crawls through people's blood and guts. You're a fucking parasite."
Her heart breaks when he sobs.
"I don't care what I am anymore." He doesn't hold back, the tears mixing with blood as they run into his hair. "You're never getting rid of me. I can't let you go, Y/N. I can't. So just finish it."
There's no point.
"You're sick." She tries to get angry again.
"I know."
Her tears drop onto his face.
"You're disgusting."
"I know." His voice is so bittersweet.
She tosses the blade aside.
"I'll never forgive you."
Dex lets out a whimper when her lips crash onto his.
A/N II: I really hope i was able to properly transfer the intensity of this scene from my head to written words, bc i feel like my writting hasnt been as good, idk.
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Young female writers, I'm going to hold your hand when i say this.
When you write a reader insert fic, keep in mind that not everyone is super young to the point of being barely legal. Actually, a large portion of tumblr users is made up of the lurkers who survived the 2010s.
I saw some common complaints with fellow readers, particularly with Bullseye content, because there's SO many age gap fics, but a large portion of the audience aint so young to where the age gaps results in "dad's best friend" situation. Or the age gap might not exist at all...
If you wanna write age gaps fics, that's fine. But be aware that getting so specific excludes a huge part of your audience, the same way people of color gets excluded when a reader insert fic portrays a pale white reader with long, straight hair.
And if you're adamant about making statements on appearance and age, make an OC? I did that shit with my Star Wars OC Deucalion.
I'm not saying dont write your fic. You might not care about being 100% inclusive because you want to write for your niche. And that's FINE.
Just be aware, especially if you're frustrated that your fic isn't making the numbers you wish it were.
Let's also take into account that there's many people who are just fine imagining themselves as a hot, badass older woman paired with their fav (especially dex, holy shit) I eat it up every time and it's like the main motivator whenever I write for older characters. I did the same thing with other marvel characters and I'm a whole ass 23 year old!!
And why are there so many where older characters are having a moral dilemma when it comes to wanting to get with reader😭😭like ok whatever have your shit but it's like 98% of y'all writing these older men to be like "oh no she's barely legal but I wanna fuck her stupid 😩" ???????
a/n: ok i said i would. reader is a FREAK. you are a FREAK. also i haven't actually watched the season 2 final yet so FINAL SPOILERS but also i dont actually know what happened. basing this off of edits i've seen but like, i could also be wrong. also im canadian so i use a mix of uk and us spelling because i forget sometimes lol
also pls keep sending me asks! i love it and will answer soon!
masterlist.
plot: you are dex's handler, you give him targets, that's it. right?
warnings: unhealthy dynamic. reader isn't normal. vibrator mention, he knows abt the rose toy. reader calls dex a good boy. really not smut, smutty implications. stalking. dex is a voyeurist? into voyeurism? not edited.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
pairing: benjamin 'dex' poindexter x reader
once charles 'recruited' him, he was yours to handle.
it was simple really, you gave him his targets, you ran the odd psychological test when he was particularly unstable (he was always cleared for duty!) and you were basically the only number in his burner phone.
you didn't realize he was so... attached to you until you realized he was watching you, stalking you. he was on top of another building,
he wasn't even supposed to know your real name.
but he found that out after he followed you home, found your real number too.
you were a trained agent, you did less real field work now, but that did not make you less perceptive.
a trinket dish shifted to the left, away from the edge, more center on the end table.
like it was bothering him when he was here, in your apartment, while you were at the store. it bothered him how close it was to the edge and just how off-putting he found your all your off-center decor. he just had to fix it.
your gaze shifted to the expansive window of your living room, walking closer, squinting enough to see him on the fire escape of the building across the street.
he waved.
you scoffed.
you picked the phone out of your pocket, calling him. he took his time to answer.
"benjamin? honey... i see you." honey. baby. sweetheart. you called him all that stupid shit becuse you knew he liked it, but it was more about putting on the persona of someone who gave a shit. which you think he liked. or maybe he didn't. "i really think we need to talk about boundaries."
"boundaries?" the audio from the flip-phone made it sound like it was being put through a blender, but his voice still sounded so good. "you say that like i crossed one."
"baby, breaking into my place feels pretty textbook," you responded, faux sweetness dripping from your voice.
"you looked stressed last month, when we met, i wanted to know why."
a sinking feeling, a month, how the fuck did you not notice that? maybe you were rusty.
"you wanted to know if it was you, if you were doing a bad job?" you tried to reason. why would he give a fuck?
"no," he replied, quickly. "i don't do bad jobs in this line of work." killing people. it was killing people.
you ponder how it was very likely he had watched you do things like change, use your vibrator, watch far too much kitchen nightmares.
you sighed. he spoke again. "you said to call if i needed support."
you held in another scoff, "you didn't call before stalking me?"
"i didn't stalk you, i was checking in. you seemed busy, i didn't want to call."
"checking in?" you repeated flatly.
"yeah."
you blinked at the window. he was still watching you through his scope. "are we going to have to take you to do another evaluation?"
you could almost hear him laugh. those didn't mean anything, fake red tape to make you feel safe, but he would always be cleared. "some people might find your behaviour concerning, baby."
"are you concerned?" vaguely.
you sighed, again.
"you leave your curtains open in your bedroom, you shouldn't do that," he added, like he was chastising you.
"you've been in my bedroom?" you asked, not disturbed, just seeking clarity.
"not inside," he clarified. why stop at your living room, too much time decorating, maybe?
"what did you see, then?"
"you wear short little nightgowns to sleep. i like the blue one, you touch yourself different when you wear it. slower."
"ben," you cut him off from going further, "you need to stop watching me from the fire escape."
silence. then a "no."
"baby, you need to go home now, like a good boy. if you want to see me from now on, you can just come over." what was the point of stopping it? he knew where you lived now, he was going to keep watching you. it was better to know when. probably.
you didn't hear an immediate answer, so you kept going. you didn't see his pants were tightening, didn't see that his cock was hard, but you could somehow hear in his breath. "i'm not going to report you, but you need to remember that i'm in charge, alright?"
again, he did not respond.
"say it."
silence. then, "you're in charge."
"good boy," you said. you paused, calculating your own next move, then you were taking off your clothes. first, your top.
he missed some of it as you moved from the living room to your bedroom. taking off your bra, he saw your bare back, teasing him with the possibility of just seeing your tits, but denying him that. he saw your ass as you pulled down your pants, then your panties, moving to kick them somewhere he would probably hate. you imagine his hands just itching to fold them, or sniff them, or put them in the hamper.
in your closet was the blue nightgown, you pulled it on. you put the phone back up to your ear. "go home, sweetheart, i'll let you use the front door if you're really good for me," you said, hand tracing by your stomach, teasing him again as you turned to face the window once more.
"i'll see you tomorrow," he finds himself saying. you were in charge.
"yeah, baby, if you're good," you said, sauntering to the window, you shut the curtains. "be good."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Young female writers, I'm going to hold your hand when i say this.
When you write a reader insert fic, keep in mind that not everyone is super young to the point of being barely legal. Actually, a large portion of tumblr users is made up of the lurkers who survived the 2010s.
I saw some common complaints with fellow readers, particularly with Bullseye content, because there's SO many age gap fics, but a large portion of the audience aint so young to where the age gaps results in "dad's best friend" situation. Or the age gap might not exist at all...
If you wanna write age gaps fics, that's fine. But be aware that getting so specific excludes a huge part of your audience, the same way people of color gets excluded when a reader insert fic portrays a pale white reader with long, straight hair.
And if you're adamant about making statements on appearance and age, make an OC? I did that shit with my Star Wars OC Deucalion.
I'm not saying dont write your fic. You might not care about being 100% inclusive because you want to write for your niche. And that's FINE.
Just be aware, especially if you're frustrated that your fic isn't making the numbers you wish it were.
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