MayaS

Dex had allowed himself to be guided, barely hearing the teasing. His eyes kept finding their way back to you as he was pulled into the seat directly across from you where the long table had suddenly felt too narrow.

“What finally dragged you out, man?” someone else had joked.

Dex didn’t answer. His gaze strayed towards you again and was extremely disappointed when you were now talking to another female agent.

Dex had been stalking watching you for weeks now.

He knew you went to the gym at 5:00 a.m. Monday to Thursday. He knew you took the long route home so you could stop in the alley behind your building and leave food for the stray cats that lived under the dumpster. He had watched you crouch down in the dark, talking softly to them like they were old friends. If not cats, you gave the local homeless food. 

It was ridiculous how much those tiny details lived rent-free in his head.

Dex swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the glass someone had placed in front of him. 

He was so fucked.

It wasn’t just about needing a new moral compass. This was physical. Visceral. He had wanted to get you alone. He had wanted to hear more of your voice without the noise of the others around you. He had needed to know everything—what made you laugh, what made you angry, what you looked like when you let your guard down completely.

Why? He didn’t know. He just knew it’s an itch that won’t stop.

Someone at the table had turned to you with a grin, “So, you really don’t get drunk? Like ever?”

You shook your head, smiling a little. “Nope. The alcohol burns off too fast.”

The guy groaned dramatically. “Aw, that sucks.”

Dex saw his opening.

“So what does that mean for you at these things?” he had asked, the question directed at you. “You just… watch the rest of us make fools of ourselves?”

“Pretty much,” you replied, lips curving. “It’s entertaining.”

“Good to know,” he smirked, eyes firmly stuck on yours. “I’ll try not to give you too much material tonight.”

You tilted your head slightly, assessing him intently.

“You don’t look the type to get drunk, Agent Poindexter,” you said, carrying a teasing edge to it. “You seem like someone who keeps everything… very controlled.”

Dex was about to hit back when a tipsy younger agent had leaned across the table with a sloppy grin.

“How about an arm wrestle? Come on, super soldier vs regular guy. I wanna see if I have a chance.”

You had laughed, a bright and easy one as your attention had shifted away from him completely while you rolled up your sleeve, still smiling.

Dex’s fingers had tightened around his glass until the knuckles went white. He wanted to ask you a hundred questions. He wanted to know what you were thinking when you looked at him like that.

Instead he had to watch as you let the agent win the first round, pretending to struggle before pinning his arm with a grin. How the agent had adjusted his grip on your hand like he was trying to make it last.

Oh he didn’t like that.

He wanted to break the guy’s wrist.

He could already picture it; the way the idiot’s face would twist in shock and pain. How satisfying it would be to reach across the table, grab that hand that was now touching yours.

The fantasy had played out so vividly in his head that he didn’t even hear the coworker next to him trying to talk to him.

“—right Poindexter? Hey—You good, man?”

Dex blinked, forcing his eyes away from you. He set the glass down a little too hard.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Just gonna step out a bit—air’s too thick in here.”

He pushed back from the table before anyone could say anything else and headed for the back door, the cool night air had hit him like a slap the moment he stepped into the alley. He wiped his face with his hand, controlling his breath, trying to shove the violent images out of his head.

He didn’t know how long he stood there—maybe ten minutes or even twenty—when the back door creaked open again.

You had stepped out, letting the door swing shut behind you. The alley light caught the side of your face as you looked at him, a small smile playing on your lips.

“Getting too rowdy for you in there, Agent Poindexter?”

Dex straightened up too fast, heart kicking hard against his ribs. His mouth went dry and he didn’t know what to say. He never knew what to say when alone with you.

“I—uh, needed a minute,” he managed, voice coming out rougher than he wanted. His eyes kept drifting to the way the small smile still lingering on your lips. “You… winning arm wrestles now?”

You leaned against the wall a few feet away, arms loosely crossed, looking far too comfortable in the dark with him.

“I heard he was going through something, I had to give him a win. He looked like he needed it.” You shrugged, and tilted your head again, “You okay? You looked like you were somewhere else back there.”

Dex swallowed. He wanted to tell you the truth; how he wishes he could be thoughtful like that. That he’d been watching you for weeks. That he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Instead he had shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets so you wouldn’t see them flex.

“I’m fine.”

You nodded slowly, the small smile fading dimmer. When he didn’t say anything else, you glanced toward the door and pointed at it with your thumb.

“That’s good—um…I guess I’ll go back inside…”

You turned to leave.

Dex’s chest had tightened. Before he could stop himself, he took a hesitant step forward. 

“Hey, wait—”

You paused, looking back at him over your shoulder.

He rubbed his jaw, suddenly feeling exposed under the dim alley light. The words had felt clumsy and wrong in his mouth, but they had found their way out anyway.

“I—I attended because of you.”

Dex felt his ears burn. He had never said anything like that out loud before. He didn’t even know how to follow it up. He just stood there, heart pounding, staring at you like you held every answer he’d ever needed.

He forced himself to keep looking at you, even though every instinct screamed at him to look away, to retreat back into the safety of silence and control.

“I heard you were coming,” he added, quieter and a little bit embarrassed. “Sooo I came.”

You blinked, then a bright grin had lit up your whole face making him lose his breath. You actually had tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, looking almost shy for a second.

“You came because of me?” you asked, as if you couldn’t quite believe it.

Dex’s throat felt tight. He nodded once, awkward and stiff, “...Yeah.”

You bit your lip, still smiling, eyes sparkling in the low light, “Why?”

Dex blinked, caught off guard. 

“W-why?” He let out a nervous little huff, rubbing the back of his neck. “I—I thought saying it would be pretty obvious…?”

You shook your head slowly, that playful grin still tugging at your lips.

“Yeah, I know but…” you trailed off, stepping just a little closer. “I just want to hear it come from you.”

Dex’s brain had short-circuited even more. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling heat crawl up his face.

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted, shrugging. “I just… wanted to see you. Outside of work. I can’t stop thinking about you and I—fuck, I don’t know what I’m doing. I just knew if you were here, I had to be here too.”

Your eyes had an admiring sparkle in them now while you laughed softly.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” you murmured.

Dex froze. His ears went even brighter red. 

You smiled wider, a little shy now too, and glanced down at the ground for a moment before meeting his eyes again.

“I’m glad you came.” you said softly.

It was just the two of you, standing close enough that he could smell your perfume and the faint trace of the shampoo you used, hearts beating too fast for people who were supposed to be professionals.

Dex swallowed hard.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I am too.”

You bit your lip, then reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You held it out to him, screen already unlocked.

“Here,” you said, “Put your number in.”

Dex stared at the phone before his fingers brushed yours when he took it, and the contact had sent a small jolt up his arm. He typed his number in carefully, thumbs moving slower than usual, afraid of messing it up or giving you the wrong number. When he handed it back, your fingers touched again.

You saved it and sent him a message before looking up at him with a small, almost nervous smile.

“Now you can stop showing up to things just because you heard I’d be there,” you teased gently. “You can just… text me.”

He nodded once, ears still burning.

“So… if I text you,” he said, almost hesitant, “you’ll answer?”

You smiled, soft and warm under the alley light. “Yeah, Dex. I’ll answer.”

He nodded once, then again, like he was committing it to memory. “Good. That’s… good.”

He hadn’t texted you since that night. 

—

Now on a different week, Dex had sat at the far end of the conference table, spine straight, fingers drumming a silent rhythm against the polished wood. It was another inter-agency briefing and every time the door had opened his eyes snapped toward it like a damn magnet.

Because you were supposed to be there, and apart from orbiting you from afar the whole week, he hadn’t really seen you face to face.

He had typed and deleted seventeen different texts. Seventeen. All a different variations of “how’s your day been?” So he had sent nothing.

He was pathetic.

The had door swung open.

The Assistant Director stepped in first, barking something about staying on schedule, but Dex’s eyes locked on you instantly. You had been right behind the AD, balancing a heavy tray loaded with drinks alongside another junior agent who looked like he was about to drop his. Your sleeves were rolled up to your elbows, a tiny focused crease between your brows as you concentrated on not spilling anything. 

You looked… great. Professional and effortless and was completely unaware of how hard Dex was staring.

The AD started making his way around the table, pointing you toward the far side while he took the near side. Regular-sized coffees were set down in front of each person; black, no frills, the usual office sludge. Quiet thank-yous and polite nods followed in your wake.

Dex’s fingers drummed once against his thigh under the table. He had tried to look anywhere else but failed miserably.

Then you reached him.

Without a word you had leaned in and set something much larger in front of him. The cup was huge—extra-large, condensation already beading on the sides, a thick straw poking out and a swirl of whipped cream on top. The sweet, unmistakable scent of banana had hit him like a truck.

You straightened up, speaking in a volume that only he heard.

“The rookie dropped one cup of coffee but you can have my milkshake,” you murmured, the corner of your mouth twitching like you were fighting a smile. “It's banana. Hope that’s okay.”

Dex stared at the cup. Everyone else had boring little coffees and he had a goddamn giant banana milkshake. Heat crawled up the back of his neck until his ears burned because now the other agents gave him looks and side-eyes.

You had lingered for half a second longer than necessary, eyes flicking to his face, checking his reaction, then gave him the tiniest nod before moving on to the next agent like it was nothing.

Dex’s hand closed around the cup. He lifted it slowly, and took a cautious sip. Sweet banana flavor had flooded his tongue.

He glanced up.

You were on the other side of the room now, setting down another coffee, but your eyes flicked back to him for just a heartbeat. When they met him across the table you pressed your lips together maybe to fight a grin and looked away fast.

Dex felt the corner of his own mouth twitch. He took another slow sip, letting the sweetness sit on his tongue while the meeting started around him.

You’d singled him out in front of everyone, in the most ridiculous, thoughtful way possible, and now he was sitting here with a massive banana milkshake.

Dex hadn’t heard a single word of what the meeting was about. His leg bounced under the table the whole time, eyes drifting to you every few seconds, physically incapable of looking anywhere else. 

You were taking notes, sometimes nodding, the picture of professional focus—except for the one time you caught him staring and your pen faltered writing for half a second. That tiny slip made his stomach lurch harder than any bullet he’d ever dodged.

His phone burned inside his pocket and his hands finally fished for it, sliding the phone out under the table, thumbs moving before he could overthink it.

Fuck it.

Dex: Are you trying to kill me? You just gave me a diabetes bomb. Dex: It’s waaaay too sweet. who even drinks this shit?

He had set the phone face-down on his thigh and forced his eyes back to the projector like he gave a shit. Ten seconds later it buzzed. He didn’t even try to play it cool—he flipped it over immediately.

You: I just figured you needed something sweet to match that sparkling personality… You: and don’t lie 👀 You: caught you sipping like it was the best thing you’ve ever tasted lol

Dex bit the inside of his cheek to keep the smile off his face. He typed back one-handed, still pretending to take notes with the other.

Dex: It’s disgusting Dex: Sparkling personality? most people just say i’m an asshole.

You: most people are right. You: that’s why you drank it half way now…so either you secretly love banana milkshakes or you’re trying to impress me. which is it?

Dex: I'm just saying if you’re gonna play favorites, at least warn a guy so I don’t look like a simp in front of twenty agents.

You: too late. you already looked like a shrimp. who attended a work dinner because of me again? 🤔 You: simp**

Dex stared at the screen, before wiping his face along with the smile that was fighting for its way out.

Dex: Shrimp?  Dex: So now I'm a shrimp? That's a new low. tiny, pink, and easy to peel. You really know how to flatter a guy

You: shut up it was supposed to be simp you know what i meant asshole🖕🏻

Dex looked up from his phone, unable to resist. There you were… casually scratching your eyebrow with your middle finger aimed straight at him like a sniper.

Dex: Wow real mature…the eyebrow itch? Really?

You: oh please, it’s a classic for a reason. worked on you didn’t it, shrimp? You: next time i’ll just flip you off in hd so you don’t miss it, poindexter 😘

From there it snowballed. 

He had gotten comfortable and eventually Dex had started asking you things he’d never asked anyone. Small normal things at first, trying to gauge who you’ll react to it. Then came the deeper ones. What you did when your thoughts got too loud. How you stayed grounded after everything you’d been through. Whether you ever felt like you didn’t belong anywhere.

You answered every single one and each reply felt like a lifeline. Dex would read your messages over and over, thumb tracing the screen, a strange warmth spreading through his chest. For the first time in years his rituals had felt less necessary. You were becoming his compass without even realizing it. 

He was high on it. Addicted to the way you made his world feel easier.

But then you were gone on missions…

Long ones that took you out of the city for weeks at a time with no contact, no advice, no validation. Dex spiraled quietly. He’d checked his phone obsessively. He’d drove past your building more times than he’d admit. The negative voices came back louder than ever. The rituals grew stricter. 

He told himself it was fine. You’d come back. You always came back.

But when you had finally returned, he spotted you in the hallway outside the briefing rooms.

You looked tired and distant. You bumped into him lightly as you passed, barely glancing up.

“Hey,” you said, half-hearted, already moving on.

Dex’s panic sensors lit up like a siren. His stomach dropped. Had he done something wrong? Had he texted too much? Had he come on too strong? Was the constant need for validation pushing you away? Those thoughts clawed at him.

He followed you immideately without thinking, footsteps quick down the corridor. When you turned a corner he pulled out his phone and called you, heart hammering.

You had answered on the third ring, voice tired but surprised, “What is it, Dex?”

He swallowed hard, stopping in the middle of the hallway, free hand curled and trembling at his side.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, the words rushing out nervously, “You… you seemed off just now. If I messed up or made you uncomfortable, tell me. I’ll fix it—just please… I don’t want to—I can't stop talking to you.”

Silence.

A few seconds pass, you rounded the corner again, phone still pressed to your ear. For a second you just looked at him from the far end of the hallway, eyes soft but a little exasperated. You shook your head slowly, like he was missing the most obvious thing in mankind.

Then you hung up.

You slipped the phone into your pocket and started walking toward him with purpose. Dex’s heart pounded harder with every step you took. He just stood there, frozen, waiting for whatever blow was coming.

You stopped right in front of him, close enough that he could smell your shampoo again. You tilted your head, looking up at him with that same half-amused, half-tired expression.

“Do you really have no idea,” you asked slowly, “or are you just playing dumb?”

Dex’s mouth opened, then closed. He had no idea what to say. His brain had gone completely blank the moment you invaded his space.

“So you just like talking to me? That's it?” You let out a small, soft laugh and shook your head again, “Dex… do you even see me as a woman or just a friend when you need advice?”

The hallway felt like it tilted.

Dex couldn’t speak.

His ears roared and his hands felt clammy at his sides. He had wanted to say yes—yes, of course he saw you as a woman, as the only woman—but the words stuck somewhere deep in his throat, choking him.

You waited and the silence stretched. Then your eyes widened, realization dawning.

“Oh my god—” You let out a breathless little chuckle, the sound surprised and self-deprecating. “Oh my god. You don’t. It's the age thing isn’t it?”

You pressed a hand to your forehead, squeezing your eyes shut for a second and laughing again, softer this time, because you couldn’t believe your own stupidity.

“Oh my god, I am so stupid—forget I asked.”

You shook your head, cheeks warm, and turned away before he could say anything. You quickly rounded the corner toward the elevator bank, boots clicking fast on the tile like you needed to put distance between you and whatever just happened.

Dex had stood there frozen for a few seconds, heart slamming against his ribs before he came back to his senses and followed, his suit jacket flapping against his hurried strides. 

He couldn’t let you walk away like that.

You had already reached the elevator, jabbing the call button aggressively, still shaking your head at yourself.

The doors slid open. You stepped inside.

Dex stopped the doors with his shoulder and slipped through at the last second, the doors closing behind him with a soft ding.

The elevator lurched downward.

For one suspended heartbeat, it was just the two of you in that tiny metal box, eyes locked, the air so thick it felt like he could taste it. His chest rose and fell hard. Yours did too.

He crossed the space in one stride, big hands cupping both sides of your face, and his lips crashed into yours like he’d been deprived of intimacy for years. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that stole the air from your lungs, tongue sliding in to taste you like he’d been dreaming about it every single night. 

You gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the sound, groaning roughly in his throat, pressing you back against the cool metal wall with his whole body. His hips pinned you there, one thick thigh shoving between your legs until the seam of your pants dragged right where you needed it most. The handrail dug into your lower back but you barely felt it. You only felt him, solid and burning underneath your palms.

One hand dropped to your waist, gripping harder, pulling you even closer while the other slid into your hair, tugging just right so your head tilted while he kissed you deeper, slower for a second, savoring, then needier again.

Your knees actually buckled. He caught you, thigh pressing up firmer between your legs, the friction making your breath hitch into a soft, needy moan that went straight to his head. His free hand skimmed down your side, over your hip, then back up under the hem of your shirt just enough for his fingertips to brush bare skin, scorching hot.

All those months of sneaky glances, late-night texts, him overthinking every little thing… it had poured out of him. Every roll of his hips, every desperate lick into your mouth, every shaky exhale said the same thing: I’ve wanted you. I’ve wanted you so fucking bad.

You clutched at his jacket collar, yanking him impossibly closer, nipping at his lip, sucking on his tongue, grinding down against his thigh because you couldn’t stop yourself. He tasted like coffee and mint, and the little broken sounds he kept making were going to ruin you—

The elevator dinged again.

The doors hadn’t opened yet, but Dex could already hear the low chatter of people waiting in the hall. Dex tore his mouth away with a sharp, ragged inhale, lips glossy and swollen, eyes dark and glazed. You looked just as wrecked; eyes wide and dazed. For a split second you just stared at each other, chests heaving, the air still crackling between you.

Then the doors slid open.

Dex stepped back just enough to look decent, jaw tight, but he didn’t go far. He didn’t even bother wiping off your kiss, he wanted to keep the taste of you on his lips as long as possible.

His hand dropped to your side, hidden between your bodies, and his pinky hooked firmly around yours. You both faced forward, pretending to watch the floor numbers while agents and staff piled in, laughing about the bar.

No one noticed the way his thumb brushed slow circles over the back of your hand. No one saw how his lips were still wet from yours. And no one could possibly know that your legs were still shaking and your pulse was hammering so hard you could feel it between your thighs.

But he knew.

—

Dex had warned you that he hadn’t been in a relationship for a long time. He had been honest about the way it ended—badly, he said, without offering any further details, his eyes distant as though the memory still lived somewhere just beneath his skin. You had known, even then, that there were pieces of him shadowed in ways you couldn’t yet see.

You sensed the fractures, the internal storms he carried, yet they stood in such sharp contradiction to the man who showed up for you every single day. He was charming in the gentlest sense, attentive without ever making it feel performative, the kind of boyfriend who remembered how you took your coffee and the exact way you liked the pillow tucked beneath your head at night. Almost too good to be true.

You could have looked him up. The files were there, waiting in some classified corner of the system if you truly wanted to peel back the layers. But you hadn’t. You wanted it to come from him, in his own time, when he was ready to trust you with the parts of himself he kept locked away.

Still, the questions lingered between you—those careful, hypothetical ones he would slip into conversations like tests he didn’t quite know how to phrase. He would ask them softly, almost offhand, and then watch your face with an intensity that made your heart ache. Whatever answer you gave, he seemed to burn it into memory, as though he were memorizing the exact shape of your mercy.

The night he took you to the rooftop of the old field office to teach you how to throw a proper curveball was the night everything shifted.

You threw the ball again. It went wide and terrible, but Dex only laughed softly and retrieved it. When he returned, he didn’t step back into position right away. He stood close, turning the baseball slowly in his hands, eyes on the worn seams as though they held some secret.

You turned to face him fully then, the city lights catching the sharp lines of his face and softening them. You had watched him in that moment in time for a long moment, heart aching with the quiet certainty that this was the real Dex—The one you were falling for so deeply it frightened you.

“Dex,” you had said softly, “you keep asking me these hypothetical questions… about what I would do if someone needed a moral compass to function. About what if they weren’t wired the same way other people are.” Your voice had barely carried above the wind. “Are those question about you?”

Dex looked at you for what felt like forever, the city lights catching in his eyes, and for the first time you saw the depth of the fear he kept so carefully hidden—the fear that if he told you the truth, you would finally see the cracks and walk away.

“Yeah,” he had said. “It’s about me.”

You searched his face, the subtle vulnerability there pulling at every part of you that had already chosen him.

“I feel quite lost,” you had admitted. “Lost in how to be what you need when I don’t fully understand what’s broken inside you.”

Dex had looked down at the baseball still turning slowly between his fingers before meeting your eyes again. In a quiet, plain voice he admitted that Dr. Mercer had once told him he needed a North Star. Without it, the noise in his head became too loud, the impulses too strong. And for the past few months, you had been that person for him. 

“I’ve become quite attached to you… like—like a—”

“—a barnacle?” you had finished for him, the word slipping out softly.

Dex had been caught off guard. He let out a short, awkward laugh. He nodded once, wiping a hand across his jaw before his gaze returned to yours.

“Yeah… like a barnacle of some kind,” he said quietly.

He glanced away for a moment, toward the dark edge of the rooftop, and muttered under his breath, half to himself, “Christ, I really am just latching on and hoping you don’t scrape me off.”

Your soft laughter rang gently in his ears, warm and tender against the quiet night wind. You stepped closer, reaching up to brush your fingers lightly along his jaw where he had just wiped his hand.

“Don’t worry,” you had replied, reassuringly. “I won’t ever scrape you off.”

But then the missions started pulling you away again. They grew longer and longer, stretching into weeks that sometimes bled into months with no real explanation. The agency framed each assignment as urgent, non-negotiable, the kind only you could handle, and you had never been given much of a choice in the matter. You simply and hesitantly packed your bags, kissed Dex goodbye, and went where they sent you, telling yourself it was the price of the life you had chosen.

Every time you returned, Dex felt a little further away. The man who had stood behind you on that rooftop, became harder to reach, as though each absence had carved away another piece of the fragile trust you had built together.

Especially after the assassination attempt on Wilson Fisk and Dex got himself in a whole lot of mess.

You had been gone nearly three months on a mission; had been halfway across the world, following orders you couldn’t refuse. To him, it began to feel like you were choosing the work over him, that you abandoned him. Choosing duty over the one person who had come to rely on you as his North Star.

What he didn’t know or rather, what even you didn’t fully understand—was that the timing of those long deployments was never truly random. The assignments that kept pulling you away for weeks and months at a time had been arranged with careful precision, removing you from the equation again and again while you remained unaware of the invisible hand guiding it all.

× × × ×

When Dex had sat in that mandated FBI psychology session and was asked about support systems, you had listened through the tiny device you had planted in his jacket, heart pounding, waiting for your name to fall from his lips. It didn’t.

And it hurt.

It hurt in a way that went deeper than any bruise or broken bone ever could, a sharp, twisting pain that lodged itself right behind your ribs and refused to leave. 

You had known you might hear something that would cut you. You had known it the moment you slipped the bug into place, fingers trembling with the weight of what you were doing. But you had done it anyway, because some part of you still believed you were that person for him.

Instead you learned he had already begun turning his attention elsewhere.

The realization burned through you like acid, slow and searing, eating away at the fragile belief you had held onto so tightly.

Your ego bled.

You had been his anchor for months. You had given him every piece of yourself you could spare, had stood beside him through it all, only to discover you were no longer enough.

You crushed the listening device in your fist, the small plastic and wiring cracking under the pressure of your strength until it was nothing but twisted metal and shattered circuits. The sharp edges bit into your palm, drawing a thin line of blood, but you barely felt it. You only stared at the ruined thing, chest tight, breath shallow.

You wanted to see how this would turn out for him.

You wanted to watch every single consequence unfold, no matter how ugly.

—

One night, when Dex finally came home to his place, you were already there.

You’d let yourself in with the spare key he’d given you. You were standing in his kitchen “cooking” when really just stirring a pot of nothing while your mind raced. 

Earlier, while waiting for him, you had opened the wrong closet looking for a shirt. Tucked deep behind a stack of his old tactical gear, folded with almost obsessive care, you had found the Daredevil suit. The billy clubs resting beside it. The sight had stopped you cold, fingers hovering over the material as a sickening wave of realization washed through you.

Just how much was he keeping from you?

The second you heard the front door open, you turned, forcing your voice to sound casual.

“Where have you been?” you asked even when you knew the answer already.

Dex paused in the doorway, keys still in his hand, coat half-off. For a split second his face went completely blank, like he’d genuinely forgotten what night it was, what time it was, what lie he was supposed to tell.

You waited for him to lie to your face.

“I got pizza on the way home,” he said, lifting the box like it was proof.

You stared at the box for a second, then back at him.

“Pizza?” You tilted your head, keeping your voice light but pointed. “Okay… is that all?”

Dex’s shoulders tensed. His jaw flexed once, clearly he was trying to hold something back. He set the box down on the counter a little harder than necessary.

“Yeah, that’s all,” he said, a defensive edge creeping into his tone. “Why? You think I’m lying or something?”

You didn’t raise your voice, “I didn’t call you a liar, Dex.”

He let out a short, frustrated breath, rubbing the back of his neck, “Then why are you asking if ‘that is all’?” he shot back, eyes narrowing. “What, you don’t believe me now?”

You set the spoon down slowly, turning to face him fully.

“Why are you so defensive?” you asked, calm and even. “I could’ve meant ‘is that all?’ as in no drinks, no dessert? Why’re you jumping straight there?”

Dex stared at you, the silence stretching between you like a live wire. His fingers flexed at his sides, the defensive mask cracking just enough for you to see the panic underneath.

You held his gaze, letting the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable before you released a bitter chuckle, shaking your head like you were almost amused by how ridiculous this all was.

“You know what? Never mind.” You turned and chucked the empty pot in the sink like a sad little prop. “I’m gonna go. I already lost my appetite waiting for you anyway.”

You gave him one last small, sweet smile and picked up your bag from the counter.

“Enjoy the pizza, Dex.”

Dex’s mouth opened, but no words came out.

You didn’t wait for him to find them.

—

You left your phone on silent and buried it under a pillow so you wouldn’t have to see his name light up the screen over and over again like he had any right to demand your attention right now.

You sat on the floor of your apartment that night, back against the couch, headphones in, listening to music that matched what you felt inside.

If he likes his new North Star so much, he can shove her down his throat.

The thought was vicious and satisfying for half a second. Then your inner voice in your head started whispering all at once, louder and louder, overlapping until they drowned out everything else.

You’re really going to let that redheaded nothing replace you?

You’re just going to let her have him? After you bled for him? After you chose him?

You’re the one who taught him how to need someone… and now he’s using it on her.

After everything you’ve done for him? After you held him together when no one else could?

The voices overlapped, faster and meaner, until they were screaming inside your skull. Your hands shook as you gripped the phone tighter, nails digging into the case.

Then, all at once, everything went quiet.

The noise in your head died down to a single, cold whisper that cut through the chaos like a blade.

Kill her.

You blinked slowly, staring at the wall across from you.

—

Doctor Voss leaned back in her chair, “Hang on... have you ever thought about what might be good for him might not be good for you?”

You stared at her, the words landing like a bad joke. She really didn't get it.

“No,” you said slowly, forcing your voice even, “I don't think you understood. Let me repeat myself agai—”

Voss lifted a hand, gentle but firm. “I do understand. You're telling me your boyfriend is stalking his ex-coworker. How exactly do you know that?”

A sharp little laugh escaped you before you could stop it. You crossed your arms, nails digging into your own sleeves. “The way he acts around me. The micro-shifts. I notice everything.”

Voss's eyes narrowed, kind but too perceptive. “You're only telling me half the truth.”

The smirk on your face felt brittle. “Fine. I followed him—or stalked him, whatever you want to call it. He's my boyfriend. I have the right to know what the hell is taking up all his attention.”

“Jealousy is poison to a relationship,” Voss said carefully. “You've told me you know his past. You know him better than most—”

“I want him to stop.” Your jaw tightened so hard you felt the muscle twitch under your eye. Your gaze dropped to the sad little succulent on her coffee table, pathetic and fake in its pot. Safe to look at. Safer than looking at her.

“You're angry,” Voss said softly. “And you've been bottling it up for a while now, haven't you? On top of your work stressors, going on operations.”

You lifted your eyes and pinned her with the same flat, deadly stare you used to give targets back in your Smashers days. The serum hummed under your veins, sharpening every micro-twitch in her face: the slight flare of her nostrils, the way her fingers tightened around her pen. She was scared of you. 

You looked away.

Having sat there pretending to be stable was necessary. Otherwise you’d show Dex the version of you that you’d kept chained down so perfectly: The one that was tired of waiting for him to come back to his senses. You’d show him exactly how lethal you could be. But you weren’t ready for that reveal yet.

Voss exhaled slowly, choosing her words like she was walking through broken glass. “There are other men out there, you know. Men who wouldn’t need this much… managing.”

The sentence hung in the air.

In your head you heard your own voice laughing.

Other men?

You didn’t want other men.

You wanted him.

You smiled at Voss, small and polite, the kind of smile that hid teeth, “Yeah,” you said softly. “I know there are other men.”

Doctor Voss leaned forward a little, her expression shifting from gentle concern to more serious. She set her notepad aside like she didn’t need the buffer anymore.

“Is it okay if I speak to you as if you’re my friend?,” she said carefully, and waited for you to nod, “I have to be honest here. The stalking and the way you’re monitoring his every move—it’s not healthy for either of you, and it’s clearly messing with your head. You’re spiraling. You’re losing sleep. You’re starting to sound like you’re trying to control him instead of being with him.”

She paused, letting the words settle.

“You deserve someone who doesn’t turn you into this version of yourself—someone who doesn’t make you feel like you have to stalk or bug or fix him just to feel secure. Maybe it’s time to consider breaking up with Dex. Give yourself some space. Some peace.”

What if this version is your true self?

You let out a soft, almost amused breath, tilting your head like you were actually considering it.

“I’ll think about it,” you said sweetly, the lie sliding off your tongue like honey.

Voss nodded, but the worry in her eyes didn’t fade, “I hope you do. Because right now… this isn’t love. This dynamic… it’s consuming you. And from what you’ve told me, it’s not sustainable.”

You glanced at the clock on the wall, the hands moving with indifferent precision. “I have somewhere to be,” you said, rising smoothly from the chair. “I’ll book another session… maybe next week?”

You didn’t wait for her reply. You stood and left the office without looking back.

You never made that other session.

—

You waited against a parked car and when you saw her turn the corner from her jog, you took the steps up making sure you looked harried and worried, phone in your hand like you’d been trying to call someone.

When she slowed and took the steps up towards you, you locked eyes with her.

“Excuse me, do you live here?” you asked politely. “I’m so sorry to bother you—I’m Mrs. Delgado’s granddaughter on the fourth floor? She’s not answering the buzzer or her phone and I’m getting really worried. Could you let me in? I just need to check on her.”

You’d done your homework. You knew exactly who lived on her floor and which apartment you could claim.

Julie’s face softened immediately, possibly remembering the old woman mentioning having a grandchildren in passing conversation. 

“Of course, honey. Come on up.”

She let you in. You rode the elevator together, making small talk about how busy life gets and how important it is to check on family. When you reached her floor, Julie even gave you a gentle smile and said, “You should visit your Nana more often. She misses you a lot.”

You smiled back, sweet as sugar. “Yeah. I will.”

Julie turned toward her door… and paused. It was already cracked open. She frowned. 

“That’s weird. Did the landlord let someone in?” She pushed the door wider and stepped inside. “Hello?”

You were right behind her, hand already sliding toward the gun tucked at your waist, timing perfect, heart racing with cold purpose. But before you could even cross the threshold, Julie dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

A single muffled shot and her body crumpled to the floor.

You spun fast, pressing your back flat against the wall outside the door, gun half-drawn, breath caught in your throat.

Someone had beaten you to it.

—

You had sat in your car back at your apartment, hands on the steering wheel. Eyes fixed on nothing through the windshield.

Then it hit so suddenly.

A hearty laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep within your chest. Your shoulders started shaking. The laugh grew louder and wild, until you were doubled over the steering wheel, laughing so hard tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

You laughed for a full minute straight, head tipped back against the seat, the sound partly relieved that you didn’t have to kill an innocent person.

She was gone.

Just like that.

The relief was so intense it made you feel almost giddy. You could’ve kissed a stranger right then. You could’ve tap danced in the middle of the fucking street.

You didn’t have to do it. You didn’t have to cross that line. Someone else had pulled the trigger and handed you the cleanest gift you could’ve asked for.

The laugh finally tapered off into shaky breaths. You wiped the tears from your eyes with the heel of your hand, still grinning like a maniac in the dark car.

“Oh fuck,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

Your phone lit up on the passenger seat, vibrating against the leather.

Work.

You stared at the screen for half a second, then answered, still riding the high.

“Sergeant.”

The voice on the other end was clipped and urgent. “Report to base within twelve hours for a Classified extraction op. Coordinates and briefing packets are already on your secure line. Wheels up at oh-four-hundred tomorrow.”

You closed your eyes, the manic smile slowly fading from your lips as reality settled back in.

“What? You can't send me to another—No.” you said, the word falling heavy and final.

There was a brief, stunned pause on the line.

“This is non-negotiable,” the officer replied, tone sharpening. “You’ve been specifically requested for this one.”

You let out a slow breath, fingers tightening around the phone until the plastic creaked.

“No,” you repeated, quieter this time but no less resolute. “I can’t. You’re going to have to find someone else.”

—

You turned the key in the lock and stepped into your apartment, the hallway light spilling across the floor behind you. The lights were already on inside. You knew who it was before you even saw him.

Dex was sitting on your couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight like he was trying not to grip something and break it. The second you closed the door, his head snapped up. His face was dark, his jaw was locked, his eyes shadowed. He’d clearly been waiting for hours.

A certain someone probably didn’t answer his text.

You set your bag down by the door and tilted your head, keeping your voice soft on him. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

Dex just stared at you, the tension rolling off him. “You’ve been ignoring my texts and my calls.”

You blinked, as if the words actually surprised you, “I was busy…” then let out a small, tired sigh as you shrugged off your jacket.

“Are you?”

“I thought you needed space,” you shrugged, hanging the jacket on the hook with careful movements. “You’ve been so distant with me lately.”

Dex’s jaw flexed. He pushed up from the couch, taking a step toward you, eyes searching your face like he was trying to find the lie.

“I’ve been distant?” he repeated, the frustration bleeding through. “You disappear for days, you don’t answer me, leaving me alone—and I’m the one who’s distant?”

You met his gaze steadily, keeping your expression open and concerned, even as your pulse hammered in your ears.

“I’m sorry,” you said, voice still soft. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. I just… thought you needed some time.”

You stepped closer, close enough to smell his cologne, close enough to see the panic flickering behind the anger in his eyes.

You slid your arms around his waist, slow and easy until your hands settled against his lower back, fingers splaying gently over the fabric of his shirt as you pressed yourself against him.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, tilting your head up to look at him. Your voice was all concern, “You look like you haven’t slept.”

Dex’s body went rigid under your touch. For a second he let you hold him, then his hands closed around your wrists and he gently but firmly took your arms off him, stepping back half a pace.

You took a silent inhale through your nose, chaining down the sudden spike of rage that flared hot behind your ribs. Your smile didn’t even flicker.

“I’m really stressed,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “...about everything.”

You nodded slowly, keeping your voice gentle and understanding.

“I can see that,” you said, tilting your head like you were really seeing him. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

Dex looked you in the eyes then, searching, like he was turning the question over in his head, weighing every possible answer. You could see the thoughts flickering behind them: the stress, the paranoia, the chaos he was trying so hard to keep locked down. His gaze dropped to your mouth for half a second before snapping back up.

“Do you want to take it out on me?” you’d asked.

You wanted him to say yes. You wanted him to use you, to lose every bit of that rigid control on you and only you.

And he didn’t disappoint. (click here for the detailed smut)

× × × ×

Present

You dragged the densely packed baseball bat lazily behind you as you walked down the long hallway, the heavy metal scraping softly against the polished hardwood with every step. The sound was almost soothing while you hummed ‘Agora Hills’ under your breath.

You passed a side table and casually tipped over an ugly crystal vase with the tip of the bat. It shattered beautifully on the floor, pieces scattering like diamonds. 

You didn’t even pause and just stepped over it.

You strutted into the massive open living room like you owned the place, plopped down on the expensive cushion sectional couch, and swung your boots up onto the coffee table with a thud. The bat rested across your lap, heavy and comforting. You leaned back, arms spread along the back of the couch, and let out a content little sigh before removing your earbuds.

“It must be nice…”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Tammy Hattley appeared in the wide archway, gun raised in a steady two-handed grip, wearing silk pajamas and a look of pure shock.

“Who’s there?” she demanded.

You glanced over, lifted your hand, and wiggled your fingers with a lazy smile.

“Hello, Tammy,” you said sweetly, imitating Dex’s tone. “Sorry for the unexpected visit. You can put the gun down.”

Tammy’s eyes narrowed, but she slowly lowered the weapon, though she kept it in her hand, “What are you doing here? This is a home invasion Sergeant!”

You stood up slowly, stretching like a cat waking from a nap, the bat dangling casually from your right hand. Tammy’s gun came back up immediately.

You turned toward her fully, still smiling that maniacal little smile.

“Just wanted to see how your life was going,” you said conversationally, gesturing around at the opulent room. “Glad you’re doing well. Big house. Nice pajamas. Aren’t you going to ask me how I’m doing? It’s kind of rude.”

Tammy’s jaw tightened.

“Get off my property,” she said coldly. “Now.”

“I will, don’t worry,” you reassured lightly. “Put the gun down, geeze.”

You raised both hands in a lazy surrender, the heavy bat still gripped casually in your right one like it weighed nothing.

“You had an intruder sent by Bullseye to kill you,” you continued, tone conversational. “I stopped them.”

You pointed with your left hand toward the shattered vase on the floor.

Tammy’s eyes flicked down to the broken glass for half a second which was a stupid, instinctive mistake.

The bat whistled through the air in a controlled arc and connected with the side of her leg. You held back a lot but the impact still made a solid, meaty thud that dropped her to one knee with a sharp gasp of pain. The gun clattered to the floor.

You kicked the gun away with the side of your boot, sending it skidding across the floor. Your eyes flicked down to Tammy’s leg and you made a genuine “eugh” face, nose wrinkling.

“Gross.”

You looked back at her, tilting your head.

“You’re Poindexter’s old boss, right?”

You reached out with the tip of the bat and gently pushed her forehead, forcing her to look up at you. Your smile widened, sweet and unhinged.

“You wasted a lot of my efforts on my good guy, you bitch.”

Tammy stared at you, pain and fury twisting her features. “Why are you doing this?” she hissed through gritted teeth.

You blinked, tilting your head like the question genuinely surprised you. “Oh, uh—I guess…we’re just riding on our enemies now—mind if I play a song? I love listening to music while I work. Also a big fan of Deadpool.”

You pulled out your phone, scrolling casually while she watched you like you’d lost your mind. The first notes of Bad Romance started playing. You winced.

“Oops. Wrong song.”

You skipped it to Careless Whisper you bobbed your head to the rhythm, smiling wider as the sax kicked in.

“I’ll give you a heads up,” you said cheerfully, twirling the bat a few times. “Run away or hide from us. You have until the end of the song.”

Tammy’s eyes widened in pure panic. She scrambled backward on her hands and good knee, dragging her injured leg, gasping through the pain as she tried to crawl away from you. The silk pajamas slipped against the polished floor, making her movements clumsy and desperate.

You just leaned back against the back of the couch, bat resting across your lap, singing along like you were watching a mildly entertaining show.

“Oh you’re never gonna dance again Tammy, you got guilty feet.”

Tammy made it halfway across the living room, breathing hard, eyes darting toward the hallway like she might actually have a chance.

Then she froze.

Dex stepped out from the shadowed archway behind her, twirling a small dagger in his hands. The blade caught the low light, flashing as he played with it like it was a toy.

Tammy’s head snapped up. She saw him and let out a choked sound, trying to crawl faster past him toward the stairs.

Dex didn’t move to stop her.

He just let her drag herself right by his boots, eyes flicking down to watch her struggle for a second before he looked back at you with a small, amused smirk.

“She’s not joking,” he said almost bored, still flipping the dagger in lazy circles. “You should probably crawl faster.”

You watched her disappear to hide somewhere, the saxophone wailing through your phone speakers. A dreamy little hum left your lips as you reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a small notepad and a pen. Still swaying gently side to side like a maniac to the rhythm of the song, you flipped it open to a page filled with several names written in neat, careful handwriting.

With a slow, satisfied smile you drew a thick, deliberate line straight through the name.

Tammy Hattley.

You tilted your head, admiring your handiwork as you kept swaying, humming softly along with the music.

Dex watched you for a long moment, shaking his head with a smirk playing on his lips. He twirled the dagger once more before sliding it into his belt, eyes never leaving you.

“Out of every goddamn song in the world you could’ve picked while we’re in the middle of this, you go with that?” 

“Why? You feeling old hearing a song from your era?” you clapped back, voice sweet and mocking as you glanced at him over the pad.

Dex let out a scoff at how quick you retorted.

“My era?” he repeated lazily. “I was born the year that song was released, smartass.”

“Hmm… hence why it’s a song from your…?” You waited, eyes sparkling with mischief, clearly baiting him to finish the sentence.

Dex just stared at you with a completely unimpressed look, one eyebrow raised, saying nothing.

You grinned wider.

“…era!! Wow,” you finished for him dramatically, dragging out the word with fake surprise.

Dex’s unimpressed stare didn’t waver for a second. He let out another short, dry scoff and crossed his arms and tilted his head, eyes narrowing at you like you’d personally offended him.

“Radiohead is more my era or Nirvana or Savage Garden. That’s the shit that actually hit when I was old enough to remember it… ”

A soft laugh bubbled out of you, bright and genuine. You slipped the notepad back into your jacket and crossed the room to him. You stopped right in front of him, looking up at his face with that same playful glint in your eyes.

“You’re cute when you get defensive about your music,” you murmured, voice warm with teasing affection. “I’m just messing with you.”

You rose onto your tiptoes, one hand resting lightly on his chest, and pressed a quick, soft peck to his lips.

“I’m going to go find Tammy,” you whispered against his mouth. You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, a wicked little smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Feel free to join the child’s game if you want, but it’s literally no fun with your insane aim.”

Then you turned away, humming again as you headed down the hallway after her, bat still swinging with the tricks Dex taught you. 

“Hey Tammy!” you called out cheerfully, voice echoing through the house. “Your ass better be hiding!”

tags: @notsochillnerd @tallaennatargaryen @spectralexiletrace @yyiikes @n1n1c

@vesseltodd8z @avengersinitiative2012 @mewmew222 @starlitflora @sgreer123

@weclassygirl @misplacedorphan @lazyreadergirl @avidreader73 @lostfallenangelsblog

@diegoshako @veralovesanimeplusmanga @snowwythegloww @that1weirdweebgirl @madeup-of-moonlight

@tvdumarvelhpsimp @iraaiitz @canupourme14theroad @vvitchesh3x @rayvensblog @im-not-very-good-at-nothing

The meeting room was already half-full when you walked in. Valentina sat at the head of the table like she owned it, eyes scanning the room like she was picking out her next pawn (probably you). Fisk and her having unclear relations only made her more dangerous because she played the long game, always three steps ahead.

You took your seat near the end, trying not to yawn. You haven't slept in more than forty hours now. The serum kept you functional, but it didn’t stop the heavy drag behind your eyes or the way your body begged to slump.

Valentina started talking (something about new threats) and you forced yourself to look attentive, nodding at the right moments while your mind kept drifting back to Dex.

The agent next to you gave you a weird look and leaned in slightly, voice hushed. “What happened to your head?”

Your hand flew up instinctively, fingers brushing the dried cut along your temple. Shit. You’d completely forgotten about it in the chaos of getting here. You forced a sheepish little laugh, quiet enough not to draw Valentina’s attention, and leaned closer to him.

“Slipped in the shower,” you whispered, rolling your eyes like it was the most embarrassing thing to admit. “Tripped over my own damn foot like an idiot. You know how it is when you’re half-asleep.”

The agent chuckled softly and nodded, buying it without question. “Been there. Looks nasty though. You good?”

“Yeah, all good,” you murmured, giving him a small smile before turning your attention back to the front of the room like nothing was wrong. 

Valentina’s gaze landed on you.

“My favorite Reject,” she said smoothly, smile widening. “The CIA would love to have someone with your… particular skill set on board. Think about it.”

Every eye in the room suddenly shifted to you. A few barely-hidden sneers from people who still remembered your history. You felt the collective judgment like a physical thing crawling over your skin.

“No,” you said evenly. “I’m good….respectfully.”

A few people shifted uncomfortably. Valentina’s smile didn’t falter and widened, you know she wasn’t going to give up until she had her way.

Valentina let out a soft, amused hum, like she’d expected nothing less.

“Pity,” she murmured. “But the offer stands. Always.”

You gave her a small, polite nod and turned your attention back to the briefing like the entire exchange hadn’t happened. You had bigger problems to handle, like the unhinged man currently waiting for you at home.

—

When the meeting finally dragged to a close, you stood up a little too fast, you didn’t want Valentina catching up and pulling you aside again. You were halfway out the door when a hand landed gently on your arm.

“Got a minute?” Deputy Director Mason asked quietly.

You forced a polite smile even as your stomach twisted. “Of course, sir.”

He pulled you aside into the quieter hallway, away from the dispersing agents. His expression was cautious, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that made your chest tighten.

“Those two AVTF agents we sent for your welfare check,” he said quietly. “Turns out they did report in before they went dark. Their last logged location was at your address.”

Your pulse spiked. 

“How—” You caught yourself mid-word, blinking like you were genuinely confused. Then you tilted your head, eyes widening just enough to look innocent and concerned. “Wait… that’s a good thing, right? If they reported in…”

Mason studied you, eyes narrowing just slightly. Then he leaned in closer, voice dropping to an interrogative tone, “What time did you get home that night?”

Inside, something cold and venomous uncoiled in your chest. You tilted your head slowly, letting just the right amount of hurt flicker across your face.

“Are you interrogating me, sir?” you asked softly, voice laced with disbelief. “You don’t trust me?”

You let the silence stretch when he couldn’t answer, eyes wide and wounded, the perfect picture of a loyal soldier who’d just been slapped in the face by someone she respected.

Mason sighed heavily and rubbed his stubbled jaw, glancing around the empty hallway like he didn’t want anyone to overhear. His blue eyes softened just a fraction when they landed back on you.

“You need to be straight with me here. Given your history with Poindexter… the agency can’t afford to have someone on the inside protecting wanted criminals. If there’s anything you’re not telling me about, now’s the time. Because if I find out later that you’re covering for him—”

“Wow,” you whispered, sounding genuinely hurt. You took a small step back, wrapping your arms around yourself like you were trying to hold yourself together.

“I thought you knew me better than that,” you continued, voice trembling just enough. “I thought… after all the times I’ve had your back, after everything we’ve been through… you’d at least give me the benefit of the doubt. But I guess not.”

You looked away, biting your lip like you were fighting back tears, then met his eyes again.

“If you really think I’m covering for Poindexter, then go ahead and investigate me. Suspend me. Do whatever you have to do.”

Mason’s jaw tightened. The softness in his eyes deepened, guilt flickering across his face. He opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him the chance to respond.

You just gave him one last wounded look and turned away, shoulders slumped like a woman who’d just had her loyalty thrown back in her face.

Let him stew in that. You smirked.

You pushed through the doors and stepped out into the bright 6 a.m. sun, squinting as it hit your tired eyes. The city was already awake, cars honking, people rushing by with their coffees. Your motorcycle waited on the other side of the street like a beautiful black promise of getting the hell out of here.

You were halfway down the steps when you heard Matt’s voice call out.

“Hey! Wait up!”

You picked up your pace down the stairs muttering, “Oh hell no, man.”

“Hey—wait, just a second—”

You kept walking, boots hitting the pavement with purpose, pretending you suddenly had the hearing of a normal person. 

Matt fell into step beside you like a stubborn mosquito that refused to be swatted, “We need to talk.”

“No.”

“Okay…can we talk, please?”

You stopped dead at the curb, turning to stare at him incredulously as the pedestrian light blinked red.

“...What the fuck?” you blurted, actually laughing in exhausted disbelief. “‘Please’? You really thought that was gonna work?”

Matt had the audacity to look mildly hopeful.

The light turned green.

You started crossing the street again. “Still no.”

Matt sighed like you were the difficult one, “It’s important.” 

You reached your motorcycle, stopped, and started patting your pockets for your keys, muttering curses under your breath when you couldn’t find them immediately.

“Matt, I haven’t slept in probably two days now…” you said, still rummaging, “I love that you ‘care’, truly, but right now the only thing I want to do is shoot myself in the face so I can finally get some sleep. If you don’t get out of my way in the next three seconds, I’m going to cry on you. And then maybe stab you with my keys. In that order.”

Matt opened his mouth, looking grim. “Fisk is looking for his shooter—”

You snorted so hard it scratched at the throat, then leaned in close to him like you were sharing the world’s worst secret.

“That was me…” you whispered, deadpan.

Matt didn’t even blink.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, sounding both exhausted and exasperated. “That’s why I want to talk to you!”

You stared at him for a beat, then let out a tired, slightly manic laugh as you finally found your keys.

“Ugh. Fine.” you groaned, “Where do you want to talk?

Matt gave you a small, relieved smile, “There’s a diner right there. My treat.”

—

You slid into the booth across from Matt, yawning so wide your jaw cracked. He sat there in his glasses, looking perfectly put-together like he hadn’t spent the night dealing with you.

You slumped back against the vinyl seat and waved a tired hand at him, “Start talking, Matt. Clock’s ticking.”

Matt’s blind eyes stayed fixed forward, but you could feel him reading every shift in your breathing, every tiny movement. He waited until the waitress dropped off two coffees and left before speaking.

“You’re on Fisk’s list,” he said quietly. “Not just as a random shooter. He found out that you’re Poindexter’s girlfriend—”

“Ex-girlfriend.” You snorted into your coffee, the sound tired and bitter. 

“You’re not together?” Matt’s head tilted slightly, surprise flickering across his face. 

You took a long sip, then shrugged, “It’s… complicated.”

Matt exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face like he was suddenly very tired too, “Complicated is still going to get you killed. If he thinks you’re connected to him, he’ll come after you to hurt him. An eye for an eye. For Vanessa.”

You stared into your coffee for a second, the steam curling up like smoke signals you didn’t want to read.

“Yeah, well,” you muttered flippantly, “join the club. Add Fisk to the list.” You paused, then grinned sleepily, trying to redirect. “How’s his hand, by the way? Please tell me I blew up his middle finger.”

You softly suppress a laugh bubbling up.

“I don’t know—” Matt jerked his head back, eyebrows shooting up behind his glasses. “...Why?”

You let out a loud, delirious cackle—the kind of unhinged laugh that only comes after two days without sleep. Your head fell back and you slapped the table once, hard enough that the silverware jumped.

“...What’s so funny?”

“Because then—because then he can’t flip anyone off when he’s mad!” you wheezed, still laughing. “Imagine it—big bad Wilson Fisk tryna tell someone to go fuck themselves and there’s just… nothing there. Just a sad little stump. He’d look so stupid.”

You cackled again, snorting accidentally, shoulders shaking, the exhaustion making everything ten times funnier than it was. 

“If he does math with his fingers he’s going to have a hard time—”

Matt just sat there, lips twitching like he was fighting a smile and losing. He looked away covering his mouth, a quiet laughter escaping despite his obvious effort not to encourage you.

“You really are sleep-deprived,” he said, almost fondly, “How are you even gonna drive that bike home?”

“I’ll be fine…” your laugh faded, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “This is nothing.”

Matt shook his head as you calmed down, the corner of his mouth stayed curving up.

“Look, I want you to know, I’ve got your back.” he said, leaning forward a little, voice dropping into that familiar, protective register. “If you need help, you call me. Day or night. In times like this...we need to stick together.”

You gave him a tired little nod, appreciating it even through the fog of exhaustion. He paused, then sighed like he’d been holding it in for the last ten minutes.

“But Poindexter…” Matt continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “Come on…you can do better than him—you know he’s not going to change. He is wired wrong on a level most people can’t even comprehend. He needs someone stable—and you…”

He let the words hang there like he hated saying them. You rolled your eyes lightly and muttered ‘oh here we go.’

“You’re not that person. You know he cannot reciprocate love normally, it’s all about survival no matter how much you love him—I lost Foggy, Father Lantom and Ray because of him—I don’t want you added on that list.”

“No…he was manipulated, there’s a difference.” you gritted out to prove your point.

You stared at him, the exhaustion making everything feel sharper and blurrier at the same time. For a second you wanted to snap at him more, to tell him he didn’t know shit about you or Dex or what you could handle.

But the worst part was… some small, tired voice in the back of your head was whispering for you to listen.

You looked down at your coffee, jaw tight.

“But, message received,” you said quietly, voice flat.

Matt reached across the table in an attempt to comfort, but you pulled your hand back before he could touch it.

“I should go,” you muttered, standing up. “Thanks for the coffee.”

You didn’t wait for him to reply. You just grabbed your jacket and headed for the door, the weight of his words sitting heavy in your chest like a boulder.

× × × × 

You didn’t even make it to the bed when you arrived.

You barely made it past the threshold.

The door clicked shut behind you and the next second you just… collapsed. Face-down onto the couch with a heavy groan, jacket still half-on, boots still on, one arm dangling off the edge. The cushions smelled faintly like Dex and your own shampoo. 

It should’ve felt gross without freshening up. Instead it felt like sinking into the only safe place left in the world. For a few minutes you just lay there, cheek smashed into the cushion, eyes closed, letting the silence of the apartment settle over you. The cut on your temple throbbed dully. 

You were out cold in seconds.

Dex crossed the room slowly and crouched down in front of the couch like he had before—right in your line of sight so you couldn’t ignore him.

“Rough night Soldier?”

You didn’t even lift your head. Just made a tired little noise of acknowledgment, too drained to form actual words.

Dex reached out and brushed a strand of hair off your face. His thumb lingered on your cheek for a second, then slid up to trace the dried blood along your temple.

“You should’ve cleaned this… it might get infected,” he murmured.

You hummed lazily. 

Dex stayed and you felt him rubbing your back stiffly—the way he did when he was trying to be empathetic. Your breathing evened out as you slipped deeper under, body finally giving in on the couch with Dex’s hand still resting protectively on your back.

At some point, dimly, you became aware of hands at your jacket, the muted clink of your boots hitting the floor. Dex was saying something under his breath, low and irritated but the words blurred together before you could make them out.

—

You woke up after two hours. That was all it took and the serum’s done its job for you to feel refreshed and clearer-headed.

You blinked at the ceiling, realizing you were no longer on the couch. You were in your bed, tucked under the covers. Your work clothes were gone, replaced with one of your soft, oversized shirts. The faint taste of toothpaste lingered in your mouth.

Someone had moved you, cleaned you up and changed you.

You sat up, wiping a small streak of drool from the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, and glanced at the clock. 9:30 a.m.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood, bare feet silent on the hardwood and padded through the apartment looking for him. 

Living room: empty, the hole in the drywall already patched and sanded smooth like it had never existed. Kitchen: spotless. Bathroom: dark.

No sign of him.

You were back in the bedroom when his voice drifted in from its balcony.

“Looking for me?” he called out lightly.

You turned.

Dex was leaning against the railing, shirtless in the morning light, fresh bandage still in place. A mug of coffee steamed in his hand. He took a slow sip, eyes dragging over you like he was trying to figure out which version of you had woken up—the exhausted one, the angry one, or the one that still wanted to pin him to a wall.

You crossed the room in quick strides, grabbed his wrist, and yanked him inside.

“Are you crazy?” you hissed, sliding the balcony door shut behind him with a sharp snap. You yanked the curtains closed too, plunging the room back into soft morning dimness. “Anyone could see you out there. The whole city is looking for you, and you’re just… just sunbathing like a cat?”

Dex let you manhandle him, but the second the curtains were drawn his eyes narrowed and he noticed the way your eyes darted toward the windows like you expected someone to be watching.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, voice deceptively calm as he set his coffee down.

You sighed, letting the curtain slip from your fingers. You turned to face him fully, arms crossing tight over your chest.

“Yes,” you addmited. “There is a problem.”

Dex took one step closer, then another, crowding you just enough that you had to look up at him.

“Tell me.” he murmured, reaching out to brush his knuckles along your arm. You wet your bottom lip, the nervous habit betraying you.

“The Deputy Director is onto me.” you said quietly. “Apparently those agents you killed reported their last location.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.

“You want me to deal with him?” His voice was soft. His hand slid from your arm to your waist, pulling you in until your bodies were flush. “I can make it look like an accident. Heart attack in his sleep. Car crash on the way home. Your choice, Ace.”

You shook your head, pressing a hand to his chest to keep some distance even as he held you close.

“No,” you said firmly. “I need to know if he’s connected to Fisk first… before deciding anything, he's a good mentor okay?”

Dex’s brow furrowed slightly, head tilting like you’d just spoken in another language. Then he let out a short, disbelieving huff of laughter.

“What’s the difference?” he asked, eyes narrowing with genuine confusion. “Whether he’s on Fisk’s payroll or not doesn’t change the fact that he’s a threat to your…image now.”

His grip on your waist tightened, possessive and warm, thumb still tracing those lazy circles like he was trying to soothe you into seeing reason.

“If he’s sniffing around you, he needs to go. Simple as that.”

You reached up and cupped his face with both hands, forcing him to keep looking at you. 

“There are other ways to solve a problem,” you murmured, looking up at him through your lashes. “If you want to prove yourself to me, you’re not going to kill him yet, okay?”

You slid your hand up his chest, resting it right over his heart, feeling it beat hard and fast under your palm.

“Only if he’s working with Fisk then do it, if not?” You gave him a small, sweet smile. “Then you’re not going to touch him. Can you do that? For me?”

Dex stared at you, visibly warring with the part of him that wanted to rip Mason’s throat out right then and there. Finally he exhaled through his nose and gave one sharp nod.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I can do that.”

You smiled wide, looping your arms over his broad shoulders and pulling yourself flush against him. Your fingers traced lazy patterns at the nape of his neck, nails lightly scraping his skin, feeling the shiver that ran through him as you tilted your head and looked up through your lashes.

“Really?” you purred, dropping into that low, seductive register. “Can you? Because I’m having some trust issues here, Benjamin…”

You pressed your body closer, letting your clothed breasts brush against his chest as you rose onto your toes, lips hovering just below his.

“You said you’ll listen… you say you’ll be good for me…” Your fingers tightened slightly in his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch. “But you didn’t. So forgive me if I need a little… reassurance.”

“I will…”

Dex leaned in instantly, chasing your lips like a man starved, eyes half-lidded and hazy. You leaned back at the last second, keeping that teasing inch of space between you.

“Are you sure?” you asked, sugary sweet and dripping with mock innocence.

“Yeah…” he murmured, still trying to close the distance. Looking drunk on you already.

Your nose scrunched up in that adorable, dangerous way as your smile turned sharper.

“Should we do a little exercise on that?” you whispered, still hovering so close he could almost taste you. 

Dex let out a breathless chuckle, that half-grin tugging at his mouth like he was already enjoying whatever game you were playing.

“What exerci—”

Before he could finish, you shoved him hard in the chest with both hands.

Dex fell back onto the bed with a surprised grunt, eyes flashing with dark delight. He propped himself up on his elbows and started scooting up the mattress, backing toward the headboard as you stalked after him on all fours.

You straddled him, knees planted on either side of his hips, hovering just above him without giving him the satisfaction of your weight. You reached over to the nightstand, grabbed the handcuffs from the drawer, and dangled them in front of his face, letting the metal catch the light.

“Oh, hell no,” he growled, the playful tone vanishing. He bucked hard, using his core to throw you off, and used the momentum to flip you both. Years of tactical training made him fast and precise even while injured.

You landed on your back with a surprised squeal. Suddenly Dex was on top, pinning your wrists above your head with one strong hand.

You laughed flirtatiously, letting him think he had the upper hand for a moment. You were stronger, but right now you were enjoying the heat of the struggle, the way his muscles flexed and strained against yours.

You grinned up at him, eyes sparkling with challenge. Dex smirked, thinking he had you—until you twisted your wrists free with effortless strength, hooked a leg around his waist, and flipped him right back over.

Now you were on top again, straddling his chest. Dex growled and bucked hard, trying to throw you off. You rode the movement, grinning down at him as you caught his wrists and slammed them above his head.

“Fuck—” he snarled while the staples pulled, half-laughing and frustrated, still writhing underneath you. “Get off me—”

You leaned down and whispered against his mouth, “Make me.”

He surged up again, using every bit of skill and leverage he had, nearly flipping you before you pinned him harder, thighs squeezing his torso like a vice. The wrestle turned messy and heated; hands grabbing, bodies sliding, breath mingling in sharp pants.

You were holding back. A lot. Especially now that you’d recharged and Dex knew it. That only made him fight dirtier, more desperate, more turned on.

“Stay down,” you hissed. Finally you got both his wrists pinned above his head again, leaning your full weight on him, panting softly as you looked down at his flushed, furious, beautiful face.

Dex bucked hard again. “You’re not cuffing me, you little shit—”

“Too late,” you whispered triumphantly, lips brushing his ear as you clicked one cuff around his wrist anyway.

Dex let out a frustrated groan that quickly turned into a deep, breathless laugh. He kept struggling just enough to make it fun while you secured the other wrist to the headboard.

“Fucking super soldier,” he muttered, chest heaving, looking up at you ferally. “You’re cheating.”

You hovered back, smiling down at your handiwork: him cuffed, flushed, and glaring at you with so much want it was almost funny.

“Cheating?” you echoed sweetly. “No. This is just me reminding you what it’s like when you test me.”

Dex’s eyes locked on the cuffs. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, before grinning. You shook your head with an incredulous little laugh.

“God, you’re so hot,” you murmured fondly. “Too bad you’ve been such a dirty dog… you leave me no choice but to treat you like one.”

He sucked in a harsh breath at your words, letting out a gravelly little laugh. A savage, thrilled smirk lit up his face.

Holding his stare, you dragged the baggy shirt up and off, tossing it aside. Nothing but those black panties left. Your breasts bounced free, nipples already pebbled tight from the cool air and the heat in his eyes.

His gaze devoured your bare chest, breath ragged, cock thickening hard against his sweatpants, the outline pulsing visibly. You still hovered right above him, giving him zero weight, letting him soak up the sight.

“Now tell me,” you said, dragging one finger slowly down his chest, “how exactly do you think you’re going to atone for giving me hell?” You stopped just shy of his waistband. “Choose your words carefully.”

His hips snapped up uselessly off the bed, searching for friction that wasn’t coming. His breath came out shaky as he stared up at you, gears visibly turning.

“In charge…” he rasped, giving the cuffs a deliberate little shake, the metal rattling against the headboard. “You want to be in charge.”

A slow, satisfied smile curved your lips. You nodded, still hovering above him, breasts on full display just out of his reach.

“That’s right,” you whispered, voice dripping with approval. “I can be in charge too. Just… like… this.”

You dropped down and rolled your hips once, teasingly grinding against his thigh, then lifted away again before he could enjoy it. Dex’s expression darkened instantly. His jaw clenched tight, eyes flashing with irritation and that familiar need for dominance.

“Aw, baby,” you cooed, dragging your nails lightly down his chest again. “Look at you getting all mad suddenly. Is this hard for you? Not being the one in charge?”

Dex’s nostrils flared. He let out a dark, dangerous chuckle that vibrated through his chest. He yanked hard at the cuffs, metal biting into his wrists as he stared up at you with looks that could cut.

“When these cuffs come off,” he growled viciously, “I’m going to wrap my hand around that pretty throat while I ruin every hole you’ve got and make you scream so loud the neighbors think I’m killing you slo—”

Slap.

Your palm connected with his cheek just enough to sting and shut him up. Dex’s head snapped to the side. For a second the room went dead silent except for his ragged breathing.

God, that felt good.

You’d wanted to do that for so long—ever since you found out he’d been looking at Julie like she could give him something you couldn’t. You flexed your fingers, admiring the faint red mark blooming on his cheek, and let out a soft, almost dreamy sigh.

“Mmm. I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” you admitted, pleased. “Feels even better than I imagined.”

Dex’s eyes flashed with anger again. His chest heaved as he slowly turned his head back to look at you smiling innocently.

“You’re failing this exercise real bad, Benjamin,” you murmured, patting his reddened cheek gently. “Talking like that? Threatening me while you’re cuffed to my bed?” You clicked your tongue, shaking your head. “Maybe I should just leave you here like this. Hard and unsatisfied again. Maybe you need more time to reflect.”

You started to lift off him, making a show of it.

Dex’s eyes flashed with panic, backpedalling immediately; the words tumbling out strained and growling through clenched teeth.

“Okay—okay! I get it!” he growled, still breathing hard. “I swear, I will not do anything stupid. Just—fuck—just don’t leave. I want you.”

You smiled and glided your palms from his abs up to his chest, feeling every tight muscle twitch under your touch.

“You want me?” you asked softly.

Dex looked completely riled up, eyes wild and glassy with frustration and lust.

“Every inch of my body wants to kill you right now,” he rasped, hips jerking up helplessly, “but I crave you more.”

Your nostrils flared. A slow, wicked smirk curved your lips.

To Dex, that smirk was everything.

You adjusted yourself, then sank down, settling your full weight on his painfully hard bulge. The thick length pressed right against your clothed pussy, and his eyes nearly rolled back at the sudden pressure and heat.

“Fine…” you purred, then gritted out firmly, “Then beg.”

“Fuck—” he groaned, head falling back against the pillow, the cuffs rattling loudly.

“You want this?” you asked, rolling your hips slowly on top of him.

His jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jump. Begging didn’t come naturally to him anymore. But right now, with you grinding on his cock and looking down at him like you owned every inch, the word wanted to claw its way out.

“Fuck—Yes!” he forced out, angry at how much he needed it. “Give it to me.”

“That’s not begging. Try. Again.” You grabbed the pillow from under his head and slammed it over his face. “You want this?” you reiterated, grinding down harder, rolling your hips with purpose.

“Yes—P…Please.” Dex forced through the fabric, voice muffled and strained. Even though he couldn’t breathe properly, his hips kept bucking up into you, chasing every roll of your body like a man possessed. You could feel him throbbing, leaking, the front of his sweatpants growing wetter with every grind as he drifted deeper into that beautiful, delirious madness.

You kept riding his hard-on like that until his muffled sounds turned ragged and his struggles against the cuffs grew sloppy.

Only then did you yank the pillow away.

Dex gasped sharply for air, chest expanding hard—only for you to immediately replace the pillow with your mouth. You slammed into a dirty, possessive kiss, swallowing his desperate moans while he attacked back like he was drowning and you were oxygen. His tongue slid hot and frantic against yours, greedy as hell.

You pulled back just enough to hover your lips over his, so close he wanted to inch closer.

“Are you going to be a good boy for me now, Benjamin?” you whispered, sweetly and cruelly.

“Yes,” he rasped, Adam’s apple bobbing hard as he swallowed. “I’ll be your good boy.”

You inched back slowly, dragging your hands down his chest as you went, feeling every hard ridge of muscle twitch and shiver. You leaned down and kissed a hot, open-mouthed trail along his collarbone, then lower, sucking a mark right over his heart before moving down his abs. Dex’s breath hitched with every press of your lips, cuffs rattling as he strained to touch you.

You settled on your knees between his spread thighs and hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers. With one sharp tug you ripped them down his thighs, freeing his cock.

It sprang up heavy and flushed, thick and veined, bouncing once against his stomach with a lewd slap before settling, leaking at the tip.

You sat back on your heels just admiring it. Admiring the way it throbbed under your gaze while you bit your lip; the vein running along the underside, the way it curved slightly. 

He chuckled deeply.

“You gonna ride it?” he rasped, hips twitching up like he couldn’t help himself. That cocky, teasing smirk tugged at his lips even while he was cuffed. “Or are you scared?”

“Scared?” you echoed sweetly, dragging one fingernail lightly up the underside of his dick,“...I’m just deciding how long I want to make you keep suffering.”

His smirk faltered as you kept teasing him with feather-light touches, watching his cock jump and leak.

You kinda loved seeing him so desperate for you. The great Bullseye, reduced to a panting, cuffed mess because of you.

You leaned up on your knees, pushing your tits out as your hand dipped between your thighs. You slipped your fingers under the black panties and started rubbing slow circles over your clit, letting out a soft, breathy hum.

“This is what you want so badly?” you asked, voice husky.

“Fuck yes, give it—I mean please,” Dex begged, eyes glued to your hand, practically salivating. His mouth was open, tongue darting out like he could taste you from there.

You spread your legs wider, giving him a perfect view as you rubbed yourself, letting soft little moan slip out while biting your bottom lip just to torture him more. 

Dex’s reaction was immediate—he growled, deep and frustrated, yanking hard at the cuffs until the headboard creaked.

“Grrr—fuck!” he snarled, muscles straining, cock twitching angrily in the air. “Let me touch you. Take these fucking things off right now. I need to—”

“Still barking orders,” you sang.

He caught himself, breathing hard through his nose, trying to calm down. His voice dropped into something more rough and pleading.

“I already said I’ll do what you ask of me,” he almost whimpered, eyes locked on your fingers as they circled your clit. “Please… I want to fuck you so badly. I’ll do anything. Whatever you want, fuck—I swear.”

You responded with a laugh and hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your panties. You peeled them down, sliding the soaked fabric down your thighs while keeping your legs spread for him. The way Dex’s eyes followed every movement. You could see the pure anguish in his face as your glistening pussy was finally revealed, right in front of his aching cock, close enough to touch but so far out of reach.

You sat back on your ass, legs still spread, letting him stare. Then you dragged two fingers through your slick folds, coating them thoroughly, before sinking your middle and ring finger deep into your tight heat with a solid moan.

Dex’s whole body jerked. An angry groan came from him as he watched you finger-fuck yourself, right there in front of him.

“Ugh—You sadistic little bitch,” he growled, wrecked by lust and rage. 

You pulled your fingers out with a wet sound, lifted them to your mouth, and sucked them clean, eyes locked on his the entire time. You moaned softly around your own fingers, tasting yourself while he watched, helpless.

Dex’s head fell back against the pillow with a loud groan, cuffs rattling violently.

“Jesus Christ—” he rasped, “I can’t—I need to be inside you. Please, baby…”

Dex looked like he was about to lose his mind.

You reached down and wrapped your hand around his throbbing shaft, giving it one slow, firm stroke from base to tip. Dex’s hips jerk like he’d been electrocuted, and gasped, “Oh my god—” ripping out of him as his eyes squeezed shut.

You kept stroking him lazily, thumb circling the leaking head on every upstroke, spreading his precum while you watched his face contort with pleasure and frustration.

“If you fuck up again,” you said in a military tone of voice, still pumping him with slow, torturous strokes, “I won’t just leave you like this. I’ll keep you cuffed here for days. I’ll edge you until you’re crying and begging and losing your fucking mind—then I’ll ride your face until I come, while you get nothing. And then I’ll walk away and let you stay hard and useless until I decide you’ve earned it. Are we clear?”

Dex’s breath hitched, another wrecked moan spilling from his lips as you twisted your wrist just right. “Yes—fuck, yes, I understand,” he gasped, hips chasing your hand desperately. “I won’t fuck up. I swear. I’ll be so good for you, baby. Please—”

“Good.”

You lifted your hips, hovering right over the swollen head. Dex’s eyes were locked between your legs, breath shallow, every muscle in his body strung tight.

Then you sank down.

The first inch of your tight, wet heat enveloped him and Dex’s head slammed back against the pillow and a moan tore out of him he’d never heard himself make before.

“Oh…” you moaned too, sinking deeper and deeper down his shaft, taking every thick inch until your ass met his hips. “You’re so… thick.”

Dex’s cock throbbed hard inside you, not just from how fucking perfect you felt, but from the words themselves. His hips jerked up on instinct, driving him even deeper.

“You can handle it,” he managed with a wicked, cocky grin, even while completely at your mercy.

Your eyes narrowed. You grabbed the pillow from under his head and slammed it over his face again.

Dex spluttered, sucking in what little air he could through the fabric, the thrill of oxygen deprivation mixing with the mind-melting heat of your cunt clenching around him was electric. 

You finally tore the pillow away. Dex gasped wildly for air, nostrils flaring as he sucked in oxygen, his eyes were wild, cheeks flushed.

“Don’t get cocky now,” you warned.

“How could I not,” he rasped, voice hoarse, “when this greedy fucking pussy is dripping and clenching like it missed me?”

Heat flooded your cheeks. He saw it immediately.

“Wait,” Dex said slowly, realizing something.

“What?”

“You missed me didn’t you?” he teased, voice wrecked but so fucking smug. He whimpered when you slid your slick folds over his sensitive tip again. “It’s okay to admit it. It’s only natural to get all flustered when you’re riding someone as handsome as me.”

Your eyes widened in shock, cheeks burning hotter. “Why you—”

You shoved the pillow back into his face, hard enough that he truly couldn’t breathe this time. Dex’s cock throbbed violently inside you, the lack of oxygen making him twitch and pulse like crazy and you took away the pillow again.

“Baby,” he groaned, breathless and grinning, “I’m not judging you—what else do I have to offer but my looks, my charm… and this dick that’s currently splitting you open so good?”

“You have more than that…”

You rolled your eyes, a fond, exasperated little huff escaping you even as you sank back down. You took him slowly at first, then faster, rolling your hips deeper and deeper with every thrust. The stretch was heavenly, almost too much, filling you perfectly.

“F-fuck, just like that,” Dex groaned beautifully as you started moving.

You rolled your hips in languid circles, one hand sliding between your thighs to rub tight and fast over your clit while the other squeezed and played with your tits, pinching your nipple hard. Soft, breathy moans spilled from your lips as pleasure built.

“Hmm… You like watching me touch myself, don’t you?” you taunted.

“Oh, fuck yes,” Dex bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. His wrists strained violently against the cuffs again. “God, that’s so fucking hot—let me touch you, please—”

“No, you can just enjoy the show while it lasts,” you chuckled breathlessly.

You began bouncing properly now, head falling back in bliss while your fingers flew over your clit. Dex’s eyes were glued to you, drinking in every bounce and the way your body swallowed his cock over and over. The room filled with the rattle of the cuffs mixed with the slick sounds of you fucking yourself on him and his desperate, little grunts.

He could feel you getting closer—your walls fluttering and clenching tighter around his thick shaft, squeezing him like a vice.

He tensed his hips hard beneath you, while jerking up to meet your rhythm. He wanted nothing more than to grab your hips with both hands, press you down firmer, and fuck you through it—pounding up into you deep and relentless while you fell apart on him. But the cuffs dug into his wrists, keeping his arms pinned and useless above his head. All he could do was strain and thrust up as best he could, growling in frustration and raw need.

Your orgasm crashed into you hard. Your thighs shook violently, muscles pulsing and squeezing around him as you came with a keening moan, grinding down deep and riding every wave. Your whole body quaked on top of him, fingers still rubbing your clit through the aftershocks.

Dex’s eyes rolled back, a wrecked groan ripping from his throat as his own release slammed into him. He came hard deep inside with thick ropes of cum shooting out in heavy spurts that his whole body jerked and trembled violently beneath you. He kept thrusting up through it, chasing every last squeeze of your fluttering walls like he was addicted.

Dex swallowed hard, chest still heaving. Then a breathless chuckle escaped him, dark and full of promise. He poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eyes gleaming wickedly even while cuffed and spent.

“I’ll have my revenge,” he muttered roughly and dripping with filthy intent. “Just you wait.”

You chuckled as you slowly lifted yourself off him, still trembling a little from the intensity of it. Dex hissed softly through his teeth at the sudden loss of warmth.

You leaned forward, brushing your fingers over his wrists before undoing the first cuff. Then the second. The moment the metal clicked free, his arms dropped with relief. You rubbed lightly over the red marks left behind, and a small smile tugged at your mouth.

“I’ll look forward to it,” you murmured.

Dex’s expression sharpened instantly at that.

“Oh you should.” he surged upright and caught you around the waist, pulling you straight into his lap with a suddenness that made you laugh softly in surprise. His mouth crashed against yours immediately; hot, needy and impatient.

There was nothing restrained about him now that he could touch you.

One hand slid up your sides, fingertips dragging over sensitive skin before spreading splayed across your back. The other cupped your breast possessively, squeezing firmly enough to pull a muffled sound from your throat. Dex swallowed it with another kiss, groaning deeply against your mouth while his hands kept roaming like he couldn’t decide where he wanted you most.

His fingers traced your spine, then your waist again, clutching you closer against him.

“You feel so soft,” he muttered between kisses, “Christ—”

You felt him shift underneath you, already trying to pull you tighter against his hips despite the healing wound in his side. His thumb brushed over your nipple while he kissed you deeper, breathing hard through his nose.

Immediately you pulled back enough to grab his wrist.

“Dex.”

He kissed along your jaw instead, stubborn and distracted, hand sliding back up your ribs. 

“Mm?”

You caught his face this time, making him actually look at you, his lips swollen from kissing.

“We can’t overexert you,” you said, softer now. “You got shot, remember?”

Dex exhaled hard through his nose, visibly annoyed by the reminder. Even now his thumbs kept stroking against your skin absentmindedly, like he physically couldn’t stop touching you.

“I’m fine.” he muttered, “It barely hurts now.”

“You are absolutely not fine.”

His eyes narrowed a little, but there was heat there more than irritation. He leaned his forehead against yours with a frustrated groan.

“…You’re really ruining my plans here,” he muttered again.

A laugh slipped out of you, “You’ll survive.”

He leaned in to steal one more slow kiss, “Yeah,” he murmured against your lips. “But I’m gonna complain about it.”

× × × × 

Dex is completely knocked out beside you lips parted, dead to the world after draining himself.

“Big talker,” you whisper with a soft laugh, “but look at you now.”

He lay on his back now, one arm flung out toward you, head turned slightly in your direction like even in sleep he was reaching for you.

Because you didn’t get your way that time—He flipped you onto your back ignoring your advice. 

“Fuck your authority right now,” he’d growled and had you on your back in seconds, that big cock slamming back inside before you could even refuse him again. He fucked you stupid; pissed and obsessed at the same time, growling shit like “—just to be clear this isn’t my revenge, i’m just not satisfied yet,” while he had you pinned and screaming into the pillow as he bit and sucked marks all over your breasts, your neck, your inner thighs, your stomach, even the soft skin right above your clit. 

He made you come thrice, shaking and squirting around him; he’d flipped you, folded you, fucked you from behind while yanking your hair, then flipped you right back and pounded you missionary so he could watch your face while he filled you up with load after load. 

By the end you were absolutely peppered in dark bite marks and possessive purple kiss marks from your collarbones all the way down to your thighs.

You’re pretty sure your neighbors know his name by now.

You lay beside him, propped on one elbow, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. Your fingers moved on their own, tracing the thin, faded scar that ran along his right cheek. The skin there was smooth under your fingertip, softer than you expected. His face was completely relaxed; no more tension in the jaw, no calculating sharpness in his brow. 

He just looked… peaceful.

He looked… normal.

For a moment it almost hurt how normal he looked. Like any man sleeping beside the woman he loved. Like someone who could be gentle. Like someone who could—

You know he’s not going to change, right?

Your throat tightened.

He needs someone stable. You’re not that person.

Your heart clenched so hard it felt like it was cracking open. You pulled your hand away from his face like you’d been burned. The absence of his warmth on your fingertips made the room feel colder.

No one else was coming. No team. No friends. No family waiting in the wings to pull you back from the edge. Matt might call, might check in, but you both knew it was a professional concern dressed up as friendship. 

Dex was your air even though that air is extremely polluted. 

You knew he wasn’t stable. You knew this was dangerous. You knew loving him meant walking a tightrope over a pit you might never climb out of. But you also knew what it felt like to be alone in a city full of people. And you weren’t ready to feel that again.

You stared at his sleeping face for a while, the quiet rise and fall of his breathing the only sound in the room.

When was the last time things felt normal with him?

The memory came uninvited. It was early on, back when he was still FBI, before Fisk. You’d been on the rooftop of the old field office after a long case, the city lights glittering below. Dex had found an old baseball in one of the storage rooms and decided, for reasons only he understood, that you needed to learn how to throw a proper curveball.

He’d stood behind you, chest to your back, one hand guiding your arm, the other on your hip. His voice had been low and patient in your ear.

“Relax your wrist. Like this. See? Not too much force. Just let it roll off your fingers when you throw.”

You’d thrown it “terribly”. 

He’d laughed, actually laughed, that rare sound that made your chest feel too full. Then he’d picked the ball up, thrown it himself with perfect form, and looked back at you with this almost shy little smile, like he was proud of himself for knowing something so ordinary.

He wasn’t Bullseye. He was just Benjamin. Teaching his girl how to throw a baseball on a random rooftop because he wanted to feel normal with her.

You’d had all of him then.

Then most.

Then some.

Now… none.

You were holding on to whatever was left with bloody fingers, telling yourself you could still fix him. That everyone could be redeemed if someone just loved them hard enough. That you could be the one who made the difference.

You didn’t know if you believed it. It was delusional but it was all you had left.

× × × ×

You pushed the cart down the produce aisle, eyes scanning the apples. Dex had insisted on coming. You’d argued for twenty minutes that he is a wanted man but he’d given you that look. The one that said if he stayed cooped up in your apartment any longer he was actually going to lose what little was left of his mind.

So here you were. Playing house in a grocery store.

You’d dressed him up like a downtown fuckboy trying too hard to be incognito: bomber leather jacket over a hoodie, baseball cap pulled low, sunglasses on even though it was now overcast outside. “Keep your head down,” you’d hissed before you left the car. He’d just smirked and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

But is he doing it? No.

You picked up a couple of apples, inspecting them, when you heard the rustle of plastic behind you. Dex had wandered off and returned, dropping an entire bunch of bananas into the cart with a satisfied little hum.

Then he disappeared again.

You sighed, already regretting every life choice that led you here, and moved on to the dairy section.

You reached to grab a carton of milk, when a loud crash echoed from a couple aisles over—followed by startled gasps and the sound of things scattering across the floor.

Your stomach dropped.

You abandoned the fridge and rushed toward the noise, heart hammering. When you rounded the corner, a small crowd had gathered around a display of knocked-over canned goods and scattered boxes. Employees were already hurrying over with brooms.

Before you could spiral, Dex popped up right behind you, casually popping a grape into his mouth.

“Tsk tsk,” he muttered around the fruit, looking at the mess with fake disapproval. “So clumsy.”

You stared at him sighing in relief. He stared back, the picture of innocence behind those stupid sunglasses, chewing his grapes like he hadn’t just caused a minor grocery store disaster.

“Why the hell did you do that?” you snapped under your breath, eyes darting around to make sure no one was paying too much attention. “We’re trying not to get recognized.”

Dex just popped another grape into his mouth, chewing slowly with that shit-eating little smirk hidden behind the sunglasses.

“They had a bad stacking job,” he said innocently, shrugging. “It wasn’t me, it was gravity.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaling through your teeth.

“Should’ve just left you at home.” you muttered, already steering the cart toward the checkout trying to outrun the chaos he left behind.

Dex fell into step beside you, still eating his grapes like they were complimentary samples.

“Relax,” he murmured, amused. “No one’s looking at me now. They’re all looking at the mess. It’s called a perfect distraction.”

You shot him a glare but kept moving.

Checkout was mercifully quick. You paid in cash, ignoring the way the cashier kept glancing at Dex’s sunglasses-and-cap combo like she was trying hard to place him. The second the bags were in the cart, you practically dragged him out the automatic doors.

You were halfway to the car when the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. A black SUV sat idling two rows over, windows tinted way too dark for broad daylight. It definitely wasn’t there when you went in.

“Ten o’clock,” you muttered, barely moving your lips.

Dex didn’t even glance that way. He just shifted the grocery bags in his arms and answered under his breath, “Ah, fans.”

His voice was light and playful, but you felt the shift in him—like a switch flipping from lazy boyfriend to predator.

You kept walking like nothing was wrong. “Pretend you don’t see them.”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he shot back, the smirk clear in his voice. “Or we could go say hi…I’m feeling good and real friendly today.”

You elbowed him hard in the ribs, right over his still-healing wound. He hissed but didn’t miss a step.

The second you were both inside the car, your heart slammed against your ribs. Dex tossed the bags in the back and dropped into the passenger seat as you peeled out of the lot.

You checked the rearview. The SUV pulled out right behind you.

“Great,” you muttered, deliberately turning the opposite direction of home.

Dex leaned back, eyes on the side mirror, that lazy grin still in place. “Stalker alert.”

“Just keep watching them,” you snapped, weaving through traffic. Go by The Chemical Brothers pulsed low through the speakers, the beat syncing with your pulse.

Dex glanced at the mirror again. 

“They’re still with us, three cars back,” he said. “You could maybe go faster than your grandma drives? Just a thought.”

You tightened your grip on the wheel and pressed the gas a little harder.

“I’m trying not to cause a damn accident!” you hissed, swerving around a crawling truck. The SUV accelerated behind you, closing the gap fast.

Dex chuckled, low and dark. “Relax, baby. I think you're doing great. For a civilian.”

The first gunshot cracked through the air. You ducked instinctively as the rear window spiderwebbed. “Civilian my ass—Shit!” 

Dex was already twisting in his seat. “You got a gun in here or are we doing this with the eggs and frozen peas?”

“Glove box—under the seat—somewhere!” you shouted, swerving around a car. “And stop moving, I can’t see!”

“Left! Hard left!” he barked, yanking the pistol out. 

“I’m going left, you asshole!”

Dex hit the sunroof button, shoved it open, and hauled himself up with that terrifying grace he had even when half-injured. Wind whipped at his hair and jacket as he opened fire—three precise shots that dropped the driver like a puppet with cut strings.

The SUV behind you swerved wildly and smashed into a fire hydrant, but two more appeared in its place, closing fast.

“Dex, get back in here before you lose your head!”

“I’m a little busy, honey!” he yelled over the wind, squeezing off another round. “Why don’t you try driving like you stole the car?”

You jerked the wheel hard to avoid a turning van, bullets pinging off the trunk. Dex nearly tumbled out and cursed loud enough to be heard over the engine.

“Will you stop swerving like a goddamn—”

“Stop bitching and kill them!” you screamed. “You’re Bullseye, aren’t you?!”

He dropped back down for half a second, breathing hard, then grinned like a maniac. “Not if you keep driving like that!”

Before you could bite back, he reached over, unbuckled your seatbelt, and yanked you toward him. In the middle of the chaos you slammed the brakes just enough for him to scramble over you into the driver’s seat. As you slid across his lap, he leaned down and sank his teeth into your ass—hard.

You yelped. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

He just laughed, wild and bright, hands already locking onto the wheel.

You snatched your neck gaiter from the center console and yanked it up over your face while Dex floored it. The car shot forward like a rocket—cutting lanes, running reds, taking turns so sharp the tires screamed, even hopping the sidewalk for half a block.

You popped up through the sunroof, gun in hand, wind tearing at your hair. Two SUVs were still on your tail, closing fast.

You fired—three shots, then four more. One tire exploded. Another windshield shattered. The lead SUV fishtailed violently and slammed into a parked car.

Two more kept coming.

One pulled up beside you. You ducked inside as bullets shredded the passenger window. Dex swerved violently, nearly kissing a bus, then straightened with another unhinged laugh.

Suddenly he cranked the wheel hard left, whipping a violent, completely illegal U-turn. The world blurred. The two SUVs tried to follow and ended up splitting—one on your left, one on your right—boxing you in.

You popped back up through the sunroof with a gun in each hand, arms stretched wide like a gunslinger. Wind whipped your hair as you locked onto both drivers at once.

Bang. Bang.

Both slumped instantly.

You dropped back into the seat, breathing hard, eyes wide, neck gaiter still in place.

Dex glanced over at you, eyes bright with adrenaline and pride. “Holy shit.”

“Get us out of here,” you panted, “Before more show up—like the authorities.” You shoved a fresh mag into the pistol trying not to smile. 

× × × ×

The car was a wreck.

Bullet holes riddled the trunk and doors like metallic acne. One back window was completely gone. You sat on the hood under a deserted bridge, the river murmuring below, while Dex paced in front of you like a caged animal. Your arm burned from a fresh graze, and the cut on your temple had reopened, blood trickling down the side of your face again.

You’d been arguing for fifteen straight minutes, because of Matt Murdock.

“I don’t need to tell you everything!” you snapped, voice echoing under the concrete.

“He warned you about Fisk and you waited until we were in a fucking shootout to mention it?”

“Jesus Christ—”

“The blind knight in shining fucking armor swooping in to warn you about Fisk. How convenient,” Dex snarled, now standing firm. “How long has he been ‘checking on you’ huh? How many little private talks have you two been having behind my back?”

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh that bordered on hysterical.

“Ohhh, that’s fucking rich coming from you!” you shouted, shoving off the hood to stand toe-to-toe with him. Blood smeared across your cheek as you jabbed a finger at his chest. “Why don’t we bring Julie back to the table, huh?! Hey Julie! I heard you had a nice dinner with my ex-boyfriend! Real cozy, right? Did she make you feel all nice and mentally stable while I was too much for you?”

His jaw locked tight, but you didn’t stop—the words poured out, venomous and exhausted.

“And now you’re mad that Murdock—who’s never once tried to fuck me—warned me about the man who wants an eye for an eye? Fuck you, Dex. Matt saved your life.”

“Enough.”

He rolled his shoulders once, then slowly cracked his neck to the left… then to the right.

“I am fucking sick of hearing her name.” 

He stood up straighter, towering over you. The heat was gone. What remained was ice-cold, emptiness. His hand came up slowly, fingers brushing a strand of hair off your bloody temple with terrifying tenderness.

“You want to keep bringing her up? Fine. But every time you do, remember this.” His voice dropped to a whisper, lips brushing your ear. “I never felt bad about how she ended up dead.”

Dex tilted his head, studying your face like you were an interesting insect. “But you… you keep dragging her corpse out every time you want to hurt me…I wonder what would happen if I stopped being so patient with you.”

Your eyes burned as you searched his—looking for the man who once taught you baseball on a rooftop, for any trace of the Dex who used to laugh with you. All you found was that cold, empty calculation. The monster who could kill without remorse.

Without breaking eye contact, you reached behind you, pulled your gun from your waistband, checked the chamber with a sharp click, and pressed it into his palm. 

“I also want to know, why not beat Fisk to it?” you whispered, voice hushed even as your eyes glistened at the rim. You stepped forward until the barrel kissed your forehead. 

Dex’s fingers tightened around the grip. His breathing stayed even, too even. For one terrifying second the world narrowed to the cold metal and the empty look in his eyes. Part of you—the exhausted, heartbroken part—almost wanted him to do it. To end the cycle.

Dex’s breathing grew shallow. His jaw clenched so tight the muscle stood out like a wire. The gun trembled once in his hand.

Then—bang.

He fired. The shot cracked inches from your temple, the muzzle flash burning white across your vision as the bullet screamed past and punched into the concrete pillar behind you.

You flinched, ears ringing.

Dex stared at you, eyes wide and wild like he’d surprised even himself. Then the control snapped. He made an aggressive, guttural sound and hurled the gun sideways into the river with vicious force. 

It hit the water with a distant splash.

He stood there breathing hard through his teeth, hands opening and closing at his sides like he didn’t trust them anymore. His shoulders were still rolled forward, ready to snap again. 

When he finally looked at you, there it was—that strikingly forlorn look in his eyes. As if you’d just ripped his heart out and shown it to him. It makes you want to run over to him and kiss him. But the violence still flickering behind the pain kept you rooted.

“I can’t,” he whispered, voice cracking like it physically hurt him. “I can’t fucking do it.”

He looked smaller suddenly, the towering menace folding in on itself.

“I can’t fucking do it,” he says, snorting before shaking his head. “Even when you want me to.”

You couldn’t say anything and kept looking straight ahead except his eyes, tears finally slipping down your cheeks.

He stepped in close again, crowding you back against the wrecked car until it dug on the back of your legs. One hand slammed flat on the hood, caging you in.

“I won’t set you free,” His eyes were glassy as he laughed unhingedly, “You don’t get to provoke me and then check out on me—” his grin vanished, “—without you…I am nothing. I’ve been so alone my whole life—everything taken away from me… and I’m not going back to that.”

You couldn’t look at him anymore.

The tears kept falling, hot and silent, as Dex’s confession hung in the air. His words should have terrified you. Instead they settled heavy in your chest, cracking something deep that had been holding on by a thread for months.

This wasn’t his fault. 

(Play Down With The Sickness. Trust me)

He was trying his best to be good, he’d asked you for structure—but you can’t put him back in the shark tank. You’d seen the man on that rooftop, sharing his favorite hobby with you. That man was still in there somewhere, buried under all the shit Fisk and the FBI piled on top of him. They broke him. They used and crucified the person you loved.

You gave Dex every good piece of yourself and they burned all of it to ash. And you realized, with a sickening clarity, that they would do the exact same thing to you. No matter how loyal you were. No matter how many times you bled for them. They would chew you up and spit you out the second you stopped being useful.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. The cut on your temple throbbed in time with your heartbeat. 

Then something inside you simply… clicked off. 

The air under the bridge seemed to drop ten degrees. Even the river sounded quieter, as if it knew better than to interrupt.

You wiped the last tear streaks from your face with the back of your hand like it was an inconvenience and when you lifted your gaze to Dex again, your face was blank, but your eyes… your eyes promised graves. The blood on your temple and cheek suddenly looked like war paint instead of wounds. 

He took half a step back without meaning to.

You just stared through him. In your place stood someone who had decided the world owed Dex a blood debt—and she was going to collect with interest.

In your mind you saw it all unfolding like a beautiful, brutal movie: Fisk’s skull caving in under repeated blows until the light left his eyes, his empire burning around his broken body. You saw every corrupt FBI handler dragged into dark rooms, bones snapping one by one as they begged for mercy that would never come. You saw them realizing too late that the monster they created had a sharper, colder blade standing right behind him.

You tilted your head slowly, the motion almost birdlike, and a small, serene smile curved your lips.

You stepped forward, closing the distance he’d tried to create, and reached up with the most gentle, affectionate pat. Your palm was still warm from the tears you’d wiped away.

“Let’s go home, Dex.”

Your voice was soft. Sweet, even. But the calm in it was the terrifying kind—the stillness after a guillotine blade falls.

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