Twilight

you bumped into a guy who seemed to be in need of help, and now you have an obsessed, deranged, perverted stalker who follows you around like your own shadow. ⋆˚࿔

˖ ᡣ𐭩 warnings • 18+ MDNI • obsession, stalking, Dex spiraling out a lot - he's very mentally ill, mentions of suicide, murder and death, panty-stealing, (male) masturbation, Dex is very pathetic for you and he's a creep!

genre • smut, (very) slow-burn, female!reader x benjamin poindexter, no mentions of y/n's appearance, daredevil s3

word count ◇ 20k ᡣ𐭩

Dex was always calculated, careful, observant. sometimes he knew too much, way too much. he always made sure to be two steps ahead, no matter of the situation. he is an FBI agent after all, being prepared is a part of his job.

for six months straight, he watched you, learned every single thing about you, every habit, your schedule, all of it. he had to know every thing, he wanted to be involved so bad it hurt him. he knew where you worked, where you went to blow some steam off with friends, where you shopped and so on. hell, he even knew every step of your skincare routine. he knew all your family, friends, coworkers literally everyone you knew. so, when a new face showed up, he made sure to do a background check. and if he didn't like what he found? he made sure they never got to go near you ever again. to him, it was just making sure you were safe and that you took care of yourself. he knew you were perfect the second you spoke to him all those months ago at the mall.

you were out with your friends, drinking at the newly opened bar in the mall. Dex was there, sat on a bench in the middle of the mall. he was there because he had to buy some new clothes since blood didn't always come out so easily. you were about to get some food and on your way to the restaurant, you saw him sitting on the bench, clearly distressed. you cared way too much sometimes, you were too nice, too naive when it came to people. the second you noticed the expression on the man's face, the furrowed brows, the beam of sweat which ran down his forehead, his hands constantly fidgeting - you could tell something was wrong. you detached from your group, and they watched you walk away, surprised. you were never the type of girl to go up to some random person, your anxiety always got the best of you, but today? after all those shots of vodka and whatever else you had, you felt a little more confident than usual. plus, you're about to do something good, right? help a stranger in need. what could possibly go wrong, you thought.

the man didn't budge, he just sat there, panicked. like he forgot he was in a public space where everyone could see him and anyone who cared enough could walk up to him any second, like you. he didn't mean to end up in this situation, he always planned everything, made sure nothing could ever go wrong, but his thoughts got the best of him that day, especially after the FBI outed him to the public. he thought that such mundane task could ease his mind for a while, but, oh, was he wrong.

"uhm," you stopped a few steps away from him, cleared your throat, "is everything okay, sir?" it took him a second to snap out of whatever haze he was stuck in, the shock clear on his face. he was visibly lost in whatever clouded his mind. "i, uh…yeah, i'm- i'm okay…thanks." his voice was deep, slightly out of breath, strained, you noticed how much trouble it was for him to hold eye contact, looking away every chance he got. "are you sure? you seem very stressed." you could see the bob of his adam's apple so clearly, he was nervous. the man ran a hand down his face, through his hair, suddenly he stood up. he was all fidgety and shaky, then a thought occurred in your head, "a-are you having a panic attack?" you asked, seemingly out of nowhere. you've had one or two before, you knew what it was like, you recognized the signs. and that, to you, seemed like some sort of panic attack, or at least something remotely close. either way, you wanted to help even if you had no idea what was going on in that stranger's head. he looked at you again, his face softened just the tiniest. you caught it, but his shoulders were stiff and you could still see the nerves which were painted on his face. he opened his mouth to say something, closed it, opened it again, "..y-yeah, i think i am." his voice cracked on the last word, and just like that, he was avoiding your gaze again. you gently nodded, then noticed a coin in his hand - he played with it while he talked, flipped it, guided it through his fingers with ease. impressive, you thought. "how about we step outside for a second? the mall is way too crowded." you gestured towards the exit. his eyes widened just the slightest. he nodded, hesitant at first, you made sure he followed behind you, smiling back at him. the second you made it outside, you pointed at a bench, "there." you sat down, and patted the empty space next to you. he sat, shoulders and back clearly stiff, he looked down at the ground and kept his distance, still fidgeting with that little coin in his hand. "have you ever had a panic attack before?" you asked, looking over at him, and he nodded, still not meeting your eyes. "and can you tell me how i can help?" you asked again, putting a hand on his shoulder, and to your surprise, you felt him relax almost instantly, like your touch managed to ground him back to reality. he finally looked at you out the corner of his eyes, then sighed.

Dex knew exactly what would help. his tapes from Dr. Mercer always helped him calm down, ease his mind, though, he didn't carry them around everywhere he went. he never turned to strangers for help, the fact that he trusted you enough to follow you, to even speak to you in such vulnerable state shocked him. usually he was closed off, always kept to himself, but something about the severity of the situation and the way you looked at him, so gentle and caring, somehow pushed him over the edge. he knew he needed help, and he finally let himself get it. of course, he didn't tell you this. he just looked at you, every time he tried to speak he stuttered, his voice cracked and he barely made any sense. yet, you managed to get to him, to calm him down.

ever since that day, he hasn't left your side. you thought that after he walked away, you'd never see him again. all you got out of that interaction was a name, "Dex", not even his full name, not even a number. unbeknownst to you, he was always there, he always watched every single step you took, every breath. he was like your shadow, following you around wherever you went. he told himself it was just a good deed, an eye for an eye if you will, after what you'd done for him, keeping you safe, watching over you. he didn't think it was stalking.

he sat in his car, outside your apartment, binoculars pointed right at your window, watching like some guardian angel. at least, that's who he thought he was. for any normal person he was a stalker, a creep, a monster. but that's not true. he was one of the good guys. it's been like this for six months straight. the same routine every day. he'd already be there way before you even got up, honestly it was creepy how he could recite every single step of your routine, to him it was just the same as watching out for you, taking care of you. it was your usual Friday night, you were getting ready to go out with your friends, meeting up at Josie's. you always went there with your two friends, you had a couple of drinks, sometimes too much, which Dex didn't really like since he always got so worried. if you ever got drunk with him, oh, he would love that. you weren't with him though, what if you got into trouble? what if you got hurt? he didn't want to scare you if he had to step in and snap a few necks, God no. luckily, you always stopped right before anything happened, and you managed to get home safe every single time. he made sure you did, always. he watched you put your makeup on, so beautiful he thought, he admired how much care you put into every single thing you did. he stared in awe as you lip-synced to the song you were listening to, his radio on, the exact same song playing through his speakers. he wanted, no, he needed to be like you after all, you were so kind, caring, pure. it's what he wanted to be, that's why he stalked - well, looked after you. so he could be like you. so he could finally be the good guy he's always wanted to be.

he had severe OCD, he needed to be in control, hated when things changed and went out of his way, out of reach. he couldn't stand the thought of you falling out of his sight, and that's why he never went up to you. he was afraid you'd be scared of him, terrified you'd find out that he's been stalking you ever since your little encounter at the mall. as normal as it was to him, he knew you'd probably freak out. he did have plans, plans that had very detailed instructions on how to and where to bump into you, what to say, how to make small talk and so on. he had all your interests written down, every single thing you liked, memorized, always in the back of his head. he wanted to be involved in your life, every part of it. he wanted to be as close as he could get but he never dared to take a chance and actually make the first step. unfortunately for him, there was a guy you were talking to. he got awfully close to you, which meant that Dex was at the risk of losing you. so what did he plan to do? he thought about going to the same bar you went to, and finally talking to you. at least that's what he had been planning on doing, for weeks now. he always backed down, but for some reason, he felt like that night was the night. he couldn't stand the thought of you slipping through his fingers, or out of his sight, not even for a second. his mind would race, voices woulc echo in his head, his vision blurred as the voices got too loud. no, he wasn't going to lose you. he wasn't going to lose his North Star. after taking one more look at you, he started up his car and went home to get ready. he was nervous, so nervous. he's always been awkward around people who weren't his coworkers or Dr. Mercer, but when it came to you? one little mistake and he'd replay that small moment in his head until it ate him up completely.

the bar was quite cozy, usually stuffed with people and that night was no different. there you were, drinking with your friends, laughing a bit too loud at the back of the bar. he stood in the entrance, hair neat, clothes a bit too fancy to be considered casual, he did want to look good for you. the second he spotted you, his heart skipped a beat. it's like you knocked the breath out of his lungs, he just stood there, unable to move, throat tightening as his nerves took over. he took a step, then another, you were right there, just out of reach, makeup slightly smudged already. he loved seeing you like this, happy, not a care in the world, just enjoying yourself. finally letting go after a whole week of stress and work. just as he was about to take another step, his heart sank. when he looked at you it's like all the common sense in his brain was knocked right out, replaced with dumb stuttering and incoherency. all that preparation, all of those plans and he still wasn't ready. he was wrong. this wasn't right, he needed more time, he needed to prepare more, he couldn't screw this up. as he got lost in his thoughts, someone bumped into his shoulder. he looked up immediately as the stranger walked past with a quiet "sorry", towards your table. it was him, the guy he dreaded seeing or hearing about whenever he watched and listened through your window. and now he sat right next to you, making you laugh. his heart twisted, he was getting so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even realize how you looked right at him. he stuck out like a sore thumb, standing in the middle of the crowd, staring back at you like some creep. which, of course you didn't think he was one, but come on. he stared at you, all frozen in place, he knew he was fucked. you could see the sudden panic in his eyes, and your confused, rather shocked expression didn't help him at all. he immediately thought you were weirded out by him, he even thought you probably already hated him from one quick little stare. he saw you get up, but he knew better than to embarrass himself right then and there, so he turned around.

it ate at him. i mean, he was disgusted. what was he thinking? going in there like that, like he actually knew you. that day passed, everything went back to normal, you were working late, he was at your apartment again, waiting, nothing changed. he was still replaying every single detail, every little thing he could've done differently that night. it's still clawing at him, he was fidgeting with the coin in his hand again, sweating, shaking. if it's not his nightmares keeping him up at night, it's the scenario replaying in his head over and over again. you saw him. what if you realized what kind of creep he was? he couldn't help it, he was unable to control all the thoughts in his head. his mind went blank almost immediately, the thoughts in his head swirled into a chaotic mess, echoing and bouncing off the walls, attacking him over and over again. he had to leave. he was looking right at your window, but you weren't there. you weren't there to help him. he released the coin from his grip, then ran his hands through his hair, down his face, then he started hitting his head with the heel of his palms. he couldn't just barge into your apartment and go up to you to beg for help, you weren't even home. he wasn't some desperate freak, was he? he was. but he didn't want to you to know that, so instead of giving it another thought, he pulled out of the parking lot and headed to his apartment.

it was small, minimalistic, almost basic. it suited him very much, actually. the second he stepped inside he slammed the door, locking it tight. the voices in his head grew impossibly louder, it's like they were in the room with him. he gripped his hair as he paced around, then he rushed into his room. in his closet sat a safe, full of Dr. Mercer's tapes. he grabbed his headphones and a tape, then stumbled on the ground as he played the tape over and over again, but to no avail. he thought about it, thought about grabbing his gun and ending it right then and there, he's sat at at his table with the gun in his mouth before, but he didn't do it, he couldn't. who would watch after his North Star? that's where Fisk came in. the attack on the Clinton Church, and everything he did after, that gave him peace, a sick and twisted kind of peace, sure. even then, he always went back to you, he had to see you. but everyone had a breaking point, so did Dex. you finally got off work, and headed straight into your apartment with a bag of food and whatever else you bought at the grocery store on your way home. you had wings, as always. you worked at a bar on Saturdays to earn some extra money, and each night you went out and bought food with your coworkers, then went home. you entered your apartment, turned your lights on, but something felt off, different. you shrugged it off and went on about your night, putting your food on the counter, slipping into something more comfortable, all while Dex was outside, watching. as you finished your routine. you dropped onto your couch, wings in your lap, then flipped through the tv channels, meanwhile he did the same outside. he always got the same order as you, your show played on his phone, all of it completely normal to him. but that feeling kept eating at you. that little shift you felt as you entered your apartment? still lingered. you put your wings aside, getting up off the couch, looking around the house. you looked around, everything was the same as you left, yet you still felt a chill at the base of your spine. that's when it hit you.

your window.

it was slightly cracked open. which was weird since you remembered locking it, you always did. your stomach dropped as you stared down at the loose latch, the small little gap where all the air blew through. Dex noticed. he immediately put his food down, heart racing as he waited for your next move. he left it open. it was a minor mistake, he hadn't meant to leave it like that, he always calculated everything, made sure every detail was perfect. but then again, it was his first time sneaking into your apartment, and let's face it, he wasn't well, after all the men he's killed? it's only natural he messed up, he wasn't in the right space of mind, he needed something to help him come down, to ground him. so, he thought sneaking into your apartment and stealing something from you would help. earlier that day, while you were busy at the bar, he snuck into your place. he rummaged around, tried to find something that he could hold onto. something that reminded him of you, something that could help him relax and ease his mind, silence his thoughts. he needed a daily reminder that at the end of the day you were there, waiting for him. after not finding anything good in your living room, he headed to your bathroom. he looked through your beauty supplies, he didn't take any of those since you would've noticed right away, you were a smart girl after all. as he scoped through your things, your laundry bin caught his eye. a pair of black, flimsy lace underwear. he looked down at the piece of cloth, reached out and picked it up, he wasn't even thinking at this point, just acting. he raised the piece of cloth up to face, and he smelled it. and sure thing, it smelled exactly like you. that vanilla body spray you used, the coconut scented body lotion and something else that was so unmistakably you. if he hadn't thought he was a creep before, now he definitely did. without thinking much more, he pocketed the fabric, and made his way out the window, the growing bulge in his pants harder to ignore each second he thought about what sat in his pocket.

and that's how your window ended up unlocked. you stepped back, hands on your hips as you looked out the window with a puzzled expression on your face. you locked the window, sitting down on the couch. you probably just forgot, right?

but, oh, he panicked. the wings went cold, so did the sweat which now covered his back. what kind of other trails could he had left? his hands moved before he could think, reaching into his pocket, pulling out the piece of fabric he stole earlier, shoving it into his face, inhaling. and just like that, it was almost like he was intoxicated, drunk off your scent. the world faded, all his worries gone, out the window. he was completely wrapped up in you, your scent, the thought of you, the fabric in his hand. he couldn't help the aching tightness in his jeans, he was consumed by shame. God, he felt awful, disgusted, even. he reached down and palmed himself, the cold sweat turning into warmth again as you clouded his mind. he opened his eyes, pocketing the little souvenir, grabbing his binoculars. there you were, on your couch still. in your oversized shirt and underwear, which usually he found cute, sweet even, but not tonight. he kept ogling you, one hand on his growing erection, panting like some animal. he had to stop, he knew he had to. he dropped the binoculars and let his face fall into his hands. he felt awful. he was an FBI agent, respectable, bloodthirsty - he wasn't a weak, pathetic creep, he's earned respect. he killed people for a job, in cold blood, not even thinking twice about it, yet you had him wrapped around your little finger, all needy and pathetic like some desperate loser. since he was a gentleman, he pulled out of your driveway. stealing your panties was completely fine to him, but watching you like that? it just felt wrong, even to him.

he locked his door and immediately dropped down on his bed. he was so desperate for you, palming himself, panting and sweating like he was in heat. the second he freed himself from his boxers, you had him moaning and whimpering your name, thrusting up into his hand while his back practically arched off his bed. he was so far gone, he grabbed your panties out of his pocket and wrapped them around himself, his thumb running over his tip to gather the precum which had already made a damp spot on his boxers back in the car. his cock ached and twitched for you, he didn't last long, not when your scent was wrapped around him, seeping into his head like poison. he made a mess, all over his hands, stomach, and your underwear. that just turned him on even more, the thought of your heat and his cum mixing together had him hard again in an instant, moaning your name, his voice slightly cracking while doing so. it's all he ever wanted, to be close to you, to be practically fused together, and that was the closest he's ever gotten. his face flushed in a pretty shade of pink, ears and neck burning with shame as his chest heaved, staring up at the ceiling. no voices, no static, just the cars and occasional people talking outside. this had to stop, he needed to see you again, to speak to you. he needed his sweet North Star right by his side.

✦ creator's note ✦ hii! thank you so much for reading the whole thing!! i'd like to mention that this is my first serious piece ever, so i'm sorry if it's not as good as you'd hoped. english is also not my first language, so if you noticed any errors, sorry! i'm unsure of when the next chapter will be posted, but i'll update you guys whenever i can :) thank you sososo much for reading! make sure to follow my main blog, @limerentangell if you want to see my art as well!