#Benjamin Poindexter imagine

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Buried in the Wreckage

Pairing: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x FiskDaughter!Reader

Summary: Fisk's daughter is expected to fall in line with her father on the verge of becoming the most powerful man in New York. Desperate for answers—or maybe just closure—she visits Dex, knowing that some things can’t be undone, and some wounds never heal.

Author's Note: S4 spoilazz ahead. Nerds beware.

The weight of the city felt heavier tonight. The neon glow of Hell’s Kitchen bled into the rain-soaked streets, but all she could see was him—Dex—plummeting from the rooftop, arms flailing before his body hit the pavement with a sickening crack. The sound echoed in her ears, looping like a cruel refrain. She had seen a lot of brutal things in her life, but that? That was different.

Her hands trembled as she clutched the edge of the sink in her father’s penthouse. The water was running, but she wasn’t washing anything. She was just there, staring at her reflection, seeing the dark circles under her eyes, the way her lip trembled no matter how hard she pressed it together.

Dex was alive. That was the miracle. The curse was that it didn’t matter.

The moment he woke up in the hospital, he was already as good as gone. The charges against him were airtight. Attempted murder, endangering the public, impersonating Daredevil. Life in prison. No appeals, no deals—just a cell and a locked door.

And she? She was expected to keep moving, to forget, to stand beside her father as he prepared to be elected mayor of New York City.

Like she could just erase Dex from her bloodstream.

A sharp knock at the door jolted her back to reality.

She inhaled, steadying herself before pulling it open.

Her father stood there, tall, imposing, always dressed like he was already in office. His expression didn’t betray much, but she saw the tension in the way he clasped his hands together.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She wanted to laugh. Ready for what? Pretending like her world hadn’t just shattered? Smiling at crowds while Dex rotted in a prison cell?

She swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah.”

Because that was the thing about being Wilson Fisk’s daughter.

You never let them see you break.

She left her father’s office without another word, walking down the long, marble-floored hallway, past the aides and security who barely acknowledged her. She was expected to fall in line, expected to be the daughter of a soon-to-be mayor.

Expected to forget. But she couldn't.

The moment she stepped outside, the bitter cold hit her like a slap. The city pulsed around her, alive, demanding, but she didn’t feel any of it. Her feet carried her forward, instinct more than intention.

Before she even processed where she was going, she found herself standing at the gates of Ryker’s Island.

The guards barely batted an eye when she checked in for visitation—Fisk’s name still carried weight, after all.

And yet, as she was led through the cold corridors, past rows of cells filled with men who had no future, the weight in her chest only grew heavier. The noise, the stench of concrete and metal—it all felt suffocating.

She had spent her whole life walking through halls of power, through places that demanded strength, control. But this? This was different.

This was Dex.

And she didn’t know how to face him.

The prison walls loomed over her, stark and suffocating under the fluorescent lights. The air was stale, thick with the weight of unspoken regrets and lives reduced to metal bars and numbered uniforms.

She sat stiffly in the visitation room, her hands clasped tightly together on the table. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. Hey, Dex, sorry you fell off a building? Sorry you’re in here forever? Nothing felt right. Nothing felt enough.

And then he was there.

Dex walked in wearing that orange jumpsuit like it was just another uniform. His hair was a little shorter, his face a little leaner, but his eyes—they were the same. Cold, calculating, assessing her in the way only he could. But underneath that steel edge, she saw something else. A flicker of something familiar, something he used to reserve just for her.

He slid into the chair across from her, resting his cuffed hands on the table. "Didn’t think I’d see you here."

Her breath hitched. She had prepared for a lot—anger, indifference, maybe even relief that she’d come—but not this. Not the way his voice made her throat tighten.

She forced out a breath. "Where else would I be?"

Dex huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, I don’t know. Celebrating your father becoming the most powerful man in New York?"

Her jaw clenched. "You think I give a shit about that?"

"You should." His voice was flat, but she knew him too well. He was bitter. And why wouldn’t he be? He was locked in here, and she was still free.

But she wasn’t. Not really. Not when he was in this place. Not when every breath she took felt like it belonged to someone else.

She reached for his hands before she could stop herself, fingers ghosting over the cold metal of the cuffs. "Dex, I—"

"Don’t." His voice was sharper now, cutting through whatever fragile moment had been building. He finally looked at her, really looked at her, and she saw the exhaustion there, the resigned acceptance. "There’s nothing you can say to fix this."

Her lips parted, but no words came. Because he was right. She couldn’t fix this. She couldn’t undo what had happened.

So she did the only thing she could—she squeezed his hands, holding onto him like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

"I just needed to see you," she whispered.

Dex exhaled, something in his posture shifting, softening just enough. His fingers curled slightly under hers, the smallest acknowledgment that he wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended to be.

For a moment, the bars, the prison walls, the time they’d lost—it all faded.

It was just them. Just this.

And then, too soon, the guard stepped forward. "Time’s up."

She swallowed hard, blinking back the emotion threatening to break through. Dex leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable again, slipping behind the armor of someone who had nothing left to lose.

She stood slowly, reluctant, her hands lingering on the cold metal table. "I’ll come back."

Dex didn’t nod. Didn’t say anything at all. But as she turned to leave, she felt it—the weight of his eyes on her, following her even as the door shut behind her.

And for now, that was enough.

[takenbypeter]

Can you please write something with Ben Poindexter x reader where they like match each other’s freak so to speak. She’s kinda like Maya Lopez in the way that she kills for people and someone hires her to kill Dex but she starts to like him the more that she like learns his routine and investigates him. I don’t know I just really like the idea of someone understanding Dex even though he kinda crazy fr.

No Longer Alone

Benjamin Poindexter x reader

Words: 1261

A/N: Love this idea! So good! I initially wanted to make it different from my other Dex fics but of course I just somehow ended up with writing about Dex and him being good, I’m sorry if you wanted something crazy but I had a blast writing this one

Warning: mention and like layout of Dex and that suicide scene that he was about to to do in season 3 back in the day, also gun mention (Idk if that needs a warning but just in case)

Is what you did honest work? While most would say no, especially considering you were essentially a hitman, you would argue yes. And the only reason you considered it honest work was because you always, always made sure to do thorough research before fully accepting a job. 

Your rule for a target was always the same: half payment up front, then after weeks of surveillance if you deemed the target culpable, you did what had to be done and then collected the rest of the money.

Surveillance was the most time consuming of the task, taking weeks to ultimately make the decision. You never wanted to take the life of anyone who had even a scrap of goodness to them out. 

And just like with any other target the same conditions applied to Benjamin Poindexter. 

Benjamin Poindexter. A.K.A. “Dex,” was currently an FBI agent. He was a former Brooklyn Suicide Preventer, and a former U.S. Army man. 

None of his past surprised you, you’ve had enough kills to know that it wasn’t what people showed others that made them a good person, it was what they didn’t that got you the call. 

In your first week of surveillance there were some intriguing things you noticed about the man. Firstly, you noticed how rigid his schedule was. Each day he stopped by the same locations. Some places were of course dealing with his occupation and necessary shopping, but other places seemed to be random. You did some more investigating to answer the main question here, why? And you easily found out the answer wasn’t something, but rather someone. Julie Barnes. 

Julie Barnes was an ex-coworker of Benjamin Poindexter from the suicide hotline center, and he seemed to have taken an infatuation towards her. Well you wouldn’t call it an infatuation. You didn’t know what it was, was it love? Curiosity? Or just pure obsession. Whatever it was intrigued you, because all he did at each and every place was watch her. He never did anything strange, just watched. 

While it was kind of ironic; you, stalking a stalker. You found it kind of endearing the way he looked at her. The look wasn’t fear-inducing, it wasn’t sinister, but sweet, with a joy-stricken smile appearing on his face every now and again, like he sincerely and genuinely cared for her. Frankly, it was cute. 

The other thing you noticed after keeping surveillance of him was his mentality, or rather his meltdowns. He seemed to have them not too often but frequent enough to the point that he knew precisely what to do when it did occur. You watched him a few times trying his best to collect his sanity, relying on cassette tapes and headphones that he pulled out from the closet. Each time you took note of how hard he worked to keep it all together. He was trying. And that was better than anything you could’ve said for any of your past targets. 

A week went by and something happened, you observed as Dex’s schedule almost instantly fell apart. He was suspended from his job, he had a falling out with Julie. 

You could tell it had an intense effect on him. 

That night, when you followed him home he appeared to have a multitude of emotion coursing through him. Upset, sadness, emptiness, you had a bad feeling in your gut watching it all unfold before you. 

Monitoring him through his window, you viewed as he roamed about his apartment slowly. He sat down and pulled a gun out laying it in front of him on the table. Eyes never leaving the scene, you watched as he looked to be actively battling his internal thoughts, contemplating deeply as he kept his head down, eyes fixated on the weapon.  

You could’ve walked away there, you could’ve turned a blind eye, let the job be done. But something in you knew that he could pull through this. Dex wasn’t a bad guy. He needed help.

Feet moving faster than your brain, they carried you out of your car and up the flight of steps trying their hardest to get you to him before he could do anything further. Running up you stopped at his door and frantically knocked. 

You didn’t know what was happening behind that door, you just hoped nothing drastic had happened yet. 

“Benjamin Poindexter! I need you to open this door right now!”

You stopped for a moment and heard quiet on his end, and your mind started running a course of thoughts. But then you heard it, some shuffling that sounded like it was getting closer, so you kept talking.

“You don’t know me, but I know you. I know you’re struggling Benjamin but you can pull through this…you’ve done it before, and you can and will do it again.”

Your head was close to the door waiting to hear any sound that might indicate he was still there. “You need help and I can get you help.” 

Then you heard it, a slow click coming from the doorknob. 

After waiting another second, the door then opened a crack revealing said man on the other side. You took note of his state, his eyes were filled with a watery appearance but he seemed to be stable at the moment. “How do you know my name?”

You let out an intense breath that you were holding in at the sight of him still alive. “Can we talk inside?”

Dex stared you down considering his decisions. 

“Please?”

Against his better judgment, he opened the door completely, allowing you to enter. Once inside, you took note of how clean and organized his place looked before turning around to him, “Hi. I was hired to investigate and kill you.”

Dex’s concentrated stare never faltered or swayed as he listened. 

“I can’t tell you who ordered it as that would be a violation of my legal contract but I can tell you that I’m not going to do it.”

He didn’t say anything, you weren’t sure if he was just taking it all in, plotting his next words, or controlling his emotions. 

“I’m not going to do it because I see an ounce of goodness in you. You are a man who is under heavy pressure, but even when your thoughts take over, you do your best to try to bring it back together. And Benjamin, that is all it takes. Trying.”

“Dex.” He corrected, which prompted you to repeat it back, “…Dex.”

Dex’s face softened, his expression no longer tense as his guard lowered. He believed you. He had no reason not to. The hit out on him was believable but you seeing goodness in him, he wanted to believe that too. 

“I…struggle when I’m alone…in my head sometimes I hear thoughts that hold me over the edge.”

“Well you don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Reaching into your pocket you pulled out your card with a number on it. Dex’s eyes drop to it as you hold it out between your fingers. 

“If you ever feel alone, here’s my number.”

Dex was hesitant, staring at the card until finally, he reached out and took it. 

“You don’t have to be alone, Dex…call me.”

And with that last piece you shared you gave him a final look before walking out his front door. 

Dex’s eyes remained on the card that had your name printed on it. 

Did Dex think that he deserved to be killed that night? Yes. 

Was Dex happy that you saved his life? Only time would tell.

[amberlynnmurdock]

All Mine

Pairing: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Reader

Summary: Dex initially declines going out with you and your friends, but when he starts thinking of scenarios of men trying to flirt with you, he somehow finds himself in the bar to make sure that doesn't happen.

Genres: Angst

Warnings: 18+ content, SMUT, possessive!Dex, jealous!Dex, and I guess toxic!Dex? LOL just be prepared bc this might be the wildest fic ive written

ALSO shoutout to @mayajadewrites for helping me with getting the plot going, you GENIUS <3

Notes: I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS ONE let me know what you think! Enjoy! <3

When he sent his reply to you, Dex stood quietly on his balcony, thinking of ways he could take it back. 

“Thanks for the invite,” he typed regretfully, his anxiety getting the better of him, “but I think I’ll pass for tonight.”

“Are you sure?” He read your text in your sweet voice. “I want to see you.”

He knows you want to see him—he wants to see you just as badly, but the thought of socializing with people other than you was a less-than-ideal situation for Dex. He only preferred to be around you and only you. Part of him didn’t want to share you with other people, the other part simply didn’t want to be around them. 

“Next time,” Dex lied, a pinch in his heart. “I promise.” 

He waits five minutes, and then ten minutes, and when twenty minutes pass by, he knows the conversation ends there. Dex slides the door open and reenters his apartment, sitting quietly at his kitchen table, phone in front of him. 

Scenarios start playing in his mind: you’re only going out with your friends. He’s met some of them and doesn’t care for them at all, but at least he knows you’ll be with them and only them. What bar did you say you were going to? The Black Dog? It slowly dawns on him that other people you don’t know will be around you too, and it bothers him that he can’t control every action of every person. What if some guy tried talking to you? Offered to buy you a drink? Flirted with you? Or worse, what if you liked it enough to never talk to Dex again?

He can’t imagine another guy having good intentions like Dex has good intentions with you. Dex wants to keep you safe from people like that, people he doesn’t know. People who may have ill intentions for their own selfish needs. 

And how can he make sure that you’re safe from people like that, sitting alone in his apartment here, away from you? 

If there’s one thing that will get him out the apartment, it’s the thought of someone trying to take away his North Star from him. 

◎◎◎

Dex arrives at the bar before you do. He’s in his denim jacket and baseball cap. After quickly ordering a club soda from the bartender, he makes his way to the back and chooses a quiet corner to sulk in, to hide, to watch from afar. It’s what he’s most comfortable doing, it’s what he does best. 

He doesn’t touch the club soda at all, bubbles wasting their air in the glass. He watches the people that are in the bar with disdain. They’re all fools, he thinks to himself, but which one will be the unlucky one who tries to talk to you?

The next time the door opens, you walk in first followed by your friends and Dex sinks deeper in his seat, tilts his head down so his cap is hiding his face. He watches you from underneath, bringing the glass of club soda closer to him. His heart may be hard but his eyes go soft every time he looks at you. You’re laughing with your friends, and you look beautiful in your black sweater and jeans. You and your friends find a table in the middle of the bar and that’s when Dex takes note of the people that surround you.

Right now, no one’s paying mind to your table except for him. He smiles to himself each time he sees you laugh—tries to share in the moment with you even though you don’t know he’s there. He wonders what you whisper to your friend at one point. Whatever it is, your friend laughs and hits your shoulder. You have a glass of Sauvignon Blanc in front of you—Dex knows it’s the only white wine you’ll drink—and when you finish it, you look around for your server. 

The bar is much more crowded now and Dex has to move down a seat or two to keep his sights on you. He takes a deep breath and looks down when he sees you get up from your seat to go to the bar. When your back is to him, he looks up and watches as you patiently wait for a bartender’s attention. 

There are plenty of people at the bar, so many that not everyone is sitting on a stool. People squeeze in, lean on the counter, and move chairs out to fit more of their friends into conversations. You’re leaning with your left elbow on the bar, and Dex watches as you wait. Someone behind you accidentally pushes you, and both you and Dex react at the same time. You, startled from the contact, and Dex, sitting up more straight in his seat. He relaxes his shoulders after a few moments when he sees the person scoot their chair away from you, and you seemingly unbothered. 

You glance at your phone, scroll through something, and lock it again before putting it in your back pocket. Dex wonders if you re-read your messages like he does. He hopes so. You sigh, looking around the bar again—you weren’t having any luck getting a bartender’s attention.

And like a cloudy night ruining his view of his North Star, a man in a black jacket and boots stands directly in front of you. He’s got dark hair and a 5 o’clock shadow. Dex straightens in his seat again, high on alert. The man walks by you slowly in a calculative way. He doesn’t go unnoticed on Dex’s radar, not when he’s so close to you. The man walks by and inserts himself between a group, about five people away from you.

Dex feels his muscles tighten and he grips his glass of club soda hard. He has to let go of it so his entire focus is on the scene before him. Good thing he decided to come tonight—he knew this would happen. Dex watches you and then watches the man watching you. He doesn’t like how focused he is on you, how bad of an actor he is when he pretends to look around the bar just to look at you again. Dex takes a deep breath as he sees him slowly weave his way between people to stand next to you. He’s got something in his back pocket he keeps fiddling with. 

You’re oblivious, minding your business, waiting patiently for the bartender. At least Dex is there to protect you if anything were to go awry. He couldn’t have anything happen to you—the mere thought of it made him nauseous, losing someone so important to him, again. 

The man daringly asks the people who are standing next to you to move so he can have their spot. Dex’s throat goes dry as he sees the man brush his shoulder against yours purposefully. You glance up and move as much as you can, but the man moves closer to you again.

“Sorry, crowded bar,” the man says to you. At first glance, he’s handsome, but there’s something aggressive about his nature. 

“It’s alright,” you say shrugging your shoulders. You pretend to check your phone for something.

“You come here alone?” He asks you.

“No, I’m with my friends,” you smile, gesturing your head in their direction. 

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“No, I’m okay. Thank you.”

“Really? You’re the first girl who’s ever turned down a free drink at a bar,” the man says, confused by your rejection. Perhaps even a little insulted. 

“I bet I’m not the first girl who’s rejected you point blank, though,” you say, hoping he gets the message. He’s taken aback by your words, and he doesn’t stop there.

“Bet you just haven’t had a guy like me dick you down to make you nicer.”

Dex doesn’t know what the conversation is, but from your body language and expression on your face, he knows it can’t be good. Whatever it was this man was saying to you, it was diminishing your light—his light—it was an attempt to take his North Star away. Dex stands up from his seat. 

It’s not until the man places his hand on your shoulder and then your neck that Dex feels his rage and jealousy course through his veins, so much so that it’s made him finally get up from his seat and walk straight toward you. The path to what was unfolding in front of him was like walking through a dark tunnel, and like a phantom appearing out of thin air, Dex walks up to the man, paying no mind to you, takes him by the collar of his cheap jacket and pushes him away from you.  

“Stay away from her,” Dex says in a cool tone, chest heaving, hands shaking from adrenaline. 

The man walks right up to Dex, and it’s comical that he thinks he even stands a chance. Dex glances around, the things around him becoming all too obvious. A napkin dispenser. A shot glass. A butter knife. They’re all too easy. 

“Dex,” he hears you call his name, and now there’s too many people looking at them, and the man in front of him is anticipating his next moves and for nothing because just as quickly as Dex made himself known, he’s out of the bar pushing past everyone and walking down the street. Away from those people. Away from you. He hears the door open behind him, unsure if it’s you or not. 

He couldn’t even look at you—ashamed of his actions, ashamed he let you see him like that, which wasn’t even his worse but damn near close to it. He’s leaning forward against a brick wall, catching his breath from the adrenaline of seeing you being touched by another man, trying not to black out from his rage. But you’re right behind him, shocked he was there to save you. What Dex wasn’t expecting were your arms snaking around his waist, resting your head against his back. 

Was it possible you weren’t mad at him for being like that?

“No one’s ever been protective of me like you,” you sigh against his back. Dex is shaking from the adrenaline but he finds it in him to stop and focus on your arms around him. He places his hands on yours and sighs. “Guess you decided to come after all?” You ask him. “I didn’t even see you walk in, but what hell of a timing that was.”

“It was timing,” Dex agrees with you and lies. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Look at me, Dex,” you say gently. Dex turns around in your arms and you reach up to take off his baseball cap to see his face. “Thank you.”

There’s something in his eyes you can’t read but you agree when he asks to go back to his place.

◎◎◎

“You know, if you wanted to hang just the two of us, you could’ve said so,” you say as you walk inside his apartment and throw your jacket on his couch. Dex turns around and locks the door, feeling calmer than he did before but still on edge. He places his baseball cap on the counter and hangs up his jean jacket. 

“I didn’t want to ruin your night with your friends.”

“It was sort of ruined anyway, but somehow got even better now that I’m here,” you smile. “Seriously, it’s crazy you were there in the nick of time.”

“Yeah,” Dex trails off. “I know.”

“You still seem on edge,” you say softly, “are you okay?”

Dex looks away from you and places both his fists on his hips. He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’m not.”

“Why?”

“I—.” How does he say it, without saying it? That he nearly wanted to kill a man for touching you? He almost lost it in front of you and almost lost you?

“I couldn’t stand seeing someone touching you like that,” Dex explains. “I can’t get it out of my head.” 

“Try not to think about it,” you whispered and placed your hand on his face. Now Dex met your eyes. “Focus on me.”

It wasn’t until now he realized he was still shaking from the adrenaline. He never got it out before—the anger and jealousy were still bottled inside, running through his veins with no relief, because seeing you being touched like that by some man triggered something in Dex so strong that not even acting violently could calm him down. It festered in his chest like a sickness that could only be cured by your reassurance, your touch, your presence. 

And here you were in front of him, doing and giving him all of that. It’s what made it so easy for Dex to come to his conclusion that you were, in fact, all his—every part of you, everything, you were his alone. No one else ever had this effect on him the way you do. 

“I just want you to be safe with me,” Dex said, “only me.”

You smiled, even if you didn’t know the depths of his words. They came off to you as sweet nothings but to him it was law. It was no other way. It was unchangeable. 

“You’re mine,” Dex said in a guttural voice, his eyes half moons as he looked at you, “all mine.” His anger and jealousy started to shift into something else the more he looked at you. The more you absorbed his words and listened to him. He knew he had your full attention and he wanted more. The pit of this started beneath the button of his jeans. It was deeper than his heart. 

“Make it so,” you squint your eyes in return, succumbing to his intense gaze. 

Dex placed both his hands on your arms and traced the length of you slowly. You took a step closer to him so your chest was touching his. 

“I control myself so well around you,” Dex says in a low voice, “but right now I don’t want to.”

“So don’t,” you smirk, running your lips lightly against his. 

Dex swallows hard before his fingers find the hem of your sweater and pull it over your head. You stand in front of him in nothing but your jeans and bra and to Dex, it’s still not enough.  Dex runs his fingertips on your sides and slides his hand to your back, swiftly unclasping your bra. You shiver against his touch which is all too sweet.

“Dex,” you say in a low voice, “so don’t.” You repeated what you said before, hoping he got your message. 

Dex lifts an eyebrow and takes a deep breath, his dark eyes looking you up and down before relying purely on instinct. Dex lifts you up into his arms and you wrap your legs around him as he carries you to his bedroom and gently throws you on his bed. You land on your back and spread yourself on his fitted sheets, sheets he knows will be in ruins when he’s had you how wants. 

“I’m the only one who can see you like this,” Dex says. He takes his shirt off and reaches down to unbutton your jeans, slowly sliding them off your legs. You’re shaking. You nod at his words, whatever he says, that’s okay. 

Dex leans over you, his dirty blonde hair pushed to one side, his dark eyes looking at every inch of your skin. You don’t feel self-conscious, you feel seen. Dex kisses your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, and soon he’s peppering kisses between your breasts and down the length of your torso before he kisses the part you’re aching for. 

“I’m the only one who can touch you like this,” Dex says softly as he looks up at you from below. He places his hands on either of your thighs and spreads you open, so he’s face to face with your wetness. “And this,” he says, placing a thumb on your clit and putting not enough pressure on it, “is mine.”

“Okay,” you nod and close your eyes. Dex takes your hand and intertwines his fingers with yours while he kisses your sex and drags his tongue slowly over your folds. You press your head deeper in his mattress and take a long, deep breath. Dex begins to lap at your folds, licking you slowly and then faster, and when he gently wraps his lips on top of your clit and begins to suck on your sensitive bud, you let out a soft moan. 

“I’m the only one who can make you sound like that,” Dex looks up momentarily before he continues eating you out. He looks up at you with his mouth on your clit and closes his eyes again. He keeps licking up your wetness and feels his cock harden in his jeans, aching to replace his mouth with it. But not yet. 

“Dex,” you beg softly, “kiss me.”

Dex stops licking you up and moves up on his bed to be face to face with you. His lips are shiny from your wetness, but you don’t care. Dex slowly leans down and touches his lips to yours. You hold his face in your hands and hold him there for a few moments, opening your mouth to let his tongue in, you taste yourself on his lips. Dex deepens the kiss and you wrap your legs around him again. He places his hands under your back and lifts you, urging you to lay on your chest. You rest your head on his pillow and listen as he unzips his pants and throws them off.

  He puts his hands on your waist and lifts you so your ass is up. Dex spreads your legs and slowly slides in two fingers inside your pussy.

“So wet,” Dex whispers, “just for me.” He continues sliding his fingers in and out of your pussy. He pushes your hand to the side and leans down to kiss you in the crook of your neck. It sends butterflies to your sides, the feeling of his soft lips kissing you sweetly. And the sweetness is gone when you feel Dex’s cock slowly enter inside you.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Dex.”

“Say my name,” he whispers in a low voice in your ear.

“Dex,” you moan again as he begins to rock his cock back and forth inside of you slowly, feeling your tightness wrap around him. Dex’s arms are on either side of your head, and he buries his head in the crook of your neck. He fastens his pace thrusting inside you, feeling you move against him. You feel so wet and so tight around him, he bites your shoulder softly and says your name. 

“You’re taking me so well,” Dex whispers, “You’ll always be mine.”

“Yeah,” you moan, “you feel so good, Dex.”

“Fuck,” he lets a curse slip out as the more he thrusts his cock inside you the more wet you feel. “Taking me so well,” he says in a deep voice. 

“I’m so close, Dex,” you moan, and when you say this, Dex completely pulls out and you feel the absence of his size, absence of his closeness. Dex doesn’t want to finish with your face away from him. He wants to look into your eyes, see your face as his cock brings you to orgasm. Gone was the dominance, the real Dex wanted this to be special. 

He flips you over onto your back and spreads your legs and wraps them around his waist. Before he enters you again, Dex is breathing heavily, and he reaches up his fingers to caress the side of your face. Your lips are parted—you’re out of breath too—and the gravity of tonight’s earlier situation hits him. He never wants you to feel unsafe again. The only way that can happen is if Dex is in your life.

“You mean a lot to me,” Dex says, and it really is the closet thing he can say to those three dating little words. You smile at him, place your own hand on his face too. You don’t need to say anything. He knows you feel the same. And Dex slowly pushes himself inside your pussy again, feeling your tightness clench him and his size fill you up perfectly. Your face contorts with pleasure and you breath a heavy sigh. The tip of his cock hits your sweet spot each time he thrusts inside you. “You’re mine,” Dex says again as he picks up his pace. 

“Oh, Dex,” you pull him even closer as he continues pounding you into orgasm. Dex's eyes are dark as he holds this intense gaze with you, watching you orgasm like his life depended on it. Your so tight and went around him, when you finally come down from orgasm, Dex finally lets himself reach his own climax. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Dex’s own face contorts and it’s the sexiest you’ve ever seen him, coming so undone like this. He spills his cum inside you on his final thrust and feels his seed fill you up. You feel him spurt deeply and it feels euphoric to feel all of him inside you like this. 

If your relationship wasn’t clear before, it sure was now. You belonged to Dex and he you. As much as you were his, he was all yours. 

[ao3feed-fratt]

Two peas in a pod

Two peas in a pod https://archiveofourown.org/works/53142256 by Pump77Kin Doubting Karen made him feel like an asshole, the woman and her emotional support PI was damn certain that he wouldn’t be graced with the idiot’s company any more, but here Frank was, stuck to his spot, 30 feet away from a suit. A suit decorated with a red head and red glass. Frank knew normal people had the right to question his sanity, previous events were more than enough to prove it, but he hadn’t ever thought of the day when he himself considered going to see a psychiatrist. Curt would laugh in his face, give Frank some pills and a pat on the shoulder, then laugh some more. Or... I made up a magical Mickey. Words: 6842, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Daredevil (TV) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M, M/M, Other Characters: Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Karen Page, Jessica Jones (Marvel), Danny Rand, Luke Cage, Lester | Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Original Characters Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock, Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Karen Page, Luke Cage & Jessica Jones & Matt Murdock & Danny Rand, Matt Murdock & Original Character(s) Additional Tags: Pure Imagination, Some Humor, No Plot/Plotless, Comfort No Hurt, Friendships and rainbow, Alternate Universe via AO3 works tagged 'Frank Castle/Matt Murdock' https://archiveofourown.org January 18, 2024 at 10:33PM

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

As Imagined

Pairing: Ben Poindexter x Reader

Warnings: Slight language.

Summary: You decide to bring Ben a quick meal during his busy work day as a security detail for Fisk.

The elevator came to a halt with a familiar ding, gently rocking the floor of the small space. The doors lined with gold parted to reveal a hallway and you stepped into it, carefully balancing the drink holder in one hand and attempting to pull out the visitors pass from your pocket. Once the card was free and in your fingers, you turned left and walked over to the FBI agent standing in front of a large metal detector. 

“State your name and business.” The guard announced as you approached. You presented the card and then the coffee and paper bag. 

“Y/n. Delivering some coffee and bagels to Agent Poindexter because my friend refuses to have lunch.” You smiled. The agent nodded and handed the key card back, extending his other hand to take the beverage from you. 

“I’ll take that in for you.” 

You pulled back and shook your head. “I’d rather give it to him myself.” 

The guard glanced back at where the agents were working and then sighed when he returned to you. 

“With the present threat of Wilson Fisk, we can’t let you in there. There’s a lot of classified intel.” He told you apologetically. 

You squinted at the agent, hoping that your charm could create a small miracle. 

“Can you at least have Dex come out here for a while? He needs a break too.” You wondered. 

The agent paused for a minute and then nodded silently. He instructed that you wait where you stood until he returned with Dex. It didn’t take long. Soon the agent had been replaced with your friend who looked at you quizzically, clearly not expecting a visit. 

“Hey.” He said rather seriously, walking over. “Is everything okay?” 

You nodded and presented the treats. Dex’s concern melted into something softer when he realised why you had come. Taking the coffee, Dex swirled it slightly and looked at you. “You shouldn’t have come here.” He reprimanded. 

You took a sip of your own drink and leaned against the corridor wall, not realising that Dex had absentmindedly mirrored your actions. 

“You should have lunch.” You countered with a smirk. Pulling out a bagel, you passed it over to the agent. Dex took a bite out of it and sipped more of the warm liquid to wash it down. 

You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him and reached up to the injuries on face, gently brushing your fingertips below the scratch on his eyebrow. 

“You’re almost healed.” 

Dex inhaled and leaned into the touch, it was his ultimate weakness. He could abandon the FBI just to have you lying beside him and absentmindedly tracing his hand against your skin.

“Dex?” You chuckled with a small squint. You were trying to bite back a laugh as his behaviour reminded you of a touch-starved puppy. 

“Hmm?”

“Did I lose you?” 

Dex opened his eyes - not realising that he had closed them - and saw you looking back. He always controlled his impulse around you but lately, Dex had been losing control of that too. 

Jerking up and off the wall, Dex accidentally pushed your hand away and cleared his throat. “I - um - I was just...”

“Hey, Poindexter!” His fellow agent called out behind him. “The shitbag’s dressed for lunch.” 

Dex glanced back at his friend. “I’ll be right there.” 

As the agent fell back into the room, Dex heard you clear your throat. 

“I should be off too.” You told him. “I just wanted to make sure you ate and that you’re okay.” 

Dex wanted to say thank you but his words had lodged in his throat. He was so nervous that he just opted to nod in response. You handed him the remainder of the bagels and patted his arms twice before heading over to the open elevator. 

You pressed a button to the lower level and waited for the doors to close. Little did you expect for a hand to pop through and force the doors to open once again. Dex slid inside before you could question him and stepped over to where you stood.

Carefully, he placed a hand over you cheek and moved closer until his lips captured yours. He wasn’t thinking about what he was doing. He was just following his feelings from a few moments ago. 

He honestly didn’t know if his feelings were being reciprocated until your hand grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him close. It was everything he had imagined.

Masterlist here

[prince-septimus]

okay but imagine dex with fisk!daughter reader??? the tension would just be 🥵🥵🥵🥵

the daughter of a crime lord + the man in his pocket = a match made in heaven

"Fuck you, Dex."

"You wish, sweetheart."

The man named Fisk looks on at the pair — the agent he manipulated and now has under his thumb, and the daughter he had managed to paint in his image. The thought of the two of you forming an attachment doesn't escape him, but it makes him regret ever introducing the two of you.

Maybe he should've chose a less attractive agent, one that wouldn't pick at you in order to keep your attention, but Poindexter was too good to pass up. Easy to bend to his will, and willing to please.

He just hoped this wouldn't come back to bite him.

"You're really going to let him talk to me like that?" you ask, turning your attention to your father. There's a scowl on your face, and you look all too much like your mother in that moment.

Fisk bites back that remark.

"We're both adults, I don't see why it should concern him," Dex laughs, and though Fisk wishes the two of you would just leave each other alone, he agrees.

"He's right, dear." You groan at your father. "The two of you need to handle this like adults. You're old enough to handle your own situations."

"And yet you won't let me get more involved than paperwork?"

Fisk hated this argument.

"I let you have Wesley's position—"

"Wesley did more than paperwork!"

"And you will do no more than I tell you," Fisk's voice booms, and even Dex takes a step back.

Fisk wouldn't deny it — you were dangerous. You had been trained by him yourself, and he knew you could handle your own. You were tough, and smart, and would one day take over the business after he was gone, but until then, he would do everything he could to protect you.

You go to open your mouth, not afraid to step up to your father after spending your entire life with him, but your phone goes off on the couch before you're able.

Neither Fisk nor Dex can see the screen to decipher who it is, but the way your face loses its color warns them that it might be one of your many exes — the ones that were still alive at least.

You snatch your phone from its seat and make for the doors, but Dex's hand reaches out for you.

Fisk watches with curiosity at the way you grab Dex's shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. It's a sign of affection, and he wonders how attached the two of you already are.

He won't stop it, he knows that. Not now, at least. He wants you to be happy, but he won't let it spoil the plans he has for the two of you.

"I've got some errands to run," you announce, removing your hand from Dex's shoulder as you press answer on your phone. "I'll be back later."

You wait until the door is shut to speak into your phone, quiet enough that they won't be able to hear you. "You're not supposed to call me — I call you."

"It's important."

"Nothing is important enough to possibly expose me to my father, Matthew." You glance around the hall as you walk, careful to turn your head away from the cameras so nobody can possibly figure out who you're speaking to.

You'd be dead if anyone found out.

Matthew Murdock chuckles into the phone, and the scowl returns to your face. Hopefully anyone looking at the cameras right now will think exactly what your father always thought, that you were talking to some ex that left you scorned.

"Your boyfriend is running around my city dressed in my suit, and you don't think that's important?"

You almost stop in your tracks, but you keep your pace steady and make it to the elevator. "It's my city too, and he's not my boyfriend."

"You sure act like he is," Matt replies. "Meet me at our usual place."

You hang up without saying goodbye.

[thequeenofuselessinformation]

Damn girl, are you the internet? Cause imma monitor that ass all day

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine taking a bullet for Ray by Dex:

It didn't take a second thought, or even a first. Your body knew what to fo before you told it to. It reacted. It moved. It stepped in front of him before you realized what was about to happen. Dex had a gun. He intended to kill Ray. Aiming for a crucial part of the body, but would allow the most suffering. You knew how his mind worked, how he looked at you. You weren't a person, a friend or coworker. You weren't a sibling, a child, a parent. You were access points. You were another target he could practice on. There was nothing important or distinguishing about you, nothing that could set you apart from those paper targets you used at work. You or anyone. Ray has a wife. A son. People enjoy need him, and love him. He has a better chance of getting out of this situation, of stopping Dex. If he'd had time to react, he would have pushed you out of the way. He was nice like that. Kind. But there wasn't any time and you were grateful for that. Even as the res began to spread and the pain burned through your body like the fires of Hell, you were grateful. Ray was going to stop him. He was goi g to watch his son grow up. He was going to do what you'd set out to do. Dex was pissed. There was one bullet left and you ruined it. You ruined everything. Even as you bled you smiled at him, knowing this was the beginning of the end. He was finally going to pay for what he's done.

[myriadimagines]

[gif] // requester: anonymous (edited) // request here

IMAGINE: DEX GIVING YOU A NECKLACE DURING YOUR FIRST VALENTINE’S DAY TOGETHER.

“Um, I... I got you something.” Dex nervously hands you a small box, and judging on the size, you can guess it’s jewellery of some kind. You smile at him as Dex rubs the back of his neck, continuing to stammer, “I hope you like it. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Thank you, Dex,” you lean over to give him a kiss on the cheek, and Dex visibly softens. It’s your first Valentine’s as a couple, after all, and Dex wanted to give you something special. He watches as you open up the box, revealing a necklace with a star pendent. You gently hold it up, beaming at Dex as you softly gasp, “It’s beautiful.”

“You... you’re my North Star, y/n,” Dex blurts, taking a step closer to you. “And I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

[certifiedskywalker]

Are You Bored Yet? - Benjamin Poindexter

Anonymous said: Hi!! Can I request some more Poindexter x reader? I’ve read ever fanfic on this website and I’m so sad that the amount of fanfics for him is so limited! Maybe some more dark, Dex stalking the reader but the reader falling for Dex and everything goes according to his plan! I’ve fallen down the Dex hole

AN: It’s been a while since I’ve written for Dex! I hope I did him justice! (I will forever be bitter that we will not see him and DareDevil in the same way again)

This was not part of Dex’s plan. Hell, the idea of it set him on edge. With his occupation, his senses were used to overloads. The sound of gunfire and flashing lights did little in the ways of hindering him during his working hours. Outside of his schedule, well, it was different.

Different meaning near piercing. There was noise everywhere. Crashing, geering, shattering, all of it all at once. It took everything Dex had not to cover his ears. That day he learned that he hated arcades. There was nothing worth the smell, the sounds, any of it.

Except you. You were worth it all and that confused him. 

How could someone like you, all collected and cool, work at a place so obnoxious? The answer alluded Dex, taunted him, teased him with the tilt of your smile. When he learned where you worked, he almost lost his tether to you. Yet, he found himself watching you smile at people under the neon lights and assault of noise almost daily now. 

Dex pulled the brim of his cap down as he stepped further inside. You were behind the ticket counter bartering with a gaggle of loudly dressed children. Despite how annoying they were, how annoying Dex assumed all children were, you were smiling. It, no, you amazed him. If he could, he would watch you smile like that all-

“Fuck off, loser!”

“Hey!”

Dex forced himself to take a long, barely steadying breath before turning to face the high-pitched yelling. When he finally opened his eyes, his gaze was assaulted by the flashing, gold lights of ‘Shoot ‘Em Up Hoops’ and the pair of children fighting there. An older looking girl was pushing away a younger boy until the basketball in his hand fell. The orange ball rolled over to Dex, bouncing slightly, almost to the beat of the game’s music.

“You can’t shoot for shit.”

Dex reached down, hands gripping the ball tightly as he listened. The young boy was growing red in the face, tears welling up in his eyes. For a moment, Dex saw himself. He could feel the sting of rejection and twinge of fear as if it were his own. 

As if to prove that he was real, that the boy he once was was truly no more, Dex effortlessly threw the ball. His aim was sharp as always, the impact ever-so satisfying. There was a sudden silence around him as eyes turned to study him; but Dex was focused on the ball, where it had hit.

So neatly, the ball ran circles around the edge of the hoop before dipping inside. The older girl stared at him wide eyed as points were awarded to the younger boy. It was just enough to put the boy’s score ahead, winning the game. The children turned then, still in a stunned silence, to study Dex. The girl looked furious. 

Slowly, Dex walked up to the pair, crouching down before them. He locked eyes with the girl and he could see her resolve melting. Now the fear was hers.

“Cheating will get you no where,” Dex said lowly, “because there will always be someone better than you.” The children blinked at him, dumbfounded. “Run along now.”

Dex stood up as the two kids ran off. With a little more quiet, he found himself set a little more at ease. He turned his head only slightly to peer back at you. For a moment, in the din of jingling tokens and game sound effects, Dex swore you were looking at him. Yet, with his senses so overwhelmed, he convinced himself he imagined it and turned away.

Just leave, he thought, just fucking go. There was other things he could be doing, new regimes he could follow to distract himself from you. Hell, the new routines could even prove to be grounding. Dex needed stability. He turned to glance back at you.

You were talking to a frazzled looking mother and a very young girl pointing at a stuffed pony. Despite the obvious annoyance, you were smiling. It was a steady smile, one that Dex would have to practice in the mirror to get just right. You were the stability he lacked and Dex couldn’t leave you.

He let out a sigh and eyed the tokens that rest beside the ‘Shoot ‘Em Up Hoops’ game. The dumb kids left them there. They wouldn’t be back for them and Dex had time to kill before you shift ended. He would walk you home, well, a few paces behind, then. He had to make sure you were safe. There was too much going on, too much at stake.

Leaning down, Dex picked up one of the tokens and stepped up to the game. The coin slid into the slot and the game’s music started up again. He picked up the ball as the timer began and took aim. With an ease that never needed practice, Dex made a basket.

Many, many baskets later, and Dex took note of how much the noise in the arcade had died down. Most of the evening crowd had funneled out the door when the first stars began poking out in the dark sky. Now, it was a scattered few teenagers and desperate adults clinging to what they could; and Dex. Though, he was clinging to something, someone, too.

But your shift still wasn’t over yet so Dex continued racking up the points in ‘Shoot ‘Em Up Hoops’. It was so easy to get lost in the movement. Though, it wasn’t as fluid as throwing knives or axes. It reminded Dex of a simpler time. A time when-

“Are you bored yet?”

Dex felt a rush of heat wash over his back and shoulders. Slowly, he turned around to see you, with those eyes of yours, studying him. Dex gripped the basketball tightly as an automated voice entreated him to continue on with the game.

“I…”

“You’ve been shooting hoops for a while now and we’re closing in a few minutes.”

“Oh, sorry, I just,” Dex set the basketball down to mask the shakiness of his voice. He needed to get a grip. “I just lost track of time.”

“It’s alright,” there was that smile again. Dex felt his lips pull up too, just a little. Every other sound around you melted away then, leaving him just with you. 

For a moment, he thought maybe he could smile and mean it truly. Before he could, suddenly, your eyes widened and Dex felt like he was going to be sick. Did you recognize him from all the times he had snooped around? This was it. This was his worst fear realized: he was going to lose you before even knowing you.

“You have a ton of tickets! I didn’t even know that ‘Shoot ‘Em Up’ could grant that many! Do you want to exchange them?” Dex traced your gaze and saw the mass of tiny, connected slips of paper spilling out of the machine. How long had he been playing?

“I-sure. Yeah, I’ll exchange them.”

You were smiling at him again and Dex felt his chest tighten. Wordlessly, he followed you to the counter where he had seen you working before. The stuffed animals along the wall were largely picked over save for a large giraffe and a few colorful creatures Dex didn’t dare claim to know. The display case too was sparse aside from an array of tacky rings. As you moved behind the case, Dex piled his tickets on the counter. 

“Can you find the end of your tickets for me? I can put them in the machine to count them then.” You were cleaning up as you spoke and Dex couldn’t take his eyes off you. So close, so terribly close. When you turned around, Dex forced himself to look away. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Dex began to fumble with the tickets. After a moment, you stepped closer to him, hands reaching out near his.

“Here, let me help you.”

You began skimming the edges of the tickets with your fingers, searching, as Dex was, for the stub-end. At one point, your hand brushed against his and he swore that a jolt of electricity jumped between your bodies. Eventually, you found the end of the tickets and fed it into the counting machine. The silence was filled by the sound of the tickets being eaten up with a horribly robotic crunching sound emanating from a nearby speaker. 

“I’ve seen you around here a lot.” You did recognize him. Dex tried to keep himself steady; something that came easier, somehow, with you so close. 

“Yeah, I, my friend told me about this place.” It was a lie that he had practiced. He thought of Nadeem. A friend. “His kid had a birthday here.”

“You have kids?”

“No,” Dex couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up his throat. It was a bitter one but he muscled through it. “I don’t. Probably shouldn’t.”

“After working here,” you sighed heavily, “I think you might have the right idea. They’re a handful. I mean, that kid you stopped from bullying the other one, earlier. Kids can be mean.”

“You saw that?” So, you had noticed him, watched him even. A spark of hope set Dex’s veins aflame. The feeling only intensified when he noticed a wave of shyness hit you. You were curling in on yourself slightly now and all he wanted to do was reach out to you.

“Yeah, they were causing a bit of scene. If it wasn’t for you, I would have had to go over and separate them. So, uh, thanks for doing my job. It was sweet of you too, defending that boy.”

You met his gaze for a long moment, only breaking the contact when the ticket counter read off a total that Dex would be embarrassed to admit. He had gotten himself into a zone, honed focus. ‘Shoot ‘Em Up Hoops’ had officially proven itself to be a dangerous game.

“How did you get that many?” You asked in disbelief.

“Would you believe me if I said I played sports as a kid?” Dex bit the inside of his cheek. It was really a lie. A partial truth. He couldn’t remember the last time he had played any sport. 

“I mean yeah,” you shook your head, “you might want to consider going pro.” Dex put on a smile, though it was easier with you to wear it. “If the arcade plans on hosting a tournament, let me know. I’ll be the first to sign up.”

“I could add you quicker if I know your name,” you pointed out. Dex couldn’t help but pick up on how soft your voice had sounded. Your lips formed the words so carefully, almost as if you too had to practice what you were going to say.

“Dex,” he replied. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Your eyes widened. “How did you…”

Shit. Dex could feel the ground beneath his feet begin to crumble. His eyes danced along your face, your neck, your chest, and then he saw it. His way out.

“It’s on your uh, name tag.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I’m just-long day and all.” Dex smiled at your new nervousness, a smile that, for once, felt almost natural.

“It’s alright, you’ve got good reason to be paranoid.” You met his gaze then, an eyebrow raised in question. “Kids can be mean, and all.”

“Yeah,” you let out a breathy laugh, one that made Dex’s insides feel light as air. “So, you have a around a two thousand tickets. You can get just about everything, except for the giraffe.”

“Damn,” Dex leaned against the counter, trying to be more comfortable. “That was what I wanted. Just a few tickets short...anything you recommend?”

“Well, there’s these,” you pointed at the rings in the display case. “Perfect for a engagement, if you ask me, and then there’s these.” You stretched your arms up to the stuffed animals fastened to the wall behind the counter. “You could get a few of those.”

“Hmm…”

Dex felt a twinge in his stomach. There was pulling, a coaxing, in his chest. He knew most people called it bravery but Dex knew it best as adrenaline. It was just a chemical reaction in his body taking place as it should; but with you, he could almost believe is was something more.

“How many tickets for having coffee with you sometime?” The question fell from his lips without a second thought, something Dex started to regret as you fell silent. “That was...I was too forward. I’m-”

“A hundred tickets,” you murmured. Dex’s heart began to race.

“Just a hundred?”

“As long as you buy the drinks.”

“Coffee, tea, you name it,” Dex replied. A half smile pulled at his lips. There was no faking here, no mask in sight. Right then, it was just you and him. 

“Well then,” you held out your hand, “hundred tickets please.”

“Gladly,” Dex said, handing you what looked like a hundred or so odd tickets. It was finally paying off. The weeks of waiting, watching, and studying was all finally gathering into one moment. One agreement, one minute of Dex’s life that he would treasure forever.

You ripped off one of the tickets and grabbed a pen. Dex watched as you scribbled something on the tiny slip of blue paper. When you were finished, you handed it back to him.

“Here’s my number. Let me know when you’re free.” Dex took the slip from you, his finger tips brushing slightly against yours. 

“Thanks,” Dex said, gripping tightly to the paper. He looked up and met yours eyes. You were staring at him but not in the way he was used to people staring at him. Normally, when people looked at Dex, it was because he wasn’t normal. People could sense it and Dex knew that you could too; but you smiled, stared at him softly anyway. 

“I’m glad you didn’t get bored.” Dex’s brows furrowed. “Bored with ‘Shoot ‘Em Up Hoops’ that is. You stuck around.”

“Yeah, I am too.” 

Yes, Dex thought, he couldn’t have planned it better than this. He was willing to take this slow for you. Coffee first, stability later. He could never get bored with you. 

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

A New Devil

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fisk!Daughter Reader, Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Fisk!Daughter Reader

Summary: The daughter of Wilson Fisk walks a dangerous line between power and passion in Hell’s Kitchen. When Matt Murdock confronts her in the bar of her father’s Presidential Hotel, warning her about Benjamin Poindexter—her latest entanglement—wearing the Daredevil suit and wreaking havoc, she refuses to play into his self-righteousness. Matt sees her making the same mistakes as Fisk, but she insists she’s always one step ahead.

Inspired by: @prince-septimus 's headcannon? oneshot? about this topic.

The city breathes like a beast beneath you—alive, hungry, always watching. Hell’s Kitchen was never yours, not really, but it wasn't his either. Not Murdock’s. Not Dex’s. Not your father’s. It belonged to the shadows in between, and you had learned to navigate them with ease.

And yet, even as you sat across from Matt in the sleek, dimly lit bar of the Presidential Hotel—now your father’s hotel—you could feel the weight of all three men pressing in around you. Your father. Your ex. Your... whatever Dex was now.

"You shouldn’t be here," you murmured, swirling your drink lazily as you avoided looking at him. "You shouldn’t have called me."

Matt smiled that infuriating little smirk of his, the one that made you want to either punch him or kiss him, depending on the day. "Then why did you answer the phone?"

You exhaled sharply through your nose, setting the glass down with a soft clink. "Say what you need to say, Murdock."

"It’s about Poindexter."

You went still. A slow blink. A measured breath. "What about him?"

Matt leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, lowering his voice. "He’s wearing my suit."

The words barely had time to settle before you scoffed. "And?"

His jaw tensed. "And he’s using it to tear this city apart."

You rolled your eyes. "Spare me the theatrics. You think I don’t know what he does? You think I don’t know what you do? The only difference between the two of you is a red suit and a self-righteous complex."

Matt exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "You don’t see it, do you?"

You tilted your head, challenging him. "See what?"

"You think you’re different from your father. That you’re smarter than him, better. But you’re making the same mistake. You’re letting a man who was made to kill whisper sweet things in your ear, and you’re pretending he won’t turn on you when the time comes."

A slow smile curled your lips, sharp and cruel. "Oh, Matty. The difference between my father and me is that I don’t pretend he won’t. I just plan for when he does."

Matt’s expression darkened. "Then you know how this ends."

You reached for your drink again, raising it slightly. "Everything ends, Matthew. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to enjoy it while it lasts."

Dex was waiting for you when you got back to your apartment. Sitting on your couch like he belonged there, a knife in his hands, flipping it between his fingers with that eerie precision of his.

"Was he convincing?" he asked without looking up.

You let out a breath, kicking off your heels. "He’s worried about you. Thinks you’re unstable."

Dex snorted. "Takes one to know one."

You smirked, making your way toward him, settling onto his lap without hesitation. He let you, hands immediately resting against your hips, firm and possessive.

"What do you think?" he asked, voice dropping lower. "Am I unstable?"

You ran your fingers through his hair, tilting his head back just slightly. "I think you’re dangerous," you murmured. "And I think I like it."

His eyes darkened, his grip tightening. "Careful, princess. You might start sounding just like your father."

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his, barely a whisper of a touch. "Then it’s a good thing I never wanted to be anything else."

Dex’s breath hitched just slightly before he yanked you down into a bruising kiss, sharp and consuming, as if he wanted to mark you from the inside out.

You wanted him to.

Because Matt was wrong.

You weren’t your father.

You were worse.

[takenbypeter]

Dinner Date Trouble

Benjamin Poindexter x reader

Words: 738

A/N: This story is really lame but I wrote it awhile ago and just wanted to post it cuz I wanted to post something with Dex since March 4th is almost hereeeee

Benjamin Poindexter knew he was a lucky man to have found you. 

He knew he wasn’t the only one who thought this way. There were probably a number of people who looked at you two and thought you could do better, he just knew it. But still you always managed to assure him of your love for him. But Dex knew who he was. He was a harsh, critical, and harmful man. The list was endless for him. But still you always assured him he was a good man. Now though he had another quality to add to that list. Jealousy. 

Dex didn’t blame you for how others acted but he sure as hell was irritated when someone was being just plain obvious. 

Take this one guy that was seated close by at the restaurant’s bar stool. 

He’d already been sneaking glances your way since you’ve arrived and Dex has heard him make not one, not two, but three remarks about you to his friend nearby. 

Dex knew he had to control himself but with each lingering glance he’d grip his knife tighter and tighter. 

Dex held himself back, but he couldn’t stop his own eyes from staring daggers at the man. 

He had been so focused on his anger that he hadn’t realized the red that started to slowly drip from his hand onto the white table cloth. 

It was your voice that broke him out of his trance. 

“Dex?” Your voice was firm but concerned while your hand reached for a nearby napkin. 

Dex, who didn’t even realize what he was doing, loosened his grip as he blinked out of his trance and dropped the utensil that had his blood still on it.

“I…I’m fine.”

Your eyebrows pulled down while you frowned. Taking his hand, you turned it over before pressing the napkin to the cut he managed to get. 

He glanced over at the guy who was shaking his head and now chuckling to himself. 

Feeling embarrassed by his actions he pushed his chair out, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

And with that he left.

You sat back in your chair, letting out a knowing sigh. He’s done this before. You know he was trying to do better for you. But it was hard for him. 

You didn’t know what he was doing in the bathroom, tending his wound? probably. Giving himself a pep talk? Somewhat likely. All you knew was that he was strong, he could get through it. Glancing around the room as time progressed looked at the decor of the restaurant before your eyes land on another pair to the side of you. 

Thinking it to be coincidental you break contact before giving one more glance back and finding the man directly staring at you. His eyes were focused as if determined. Honestly it felt weird and creepy. 

No longer feeling comfortable, you made the executive decision, grabbed Dex’s jacket and waited by the men’s bathroom entrance which was luckily hidden behind a wall out of anyone’s lurking eyes.

You stood leaning across from the door for a little bit, his jacket folded between your crossed arms, until eventually it opened. 

“Hey,” you muttered, catching Dex a little off guard.  

His eyes fell to his jacket which you held out for him, “let’s get out of here.”

Dex pressed his lips together, “but you’ve been wanting to come here.”

“Eh this place is starting to give me the creeps.”

He frowned, giving you a look, “was it the guy in blue?”

You hesitated, answering his question without answering his question. 

Getting his answer he turned on his heel. Knowing exactly where he was headed you quickly reached out to grab his hand causing him to pause with his back turned to you, “Dex no please, let’s just go. There’s this ice cream place down the street I wanted to check out.”

He gritted his teeth, his nose practical flaring. But feeling your hand squeeze his tighter he relaxes and lets out a single breath, his shoulders dropping as he does so. 

“Let’s go.”

Your cheeks pull upwards and Dex’s already feeling better about the rest of this night. 

Pulling you into his arm he leads the way towards the exit, but not before making sure he caught one last look at the man. 

Dex may not do something about him at the moment but you can bet he won’t forget that face. 

[amberlynnmurdock]

The Good In You (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Benjamin Poindexter x Reader

Chapter Summary: Dex grows fond of the nurse down the hall, so much so that if someone says something disrespectful about her, he won't take it so well.

Genres/Warnings: men objectifying women, toxic masculinity, angst, light fluff if you squint your eyes

Words: 5k exactly!

Tags: @danzer8705 @reblog-reblog666 @pcrushinnerd

Ao3 Link

Strange weather misted over the building of the Bureau, giving it an ominous look. She walked up the steps to the building and uttered “good morning” to whoever she walked past. She breathed a sigh of relief once she was in the elevator surrounded by other FBI staff members. The elevator dinged and lifted them to their floor. 

The office was slowly filling up with agents and staff who were treading in from the weekend. She made her way to the exam room and relaxed once she shut the door. Opening the locker that was tucked in the corner of the room, she brushed her hair and fixed what was messed up from the rain. It didn’t matter though—she’d have to put it up in a clip anyway. 

Working for the FBI was much more peaceful than working at the hospital. She enjoyed the privacy she had in her room and she liked the relationships she’d built with the agents here. She sat at her desk and went through her morning checklist before realizing thirty minutes had passed and she hadn’t had a cup of coffee yet. 

The break room was a little farther down the hall on the left. On her way down, she brushed passed other agents and found the door to Hattley’s office open, inviting her to say hello. 

“Morning, Tammy,” she greeted in the door frame. Hattley already had multiple files open on her desk. She was highlighting and tabbing different documents, standing over them. Her red hair was done in a low bun. “Already planning out the week for the agents?” She asked. 

Hattley laughed and shook her head. “Sure am, __. How was your weekend?”

“Relaxing, but ended too quickly. You?”

“Had my daughter’s cheerleading competition Saturday and then spent all of Sunday preparing for today,” Hattley said, not making eye contact with her. 

“You’ll need me on-call this whole week with the amount of files you’ve got there?” She asked Hattley. 

“Definitely,” finally, Hattley makes eye contact with her and smiles. “Just in case anything goes badly.”

“Of course,” she shrugged light-heartedly. Hattley returned to her work and she exited the room, continuing her way to the break room.

When she made a turn inside, she was pleasantly surprised to see Special Agent Poindexter scooping grounds of Bustelo into a new filter. Dex’s back was facing her, so she gently cleared her throat to make her presence known to him. 

“Morning, Dex,” she greeted quietly as she snuck up beside him at the counter. Dex paused his movements and turned to look at her. When he saw it was her, a smile slowly spread on his face. She was standing so close to him that she could see the depth of his hazel eyes when he looked at her. Of all the people in the office it could be, he was happy it was her this early in the morning. Dex was in a dark suit with a white button-down shirt. He looked undeniably handsome. He was out of uniform—this meant today was a training day for new agents.

“Good morning,” he greeted, continuing to scoop coffee. “Caught up on sleep this weekend like you wanted to?” She was mesmerized by the way his hands gently scooped the grounds of coffee and flicked it in the filter. Those same hands handled weapons she couldn’t imagine holding herself. 

She laughed, though, pleasantly surprised that he remembered their conversation from Friday night. 

“I did,” she answered with a nod, “but it’s never enough. You?"

“Same,” Dex nodded, putting one last scoop of coffee in the new filter. He placed the holder in the machine and switched the knob to turn on. The machine hummed and began to brew. Dex turned around and leaned his back on the counter. When he did this, she caught a whiff of his cologne—a musky, woodsy scent. She tried not to react to how good he smelt.

“It takes a little bit to brew if you don’t want to stay,” Dex said, his voice bringing her out of her thoughts. “I’ll bring you a cup to your office. How do you take it?” Dex offered. She shook her head—she didn’t mind making small talk with him and waiting for it to brew. 

“I can stay,” she smiled. “But you can still fix my coffee. I like it with a dash of milk.”

“You got it,” he smiled back. “You have a busy day today?”

“Not really,” she said. “I’ll be cleaning and filing the new agents we have in our system. Speaking of, are you training them today?” 

Dex cracked his neck and sighed. “Yeah, new agents. All day.”

“Be nice to them,” she smiled teasingly. “I bet they’re all scared.”

“If they’re scared of training then they probably shouldn’t have applied to be in the FBI,” Dex retorts with a smirk. “Besides, today’s easy. All presentations. Boring, but easy.”

“Well, I hope today goes quickly for us both,” she smiled, gently knocking her shoulder on his. Dex smiled and looked down, holding his left wrist with his right hand. 

Just as he’s about to say something else to her, another agent enters the room, and Dex tenses immediately. He wasn't fond of the agent who came in, ruining his moment with her. 

Her attention is drawn to Agent Beckett, who stands at six feet tall with dark brown hair, a five o’clock shadow, and a bright smile. It was hard not to be drawn to someone like him when he entered a room—he was handsome. Handsome, but slightly arrogant. Slightly intimidating. Not at all like the sweet agent who stood beside her, and offered to fix her a cup of coffee. 

“Morning, Poindexter,” Beckett greets loudly. “Glad to see you’re out of the cave this morning,” he bellowed. She jumped at the loudness in his voice and offered a small smile, trying to avoid eye contact. She stepped out of his way—away from Dex. 

“Morning,” Dex replied with a straight face. 

“Hey, __,” he called her name, an unavoidable greeting. “Is this guy bothering you?” He smirked, giving Dex a taunting wink. Dex’s jaw clenched and he kept his hands firmly in front of him, eyes forward. 

“No,” she laughed uncomfortably, feeling her heart beating fast. She glanced at Dex, who kept his stare straight ahead of him. 

“I’m kidding, sweetheart,” Beckett says, jimmying his way between her and Dex. “Ah, coffee’s almost done. Poindexter, why don’t you fix us both a cup ahead of this stupid training we have?”

Dex turns carefully, jaw clenched and silent. The coffee machine beeps and Dex grabs two cups from the cabinet. He pours coffee into each cup and grabs the carton of milk from the fridge, giving the perfect splash in the first cup before putting the milk back. He walks around Agent Beckett, careful not to bump into him, and gives her the cup of coffee. She takes it from his hands, feeling her fingers brush against Dex’s. Dex holds her eye contact for a few seconds and squints his eyes at her as a way to say here you go. 

“I’ll see you in there, Beckett,” Dex says before leaving the kitchen. Beckett stands there confused, empty-handed. He grabs a styrofoam cup and pours coffee into it. 

“Such a weird dude,” Beckett says under his breath. 

“What makes him weird?” She questioned him, annoyed with his attitude. 

“He only talks to three people here and is just a dick,” Beckett said. She flinched at his tone and shook her head, debating whether to say her next words or not. 

“Just because he takes his job seriously and keeps to himself doesn’t make him weird. Maybe you should learn something from him, Beckett,” she replies with a terse tone. Beckett raises an eyebrow and looks at her suspiciously. He sips his coffee, holding his stare on her. She leaves the room quickly, ignoring the increase in her heartbeat. She much preferred how she felt when Dex was in the room. 

Down the hall, she can see Dex making his way to the elevator, clipboard in one hand, coffee in the other. The elevator doors close before she can offer Dex a thank you. The cup he made was perfect. 

***

Dex hated socializing but he hated even more to be socializing against his will out of peer pressure with the other FBI agents. 

It was Thursday night. No one had tasks on Friday until noon and Agent Garcia had rounded everyone in the SWAT unit to get drinks at a local bar near the Bureau. Dex ignored the invite naturally—those things, such as invites, didn’t apply to him. But when Ray got off the phone with his wife (Sammy was on a camping trip meaning Ray was essentially free) Dex knew there was no hope in going home like he wanted to. 

So there he was, sitting in the corner of a dingy bar; cold beer in one hand, the other sitting on his thigh in anticipation. Anticipation for something to go wrong. Anticipation for this night to end. Dex watched as the FBI agents all hounded each other—arms around each other drunkenly, complaining about this week’s new agents and how they needed to get paid more. Dex looked at them with disdain. He couldn’t relate to any of them even if he wanted to. 

His mind wandered to the last few minutes of work when he got the chance to say goodbye to her.

“Headin’ out early?” Dex asked as he leaned in the doorway of her exam room. She was gathering her things and putting on her coat. Dex watched her carefully from afar, admiring the way she effortlessly made everything she did look so easy. 

“A rare occasion. Yes,” she smiled. “I heard a bunch of the agents are going out tonight. Are you joining them?”

“Unfortunately,” Dex sighed. “I’m only going for Ray. Show face.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fun,” she reasoned, meeting him at her door. “Just don’t give me a reason to have to come back at midnight and I gotta stitch you up for getting in a bar fight.”

Dex laughed softly. “I would never.” 

Ray came back to his seat laughing, holding a new beer. His presence brought Dex out of his memory. Ray shook his head and looked at Dex. 

“These guys, man,” Ray uttered. “They’re lucky we’re all off the clock.”

“Yeah,” Dex said coolly, taking a sip of his beer. “Real lucky.”

“Why don’t you get in there and join them?” 

“I’m fine here,” Dex answered. 

“Make a little effort, Dex,” Ray urged. He knew he meant well, but Dex wished he’d stop pushing it. He sighed, feeling trapped in his corner. He watched as Beckett and other agents took shots of whiskey and slammed the glasses on the bar. 

“Who wants to play some darts?” Beckett asked the group. He made his way over to where Dex and Ray sat and slammed his hand on the table. Dex tensed and straightened in his seat. “Nadeem? You got skills with darts? I know you do.” 

“Oh, I don’t think so. Maybe Dex—he’s our sniper after all.” Ray pats Dex on the shoulder. If looks could kill, Ray would be on the floor. 

Beckett gives him a thoughtful look then looks at Dex. “Whaddaya say, Poindexter?”

“Not in the mood,” Dex said in a low voice, swiveling his beer around. 

“Come on, Poindexter. Have a little fun. Don’t be a pussy. You and Ray versus me and Garcia. Let’s go,” he urged Dex. Dex tried to hide the suspicion he felt but shrugged. 

Ray gives Dex an urging look, and finally, Dex cracks. 

“Okay,” Dex sighs, taking a sip of his beer. “You guys first.”

“All right,” Beckett nods. 

Ray pats Dex on the shoulder again and makes his way toward the dart boards. Dex pushes past people in the bar, the dingy air getting to his senses. The smoke from cigarettes in the bar burns his eyes and the smell of sticky alcohol coats the floor. He can feel his shoes sticking to it. Being in a place like this reminds Dex of a time he tried to socialize when he was younger—he’s gotten better at it over the years, but he hated how nothing really has changed about it. 

Dex finds a new table to place his beer at. He feels all eyes on him from the other agents, watching him like he’s some kind of circus act. Maybe they're not judging him, maybe it’s all in his head. He ignores their stares. At least that much he’s gotten better at.

Agent Garcia wrote the team names on the board as the other agents found their places to watch. The dart boards were tucked in a corner of the bar, away from most people, though some strangers lingered to watch the game. Ray brought over a bin of darts. 

“Choose your color.”

Dex quickly glanced at the bin and grabbed the first trio he saw. The barrel of the darts was navy blue, paired with a white shaft. The flight colors were black and white stripes. Ray opted for red and orange colored ones. 

Agent Beckett was first. He placed his left foot at a sideways angle and stepped forward with his right. He squinted his eyes. Dex watched with crossed arms. Beckett threw his dart forward and it landed on the 18th segment, triple ring. He threw twice more and hit the double ring at 6 and 10. His darts were purple and white. 

“Not bad,” Beckett said to himself. He marked the scoreboard and took his darts off the board. “You’re up, Garcia.”

Garcia got in the same position and threw his green and black darts all too fast, hitting double rings at 10, 15 and 2. Beckett booed him, along with the other agents as they all took another swig of beer. 

“You first,” Dex said in a low voice to Ray. 

Ray deflates. “Come on.”

“You made me come out. You’re going first,” Dex demanded. He won’t take no for an answer. Ray nodded his head in defeat and walked up to the mark. 

Ray’s about to throw his dart when Agent Beckett makes a fake moaning sound to throw him off. Ray stumbled and completely missed the board. Dex glared at Beckett. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Beckett raised his hands. “Fair is fair.”

Ray laughs anyway and throws his last two darts. Triple ring at 11 and 8. 

Ray marked the board and took his darts. He raised his eyebrows at Dex knowingly as Dex took his stance to throw. 

It’s almost too easy.

He hits the bull twice before making the bull’s eye on his last throw. He didn’t want any more attention than he already had so he purposefully missed the bull’s eye twice before ultimately choosing his pride—just to see the look on Beckett’s face. Dex smirked as he heard Ray cheer along with a few other agents. Beckett brooded in his seat like a spoiled child. 

“Bullseye!” Ray shouted, slamming the table with his hand. 

“Game is still on,” Beckett reminded everyone. “Let’s make it more interesting. Whoever’s up has to say who they would fuck in the office,” at this, a few agents started to laugh and pulled out their phones, obviously searching on social media their co-workers. Dex shook his head and pinched his nose. “Come on, we’re off the clock. What happens out here stays out here. It doesn’t make it back to the office. Nobody’s going to tell on anybody. Not that the Bureau can afford to fire anyone anyway. Ray, you’re excused since you’re married—unless you want to play.”

Dex rolls his eyes as he faces the board and takes his darts out. He adds the score to the scoreboard and walks slowly back to the table. Beckett watches him carefully. Dex ignores him. 

Garcia’s up first. 

“The girl at the front desk in the building on the first floor,” he says. “I can’t remember her name, but her tits are perfect. I love that the desk is low so I can get a better look if she’s wearing a low-cut top. Or when she wears those zipper polos and I only see the shape. God,” he breathes out. He gets in position and throws each dart lazily. He doesn’t even care he misses, he just takes another sip of his beer. 

“Yeah, she’s cute,” Beckett agrees. “I don’t know. If I had to choose, how about that nurse we just got?” Beckett asks. “Poindexter, you know the one. Don’t you?” The tone of his voice is barbed. 

Dex grips his beer so tightly the glass might shatter in his hand at the mention of her. The mention of her coming out of Beckett’s mouth. Dex’s fingers twitch over his darts on the table, lining them up evenly. His jaw tightens as he watches Beckett get into position. Dex leans on the wall and feels his muscles tense. 

“Yeah,” Dex says coolly. “I know her.”

Beckett throws his first dart. He hits the triple ring at 1.

“She’s real pretty,” he states. “Quiet. But they say the quiet ones are always the freakiest.”

He throws his second dart. Dex grabs one of his darts and slowly moves away from the table, ignoring the nervous glances he receives from Ray. Beckett hits the triple ring on 16. 

“I think I’d like to fake an injury to get examined by her. Feel her hands all over my face. You know, she’s actually pretty feisty when you talk to her. Should’ve heard what she said when you left the break room the other day, Poindexter,” Beckett repositions himself. Dex loses his composure for a moment—he didn’t know of this. “I don’t like a girl who thinks she can talk to me a certain way. Yeah, I’d like to get in her exam room and shut her up with my cock in her mouth.”

At this, the other agents laugh and roar, holding their beer bottles up in the air. Beckett laughs with them and looks at Dex before he throws his final dart.

“Bet you’d like to do the same to her,” Beckett taunts. 

When Beckett’s dart lands, it lands on the bull. 

Dex breathes deeply. It wasn’t often Dex let his emotions get the best of him—that was something he learned from Dr. Mercer—to learn to control his emotions. Learn to control his rage. Since joining the army, and then joining the FBI, his work has helped him keep himself in check. He doesn’t take things personally. He remains calm in otherwise stressful situations. He tries not to react. He’s learned to calculate situations in his head. 

Those same sentiments apply to this very situation he’s in right now. He’s knowingly controlling his rage. When people have rage, most people see red. They feel hot. Not Dex. Dex sees black when he feels rage. He feels cold in his blood. 

And that’s why when Beckett goes up to the board after taunting Dex using her name like it was nothing, Dex decides to take his shot early. 

Dex throws the dart so fast before anyone can register what’s happening. As Beckett is walking towards the dartboard to get his darts, Dex’s shot flies right beside Beckett’s head, just purposefully missing him, but landing right on the bullseye. Beckett jumps back in startling realization that Dex's dart almost pinned his finger to the board. 

“What the hell?!” 

Beckett stalks over to Dex and pushes him with his chest against him. Rage is clearly all over Beckett, hot-headed anger coming Dex’s way. Dex stands still and braces himself. “What the fuck’s your problem, man?” 

“My problem is—“ Dex begins to say, but stops himself when he sees all the agents looking at them. Suddenly he hears her voice in the back of his head; she only made a joke about him getting into a bar fight, but Dex took it to heart. Ray stands from the table, anticipating both Dex and Beckett’s next move. Dex analyzes the situation quickly. He’s not in the mood for this—not tonight. He lets out a harsh breath—gives Beckett one last look of disdain, before walking outside the bar and into the cold night. 

Ray is right behind him. 

“What the hell was that?” Ray asks in exasperation, catching up to Dex who’s further down the street. Dex feels something heavy and hollow in his chest. 

“Dex!” Ray calls him, grabbing his shoulder. Dex shakes his hand off him and snaps at Ray.

“What Ray?” Dex snaps, daggers in his hazel eyes as he stares down Ray.  

“You could get in trouble for purposefully trying to hit him like that. What the hell were you thinking?!” 

“Like you said,” Dex said, eyes narrow, tucking his hands in his pockets. “We’re lucky we’re off the clock.”

“That’s different,” Ray says through gritted teeth. “You almost threw a dart in his hand.” 

“Beckett said himself that what happens outside stays outside. As far as I’m concerned, he didn’t move out of the way in time for me to take my shot. It was an accident.” 

“Jesus,” Ray utters under his breath, massages his temples. “Really hope this doesn’t make it back to Hattley.” 

“I don’t care if it does,” Dex shakes his head. “It was a game of darts. I didn’t want to come out, Ray,” Dex says in a low voice. “You made me. I wasn’t going to stand around there any longer and listen to them bullshit like that. Now they’ve got something else to talk about.”

Dex turns around and continues on his walk home, eyes forward, drowning out the noise of the city, the noise of the night. 

***

Dex doesn’t get to the Bureau until noon the next day. 

When he arrives, he scans his FBI badge at the door and walks into an otherwise normal setting at the office. People are at their desks, typing away and working on their tasks. Ray comes walking down the hall, looking more stressed to see Dex than happy. Dex isn’t worried about it. He isn’t even worried when Ray pulls him into an empty conference room to talk to him.

“Hattley’s going to call you in her office today,” Ray says in a hushed tone. “She caught wind of what happened last night.”

“And?” Dex questioned. “What exactly was it that happened other than you and me beating Beckett at a little game of darts?”

Ray shoots Dex a knowing look, disapproving of his otherwise lighthearted tone. The one time Dex chooses to be lighthearted, it’s a problem. 

“Not to Beckett,” Ray explained. “He went to her office earlier this morning.”

“So Beckett’s a tattle tale and sore loser,” Dex nodded. “Got it.”

“He feels threatened by you,” Ray told him.

“And how’s that my problem?”

“Because he’s trying to rally the other agents in getting him on his side.”

“And yet I’m still here. The problem isn’t me, Ray. It’s what he says about people in this office—it’s what he said about—“

“About __, I know,” Ray said. “I think Hattley’s going to talk to her as well.”

Dex squints his eyes, “does she know?”

“I don’t know,” Ray shook his head. “I can’t imagine Beckett would tell Hattley what lead up to the dart throwing.”

“This is ridiculous, Ray. What are they going to do? Tell me not to play darts anymore?”

“I don’t know—I just wanted you to be prepared for when she calls you.”

Dex sighs, and Ray leaves him there alone in the conference room. He exits and walks around the corner, almost bumping into someone. 

It’s her.

“Oh, hi Dex,” she stumbles, “I’m sorry. How are you?”

Dex raises his eyebrows, whatever hard expression he had on his face softening when he looked at her. “Hey—I’m good.” From the way she’s speaking, Dex doesn’t think she knows what happened.

“How was last night?” She asked.

“Not that fun, honestly.”

“Aw, that’s too bad.”

“Did you have a good night?”

“Yeah, turned in early. Got here about an hour ago.”

“Agent Poindexter,” Hattley calls from a few feet behind them. “Do you have a minute to speak?”

“Sure,” Dex answers. He looks back at her and smiles softly. “I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay,” she nods. 

Dex walks past her, following Hattley into her office. He’s not intimidated in the slightest—he knows he didn’t do anything wrong. He closes her door and takes a seat in front of her desk. 

“How are you, Poindexter? It’s been a while since I’ve called you in, which I guess is a good thing,” Hattley says as she sits down. 

“I’m good,” Dex says. “What’s the reason why I’m being called in?”

“Well, I understand that co-workers become friends and friends hang out outside of work. So I know a bunch of the agents went out last night. Which is typically fine,” Hattley begins, putting her hands together, “but I did receive a complaint from another agent this morning about something that happened last night.”

Dex can’t help but shake his head and roll his eyes—he was getting tired of the beating around the bush. “It was a game of darts, Agent Hattley.”

“I understand that,” she says quickly, “but Beckett is particularly unhappy with your conduct. And he feels uncomfortable about it.”

“Because I hit a bullseye?” Dex scoffed, “Hattley, come on. Do you hear how ridiculous this sounds? If Beckett is getting worried about a fair game of darts then maybe he’s not cut out for this job,” Dex explains in frustration. Of course, Beckett left out of the part that he instigated Dex’s so-called “conduct.” Of course he would leave out his own locker-room talk about __. “It was a brush,” Dex says more calmly. “It didn’t hit him.”

“I did hear something else,” Hattley says carefully. “There was a mention of __. Is that true?”

“It’s true that Beckett said something about her. Yes.”

“And then you proceeded to make him uncomfortable with the dart.”

“If you want to call playing a fair game making him uncomfortable, then yes. What’s your point?” 

“I just want to keep the peace, Agent Poindexter,” Hattley says quietly. “Do you really think I give a damn about a dart game after work hours? I manage a lot of personalities in this Bureau and if someone brings something to my attention, I’ll attempt to make peace, even if it is a silly game of darts. I just wanted to talk and let Beckett know I spoke with you. Do you understand what I’m getting at?”

Dex nodded. He did. 

“Thank you,” he says sternly. “Can I please be excused?”

“Yes,” Hattley says. “Could you get __ for me? I’d like to speak with her as well.”

***

Dex finds her in her exam room, reading over a file at her desk. She’s sipping on a cup of coffee and focused when she hears the door of her room open. She’s pleasantly surprised again when she sees it’s Dex. 

“Hey,” she smiles, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Dex nods. “Hattley wants to talk to you.”

“Me? Why?” She asks as she stands from her seat, feeling a tiny bit nervous.”

“Uh,” Dex sighs, and steps inside her office completely, and shuts the door. “Just about something that happened last night.” 

“What happened last night and what does it have to do with me?”

Dex looks away from her concerned gaze. He’s not sure if he should tell her or not.

“I don’t want you to get upset,” Dex says in a soft, low voice. “Beckett and some other agents might have said some weird things about people in the office.”

She raises her eyebrows and crosses her arms. “I assume the people he said weird things about were women in the office?”

Dex nods. He doesn’t say anything more. She suddenly feels uncomfortable at the thought of Beckett being in her room. 

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll talk to Hattley.”

“It’s going to be alright,” Dex offers as comfort. 

“If you say so.”

Dex opens the door for her and lets her out. She makes her way to Hattley’s office and knocks on her door.

“Come in,” Hattley calls. 

“Hey,” she says, closing the door behind her. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Hattley nods. “Please, sit.”

“What’s going on?” She asks with confusion and anxiety in her voice. 

“This will be quick. I just wanted to ask you something about the agents here. You’ve gotten to know them over the past few months, right?”

“Yes,” she nods. “I like everyone here.”

“Does anyone make you uncomfortable?”

“Who are you exactly implying, Tammy?”

Hattley looks over her shoulder to make sure her door is closed. “Does Special Agent Poindexter make you uncomfortable?”

She laughs, despite herself. What was it with this Bureau trying to make Dex into something he’s not? Was his personality really that off-putting to people who didn’t know him? Dex hasn’t made her feel uncomfortable ever—it was Beckett who did. 

“Tammy,” she begins, leaning forward in her seat. “Wasn’t it Beckett who said something strange about the women in the office? No, I’m not afraid of Special Agent Poindexter. Frankly, it’s Agent Beckett who makes me uncomfortable. Shouldn’t you be asking me about him?”

Hattley purses her lips and considers what she says. “Okay. That’s all I needed to know.” 

Frustrated, she leaves Hattley’s office and quickly walks back to her exam room, shutting the door. Running a hand through her hair, she can’t help but wonder what it was Beckett said about her and the other women in the office. It must’ve been gross and inappropriate. Part of her wants to know, the other part is disgusted at the thought. 

And what did all this have to do with Dex?

[storiedtreasures]

The Same Mistakes

Benjamin Poindexter x Reader

Warning: None yet. 

Word Count: 1463

Part 3 of ?

 “How’s it working out?” you asked, grabbing the empty coffee cup off the shelf by the bed. Dex looked down at the red ball in his hand. He didn’t manage a full shrug, but something equally noncommittal passed from his form.

“They work on your range of motion in PT? I dislocated my shoulder once and it took forever for it to come back to me.” He glanced at your forearm where your shirtsleeve ended and looked back at the ball quickly. He tossed it at the far wall and caught it easily.

You nodded, visibly impressed. “How’s your left arm coming?”

He blinked hard at the implication, tilting his jaw away from you as he tossed the ball to his other hand. You watched his hand motions for a second, before turning to look at the wall you expected him to hit. Or not hit, it seemed. Your mouth opened a little as the ball made contact, congratulatory praise about to fall when a red blur whizzed past your ear and back, close enough to make your hair move. It hit the far wall again and came back to his hand.

Your lips pursed when he looked to you for your comment. You held the empty cup up, not quite smiling but something adjacent, as you walked towards the door, “Don’t ask about the left arm, got it.”

Dex was surprised to see you even earlier the next day. Your hair was pulled back and there was a slight sheen on your face and arms where sweat had dried on them. You threw the linens you carried onto the empty cabinet against the wall and sank into the flimsy chair next to it.

“I thought you’d be at PT,” you explained through deep breaths. He glanced at the clock on the wall behind you. You checked the time on it over your shoulder. “Ten minutes. Got it. I’m gonna sit here for a second, okay?” He didn’t answer.

He had noticed the dark, damp spot on the back of your scrubs when you had set the blankets down and now that you were seated, he could see that the neckline of your shirt was plastered to your chest. Even the stray hairs not bound in your ponytail were laying flat against your neck.

“They’ve got me on bed rounds today. I said yes to that,” you stared out the door like you hoped someone would overhear you, “like an idiot.”

You had made the mistake of getting an orderly to move one of the other patients off their bed, you explained, and tried to make it in record time while the orderly struggled to keep the patient calm. It hadn’t gone well, in summary. “I spent more time getting the damn sheets off than putting any on!”

You were back on your feet, laying a hand on the foot of his bed while you pulled at your shirt in an attempt to unstick it. The effort exposes not only the messy knot holding your pants together but that the sheen of sweat has run from your chest down your stomach and all the way to your waistband. “I’ve got 4 more rooms left,” you said, your voice still clear and loud so that anyone in the hall might hear. You hadn’t calmed since sitting down, if anything you had gained more frantic energy as you poked at the plastic frame of the bed.

You shook with indignation, trembling like a leaf in a storm. “And if one more of them says ‘military corners’, I’m gonna show them military corners.” You pulled your elbow up and pointed at it. The thought of you breaking someone’s nose over short sheeting a bed was an entertaining image to say the least. Dex couldn’t help the chuckle that left him, watching you vibrate out the door before you stepped halfway in again and pointed a finger at him.

“I finally get a laugh. I finally get one and it’s at that!” Your hands were moving frantically, exasperated. “That’s what you laugh at.”

There was a consistent effort on his part to not let his mind drift to you when you weren’t in the room. If he sat around watching the clock, memorizing your shifts, listening for your steps in the hall, he’d end up where he had the last time. It would be easy to do; places like this were built on structure and time charts.

But then he would be back in that shitty Canal street kitchen again, bending stainless steel counters beneath his fingers, trying to quell the storm inside of him with no help. Still, maybe letting your hope light him a little wouldn’t hurt.

That’s right, Dex. Your compass works. You don’t need to find a new one. You just have to remember to use the one you have.

It had steered him the wrong way, that compass.

You let someone else hold it.

And they broke it. Picked it up and broke its delicate glass facing against the sharp-edged brick.

No, they pointed you in the wrong direction. You need to remember how to read your compass for yourself.

He had gotten good at moving to the edge of the bed before they came to take him to PT. He even managed to move into the chair on his own before they could stop him a couple of times – never gracefully but independently all the same. Your impromptu visit caught him off guard enough that he was forced to tolerate being shouldered off the bed and into the wheelchair.

They gave him the speech again during physical therapy. Some ex-Marine with a bald head and a beard he clearly never considered trimming. “You have to understand, they want to see your emotional trauma heal at the same rate as your physical. They’re connected, man.” Dex nodded, eyes ahead at a man with a prosthetic leg working at the weight machine.

They had started to let him do lifts on the bars, teasing the idea of letting him work on walking like a goddamned grown man again. The doctors treated him like an insolent child for going on months and now he was supposed to show psychological improvement, or they’d halt it again. He knew taking it out on anyone wouldn’t get him anywhere, so he suppressed the desire to think how easily the weights would come off the weight machine. The kind of noises they’d make flying across the room. Their heft as they landed. What would be the point if he couldn’t walk across the room to pick them up in the first place? And he needed to ‘play the game’, as you had put it, to be able to do that.

An hour later and he was carted back to his room. Something was off, he thought before they were to the room. The light was on in the room. Hadn’t the orderly swung his hand across it on the way out? No one was inside when they brought him over the threshold, ignoring his apprehension and practically dragging him out of the chair and onto the bed.

The wall. The linens that had been on the bed when he left were balled up in the chair against the wall he faced from his bed. And the wall was covered in paper signs, bold words printed on each. Common words, alphabetical for the most part, read left to right and top to bottom. The bottom corner even had a full alphabet listed neatly under a blue YES and red NO. The whole thing took up more than a quarter of the whole wall.

He had been scowling at it for a full five minutes when you swept into the room, hesitating slightly at the look on his face. You bent over to grab the dirty sheets. You were evidently even stickier than before if the wet spot between your shoulders, now twice its original size, was any indication.

“It’s like a makeshift speech board,” you said, moving closer to his bed with your hand digging in the pocket of your shirt. You pulled a small metal cylinder out and held it up at him.

“I won’t insult your intelligence by telling you that this is a laser pointer to, uh, point.” You gestured at the wall behind you with it before placing it carefully on the edge of the shelf. You didn’t say anything else for a moment, and the silence felt like a hard-drawn breath.

As you moved to leave, Dex launched the red ball against a single word. The throw passed directly in front of you and your head turned to watch it land.

THANKS

You chuckled once, shaking your head. “Why did I have a feeling…”

[marvelgaynesstothemax]

Ok, but I can’t even express the giddy feeling that surges through me whenever I think about this:

Just imagine… During season 3 of Daredevil, Frank is passing through Hell’s Kitchen and comes across Pointdexter pretending to be Daredevil and killing civilians. He immediately knows that it isn’t his Red based completely on the way he’s moving. Frank meets him on a roof, catching him by surprise when Pointdexter has literally nothing to throw (he analyzed his fighting technique) and catches him totally off guard.

But Pointdexter plays it cool and does a similar spiel to what he said to Karen, something like: “Hey Punisher, long time no see.” since he did his research on who Matt had come across in his time as Daredevil.

But since he’s so cocky he didn’t really read into who Frank was, just knew that Matt came across him during his time as Daredevil. And you just know Frank is internally pissed, just staring at this man with a stone cold expression on his face because like “No way this bitch is serious rn, this guy acts literally nothing like Red...”

They fight of course.

Frank still has the weight advantage though because Pointdexter has a similar build to Matt, easily pinning him to: Surprise! surprise! The chimney he chained Matt to during season 2!

Frank has said nothing throughout the entire fight up until this point.

So, Leaning in and whispering in that deep, dark, gravelly hiss of his Frank just goes “You ain’t him, who the fuck are you?” And the color drains from Pointdexter face because he suddenly realizes not only does Frank know he isn’t Matt, but he has the power to actually do something about it…

When Frank asks him who put him up to this, he refrains from telling, but being the intelligent person he is, Frank quickly pieces together that it must be Fisk.

When Frank draws this conclusion, he grins this feral looking grin and scoffs out a hysterical sounding huff of a laugh that sends chills down Pointdexter’s spine, coming nearly nose to nose with the copycat and saying in an even more dangerous sounding tone: “You tell Fisk… I’m making good on our promise.” All with the scary ass grin on his face, like he looks actually insane with how much his face contrasts with his tone.

You know exactly which promise I’m talking about.

When Fisk finds out that Pointdexter got The Punisher on his tail, well… You can imagine the fear driven temper tantrum that soon followed.

[prince-septimus]

the sounds that keep you up at night

pairing : benjamin poindexter x reader x matt murdock

summary : you just bought a new apartment next to two of the most handsome men you've ever seen. it doesn't help that they don't seem to know how loud they are.

word count : 1k

warnings : slight nsfw

a cold apartment prequel

Your neighbors are loud. You can't imagine they realize how loud they are, or else maybe they would've stopped being so loud.

It doesn't bug you, not really. Everything about the apartment building you're in is loud — the floorboards all creak, and your sink won't stop leaking. Your fridge is always releasing a noise that is only slightly concerning. The city is loud outside, and you continue to avoid opening your windows to avoid the mayhem of all the noise that you already deal with on a daily basis.

You hear them laughing down the hall together occasionally, their voices intermingling when they pass your front door on their way home from work. Sometimes you can hear them through the vent in your kitchen, chatting about whatever TV show they've been binging recently as the smell of their cooking follows.

But — and you don't know if it has something to do with your bedroom being directly on the other side of the wall of what you presume is also their bedroom, they're loud.

The kind of loud that keeps you up at night, thinking and fantasizing about two people you hardly know.

You had met them once since you moved in — each on different occasions.

Dex, the blond FBI agent who stays up at what seemed to be all hours of the day sometimes. You swore the man lived on two hours of sleep each day. He had stopped the elevator for you once, offering his name and hand when he didn't recognize you.

"You'll like it here, sweetheart," he had told you when you reached the bottom floor, serving a wink before walking away.

And Matt, Dex's dark haired lawyer boyfriend with the red tinted glasses. You hadn't so much talked to Matt as much as you had run into him, not paying attention as you walked down the hall one day and completely crashed into him. It had been embarrassing and entirely your fault, with you offering apologies and Matt making you laugh with a joke about him not watching where he was going.

They both seemed wonderful, and were absolutely gorgeous, but you felt you could never face them again.

It had been a Thursday night the first time, and you couldn't sleep even knowing you had work first thing in the morning. Midnight rolled around all too soon, and you continued to pass the minutes turning your pillow over in an attempt to get comfortable enough to sleep.

When the noise started, you ignored it. Those sounds were not ones meant to be heard by anyone else besides the people involved, and that didn't include you.

But it was difficult — the two men's moans mixing together as they pleasured each other, and the thin wall between your room and their's doing nothing to contain the noise.

You glanced at the clock as your hand slid down your stomach, tracing its way towards your navel as the sounds continued. You let out a small noise of your own when your hand rubbed against yourself, moving quicker and quicker in an attempt to relieve yourself of that pleasure building in your lower stomach.

They're easy to picture, Matt's kind smile and Dex's mischevious eyes. It's easy to paint the image of them in your mind, using it to fuel your pleasure.

You heard Dex moan out Matt's name one last time and you gasp, your hand seizing movement as you came in your underwear. The guilt settles in too quick for your liking, and you move to clean up and change your underwear quickly before settling back into bed.

The moment your head hit the pillow, you slept until your alarm went off hours later.

It wasn't an every night occurance, but often enough for you to start to loathe the two men and the impossibility of getting their noises out of your head. That doesn't stop you from bringing yourself to climax every time you hear them, though, using your fingers or sometimes your pillow as you try to provide some relief from the sounds the two men make.

You avoid them when you can, risking being late to work just to prevent an elevator ride between you and the two of them happening. You can't imagine meeting their eyes after one of those nights.

It's a Thursday when there's a knock on your door, though, and it shocks you. You hadn't spoken to anyone else on your floor, or anyone else in the building in general. You couldn't imagine who it could be.

You should've known karma would come back to get you.

It's Dex and Matt standing there when you open your door, with a plate of cookies held out to you.

Dex grins as you lock eyes, and you try to hide your first reaction the best you can. "These are for you."

"We know you're not one for interaction," Matt notes, "but we wanted to properly introduce ourselves."

The anxiety is building up in you, but you push it down, choosing instead to push your door open, stepping aside. "I have drinks in the kitchen?" you offer.

"Perfect." Dex holds out his arm for Matt to grab onto as he enters your apartment, heading for the kitchen.

You inwardly groan, shoving your anxiety down for just a few more minutes.

You're going to regret this.