#agent poindexter

[amberlynnmurdock]

Aim For My Heart (Part 1)

Pairing: Benjamin Poindexter x Reader

Summary: One random morning, she buys him a coffee when the barista gets his order wrong–and ever since, Dex has been entranced.

Genres: light angst in the beginning, fluff, making out

A/N: This first part is all fluff! So I hope you guys like it! This is my first time writing Dex so I hope I got his character right :)

TAGS: @danzer8705 @pcrushinnerd (let me know if you want to be tagged or if I missed you)

credit to the owner of this gif!!!

Drip drip. 

Benjamin Poindexter’s brown eyes shoot open at the annoying sound of his sink’s leaky faucet. 

Drip drip.

He attempts to ignore the sound. He shuts his eyes and readjusts himself in bed. He takes a deep breath. 

Drip drip. 

He’s had enough. He can’t stand it. 

Kicking the sheets off himself, Dex huffs out of bed and stomps to the kitchen to fix the faucet. He rips a paper towel off a roll seamlessly and wipes the nozzle. He waits a moment to see if it works. Hand on his waist, he stares at the nozzle of the faucet, almost daring it to drip again. After 45 seconds, he decides it worked. 

He goes back into his room and crawls into bed. In an instant, he falls back asleep.

***

Another dreadful day. 

He can’t remember when his days started to feel like chores he had to get done. Was it when he was put in an orphanage? Was it when his dreams of becoming a professional pitcher were taken away? Was it when his therapist, Dr. Mercer, the only person who ever understood him, passed away? 

When was it? 

It seemed he was accurate with everything else in his life except when it came to pinpointing an exact moment when it started to fall apart. And it’s been falling apart slowly every day. 

Still—he needs to have coffee to somewhat function. He throws the empty coffee bag out in the trash and turns his hands into fists as he rests them on his clean marble countertop. Why do things like this get under his skin? Something as simple as running out of ground coffee? He looks up and is met with his reflection in the microwave. Sometimes, he can barely recognize himself. 

After a few moments, he decides he’ll have to stop at the corner coffee shop, which he hates to do. He hates being around people. He hates pretending to be normal. He hates that he has to put on an act. He hates the fake smile he gives when he orders his coffee; he hates waiting in line. The anticipation of waiting kills him inside. He hates seeing the barista accidentally spill a little of his coffee on the counter. It takes everything in him to not throw the cup away out of spite. It takes everything in him to not react violently over something so small. 

“You will build your life on pillars of order,” Dr. Mercer had once told him. Pillars of order. Pillars of order. Pillars of order.

He’s trying to be better every day. He tries to follow his code, but it’s so hard without someone to guide him, like a North Star. Even though he doesn’t have that anymore, he still tries to be better. He still tries to act normal. Often though, he wonders if he’ll ever be able to live his life on his own without a guiding light. 

No, he thinks to himself. Because people get hurt. Every time. Including him. Most of all, including him. 

As he takes a sip of his hazelnut coffee, he immediately frowns at the taste. It’s not hazelnut at all—it’s mocha. He hates mocha. And he hates the fact even more that he has to go back inside that dreadful place and order a new coffee—one they will probably charge him again for. 

And of course, the line of people. He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. Was it the people he didn’t like, or the thought of interacting with them? 

After five whole minutes of waiting in line—Nadeem would be on his ass for being late—Dex finally approaches the same barista at the counter who took his order before. As calmly as he can, he forces a smile.

“Hi. I ordered a hazelnut coffee, but I got a mocha instead. Could I please get a new cup?” Dex asks as he tries to ask the question like he hasn’t rehearsed it in his head a thousand times. He slides the cup across the counter. 

The barista, a young man with red hair and freckles, nods and looks at the screen in front of him. He frowns. Dex’s heart plummets in his stomach. 

“I’m so sorry. We just sold our last hazelnut of the day. We can do—“

“He can have mine,” a third voice interjects. The person it comes from is feminine—light, and friendly. Qualities Dex isn’t used to being around. Qualities Dex pretends to have. When he follows the sound of the voice, he meets a young woman standing a few feet beside him. 

She's younger than him, but not by much. She has the most beautiful smile and kindest eyes he’s ever seen. The smoothest, most perfect face. Yes, she’s perfect, he thinks. Perfect to him. He’s speechless as she holds out her cup of hazelnut coffee for him to take. 

“I didn’t drink from it yet if that makes you feel better,” she said sheepishly as she caught him staring at her. 

“Then what will you have?” Dex asks her. 

“I told myself I’d do one kind act today and not expect anything in return. I’m okay. You can have my coffee,” she smiles again, and Dex’s chest feels as warm as the cup in his hand as she hands it to him. Their fingers brush for the smallest of seconds and it’s entrancing to Dex. He smiles at her—not forced at all. She’s already on her way out as she wishes him a good day. He watches as her shrinking figure exits the coffee shop. He doesn’t want this to be the last time he ever sees her. She's the first person to show him an ounce of kindness in a long time. Her hair swayed back and forth as she walked out the door and it flew behind her as the wind came in. She's the most beautiful person he’s seen in a long time. 

And she was so nice to him. That feeling was addictive. 

“Sir?” The young barista called. “I need to take the next guest’s order.”

Dex ignores him, ignores all the people in the coffee shop he pushes past. His gaze is stuck on her path. He follows where she left, her coffee in his hand. He exits the coffee shop. How could she already be gone from his reach?

  He sees her down the block as she makes a right turn. 

Dex isn’t far behind. 

***

The next time he sees her, he owes her a coffee. 

He made sure to get to the coffee shop earlier than normal the next day. He ordered two medium hazelnut coffees from the same barista who had taken his order the previous day. Dex feels lighter in his step—a rare surge of confidence in his entire body. He even decided to wear his FBI bomber jacket. He normally liked to hide what his profession was but thought that maybe it would impress her… and hopefully not scare her. He brushed his dirty blonde hair neatly and even sprayed on cologne. 

He waited at a table near the front and kept an eye on the clock. He had enough time to bring her coffee and make it to work before nine. He watched the door like a hawk, watching carefully as each person entered the shop.

And then finally, she came in. 

She wore a long trench coat and tall boots. Her hair was freshly windblown and she looked slightly flustered, like she was in a rush. Good thing she wouldn’t have to wait in the already growing line to order coffee. 

Dex sees as she audibly sighs at the sight of the line. 

“I owe you a coffee,” Dex calls out confidently as he rises from his seat. She looks over at him, frazzled at first, until recognition settles in her features and she seems to—dare he think—calm down. He’s made her calm down. 

“You don’t,” she says carefully, eyes glancing at the FBI logo on his jacket, “but something tells me if I don’t accept this coffee, you’ll put me on the Most Wanted list.”

Dex laughs—a real laugh—and hands her the cup of coffee. Their fingers brush again. He’s entranced by her touch, again. 

“I could never,” Dex says. “I didn’t get to say thank you for yesterday. So thank you. You have no idea how messed up my day could’ve been without my morning cup.”

“Trust me, I do,” she smiled. “And you’re welcome. And thank you—for my cup today,” she blushed as she fumbled over her words. Dex felt that familiar warm feeling spread through his chest the longer he looked at her. 

“I’m Ben Poindexter… or Dex,” he introduces himself, holding out his hand. She accepts it with ease and shakes his hand. She introduces herself and smiles. Dex repeats her name in his mind to memorization. 

“On your way to work?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” she answers, “late, honestly. But now that I got my coffee early, I can spare a few minutes. Where’s the uh—FBI office?”

“Just a few blocks down. Mind if I walk with you?”

“Not at all,” she smiles. 

Dex holds the door for her and lets her walk out first. He scans the area outside—normally he doesn’t check for threats (like he should) but now he has a reason to make sure the surrounding area is safe. 

They both begin to walk down the block. He matches her steps. 

“What do you do?” Dex asks. 

“I work at a therapist’s office. Client relations—not as daunting as being an FBI agent—is that what you are?”

“Special Agent,” Dex gently corrects. Dex perks when she mentions she works at a therapist’s office. “It’s not as fancy as it sounds, though.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen some shit,” she replies, shivering a little.“I can’t imagine.”

“Yeah, it can get tough,” he sighs, “but you get used to it after a while. Do you like working at the therapist’s office ?”

“I do. You learn a lot about people. I’m not a doctor, but I help where I can.”

“You must have a lot of patience,” Dex muses. He enjoys the cool breeze hitting his face. She looks like she's fighting against it. If the cold weather were a physical being, he’d choke the living life out of it for making her uncomfortable.

“I try to,” she smiles again, crossing her arms across her chest to keep warm. Dex feels a strong urge to wrap his arm around her, but he doesn’t. 

Dex already knows where her work building is—he followed her yesterday up until a certain point. He’s passed his office already. He doesn’t care. As long as he knows she makes it to work safely—he doesn’t care. 

The rest of the walk, they make small talk. Dex doesn’t mind it at all. In fact, the entire time walking, he’s thinking of ways to ask her out on a date. Do I run into her at the coffee shop again? Do I ask her right now? 

Finally, she stops in front of her building. She takes a sip of her hazelnut coffee that Dex bought for her and smiles at him. Dex catches her smile and looks away, almost shy.

“Thank you again for returning the favor, even though you didn’t have to,” she held up her cup in a cheersed way. Dex shrugs, and shakes his head. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says softly. “Was it a good cup?”

“Yes,” she nods. “Hit the spot.”

If it wasn’t good, Dex thinks he might’ve taken it out of her hands and thrown it against the building. Nothing should ever disappoint her, or not live up to her standards. He’s relieved she enjoyed it. 

“Could I—ask you out for dinner, sometime?” Dex stutters slightly, as he feels his heart pound against his chest. From the way she smiles at his question, it puts him at ease. 

“You could… but are you going to?” She teases, squinting her eyes a little at the handsome blonde FBI agent before her. Dex laughs and looks down sheepishly, before meeting her eyes again. 

“Would you like to have dinner with me this Friday night?” Dex officially asks her, smoothing any nervousness in his voice. Confidence.  

“Yes,” she nods. “I would love to.” Dex can’t help the blush that creeps on his cheeks. She’s holding her coffee as she searches through her bag for her phone. She almost drops the cup before Dex—with lightning reflexes—catches it before gravity can win. 

“Oh my goodness,” she gasps. “I would’ve been so sad if I dropped it! Thank you—again," she breathes. Dex smiles and holds the cup for her as she looks for her phone. 

“It’s no problem,” he says. 

She asks for his phone number and sends him a text so he’ll have her number saved. Dex is impressed by the way she takes the initiative to his contact information. She must really be interested—though definitely not as interested as he is. He feels his phone buzz in his jacket, confirming he received her text. 

“Well, have a good day, Dex,” she says in a sing-song way, a way Dex will never forget. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

***

She wasn’t one to go to someone’s house after a first date, but Dex might be testing that theory for her. 

She’s watching him carefully over the leather-bound menu. Stealing glances and looks every so often as she pretends to look over the list of red wines. Squinting her eyes, studying his face. He’s completely focused on the menu—he almost looks confused as he reads it. It’s a confusing menu because the place Dex chose has four Michelin Stars. She doesn’t mind though. It buys her time to keep looking at him. 

His skin looks soft…but it’s the way his jaw cuts that brings a sort of harshness to his look. No less handsome, however. She’s not sure if it’s because she knows he’s an FBI agent, but his presence is commanding, whether he realizes it or not. Commanding and sweet at the same time. Even the way his hands look strong and have surely held a gun against someone (because isn’t that what FBI agents do?) are now holding the menu so softly… it’s mesmerizing to see such hands that are capable of doing rugged things hold a leather-bound menu so gently. It only makes her wonder what else he could handle with gentleness—or roughness. Whatever she wants. 

“What are you thinking of getting?” Dex asks her, his silky voice bringing her out of her train of thought. She inhales sharply and quickly scans the menu again. 

“I think a glass of cabernet,” she replies, “and the burrata to start?”

“I was thinking the same,” he grins, warm brown eyes looking into hers. She glances away quickly—the way she feels when he looks at her is unsettling by how much she likes it. “You look really beautiful, by the way.”

And of course… he had to make it worse. There was no use in fighting the blush on her cheeks. She smiled. 

“Thank you.”

The waiter took their orders, and Dex watched her carefully as she spoke. She was pleasant. She smiles at the waiter—but not the same kind of smile she gives to him. Dex leans back in the velvet chair and sighs in content. He never thought he would get this far with her. 

When it was finally the two of them, Dex cleared his throat. 

“So, you do client relations at a therapist’s office? What does that exactly mean?”

“I greet them, I bring them into the room before the doctor gets there. I ask them questions and fill out their intake form. I’m basically a glorified receptionist except sometimes I get to ‘play’ therapist,” she explains rather sheepishly. Dex thinks anyone would be lucky enough to be greeted by her. If he were a patient, he’d ask to never see the doctor. 

“Do you want to become one?” He asks with curiosity. 

“I think one day,” she answers. “I like talking to people. Never mind doing it to help—sometimes just a person to talk to is all someone needs.”

Ain’t that the truth, Dex thinks to himself. “I agree. I used to see a therapist myself.”

“Really? There’s no shame in it at all.”

“I know… well. We’ll save that conversation for another time.”

“Have you always been in the FBI? I’m not even sure I know what the requirements or credentials are,” she asks. 

Dex laughs, “It’s a lot of background checks and training before you start. And no, I haven’t always been in the FBI. I was in the army before.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Oh, wow. Thank you for your service. Now I definitely think you’ve seen some shit. And I can see why you’d go to therapy. Why did you stop? You said you used to see one.”

Dex sighs uncomfortably. She picks up on it immediately. 

“Never mind. You said another time. Have you always wanted to be in the FBI?”

Dex smiles a little, appreciative of the way she stopped the conversation about his therapist. 

“I used to want to be a professional baseball pitcher,” he admits. 

“I love that. Do you still play?” 

“Not really,” he says softly. “Other interests came to mind. Life.”

“I know what you mean. Life.”

A comfortable silence falls between them—they catch each other gazing into the other’s eyes and laughing at the same time. Dex can’t remember the last time he felt so enamored with someone, so comfortable and so attracted. He’s grateful for running out of coffee that morning. He’s grateful the barista got his order wrong. Most of all, he’s grateful for the young woman who sits across from him at this restaurant. And he’s grateful for the way she’s smiling at him. 

***

It didn’t take much convincing for her to agree to go to his place after dinner. While she promised herself she wouldn’t let it get too far, she was curious to see where the night would go. Dex held her hand the entire walk back to his apartment. She cuddled against his arm, an attempt to feel more warm. Dex pulled her in closer. 

He lived in a humble building just outside of Hell’s Kitchen. His apartment was even more humble: small, but very nice. White walls. White marble countertop without a spec on it. Everything was in its place from the spices to the napkins. Everything was labeled. His couch was placed perfectly in the middle of the room. Picture frames were all aligned on the walls. He dimmed the lights a little. 

From where she stood, she could see his bedroom door slightly ajar. She caught a glimpse of his bed with white sheets—his bed was perfectly made. From how organized and clean he seemed to be, she thought he would freak out to see her mismatched decorations and colorful bedsheets. 

“This is such a nice place,” she said aloud.

“Thank you. I don’t ever have guests, so I’m sorry if it’s a little boring.”

“Not at all,” she moved to sit in the corner of his gray couch. She placed her bag on the floor, and Dex picked it up to move on the coffee table. 

“It’s better to keep it clean off the floor,” Dex murmured as he sat down next to her with two glasses of red wine. He gave her a soft smile as he handed her a glass, which she gladly accepted. They clinked glasses and took a sip, all while holding each other’s gaze. 

“Can I tell you something?” Dex asks suddenly. 

“Of course.”

“I haven’t done this in a while,” Dex gestures to the two of them. “It takes a lot in me to do this. I—I really wanted to ask you out. And I’m happy you’re here. I just—“ he feels himself breathing fast. It’s an awful habit he has, getting overwhelmed by every little thought in his head. Bring a beautiful girl into the mix—it was a terrible concoction for his mind to handle. His mind won’t allow him to enjoy this pleasure because it’s already thinking of ways it could go wrong. Like she’ll never want to see him again.

“Hey,” she whispered, placing a hand on his knee to calm him down. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out in embarrassment, covering half his face with his hand. 

“Don’t need to be sorry,” she said softly. 

“I just don’t want this to be the last I see of you,” he admits. “I had such a good time at dinner and here you are now—“

“Dex,” she began, “I had an amazing time at dinner with you. Truthfully, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have agreed to come to your place. I’m happy I’m here. If it’s all the same to you, I definitely don’t want this to be the last I see you.”

“Absolutely,” Dex agrees immediately, turning to face her more. “I’m so happy you’re here too. I’m happy you gave me your coffee that morning and it’s led to this.”

She smiles. “Me too.”

Her hand is still on his knee. Dex is reminded of it when he feels that area of his leg getting warmer from her touch. He glances down at her hand on him and memorizes the image. He doesn’t want to imagine too much, imagine her hand slowly trailing up his thigh… 

To stop his thoughts, he places his hand on top of hers and trails his fingers up the length of her arm, until he reaches her neck and brushes his fingers through her hair. He brings her closer to him, some force guiding him with confidence. Her eyes are half closed as he slowly brings her in for a kiss. A kiss. 

He first brushes his lips against hers, almost as a way to ask if this was okay—if the way he was guiding her to him was okay. She doesn’t protest. Dex kisses her softly at first, memorizing the way her lips feel on his. And then he kisses her with a newfound force. She opens her mouth for him to enter his tongue and Dex breathes her in. He places his arms around her waist and lifts her up and into his lap so she’s straddling him on his couch. She has her hands on either side of his face as she kisses him just as passionately, holding him in place. He runs his hands up and down her back, pulling and pushing her to and fro himself. 

He pulls back, breathless, and looks up at her. 

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, running his hands in disbelief through her hair. “Everything about you is perfect.”

She kisses him again and again. Dex’s heart is pounding like it never has in his chest, so much it hurts, so much he thinks his life depends on kissing her. After a while, he pulls back again. 

“Let me take you home,” Dex whispers in her ear. “I don’t want to get too far, and we’re treading that line.”

She can’t help but laugh, even though she agrees. “Okay. Walk me home.”

Dex holds her hand the entire walk home. When she says they’ve arrived at her apartment building, she kisses Dex one last time and makes him promise he’ll text her as soon as he gets home.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Dex smirks, enamored by the look in her eyes. 

“I do,” she argues, “I do now.” 

“Goodnight,” Dex whispers. 

He watches as she walks into her building and enters the elevator. Dex moves across the street and waits to see which apartment light turns on. When he sees one turn on, he immediately falls into a dark alley and pulls out a mini telescope. 

He found her. And he watches her. Through a small slip of her curtain. He watches as she moves around her kitchen and living room. She changes into a silk robe in her bedroom. 

He stays there for another two hours until she’s turned off the lights and headed to bed. 

“Goodnight,” Dex whispers to her from afar. 

[bargainbintonystark]

Has this been done yet

[wewereagoodteam]

Marvel Blogs

I need some more Marvel blogs to follow.

Please like/reblog this post if you primarily post Marvel stuff.

I'll be tagging some random characters below. They're the ones I'm most obsessed with at the moment, but I'll follow just about any Marvel blog.

[bugs-theshroom]

Uhhh...I made a PowerPoint to catch up on daredevil before ddba... I screenshotted this on my phone so ignore imperfections. Also I didn't get to edit any of the paragraphs so ye-

❗❗SPOILERS FOR DAREDEVIL SEASONS 1-3❗❗

[romancomicsblog]

Movie Redo: Fixing Marvel's Thunderbolts*

Marvel's Thunderbolts* recently came out with a stellar trailer, watching some of our favorite MCU anti-heroes going through the motions while uncovering a mystery and becoming a team.

While many have praised the trailer for its style, action and tone, I have had some problems with the movie from the beginning. For one, the group Thunderbolts* tends to be villains pretending to be heroes as opposed to morally gray characters.

The movie tackles the spirit of this by having several characters fill in classic roles of the MCU Avengers: Yelena as Black Widow, U.S. Agent as Captain America, etc. But this stops at about half the team.

For example, we have three different variations of Captain America. Each are not Steve Rogers, morally gray super soldiers. The main difference is their range of comedic quips.

We also have two different variations of (basically) Black Widow.

This makes the lineup a bit stale power wise, and makes most of the lineup side Black Widow and Captain America characters.

While it makes entering the film easier, this doesn't give us the same feeling of "assembling" characters from the MCU like the Avengers did. The characters should come from many different projects as opposed to 2.

Finally, the team is made up of 7/8 white people. So in so many ways, this movie is suffering from a lack of diversity.

My goal is to liven up the team with characters across the MCU, villains and antiheroes alike. I'd like this team to:

Fill roles of the classic Avengers

Have a wide range of abilities

Reward long time MCU fans for watching along

Lets get started with an obvious question:

Who Stays & Who Goes?

While this group is full of some great MCU characters, too many unfortunately are redundant.

We will be saving 4 Characters, starting with:

1. Yelena Belova - White Widow (Black Widow / Hawkeye)

One of the smartest moves made by this movie is having Yelena be the lead. I love Florence Pugh, and one thing that can differentiate this team from The Avengers is having White Widow be the leader.

She is the clear and funnest Black Widow stand-in, so I will be choosing her over Taskmaster.

2. John Walker - U.S. Agent (Falcon & The Winter Soldier)

Of the Captain America knock offs, U.S. Agent is by far the most interesting.

No hate to Red Guardian's jokes or Winter Soldier's angst, but having a sad, broken not as good Captain America who is not a good man but a perfect soldier, there's so many ways you can go with it. He can be a traitor to the group, the eventual villain or just the guy who thinks he's the leader.

He is also the character we've seen least of the 3, and deserves his time on the big screen.

3. Ava Starr - Ghost (Ant-Man & The Wasp)

One of the most underrated characters in the MCU, Ghost was a highlight for me in the Ant-Man trilogy. With a tragic backstory, skills to match the Winter Soldier and an actual interesting power, I'm really excited to see where they go with this character.

Plus I love her new suit.

4. Bob - The Sentry (Thunderbolts*)

Lewis Pullman is playing "Bob" who is most likely Robert Reynolds AKA The Sentry, a Superman like superhero who struggles with memory loss, and has the power of "a million suns".

Due to the S in the trailer and his general confusion, Sentry will likely join the team, and his archenemy The Void will may even be the main antagonist.

As a powerful longhaired hero, he fills the role of a Thor for our Avengers, which is a definite need.

The mystery behind Bob as well as the inclusion of a new Superman like character is very fun. I do think a need for every MCU movie is an addition of a new interesting character, so Bob must stay.

Now that we have our 4 stays, let's make some fun additions.

5. Agent Dex Poindexter - Bullseye (Daredevil Season 3)

Agent Poindexter fills a couple of significant roles from the Avengers and from the Thunderbolts* who we took off the list.

Like Taskmaster, Bullseye is an assassin, who worked for a puppet master who is still very much alive and around in the MCU. But unlike many of the other killers on this list, he enjoys killing. As the teams resident sociopath, he can be the devil on their shoulder, egging the team on to go further than they have before.

He also nicely fills the teams role as their Hawkeye. The both have perfect aim, have taken on new identities to commit atrocities, and started off as law men.

It also gives all viewers great homework, because everyone should watch Daredevil.

6. Aaron Davis - The Prowler (Spider-Man Homecoming / Across the Spider-Verse)

The Spider side of the MCU has very much stayed in its place due to Sony. One character who has appeared in both Sony and Marvel, portrayed by the same actor I might add, is Aaron Davis.

Aaron Davis first appeared in Spider-Man Homecoming, and if we believe him to portray the same character in Across the Spider-Verse, has evolved into his role as Prowler now.

Prowler with his tech, claws, skills, and general goofy vibe, could fill the role of a Black Panther or Spider-Man for our group, and much like Spider-Man, be the ground level criminal entering this world of Assassins and Gods.

You can also view him as more of a thief than anything else. Like Aladdin or Star-Lord, fitting him into this team but definitely bringing a different perspective as opposed to Bullseye.

I see Prowler as a secondary lead character, one who has Yelena's back over some of the others, and hopefully makes it out of this mission alive.

7. Titania (She-Hulk: Attorney at Law)

Where there are Avengers, there is need for muscle.

Titania is one the secondary villains from Marvel's She-Hulk: Attorney at Law, notably played by Good Place actress Jameela Jamil.

Titania fills the role of a Hulk / Captain Marvel to the group as our resident strong woman, but also takes up Red Guardians role as comedic relief.

As a social media influencer and fashion icon, she'll bring a very different energy than our other two heroines. She also has the tendency to back whoever to keep herself alive, meaning she may team up with the worst of our titular team if there is a coup.

Plus I'd like her to dawn her wrestler outfit.

8. Justin Hammer - MACH-1 (Iron Man 2)

With many of the Avengers roles filled, all we need is left is a billionaire genius playboy.

Since his debut in Iron Man 2, Sam Rockwell fans have been clamoring for the actor to return as Justin Hammer. While we have inklings of him in All Hail to to King & What If, having Justin as comedic relief and the teams resident tech expert can add a different flavor to the team.

While Justin Hammer doesn't have an alter ego in the comics, he could take on the role of Titanium Man like he does in the animated show, Iron Man Armored Adventures.

My only gripe is the name is a little too close to Titania, so I recommend he takes on the name Mach-1, the alter ego of the Beetle when he joined the Thunderbolts.

While he is not The Beetle, he is still a villain pretending to be a hero, and several have taken on the name of Mach-1, so I think it'll be fine.

With just a few notable changes, my MCU team is now complete.

We now have heroes and villains from across the MCU, all with unique skills, powers, tools and motivations.

And once they all suit up...

They'll make one hell of a team.

Thank you so much for reading! Please consider following, and check out my socials and other sites here! And let me know: Who do you think should be on the Thunderbolts*?

[redpool]

The Thunderbolts line we (I) got:

The Thunderbolts line up, I (me) deserved:

Would have also accepted in the line up:

[reallifetangent]

DAREDEVIL S3 AND DAREDEVIL BORN AGAIN S1 EP1&2 RELATED COMMENT

And ofc with spoilers from both seasons. I recently watched S3 before watching Born Again so the comparisons are still fresh in my brain

What the actual fuck.

- Last time we saw our trio, they were so happy about having Nelson Murdock and Page. I thought they would open it with them working on a case, show the dynamic of them working in their new life, in their new chapter.

Just to kill Foggy like he deserved it.

And throw Karen to the other side of the country and never mention her again (I think I've heard her coming in future episodes but it won't be the same without Foggy and her making sure for now she doesn't want to be related to Matt)

- They ended the season showing us how Dex was getting that surgery to get him back on track and alive, and damn he was looking like the next whole season would be about him being THE Bullseye.

Just to again, yet him from a roof, a trial and send him away in the name of justice.

And my worst problem with DDBA:

- Season 3 ended with Agent Nadeem revealing how Fisk played the FBI, how everyone fell for his manipulation, confessing being part of it, giving names, informations, everything. And whatever position each citizen had, they would've seen how this man, known manipulator, got sent to prison, then sent to a luxurious penthouse which ended up with almost if not all of his belongings, got back to his partner, even got married to her, and still pulling strings. Like he didn't commit any crime, any murder, like Hell's Kitchen didn't know that Wilson Fisk was THE man controlling and knowing every little gang and playing it like his little chess game.

Matt also made sure to corner him threatening Vanessa and keeping them apart if he ever dared to cross any line.

Only for Born Again to have Fisk back in town like nothing, everybody forgot how this man played the FBI. How he manipulated the town. How he controlled everyone. He can even run as Mayor, no problem. The guy that has killed so many people with his bare hands, sent to kill many more, blackmailed, used, etc, and everybody knew about it, even the FBI should've intervened when he just gave a thought to run for Mayor. And nobody cared. Sure, let's have this kind of person as the leader of our city! (Waitaminute this sounds very familiar 🍩 🎺)

So far the only thing that made sense to me was Vanessa running his businesses, while he was away, recovering, her being THE Woman in charge, and suddenly Fisk's apparition takes away her credit of her progress because he will always have the higher hand, even if he would trade the whole universe for his wife, everyone respects more Fisk than respect Vanessa.

When she got reunited with Wilson in S3, she said even with him around, she was feeling lonely, and only when he accepted her as part of his world, she started feeling herself and accompanied. With all happening with Fisk being a more known figure when it came to crime, I see why he would always be the face, always busy, always under attack, and her being by his side, working with her ways, yet him being away for days recovering or laying low, would get her back to her loneliness state. That's the only thing that makes sense to me in this whole season, and why they should go to Couples Therapy.

The writing and pacing feels rushed, like they have to already set characters that won't be important, characters that need to be now and here, some kind of Show and Throw Away or Dive Deep in the ones they will focus, set the situations now, instead of cooking them slow and good, like the whole thing with Dex getting corrupted slowly, or finding out Fisk managed to get himself out of prison by using Nadeem's situations and vulnerability, how Matt lost himself and ended up getting back on his feet thanks to his mother and friends. I feel like they're rushing everything to get somewhere.

Idk, I wanna give it some time but I still can't wrap my head around what happened to Foggy, Karen, Dex and the whole "Fisk is considered Good Again" thing

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

Based on the final rankings:

First place survives and is the main protagonist

Second and third place survives

Fourth place survives, but is severely wounded

Fifth place sacrifices themselves to take out the main villain

Sixth place has their head squished by the Red Hulk

Seventh place tries to betray the team and gets killed by the team in response

Eighth and ninth place are disintegrated by ex-HYDRA agents

Tenth place is stabbed to death by a Wolverine clone

Eleventh place is immediately shot in the head after the team makes it to the landing zone

Twelfth place is made an example of when their bomb collar is detonated after they tried to leave the team

[comeback-from-the-dead]

that scene where dex talks to frozen Julie while sitting in his car....how did he even get her there like... Did he wait for her to thawed out for a bit before moving her

[marifilue]

Aftermath

Wordcount: 1.1k

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Tags: Angst, comfort, griefs, situationship

Oneshot: Finding Matt the morning after Foggy incident (Daredevil Born Again episode 1)

A/N: This man broooo, I just want to hold him and pampered him whilst whispering everything will be okay. He been trough too much they gotta stop this menace.

Matt Murdock is a very complicated man, the kind of complicated that makes your conscience tell you to stay away for your own good. But the way your body rejects distancing from him weighs much heavier.

You’ve been on a few dates with him—more than what would usually be labeled as casual. But by mutual agreement, you never put a label on anything. Not when you first found him, half-dead in a trash dump. Not when the hospital buzzed with stories of a patient who kept showing up battered, rumored to have been beaten by a man in black. Or when frightened women admitted that same man had saved them. It was him—the legend himself.

You wanted to believe in what he does—you’ve seen the innocent faces he’s saved and the justice he’s delivered. You’re not against it, not at all. But being involved with him romantically was a pain you never knew existed. You’ve healed nasty wounds throughout your medical career, but the one Matt left open in your heart? That one feels beyond repair.

It was a slow morning, like usual. You were making coffee in your Chelsea apartment, savoring the quiet before stepping into the never-ending chaos of your workplace. With your mug in hand, you turned on the TV, expecting the usual New York news—violence, crime, and a glimpse of what might be waiting in the emergency room.

"Two vigilantes clashed in a Hell’s Kitchen bar last night. Daredevil was seen fighting against another masked figure in blue. Many civilians were injured, and two confirmed dead. One of the victims was Franklin Nelson, former defense attorney at Hogarth, Chao & Benowitz, and now part of Nelson, Murdock & Page."

"The suspect, Benjamin Poindexter—a former FBI agent—was severely injured during the altercation. He is currently under heavy NYPD surveillance at the hospital."

You had to sit down. Your knees suddenly felt weak. Foggy? This couldn’t be right. The TV’s noise faded into the background as you struggled to take a deep breath.

Matt. Is he okay?

The coffee in your hands had gone cold, but you barely noticed. Your fingers tightened around the mug, trying to ground yourself, to stop the rising panic clawing its way up your throat. Foggy is gone. The words felt unreal, like a cruel mistake, something that would be corrected in the next news update. But the screen kept playing, the anchors moving on as if they hadn’t just ripped a hole in the world.

Your phone was within reach. You could call Matt. Should call Matt. But what if he didn’t answer? What if he did? You weren’t sure which option scared you more.

Instead, you grabbed your coat and keys, moving on autopilot. You needed to see him, to know he was alive, to—God, you didn’t even know. Be there? Hold him?

The hospital was a blur. You barely registered the familiar hallways, the worried glances of your coworkers. The ER was busy, but your mind was elsewhere.

It wasn’t hard to find him.

Matt was in one of the dimly lit waiting rooms, sitting alone. His hoodie was rumpled, streaked with dried blood. His knuckles were raw, split open in places, but he hadn’t bothered to clean them. His face bruised and there's a small cut in his lips, shoulders were curled in, rigid, like he was trying to make himself smaller.

You had seen him battered before. Bruised, stitched up, barely holding himself together. But this was different. This wasn’t Daredevil after a fight. This was Matt Murdock drowning in it.

He must have heard you enter, but he didn’t move. His body tensed, just slightly, like he was bracing for something.

You swallowed, your voice quieter than you intended. “Matt…”

For a moment, nothing. Just silence. He looked up at you for a brief second. Without his glasses, you could see the way his eyes were glazed over before he quickly dropped his head again, fingers reaching up to wipe at his eyes. Not a single proper word left his mouth.

Your knees felt weak as you sink into the chair beside him. His hands were clasped together so tightly his knuckles had gone white. A tremor ran through his fingers, almost unnoticeable, but you saw it. Felt it.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Matt didn’t react, didn’t even breathe for a second. His head was slightly bowed, you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed against the weight of it all.

“He's gone.. He didn’t deserve this,” he murmured. His voice was steady, but you could hear it—the cracks beneath, the guilt gnawing at the edges.

You shook your head. “Matt, don’t—” You raised a hand to his shoulder, feeling the tension knotted beneath your palm as you gently tried to ease it.

“I put him in this.” His fingers tightened, nails digging into his palms. “I killed him as surely as if I’d done it myself.”

“Stop,” you said, firmer this time. “This isn’t your fault.”

Matt let out a breath—shaky, bitter, like he wanted to laugh but couldn’t find the strength.

"Doesn’t matter," he muttered. "It won’t bring him back."

The weight of it settled into his bones, pressing him down. His breathing was shallow, his body stiff, like he was trying to hold himself together through sheer force of will.

You hesitated for only a second before reaching out, prying his hands apart. They were ice cold. When you laced your fingers through his, he didn’t pull away, but he didn’t squeeze back either. Not at first.

Then, slowly, his fingers curled around yours.

"Have you eaten anything?" you asked softly.

He exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh, not quite anything. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

He didn’t answer, which meant no. Not that you expected anything different.

"I can get you something," you offered. "Just wait here, I'll—"

His fingers tightened around yours. It wasn’t a desperate grip, but it was enough to make you pause.

"Just stay," he muttered.

Your chest ached at how quiet he sounded.

"Okay," you whispered, shifting closer. "I’ll stay."

For the first time since you’d arrived, Matt exhaled—a deep, shaky breath, like he had been holding it in for hours. Then, slowly, he leaned into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder. His grip on your hand didn’t loosen, as if letting go would shatter the fragile moment.

You turned slightly, resting your cheek against the top of his head. The scent of blood clung to him, but beneath it was something familiar—something undeniably Matt. You gave his hand a small, steady squeeze, grounding him in the only way you could.

You didn’t know what came next. You didn’t know if Matt would let himself grieve, or if he’d bury it beneath guilt and anger until it tore him apart.

But for now, he held onto you. And maybe, that was enough.

[amberlynnmurdock]

The Good In You (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Benjamin 'Dex' Poindexter x Reader

Series Summary: She's the new in-house nurse at the FBI headquarters in Manhattan. The only time she ever interacts with the agents is when she's stitching up their wounds. She's gotten to know almost all of them in this way, but there's one agent who's been harder to get to know. The other agents say what they want about Special Agent Poindexter, but she'll never speak negatively of him. Eventually, she does get to know him; she does get to know the good in him. At least for as long as the good lasts.

Genres: fluff, super angst, betrayal, reader wants Dex to be good so bad

A/N: Dex has got to be the most complex character to write lol, but it's so much fun. This idea dawned on me recently and I had to get it out there. I hope you like it! :)

Words: 3.5k

Ao3 Link

It wasn’t often FBI agents needed tending to their wounds because often they could get the job done without a scratch. Still, the FBI headquarters in Manhattan needed a resident nurse for when some agents got banged up, and that nurse was her. 

She liked being a nurse at the FBI—believe it or not, it paid more than her previous job at Metro-General and it was up her alley to be working specifically with the FBI. She hated when her manager at Metro told her she’d yet again be switching departments, meaning she’d have to find a new way to commute to the hospital since it was so large and had different entrances. It was also hard to build a relationship with the patients there since she was often switched because the hospital couldn’t keep its shit together. Why get so attached to tending to the same patient almost every day, just for one day she'd be told she’d never be able to see them again? 

It took a toll on her since she was the type of person to get attached to people she cared about. She may not have known her patients for a long time, but the time she spent with them was precious. These people were sick or injured, and they leaned on her not only to help them, but to have someone to talk to when their family couldn’t make it on any particular day. 

So one day, she asked yourself, what’s the use? What’s the use in getting attached and being taken away so easily? What’s the use in letting the hospital treat her relationships with her patients as disposable? 

When she saw the open position for a nurse at the FBI, she hoped she’d at least be dealing with the same agents now and then. So far, she has. No more switching around—no more connections being cut for no reason. 

Being here almost six months, she’s come to know many of the agents. Many of them had families, some were new to the job—and for some, all they had was this job. Despite the only time she’d see these agents was when they were hurt, she looked forward to catching up with them in her exam room as she stitched up or cleaned their wounds.

Ray Nadeem is one of the agents who has a family. When it was Ray she had to tend to, she knew her time with him would be pleasant. He was—no pun intended—a ray of sunshine. A sweet family man, who truly cared about his job and justice. 

Ray is in her exam room today. Not for anything serious. A bunch of agents responded to a complaint downtown—gang members fighting at a liquor store. Truthfully, not the worst she’s heard them be called for. The FBI normally had everything under control in situations like that. Ray had a few scratches on his face, and he was pushed into an aisle of white wine. She could smell the wine on his jacket. She already checked for broken glass. She was now tending to the cut on his cheekbone. 

“Was it bad?” She asked him. 

Ray shook his head. “Not really. We apprehended them pretty quickly. We had enough agents there.”

“That’s good,” she said, focusing on cleansing the wound. “Early night at least.”

“Yeah,” Ray sighed, “just in time for me to tuck Sammy into bed.”

Her heart melted at the mention of his son. No amount of cuts on his face could keep Ray from smiling whenever he brought up his son. 

“How is Sammy doing? Is he going to try out for any sports this fall?” She asked. 

“Maybe soccer. He’s more interested in spring sports, like baseball.”

“Ah,” she smiled. “I’ve always found that more fun, too. Spring in general.”

“Yeah,” Ray sighed, again. A sigh she’s come to know as regretful, these past few months getting to know him. “Just wish I was able to surprise him in the spring with the pool he’s been begging for.”

“I’ve only been here a few months, and I know you’re due for a promotion,” she said knowingly. “It’s only September. Anything can happen in the next few months,” a hopeful tone laced in her voice. She didn’t have a license in therapy, but sometimes the agents treated her as such. She didn’t mind, though. 

“I hope so,” Ray said, exasperated. “Thanks, though. For fixing me up,” he pointed to the bandage she just finished putting on his face. “You make me look less scary coming home to Sammy.”

She wanted to laugh, but she stopped herself. It must be hard being an agent, working a daunting job, and coming home to a family like they don’t risk their life every day at work. Instead, she smiles softly at Ray. 

“Thankfully, there wasn’t much to clean up. Just a check-up, I say. Get home safe, Ray.”

“You too,” Ray said, standing up from the exam table. “You going home after this?”

“Hopefully before 10,” she glanced out the window that showed a completely dark sky. One of the perks of working at the FBI, they offered her a service to get her home safely so she didn’t have to worry about going home alone. At night, as a young woman in this city, walking home could be dangerous. 

“Good,” Ray said. “You deserve sleep just as much as we do. Everyone appreciates you being here. I hope you know that.” 

She smiled. “I’m happy to be here.”

“Night, __,” Ray said. “I’ll be sure to tell Sammy you said hi.”

“Please do.”

With one last reassuring nod, Ray left her room. She quickly filled out his file on the computer and checked off the remaining boxes: no head trauma, no serious injuries, no broken bones, no concussion. Just a good old-fashioned cleaning and bandaging. 

A knock on the door brings her out of her focus on the screen. 

“Come in,” she called, not looking to see who it was. By how the door was carefully opened and carefully shut, she felt the person was hesitant in their movements. 

“I’m sorry,” Special Agent Poindexter said. “I can come in when you’re ready.”

She swirled around in her chair to face him immediately. It wasn’t often Dex said much to her, so on the rare occasion he does decide to speak to her, she’s fully paying attention to what he has to say. 

“It’s okay, I was just finishing up,” she stood from her chair. She could see now that his forehead was dripping blood from a cut, and he was attempting to absorb it with the rough paper towels from the bathroom. This indicates why he opened the door to come in—he needed help now. “I’m sorry, Dex. Please sit.”

While she quickly washed her hands, Dex awkwardly shuffled to the exam table and propped himself up on it, holding the paper towel to his forehead. He’s covering half his face and his gaze is away from her, like it always was when it was his turn to be tended to. His dirty blonde hair was pushed to the side. The veins on his hand were prominent. 

“May I?” She asked him first, indicating she wanted to take away the paper towel to begin cleaning his wounds. He only offers her a small nod. 

Dex was hard to figure out—he wasn't like the other agents she’s tended to. He was quiet. Stoic. He wasn’t rude, but he also didn’t go out of his way to make conversation. That was fine by her. She never wanted anyone in her exam room to be uncomfortable or pressured to talk—these agents worked a hard enough job already. They can’t always be at 100% all the time. She just could never tell if Dex was or not. She chalked it up to him being super serious about work. He’s in, and then he’s out. Sometimes, she's tried for conversation, but it was always hit or miss. 

“This may sting,” she says gently. It’s something she says all the time to him, just to fill the silence between them. He faintly nods. His gaze stays away from her. She gently presses the alcohol-absorbed cotton pad over his wound. Ever so slightly his jaw clenches at the contact and he takes a small intake of breath. He shuts his eyes until the sting goes away. 

“I’m sorry,” she dabs on it again. “Just one more. It’s a deep cut.”

“It’s alright,” Dex reassures her. “You can do what you need to.”

Maybe it was a good thing Dex didn’t talk to her so much when he was here—his voice was deep, a hint of a New York accent. And his speaking so closely to her made it hard to concentrate on the task at hand. Now it was her turn to keep quiet. 

She dabbed at his wounds until the bleeding stopped. She grabbed fresh bandages and patched them up. 

“I have to ask you some questions,” she said carefully, feeling nervous for some reason. Dex had his full attention on her now, his gaze no longer hidden. An unreadable expression on his face. 

“Did you hit your head?”

“No.”

“Does your body hurt anywhere else?”

“No.”

“Is your vision blurred?”

“No.”

“Alright,” she nodded. “Otherwise, was tonight an okay night?”

Dex shifted on the exam table. “Yeah, it was fine. Easier than most.”

“Good,” she smiled. “Well, if nothing else hurts, then you’re free to go.”

“Thank you, __,” Dex says, and she realizes it's the first time he’s spoken her name. For a while there, she wondered if he ever cared to remember it. Maybe he was the type to have to warm up to someone first before he started a working relationship. That's alright—in a lot of ways, she was the same. “I appreciate it.”

And there it was again—another sentence from the agent she thought didn’t like her for the longest time. Sometimes the agents spoke of Dex in passing to her—saying the job went smoothly, save for Dex who was always too willing to go the extra mile when he didn’t need to. She never engaged in negative talk about him or anyone at the Bureau. She respected all their work. Everyone handles this job differently. Dex handles it in his way: by keeping to himself and keeping the conversation at a minimum. 

“You’re welcome,” she smiled. Dex offered a hint of a smile as he got up from the exam table. 

“Guess you can go home now?” Dex asks. He’s standing close to her as she crosses her arms, in an attempt to not appear nervous by the way he's looking at her. She's delighted at the attempts at conversation he’s finally making. 

“Yeah, you were the last agent I needed to see.”

“I’m sorry for keeping you,” he says, brows furrowed. 

“Don't be sorry. It’s my job,” she reasoned. “I like being here when I’m needed.”

Dex sighs; he looks tired. Despite his tiredness, she couldn’t deny how handsome he looked, even in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the room. 

“Night, Dex. Get home safe.”

“You too.” 

***

Another night of tending to wounded FBI agents. This time, the wounds weren’t as simple. Some of them got really banged up—stitches were required this time. She was hyper-focused on the stitching she had to do on Ray on his left shoulder. He had his sleeve hanging off his shoulder and sat stiffly on the exam table, holding his breath at every movement. 

“Not a good night, huh?” She asked. 

“No,” Ray shook his head. “Not the worst, but I’ve had better.”

“Good thing the bullet was just a graze,” she reasoned, finishing up the last of his stitching. “Alright. You need to take it easy with that arm this weekend.”

“Will do,” Ray nodded. “Good thing I can hide this from Sammy with long sleeves. I hate to see him worrying about me.”

“I know,” she sighed. She got up to take off her gloves and wash her hands. She undid her hair in her claw clip and brushed it before twisting it up again. “It must be hard. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Ray shook his head. “Part of the job. Anyways, got any fun plans this weekend?”

“Not really,” she leaned against the counter and crossed your arms. “Catching up on sleep, probably.” It was already nearly midnight at the Bureau. “You?”

“Taking Sammy to the zoo with his friends,” Ray said. “Should be fun.”

“It will be. I’ll see you Monday, Ray.”

Ray slides his jacket on and exits her exam room. She washes your hands again before preparing for the next—and final—agent she has to stitch up. Of course, it was Dex. He was always the last to be seen. Of all the agents, he managed to always get hurt the least. 

Dex is waiting patiently on the chair outside her exam room, anticipating his turn to see her. He enjoyed being around her because he didn’t have to pretend to be anyone—didn’t have to pretend the job was hard. All these men and women around him had families to come home to, or they had someone waiting at home for them. That’s what made it hard for them. Dex didn’t have anyone. That’s what made it so easy. 

And his fellow agents could never understand his nonchalantness about it all. He didn’t care. That was on them. He only got checked out by her because he had to—it was a requirement that all agents see the nurse before heading home after a task. Truthfully, he didn’t need to see her. Perhaps he just wanted to. 

“Dex?” She calls his name, pulling him from his thoughts. Dex is slouched in the chair, but he perks up when he hears her say his name. She leaves the door open and he closes it behind him when he enters her exam room. 

Her hair is up—he often wondered what it would look like if it were down. He's never seen her look casual before. Always in scrubs, always hair pushed back. Her scrubs were dark navy blue to match his FBI jacket, with a small FBI logo near her left shoulder. A piece of her hair falls to the front of her face, slightly framing it. He doesn’t blush, but he thinks she looks pretty. Really pretty. And tired, just like him. 

Dex takes his seat naturally on the exam table. She grabs her stethoscope and raises her hands to touch his face, but stops. 

“May I?” She asks, like she always did. Dex nods and looks away from her gaze. It was easier to get through these visits if he wasn’t looking at her. He feels her fingertips gently hold his face to get a better look at his wounds that don’t hurt that much. 

“Well, they’re not bad. Not bad at all,” she says, unsure if she is saying it out loud for herself or for him to know as well. He didn’t care if he was hurt. “Definitely will need cleaning though. But let me make sure your heart is all good and your head is fine.”

“It’s fine,” Dex reassures her, but he knows it’s no use. 

“I still have to check,” she gives a small smile. He nods in understanding. She places the stethoscope on his back and asks him to breathe deeply three times, which he does. Everything sounds good, she says. She then places her fingers on his head, searching for any bumps or bruises. He closes his eyes at this—truthfully, if he had a favorite part, this was it. For a moment, the thoughts that swarmed in his head were quieted when he felt her fingers trace over his head. It was hypnotizing almost, a trance he never wanted to snap out of. 

And when her hands disappeared, he was brought to reality. 

“All good,” she says softly. “I’ll clean up your wounds and you’ll be out of here before you know it.”

“You don’t have to rush,” Dex tells her. “I don’t need to be anywhere.”

“On a Friday night?” She questions with a smile as she cleans her hands at the sink. He knows she’s being nice, but truthfully he didn’t have anywhere to be. Just home. If he could even call it that. 

“Yeah,” he laughs half-heartedly, an attempt to match her attitude. “Got no plans for Friday.”

“Same here,” she sighs as she puts on the periwinkle-colored gloves. “My plans are sleep and more sleep.”

This time Dex laughs—really laughs—because he agrees. He hasn’t been getting much sleep lately, despite how tired all the time he feels. “I get that,” Dex nods. He relaxes a little bit more on the exam table. 

She dabs the cotton pad in alcohol and lets it dry before she places it on his wounds. There’s a cut on his forehead, right cheekbone and a little wound on his jawline. She opens her mouth to speak, but Dex cuts her off. 

“I know it’ll sting,” he says gently. “It’s fine.” 

She smiles sheepishly, “I do give that warning a lot, huh?”

“It’s alright,” Dex shrugs. “It’s nice to be warned of pain before it happens. That’s not always the case.”

“How—“ she begins, furrowing her eyebrows. Contemplating the wording of her question. “How do you brace yourself? For all this? This job?” 

Dex sighs. It wasn’t an easy question to answer, because he truthfully didn’t have an answer. Most agents would probably chalk it up to it being part of the job, but it wasn’t that simple for Dex. It… was just a job. If he got hurt, he got hurt. There was nothing else to it. No one would be upset if he got hurt—no one would cry for him. 

Plus, the other part of it, despite it sounding cocky… it was rare Dex ever got hurt in the line of battle. He was a sniper—he was part of the SWAT unit. He was the one who did the hurting. He was the one who used lethal force. It was rare he ever missed. 

“Mindset is everything,” Dex says anyway. “I know what I have to do. I have a job to do.”

“That makes sense,” she says, believing him. “I mean, if it makes you or any of the agents feel better, despite this being my job—it doesn’t make it any easier seeing you guys hurt like this.”

“It doesn’t?” Dex questions. 

“Of course not,” she said. “I’ve… gotten to know a lot of you over the past few months being here. A lot of these agents have families. A wife or husband to come home to. They open up about that a lot. There are other ways to be hurt than just having physical wounds.”

Dex takes in what she’s saying. He swallows hard. 

“It’s just me,” Dex tells her. “I’ve only got me to worry about me. That’s why it’s easier for me to come in and do what I need to do.” 

As she listens to him say this, a thought pings in her head. She noticed on the file she has on him that he didn’t have any relatives listed as an emergency contact. Ray had his wife, Hattley her husband—all the other agents had someone listed. But Dex had no one listed as an emergency contact. She knew he wasn’t being sheepish when he said he was all he had—it was the truth. Sad, but true. 

She doesn’t say anything in return. She continues to clean his wounds and bandage him up in silence—comfortable silence, for once. Dex’s eyes remain looking at the floor as she works her fingers around his temple. She gently lifts his chin with her fingers to get a better angle at the cut on his jaw—his jawline that appears to have been sculpted by the Gods. Being this close to him, she got a whiff of the faint smell of his cologne, now mixed with the smell of sweat. With one last check on his face, she tells him she’s done. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” She asks him, leaning against the counter and facing him. 

Dex rises from the exam table and circles his shoulder to stretch. “No. I’m fine.”

“Alright well,” she sighs, feeling somewhat shy by the way he’s looking at her, giving her his full attention. “Get home safe, Dex.”

“You, too, __,” Dex breathes out. “And thank you. I don’t know if I say that enough.”

“It’s alright—no need.”

With a small smile, Dex is almost on his way out of her exam room—until he hears her call his name under her breath. 

“Dex,” she says, hesitant with her words. “Don’t take this the wrong way. But you’re not all you have. You’re not alone. You’ve got me now to be worried about you,” she tells him, offering a genuine smile. 

Dex looks away from her, stumped by her words. Regardless if she really meant it or not—it was nice for him to hear. Nice to know that he could be wrong about something he’s always firmly believed. 

He doesn’t say anything in return. He holds her gaze for a few moments, holds her smile, and puts it to his memory. He smiles back. And then he leaves. Maybe he would get some good sleep tonight, knowing someone worried about him. 

[bargainbintonystark]

Symmetry in his first episodes dialogue vs last episodes dialogue

[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.

[bugs-theshroom]

Fisk: IM BIG SCARY MAN, I SHALL KILL YOU!

Also Fisk: Venessa, hi! Do you luv me 👉👈

Dex needs someone like Venessa, chat.

[helliloveit]

Night Shift

Ok this is kinda crazy, maybe too much. It can be worse ngl 😅. Im a Frank girl but this guy… i can express more with him(? Like he’s so unhinged im not so worried about what he does is appropriate cuz he’s never appropriate so, well, proceed with caution.

Benjamin “Dex” Poindexter x reader

Warnings: Dark!Dex, defenseless!reader, insults, psychopath behaviors, noncon touches? (Not smut), Dex is obsessed with you, harming, choking, licking, stalking, angst. Dark themes, do not read if it triggers you, please.

W.c: 1k

Summary: You organize a stack of boxes in the scrappy shelter house you had been working for the last 3 years. Don’t get it wrong, you love your job —that feeling has been decreasing like a plane nosediving lastly. It all started when your employer, Ms. Marie, decided it was a good idea to give this gentleman an occupation. He goes by Dex.

You organize a stack of boxes in the scrappy shelter house you had been working for the last 3 years. Don’t get it wrong, you love your job —that feeling has been decreasing like a plane nosediving lastly.

It all started when your employer, Ms. Marie, decided it was a good idea to give this gentleman an occupation. He goes by Dex, you are pretty unsure if thats his real name.

I mean you are unsure about everything that involves him, he is creepy.

Countless times have you tried to rationalize with your boss, God-, you’ve found him killing a bird. Smashing it, smearing it over the ground with his very own shoe, not a single noise of disgust he vocalized, not even the flicker of commotion wet his eye.

Dead inside.

Since your boss is a very insistent woman, there’s not much you could actually do. You don’t blame her at all, she is the head of an orphanage, it is an organic unfolding that her heart goes tender every time a portrait of misfortune hangs on the wall.

In these case, a ex-fbi agent, kicked out of his position for episodes of psicosis and violent behavior, probably caused by PTSD and general trauma for such a tough job. The vacancy for a guard was open. Her eyes turned into stars.

There isn’t a reason you can call out to get him away from the job. Your boss is on vacations. You can’t open everyone’s eyes, he worked his charm neatly, all pearl teeth and wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, but is in the night, the night shift, the kids sleeping, the drowned silence, the dryness of the air, the nauseous flickering of the LEDS on the ceiling, his steps moving through the aisle in front of the small warehouse you were in now.

This last nights is when you are allowed to see how he really is.

And he sees how you really are.

Insightful. He fully remembers how your judgmental stare pierced prolonged on his face the moment his left eye twitched. The reason: Marie had advertised him to not get rid of flies by throw paper clips at them, it is as weird as impressive, regardless of that, scares the children.

It would had been fun. It would have been fun if you didn’t discover the milimetric cilidric extension of the clip stabbing directly on their tiny bodies to the cardboard. Would have even more fun if he just got to frighten you and not get your goodie ass to snitch to the boss.

You’re sure that since that day, the blondie always have a bone to pick with you, avoids you and the rare moments you get to be in the same place —usually coworkers meetings— never fails to have an odd with you, not verbally, no, Dex stares at you, eyes blank in that specific way a person who abhors someone would do.

That’s not enough to assert he is a total piece of shit, he is just weird or that’s the prompt you been cajoling yourself with to not deeply panic, even when you precise his icy hazel iris peeking through the ajar door… no wait— is he watching you?!

You sprint to fully open the door and look around. At the threshold you’re met with nothing more than the empty white aisle, you thought you heard his steps at the end of it so, what you saw must come from tiredness since it’s late.

Picking up the marker again you dispose yourself to the write down the content of the boxes on it surfaces.

You don’t get to uncap the sharpie.

Echo of a loud thud travels the path its end you are. Despite the cold sweat forming on your back you go, ‘it’s for the kids’ you repeat yourself for your own sake, you hold the marker for dear life and stand up from the small rigid bench to explore.

The old lights keep buzzing on top of your head, the stale smell of the old place made your heart accelerate its rate. Keep going, you just keep going checking through the wooden doors at your sides and… there’s nothing weird.

You get to the end of the L shaped aisle. No signs of Dex though. He should be on his place, outside, what he was looking for before then? That’s a question you should made yourself, but everything is so heavy, exhaustion tenses your spine, mind is numb. Back to work.

Like a robot, you walk down the route you forcefully went before. Your home is all occupying your mind when you see all the stacks you need to put together.

When you attempt to sit at the bench again, the door behind you closes on it own. Shit.

Maybe he wanted to play a joke on you but that theory dismantled itself the moment you turn around to face it.

Dex was there in the room with you, locked entrance at his back. A pocket knife in his hand.

You almost cry.

—“Okay, what the actual fuck is going on?!” Punctuating every single word of the question, your stomach quiver yet you are proud how firm your voice came out.

—“You don’t wanna wake up the kids, do you?” His lips crack with an uneven smile.

All this time, you were right. Fuck, fuck! He’s twisted! Like a fucking corkscrew. It is fair to say you are in utter panic.

—“I have a few things to tell you, but you need to collaborate, you need to help me, would you?” He whispers in such soft tone despite there’s nothing soft splattered over his features.

His eyes are low, appeased, pupils blown, flared nostrils, the collar of his black gear is untidy as if the tugged it down in a rush, you even discern the nail scratches over his neck- but there’s no time to catch the little details.

—“Okay, okay,” You raise your hands in faux surrender —“What is it?” You ask hesitant, one thought is executed before you can meditate on it, you try to grab a cutter lying over a box but,

he reaches you.

His hand slides across your cheek. Suddenly gasp for air when what seemed like a tender caress turned into a harsh grasp, gripping your jaw, straight into the bone. Definitely gonna leave a bruise.

The man doesn’t talk right away, remains staring at your face void of all color, his breath brushes your skin erratically.

—“You think you get to ruin all i have built,” he mumbles between gritted teeth. — “it makes me want to smear you all over the ground like that pigeon you were so loud about.”

He was so close it felt overwhelming. He wasn’t drunk, no alcohol smell, this is not okay.

—“What Dex? You want me to stay all calm and sweet when i see a guy doing something so unhinged in a place like a child shelter?! You must be fucking crazy.”

If you were going to die tonight, at least you’re gonna stand for your thoughts. It pulls a laugh out of him. —“Moral girl.”

—“If- if you’re planning on killing me now-“

—“Shut the fuck up.” He chuckles, as a warning.

—“It would be a fucking mess and you couldn’t even escape properly, there is cameras everywhere, they’ll be looking for you by the morning.” You are stressed, the words come out rapidly, it makes him harrow.

—“Shut up!!” Dex finally shouts.

Rage is crawling up his face in the color of red boiling blood, he shoves you back so roughly you feel the waves of the stunt coil back and forth within your rib cage.

Here stamped onto the wall, trepidation climbed up your limbs like burning ivy. You can’t help the tears welled in your eyes. You feel overpowered, incapable.

His fingers are still painting white over your masseter muscles, he nudges at it maliciously and your glare, holding his in a fragile act of courage, faltered—leaving salty drops slipping down your cheeks.

—“I think you get it now.” He almost slurs, hazel eyes fixed on your… lips?

Every alarm in your body is yelling at you to scream, push him, go away, but everything is happening so fast you don’t know what to do first. You shut your eyes closed again, exhaling to dilute some adrenaline build up in your blood.

When he gets that close is something you don’t quite notice immediately.

He licks the fresh path of tears on your cheek.

Sick fuck knew the business so well that before you thought about screaming the same hand clutched your neck with the right amount of pressure to not let anything out or in, including your voice… and your breath.

If what came before was a nightmare, then this is the night terror that leaves you adrift—aware you’re dreaming, yet unable to wake up. Trapped.

—“You get it, do you?” He asks full of cynicism, over your ear, warming it with his breath. You nod hysterical, the lack of air burning inside your lungs. It wasn’t enough for him.

—“Do you?!!” Dex half shouts, a harsh whisper, slamming you back against the concrete wall, you cry out, reaching his hand to scratch it. You can’t breathe.

He lasts another few seconds bathing in the sweet syrupy feeling of you not only surrendering to him but to writhe between his fingers.

You collapse onto the floor the second he lets you go. You reach up, fingers trembling, trying to soothe the irritated skin of your neck. Looking up, what coughs and tears allow you to see is the slightest of the smirks.

Son of a bitch thinks you won’t say a thing about this later.

That when he disappears through door behind him and go away, you won’t wait till the next day and call Ms.Marie and not hold a single thing about his fucking psychopath demeanor, how much of a danger he is to the children and other coworkers, what he did to you…

But oh… surprise.

When you actually do, the first thing you know is he was fired, yes, he was, and all the walking through the aisle yesterday was nothing more than… you don’t know. He had like bloody 2 weeks off but nobody noticed since the night shift was only you and him, occasionally Marie if she didn’t went on a month vacation like she did now.

You can’t quite name the feeling. That moment was, without question, the most haunting thing to happen to you in years. Realizing how helpless you are in such a tense situation.

Sleep schedule all fucked up, eating more than you should out of anxiety and rethinking your life choices. You wont let yourself get defeated, you won’t quit the job, you wont move away.

It eventually happens one day, 6 am when you finally get at home after a torturous walk from bus stop to here. The morning is chill, perfect to sleep, you’re so sleepy now, you open the main door and look down, and all the cozy feeling is drained with a straw.

His small knife pocket he never used on you, at your feet.

[izxz-is-deranged]

Baptism by Fire | Matt Murdock x BAU!Reader

Summary: You love your position at the BAU, but your life is uprooted when Hotch sends you on a temporary assignment to the FBI field office in New York. Apparently, someone had the bright idea to make a deal with a crime boss named Wilson Fisk, and now it's your job to build a profile to determine if the information he gives can be trusted. As you realize quickly things aren't as they seem, you must find a way to protect yourself- If protecting yourself has something to do with a masked vigilante... That's no fault of yours.

multiple crossovers | slow burn

A/N: Starts about ep3 of S3 of Daredevil! Reader uses a fake name, and can be seen as an original character if desired. Future storylines may involve Reader's past coming back to haunt her (Supernatural) and the trials and tribulations of her day job (Criminal Minds)

< ao3 link > <Masterlist>

5: The Ifs that Lead Us

You jolt awake in a bone deep panic, like you do every morning.

Breathe. In. Out. You’re safe- It’s just the quiet of an overly fancy hotel room.

That quiet being the loud honks, construction work and constant yelling of New York City. Metropolitan ambience creeps in through the window you left cracked for airflow during the night, something you’d never felt comfortable doing, expect you were almost 9 stories in the air with no fire escape, little chance for someone to sneak in. The sun reflects off the building facing your window and sends mirrored rays scattered across the beige flooring. You see dust float gently down in the streams. As it falls to the floor, you decide your feet should follow.

Yesterday may have been a blur, a black masked blur, but you were convinced today could be better. Just stick to your Assignment at hand, and nothing can go wrong. That is, of course, relying on the fact that Fisk wasn’t aware you were onto him.

Your mouth twitches downwards. Oh god , what if Fisk knows you’re onto him? Shaking your head, you push down the anxiety.

Getting ready for the day is easy. Clean, professional attire. Practical shoes, gun in your cant holster on your hip. Doing what you can with your hair. You want to look as put together as possible for addressing the entire team working with Fisk- And you’ve learned over the years of playing FBI politics that the better dressed you are, the more people listen.

You exit your hotel room. There’s an eerie convenience that “home base” wasn’t the field office, but a number of floors up from where you were staying. Your feet feel like lead bricks as you trudge yourself up there, a sudden wave of apprehension washing over you. You’d helped deliver plenty of profiles with your team, but going it solo… Especially with how complicated this situation felt, it was a rock sinking in your gut. They were putting their trust in you. You couldn’t fail them.

The elevator dings a soft reminder of your mission, and when the door opens, you’re surprised to see Agent Poindexter there. He’s standing as straight as ever, hands folded neatly in front of him, dressed in a pressed white shirt and blazer. He smiles, sharp cheeks defining the polite grin.

“Hello, Agent Singer,” Dex chirps, “How are you this morning?”

“Fine,” you respond, just as politely as you step into the elevator, turning to face forward. You hadn’t got over the first impression you got of him, the passive aggressiveness about your job. If you cared more about what he thought, it’d be worth understanding. 

“I heard you ran in with the masked nut-job last night. Glad you got away easy,” He says, not even bothering to look at you as he talks. Why do Dex’s actions and words seem calculated to be as polite and normal as possible?

You inhale. “Well, I can hold my own, Agent. I’m not scared easily by men in masks. It’s always been my will to pull them off, to reveal the truth underneath.”

Dex just shrugs. It’s like he’s stewing on your words as the elevator finally reaches the top floor. “I admire the confidence,” He begins as he offers you to exit first, “Excited to see what mask you’re pulling off of Fisk.”

And there it is, the comment that manages to turn all your anxiety into a simmering spite. 

A few minutes later, you’re standing in front of every Agent you’ve encounter here so far. Some sit in the chairs in front of the computers, most stand to fill out back wall, but all have their attentions undivided on you. You start with a smile.

“Wilson Fisk fills out a standard profile of a crime lord. He’s highly intelligent and a compelling leader. Followers of him were recruited by charisma, similar to a cult leader, but fear is what keeps them in line and loyal. He’s a knack for reading people and will use the information he collects to then manipulate his victims.”

You continue, “Most crime lords have a strict internal code, as they believe they are fully justified in their actions, even sometimes believing they alone are worthy of their place in the hierarchy. While Fisk exhibits this, he is also emotionally unstable, which means his moral compass has skewed to include his violent outbursts. He believes he has done nothing wrong. Disputing this may provoke him.”

By this point, some agents in the room began taking notes. You could hear quick typing, or scratching along a note pad.

“Typically, men like this have very traditional view on women and their place within their empire. Fisk deviates from this as he currently bargained for his girlfriend’s acquittal. This comes from his relationship with his mother, and he seems to trust more women to open his vulnerable self up to,” You add, remembering to skirt around his actual history, since all you had were second hand tales and how it completed the profile.

“Psychologically, Fisk is a narcissist with C-PTSD and autistic traits. He has sociopathic tendencies and he feels little to no remorse for his actions or empathy for the people he hurts. I want to implore on you to not take too much time to allow Fisk to speak with you. It is likely he will default to manipulation to gain the upper hand,” You pace as you speak. You make tentative eye contact with a couple agents. “He can, and will, use you to his advantage.”

Agents start to whisper by this point. You notice the SAC, Hattley, who you hadn’t even spoken more than a few words too, squint. You couldn’t decide if she was processing the information, or judging the implications. 

“Finally, Fisk is patient,” You finish off, clutching your hands behind your back, “He has shown in the past he will wait until his well organized plans come to fruition. He plays the long game, and it’s our job to make sure that’s not what’s happening here.”

A tone shifts in the room. Unease falls like a hushed cloud.

You wrap things up with a thanks, imploring anyone to speak to you if they had any questions. It takes seconds for SAC Hattley to take you up on this with the words: “Speak to me out in the hall.”

You follow behind her, eyes locked on her red hair pulled into a neat bun. Typically, she’d have been the agent you answered to in this scenario, not Nadeem, but her absence yesterday forced you to default onto him. It seemed, however, that she just remembered what she was in charge of.

The hall is quiet, save for you and Hattley. She turns to you, mouth in a hard line. 

“We haven’t gotten a chance to talk yet, but I’m going to make this very plain. Your job here is to complete a profile and make sure it is accurately applied, one of which you already finished. Our job is to investigate and arrest the criminals Fisk hands over.”

“That’s exactly what-”

“Don’t bullshit me,” She says tiredly. “The ending statement of your profile told me what I needed to know.”

You straighten your shoulders, looking off to the side. If Hattley is defensive at the mere notion of Fisk playing the system, then she was deeply worried about how that this could go south. Yet, she didn’t even want to entertain the idea? Why?

You raise your eyebrows. “I just came across some information that alluded to the possibility Fisk had purchased this hotel, but of course, that means absolutely nothing if it’s not my job,” you couldn’t help but let the sarcasm ring. 

Hattley pauses. Her eyes cut at you.

Taking it as a notion to continue, you start again with a more respectful tone, “Six months ago the Presidential Hotel was sold to a slew of shell companies, however they’re all represented by the same law firm, Donavan and Partners.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not proof. That’s circumstantial.”

“You don’t think it’s even worth a look?”

“Respectfully, Agent Singer,” Hattley sighs, crossing her arms, “I have Internal Affairs stopping by this morning. This is information, at most, is enough to keep in mind, but right now I have more pressing matters to deal with.”

Your face contorts. “More pressing than the idea this might all be for nothing?”

Hattley begins to turn away. “I’m ordering you to leave it alone, Agent. I understand your concern but let us take care of it.”

What a careful and professional way to say stay in your lane. 

As Hattley returns back to her duties, you’re left with a restlessness in your gut. Hotch would never dismiss your concerns like this, and you’re sorely reminded of the fact that within the bureau, your team is an exception of dynamics. Clenching and unclenching your jaw, you wonder why you’re here in the first place if they’re not going to listen to you.

The words “circumstantial” burn a hole in your head. What you needed was solid, hard evidence. You had planned to research more into the local vigilante on your lunch break, but now a different plan formulates in your head.

If Fisk really organized to be transferred into this specific hotel, then he’d have to have fabricated the incident that got him moved into protective custody, otherwise there would’ve been no basis to change. It was pretty solid logic- “I’m in danger here and need to be moved or I take all I know to the grave.” The man who stabbed him in prison, if you’re right, must’ve been coerced or bribed to do it. 

This idea hangs on a lot of ifs, but maybe a visit to the prison would change that.

~

The inmate you’re looking for is named Jasper Evans. 

You arrive at the concrete building before noon, making nothing known to the other Agents. Nadeem had questioned why you were leaving, but you appeased him with a quick lie about getting some air and a coffee. He told you to take your time. That they would only need you later, when Internal Affairs spoke with Fisk about the motorcade incident.

You were pretty confident this won’t take long.

Prisons are not a stranger to you. Many times the BAU had to speak to previous unsubs, or question killers in custody, so as you’re not put off completely by the acrid building. The people housed in it are a different story, though. Rikers was a tough hole to be thrown in, and by all accounts, violent criminals went here to die.

Your badge is your ticket. As soon as the guards at the success of doors read FBI, they buzz you through, all the way to the front desk area. Well, as much of a front desk as you get in a place like this. Instead of a sweet old secretary, a guard behind bulletproof glass squints at you, eyeing you up and down. You flash a smile, and your badge.

“I’m here to question an inmate, Jasper Evans. He should be in solitary.” That’s true. On the file you peaked at before taking off from the hotel, it said he got a year in solitary for the shanking.

“He know you’re comin’?” The guard questions, writing down information on a sheet.

“No, but this is urgent.”

Something flashes behind this man’s expression, a distant nervousness you can’t put your finger on. He mutters about having to notify some guards, those in the solitary ward, and you should wait here for a moment. As soon as he leaves, disappearing somewhere in the room behind the desk, the only noise you're left with is the industrial buzzing of the lights overhead.

It takes almost 10 minutes for someone to come get you, but finally, a large, uniformed man walks out.

“Agent Singer?” He asks, barely gesturing at you. “Follow me please.”

You don’t hesitate. This man then takes you deep into the building, passing cell blocks and lines of inmates. The tile floor reverberates each harsh command from guards and the grumbling of the prisoners as they listen. At some point, you count less windows. Less sunlight allowed.

“Solitary is closest to the Nurses office, so you’re gonna wait there till’ we get him prepped to talk.”

You narrow your eyes in confusion. An odd waiting spot for a federal agent, but you didn’t seem to question the proximity. Those in solitary were the most likely to need medical attention quick, as suicide and self-harm are common as a results of the isolation.

A buzz sounds at the door he brings you too, a corner room in a square building opening before you. It’s small, probably 5 paces wide, with a nurses table in the center and other sterile decor. The only thing that confuses you is another man waiting inside, but this wasn’t an inmate or nurse, he was dressed in a suit.

“Somebody will come get you in a few,” the guard chimes, not bothering to explain further.

The door shuts and locks behind him. You scoff and place your hands on your hips in disapproval.

The other man, the suited one standing on the opposite side of the room, stares over at you- or is he? His gaze is a bit unfocused, but his eyebrows knotted just enough to know he’s concentrated on you. Familiarity seizes inside, but you can’t place him immediately, so you concentrate back. His hair is dark, neat, like he cleaned it up for today, and well trimmed stubble defining his jaw. None of this seemed as important as the wounds on his face. A sewn up slice on his forehead, busted lip, bruised cheek. You’d seen those wounds yesterday, standing outside the Presidential Hotel. Though there, he had a hat and dirty jacket… and a cane and sunglasses.

Holy shit- This is the missing Matthew Murdock.

“Gonna guess by the tie you’re not a local resident… or the nurse,” You sputter out, heart pounding. What sort of coincidence was this?

“That obvious, huh?” He says, face pulling into a faint, wry smile. He steps tentatively your way, still giving you plenty of room in the small space. “I’m a lawyer. Old client I was visiting got a little too excited.”

He gestures vaguely to the bruise forming along his jaw. You’re mesmerized by it. His voice. His movements. The mystery of his whereabouts, which wasn’t even the highlight of yesterday, hadn’t left your mind, and here he is, a final answer to the puzzle.

“You seem familiar,” you begin, eyes darting over him, “Have we met?” It’s a weak lie, but how else are you going to broach the topic of knowing an intimate amount about his life?

He pauses, head cocked. “I don’t think so.” It’s dismissive.

“Well then… Wren Singer, FBI,” You introduce, offering a hand out to shake on autopilot, then realizing- Jesus, he’s blind, right? Jackass. You drop your hand. 

Matt (Could you call him that yet?) stops as a micro-expression of confusion flickers across his face when you say your name. A worm in your ear tells you he knows your name is fake, but that worm spoke every time you introduced yourself. You’ve learned to ignore the feeling.

To break the tension, the door buzzes. The Nurse, a black man in scrubs pushes in with a causal attitude. 

“Sorry again for the wait- Oh,” He looks between you two, “You hurt too?”

“No, I’m just waiting. I’ll get out of your way,” you respond, backing into the corner and crossing your arms.

“Alright then,” The nurse says before bringing his hand up to inspect Matt’s jaw. “But, good news for you, it’s not dislocated.”

“Great. So I can go?” His voice has no discernible interest in the phrase.

“Almost done,” the nurse sighs, “Honestly, this paperwork is a waste of time. Just ends up in a file somewhere.” He digs through a drawer, fiddling with some things. You squint, but from the other side of the room, you can’t see what he’s doing. “I am now going to check your pupils to see if you’re concussed. Just look up for a minute-”

As the nurse turns to Matt with the pen light, he’s already waving him off. “No, no… Just, give me the paperwork, please,” Matt says, obviously tired.

“Okay. Let’s get you outta here.”

The nurse begins to talk about headaches, messing again with the things in front of him. You’ve nearly fully tuned out of the conversation, until suddenly, a heavy paperweight flies at your head as the Nurse whips around, attacking Matt.

The weight collides with your brow line, splitting the skin in a hiss of fire. You gasp in pain as your vision spins from the impact. Matt and the nurse tussle as you get your bearings, but you’re failing as you drop on your knee and blood drips down your face. 

A crash erupts as the nurse slams into the chair and desk across the room, down for the count. You blink, staving off the swirls in your vision as you stare at the motionless lump.

“Hey,” a soft voice breaks through the blur. Matt is kneeling in front of you, breath heavy. He brings a hand up to your head, gentle fingers pressing around the split above your eyebrow. “It’s not bad. It didn’t fracture the skull. Can you stand?”

You don’t have the energy to question how he could possibly know that. You nod, but his strong hands raise you to your feet anyways. 

“What the hell was that…?” You groan out, voice strained.

Matt ignores you, letting go. He strides quickly to the door. His words no less than a command. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

The door doesn’t budge, electrically locked from the outside. Then he tries the window. That doesn’t move either.

“Just a guess but maybe the prison won’t be an easy escape,” You chide, pulling your sleeve to slow the blood from your cut. Head wounds bled so much. You’d never get the stain out. Damn. You actually liked this shirt.

He flexes his shoulders, rolling his head as he’s faces the window, frustration at the situation or you, you can’t tell. There’s no time to ponder on it though- the phone rings. Both of you turn to it, and Matt makes his way forward and you watch as he pulls it off the hook, bringing it to his ear.

You walk up closer, and Matt leans the phone so you can hear as well.

“You’re not Franklin Nelson…” A thunderous voice calls.

Fisk?

“Fisk,” Matt nearly echoes your thought.

“It’s quite something to see. For a blind man, you have very impressive reflexes, Mr. Murdock.”

Matt tenses, pulling the phone away from you, so you can’t hear anymore. He turns to face the camera in the room. “What was I injected with?”

Had he been injected with something? You sober enough as Fisk monologues to stride to the desk where the Nurse had been working. You pull out the drawer, finding a bottle labeled ‘Flunitrazepam’- Aka. Rohypnol in liquid form. You pick up the syringe from the floor- They must’ve filled it up most of the way, almost 3ml. God. 

“It’s a roofie- They tried to sedate you,” You call back to Matt, looking over your shoulder. 

Matt doesn’t seemed shocked at this information. His jaw clenches and he holds the phone out. “He wants to speak with you.”

Ice washes through your blood. Your body protests as your brain wills you forward. How is Fisk even calling right now? Watching this? He is under 24/7 surveillance. Matt hands you the phone, warm from his grip.

“Miss Singer. It saddens me it came to this,” Fisk says.

“It hasn’t yet. You can still let us out.”

A pained laugh rings out, tinny over the phone. “No. You couldn’t leave well enough alone, even after the warnings from your Superiors. All of 2 days and you already had become a thorn in my side. A thorn I’m keen on ripping out.”

“Fisk. I swear to you, if I die here, there’s going to be a legion of people who’ll descend on you and make sure your pain doesn’t end- In this life and the next one.” Your words burn and your voice shakes with a low rage.

He hums, satisfied. “A true shame to snuff out such a spark. Goodbye, Miss Singer.”

The line goes dead with a continuous metallic tone. You slam the phone back down into the holder. Trying to steady your breathing, you place a hand to your forehead.

“Why does Fisk want you dead?” Matt asks, eyes hazy. You wonder how much of that drug he was dosed with.

“Because I poke ,” You snap, huffing with frustration. “He must have moles in the FBI. They didn’t like what I was digging up. Why does he want you dead, Matthew?”

His face contorts. “How do you know me?”

“Same reason. Poking around. A habit I should really get better about.”

A breathe escapes him, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, and places his hands on his hips. “Alright, none of that matters now. There are three men on their way to us; We’ve got about 30 seconds before they arrive. If you want to get out of here, you have to follow what I say, no questions asked.”

His voice is commanding, with the same cadence as when he inspected your head wound. Matt’s face was the picture of intense: eyebrows knotted, eyes dark, jaw tight. You drag your eyes over him, trying to discern if you should trust him or not. Matt is much more attuned to the situation. How he could know there were men on their way was mind boggling, but one of the conditions is no questions, so you’ll file it away for later. You had no one else to trust, anyways.

“Okay, I’ll follow. If not for nothing, you did get hit with at least .5ml of Rohypnol and someone has to drag you to the exit if you pass out,” you explain, real worry seeping through. He seems to sway on his feet and whether that was from the sedative or the hits to the head, you weren’t sure.

He nods in response, head twitching as the buzz from the door signals that it’s unlocked. He steps forward, guiding himself by placing his hand on your shoulder, fingers trailing as he moves in front of you. You’re about to go for your gun to prepare but he adds one last thing.

“Don’t use that unless absolutely necessary,” Matt huffs tiredly.

You chewed your lip, you couldn’t promise that one. 

He opens the door.

--

taglist <3: @echo-dreams-of-recs