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━SUSAN'S RECS LIST
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DECEMBER
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The Alchemy
summary: Dex takes you on an aquarium date where the glowing blue water and a heartfelt confession makes it impossible to deny how much he means to you.
who: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter/Bullseye x Female!Murdock Reader
word count: 2K
warnings: soulmate au, pure fluff. If I have missed any please let me know!
divider by: @uzmacchiato
a/n: Part 10 of the Glitch Series! Only one more chapter after this one! Like before feedback is welcome!
Glitch Series Masterlist
Next Chapter: You Are In Love
Previous Chapter: I Think He Knows
"Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?..." — The Alchemy by Taylor Swift
The first thing you noticed when you stepped out of the apothecary after a long shift was Dex.
Leaning against a wall with an air of casualness that caused others to ignore him, but you could see his eyes scan the surrounding areas.
A small smile pulled at your lips before you could stop it as Dex straightened up immediately when he saw you.
“Hi.” His greeting was simple, yet it still warmed your chest.
“Hi.”
His eyes moved over you once, taking in your tired expression, the herbal stains on your sleeves, and the way you dragged your aching feet.
“Did you work through lunch again?”
You blinked, confused. “How do you know that?”
“You get quieter when you're hungry,” he said, grabbing your bag and throwing it over his shoulder. “You’ve usually asked me at least three questions by now.”
You grinned at his attentiveness because while many people would find it off-putting to discover that their boyfriend has learned everything about them, you know that this is one of the ways Dex shows his affection.
You also know that him knowing these things about you is also what keeps his mind clear, like a north star guiding a lost sailor home.
“You know that’s not normal, right?” You tease while grabbing his free hand.
“It is for me.” He said with a serious face while interlocking your fingers together.
Of course it was.
You couldn't stop smiling at his reply before your eyes landed on a folded brochure in the breast pocket of his jacket.
“Honey.” You pull his hand to grab his attention.
“Yeah, baby?”
“What's that?” You ask, pointing at his pocket.
For a moment, a suspiciously pleased look crossed his face. “A surprise.”
You immediately narrowed your eyes. “I don't trust that expression.”
“I know.” He grinned.
“Dex.” You whined, but the smile you were trying to hide gave away the fact that you were only playing.
He playfully sighed as he held the brochure out, showing a pair of already paid-for tickets for the aquarium you had told him about a few weeks ago.
Your eyebrows shot upward. “You planned a date?”
“Yes.”
You looked from the tickets to him. Then back to the tickets. Then back to him again.
“You planned this weeks ago, didn't you?” You asked while grinning.
“… Maybe.” He said as his cheeks warmed red.
“Oh my God.” You laughed.
“It was difficult finding a day you weren't working.”
Your chest warmed pleasantly because that sounded less like annoyance and more like a fact he'd carefully thought about.
“Come on,” he said quietly, tugging your hand gently to make you start walking.
And because you couldn't think of a single reason not to, you happily moved.
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The aquarium wasn’t as crowded as you expected, with just enough people to fill the halls with soft chatter and excited children.
You'd barely made it through the entrance before something enormous swam past one of the giant tanks and caught your attention.
“Oh wow.” Your pace immediately slowed, and you didn’t notice as Dex altered his own pace to match yours as your eyes were glued to the beautiful animal.
A stingray was gliding across your view, its movements graceful and enchanting, as it swam closer to the glass before quickly changing directions as if it was teasing everyone watching it.
A laugh escaped you. “Honey, look, it’s beautiful.”
“It is.”
You glanced at him only to find he wasn't looking at the stingray, but he was looking at you.
Your cheeks warmed instantly. “You know that's not what I meant.”
“I know.” He said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.
“Dex.” You gently nudged his side with your elbow.
A tiny smile appeared on his face as you rolled your eyes and continued walking.
But you couldn't stop smiling either.
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The jellyfish exhibit was your favourite.
The room glowed blue as soft music drifted through the darkness while hundreds of jellyfish floated through illuminated tanks like stars.
You stopped in front of one immediately as your attention was taken by the pretty pink jellyfish that drifted slowly through the water, glowing softly beneath the lights.
For several moments neither of you spoke as you admired the jellyfish.
“You're staring.” You said upon noticing Dex’s usual expression.
“I know.”
You smiled. “There’s more jellyfish over there.”
“I know.”
You looked over your shoulder, and Dex hadn't looked at the tank once. Not once.
“You paid for tickets.” You gently reminded him.
“I did.”
“You should probably look at them.”
“I'd rather look at you.” He said seriously as his hands cupped your face.
Your stomach fluttered hard at the familiar response that should embarrassed you, but instead it only made your smile grow.
“Besides, we haven’t gotten to the shark section yet, and those are my favourite.” He teased kissing your forehead.
“Dex.” You laughed while gently hitting his side before noticing his gaze not leaving your face.
“What?” You asked wrapping your arms around his waist.
“I love you.” He whispered.
Your breath caught as everything in the room seemed to stop. The people, the music, the jellyfish, all of it. But his declaration didn’t shock you because you’d known for months or maybe even longer.
You'd seen it every time he looked at you, in every gift he gave, in every text he sent, in every careful touch, and thoughtful date. But hearing him say it aloud felt different somehow. Bigger. Real. Better.
For a moment you simply stared at him as the blue aquarium lights reflected in his eyes and showed the emotions he was feeling. Love, certainty, and patience.
“You don't have to say it back.” He whispered again while gently stroking your cheeks with his thumbs.
The gentleness in his voice made your throat tighten as you realised he didn’t say it because he wanted an answer but because he wanted to be honest.
You swallowed and reached for his hand instead, with Dex immediately intertwining your fingers, and a smile appeared on his face that somehow said enough.
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The shark tunnel was quickly becoming your favourite part.
Mostly because a sweet seven-year-old boy had attached himself to Dex the moment he saw him.
“Mister, do you think sharks could beat dinosaurs?” The boy asked while tugging on Dex’s jeans.
Dex blinked in confusion while you looked away to hide your smile, shoulders gently shaking because of your quiet laughter, before turning back to face your boyfriend, who had since lowered himself into a crouch.
The boy’s mother sat only a few steps away from you with a baby in her arms and mouthed “I’m sorry”, which you waved away with a kind smile.
“Which dinosaur?” Dex asked, and the child gasped happily.
Apparently this was the correct answer.
Ten minutes later, Dex and the boy, who you have since learned is called Sammy, were not only discussing which dinosaurs a shark could beat but also their favourite dinosaur and why.
While you happily watched from several steps away, now sitting next to Sammy’s mother and cooing over Elena, her four-month-old daughter whose toothless smile was stealing your heart.
Eventually Sammy’s father returned with baskets of fries in each hand, and the small family made their way to the outside picnic area.
“Bye-bye, dinosaur shark man!” Sammy shouted while aggressively waving goodbye.
You smiled as Dex waved back before he turned and found you staring.
“What?” He asked, tilting his head in confusion.
“You like kids.” You grinned.
“No.”
“You absolutely do.”
“No.”
“You just spent ten minutes discussing sharks and dinosaurs.” You teased him.
“He asked.” He defended himself as you laughed so hard you had to grab his arm for balance, which Dex looked very pleased about.
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The gift shop was challenging your self-control.
Every stuffed animal was adorable and dangerous to your purse with their beady eyes and soft stuffed bodies calling your name, especially the sea otter that sat on a shelf near the cash register.
Round, soft, and holding its own stuffed rock, the stuffed teddy was perfect and would look wonderful on your bed.
You picked it up, squeezed it, then reluctantly put it back. “No."
Dex looked away from the hammerhead shark keyring he found. “No?”
“I don't need it.” You said walking towards him.
“You want the otter?” He asked while showing you the keyring in his hand.
“I don't need it.” You stated.
“But you want it.”
“Dex.” You playfully pointed a finger at him. “No.”
He looked completely unbothered as you dragged him away, leaving the sea otter behind.
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Lunch happened afterwards at a small family-run café near the waterfront.
You chatted excitedly about all the sea creatures you saw while Dex pretended not to notice as you stole his fries before subtly pushing the plate closer.
The walk back to your apartment was slow and peaceful, with neither of you seeming particularly eager to end the day.
Your hand remained interlocked with his the entire way as you both ate the ice creams you purchased from the local gelato. It was comforting, natural, and easy as you realised that you were happy.
Genuinely happy.
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You had been home for about an hour when you discovered the sea otter sitting happily in the middle of your bed.
You slowly turned towards the living room, where Dex had made himself comfy on the sofa. “Honey.”
“Yeah, baby?” You could hear the grin in his voice.
“Why is there a sea otter on my bed?”
“I don't know how that got there.”
“Dex.”
“I've never seen it before in my life.”
You laughed happily, the sound filling the apartment as you moved towards the sofa and pressed your lips against his.
“Thank you, honey.” You said into the kiss.
“You’re welcome, baby.”
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Hours later, you were curled against him on the sofa while the film you put on had long since become background noise, with neither of you paying attention anymore.
Your head rested on Dex's chest, one of his arms wrapped tightly around your waist while his fingers absentmindedly traced patterns against your side.
The apartment was quiet except for the television and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. A few months ago that sound would have made you nervous, but now it settled something inside you.
You shifted slightly, tilting your head up to look at him, only to find Dex was already looking at you.
A smile tugged at your lips. “You're staring again.”
“I know.”
“You do that a lot.”
“You’re beautiful.” He said smiling as your cheeks flushed red.
Dex's hand slid up your back, twirling pieces of your hair around his fingers, and your chest warmed at his words. A few months ago hearing those words would have annoyed you, now it makes you feel nice. Wanted.
You leaned forward and kissed him. Only a quick press of your lips against his, but Dex immediately followed when you pulled away, chasing another kiss before you could retreat completely.
You smiled against his mouth. “Needy.”
“For you?” He questioned. “Always.”
The answer came so quickly that you laughed as he rested his forehead briefly against yours. The familiar tingles danced beneath your skin where his name lived. Like a lovely, gentle reminder.
Then his hand lifted to cup your cheek, and the look in his eyes made your stomach flutter. The soft look that he reserved only for you. Always for you.
You thought about the aquarium, about the jellyfish, the sharks, and the sea otter currently sitting happily on your bed. The way he'd held your hand all afternoon and memorised all your favourite things. The way he'd said I love you like it was the most natural thing in the world and the way he'd given you space when you hadn't been ready to say it back.
Your heart and stomach squeezed. “Dex.”
His thumb brushed gently across your cheek. “Yeah?”
For a second you simply looked at him before gently smiling. “Thank you for today.”
Something in his expression relaxed. “You had fun?”
“You already know I did.”
“I still like hearing you say it.”
Your laugh escaped before you could stop it, and the sound made him smile too. Then he leaned forward and kissed your forehead as your eyes fluttered closed briefly, savouring the feeling of being loved.
And when he kissed you again, pulling you closer until there wasn't any space left between you, you followed willingly.
Because neither of you wanted the day to end as the television continued playing unnoticed, and the city carried on outside. And somewhere between the shared laughter, quiet conversation, and stolen kisses, the evening slipped away from you both.
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PREVIOUS | NEXT CHAPTER
I Think He Knows
summary: when Matt brings an injured Dex to your clinic, your family is forced to confront just how deeply the two of you have fallen for each other.
who: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter/Bullseye x Female!Murdock Reader
word count: 3K
warnings: soulmate au, mentions of stab wounds, mentions of blood, fluff, soft dex! If I have missed any please let me know!
divider by: @uzmacchiato
a/n: Part 9 of the Glitch Series! Can't believe there is only two chapters after this one! Not my favourite chapter written but hope you enjoy! Like before feedback is welcome!
Glitch Series Masterlist
Next Chapter: The Alchemy
Previous Chapter: Lover
"He's so obsessed with me and, boy, I understand..." — I Think He Knows by Taylor Swift
The clinic usually smelled like antiseptic and herbs when you closed it up at night.
Tonight, it smelled like lavender oil and crushed chamomile from the new cleaning solution gifted from a previous patient as you finished wiping down the final counter before slowly rolling your shoulders as the familiar aches settled into your bones again.
Not the dangerous kind of aches that you used to ignore until you fainted but a quieter kind. The kind that came after healing people all day and forgetting to look after yourself.
Capping the cleaning bottle, you leaned against the counter for a moment, letting the silence settle.
If Dex were here, he would be telling you to eat something. You smiled slightly at the thought before you could stop it.
He had a habit of doing that now, slipping into your thoughts like he belonged there.
“You know,” Karen said, sitting on the edge of a counter with a cleaning cloth in one hand, “for someone who's finished work, you seem determined to keep working.”
You smiled without looking up. “I'm closing.”
“You've been 'closing' for twenty-five minutes.”
“It takes time.”
Foggy laughed from the medicine cabinet where he was reorganising bandages into neat stacks. “I told you she'd say that.”
“You two offered to help,” you reminded them.
“We offered to keep you company,” Karen corrected. “Helping was never part of the agreement.”
“And yet,” you gestured around the room, “here you are.”
Foggy shrugged dramatically. “I'm a generous man.”
“You colour-coordinated the painkillers.”
“They deserved it.”
A laugh escaped you as it all felt… normal.
Especially since Foggy had been given the final all clear from the hospital a little over a week ago and seeing him standing here now, healthy and smiling, still felt like a miracle.
He caught you looking. “What?”
“I'm just happy you're here.” You smile.
His expression softened. “So am I.”
Karen smiled quietly before pointing toward the sink. “Less emotions, more disinfecting.”
“Yes, ma'am.” You both playfully saluted.
You finished rinsing the last of the work tools before carefully placing them into their drawer.
Almost done. You thought while already wanting to head home, especially since Dex had offered to cook tonight, having already texted earlier asking if you preferred pasta or stir fry.
You'd replied with a simple ‘surprise me x’ and his response had come less than ten seconds later with an ‘ok baby x’.
The thought alone made warmth spread across your chest.
Karen noticed immediately. “What are you smiling about?”
“What?”
“You've got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one you've had for months.” She teased.
Foggy grinned as he came to stand beside you. “The Dex look.”
Heat immediately crawled into your cheeks. “I do not have a Dex look.”
“You absolutely have a Dex look.” He teased while poking your red cheek.
“I smiled.” You argued.
“You smiled differently.”
You rolled your eyes. “I don't smile differently.”
Karen folded her arms. “You literally just did.”
Before you could defend yourself, three loud knocks against the back door echoed through the clinic.
“Expecting someone?” Foggy frowned.
You shook your head. “No.”
Another loud bang echoed throughout the clinic, but more urgent than before. Your stomach tightened, but you were already moving before anyone said anything, with Karen following and Foggy not far behind.
Karen gasped the second you unlocked the door because Matt stood there breathing heavy and dressed as Daredevil with his suit streaked with dirt and blood, but in his arms was Dex.
Your heart dropped as his head lolled against Matt's shoulder, his hair damp with sweat and blood, while one side of his dark suit soaked through with blood.
“Move.” Matt said.
You did immediately as he carried Dex straight to the nearest examination bed while Foggy hurried ahead, clearing trays and equipment out of the way.
“He took the hit for me,” Matt explained quietly.
Your eyes flicked over Dex's body automatically taking in the deep laceration beneath the ribs and another along his shoulder and the bruising that was already blooming across his side.
You exhaled slowly. “He'll live.”
Matt visibly relaxed. “What do you need?”
“Scissors.” Karen was already handing them over before you'd even finished speaking.
“Gauze.” Foggy passed you one before neatly piling more beside him.
“Saline.” Matt passed you an unopened bottle from the cabinet as you got to work.
Everyone moving with practiced efficiency that held no panic, no shouting, just trust that only people who have been in this situation before could navigate.
You carefully cut away the ruined fabric around Dex's side, revealing the wound beneath. Relieved to see that it wasn’t fatal.
Your hands brushed lightly over the torn skin as your healing powers stirred beneath your palms, warmth spreading beneath them as you slowed the bleeding enough to let you work, knowing Dex would be upset if you used your powers to fully heal him again.
Matt leaned against the bed beside you, finally allowing himself to breathe. “He was covering my left side.”
You glanced up briefly. “You don't have to explain.”
“I know.” A pause was shared between you. “I want to.”
You nodded once before returning your attention to Dex. He looked pale as you rested two fingers gently against his neck and felt his steady pulse.
Good.
“Come on,” you murmured softly. “Wake up for me, baby.”
Silence.
Then a moment later his brow furrowed before his hazel eyes slowly blinked open and scanned around the room, taking note of Matt, Foggy, and Karen, before they found you.
Immediately his expression softened. “…Baby.”
Your shoulders relaxed before you even realised they’d been tense. “I'm here.”
His entire body seemed to unclench, and everyone noticed.
“So…” Dex mumbled weakly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Hi.”
“Hi, baby.” You laughed softly.
“You look pretty.”
Karen blinked in surprise as Foggy looked at you confused.
“You've lost a concerning amount of blood.” Matt sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose.
Dex frowned. “And?”
“And yet flirting with my sister is still your priority?”
“It always is.”
A laugh escaped you. “There he is.”
Dex smiled faintly at the sound. “There you are.”
Your chest tightened as you reached up to brush the damp strands of hair away from his forehead before checking his pupils again.
“Follow my finger.”
He did immediately while ignoring Foggy’s amused snort.
“You dizzy?”
“A little.”
“Nauseous?”
“No.”
“Pain level?”
“5.”
“Ok.” You said as your thumb stroked gently across his temple.
Dex instinctively leaned into the touch, and you wondered if he even realised he'd done it while everyone else did.
Grabbing more gauze, you soaked it in antiseptic before dabbing it across the cut on his shoulder before stopping when Dex hissed quietly.
“I'm sorry.” You whispered, gently stroking his temple again.
“Why are you apologising?” He asked, looking genuinely confused.
“'Cause it hurts.”
“You aren't hurting me.”
“The antiseptic is.”
“You didn't stab me.”
“Still.” You shrugged.
His fingers searched across the mattress until they found your free hand and wrapped his fingers around it immediately. Firm enough to reassure himself but gentle enough to let you pull away if you needed.
You didn't.
You simply adjusted your grip and kept working while Matt stood silently behind you. His head tilted in a way that let you know he was listening to something but unaware that it was your heartbeat.
Steady and calm.
While Dex's was matching yours more closely with every passing second.
Comforted and calm.
He remembered the time he heard Dex’s heartbeat months ago, how frantic and spiralling it was after you had told him to leave. But this time was different.
Your hand slipped from his as you reached for another bandage, and Dex's fingers followed instinctively. Just slightly, but you noticed anyway, and without thinking, you stepped back into his reach, smiling as his shoulders relaxed again.
Karen caught the movement and noticed how small and natural it was, as though you'd done it a hundred times before.
Maybe you had? But how would she know with how much she had been pushing you away?
You finished wrapping fresh bandages around his shoulder before smoothing the fabric flat. “There.”
Dex glanced down. “Looks professional.”
“I should hope so.”
“You always make me look better.”
“You make that very difficult.”
“I try.” He jokes.
“I know.” You tease back while gently stroking his cheek and catching the tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
My ridiculous man. You thought as you reached for the damp cloth beside you.
“Here.”
“What?”
“You've got blood.”
“Where?”
Instead of answering, you gently wiped dried blood from the edge of his jaw, and Dex's eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into the cloth and your touch like it was the safest place in the world.
Foggy watched quietly, noticing the ease that was between you two.
“There,” you finished cleaning the last streak of blood before tossing the cloth aside. “All better.”
“Thank you, baby.”
He thanked you? Karen thought as she felt something inside her chest shift. For wiping blood off his face?
You moved your hands lower to examine his ribs, and the moment your fingertips pressed against the bruising, Dex inhaled sharply.
“There?”
“Mhm.”
“I'm sorry.”
“You keep apologising.”
“Because I don't like seeing you hurt.”
His gaze softened impossibly. “I'm okay.”
“You will be.” You say as your healing powers warmed beneath your palms again. Not enough to erase everything but just enough to make the bruising settle.
Dex sighed quietly. “That feels nice.”
“I know.”
“You always know.” His hand squeezed yours once, and you smiled without thinking.
Across the room, Karen swallowed her mixed emotions. For months she struggled to understand what everyone else seemed to see, but now she was beginning to.
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Fresh bandages covered Dex’s side as the bleeding had finally stopped, and the colour had begun returning to his face little by little.
Your healing abilities had taken the edge off his injuries, but you hadn't pushed them too far. You were tired enough already, and Dex hated when you exhausted yourself because of him.
“I'm going to steal your shower.” Matt said while pulling off one of his gloves.
A small smile tugged at your mouth. “You know where everything is.”
“We practically lived here while Foggy was recovering.” He nodded before disappearing down the hallway, the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut echoing softly through the clinic before silence settled again.
“Food?” Foggy asked glancing toward Karen.
Karen looked at him confused before realisation struck her. “Oh shit, I was supposed to buy dinner.”
“You were.” Foggy laughed.
She looked at you. “Have you forgotten to eat again?”
You blinked. “…no.”
All three of them looked at you with raised eyebrows.
“…yes.” You sighed.
“I knew it.” Karen said as Foggy grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair. “We'll go grab takeout.”
“You don't have to—”
“We're going.” Karen smiled knowingly. “And don't even think about arguing.”
You laughed quietly. “Fine.”
Foggy reached the door before looking back at Dex. “You want anything?”
Only you could see the surprise in his eyes at Foggy’s question. “I’ll have whatever she's having.”
“Thought so.” Foggy couldn't help smiling.
The back door closed behind them, and the only sounds heard were the gentle buzz of fluorescent lights, the faded shower water running, and the steady rhythm of Dex's breathing.
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You turned back toward him. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired.” He murmured as his eyes drooped.
“I know.” You whispered while reaching for the edge of his bandage again.
It was perfect and exactly where you'd left it, but you checked it anyway.
Dex watched you for a long moment before speaking. “Didn't want you to see me like this.”
Your hands stopped as you looked up. His eyes weren't filled with embarrassment but something much rarer. Vulnerability.
You moved yourself a little closer on the bed. “I've seen you bleeding before.”
“Not like this.”
“You mean,” You searched his face gently. “Needing help?”
He didn't answer, and he didn't have to because you understood. The first time he came to you all those months ago wasn’t because he was injured but because he wanted to see you again after years of imprisonment.
Slowly, you reached up and cupped his cheek. “Dex.”
His eyes lifted to meet yours immediately.
“I want to see every version of you.” Your thumb brushed gently beneath his eye.
“The angry one.”
He gave a tiny smile.
“The stubborn one.”
“Rude.” He pouts.
“The quiet one.” You stroke his cheek.
“The man who remembers exactly how I take my hot chocolate.” You gently lean over him.
“The man who insists on walking me home even when I tell him I can manage.” You kiss his lips gently.
“The man who sleeps better when I'm beside him.”
His eyes softened with every sentence.
“The man who gives me every hoodie he owns because he says I'll steal them anyway.”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
“You do steal them.”
“I don’t.” You laugh before leaning forward until your foreheads rest together. “You don’t scare me, Dex, so show me all of you.”
For a long moment, neither of you spoke.
Then, quietly he said, “I don't like feeling weak.”
Your heart ached. “You aren't weak.”
His shoulders finally relaxed as the slight tension you'd felt in him since he'd woken dissolved beneath your touch.
“I've got you.” You brushed your nose lightly against his.
His eyes closed. “I know.”
You smiled. “Good.”
His hand slowly found yours again, and your fingers intertwined naturally.
His thumb lazily stroked the back of your hand. “So…”
“So?”
“We were supposed to have dinner.”
“We still are.”
“You've had a long day.”
“So have you.”
“I ruined it.”
“You got stabbed.”
“I still ruined it.”
A soft laugh escaped you. “You have a very dramatic definition of ruining something.”
He tilted his head. “… You'll still stay?”
The question was so quiet you almost missed it.
“Dex.” Your expression softened instantly as you lifted your joined hands and kissed his knuckles. “I'm staying.”
Relief crossed his face so quickly it almost hurt to witness. “Always?”
“Always.”
He shifted carefully, wincing as he tried to sit up straighter, and you were beside him immediately.
“Careful.” You slipped one arm around his shoulders to steady him, and without hesitation, he leaned into you as your hand automatically drifted into his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead.
“You always fuss.”
“You always get injured.”
“Fair.” He said as lips brushed your wrist in a featherlight kiss.
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The clinic door opened quietly, but neither of you noticed as Karen stepped inside before Foggy.
“I forgot the—” She stopped so abruptly that Foggy nearly walked into her.
“What?”
He followed her gaze to where you were lying beside Dex on the examination bed. One hand buried gently in his hair and the other still wrapped in his.
Dex's eyes were closed as he rested with his head on your chest, and you smiled at something he'd whispered too quietly for either of them to hear before kissing his forehead without thinking.
The smile that grew on his face from the affection was one Karen had never seen before. It wasn’t cocky, or smug, or amused, but content.
Completely and utterly content.
Foggy quietly touched Karen's arm, and when she turned to look at him, he simply shook his head once.
Not now. His eyes said.
Karen slowly picked up the forgotten takeaway menus from the counter beside the door, and neither of you noticed as they quietly stepped back outside again.
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The rain from earlier had slowed to a light drizzle by the time Karen and Foggy started walking toward the diner.
For several blocks, neither of them spoke until Karen broke the silence. “I think I understand now.”
Foggy glanced sideways at her. “I figured you might.”
Karen let out a slow breath. “I'm still worried.”
“I know.”
“He's still Bullseye.”
“He is.”
“He'll always be dangerous.”
Foggy nodded. “That's true.”
She looked down at the pavement. “I don't think I'll ever completely stop being afraid of what he's capable of.”
“You shouldn't.”
She frowned. “But…”
“He loves her.” Foggy smiled softly. “He really does, and she loves him.”
“She looks…” She searched for the words. “Like she's finally stopped carrying everything by herself.”
Foggy's smile grew. “Yeah.”
“She's always been taking care of everyone else.”
“I know.”
“And now…” Karen's words trailed off.
“Someone takes care of her.” Foggy said softly.
Karen nodded slowly. “Did you see how he notices everything?”
“He does.” Foggy laughed. “Probably more than Matt does.”
“And the way she looked at him…” Karen shook her head with a disbelieving smile. “I've never seen her look at anyone like that.”
Foggy tucked his hands into his pockets. “Soulmates are funny like that.”
Karen looked at him confused.
“I used to think it was just about fate.” He carried on.
“It isn't?” She asked.
“I think it's about finding the one person who somehow keeps choosing you.”
“And somehow…” He looked back toward the clinic. “They always find their way back to each other.”
Karen thought about that terrible night. About the violence Dex committed, the prison, the distance, and about every reason those two shouldn't have worked.
Yet somehow… here you were.
She smiled to herself. “I think he knows.”
Foggy raised an eyebrow. “Knows what?”
Karen looked through the rain toward the glowing windows of the clinic one last time, and she could just make out your silhouette beside Dex's.
A warmth settled quietly in her chest. “That he's her home.”
Foggy followed her gaze, and after a long moment, he smiled. “I think you're right.”
Together, they turned toward the diner, leaving the warm light of the clinic behind, while inside, neither you nor Dex noticed they'd ever come back. Too busy sitting together with your fingers still laced together and quietly talking about what to watch after dinner.
And for the first time in a long time, the people who loved you most weren't wondering if they were about to lose you.
TAGS: @benspoindexter @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @genya1617 @doesanyonereadthis @not-the-teen-witch @hanniesrock @peanutbutterjellytime3000 @monikastuff @its-jackie-bb @that1weirdweebgirl @trulovekay @star-yawnznn @snowwythegloww @ethereal-athalia @musicalfan2026 @mewmew222 @scarlet48 @skylerepost @disappearintofanfiction @floatingintheupsidedown @abbotfan @ancientbeing10 @sarahskywalker-amidala @artistadistrada2002 @kakuchosbff @weallhaveadestiny @hyperfixations-go-brrr @capri-cuntz @bullseyeshandcuffs @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @muffinbrown @cowboylover00 @hearsaygoose @badbishsblog @miixkl @iangelofmusic @celleryxo @thecityofspareparts @planetevermore @sadest-bookshelf @paige0103 @bury-me-in-the-star @mrsxchase @kkkeeeiiirrraaa @clowninavan @shoxji @mossmydarling @lostfallenangelsblog @ofmyownvolitionfics
PREVIOUS | NEXT CHAPTER
Lover
summary: between carnival games, inside jokes, and stolen kisses, you and Dex finally begin to feel like something real.
who: Benjamin “Dex” Poindexter/Bullseye x Female!Murdock Reader
word count: 2.7K
warnings: soulmate au, mentions of past injuries, hints of violence, and obsessive themes. If I have missed any please let me know!
divider by: @uzmacchiato
a/n: Part 8 of the Glitch Series! Like before feedback is welcome!
Glitch Series Masterlist
Next Chapter: I Think He Knows
Previous Chapter: The Other Side Of The Door
“And at every table, I’ll save you a seat, lover…“ — Lover by Taylor Swift
Foggy looked healthier than he did when you were last at his apartment, not fully healed yet and not back to himself completely, but healthier.
The bruising around his side had faded months ago, while his scar that matched yours had been healing nicely over the past few weeks, and the colour had finally returned to his face now that he was no longer spending every second trapped in a hospital room.
Your powers had helped keep him stable that night while the surgeries had saved his life, and seeing him finally released from the hospital and sitting across from you in his apartment wearing one of his ridiculous avocado-patterned shirts made something old and heavy finally lift off your chest.
“You’re staring.” Foggy said, pointing his sandwich that you got him from Pop’s Deli Corner at you suspiciously.
“You almost died,” you shrugged, taking a bite of your own sandwich. “I’m allowed to stare.”
“I got shot once and suddenly everybody gets weirdly emotional,” he groaned, throwing his head back. “You were also shot that night!”
“You got shot on purpose I got shot accidentally.” You grinned.
“And thanks to your creepy but amazing healing powers I’m alive enough to eat this delicious sandwich that you got me.” Foggy pointed his sandwich at you again. “So technically we’re even.”
You snorted softly, shaking your head as you leaned back further into his sofa.
The afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows made the apartment feel warm and comfortable, and for the first time in days, your shoulders weren’t slightly tense.
“You look better too,” he said casually.
You blinked. “I do?”
“Yeah.” He took another bite of his sandwich before talking around the half-chewed food in his mouth. “Less haunted.”
“That’s disgusting.” You rolled your eyes. “And rude.”
“It’s true.”
His words were right because the past few weeks had steadily changed something inside you.
You had stopped fighting yourself every second of every day, stopped pretending you didn’t want Dex, stopped pretending his touch didn’t calm you, and stopped pretending you didn’t feel happiest curled beside him while he held you and treated you like you were something precious, something sacred.
The realisation still scared you slightly, but it no longer felt wrong or impossible.
Foggy watched you carefully for a moment.
“So,” he said slowly. “How’s he treating you?”
Your lips twitched before you could stop them and Foggy noticed immediately. Curse your traitorous face.
“He’s…” You huffed out a soft laugh. “Attentive.”
“Attentive?”
“He notices everything.”
Foggy snorted quietly. “Yeah, that tracks from what I’ve heard.”
You smiled despite yourself.
“He remembers weirdly specific things too,” you admitted. “Like what I drink after rough clinic shifts or when I forget to eat lunch.”
Foggy’s expression softened slightly as he watched you speak. “You smile when you talk about him now.”
The words caught you off guard enough that your smile faded slightly as Foggy leaned back into the couch cushions.
“Matt hears it,” he said quietly. “I get to see it.”
Emotion tightened unexpectedly in your chest because that was exactly it, wasn’t it? Matt heard every tiny change in your heartbeat whenever Dex texted you or called you or when you spoke about him. But Foggy will see the way your entire face softens whenever these things happen.
You looked down at your hands, suddenly nervous. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
Foggy’s voice gentled. “I know.”
Your fingers twisted together slightly. “He still scares me sometimes,” you admitted quietly.
“Not for myself. He’s just…” You sighed softly. “He’s still him.”
He’s possessive and obsessive and violent and bloody and deadly, but despite all of that, there is still a softness he only seems to reserve for you.
Bullseye.
Foggy was quiet for a moment before speaking carefully. “But he treats you well?”
Your answer came instantly. “Yes.”
There was no hesitation in your words no confusion no forcefulness but just pure, undoubted certainty that somehow felt more revealing than everything else.
Foggy watched you for another long moment before smiling faintly.
“Then that’s what matters most to me.”
Your throat tightened slightly. “Karen still thinks I’m insane.”
“You are,” Foggy snorted. “If Karen is just noticing that, then she must’ve been blind these past few years.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“She’s worried,” he corrected gently. “We all are.”
Your eyes dropped again. “I know.”
“But,” Foggy continued, “I also know you.”
That made you look back up at him.
“And if you’re choosing him,” he said softly, “then I trust there’s a reason.”
Emotions hit you suddenly and hard enough that you had to blink quickly to stop the tears. God, you made the right choice choosing this man as another brother.
Because even when things got complicated, when you both disagreed, and when he struggled to understand. He still loved you enough to try.
Foggy’s eyes narrowed slightly then. “You’re smiling again.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I’m literally not.”
“You’ve got that annoying happy look.”
You groaned dramatically, throwing one of the couch cushions at him while he laughed loudly enough to make you laugh too and maybe that was another sign things were changing because for months every conversation with Matt or Karen about Dex had ended in arguments, in tension, and in guilt.
Now you were laughing.
Foggy caught the cushion before pointing at you again. “So what’s tonight’s mystery date?”
Your stomach fluttered embarrassingly fast, and you hated that his lawyer instincts meant he quickly noticed.
“Oh my God,” Foggy gasped dramatically. “That face was disgustingly fond.”
“I hate you.” You groan burying your face in your hands.
“You’re blushing!”
“I’m leaving.”
Foggy laughed harder as you stood from the couch and grabbed your bag, pretending to leave.
“Holy shit,” he realised suddenly. “You really like him.”
You rolled your eyes as you sat back down even as warmth spread through your chest.
“He’s picking me up later.”
“And he won’t tell you where?”
“Nope.”
Foggy smiled despite himself.
“Well,” he said softly, “have fun.”
And somehow that simple sentence calmed every nerve you had while it settled warmly inside your chest all afternoon.
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When Dex arrived later that evening
your elderly neighbour, Miss Queenie, nearly dropped her grocery bag trying to unlock her door and discreetly stare at him.
Which honestly would’ve been less embarrassing if she’d actually been discreet.
You stepped into the hallway wearing a sage green sweater and black jeans, immediately noticing that Dex was already watching you.
Always watching you.
His gaze moved slowly over your outfit before softening almost imperceptibly.
“You’re staring,” you teased lightly as you locked your apartment door.
“You’re beautiful.”
Heat rushed into your cheeks instantly. His compliments came so easily yet it still made you blush every single time.
You could barely ignore Miss Queenie’s soft gasp from down the hallway, like she’s watching a live television drama.
She was a sweet old lady really, always checking on you and fussing around you like a grandmother whilst bringing you the sweet desserts that she baked every Sunday.
Dex stepped closer before lifting something in his hand and showing a small bundle of lavender wrapped carefully in brown paper.
Your chest fluttered immediately.
“It helps you sleep,” he said quietly. “And relax.”
God, there it was again. That attentiveness you couldn’t deny liking.
Your fingers brushed his gently as you took it from him, breathing in the soft, calming scent.
“You remembered.”
“Yes.”
Something warm and aching spread through your chest because not many people noticed things like this about you, not really, and it’s not because they didn’t care to.
But because most people saw a reliable healer when looking at you. Someone who can fix wounds with her weird powers, someone whose twin brother is blind, and someone whose parents are long gone.
But Dex only saw you.
You smiled softly before leaning up and pressing a kiss against his cheek.
Miss Queenie gasped louder this time as Dex looked deeply pleased with himself.
“You’re enjoying this,” you muttered.
“Yes, I am.” He smiled with a shrug before grabbing your hand, intertwining your fingers together, and leading you out of your apartment building.
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The carnival he brought you to was chaos in the best possible way.
Lights flashed overhead in vibrant colours while loud music mixed with laughter and shouting drifted through the cool evening air and mixed with the scent of fried food and sugar.
You immediately loved it.
“You’re smiling again,” he observed.
“You’re very observable.” You teased while excitedly swinging your joined hands back and forth.
His mouth curved into a smile at the excited movements and your shared inside joke, causing your stomach to flutter stupidly.
Ever since Matt gave you the best approval he could give that evening at the diner, things between you and Dex had become softer and easier with texts at strange hours, phone
calls after shifts, movie nights, coffee in the mornings, and nights spent tangled together.
And honestly? You had never been happier. Because being with Dex had stopped feeling like a complicated moral dilemma, and now he just feels like yours.
Which was still a problem for Karen, but she’s slowly coming around.
“You wanna play?” you asked suddenly, pointing towards one of the game stalls.
Dex glanced toward the booth and then back at you as his smile turned into a wide grin. “Yes.”
You narrowed your eyes immediately. “That sounded threatening.”
“It wasn’t.” He said, still grinning, as he pulled you towards the stall you had pointed at.
It absolutely was.
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Ten minutes later, you were losing horribly.
“This game is rigged,” you accused, turning to look at Dex.
“It isn’t.” He denied his cheeks flushed from laughing at you.
“It absolutely is.” You pouted before picking up another ball to throw.
Dex watched calmly as the ball bounced uselessly away from the bottles you’d been trying to knock down for the past five minutes.
Meanwhile he’d already won a stuffed cow that looked like your slippers and a tiny devil with horns that he claimed looked like Matt.
You still hadn’t forgiven him for that comment, which made you unattractively snort in front of all these strangers.
“You’re not gonna hurt it, you know?” Dex questioned.
You turned slowly toward him. “Excuse me?”
“You hesitate before release.”
“You sound insane.” You exclaimed.
“I’m correct.” He laughed.
You narrowed your eyes further while pointing a finger at him. “I’m banning you from carnival games.”
“Sounds like a skill issue for you.” He teased while raising his hands in mock surrender.
You gasped loudly enough that the game attendant, who now knows both of your names, laughed.
“Oh my God,” you whined dramatically. “You’re annoying.”
Dex took the ball gently from your hand before stepping behind you. Your breath caught softly as his chest pressed lightly against your back.
“Shoulders relaxed,” he murmured near your ear.
Warmth spread instantly down your spine.
His hand covered yours gently. “Then throw.”
You did.
The ball immediately missed, and you stared at it silently as Dex burst into laughter.
“That was your fault!” You cried trying to stop the smile sneaking onto your face.
“No, it wasn’t.” He laughed harder.
“It was the emotional pressure.”
“You’re terrible at this.”
“I’m not touching another game again.”
Dex looked very amused by your lack of ball-throwing skills, especially after winning you another stuffed animal two minutes later.
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By the time you reached the food stalls, Dex was carrying nearly every prize because he apparently didn’t believe in moderation once he started winning things for you.
“This is excessive,” you informed him while stealing a bite of his funnel cake.
“You looked at them.”
“That doesn’t mean you needed to win all of them.”
“Yes, it does.” He said, taking a bite himself.
You laughed softly, shaking your head before wiping powdered sugar from the corner of his mouth with your thumb.
Dex went still instantly.
The way he looked at you after moments like that still made your heart stumble. Like every small touch mattered enormously to him.
You grabbed his free hand before he could say anything and tugged him toward another stall.
“Come on,” you said, intertwining your fingers again. “I want some cotton candy before the ferris wheel.”
Dex followed immediately with a smile on his face as he looked at your interlocked hands.
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The Ferris wheel was slower than you expected. Higher too.
By the time your cart reached the top, the entire carnival stretched beneath you in glowing golds and reds and pinks beneath the night sky.
Beautiful. You thought while resting your head against Dex’s shoulder as the wheel paused.
For a while neither of you spoke as you enjoyed the quiet and the scenery below. Your fingers gently playing with his while the lights reflected across his face.
“You happy?” you asked quietly, moving your head to look up at him.
Dex looked at you immediately. “Yes.”
The honesty of it warmed your chest as Dex’s thumb brushed gently over your knuckles.
“I like hearing you laugh.” He whispered.
The soft confession hit you straight in the chest because he had never admitted something this vulnerable before.
Your throat tightened unexpectedly.
“You hear it a lot lately,” you whispered.
“I know.”
“You’re the cause of it a lot lately as well.” You confessed, leaning back into his side.
“I am?” He whispered again as something vulnerable flickered across his face then.
Something warm.
Instead of answering, you leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss against his jaw as his eyes fluttered closed and his arm tightened around you.
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After the Ferris wheel ended, the two of you were walking hand in hand around the carnival, taking in the sights you had just seen from above, when a man shoved into you before continuing through the crowd with no apology.
But Dex reacted instantly.
One second he was warm beside you, then the next he was sharp and dangerous.
You saw it immediately in the way his face turned cold, how his shoulders tensed, the way his hand drifted towards the handful of small knives that you know he always kept on him, and in the way his eyes followed the man like he was prey.
How Dex quickly became Bullseye.
Your hand slid gently against his wrist.
“Dex.”
His attention snapped back to you instantly, and while the tension eased slightly, the dark look in his eyes didn’t fully disappear.
“He didn’t hurt me,” you said softly.
Dex stared at you for another second before nodding once, but his hand immediately found the small of your back afterward. The hold, while gentle, was protective. Possessive.
And honestly? You kind of liked it.
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By the time you got home, your cheeks hurt from smiling.
You were breathless from laughing while trying to unlock your apartment door because Dex insisted on balancing four stuffed animals in one arm while carrying snacks in the other.
“You absolutely did not need to win me this many prizes.” You said, turning to look at him.
“Yes, I did.”
“You’re insane.” You smiled, shaking your head.
“You like me.” He teased.
True. You thought warmly as you looked at him standing there beneath the apartment hallway lights, carrying ridiculous carnival prizes for you and smiling like he was the happiest man alive.
This man had become part of your life so naturally that the thought of him not being there anymore suddenly felt inconceivable.
Oh, you love this man.
Your chest tightened softly.
The apartment door finally unlocked, and before you could overthink anything, you grabbed the front of Dex’s jacket and pulled him inside while you laughed softly as one of the stuffed animals fell from his hands and onto the hallway floor.
“Careful,” Dex warned softly before kissing you deeply.
“You be careful.” You murmured against his lips.
The sound of Miss Queenie opening her apartment door was what broke the kiss as your sweet elderly neighbour chose the wrong moment to leave her home.
Taking one look at your flushed face and your hand tangled in his jacket while the stuffed animal was abandoned in the hallway, she smiled knowingly.
“About time,” she said, picking up her bottles of milk. “I’ve listened to her gush about you for far too long.”
Dex looked delighted at what she said while you froze in horror as she disappeared back into her home after revealing what you thought was a secret between neighbours.
“I’m moving apartments,” you muttered.
“No, you’re not.” Dex said before kissing you again.
TAGS: @benspoindexter @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @genya1617 @doesanyonereadthis @not-the-teen-witch @hanniesrock @peanutbutterjellytime3000 @monikastuff @its-jackie-bb @that1weirdweebgirl @trulovekay @star-yawnznn @snowwythegloww @ethereal-athalia @musicalfan2026 @mewmew222 @scarlet48 @skylerepost @disappearintofanfiction @floatingintheupsidedown @abbotfan @ancientbeing10 @sarahskywalker-amidala @artistadistrada2002 @kakuchosbff @weallhaveadestiny @hyperfixations-go-brrr @capri-cuntz @bullseyeshandcuffs @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @muffinbrown @cowboylover00 @hearsaygoose @badbishsblog @miixkl @iangelofmusic @celleryxo @thecityofspareparts @planetevermore @sadest-bookshelf @paige0103 @bury-me-in-the-star @mrsxchase @kkkeeeiiirrraaa @clowninavan @shoxji @mossmydarling @lostfallenangelsblog @ofmyownvolitionfics
PREVIOUS | NEXT CHAPTER
ii. just like heaven
୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ summary: after an embarrassing first meeting, your new job as briar hockey's team photographer keeps bringing you and john logan together, and what starts as playful teasing quickly turns into effortless flirting, shared laughs, and an invitation she can't quite bring herself to turn down.
pairing: john logan x fem! reader
warnings: not much honestly, cussing, probably inaccurate descriptions of both hockey and photography
notes: okay here's the second part!!! i'm enjoying writing john logan fics sm already AND once again if you have an requests always feel free to ask!!
୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ masterlist / pervious / next
"So..." Allie began slowly, folding her arms across her chest. "Logan was here while we were gone last night... and he caught you dancing around in a bra?"
You groaned. You honestly regretted opening your mouth. Normally you couldn't keep anything from Hannah or Allie, but maybe, just maybe, you should've made this your first secret.
"For the thousandth time," you sighed, rubbing your temples, "yes."
Allie exchanged a look with Hannah.
"So..." Hannah started.
"No."
"He walked in—"
"Yes."
"You screamed?"
"Yes."
"He saw the whole concert?"
You dropped your head into your hands. "Yes."
"Hairbrush microphone and everything?"
"Especially the hairbrush microphone."
Both girls dissolved into laughter.
"Oh my God," Allie wheezed, leaning against your desk for support. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry but that is objectively hilarious."
"It wasn't hilarious," you mumbled into your pillow.
"It kind of was."
"It was traumatic."
"It'll be funny in, like, three days."
"Maybe thirty years."
Allie crossed the room before sitting beside you on the bed, gently cupping your cheeks between her hands.
"Babe."
You looked up reluctantly.
"It really isn't that bad."
You stared at her. "It absolutely is."
"No, listen." She smiled reassuringly. "At least he didn't walk in during that skincare phase where you looked like you were auditioning for a horror movie."
Hannah gasped dramatically. "The charcoal face mask!"
"And the coconut hair mask at the same time," Allie added.
"You looked... moist."
"I hate both of you."
"We're just saying," Hannah laughed as she plopped down beside you, "it could've been way worse."
You flopped backward dramatically onto the bed. "I'm never showing my face again."
"Oh my God," Allie laughed. "You're so dramatic."
"No, I'm realistic."
"You are absolutely dramatic."
You hugged one of your throw pillows tightly against your chest with a defeated groan. "That was literally the hottest guy I've ever seen, and I was jumping around my room pretending a hairbrush was a microphone."
"You also screamed at him."
"I accused him of breaking in."
"He technically did break in."
"With permission!"
You buried your face deeper into the pillow. "I've ruined my life."
There was a brief silence.
Then Allie's eyes widened. "Wait."
You looked up cautiously.
"You think John Logan is hot?"
You pointed a finger at her. "That is completely beside the point."
"No, no, no." Hannah sat up straighter, grinning from ear to ear. "That is absolutely the point."
"It is not."
"Y/N." Hannah grabbed your shoulders dramatically. "We’ve gone to Briar for three years?"
"Yeah?"
"And have you shown any interest in literally any hockey player?"
"...No."
"Any football player?"
"No."
"Any lacrosse player?"
"No."
"Any guy?"
You hesitated. "...Not really."
Hannah looked triumphantly at Allie. "Exactly!"
"You think John Logan is hot!" Allie practically squealed.
"Oh my God."
"This is huge."
"It is not huge."
"It is for you!"
You sighed heavily. "It doesn't matter."
Both girls stopped smiling.
"It really doesn't," you continued quietly. "He probably thinks I'm a complete weirdo."
"He doesn't."
"You don't know that."
"We kind of do."
"You guys have seen me dance."
"Yeah?"
"It's... not exactly graceful."
"It has personality," Hannah offered.
"It has enthusiasm," Allie corrected.
"It has something."
"It has embarrassment."
Allie nudged your shoulder. "Okay, but what if he doesn't care?"
You blinked.
"What if," she continued, "he thought it was cute?"
You gave her the flattest look imaginable. "You're delusional."
"No, I'm optimistic."
"I vote delusional," Hannah chimed in.
"Traitor."
You sighed again. "You two seriously need to let this go. I'm not getting a boyfriend anytime soon, so we can all just move on."
Allie stared at you. Then rolled her eyes so dramatically you thought they might actually get stuck.
"Y/N, you are being so self-deprecating that it's starting to annoy me."
You frowned.
"You're gorgeous."
"Allie—"
"No, let me finish."
She pointed directly at you.
"You're funny, you're smart, and honestly?" She shrugged matter-of-factly. "You have amazing boobs."
Hannah immediately burst out laughing.
"That is... definitely one of your stronger selling points."
"Oh my God."
"I'm just being honest!"
"What if he's an ass guy?" Hannah asked thoughtfully.
Allie gasped. "Impossible."
"There are ass guys."
"There are, but Logan?"
"Hmm..."
The two of them immediately launched into a full-blown debate about whether John Logan was an ass guy or a boobs guy, pulling in increasingly ridiculous pieces of "evidence" based on absolutely nothing.
You decided it was healthier not to participate. Instead, you reached into your pocket for your phone. The screen lit up. Your eyes widened.
"...Oh my God."
"What?" Hannah asked, still halfway through arguing that hockey players appreciated athletic thighs.
You stared at the time again. "...Oh my God."
Without another word, you practically launched yourself off the bed.
"What are you doing?" Allie asked as you hurried to your closet.
"I completely forgot!"
You yanked on a pair of low-rise jeans before pulling a fitted black long-sleeve shirt over your head. It stopped just above your waistband, leaving a thin strip of skin visible. You shoved your feet into your Uggs before rushing over to the vanity, quickly twisting your hair into a messy bun.
Not perfect. Good enough.
"Uh..." Hannah watched you sprint around the room. "Should we be concerned?"
"I have to be at the rink in fifteen minutes!"
Both girls blinked.
"The rink?" Allie repeated.
"My photography internship starts today!"
"Oh!"
You hurried over to your camera equipment, breathing a sigh of relief when you remembered charging everything the night before. One camera body. Backup batteries. Memory cards. Lenses. Laptop. Everything was quickly stuffed into your oversized tote bag.
"Wait," Hannah said. "Today's your first day?"
"Yep!"
"And you forgot?"
"I was a little distracted!"
You slung the bag over your shoulder before grabbing your keys. "I'll see you guys later!"
Before either of them could respond, you were already halfway out the door.
A second later, the front door shut behind you. Silence settled over the apartment.
Hannah slowly turned toward Allie. "...Maybe we should've told her."
Allie grinned mischievously. "Nah."
She leaned back against the couch with a smirk. "It's way more fun this way."
Hannah laughed. "Poor Y/N has absolutely no idea."
"And neither does Logan."
Something told them this was going to be very entertaining.
—
Coach Jensen had been talking for what felt like an eternity.
Five minutes in, Logan had completely checked out, and judging by the glazed-over expressions on most of his teammates' faces, he wasn't the only one. The entire team stood on the ice in full practice gear, sticks resting against the surface as Coach Jensen continued pacing along the bench.
"I need every single one of you to keep your heads in the game this season," Jensen continued. "I can't have anyone slacking off, and I definitely can't have anyone assuming talent alone is enough to win hockey games."
Logan absentmindedly shifted his weight from one skate to the other. Beside him, Garrett let out the quietest sigh imaginable. Tucker was twirling his stick. Dean was looking everywhere except at Coach.
Nobody was listening anymore.
"I expect every one of you to—"
Coach Jensen stopped mid-sentence.
The sharp sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the otherwise quiet rink. Nearly every player instinctively turned toward the entrance.
Logan did too.
A girl hurried down the stairs leading to the bench, an oversized tote bag bouncing against her side and a camera hanging around her neck. She looked like she'd sprinted across campus to get there, strands of hair already escaping the messy bun she'd clearly thrown together in a rush.
Logan recognized her immediately. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Well...
This was unexpected.
You slowed to a stop beside Coach Jensen, still catching your breath.
"Hi, Coach Jensen," you said with an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry I'm late. I promise it won't happen again."
Jensen waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it. We were just about to get started."
You let out a quiet breath of relief. "Thank you."
Coach Jensen turned back toward the team.
"Alright, listen up for a second."
The players' attention shifted from him... to you.
"This is Y/N," he announced. "She'll be our team photographer for the rest of the season. She'll be covering games, events, and she'll also be around for practices every now and then."
Every set of eyes landed on you.
You offered an awkward little wave. "Hi."
A few of the guys nodded politely.
Someone in the back gave you a quiet, "Hey."
Trying not to feel intimidated by the twenty-something hockey players staring at you, your eyes drifted across the lineup.
One face. Then another. Then—
Oh.
Your stomach dropped.
John Logan.
Your eyes widened ever so slightly.
Of course. How could you forget that?
Your smile faltered for the briefest second before you quickly looked back toward Coach Jensen.
Maybe if you pretended not to notice him—
Curiosity got the better of you. You glanced back.
Big mistake.
Logan was already looking at you. And smiling. Not laughing. Not smirking. Just smiling. Like he was just as amused by the coincidence as you were horrified.
Heat immediately crept into your cheeks. It definitely wasn't because of the cold air inside the rink.
Logan noticed. Of course he noticed. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning even wider.
She remembered him.
Cute. Very cute.
You, on the other hand, were seriously considering whether it was too late to quit your internship.
"Alright," Coach Jensen called, clapping his hands together. "Let's get to work. First drill."
That finally pulled Logan's attention away from you.
Beside him, Garrett gave his shoulder a playful shove. "Quit staring and get moving."
Logan scoffed. "I wasn't staring."
Garrett gave him a look that very clearly said sure you weren't before skating off toward the shooting drill that had already been set up.
With a small shake of his head, Logan pushed off after him, skating backward across the ice while casually glancing over toward the bench. He watched as you spoke quietly with Coach Jensen for another minute, nodding along while he pointed out a few things around the rink.
Then you hurried over to one of the seats in the front row, right against the glass.
Setting your oversized tote bag down beside you, you carefully pulled out your camera body and lenses, double-checking your settings before attaching the zoom lens. After a quick test shot of the empty net, you frowned slightly.
The glass. It was going to cause reflections.
Thinking it over for a second, you picked everything back up and walked down toward the players' bench instead, where you'd have a much clearer view of the ice.
Much better.
You adjusted the camera strap around your neck before lifting the camera to your eye, testing the framing as the team got into position for drills.
Then, almost without thinking, you looked up.
Logan was already looking at you. Again.
This time, though...
You didn't immediately look away. You held his gaze for a second. Long enough to feel the familiar warmth creeping into your cheeks.
Long enough for him to notice.
The corner of Logan's mouth lifted into an easy smile.
He raised one gloved hand in a small wave.
A simple, almost teasing little hi.
You couldn't help it. You smiled back before giving him an equally small wave with the hand that wasn't holding your camera.
It lasted maybe two seconds.
Then—
Clack!
Garrett smacked the blade of his stick against Logan's.
"Hey, Romeo."
Logan looked over.
"The puck," Garrett said, nodding toward the drill. "It's over here."
A few of the guys nearby chuckled.
Logan rolled his eyes. "Relax."
"I'm perfectly relaxed."
"Mhm."
Garrett skated ahead with a grin. "You've looked at the photographer more than you've looked at Coach all morning."
Logan simply shoved Garrett's shoulder as he caught up to him.
"Shut up."
Garrett only laughed harder.
—
The two-hour practice flew by. To your surprise, you actually had a lot of fun.
By the end of it, you'd filled multiple memory cards with photos. Hockey was so much faster than anything you'd photographed before, and while you'd definitely missed a few shots early on, you'd started getting the hang of tracking the players through your lens.
By the final drill, you were actually proud of some of the photos you'd captured.
As Coach Jensen blew the whistle to end practice, the players quickly skated toward the tunnel, chatting amongst themselves as they headed for the locker room.
You stayed behind on the bench, carefully packing away your equipment. Camera body. Extra lens. Memory cards. Batteries. Everything had its place.
You had just slung your oversized tote bag over your shoulder when a familiar voice spoke up.
"Get any good shots?"
You looked up.
John Logan was leaning casually against the boards, one arm resting across the top as he looked down at you.
You blinked. You hadn't even noticed he'd stayed behind. Your face warmed almost instantly.
Get it together, Y/N.
You forced yourself to smile. "I think so."
"You think so?"
"I won't really know until I look through all of them."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Fair."
You adjusted the strap of your camera bag.
"But yeah," you added. "I think I got some good ones."
"Good." He smiled. "Would've been a shame if you froze your ass off in here for nothing."
You let out a small laugh. "I wasn't freezing."
"You weren't?"
"No."
You shifted your tote bag higher onto your shoulder, trying your best to sound convincing. "Not at all."
Logan raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"
"Really."
He looked you up and down for a second. Not in a way that made you uncomfortable. More like he was gathering evidence.
Finally, he smiled. "You spent the entire practice hiding your hands inside your sleeves."
You instinctively looked down.
Sure enough...
Your hands had disappeared into the sleeves of your sweatshirt again.
You immediately tugged them back out.
"I..."
Logan laughed.
"I wasn't cold."
"Mhm."
"I wasn't!"
"You absolutely were."
"I just like oversized sleeves."
"Oh, that's what it was?"
"Exactly."
He nodded slowly, pretending to believe you. "Totally unrelated to the fact that it's, like, twenty-five degrees in here."
You crossed your arms. "It's called fashion."
He laughed again, shaking his head. "Right. My mistake."
"It was."
"You know..." he said, pushing himself off the boards, "for someone who claims she wasn't cold..."
"What?"
"...your nose got red."
You instinctively reached up and covered it. "It did not."
"It did."
"It absolutely did not."
He grinned. "I've got pretty good eyesight."
"You're making that up."
"I play hockey."
"Congratulations?"
"My vision's great."
You couldn't help laughing. "You are unbelievable."
"So I've been told."
There it was again. That stupidly charming grin. The one that made it incredibly difficult to stay embarrassed around him.
You rolled your eyes, unable to stop yourself from smiling. "I should probably go edit these."
"You probably should."
You took a few steps toward the exit before turning back.
"...Thanks."
"For what?"
"For not making the whole..." You awkwardly gestured between the two of you. "...apartment thing even more embarrassing than it already was."
Logan's expression softened just a little. "I thought it was kind of funny."
You groaned. "Please don't remind me."
"I'm serious."He shrugged. "It was cute."
You stared at him. "...Cute?"
"Yeah." He smiled. "I've definitely seen people embarrass themselves in worse ways."
Your heart did an annoyingly dramatic little flip.
"Besides," he added, taking a few steps backward toward the locker room, "you've got good taste in music."
You laughed, shaking your head. "I don't know if that's supposed to make me feel better."
"It should."
He flashed you one last grin. "See you around, photographer."
Before you could think of a witty response, he disappeared through the tunnel toward the locker room.
You stood there for another few seconds. Then let out a slow breath. He somehow managed to be even more attractive when you actually talked to him.
—
"These are really impressive for your first time shooting hockey, Y/N."
A genuine smile spread across your face as your photography professor clicked through the photos from yesterday's practice on your laptop.
"I mean it," he continued, pausing on a shot of Logan taking a slap shot. "Sports photography has a steep learning curve. The pace is fast, the lighting isn't always great, and hockey is one of the harder sports to shoot."
You smiled proudly. "I definitely figured that out."
He chuckled. "But you've got a good eye. You know where to be, and you're already anticipating the action instead of reacting to it."
He closed the laptop before handing it back to you. "I think with a little more experience, you're going to be very good at this."
"Thank you."
You carefully slid the laptop back into your backpack.
"I struggled a little at the beginning of practice, but I think I started figuring it out toward the end."
Your professor nodded. "It shows."
"And there's a game tonight," you added excitedly. "Hopefully I'll come back with even better photos."
"I'll be looking forward to seeing them next week."
"Thanks, Professor."
With one last smile, he moved on to another student's work.
You packed the rest of your things, still smiling to yourself. It felt good. Really good.
You'd been nervous about taking on the internship. Sports photography wasn't something you'd ever done before, and walking into that rink yesterday had been intimidating enough without realizing John Logan played for Briar.
But hearing your professor praise your work...
Maybe you really could do this. The thought stayed with you as you left the building and stepped outside.
The bitter winter air hit your face immediately. You instinctively hunched your shoulders and buried your chin deeper into your hoodie as fresh snow crunched beneath your Uggs with every step.
"I hate winter," you muttered to yourself.
Still...
You couldn't stop smiling. You kept replaying your professor's comments in your head as you made your way across campus, so caught up in your thoughts that you didn't notice the three hockey players walking toward you from the opposite direction.
Garrett was in the middle of telling some story that had Tucker laughing so hard he nearly walked into a snowbank.
Logan, however, wasn't paying much attention.
"...and then the professor actually believed him," Garrett finished with a laugh.
"No way," Tucker said, shaking his head.
"Swear."
Logan wasn't really listening anymore. His attention had drifted across the crowded sidewalk.
Then he spotted you. Walking by yourself. Head down. Smiling to yourself.
Without even thinking about it, he slowed to a stop.
Garrett and Tucker took another few steps before realizing Logan wasn't beside them anymore.
"Hey," Garrett said, turning around. "You coming?"
Logan's eyes never left you.
"Uh..." He gave them a quick pat on Garrett's shoulder as he started backing away. "Yeah, I'll catch you guys later."
Garrett frowned. "What?"
"I'll see you guys at the rink."
Before either of them could ask another question, Logan turned and jogged across the snow-covered path toward you.
The two of them watched him disappear into the crowd.
Garrett blinked. "...What was that about?"
Tucker followed the direction Logan had run. A few seconds later, he spotted you.
"...Oh."
Garrett looked where Tucker was looking. "Oh."
The corners of Garrett's mouth slowly lifted into a grin.
Tucker snorted. "I give him two days before he's asking Hannah for her number."
Garret shook his head. "I'll give him until after tonight's game."
"Hey, photographer!"
The familiar voice pulled you out of your thoughts.
You turned around to see John Logan jogging to catch up, a crooked grin already spread across his face. Despite yourself, you smiled back.
He finally came to a stop in front of you, letting out a small breath as if he'd run just enough to catch you before you got too far ahead.
You shoved your hands into the front pocket of your hoodie, partly because of the cold and partly because you suddenly didn't know what to do with them.
"I do have a name, you know."
"I know." He nodded thoughtfully. "But photographer is more fun."
You raised an eyebrow. "Is it?"
"I think so."
"I disagree."
"Well..." He shrugged, that annoyingly charming smile never leaving his face. "Good thing I'm the one saying it."
You rolled your eyes. "Okay, sure."
The two of you started walking again, falling into step beside each other as you made your way across the snowy campus.
After a moment, Logan glanced over at you. "I see you finally dressed for the weather today."
You looked over at him, confused. "What?"
He motioned toward your outfit.
"Hoodie. Jacket." His eyes flicked down to your Uggs before looking back up at you. "Actual winter clothes."
You laughed. "I was wearing winter clothes yesterday."
"Were you?"
"Yes."
He gave you a look. "You spent two hours at the rink trying to make that long sleeve feel like it was warm."
"I wasn't."
"You absolutely were."
"I just like oversized sleeves."
"Mhm."
"And for the record," you added, trying to defend yourself, "I survived."
"Barely."
You gasped. "I did not barely survive."
Logan laughed. "You had your hands hidden inside your sleeves the entire practice."
"They were comfortable."
"They were freezing."
"They were not."
He shook his head, smiling. "I don't know... I think today's outfit is a much better strategy."
You nudged his arm lightly with yours. "Are you always this annoying?"
"Only when people lie to me."
"I wasn't lying."
"You were."
"I was being... optimistic."
He grinned. "Well, I'm glad to see our team photographer is appropriately dressed today."
You smiled despite yourself. "How thoughtful of you."
"I have my moments."
A comfortable silence settled between the two of you as you continued walking.
Then Logan glanced over again.
"So," he asked, "how'd the photos turn out?"
A smile immediately returned to your face. "My professor actually loved them."
"He did?"
You nodded, your smile growing bigger as you talked. "He said they're really good for my first time shooting hockey. He said I have a good eye for where the action is going to happen."
Logan watched the way your entire expression changed.
Yesterday, you'd been so embarrassed around him that you could barely look at him for more than a few seconds.
But now...
You were completely different. Your eyes lit up when you talked about photography, and there was this excitement in your voice that he couldn't help noticing.
She's cute when she's happy.
The thought came so easily that it almost caught him off guard.
Actually...
She was cute all the time. But seeing you talk about something you clearly loved?
Yeah. That was something else.
"I told you they'd be good," he said, a small smile pulling at his lips.
You glanced over at him. "...You literally never saw them."
"I didn't have to."
"Oh?"
"Nope."
He shrugged. "You cared enough to stand out in a freezing rink for two hours taking pictures. I figured they'd turn out pretty good."
The confidence in his answer made you laugh before you could stop yourself.
"There it is," Logan said, pointing at you triumphantly.
You looked over. "What?"
"You laughed."
"So?"
"So..." He grinned. "Yesterday you looked like you wanted to crawl under the ice every time I talked to you."
Your cheeks warmed. "I did not."
"You kinda did."
"I was just embarrassed."
"I noticed."
You groaned. "Thanks for reminding me."
"Anytime."
You nudged his shoulder again. "You're the worst."
"Nah."
He looked over at you, smiling. "If I was the worst, you wouldn't be laughing."
Another laugh escaped you.
"There it is again."
"Oh my God."
"Twice in one conversation."
"You've been counting?"
"I've got to keep track of my victories somehow."
"You call making me laugh a victory?"
"Absolutely."
You shook your head, smiling. "You are unbelievable."
"I've been told."
The two of you walked a little farther, the conversation feeling surprisingly easy.
And maybe that was the weirdest part. Yesterday, you'd been convinced John Logan walking into your dorm was the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to you.
Now...
You were walking across campus with him, laughing like you'd known him longer than a day.
"Don't let this go to your head," you finally said.
His grin only widened. "Too late."
The two of you eventually reached the building where your next class was located.
You slowed to a stop outside the entrance, motioning toward the doors. "My class is here."
A small blush crept onto your face as you said it, mostly because you suddenly felt weirdly aware that this was the end of your little walk together.
Logan noticed. Of course he noticed. But instead of pointing it out, he just smiled down at you.
"Well..." he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I'll see you later then."
You nodded. "Yeah. See you."
You turned toward the steps, starting to walk toward the entrance.
You'd barely made it a few steps before—
"Hey, Y/N!"
Your entire body froze. You slowly turned around.
A few students nearby had already looked over at the sound of Logan's voice. Of course they had. Because apparently John Logan had no concept of speaking at a normal volume.
You looked back at him, trying not to laugh. "Yeah?"
This time, your voice was noticeably quieter.
Logan's grin widened. He absolutely knew what he was doing.
"You coming to the game later?"
The question was much less dramatic this time, his voice finally at a normal volume.
You smiled. "Yeah. I'll be there."
His face lit up slightly. "Good."
He started walking backward, still facing you.
"See you there then!"
You stared at him for a second. Then, because you didn't know what else to do, you gave him a thumbs up.
A thumbs up.
Out of every possible response...
A thumbs up. You immediately regretted it.
The people nearby were definitely looking now.
Logan noticed too. And judging by the laugh that escaped him, he found your embarrassment incredibly entertaining.
You rolled your eyes, trying to hide your smile. "Bye, Logan."
"Bye, photographer."
You shook your head but couldn't stop yourself from smiling as you quickly turned and walked into the building.
The second the doors closed behind you, you let out a quiet breath. You had no idea why your heart was beating a little faster.
It was just John Logan.
That was it.
Nothing more.
At least that was what you told yourself as you walked toward class, desperately trying not to think about the warm feeling settling in your chest.
—
"Are you serious?"
Allie stared at you in disbelief.
"...What?"
You instinctively looked down at yourself, trying to figure out what she was talking about.
You'd gotten to the rink early so you could get settled before warmups started, making sure all your camera gear was ready to go. A few minutes later, Allie had texted asking you to meet her and Hannah in the lobby before they headed to the stands.
Apparently...
She had opinions.
"That shirt," Allie said, pointing dramatically. "It's hideous."
You looked down at the oversized blue long-sleeve Briar Hockey shirt you were wearing.
Okay. It wasn't exactly fashionable. It hung almost halfway down your thighs, the sleeves were far too long, and it looked like someone had handed you the first shirt they found in the equipment room.
But...
"Coach Jensen told me to wear something with Briar Hockey on it."
"So you picked the least flattering thing they own?"
"I didn't pick it."
"Babe." Allie stepped closer, grabbing the excess fabric around your waist. "You're gorgeous. We can work with this."
She tugged the material back, trying to see what it would look like tied. "There."
"Allie."
"It has potential."
You laughed, gently swatting her hands away. "I'm working."
"I know."
"So I'm not tying hockey merch into a crop top."
"You could."
"I won't."
"It'd be cute."
"It'd get me fired."
Allie rolled her eyes dramatically before throwing her hands into the air. "Fine."
She sighed. "But I'm finding you something cuter for next game."
Before you could answer, another voice joined the conversation.
"What is that?"
You turned just in time to see Hannah walking over.
She took one look at your shirt.
"...Oh."
You groaned. "Not you too."
Allie pointed triumphantly. "See? She gets it!"
Hannah tilted her head. "...Why is it so big?"
"I don't know," you defended. "I didn't exactly spend twenty minutes looking through all the options. Jensen just told me to wear Briar Hockey stuff, and this was clean."
"But..."
You crossed your arms. "It's warm."
Hannah nodded thoughtfully. "Fair."
Then she frowned again.
"But why not a hoodie?"
You sighed. "Because the hood gets in the way when I've got my camera strapped around my neck."
"...Okay, that's actually a good point."
"Thank you."
You looked between the two of them.
"Besides, it doesn't matter."
Both of them raised an eyebrow.
"I'm just taking pictures."
"So?"
"No one's going to be looking at me."
Allie snorted. "You've met hockey players, right?"
You ignored her.
"You two, on the other hand..." You pointed between them with a smile. "Actually look cute."
Allie grinned.
"Aww."
"Thanks."
Then she immediately pointed back at your shirt.
"But I'm still finding you something less hideous."
"What exactly is less hideous?"
The familiar voice made all three of you turn around. John Logan stood a few feet away, hockey bag slung over one shoulder as he made his way toward the locker room.
He'd clearly caught the end of the conversation.
"Noth—"
"Oh, nothing," Allie interrupted before you could finish.
She smiled far too innocently. "We were just telling Y/N that Coach Jensen made her wear Briar Hockey merch, and Hannah and I think the long-sleeve is... well..."
"Horrendous," Hannah supplied.
"A little tragic," Allie corrected.
"And she'll probably freeze in the rink."
You shot Allie a look that practically screamed, Are you serious?
She pretended not to notice.
Logan's eyes shifted from Allie...
...to Hannah...
...before finally settling on you.
A slow smile spread across his face. "Oh, is that right?"
You immediately shook your head. "I'm fine."
"She's not," Allie answered for you.
"I'm literally standing right here."
"And I'm literally helping."
Logan chuckled.
"I wasn't cold yesterday either," you muttered.
He raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Oh, don't start."
"I distinctly remember someone insisting they weren't freezing."
You pointed at him. "I knew bringing that up would come back to haunt me."
"It absolutely was."
Before you could come up with another comeback, Logan quietly set his hockey bag on the floor. Without saying another word, he shrugged off his tan Carhartt jacket.
You frowned. "...What are you doing?"
He held it out toward you. "Wear this."
Your eyes widened. "What?"
"You said the shirt's warm."
"It is."
"But the lobby isn't and neither is the rink."
You looked between him and the jacket. "I can't take your jacket."
"Sure you can."
"I'll give it back before the game."
He shrugged.
"I've got about twenty pounds of hockey gear to keep me warm."
You still hesitated. "I don't know..."
Logan smiled. "Humor me."
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then, with an exaggerated sigh, you reached out and took the jacket.
It was warm from where he'd been wearing it. "...Thanks."
"You're welcome."
He picked his hockey bag back up before taking a few steps toward the locker room.
Halfway there, he looked back over his shoulder.
"See you in there."
You smiled despite yourself. "See you."
The second he disappeared down the hallway, the silence lasted all of three seconds. Then Allie slowly turned toward you with the biggest grin you'd ever seen.
"Oh..."
Hannah was grinning just as much.
"My..."
You closed your eyes. "...Don't."
"God," Allie finished anyway.
"You are never hearing the end of this."
You groaned, pulling Logan's jacket on as the sleeves swallowed your hands. "...I hate both of you."
"No, you don't," Hannah laughed.
You looked down at the jacket, unable to stop the tiny smile tugging at your lips.
"...Yeah," you admitted quietly.
"I really don't."
—
The game had gone surprisingly well for Briar.
By the start of the third period, they were already up by three goals, and the energy inside the arena was electric.
You'd quickly realized one thing, though. You definitely did not understand hockey as well as you thought you did.
Every few minutes the crowd would suddenly erupt around you, whistles would blow, or everyone would start booing for reasons you couldn't quite figure out.
More than once, you found yourself looking over at Hannah with a confused expression.
"What happened?" you'd mouthed through the glass.
She'd either yell, "Offside!" or "Penalty!" while making some gesture that honestly didn't clear anything up.
You'd just nodded like you understood. Truthfully, it didn't really matter. You weren't there to analyze the game. You were there to capture it. And judging by the thousands of photos sitting on your camera's memory card already, you were doing exactly that.
You'd managed to catch huge saves, hard checks along the boards, celebrations after goals, and even a couple of shots of Coach Jensen yelling from the bench that you were pretty sure he'd either love... or absolutely hate.
The guys had also figured out pretty quickly where you were stationed. Every now and then, someone would skate past the bench, notice your camera pointed in their direction, and shamelessly pose before rejoining the play.
Tucker had pointed dramatically at the camera after scoring. Garrett had flashed an exaggerated thumbs-up while waiting for a faceoff. Even Dean had somehow managed to wink at your camera before skating away.
You couldn't help laughing every single time.
They really were impossible.
But your favorite photo so far...
That belonged to Logan.
After scoring his first goal of the night, he'd skated toward the glass with a huge grin, throwing one fist into the air before pointing toward the Briar student section as his teammates swarmed him.
You'd managed to catch the exact moment.
His smile. The excitement. The spray of ice beneath his skates.
It was easily your favorite shot of the night. You couldn't wait to edit it later.
As the third and final period got underway, you lifted your camera back to your eye, adjusting your settings one last time before the referee's whistle echoed through the arena.
The game only got better from there. Briar came out flying, adding three more goals to the scoreboard before the final buzzer sounded.
6–3.
A pretty successful first game, if you did say so yourself.
You stayed focused even after the clock hit zero, snapping photos of the team celebrating at center ice before they broke apart to skate around the rink.
A few players tossed pucks over the glass to kids in the front rows. Others waved to family and friends in the stands. Garrett somehow managed to get Coach Jensen laughing. Dean was pretending to sign an imaginary autograph for one of the freshmen in the student section.
The whole atmosphere felt lighter now that the pressure of the game was gone.
Once you were sure you'd gotten everything you needed, you finally lowered your camera.
Time to pack up.
You settled onto the front-row bench behind the glass, setting your camera in your lap as you carefully detached the lens before placing both back into your padded camera bag. Extra batteries. Memory cards. Lens cloth. Everything had its place.
You were so focused on packing that you barely noticed the players still skating around the ice.
Tap.
You looked up. Logan was standing on the other side of the glass.
He had one glove off and was tapping the glass lightly with his knuckles, his helmet tucked under one arm and his hockey stick resting against his shoulder. His hair was damp with sweat, sticking up in every direction after taking his helmet off, and despite looking exhausted, he still wore that same easy grin.
You couldn't help smiling back. Still holding your camera, you continued packing while looking up at him.
"Good game!" you called through the glass.
He leaned in slightly so he could hear you better. "Yeah?"
You laughed. "I mean it."
You pointed toward him. "You okay? You got hit pretty hard a couple times."
Logan looked down at himself before shrugging. "Nothing I can't handle."
You smiled. "I figured."
He nodded toward the camera sitting in your lap.
"You get some good shots?"
Your face immediately brightened.
"Some really good ones."
His eyes lingered on you for a second.
There it was again. That smile. The one that always seemed to appear whenever you started talking about photography. It made him smile too. He liked seeing you excited.
Before he could say anything else—
"Logan!"
Garrett's voice echoed from near the tunnel.
"Hurry up!"
Logan glanced over his shoulder.
"One sec!" he called back.
Garrett groaned dramatically before disappearing toward the locker room.
Logan looked back at you.
"So..."
He rested his forearms on the top of his stick.
"We have a party at the off-campus house every time we win."
You tilted your head. "Oh?"
He nodded. "You gonna come?"
A teasing smile spread across your face. "Is that an invitation?"
Logan laughed softly. "If you want it to be."
You pretended to think about it for a second.
"Hmm..."
He pushed away from the glass, beginning to skate backward toward the tunnel. For a second, you thought that was the end of the conversation.
Then he called back across the ice.
"Come!"
A few nearby teammates looked over at the sound of his voice.
Logan either didn't notice or didn't care. "I want you there!"
The smile that spread across your face was impossible to hide.
"I guess I have to go then!"
"You do!" He flashed you one last grin before turning toward the tunnel.
Just before disappearing inside, he glanced back over his shoulder.
You were still standing exactly where he'd left you. Still smiling.
He smiled to himself before finally heading into the locker room.
You let out a quiet breath, shaking your head as you zipped your camera bag shut. Maybe Allie and Hannah had been onto something after all.
i. just like heaven
୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ summary: a quiet night alone in the dorm turns into an unforgettable first meeting for you and john logan.
pairing: john logan x fem! reader
warnings: not much honestly, a bit of nudity (reader is in a bralette), cussing
notes: here's my first ever john logan fic!!! pretty short but very cute and i def wanna write more for him the future so feel free to send a message with a request!!
୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ masterlist / next
Honestly, having the dorm to yourself for the night was kind of amazing.
You loved Hannah and Allie, you really did, but sometimes you desperately needed a little alone time. Especially because your apartment had somehow become the designated "Allie Freakout Headquarters." Midterms? Allie panicked here. Relationship problems? Here. Hockey drama? Somehow also here.
Peace and quiet had become a rare luxury.
So you took full advantage of it.
You finally tackled the mountain of clothes that had been steadily growing on your bedroom floor because, honestly, between classes and work, you hadn't had the energy to care. The laundry still wasn't folded, but at least everything was off the floor.
Then, after staring at the stack for weeks, you finally caved and organized the massive record collection you, Hannah, and Allie had accumulated. Alphabetical order. Artist first, then album. It was weirdly satisfying.
By the time you finished, the apartment actually looked...clean.
For once, there weren't any assignments hanging over your head. No papers due at midnight. No readings you'd procrastinated until the last second. You could finally breathe.
Headphones settled comfortably over your ears, you cranked up Just Like Heaven by The Cure until it drowned out everything else. Within minutes, you were dancing around the apartment.
Barefoot. Baggy gray sweatpants hanging low on your hips. A black lace bralette that was comfortable enough to lounge in.
Not another soul around to judge you.
You wandered from room to room with your eyes closed, singing every lyric from memory, using a wooden spoon as a microphone before eventually swapping it for your hairbrush. You spun dramatically through the living room before launching yourself onto your bed, performing for an audience that definitely did not exist.
Completely lost in your own little concert, you never heard the knock at the front door. Or the second one. Or the sound of someone trying the doorknob.
Outside, John Logan frowned.
"Hello?" he called through the door, hearing movement somewhere inside.
He knocked again.
"Hannah?" he called louder. "Garrett said to grab his jersey! He left it here!"
Nothing.
He waited another few seconds before sighing.
Garrett's text was still open on his phone.
If they're not there, spare key's under the mat. The one that says "Go Away Please."
John had been hoping someone would answer. Breaking into his friend's girlfriend's apartment, even with permission, felt a little weird. But Garrett had practice, wanted his jersey back, and apparently trusted the girls enough to leave a spare key outside.
John shrugged.
"If I get murdered," he muttered to himself, fishing the key out from under the mat, "I'm haunting him."
The lock clicked open. He stepped inside carefully, closing the door behind him. The apartment was empty.
Well...
Mostly.
He could hear footsteps somewhere down the hallway.
And...
Was that singing?
"Hannah?" he called cautiously.
Nothing.
"Allie?"
Still nothing.
The singing only got louder. John stood awkwardly in the entryway for another second before taking a few hesitant steps farther inside. Then someone came spinning out of the hallway.
You.
Eyes closed.
Hands running dramatically through your hair as you belted out the chorus with absolutely zero concern for the outside world.
John froze. He should probably say something.
Instead...
He watched.
Not in a creepy way.
Just...
You looked so genuinely happy. You were dancing around like no one was watching, which, until about ten seconds ago, had been completely true.
A grin slowly spread across his face. He'd never seen you before, but judging by how comfortable you looked, you obviously lived here.
And...
You were really pretty.
Like...
Really pretty.
Then your eyes opened. You froze mid-spin.
Your brain took approximately half a second to register the fact that there was an unfamiliar six-foot hockey player standing in your living room.
You screamed. "What the fuck?!"
John nearly jumped out of his skin.
"It's okay!" he said immediately, throwing both hands into the air. "I'm not robbing you!"
You stared at him. He stared back.
Neither of you moved.
"I—"
"You literally broke into our apartment!"
"I used the key!"
"That's somehow worse!"
"No, wait—"
You grabbed the nearest object you could find, a throw pillow, and pointed it at him like it was a weapon.
"Explain."
John couldn't help the nervous laugh that escaped him.
"Garrett sent me."
Your eyebrows pulled together.
"...Garrett?"
"Yeah." He nodded quickly. "Garrett Graham. Hannah's boyfriend?"
You blinked. "I know who Garrett is."
"Right. Good. That would've been awkward."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"He left his hockey jersey here and texted me to come grab it because he's already at the rink. Said there was a spare key under the mat."
You stared at him for another few seconds.
Then...
Very slowly...
Your shoulders relaxed. "Oh."
"Yeah."
"...I almost hit you with a pillow."
"I've taken body checks harder than that."
A reluctant laugh escaped you. "Don't get cocky."
"Oh, I absolutely am."
You rolled your eyes despite yourself.
Silence settled between you for a second.
Then John smiled. "I'm John, by the way."
"The John Logan?"
"The one and only."
You couldn't help smiling. "I'm Y/N."
"Nice to officially meet you."
You smiled politely before noticing his eyes flick downward for the briefest second. Following his gaze, you looked down. Black lace bralette. Bare shoulders. Barefoot. Hair sticking out in every direction from your one-woman concert.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Heat rushed to your face so fast it actually made your ears burn. You immediately folded your arms across yourself.
"I—"
John's own face turned red almost instantly. "I wasn't—"
"Nope."
"I wasn't trying to—"
"I know."
"I swear."
"I know!"
He looked genuinely horrified with himself. Which somehow made the situation even funnier. Trying to recover what little dignity you had left, you cleared your throat.
"Hannah's room."
John blinked. "What?"
"The jersey."
You pointed toward the hallway.
"It's probably in Hannah's room."
"Oh."
Right. The reason he'd come over.
"Thanks."
He disappeared into the bedroom, leaving you enough time to dramatically bury your face in your hands.
"Oh my God..."
Of all days...
Five minutes later, John reappeared holding Garrett's jersey triumphantly. "Found it."
"Nice."
Neither of you seemed entirely sure how to end the conversation.
John scratched the back of his neck. "Well..."
"I should probably..."
"Yeah."
He reached for the doorknob before pausing.
Turning back toward you, that signature Logan grin spread across his face.
"Oh."
You looked up.
"Great song, by the way."
Your eyes widened.
"You could hear that?"
"You were kinda killing your eardrums with those headphones."
You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. "Oh my God."
"And," he continued, clearly enjoying himself now, "your air guitar technique?"
"No."
"Pretty impressive."
"No."
"Eight out of ten."
"You need to leave."
John laughed. "Fair."
He opened the door. "See you around, Y/N."
Before you could think of anything remotely clever to say back, the door clicked shut behind him. The apartment fell silent again. You stood there for several long seconds.
Then slowly slid down the wall until you were sitting on the floor. "...Shit."
The Other Side Of The Door
summary: a sudden realisation sends you to church and an honest conversation with Matt makes you think about what your future might look like.
who: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter/Bullseye x Female!Murdock Reader
word count: 2.4K
warnings: soulmate au, religion (i think), mentions of nudity, and obsessive themes. If I have missed any please let me know!
divider by: @uzmacchiato
a/n: Part 7 of the Glitch Series! Like before feedback is welcome!
Glitch Series Masterlist
Next Chapter: Lover
Previous Chapter: Untouchable
“I don’t need you, but I do, I do, I do…“ — The Other Side Of The Door by Taylor Swift
Your eyes slowly opened to the morning light spilling through the curtains that hadn’t been closed the night before, and the first thing you became aware of was warmth.
Warmth that wrapped around your waist, beneath your cheek, tangled between your legs under the soft sheets, and then came the slow, steady sound of Dex breathing.
The apartment was quiet except for the distant sounds of traffic far below the open window and the soft hum of the heater somewhere in the apartment.
For a long moment, you didn’t move. Dex was still asleep beside you, one arm loosely draped around your waist as you lay half curled against his side with your head resting on his chest.
His face was softer when he was asleep, less sharp, less dangerous, and looking like the Dex he only showed you when he was awake.
Your fingers moved absently across the warm skin of his chest, tracing lazy patterns there as you stared out the window feeling nothing but peace for the first time in a while.
A feeling that settled nicely on your chest as your fingertips drifted over your name etched into his skin and sat unmarked on his ribs like he had done everything possible to guard it, a mark that looked like it belonged there as naturally as it did for you to breathe.
Dex shifted slightly beneath your touch, tightening his arm around your waist instinctively before settling again, and your lips twitched softly, happy that he trusted you enough to sleep this deeply beside you.
Because Dex was someone who always noticed everything around him, from every sound to every movement to every threat, and yet here he was sleeping deeply enough that you could trace shapes against his chest without him immediately reaching for one of his many sharp knives.
An action and the feelings of trust made your heart skip a beat.
Your gaze and finger drifted over the scars littering his skin from fights and violence and the one down his spine from his surgery. You knew nearly all of them by heart now as your fingers slowed to a stop, hand resting on his stomach.
I could get used to this. The thought hit you hard enough to steal your breath for a second.
Because it wasn’t just him. It was the days spent together, the nights with his arm around your waist, the quiet mornings in his embrace, but mostly it was the soft warmth of him choosing you over and over again despite everything.
Your chest tightened unexpectedly.
Because this wasn’t supposed to feel like this. This relationship was supposed to feel dangerous, complicated, and wrong, but instead it felt safe.
It felt like home.
Dex stirred beneath you then, his breathing changing slightly before his eyes slowly opened and immediately settled on you despite the small, faraway look in them. A habit of his you had noticed on the first day he escaped prison.
“How long have you been awake?” His voice was rough with sleep.
“Not long.” You whispered.
Your stomach flipped stupidly as his hand slid slowly up your spine beneath his shirt that he’d pulled onto you after he carried you from the sofa to his bed.
“You’re staring,” he murmured.
“You’re very observable.” You whispered, moving to run a hand through his sleep-ruffled hair.
A faint smile touched his mouth. “You trace patterns when you’re thinking too much.”
Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Is there anything you don’t notice?”
“Not when it comes to you, baby.”
Your cheeks warmed embarrassingly fast at the lack of hesitation and confidence in his answer.
Dex’s fingers brushed lightly against your jaw before he leaned forward to press a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead, the tenderness of it filling you with warmth.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured.
You looked down at his chest for a moment before admitting softly, “I’m thinking.”
“About?”
Everything. You thought to yourself. About him, Matt, Karen, and Foggy, this relationship, the future.
But instead of saying any of that, you just shook your head and softly smiled. “Nothing important.”
Dex looked unconvinced but didn’t push as he pulled you closer until your ear rested over his heartbeat again.
You listened to it for a while before finally forcing yourself upright.
“I should go.”
His hand immediately tightened on your waist as his eyebrows furrowed.
“You worked late yesterday,” he said quietly. “You should rest today.”
“I open the apothecary later.”
“You need sleep.”
You smiled softly. “You sound worried.”
“I am worried.” He said with one hand cradling your jaw.
Again with the no hesitation, no games, just his pure honesty. Something inside your chest ached with affection.
God, you love this man.
“Fine,” you tease him, lying back down on his chest. “Five more minutes.”
“Ten.” He bargained with both hands tightening around you.
⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄
The church was quiet when you stepped inside.
Warm air brushing against your skin as the heavy wooden doors closed behind you, muffling the sounds of the city outside almost instantly.
The familiar scent of candle wax and old wood settled around you as you moved slowly down the aisle.
You hadn’t been here in a while.
Unlike Matt, who never stopped believing, you often found your thoughts and beliefs in the faith you were raised in shaken every time life became too loud, too busy, too complicated, and too painful.
But standing beneath the stained glass and flickering candlelight, the quiet almost overwhelmed you as much as it did bring you some peace before you slipped into the confessional booth, and for a moment neither you nor the priest spoke.
“Father, some will say that I have sinned.” You spoke softly.
Silence greeted your words for a moment before the priest answered gently. “Do you believe that you have?”
Your fingers twisted together in your lap. “I don’t know.”
And that was the truth because it wasn’t guilt that had brought you here today, although it would almost be easier if it were.
“I like someone,” you admitted quietly. “Someone who people are afraid of.”
The priest remained silent as he listened to your confession.
“He’s done horrific things,” you continued softly. “Things I can’t defend. Things that hurt people I love.”
Your throat tightened slightly.
“But when he’s with me…” You swallowed. “He’s different.”
The words echoed quietly in the small space between you as you closed your eyes briefly.
Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? Dex wasn’t secretly good, and you weren’t blind or ignorant to what he’d done and to the things he does do.
It was that with you… he was just Dex.
The priest’s voice remained calm. “And how does he make you feel?”
You let out a quiet breath. “Seen… loved.”
The answer came too quickly, too honestly, and your eyes burned suddenly.
“Like I matter,” you whispered. “Like I’m not just… useful to people.”
The words hurt more than expected once spoken aloud.
Because you spent so much of your life healing people, taking care of people, and giving pieces of yourself away by using your healing powers until you collapsed from exhaustion.
But Dex noticed when your hands shook, when you skipped meals, when you were tired, when you were hurting.
Dex noticed everything about you.
“Is he your soulmate?” The priest softly asked.
“Yes,” you answer, confused by his question. “Does that matter?”
“The Lord above doesn’t always give us the soulmate we want,” the priest said gently after a moment. “Sometimes He gives us the soulmate we need.”
Your breath caught softly as the words settled somewhere deep inside your chest. Because all your life you’d imagined your soulmate would feel easy, would be someone your family would instantly love, someone uncomplicated.
You never imagined Benjamin Poindexter, a man who feels at ease when committing violence and covered in blood. Never imagined someone who would challenge every belief you had about fate and morality and love.
Yet somehow you couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else but him. Whether he was Dex or Bullseye, he was the one you wanted.
The realisation sat heavily inside you.
The priest spoke again after a moment. “Do you love him?”
Silence filled the confessional.
You opened your mouth once and then closed it again.
Because suddenly the answer felt too much like betrayal to your brother and friends to say aloud, but your silence still answered enough.
The priest did not push further. Instead he said softly, “Sometimes people come here hoping someone else will tell them how to feel.”
Your eyes lowered because you knew the truth.
“And sometimes,” he continued gently, “they already know.”
You love Dex.
⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄
Matt: Lunch at our spot?
The text from Matt appeared barely a minute after you left the church, and your chest tightened instantly.
Your spot that is a little diner tucked between two old buildings downtown where your dad used to take you both after school before he died.
You and Matt still went there whenever one of you needed the other, when things got too hard and all one of you needed was their twin.
You stared at the message for a long moment before typing back
You: Okay.
Matt was already waiting in your claimed booth when you arrived, a booth tucked away in the back corner that the owner’s wife affectionately calls the ‘Murdock Booth.’
His head lifted immediately at the sound of your footsteps, his cane resting beside him.
“You’re late,” he said.
“You say that every time.” You sighed.
“And every time it’s true.”
You smiled faintly despite the lingering feeling of hurt from your fight as you slid into the booth across from him. But the familiarity of him quickly settled something anxious inside your chest almost immediately.
Because no matter how complicated things became, Matt was still Matt. Your twin brother. Your person.
The waitress dropped off your drinks without asking what either of you wanted. A hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and no cream for you and a chocolate milkshake with extra cream and extra sauce for Matt.
Another familiar thing and proof of how long you two had been coming here.
Matt waited until she walked away before speaking again. “You sound better.”
You blinked slightly. “Better?”
“Happier.”
The word hit you harder than expected as your eyes dropped briefly toward your hot chocolate.
Matt tilted his head slightly. “You were so upset last time.”
Your chest tightened painfully because, of course, he noticed. Because, like Dex, Matt always noticed things about you.
“You and Karen still mad at me?” you asked quietly.
“No.” Matt sighed softly. “She’s worried.”
“I know.”
“Bug, I’m worried.”
You hummed slightly. “I know that too.”
Silence settled briefly between you as you drank from your drinks before Matt spoke again. “Karen told Foggy.”
Your stomach dropped immediately. “Oh.”
“He said he’s not judging you until he talks to you himself.”
Your eyebrows lifted slightly as Matt’s mouth twitched faintly.
“He also said you’ve earned more trust than almost anyone he knows.”
Emotion clogged in your throat because Foggy had every reason to hate Dex. Every reason to hate this entire situation. Yet somehow he was still trying to understand you first.
Your eyes burned slightly.
“He’s getting better,” Matt added quietly. “Every day.”
Relief filled inside your chest. “I know, and I’m proud of him.”
Matt nodded once before his expression shifted slightly. “He really cares about you.”
“Foggy?” You asked, confused.
“No, idiot,” Matt laughed. “Dex.”
The way he said the name carefully made your chest tighten as you braced yourself for another argument.
“He’s intense about you.” Matt said, swirling his straw.
You looked down at your hot chocolate silently.
“I ran into him,” Matt continued softly. “During that week you asked him to leave you alone.”
Your heartbeat stumbled at the reminder.
Matt exhaled slowly. “He looked at me like I was standing between him and his reason for living.”
The words should’ve frightened you, but instead flattery spread warmly and quickly through your body, and judging by the slight shift in Matt’s expression, he noticed the change in your heartbeat.
Your face heated immediately, and you rushed to defend yourself. “I know how that sounds.”
Matt stayed quiet.
Your fingers tightened around your mug slightly before you admitted softly, “But when it’s him… it doesn’t feel frightening.”
There. You’d finally said a secret aloud.
Matt’s expression softened almost imperceptibly.
“He notices everything about me,” you whispered, scooping up some melted marshmallows on a spoon and into your mouth.
“Sometimes I think…” You hesitated. “I like how much he cares.”
The admission felt vulnerable, especially with Matt.
Because Matt had spent your entire life protecting you, knowing you, understanding you better than anyone else in the world, and now you were admitting another man was starting to occupy the space beside him.
You could see Matt realising it. With a little sadness, a bit of jealousy, acceptance, and love only a twin brother could give.
“I still don’t trust him,” Matt admitted quietly.
You snorted. “I know.”
“But I trust you.”
Emotion hit you so hard your eyes immediately burned, and Matt reached across the table for his hands to find yours.
“You sound happy,” he said softly. “And that’s all I have ever wanted for you.”
Your throat tightened painfully.
Because you were.
⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄
Dex opened the apartment door almost immediately after your knock, and you instantly saw it.
The tension in his shoulders, the sharp focus in his eyes, the anticipation. Like he’d spent the entire day preparing for rejection. For you to come back telling you regretted last night and everything before that.
His gaze scanned your face quickly as you stepped inside without speaking, and Dex shut the door quietly behind you.
“What happened?” he asked carefully.
You looked at him for a long moment before slowly walking forward until you stood directly in front of him. Dex went perfectly still as your hands lifted gently to his jaw before you rose onto your toes and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek.
The tension in his body dissolved instantly beneath your touch as his eyes shut briefly. And softly, so softly, you whispered, “I’m still here.”
Dex inhaled sharply, and when his eyes opened again, something vulnerable flickered there so openly it nearly shattered your heart.
His hands slid carefully around your waist, pulling your body tightly against his.
“Always, baby?” he murmured.
You nodded once. “Always.”
And for the first time since this all began, loving him didn’t feel impossible anymore.
TAGS: @benspoindexter @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @genya1617 @doesanyonereadthis @not-the-teen-witch @hanniesrock @peanutbutterjellytime3000 @monikastuff @its-jackie-bb @that1weirdweebgirl @trulovekay @star-yawnznn @snowwythegloww @ethereal-athalia @musicalfan2026 @mewmew222 @scarlet48 @skylerepost @disappearintofanfiction @floatingintheupsidedown @abbotfan @ancientbeing10 @sarahskywalker-amidala @artistadistrada2002 @kakuchosbff @weallhaveadestiny @hyperfixations-go-brrr @capri-cuntz @bullseyeshandcuffs @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @muffinbrown @cowboylover00 @hearsaygoose @badbishsblog @miixkl @iangelofmusic @celleryxo @thecityofspareparts @planetevermore @sadest-bookshelf @paige0103 @bury-me-in-the-star @mrsxchase @kkkeeeiiirrraaa @clowninavan @shoxji @mossmydarling @lostfallenangelsblog @ofmyownvolitionfics
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⋮ ⌗ ┆ Benjamin Poindexter (FBI!dex) x fem!reader
summary ⋮ Benjamin Poindexter x reader fic set before his fall into Bullseye. Y/N Hawthorne, a forensic psychology student in New York, finds herself becoming familiar with a quiet FBI agent who walks into her favourite coffee shop every morning. What begins as a simple routine slowly becomes something far more complicated.
⋮ ⌗ ┆ chapter 1/?
⋮ ⌗ ┆ wc: 3k
New York never really slept.
Even before dawn, the city breathed through the distant growl of traffic, the hiss of buses kneeling at empty stops, and the occasional wail of a siren somewhere beyond the rows of apartment buildings. From the fourth floor of your building, those sounds had become familiar enough that silence felt stranger than noise.
Your alarm sounded at six.
You reached across the bedside table and silenced it before it could ring again. A grey tabby immediately lifted his head from the pillow beside you, emerald eyes narrowed in quiet annoyance.
"You've got a harder life than I do," you murmured.
The cat answered with a slow blink before curling back into himself.
The apartment was modest, but it was yours.
Well—not yours. The landlord would certainly remind you of that if the rent was late—but it was home. A small kitchen with mismatched cupboards, a narrow living room dominated by second-hand furniture, shelves overflowing with university textbooks, and walls that desperately needed repainting. Nothing about it was glamorous.
You loved it anyway.
Every object had been bought with money you had earned. Every book had brought you one step closer to where you wanted to be.
Forensic psychology.
Less than two years remained until you graduated.
Sometimes that still surprised you.
There had been nights where assignments blurred into sunrise, mornings fuelled entirely by coffee, and weeks where your bank account looked frighteningly empty before your next pay cheque arrived from the university library. Yet somehow, despite everything, you had made it this far.
You intended to finish.
After showering, you pulled on running leggings, an old university sweatshirt, and trainers that had seen better days. You filled your cat's bowl before crouching beside him.
"I'll be back in half an hour."
He ignored you with complete dignity.
Outside, the cool morning air hit your face immediately.
The streets carried that peculiar quiet found only just before commuters flooded the pavements. A newspaper stand was being stocked on the corner. Delivery vans idled beside restaurants. Somewhere nearby, someone was dragging metal chairs across concrete to prepare for opening.
Your route never changed.
Three blocks east.
Across the small park.
Round the fountain.
Then back again.
Nothing ambitious. Just enough to clear your head before lectures.
Running had become less about fitness and more about routine. It gave your mind somewhere to organise itself before the day demanded your attention.
By the time you returned to the main street, your breathing had settled into a comfortable rhythm. Sweat clung lightly to the back of your neck, and your legs carried the pleasant ache that came from moving rather than sitting at a desk.
The familiar bell chimed as you stepped into the coffee shop.
Warm air wrapped around you immediately, carrying the rich smell of roasted coffee beans and freshly baked pastries. Indie music drifted quietly through hidden speakers while an espresso machine hissed behind the counter.
"Morning," the barista called, already recognising you.
"Morning."
"The usual?"
You smiled.
"Please."
She nodded before reaching automatically for a paper cup.
You leaned against the collection counter, fishing your phone from your pocket while customers drifted in behind you.
Then the bell above the door rang again.
The man who entered looked as though he belonged somewhere quieter. He wore a dark jacket zipped neatly to his collar despite the mild weather. His hair was trimmed short, almost military in appearance, and his posture was impossibly straight. Every movement was economical, precise, as though unnecessary motion had been carefully removed from his life.
His eyes swept across the café.
Not casually.
Methodically.
Door.
Windows.
Customers.
Counter.
You noticed because you studied people. It had become instinct. Most people looked around a room. This man assessed it.
He joined the queue without touching his phone or glancing absentmindedly towards the menu. Instead, he stood perfectly still with his hands loosely folded in front of him.
No fidgeting.
No sighing.
No shifting his weight.
Nothing.
It wasn't normal.
Not unsettling.
Just... unusual.
"Large black coffee."
His voice carried easily across the café.
Calm.
Even.
Controlled.
The cashier smiled politely.
"Anything else?"
"No."
His answer came almost before she'd finished asking.
You collected your own drink as your order was called.
"Thanks."
"You have a good one."
"You too."
Turning towards the door, you adjusted your grip around the warm cup.
Someone stepped aside at exactly the same moment. You both moved to avoid one another. Then accidentally chose the same direction.
"Oh—"
You laughed softly.
"Sorry."
The man immediately shifted back, giving you enough room to pass.
"My mistake."
His voice remained perfectly level.
Not cold.
Simply factual.
Up close, you noticed faint shadows beneath his eyes, as though sleep was something he tolerated rather than enjoyed. There was a tiny scar near his jawline, almost hidden beneath the morning stubble, and another disappearing beneath the collar of his jacket.
He met your gaze for barely a second.
Long enough to acknowledge you.
Not long enough to invite conversation.
"No," you replied with an awkward smile. "I walked straight into your path."
He gave a single nod.
Neither apologetic nor dismissive. Merely accepting the information.
For a brief moment, neither of you moved.
Then the cashier called out, "Large black coffee."
The man inclined his head.
"Excuse me."
"Of course."
He stepped around you with surprising care, making certain not to brush your shoulder as he passed. There was something almost rehearsed about the movement—as though he'd consciously calculated exactly how much space to leave.
You watched him collect his coffee.
"No room?" the barista asked.
"No."
"No sugar?"
"No."
"Have a nice day."
He paused.
"You too."
Again, perfectly polite. Perfectly measured. Nothing about him stood out in the way people often imagined suspicious individuals would. If anything, he seemed exceptionally ordinary.
Quiet.
Reserved.
Disciplined.
The sort of man who kept to himself.
You pushed open the café door and stepped back into the cool morning air. Behind you, a few seconds later, the bell chimed again. You glanced back without really thinking. The same man emerged carrying his coffee.
He turned left.
You turned right.
Within moments, the crowds beginning to gather along the pavement swallowed him entirely.
You never learned his name.
Not that morning.
Not yet.
—
The days settled back into their familiar rhythm.
Lecture.
Library.
Work.
Sleep.
Run.
Coffee.
Repeat.
There was a certain comfort in routine. You had always found it easier to manage the chaos of university when each morning began the same way. It made New York feel smaller somehow, less overwhelming.
About a week after your brief encounter with the quiet stranger, you noticed him again.
He was already inside the café when you arrived.
Just as before, he stood in the queue without looking at his phone. While everyone else filled the silence by scrolling through messages or staring blankly out of the window, he simply waited.
Perfect posture.
Hands loosely clasped.
Eyes calmly taking in the room.
You joined the line a few places behind him.
"Large black coffee," he said when it was his turn.
The cashier smiled.
"No room?"
"No."
"No sugar?"
"No."
"You have a nice day."
"You too."
The exchange lasted no more than twenty seconds.
By the time you reached the counter, he was already walking out with the paper cup held securely in one hand.
You thought nothing more of it.
Until two mornings later.
Again.
The same jacket.
The same measured voice.
The same order.
"Large black coffee."
"No room?"
"No."
"No sugar?"
"No."
It happened often enough that you began to notice the details without meaning to. He arrived within roughly the same ten-minute window each weekday morning. Never looked rushed. Never lingered. Always thanked the staff. Always left.
His routine was almost as predictable as your own.
"You know him?"
The question came unexpectedly one Thursday morning.
You looked away from the door, finding the barista sealing your cup with its lid.
"Him?"
She nodded towards the window where the man was already disappearing into the crowd.
"The FBI guy."
You blinked.
"FBI?"
She laughed quietly.
"I thought everyone around here knew."
"I've only been coming here for..." You paused, trying to count it in your head. "About eight months."
"He flashes his badge sometimes if someone asks why he's carrying."
"Carrying?"
"The gun."
"Oh."
Your surprise must have shown because she smiled sympathetically.
"Scared me the first time too."
"I never noticed."
"He keeps it well hidden."
You accepted your coffee.
"I suppose I wasn't looking."
"He comes in nearly every weekday."
"I've noticed."
The words escaped before you realised you'd said them. The barista grinned knowingly.
"Hard not to."
You frowned.
"What do you mean?"
She shrugged. "He's memorable."
That was true. Not because he was loud or charismatic. Quite the opposite. There was something about him that made the room subtly rearrange itself around him. People instinctively gave him space without seeming to realise they were doing it. He wasn't intimidating exactly.
Just... composed.
Like someone who always knew exactly where they were standing.
—
Nearly three weeks passed.
Spring slowly crept further into the city. Trees lining the park began showing fresh green leaves, and people exchanged heavy winter coats for lighter jackets.
Your coursework became increasingly demanding.
Behavioural profiling.
Criminal cognition.
Risk assessment.
Some modules fascinated you so completely that hours vanished inside the university library without you noticing.
Others required considerably more caffeine.
It was after one particularly exhausting seminar that you found yourself wondering, entirely absentmindedly, whether the FBI agent would already have collected his coffee.
The thought surprised you.
Not because it mattered. Only because it had become familiar.
He was simply... there.
Like the newspaper stand outside. Or the elderly woman who walked the same dachshund every morning. Or the man who played saxophone outside the subway entrance every Friday afternoon.
Just another constant.
Except, unlike everyone else, he never seemed distracted.
One Monday morning, you arrived a little earlier than usual. To your mild surprise, so had he.
He stood near the collection counter rather than in the queue, his coffee already waiting beside him. Instead of immediately leaving, however, he remained where he was.
Not idle.
Watching.
His gaze drifted towards the front window.
A delivery cyclist almost collided with a taxi outside. A pedestrian stepped backwards into the road without looking. Someone shouted.
Within seconds, everything settled.
The man hadn't reacted dramatically.
He had simply... observed.
His eyes followed each movement with quiet precision before returning to the interior of the café.
Only then did he notice you.
For the briefest moment, recognition flickered across his face.
Not warmth.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
You had seen one another enough times now to become familiar.
He gave a small nod. The same restrained acknowledgement as before.
You returned it almost instinctively.
"Morning."
The word left your mouth before you'd decided to speak.
There was a pause.
Short enough that another person might not even have noticed.
Then he answered.
"Morning."
His voice remained level, controlled, almost careful.
No smile. No awkwardness.
Simply polite.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable.
It merely... existed.
The barista broke it.
"Usual?"
You looked over.
"Please."
As she began preparing your drink, you became aware that the man hadn't yet left. He picked up his coffee, adjusted the lid by a fraction, then glanced towards the door.
"You come here every morning," he said.
It wasn't phrased as a question.
You looked back at him.
"So do you."
Another tiny pause.
"Yes."
Nothing more. No attempt at conversation. No introduction. Just an acknowledgement of a fact.
He inclined his head once more before walking towards the exit.
The bell above the café door chimed as he disappeared onto the pavement outside, swallowed once again by the flow of New Yorkers hurrying to work.
You watched him leave for only a second before collecting your own coffee.
It wasn't until you were halfway back to your apartment that you realised something.
You still didn't know his name.
But somehow, after nearly three weeks of passing one another almost every weekday morning, he no longer felt like a stranger.
—
Another week passed.
Mid-term assessments arrived with all the subtlety of a freight train.
Your dining table disappeared beneath open textbooks, highlighted journal articles, handwritten notes and empty mugs that you kept promising yourself you would wash. More than once, you fell asleep with your laptop still open, only to wake an hour later with a crick in your neck and a paragraph of keyboard imprints pressed into your cheek.
The coffee shop became less of a luxury and more of a necessity.
The staff no longer asked for your order.
"The usual?" was all they needed.
"The usual," you would answer.
By now, you recognised most of the regulars. The elderly man who spent an hour every morning completing crossword puzzles. Two paramedics who alternated buying breakfast depending on whose payday it was. A woman in a navy business suit who always left with three coffees balanced expertly in a cardboard carrier.
And, almost every weekday morning... Benjamin.
You still hadn't heard him introduce himself.
One Tuesday, however, another customer had held the door open as he was leaving.
"Morning, Agent Benjamin Poindexter."
He had paused just long enough to acknowledge him.
"Morning."
That was all.
No conversation followed.
The man continued on his way, and Benjamin disappeared into the crowd as he always did.
Benjamin Poindexter.
The name settled somewhere in the back of your mind. You weren't entirely sure why. Perhaps because names made people feel more real.
'The FBI guy' had become Agent Benjamin Poindexter.
It suited him.
—
Rain arrived without warning the following Friday.
The sky had been overcast during your run, but by the time you reached the café the heavens had opened.
People crowded just inside the entrance, shaking umbrellas and brushing rainwater from their coats.
You joined the queue, pushing damp strands of hair away from your face.
"Looks like everyone's had the same idea," the barista joked.
"No chance I'm surviving today's lecture without caffeine."
She laughed.
"That's the spirit."
The bell above the door rang.
You didn't need to look.
For reasons you couldn't quite explain, you already knew who had walked in.
Benjamin paused just inside the entrance, folding a black umbrella with careful efficiency before slipping it into a waterproof sleeve. His jacket was spotted with rain, though not nearly as soaked as everyone else's.
He must have anticipated the weather.
Of course he had.
He quietly joined the queue behind you.
You glanced over your shoulder.
"Morning."
His eyes met yours briefly.
"Morning."
The line moved slowly. Someone ahead was arguing over an incorrect order, while another customer struggled to decide between pastries.
Neither of you spoke.
It wasn't uncomfortable anymore.
Simply... quiet.
Eventually, the cashier called your name. You stepped forward, reaching into your bag for your purse.
Your stomach dropped.
You checked again.
The front pocket.
The inside compartment.
Nothing.
"...No."
You frowned to yourself.
"I've left my wallet at home."
The cashier offered an understanding smile.
"It happens."
"I can just—" You sighed. "I'll come back."
As you turned away, a calm voice spoke behind you.
"I've got it."
You looked around.
Benjamin was already holding out his card.
You blinked.
"Oh... no, honestly, you don't have to."
"It isn't a problem."
"I can come back."
"You could." His expression remained as composed as ever. "Or I can pay for your coffee."
You hesitated. It wasn't the amount. It was accepting something from someone you barely knew.
Perhaps he recognised the uncertainty because he added, in the same measured tone, "You can repay me another morning."
There was no pressure in his voice. No expectation. Simply a practical solution.
The cashier looked between the two of you.
"Should I...?"
Benjamin gave a single nod.
"Together."
The payment terminal beeped.
Transaction approved.
You stared for a moment before letting out a small, embarrassed laugh.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"I really will pay you back."
"I believe you."
His coffee was placed beside yours.
"Large black coffee."
He picked it up.
You collected your own cup.
For a moment, the two of you stood near the door while rain hammered against the windows hard enough to blur the city beyond into streaks of grey.
"I appreciate it," you said again.
Benjamin nodded once.
"You said you're at university."
You looked at him, slightly surprised that he'd remembered.
"I am."
"What do you study?"
"Forensic psychology."
For the first time since you'd known him, something changed. It wasn't dramatic. Had you not spent years studying facial expressions, you might have missed it entirely.
His attention sharpened.
Not suspicion.
Interest.
"Genuinely?" he asked.
The question came just a fraction quicker than his previous replies.
You smiled.
"Genuinely."
"What made you choose that?"
You shifted your coffee into your other hand.
"I've always been interested in why people do what they do. Not in the crimes themselves..." You searched for the right words. "More the people behind them. Their behaviour. Their decision-making. How trauma changes someone. Things like that."
Benjamin listened without interrupting.
Completely.
The bustle of the café continued around you—the hiss of steaming milk, the scrape of chairs against the floor, customers weaving past on their way back into the rain—but his attention didn't drift once.
When you finished, he was silent for a moment.
"Interesting," he said simply.
You laughed softly.
"Most people think it's morbid."
"I don't."
The reply was immediate.
Matter-of-fact.
"I think it's useful."
Before you could answer, something buzzed inside his jacket.
Not a phone.
A sharp electronic tone.
He reached into an inside pocket and glanced down at what appeared to be a bureau-issued device.
His posture changed almost imperceptibly.
Duty.
He slipped it away.
"I have to go."
"Right. Of course."
There was a brief pause.
"I'll see you around."
Benjamin inclined his head.
"Yes."
Then, without another word, he opened the café door and stepped out into the rain, disappearing once more into the moving crowds.
You watched the door swing shut behind him.
Only then did you realise that, after more than a month of crossing paths, you'd finally had something resembling a conversation.
It hadn't been long. Perhaps three minutes.
Yet somehow, it felt as though the quiet distance between the two of you had become just a little smaller.
—
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
© anehlcia 2026. Do not repost, copy, translate or use any of my work for ai. I post only on tumblr.
written in your heart (f.w.)
Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader
Word Count: 12.9k
Summary: Anything written on your skin appears on your soulmate’s, leaving you to wonder whether your destiny can still be rewritten.
A/N: these fuckass summaries are gonna be the death of me... also i really enjoyed planning for this fic but now that i've done my final read i actually kinda hate it
Year 2:
Soulmates were a tricky business.
No one fully understood the magic behind it—how the universe could possibly decide, from the moment you were born, that there was one person out there meant specifically for you. Even now, it remained one of the greatest mysteries of the magical world. There were no rules you could study, no spells to influence it, no way to predict it.
All anyone really knew was this: somewhere out there existed a person whose magic matched yours so perfectly that the universe itself would one day intervene and make it known.
How it chose to do that, however, was entirely unpredictable.
Some people were born with timers on their wrists, ticking down to the exact second they would meet the person meant for them. Others lived their entire lives in muted shades of grey until they met their soulmate and the world burst into colour all at once. Some carried their soulmate’s first words etched permanently into their skin, waiting for the moment they would finally hear them spoken aloud.
For others, it came later.
Marks that appeared on first touch. Marks that only revealed themselves after years of friendship. Marks that didn’t appear at all until it was far too late to matter.
There was no pattern. No certainty. No way to guess what form your own bond would take—or when it would appear, or who it would tie you to.
And so, by your second year, you had stopped thinking about it too much.
Well... not entirely.
Like any other girl, there were nights when you lay awake staring at the ceiling, letting your mind wander to the inevitable moment when it would happen. You imagined the first meeting in painstaking detail—how everything would fall into place like the final pieces of a puzzle, how suddenly the world would make sense in a way it never had before, as if you had finally found where you were meant to be.
You imagined what it would feel like to be close to them.
To hold their hand. To kiss them. To run your fingers through their hair and feel them do the same to you.
You imagined quiet moments and laughter, whispered words meant only for the two of you, a future that felt certain in a way nothing else ever did.
And sometimes, buried into your pillow so no one could hear, you’d find yourself smiling—giddy with anticipation for a life that hadn’t even begun yet.
But it was easy not to dwell on it too much.
None of your friends had found their soulmates yet—not Hermione, not anyone—and that made it easier. It meant you weren’t falling behind. It meant there was still time.
When it happened, it would happen.
And when it did, everything would make sense.
Until then, your biggest problem remained your exams.
The Great Hall was silent in that suffocating, unnatural way it only ever was during exams.
Rows upon rows of desks stretched endlessly beneath the enchanted ceiling, each one placed with careful precision—far enough apart to make cheating impossible, close enough to remind you that you weren’t alone in your misery. The usual warmth of the hall felt stripped away, replaced by something rigid and tense.
The only sound was the uneven scratching of quills against parchment, echoing faintly in the vast space like a hundred tiny clocks ticking out your time.
You hunched over your Transfiguration paper, brow furrowed in concentration, your hand moving quickly but carefully—fast enough to keep up with your thoughts, slow enough to avoid smudging the ink.
You were on the last question.
Finally.
Relief flickered through you as you exhaled quietly, adjusting your grip on your quill. You leaned in slightly, beginning to write your answer, already thinking about how quickly you could leave once you were done—how good it would feel to be free of the stifling silence, the pressure, the weight of it all.
A shadow fell across your desk.
Your quill stilled mid-word.
“Miss (Y/N).” Came Professor McGonagall’s voice, low and composed.
You looked up sharply, your pulse jumping.
She stood just behind you, posture as straight as ever, hands folded neatly behind her back. Her expression gave nothing away—no irritation, no warmth, just that familiar, impenetrable calm.
“Yes, Professor?” You whispered, instinctively lowering your voice to be mindful of your fellow classmates. The last thing you needed was Hermione scolding you after the exam for making a ruckus while she was trying to focus.
Her gaze flicked briefly to your paper, lingering for just a moment, before returning to your face.
“I’ll need you to come with me.” She said quietly.
Your stomach dropped.
“Now, please.”
For a second, you just stared at her.
Confusion hit first—sharp and immediate.
Had you done something wrong? That didn’t make any sense. You hadn’t even finished your exam yet. Your eyes darted down to your parchment, then back up at her.
“…my exam—?”
“I will take it with us.” She replied smoothly, already reaching forward.
Before you could protest, she lifted the parchment from your desk, your unfinished answer still drying on the page. You stared up at her in surprise, your quill still clutched in your fingers, ink well sitting open on the desk.
Something wasn’t right.
Slowly, you pushed your chair back, the scrape of its legs against the stone floor sounding far too loud in the heavy silence. A few heads turned at the noise—quick, curious glances—but just as quickly snapped back down to their work.
After all these were your final exams, they didn't have the time for their focus to be broken.
Your heart began to beat a little faster as you stood, a faint, uneasy feeling settling in your chest.
“Follow me.”
You trailed after her down the narrow aisle between the desks, acutely aware of every step you took, every eye you could feel flicking toward you before darting away again.
The large doors of the Great Hall loomed ahead, growing closer with every step, and with them, that strange, creeping sense that something had shifted.
You didn’t know what you had done.
Still, you bit down hard on the inside of your cheek and clenched your fists at your sides, willing yourself not to cry from sheer anxiety. The past few weeks had already left your nerves stretched painfully thin.
Between late nights revising, early mornings spent cramming information into your head, and the constant pressure hanging over every second-year student during exam season, it felt as though every nerve ending in your body had been stripped raw.
Even now, as you followed Professor McGonagall through the corridors, you could feel your heart hammering painfully against your ribs. You dug your nails into your palms until they hurt, desperately trying to ground yourself, but the growing lump in your throat refused to disappear.
Professor McGonagall led you into an empty classroom adjacent to the Great Hall and quietly shut the door behind you. The click of the latch sounded far louder than it should have.
"Sit."
You obeyed immediately, lowering yourself into the nearest chair while she remained standing. For a long moment she simply looked at you, her expression unreadable save for a distinct note of disappointment that made your stomach sink even further.
"Miss (L/N)," She began, her voice calm and measured, "students are made aware at the beginning of every examination period that cheating results in an immediate Dreadful. Your parents will be notified and the staff will need to discuss whether you will be permitted to sit a reexamination or whether further disciplinary measures are necessary."
For a second, you genuinely thought you had misheard her.
The words didn't make sense.
You stared up at her blankly.
"Professor... what?"
Her expression remained unchanged.
"You were found in possession of examination materials during your Transfiguration exam."
"I wasn't copying."
The denial left your mouth before you could stop it.
McGonagall's gaze lowered pointedly and, confused, you followed it.
The moment you saw your leg, your entire body went cold.
Written across the skin of your calf in cramped black handwriting were notes. Definitions. Theories. Entire sections of information taken directly from your textbooks and condensed into neat little sentences. There had to be dozens of them, stretching across your skin in dense clusters of writing.
Your breath caught painfully in your throat.
"What the hell?"
Your mind immediately began scrambling for an explanation. Had someone done this while you slept? Had ink somehow transferred from your notes? Had you absentmindedly written on yourself during a revision session? None of it made sense. You had showered the night before.
In your panic, you failed to notice that this wasn't even your handwriting.
"No."
You immediately started rubbing at your skin.
"No, Professor, I didn't write this."
You scrubbed harder, panic making your movements frantic.
"I swear I didn't."
The notes didn't budge.
Your palms were beginning to sweat, but the ink remained exactly where it was, stubborn and unmoving.
"It's not even coming off!"
The last few words came out dangerously close to a sob.
You looked back up at McGonagall, your vision beginning to blur around the edges as tears gathered in your eyes. Everything suddenly felt horribly unfair. You had spent weeks preparing for these exams. You had stayed up late memorizing definitions, quizzed yourself until your head hurt, worried yourself sick over every possible outcome.
"I swear I didn't do this, Professor," you said, your voice wobbling despite your best efforts. "I promise. Please don't fail me. I studied so hard."
The tears escaped before you could stop them.
One moment you were trying to hold yourself together and the next you were crying outright, fat tears rolled down your cheeks while the tiny amount of mascara you'd put on that morning in an attempt to look slightly less exhausted began smudging around your eyes. The embarrassment only made it worse. You couldn't remember the last time you had cried in front of a teacher, but now you couldn't seem to stop.
It was only through your tears that you noticed something change in McGonagall's expression. The disappointment that had been there moments ago had vanished completely, replaced by something that looked remarkably like realization. Her eyes flickered briefly from the notes scrawled across your skin back to your face and you watched as the pieces seemed to fall into place behind them.
"Miss (L/N)," She said, her voice considerably gentler than it had been a moment ago, "it would appear that I owe you an apology."
You blinked up at her through watery eyes, still struggling to catch your breath.
"What?"
"I believe there has been a misunderstanding."
For a moment you simply stared at her, the words refusing to make sense. A misunderstanding? Five minutes ago she had been discussing whether you would be forced to repeat the year.
"Once you've composed yourself," McGonagall continued, clearing her throat and smoothing a hand over her robes, "You may return to the examination hall and complete your exam."
The room fell silent.
You looked down at the notes still covering your skin and then back up at her, trying to understand what had changed. The writing was still there. The evidence hadn't disappeared. If anything, it seemed even more obvious now than it had before. Yet whatever conclusion McGonagall had reached was apparently enough to completely alter the situation.
Before you could ask any further questions, however, she was already moving toward the door.
By the time you had managed to stop crying and make yourself somewhat presentable again, your eyes were still red and your cheeks still blotchy. You clutched your exam paper tightly against your chest as you made your way back toward the Great Hall, still trying to piece together what had happened.
The corridor ahead was empty save for two approaching figures.
At first you barely paid them any attention.
Professor Snape was walking briskly in your direction, his dark robes billowing dramatically behind him as they always seemed to. Beside him walked another student, hands shoved into his pockets and expression thunderous enough to make most people step out of his way.
Mattheo Riddle.
At first, you barely paid attention. Then your eyes caught on the black smudges beneath his eyes—dark, uneven streaks that clung to his lashes and marked the skin beneath them. Mascara. Your mascara.
You stopped walking.
Mattheo stopped too.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The corridor around you felt strangely distant, as though everything else had faded into a muffled blur while the two of you stood suspended in something sharp and disorienting.
His gaze moved over your face, lingering on your red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Slowly—almost visibly—understanding began to settle across both of your expressions at the same time, like the final pieces of a puzzle clicking into place.
The notes that hadn’t been written by you but had appeared on your skin anyway.
The mascara that hadn’t been applied by him but was now smeared across his face.
The reason Professor Snape was escorting him down the corridor.
His expression darkened first.
Yours followed not long after.
You had never met him before. Never spoken to him.
And yet somehow, within minutes of discovering he was your soulmate, Mattheo Riddle had nearly gotten you expelled.
As he continued to glare at you from across the corridor, looking every bit as offended by the situation as you felt, you came to one very simple conclusion.
The universe had an absolutely horrific sense of humour.
Year 6:
It was quiet in the dormitory—far too quiet for a weekday morning.
You frowned slightly, still half-asleep as you burrowed deeper beneath your blankets, turning your face further into the pillow. Usually by now the room would already be alive with noise: drawers slamming shut, sleepy complaints about unfinished homework, someone inevitably losing a sock five minutes before class. But there was none of it. No chatter. No rushing footsteps.
Which could only mean one thing.
You had woken up too early.
A pleased little sigh escaped you as you snuggled further into the warmth of your bed, already drifting back toward sleep. Maybe you had another hour left. Maybe—
“(Y/N) (L/N), FOR GODRIC’S SAKE, WAKE UP! YOU’VE ALREADY MISSED BREAKFAST!”
You bolted upright so fast you nearly headbutted the bedpost.
“WHAT?!” You shrieked, voice rough with sleep as panic shot through you all at once, “Hermione, why didn’t you wake me?!”
“I DID, YOU TEA TOWEL!”
The insult barely registered as you threw your blankets off yourself and stumbled out of bed in a frenzy, hair a complete mess and heart racing with the immediate horror of being late. Your bag was still unpacked from the night before, half your books hanging out of it as you rushed around the room trying to pull yourself together.
“Why didn’t anyone shake me harder?!” You complained, yanking your uniform shirt over your head inside out before realizing and swearing under your breath.
Hermione, already fully dressed and exasperatingly put together, didn’t even look up from stuffing parchment into her bag, “I did! It's not my fault you sleep like the dead.”
You huffed, grabbing your skirt and tugging it on crookedly as you rushed toward the mirror, mentally planning the fastest possible route to class. If you skipped properly brushing your hair and just fixed it on the way—maybe if you brushed your teeth in the bathroom nearest the Charms corridor—
And then you looked up.
Your stomach dropped so suddenly it felt like the floor had disappeared beneath you.
For a moment, all you could do was stare.
Your own reflection stared back at you in equal horror, pale and frozen and impossibly awake now, but you barely noticed the expression on your face because your eyes were locked on the red mark pressed against your cheek.
A lipstick stain.
Bright. Smudged.
Unmistakably shaped like the imprint of someone’s mouth.
Your breath caught.
There was another near the corner of your lips, blurred slightly like it had been kissed there carelessly. One against your jaw. Another lower down, just beneath your ear.
Dread began settling into you slowly, horribly, piece by piece.
“No.” You whispered.
Your hands started shaking.
“No, no—”
You turned slightly toward the mirror, fingers fumbling desperately with the collar of your shirt as you pulled it aside.
More.
Faint red marks scattered across your skin, disappearing beneath the fabric of your clothes. Some were clearer than others; some were smeared, dragged slightly, as though whoever had left them behind had done so thoughtlessly. Casually.
You stared at them, your reflection blurring around the edges as tears began burning in your eyes.
Your throat tightened painfully.
The room suddenly felt too small, too warm, your chest caving inward as realization settled fully over you.
“)Y/N), come on, class starts in—”
Hermione stopped mid-sentence.
You didn’t turn around, but you saw her expression shift in the mirror from annoyance to shock. Her eyes caught on the marks scattered across your neck and collarbone, and the look on her face softened so quickly it made something inside you crack further.
“Oh.”
You squeezed your eyes shut.
A heavy silence settled across the room. Then you heard Hermione approach slowly, carefully, like she was afraid one wrong movement would shatter you completely. She stopped just behind you, her reflection appearing over your shoulder, and when you finally forced yourself to look up again you saw nothing but sympathy written all over her face.
“Oh, (Y/N),” She said softly, and somehow the gentleness in her voice hurt worse than the marks themselves, “I’m so sorry.”
You swallowed hard and forced yourself to inhale, then exhale, trying desperately to hold yourself together.
“It’s fine,” You said immediately, too quickly, your voice unnaturally flat, “It’s not like I liked him anyway.”
The second the words left your mouth, your chin trembled.
Hermione’s expression crumpled.
And suddenly you couldn’t do it anymore.
A broken sound escaped your throat before you could stop it, and then the tears were falling all at once, hot and uncontrollable as the ache in your chest finally split wide open. You covered your mouth with your hand like that could somehow hold the sobs back, but it was useless. Your knees nearly gave out beneath you as weeks and months of buried hope came crashing down all at once.
Hermione caught you before you could fall properly, pulling you into her arms immediately.
And the second she did, you broke completely.
You cried into her shoulder so hard it hurt, fingers clutching desperately at the fabric of her jumper while humiliation and heartbreak tore through you in waves.
Your soulmate had slept with someone else.
A few mornings later, when Hermione sat down at the Gryffindor table for breakfast, she wasn't remotely offended when the eyes of her friends immediately flicked over her shoulder.
It had become something of a routine.
Every day for the past week, someone would look up when she arrived, expecting to find you trailing behind her. Every day their faces would fall when they realized she was alone.
Just as she was today.
Harry was the first to break the silence, "She still won't come down?"
Hermione's grip tightened slightly around her spoon.
The concern on his face mirrored exactly how she felt.
You hadn't attended a single class all week. The first two days had been the worst. You had cried until you physically exhausted yourself, until your body finally gave out and sleep claimed you against your will. By the following morning, you'd developed a fever bad enough that Hermione had practically dragged you to the Hospital Wing herself.
Madam Pomfrey had taken one look at your blotchy face, red-rimmed eyes, and dangerously high temperature before ordering you into a bed and refusing to hear arguments.
Hermione had stayed beside you for as long as she'd been allowed.
She remembered watching you sleep fitfully beneath white sheets, occasionally stirring only to curl further into yourself. She remembered the way your hand would sometimes move unconsciously toward your neck, fingers brushing against skin where the marks had long since faded.
Eventually Madam Pomfrey had forced Hermione out, insisting there was nothing more she could do.
Now several days later, the fever had broken.
But you still hadn't left your room.
Hermione shook her head, "No."
Hermione sighed, reaching for her tea, though her attention was nowhere near her breakfast. Her gaze swept across the Great Hall, not aimlessly skimming over the hundreds of students filling the room, but locking onto its target almost immediately like a heat-seeking missile.
Mattheo Riddle.
He sat at the Slytherin table with his friends, laughing at something one of them had said, completely at ease, looking every bit like he hadn't a single worry in the world. The sight of him sitting there so carelessly, smiling like life had handed him every reason to, made Hermione irrationally want to march across the hall, grab him by the ears, and squeeze his head until it popped like an unsightly pimple.
He had absolutely no idea.
No idea that his soulmate hadn't left her bed in days.
No idea that she'd cried herself into a fever.
No idea that Hermione had spent hours sitting beside her, listening to her sob until she had nothing left in her, only to watch her stare blankly at the canopy above her bed as though she'd forgotten how to exist.
Her jaw tightened.
"Look at him," She muttered bitterly, her eyes boring so intensely into the side of his head that she was almost disappointed when he didn't spontaneously burst into flames, "I spent half the week consoling her, and he's sitting over there like he's the bloody king of the world."
Then, she looked back down into the untouched cup of tea in front of her, watching her own furious reflection ripple across its surface. The anger was still there, burning hot beneath her skin, but it had long since become tangled with something far more unbearable.
Helplessness.
Because no matter how angry she was, it wouldn't undo what had happened.
It wouldn't stop you from shutting yourself away in your dormitory, curtains drawn around your bed, convinced that facing four wooden bedposts was somehow easier than facing the rest of the world.
She felt the sting behind her eyes before she realized she was blinking a little too often.
"I can't believe someone like her is supposed to end up with someone like him." She murmured, her voice losing all of its earlier bite.
She absentmindedly stabbed at her pancakes with her fork, skewering a lone berry in the process without even noticing.
"She's the sweetest, kindest, most selfless person I've ever met," Hermione continued quietly, swallowing around the lump that had formed in her throat, "She'd do absolutely anything for the people she loves, and somehow..." She gave a humorless laugh, shaking her head, "Somehow he's the person the universe chose for her."
Finally, Hermione let out a slow, defeated sigh.
"How could the universe be so cruel?"
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, but neither of them answered.
Because what could they possibly say?
Afterall, they had no idea what it was like to be rejected by your soulmate.
Your head felt impossibly heavy.
When you'd finally cried yourself to sleep the night before, you'd hoped that maybe—just maybe—you'd wake up feeling even a little bit lighter.
Instead, it felt as though someone had stuffed your head full of damp cotton.
Everything was muted.
You could see the familiar shape of your dormitory around you, the sunlight spilling lazily through the windows, painting warm patches across the wooden floor, but none of it felt real. If someone had asked you to name half a dozen things in your own room, you weren't entirely convinced you could have done it. Your thoughts drifted in and out without ever quite settling long enough to grasp them.
Outside, Hogwarts carried on as though nothing had happened.
Somewhere below the tower, students laughed as they crossed the courtyard on their way back from breakfast. Every so often, a shrill whistle carried in through the open window, followed by the distant roar of voices from the Quidditch pitch.
Life went on.
It always did.
But inside your dormitory, it felt as though time itself had stopped.
Like you were sitting inside a vacuum, sealed away from the rest of the castle, where even the sound of your own breathing seemed impossibly far away.
You hadn't even realized someone was knocking.
The sound barely registered through the haze clouding your mind, so faint and distant that you mistook it for part of a dream. It wasn't until the door slowly creaked open that you finally stirred, letting out a weary sigh without even bothering to look up.
"Hermione," You mumbled into your pillow, your voice hoarse from days of crying, "Please... I don't want breakfast."
There was a brief pause.
"Well," Came a decidedly unfamiliar voice, "It's a good thing Chocolate Frogs aren't considered breakfast."
Your eyes snapped open.
Slowly, you pushed yourself upright, blinking through the fog in your head until the figure standing sheepishly in your doorway came into focus.
Messy ginger hair.
Hands buried deep in his pockets.
A crooked smile that looked like it wasn't entirely sure whether it belonged there.
"...Fred?"
The way you said his name made him chuckle softly.
Not because it was funny, exactly, but because your tone carried that slight undercurrent of cautiousness, like you were trying to work out whether you were looking at Fred Weasley or his identical twin.
"It's me," He assured you with an easy grin, "George is considerably uglier."
Despite everything, the corner of your mouth twitched.
Fred caught it but, to his credit, didn't point it out. He simply closed the door quietly behind him and wandered further into the dormitory, his hands still buried in the pockets of his jumper as though he were only stopping by for a casual chat.
Although, you knew better than to believe that.
He was here for something.
You just couldn't work out what.
Had Hermione sent him? Had she somehow decided that Fred's ridiculous sense of humour might succeed where she had failed? More importantly, how in Merlin's name had he even managed to get into the girls' dormitory in the first place?
"...What are you doing here?" You asked.
The question left your mouth more out of politeness than genuine curiosity.
Truthfully, you didn't really care.
Whether Fred was here or not, whether he'd come to cheer you up or drag you to breakfast or simply stare at you until you spoke, all you wanted was to be left alone again. So you settled back against your headboard, waiting for whatever explanation he had prepared so you could nod absentmindedly, mumble something about still being tired, and hope he'd take the hint.
Fred scratched the back of his neck.
"I don't really know," He admitted after a moment with a small shrug, "I heard Hermione talking about you downstairs."
He finally pulled his hands from his pockets.
A handful of Chocolate Frog boxes tumbled into his palms.
"I heard she was worried." He looked down at the collection of sweets before giving one shoulder another little shrug, "Next thing I knew, I was standing outside your door."
He crossed the room and sat down carefully on the edge of your bed.
Instinctively, you tugged your cocoon of blankets out from beneath him, unwilling to surrender even that small comfort. Fred pretended not to notice. Instead, he simply dropped the Chocolate Frogs into your lap one by one.
"I figured," He said, "if nothing else, chocolate rarely makes things worse."
You stared down at them for a second before absentmindedly picking one up and peeling open the box.
"Whatever Hermione's worried about..." You murmured, carefully unfolding the cardboard, "...it isn't going to happen."
The chocolate frog immediately sprang from your hands.
You watched it bounce across the dormitory floor, disappearing beneath someone's bed but you paid no heed, fishing the card from the now-empty box instead.
Helga Hufflepuff.
Nice.
"I just wanted some time to be alone," You said quietly, your thumb tracing absent circles over the edge of the card, "Some time to think. You wouldn't understand."
Fred's smile faded.
"Oh," He said, leaning back on his hands, "Believe me."
His eyes drifted toward the window for a moment.
"I know exactly what that's like."
You froze, your thumb absentmindedly tracing the edge of the Nicolas Flamel card as you silently cursed your own stupidity.
Of course.
You had completely forgotten who you were talking to.
Everyone knew Fred Weasley's story.
It had been impossible not to.
It had spread through Hogwarts like wildfire the day the twins turned sixteen and discovered, to the absolute bewilderment of the entire school, that they shared the same soulmate mark. The same name inked onto both of their wrists.
Angelina.
No one had known what to make of it. How could the universe make a mistake? It wasn't supposed to.
Yet somehow, two brothers had been promised the same girl.
In the end, Angelina had chosen George.
No one blamed her. She'd simply followed her heart.
And just like that, Fred had become the boy without a soulmate.
What followed had been painful to watch.
Every passing week seemed to chip away at something that had once felt unbreakable. Fred and George had always existed as a pair. Joined at the hip, people liked to joke. Before that, joined by an umbilical cord. There had never been one without the other.
It had been heartbreaking watching the distance grow between the twins afterwards. Not all at once, but slowly, almost imperceptibly, until people realized Fred no longer occupied the seat beside George in the Great Hall. They stopped seeing them sneaking through corridors together after curfew. Their jokes became less frequent, their laughter less shared.
Fred simply couldn't bear to watch the girl he'd spent years believing was destined to love him fall into his brother's arms instead.
Eventually, time had done what time always did.
The sharp edges had dulled.
The twins laughed together again. They pulled pranks together. They looked, from the outside at least, like themselves again. But anyone paying close enough attention could tell they were never quite the same.
How could they be?
Their seemingly inseverable brotherhood had been eclipsed by an ineffable bond.
Soulmates.
It was no longer Fred and George, the terrible terrors. Now, it was George and Angelina, the star-crossed lovers, and Fred, who had been left behind.
"I'm sorry." You whispered, the apology slipping out before you could stop it.
Fred's eyes met yours.
"So am I."
He didn't elaborate.
He didn't have to.
And for the first time in days, you felt the glass jar you had trapped yourself in begin to crack.
This whole time, you'd convinced yourself that hiding in your dormitory was helping. As long as you stayed within these four walls, you could pretend the world outside had stopped moving. Pretend that morning had never happened.
Reality settled over you with unbearable clarity.
That was what this was, wasn't it?
Rejection.
Mattheo had known exactly who you were. He'd known that every mark left on his skin would bloom across yours. He'd known you would wake up wearing the evidence of his choices.
And he'd done it anyway.
The thought hollowed you out.
Your entire life, you'd been told that soulmates were certainty. That somewhere in the world there was one person who would choose you above everyone else because the universe itself had decided you belonged together.
So what did it mean when they didn't?
If even your soulmate could look at you and still choose someone else...
Where exactly did that leave you?
Slowly, you lifted your eyes from the card to Fred, who was sitting beside you now, close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed, his gaze already fixed on you.
Your heart ached.
Because the answer to your unvoiced question was written all over his face.
He was every bit as heartbroken as you were.
Just as lost.
Just as unsure of where he fit into a universe that had promised him one thing, only to hand him another.
It hurt him every time he saw George with Angelina. You knew it did. No matter how much he loved his brother, no matter how genuinely happy he wanted to be for him, there had to be a small part of him that wondered why it hadn't been him.
Why fate had bothered writing her name onto his skin at all.
And you knew, with sickening certainty, that the next time you saw Mattheo...
It would tear you apart in exactly the same way.
Fred's expression softened as he noticed your eyes beginning to fill again.
He offered you a small, sympathetic smile.
"Well..." He said, giving one shoulder an exaggerated shrug, "At least we've got each other."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. It was watery and quiet, immediately chased by the tear that finally slipped down your cheek. Fred grinned a little wider, looking entirely too pleased with himself for managing to get even the tiniest laugh out of you.
"I suppose the reject bin isn't completely empty."
"No," Fred agreed, "Turns out it's got surprisingly good company."
Turns out misery really did love company.
It was almost pathetic, in a way.
The only reason you had finally been able to leave your room, to walk back into the Great Hall, to sit through classes without feeling like the walls were caving in around you, was because you'd discovered you weren't the only person carrying around this strangely specific kind of heartbreak.
Your chest still tightened whenever Mattheo walked into a room. Every accidental glance across a corridor still left you feeling hollowed out from the inside, wondering how someone who was supposedly destined to love you had found it so easy to choose somebody else instead.
But sitting beside Fred somehow made it easier to breathe.
You supposed anyone watching from the outside would've found it to be the most obvious outcome imaginable.
Birds of a feather.
Two people who had somehow fallen through the cracks of destiny naturally gravitating toward one another.
Before long, spending time with Fred stopped feeling like something you consciously chose to do and instead became part of your routine. You'd find him waiting outside your classroom without either of you having planned it, or he'd drop into the empty seat beside you at breakfast as though it had always belonged to him.
Sometimes you talked about soulmates.
Most of the time, you didn't.
And somehow, those were your favourite conversations.
You hadn't realized just how grateful you'd become for his presence until one morning at breakfast when Harry slid onto the bench opposite you, looking unusually flustered and whispered, "I met my soulmate last night."
Thankfully, Hermione's excited gasp and Ron's loud, "You what?!" completely drowned out the sound of your breath catching in your throat.
For a brief, horrible second, it felt as though you had left your own body.
The conversation continued around you in muffled voices while you watched it all unfold from somewhere far away, like you were observing it through thick glass. Hermione was already peppering Harry with questions. Harry, red-faced and grinning despite himself, tried unsuccessfully to answer them both at once.
You just... watched.
Until something warm wrapped gently around your hand beneath the table and your attention snapped back. Without saying a word, you laced your fingers through his beneath the tablecloth, hidden from everyone else.
The knot in your stomach loosened.
Not completely. But just enough so that when you turned back to Harry, the smile on your face no longer felt so forced.
"Congratulations, Harry," You said softly, "I'm really happy for you."
Harry's smile faltered.
Only then did it seem to occur to him what he'd just blurted out—and who he'd blurted it out in front of.
A flicker of guilt passed across his face behind his glasses.
"Oh, (Y/N), I didn't—I wasn't thinking—"
You shook your head before he could finish, "It's okay."
And surprisingly...
It was.
Harry relaxed, offering you a small, grateful smile before Hermione immediately launched into another question, successfully stealing his attention once more.
Only then did you turn your head.
Fred was already looking at you.
Your joined hands still rested beneath the table, his thumb absentmindedly brushing across your knuckles.
"I just can't believe how much time I've wasted."
Your voice was quiet as you stared up at the canopy of Fred's bed, watching the afternoon sunlight dance lazily across the faded red fabric. Beside you, Fred lay with one arm tucked behind his head, the other dangling over the edge of the mattress. He turned his head slightly.
"Hm?"
It wasn't often the conversation drifted back to soulmates anymore.
Somehow, the two of you had become remarkably good at avoiding the very thing that had brought you together in the first place. But every now and then, usually when the castle had gone quiet around you, one of you would bring it up again.
And somehow it was always easier talking to Fred than anyone else.
"I've never even been on a date," You admitted with a humourless laugh, "Can you believe that?"
Fred's eyebrows lifted.
"I just... wasted so much time." You sighed, picking absentmindedly at a loose thread in the blanket. "I kept thinking there was no point. Why bother dating when the universe was supposedly going to hand me the perfect person eventually?"
You shook your head.
"I was so convinced that one day everything would just... happen."
A small smile tugged at your lips.
"I suppose, in retrospect, that's a rather ridiculous way to live."
Fred was quiet for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"I get it."
You looked over at him.
"Before my soulmate mark appeared," He continued, "I never really bothered trying either. I always figured I'd meet my soulmate eventually, so whoever I dated beforehand wouldn't really matter."
He let out a small breath through his nose.
"And after..." His smile turned a little sad, "Well, there wasn't much point then either."
You understood immediately.
"Everyone already had someone they were meant to end up with."
"Exactly."
He shrugged, "It felt like borrowing someone else's future."
Silence settled comfortably between you.
"I know exactly what you mean," You murmured, "Even if I'd somehow found someone I actually liked. It would've only been a matter of time before they found their soulmate."
"And then I'd just be..." You trailed off, "Temporary."
Fred didn't say anything.
He didn't have to.
Because he'd spent the last year feeling exactly the same way.
You groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over your eyes, "I just want to go on a date for once."
Fred snorted.
"Is that too much to ask?" You bemoaned.
"I don't even want anything extravagant," You continued, finally sitting upright since the topic had become important enough to warrant an actual discussion. You gestured vaguely with your hands, trying to paint the picture in the air between you, "Just… one completely ordinary date."
Fred turned his head to look at you.
"I want to wear a pretty dress," You admitted, counting on your fingers, "I want to spend far too long doing my hair, even though it'll probably end up looking exactly the same as it did before. I want someone to bring me flowers."
The last part made Fred's eyebrows climb.
"...Flowers?"
You frowned at him as though he'd just said something outrageously offensive.
"Yes. Flowers."
"You've just spent the last minute insisting you don't want anything extravagant."
"They're flowers. It's the bare minimum."
A comfortable silence settled over the room again. You flopped back against the mattress with an exaggerated sigh, staring up at the canopy above while Fred continued looking at the ceiling beside you.
"I just..." You murmured after a while, your voice softer now, "I wish I knew what it felt like."
"What?"
"To have butterflies."
The admission felt oddly embarrassing.
"To get excited because someone asked me out. To spend the whole day wondering what they're going to think when they see me. To hold someone's hand because they wanted to hold mine." You laughed quietly at yourself, "I don't even care whether it's life-changing anymore."
You swallowed, the words catching slightly in your throat.
“I just wanted to know what normal feels like.”
For a moment, Fred didn’t respond.
He just lay there beside you, one arm tucked behind his head, eyes fixed lazily on the canopy above as though he were turning your words over somewhere quieter than conversation. The pause stretched longer than you expected it to—long enough that you almost convinced yourself he wasn’t going to answer at all, that the moment had passed and you’d said too much again.
Then, almost absentmindedly, he spoke.
“So let’s go on one.”
You frowned, turning your head slightly, having forgotten how the conversation had even ended, “...Go on what?”
“A date.”
That made you sit up a little more properly, the word feeling strangely out of place in the softness of the room, “A date?”
“Seems like the obvious solution.” He added, as though he were suggesting something as simple as going for a walk.
You blinked at him, trying to make sense of his expression, “...With who?”
Fred looked almost insulted.
"With me."
Silence.
Not the comfortable kind this time.
The air between you shifted—just slightly. You became acutely aware of the space between your shoulders, the way your fingers were curled into the blanket, the way Fred didn’t seem to notice any of it at all.
He, meanwhile, looked completely unconcerned with the fact that he had just suggested something that felt like it should be impossible to say out loud.
“I mean…” He continued after a beat, shrugging one shoulder as if it were obvious, “Think about it.”
You hesitated, “I am.”
“We’re both sitting here complaining we’ve never really dated anyone.”
“Yes…”
“We’re both catastrophically single.”
“Unfortunately.” You muttered, despite yourself.
“We both want to know what all the fuss is about.”
“I suppose.”
“So…” He spread his hands slightly, palms up, as though presenting the most logical conclusion in the world, “Why don’t we just take each other? Scratch the itch a bit.”
You looked away for a second, down at your hands where they were picking absently at the edge of the blanket, “I don’t know…” You admitted quietly.
Fred didn’t push. He rarely did.
Instead, he shifted slightly closer—not enough to crowd you, just enough that his presence was harder to ignore.
“You said you wanted to wear a pretty dress.”
“I did.” You murmured.
“You said you wanted a normal date.”
That made you glance back at him again.
Your voice came out softer this time, almost uncertain, “I do.”
A pause.
The kind that felt like something was being decided inside it.
Fred’s expression didn’t change much, but his voice gentled.
“So let me take you on one.”
Even though you were almost entirely certain Fred had suggested the date as a joke, you found yourself surprisingly nervous when the day finally arrived.
Not because you expected anything to happen.
It wasn't really a date, after all.
Not a real one.
Just two rejects pretending, for a few hours, that the universe hadn't forgotten about them.
Still, you couldn't deny there was something undeniably exciting about getting ready for it.
You stood in front of the mirror for far longer than you cared to admit, smoothing invisible creases from your clothes before immediately finding new ones to fuss over. Your hair had already been redone twice, and you were currently debating whether it looked better tucked behind your ears or left loose around your shoulders.
You had practically licked your lips dry, wanting to put on just a little bit of gloss, if not to look good then at least to stop you from worrying them so much.
But third year had taught you that makeup simply wasn't worth the argument.
The memory still made you grimace.
You had gotten a tube of cherry lip gloss as an impulse purchase from Hogsmeade. The bottle was just so cute and the colour was just right and it smelt like a cherry pie.
You'd worn it exactly once before Mattheo had cornered you in a corridor, positively livid over the matching sheen that had mysteriously appeared on his own lips.
The argument had been spectacular.
You'd shouted.
He'd shouted louder.
By the end of it both your cheeks had been burning, partly from anger and partly from the sheer humiliation.
After that, you'd quietly switched to glamour charms.
You shook your head, willing the memory to leave your mind. A light spritz of perfume followed, and then another after you convinced yourself the first one hadn't been enough.
This wasn't a date.
You reminded yourself of that several times while changing outfits.
And yet, by the time you finally slipped out of Gryffindor Tower—carefully timing your escape before Hermione and the others returned from lunch so nobody could make a spectacle of it—you couldn't deny the flutter of anticipation low in your stomach.
Your first date.
Fake though it may have been.
Fred was already waiting beside the Black Lake when you arrived. The moment he spotted you, his face broke into an easy grin. He awkwardly straightened where he stood before holding out a small bouquet of hand-picked wildflowers.
A smile spread across your face before you could stop it.
You accepted them carefully, bringing them close enough to catch their sweet scent, asking with a teasing lilt to your tone, "Now whose Herbology project did you ruin by nicking these?"
Fred clutched dramatically at his chest.
"I would never."
"No?"
"I'll have you know these were ethically sourced. Well, a bit of unpaid labour." He said, showing you the slight dirt that was still left on the tips of his fingers.
You grinned, leaning to give him a quick peck on the cheek, "There, paid for in full."
"So..." You said, looking up at him, "What's the plan? It isn't swimming, is it? Because I spent entirely too long on my hair."
His eyes flicked over said hair for only the briefest moment.
"It looks nice."
You blinked.
"...Thank you."
The words came so casually that he didn't even seem to realize he'd said them aloud. Then his usual grin returned, "And don't worry. I've got something much more special in mind."
Rather than reassuring you, that somehow made you considerably more suspicious.
Fred simply laughed before turning on his heel and beckoning for you to follow. He led you around the edge of the Black Lake and toward a dense cluster of trees you'd never paid much attention to before.
"I thought we'd collectively agreed wandering into mysterious forests was a terrible idea after the centaurs last year." You remarked as you ducked beneath a low branch he held out of your way.
"We did."
"And?"
"We also established I was the worse student between the two of us."
You rolled your eyes, "Can't argue with that."
A few moments later he stopped.
Nestled between several thick tree trunks was what appeared to be nothing more than a tiny tunnel woven entirely from vines and ivy.
Before you had time to question it, Fred crouched down and disappeared inside.
You stared after him.
"...Bit brazen of you to expect a girl to get on her knees on the first date, don't you think, Weasley?"
His laugh echoed back through the tunnel.
"Oh, come on."
"I'm simply making observations."
"Get in here, (Y/N)."
Still muttering dramatically under your breath, you crouched down and crawled after him. The tunnel only lasted a few feet.
The first thing you noticed as your head emerged from the other side was the sunlight. Bright summer sunshine spilled across your face exactly as expected.
The second thing you noticed was the cold.
A sharp, winter chill immediately kissed your cheeks and nipped at the end of your nose.
You blinked.
Then looked up.
Your breath caught.
Hidden away beyond the curtain of vines was a tiny clearing unlike anywhere else on the Hogwarts grounds.
Wildflowers carpeted the earth in every imaginable colour while rabbits darted lazily through the grass, entirely unconcerned by your arrival. Golden afternoon light poured through the canopy overhead, making the entire place glow like something lifted straight from a fairy tale.
But none of that was what stole your breath.
At the very centre of the clearing lay a lake.
Perfectly still.
Perfectly frozen.
A sheet of flawless ice sat beneath the blazing summer sun as though winter itself had been trapped inside this tiny corner of the world.
"...What on earth..."
"Amazing, isn't it?"
You turned to find Fred watching you rather than the lake.
His grin was quieter now. There was still that unmistakable stretch of pride across his face as he took in your gobsmacked reaction, but beneath it lingered a hint of fondness that sent a slight flush to your cheeks, one you stubbornly insisted was caused by the cold.
"I was mucking about here in second year," He admitted with an embarrassed scratch at the back of his neck, "George and I were trying to invent a product that could make it snow indoors."
"And?"
"And... I may have perpetually frozen the entire lake."
You stared at him, "You may have?"
He shrugged, "I got scared I'd be in trouble if anyone found it."
"So you..."
"So, I never told anyone."
As he spoke, he reached out and absentmindedly cast a quiet Scourgify over your clothes, brushing away the bits of moss and leaves that had collected while crawling through the tunnel.
His fingers paused near your shoulder.
"There."
He gently plucked a tiny twig from your hair before tucking a loose strand behind your ear with absent familiarity.
"So..." You looked back at the lake, "You've never shown anyone this?"
"No."
"...Not even George?"
Fred's smile softened.
He shook his head.
"No."
Something warm unfurled low in your chest.
Warmer than the summer sun beating down on you.
You felt it.
The butterflies.
Walking back toward the castle felt strangely bittersweet.
Like stepping out of a storybook.
The hidden clearing disappeared behind the curtain of vines the moment you stepped through it, swallowed once again by the forest as though it had never been there at all. If you hadn't still felt the lingering chill clinging to your clothes, you might have convinced yourself you'd imagined the entire afternoon.
Your nose stung from the cold.
Your cheeks, however, had turned pink from hours spent laughing beneath the summer sun.
The two of you had spent hours on that frozen lake.
By the time the sun had begun sinking below the treeline, painting the ice in shades of amber and gold, the two of you had been too exhausted to do much more than sit side by side on the frozen shore, talking until the growing darkness reminded you that professors generally frowned upon students disappearing into enchanted forests after curfew.
Now, the familiar warmth of the castle wrapped around you as the heavy oak doors swung shut behind you.
The sudden change in temperature made your fingers tingle unpleasantly as feeling slowly returned to them.
A comfortable silence settled between you as you wandered through the entrance hall.
Students passed around you in little groups, chatting animatedly over dinner plans and unfinished essays, but neither of you made any move toward joining them.
Eventually, you reached the foot of the marble staircase.
You turned toward Fred.
He'd been unusually quiet for the last few minutes.
The easy confidence he'd carried all afternoon had somehow disappeared somewhere between the lake and the castle, replaced instead by something unexpectedly hesitant. His hands had found the pockets of his jumper again and he rocked back slightly on his heels before clearing his throat.
"(Y/N)..."
"Hm?"
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"So..."
You waited.
"I know..." He let out a small, awkward laugh, "I know this wasn't exactly a date-date. But…" His eyes found yours again, "I had a really good time."
Something in your chest fluttered.
"And unless I've completely misread today..." He continued carefully, "I think maybe you did too."
You did.
Far more than you'd expected to.
"So..." He took a small breath, "Unless I've made an absolute fool of myself here, I was wondering if maybe—"
"Let's go on a second date, Fred."
The words escaped before your brain had the chance to stop them.
You hadn't meant to interrupt him.
Truthfully, you'd been rather enjoying the exceedingly rare spectacle of Fred Weasley stumbling over his own words. It was oddly endearing watching someone who always seemed to have a joke ready suddenly become hopelessly tongue-tied.
Unfortunately, your own anticipation had won the race.
Silence settled between you. Fred simply stared. For one wonderfully long moment, he looked completely dumbfounded.
Then, slowly, a grin began tugging at the corners of his mouth.
It spread across his face before he could stop it, bright enough that you watched him actively try to suppress it.
"Well," He drawled, folding his arms as though he hadn't just been struck speechless, "Someone's certainly getting ahead of herself, isn't she?"
You folded your own arms in mock offence.
"Oh?"
"I hadn't even finished asking yet."
"You were taking too long."
He took one thoughtful look at you before his grin returned in full force.
"...So," He tilted his head ever so slightly, "Same time next week?"
Fred was always good at date ideas.
You knew that much by now.
Every time you met him, there was something planned—something a little ridiculous, a little exhausting, and always, without fail, something that made it impossible for you to think about anything else except how much you were laughing.
But with the July heat pressing down over Hogwarts like a heavy, unrelenting spell, even Fred’s usual energy had begun to soften at the edges.
The castle itself felt sluggish. Corridors held onto warmth long after sunset, windows stayed permanently open, and even the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall seemed stuck in an endless stretch of pale, hazy blue.
But it seemed the unbearable heat had given Fred an idea for another date.
Which was how you found yourself standing at the edge of the Black Lake in a cute bikini you’d been waiting all summer to wear, your shoes discarded somewhere in the grass behind you, watching him attempt to skip stones across the water.
He managed one bounce.
The stone immediately sank.
“Hm,” Fred said thoughtfully, staring at the ripples like they had personally betrayed him, “I’ve gotten considerably worse at that.”
“You were never good.”
“I distinctly remember being excellent.”
“That’s the heat talking. It’s cooked your brain.”
He gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offence.
“You wound me.”
“I try.”
He looked at you, a sinister smile on his face that gave you a feeling that he was planning something, “Well, I try harder.”
You barely had time to process the warning in his grin before you felt it—a sharp splash against your shoulders, cold water exploding across your skin.
“Fred!”
You sputtered as you broke the surface, hair dripping into your eyes just in time to see him double over laughing.
And then, before you could retaliate, he cannonballed in after you.
Every moment of calm dissolved into splashing, laughter, and half-hearted attempts to dunk one another beneath the surface. Fred succeeded exactly once before you retaliated by grabbing his ankle and dragging him under with you, emerging seconds later breathless and triumphant.
By the time the chaos finally eased, you’d drifted farther from shore, your limbs heavy with exhaustion and your sides aching from laughing too hard.
For a moment, there was nothing but gentle movement. Water lapping softly against your shoulders. Sunlight scattering across the surface in broken gold. Fred floating nearby, hair plastered to his forehead, grinning like he didn’t have a single thought in his head except this.
You turned slightly, your gaze catching on something in the water near your hands.
It glimmered faintly beneath the surface.
“Oh—wait—” You said, reaching out instinctively, “I think that’s a shell or something. It's pretty."
Before you could even finish the sentence, Fred was already diving.
He disappeared beneath the surface without hesitation.
"Chivalry is dead, they say."
The words died in your throat when he resurfaced a moment later, shaking water from his hair.
In his hand, he held the shell out proudly, grinning at you, “Ta-da.”
You smiled automatically, already reaching for it, already preparing some teasing comment until your eyes slipped past his hand.
Past the shell.
To his wrist.
Angelina.
The name sat against his skin like it belonged there.
Like it had always belonged there.
Your fingers stopped mid-air.
Fred was still talking, still smiling, still looking at you with that easy warmth that had become so familiar you didn’t even think about it anymore. His voice blurred slightly at the edges, like it was coming from farther away than it actually was, and the lake around you suddenly felt quieter, heavier, as though it had decided to hold its breath with you.
You couldn’t look away from it.
Angelina.
It wasn't wasn't the first time you were seeing it. It definitely wasn't new.
And yet seeing it like this—so close, so real, so casually visible between moments of laughter—made something inside you tighten in a way you hadn’t been prepared for.
The universe’s choice.
Not you.
Never you.
A strange stillness settled in your chest, not sharp at first, just heavy, like the slow sinking of something you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your thoughts began to slip before you could catch them, drifting in directions you couldn’t stop.
Would they make a good couple?
Did she ever think about him when she looked at George?
Did she ever wonder what it would’ve been like if she’d chosen differently, if she’d taken a different path, if she’d looked at the wrong twin and hesitated just a second longer?
And worse—did Fred ever think about it too?
The shell in his hand suddenly felt irrelevant, something from a different moment entirely, like it didn’t belong in this one anymore. Like it had been part of a version of the world where you weren’t thinking about this. Where you weren’t standing in the middle of a lake watching the evidence of a future you didn’t belong in wrapped around his wrist.
You weren’t even fully aware of the shift until it had already happened.
One moment you were here, in sunlight and laughter and water that still clung warm to your skin.
The next, everything felt distant.
Muted.
As though you had stepped just slightly outside of yourself.
“…(Y/N)?”
You blinked, forcing yourself back into your body, into the moment, into the lake and the shell and him.
Fred was closer now, his expression no longer playful. The smile had faded without him even seeming to notice, replaced by something quieter, more attentive.
“You alright?”
For a second, you forgot how to answer.
Then you managed something that almost resembled normal.
“Yeah.”
A pause.
His eyes didn’t leave your face.
“You sure?”
Too quickly—too automatically—you nodded.
“Just cold.”
Even as you said it, you knew it wasn’t convincing.
Fred didn’t push. He rarely did when it mattered.
Instead, he moved closer through the water until his arm brushed yours, steady and grounding, and then—like it was the most natural thing in the world—he slipped it around your waist to keep you from drifting too far with the current.
“Yeah? Well,” He said softly, almost lightly again, as though trying to pull you back without forcing it, “We can fix that.”
And for a moment, you let him.
Just a moment.
A final moment.
In all honesty, you hadn’t meant to avoid him.
Really, you hadn’t.
It wasn’t like you actively chose to turn around every time you saw Fred in the corridors, or pretend you hadn’t received his notes because you’d gone to bed early, or slip out of a room the second you heard his boisterous laughter drawing closer—the same laughter that used to send a wave of warmth flooding through you.
But every time you saw him—his warm brown eyes, shadowed by long lashes—you felt that sinking pit open up in your stomach, swallowing everything else whole. It ruined your day before it had even properly begun.
And even though all you wanted was to be near him, you couldn’t help but turn away every time his eyes searched for you.
You really should have considered the fact that Fred wasn’t going to take it lying down.
And that he knew all about the secret passageways scattered around Hogwarts.
So you really shouldn’t have been surprised when he appeared in the corridor that had been empty not even a second ago—grabbing your wrist and stopping you in your tracks.
“Fred.”
“This push-and-pull bullshit isn’t going to work with me, (Y/N),” He said immediately, “If you want to break up with me, you better look me in the eye and do it.”
Ironic.
Because you couldn’t.
Your gaze stayed anchored to his wrist—specifically, to the inked name along his pulse, peeking out from beneath his sleeve.
And just like that, the pit in your stomach returned.
“This isn’t going to work, Fred.”
His brows twitched, his grip tightening just a fraction—like he was afraid you’d slip away again if he loosened it.
“Why?”
You let out a breath, shaking your head like the answer should be obvious.
“Because you’re not meant to be with me,” You said, “You’re already… destined for someone else.”
A flicker of confusion crossed his face.
“My brother’s soulmate?” He said, almost incredulous, “I would never do that to him. And she’s already made her choice.”
“And if she didn’t?” You pressed, your voice tightening, “If she changes her mind tomorrow? If she decides you’re the one she’s meant to be with… would you change yours?”
The question hung between you.
Fred didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, his gaze sharpened.
“Well then what about you?” He shot back, “If Riddle suddenly realizes how badly he messed up—comes crawling back, begging you to take him—would you go?”
The edge in his voice hit harder than you expected.
Suddenly, you were back in your dorm room again, staring at lipstick marks you hadn’t chosen, feeling that same hollow, awful ache in your chest.
Except this time—
he wasn’t your soulmate.
You had no claim to Fred.
If he turned around tomorrow and chose Angelina, you couldn’t fault him for it.
After all… she was his soulmate.
And if he wasn’t by your side—
If Mattheo came back, asking for your forgiveness—
Would you really be able to go back to him like nothing had happened? Could you let him touch you with the same hands that had touched someone else, pretend you didn’t know exactly where they had been? Could you stand there in his arms and still feel that sense of certainty you used to dream soulmates would bring—the feeling that this was your place in the world, that you were chosen, needed, loved completely?
“No,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper as the realization settled in, “I wouldn’t.”
Your voice steadied as you continued.
“I don’t want someone who would hurt me on purpose,” You said quietly, “I don’t want someone who makes me feel like I’m something they can come back to when it suits them. Like the only reason I’m with them is because someone out there decided it.”
Your eyes lifted to meet his.
“I want you.” You admitted, your voice tightening as you realized just how true it was.
These past few weeks with Fred had been the happiest you’d been in a long time. When you were with him, it felt like you’d finally found your place in the universe.
And that terrified you.
Because he wasn’t yours.
Not really.
And if those lipstick marks had broken your heart, then watching Fred walk away from you and go back to Angelina the second she called would destroy you.
“But I want you to want me too,” You finished, “Not just because I’m there. Not just to fill some empty space.”
Silence settled between you.
Fred’s grip loosened—not letting go, just sliding from your wrist to your hand, holding it instead.
“I’ll admit it,” He said after a moment, “That’s how it started.”
Your chest tightened.
“Just… something to make it hurt less,” He continued, quieter now, “Something to not feel so bloody lonely all the time.”
He looked at you then—really looked at you.
“But it’s not that anymore, (Y/N).”
And when you met his eyes, all you saw was sincerity. It hit you in a way you couldn’t quite explain—like the two of you weren’t just standing in a corridor anymore, but somewhere else entirely. Somewhere smaller. Quieter.
Just the two of you in the entire universe.
“I’m falling for you,” He said, like it scared him a little to admit it, he'd been burned before and he was scared he was going to be again, “And I want to be with you. Soulmate or not.”
You wanted to believe him.
You really did.
But the tattoo of her name lingered in your mind—a ghost between the two of you you didn’t know how to exorcise.
“But what about—”
“Fuck Angelina, alright!”
Your eyes widened and he dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated, desperate, “There isn’t a single part of me that wants her right now,” He said, “I thought I did. I thought I was supposed to. But I don’t.”
His voice dropped.
“Not like I do when I’m with you.”
You stared at him, that pit in your stomach beginning to dissipate, just slightly.
“(Y/N), please.” He said, taking your hand in both of his and pulling you closer, guiding your palm to rest against his chest.
His heartbeat was fast.
Almost as fast as yours.
“If you don’t feel the same way about me, that’s okay,” He said softly, “But don’t push me away because you think I’d rather be with anyone other than you. Because there is no one else, and there never will be.”
Something in you shifted, quiet but undeniable, and before you could second-guess it you stepped closer, your hand coming up to rest against his shoulder as you rose onto your toes, leaning in with the simple intention of pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.
But at the last second, he turned his head.
Your breath caught, your lips just a hair away from meeting his, so close you could feel the warmth of him, could see your own reflection in his blown out pupils. Your gaze dropped, almost involuntarily, to his mouth for just a moment and before you knew what was happening, you had closed the distance.
You had always thought your first kiss would be with your soulmate. You had saved it, carefully, stubbornly, building it up in your mind during sleepless nights—imagining electricity in little jolts rushing through your body, feeling inexplicable heat where he would've grabbed the dips of your waist, imagining certainty, imagining that unmistakable feeling that would tell you, without question, this is it.
You thought you would feel boundless joy rush through you, a state of euphoria that made you feel tethered and floating at the same time as you kissed the person you were meant to be with for the very first time.
As your arms slid around Fred’s neck and pulled him closer, as he kissed you back, his arms looping around your waist as he began to lose himself into you, blurring the lines between where you ended and he began.
You realized—
It was everything you had ever dreamed it would be.
The Gryffindor common room was rarely this quiet.
It almost felt like you had managed to catch your foot in the rug and slip into some kind of alternate dimension. Normally, it was chaos in its purest form—laughter spilling over armchairs, someone shouting about Quidditch from across the room, first-years getting shushed for the tenth time in five minutes. But tonight, the fire crackled softly instead of roaring, and even that felt like it was trying not to disturb the peace.
You were curled up in Fred’s lap like it was the most natural place in the world, one of his arms loosely around your waist while the other lazily traced patterns against your knee. You, meanwhile, were fully invested in a crossword puzzle like your life depended on it.
“Six across,” You murmured, brow furrowed, “Ten letters. ‘An ingredient in Pepper-Up potion—’ oh, this is easy.”
Fred hummed behind you, amused, “You say that about every single clue.”
“Because I am right every single time.”
“You absolutely are not.”
You glanced up at him over your shoulder, squinting, “Are you challenging my intellectual superiority?”
He shrugged, though that infuriating smirk was still on his face, “Not at all. Oh look—twelve down. Another word for humility. Quick, how many letters in 'not (Y/N)'?”
You clicked your tongue, rolling your eyes, and moved on to the next clue, solving it just as quickly as the last one. You leaned back against him with a satisfied little grin—and Fred tightened his arm around you just enough to make you tilt into him again.
“Show-off.” He murmured.
You solved another clue, and without thinking, pressed a quick kiss to his jaw.
Fred paused.
Then, like it was nothing at all, he kissed the top of your head in return.
It became a rhythm after that—clue, answer, kiss; clue, answer, kiss—soft and absentminded, warm in a way that made the rest of the world feel very far away.
Until it didn’t.
“You two are adorable.” Came a voice behind you.
You both turned slightly.
Lavender Brown stood a few steps away, arms folded, her expression somewhere between pity and smug satisfaction. Her gaze flicked pointedly between you and Fred, lingering just a second too long on the way you were sitting together.
“It’s just…” She continued lightly, “such a shame, isn’t it?”
You blinked, “What is?”
“That you’re not actually soulmates.” Her lips curled, “It’s such a shame you’ll never know what it feels like to be in your soulmate’s arms.”
Silence settled for half a beat.
Fred’s hand stopped moving on your waist.
You slowly closed the crossword book.
Then you looked up at her properly.
“Well, I actually take a lot of pride in that,” You said, voice sweet as honey, “At least I’m not like some people who the big man in the sky clearly knew wouldn’t be able to land a partner with that face and personality… so he had to shackle some poor bloke to them just to make it work.”
Fred made a sound that suspiciously resembled a cough hiding a laugh.
Lavender’s face went red instantly, “That’s— I didn’t—”
“Mm.” You tilted your head, “Anyway, good talk.”
She opened her mouth again, clearly searching for something to salvage her dignity, but nothing came. After a second of flustered silence, she spun on her heel and walked away far faster than she’d arrived.
The moment she was gone, Fred let out a low whistle.
“Good job, sweetheart.”
“Well,” You said with a small shrug, “I am the funny one in this relationship.”
Fred hummed quietly—the sound vibrating through his chest where your back was pressed against him.
“Oh yeah?” He murmured.
There was something in his voice now—lower, slower, warmer.
“S'that so?”
Something about it—the depth of his tone, the way his words seemed to slur like they were weighing on his tongue, the way he looked at you like he was genuinely drunk on you—made your stomach drop in a way you’d never felt before.
The crossword book slipped from your lap and fell to the floor.
And then you were turning fully in his arms, grabbing the front of his jumper, and kissing him properly.
Fred made a sound of surprise that quickly melted into something far more pleased. His palm slid to your back, pulling you in, and you felt yourself go slightly hollow with it—like every thought had been knocked clean out of you. Your hands moved up to frame his jaw as he kissed you back with growing desire.
And for a moment, the rest of the world didn’t exist at all.
Ron Weasley chose that exact moment to walk into the common room like he had impeccable comedic timing and absolutely no sense of mercy.
The door swung open with a creak, letting in a burst of cold corridor air—and Ron, flanked by a couple of his friends, froze mid-step.
Ron physically recoiled.
“For God’s sake,” He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, “Can you guys stop this disgusting display of affection?"
Fred didn’t even look embarrassed. If anything, he looked mildly offended that Ron had interrupted his very important work of being glued to your lips.
You, still slightly breathless—and also slightly offended—were actually a little relieved he’d walked in. Because if you’d been allowed to carry on, you were fairly certain you’d be expelled for public indecency.
Ron gestured vaguely at the scene like it physically pained him, like he was about to wretch up his guts at the thought of one of his best friends with his brother, “It makes other people who haven’t found their soulmates feel bad.”
Your eyes flicked to Fred.
And before you could stop it, you both shared the same secret smile.
Ron hadn’t even realized what he’d implied.
Still, something warm and oddly sweet curled in your stomach anyway.
Fred noticed it too. Of course he did.
“Right,” He said lazily, looking back at Ron, “We’ll make ourselves scarce then. Wouldn’t want to traumatise poor, lonely Ronald.”
“Oi—”
But Fred was already standing, pulling you up with him in one smooth motion like it was second nature.
You barely had time to steady yourself before his hand found yours.
And just like that, he was leading you toward the staircase.
You glanced over your shoulder at Ron one last time, sending him a mischievous smile and a quick wink.
He responded with a face of pure disgust.
It made you laugh—but the sound faded as you climbed higher into the tower, Fred still holding your hand like he had no intention of letting go.
epilogue: (lowkey the og plan was to kill off freddie but i changed my mind lol)
Eventually, Mattheo Riddle became very good at pretending.
It was a skill he perfected over the years in the same quiet, miserable way people learned to live with old injuries—carefully, stubbornly, until the pain became less of a sharp wound and more of a permanent ache woven into everyday life.
At first, it had been difficult. Mattheo had always been a man of candor. When he wanted something, he took it. When he felt desire, he showed it, and more often than not the world bent willingly into his hands. When he felt anger, disgust, hatred—he made sure everyone around him felt it too.
But heartbreak?
Guilt?
Regret?
Those emotions sat strangely on him, like clothes tailored for someone else entirely.
For a long time, he found reminders of you everywhere. Every couple passing him in the street felt like a mockery of something he had ruined with his own hands.
But time had a cruel way of dulling even the sharpest pain.
Eventually, Hogwarts became memories instead of places. The castle faded into nothing more than fragments in the back of his mind. He stopped dreaming about you eventually. Or perhaps he simply stopped remembering the dreams by morning.
He learned how to fill his days well enough.
Work helped.
Noise helped.
Women helped sometimes too, though never for very long. He became frighteningly good at moving from one distraction to the next without ever lingering long enough for silence to settle around him properly.
Because silence was dangerous.
Silence was where you lived.
People stopped mentioning your name around him after a while.
That helped.
Or at least, that was what he liked to believe.
Years passed that way.
Quietly. Pathetically.
And eventually, he became good enough at pretending that even he almost believed himself.
Until one morning, long after he had stopped allowing himself to think about soulmates at all, Mattheo woke to faint silver lines stretching across the skin of his stomach.
For a long moment, he simply stared at them in the mirror.
Then, silently, he swallowed the pain.
And pretended he never noticed them.
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THE FAVOUR | steve harrington
Steve Harrigton needs a date to his cousin's wedding and unfortunately for you, you owe your sister a favour.
pairing: steve harrington x mayfield!reader words: 8.5k contains: fluff, frenemies to lovers, (sort of) fake date, mention of precious king!steve behaviour, steve’s dad being a little awful, grief, guilt, mention of death of a sibling, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader.
author's note: ah so this one was so fun to write! i have never written a wedding guest fic before and oh, i just loved it! please enjoy
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Steve Harrington could not believe his luck—or lack thereof.
The day before cousin’s wedding, Juliet had called Family Video to cancel on him and so, Steve had naturally begun to panic.
He knew how much the wedding was costing his aunt Edith—the only family member who he actually really liked—and so he knew how a last minute cancellation like this would stress her and his cousin Daisy out. Especially as he had already begged his aunt to allow him to bring Juliet with him in the first place.
He had called Robin but she was unfortunately sick with the flu. He had called his last ten dates but they were all either busy or flatly refused to go out with him again. He had even debated asking Nancy but shook the thought, she was his ex-girlfriend after all.
“Wow,” Max Mayfield grins in mild amusement as Steve rattles off the list of girls he had asked to be his emergency plus one. “You really need to find a hobby.”
Dustin—who had stumbled into Family Video over half an hour ago alongside Max to try and convince Steve into letting them rent an R rated horror for the party’s weekly movie night—laughs loudly, causing Steve to groan into his hands before resting his head against the cool countertop in defeat.
“I’ll just go alone,” Steve grumbles against his arm. “I’ll just look like a sad, sad loser going to alone to a wedding and—”
“What about Max’s sister?”
Steve can’t help it. He lets out a snort of disbelief before standing up straight.
He doesn’t miss the look of annoyance Max shoots his way.
“What’s wrong with my sister, Harrington?” She asks pointedly and Steve’s ears turn red.
Of course, there was nothing wrong with you per se. In fact, Steve had very briefly considered asking you the moment that he had gotten off the phone with Juliet. But there was just one small problem—
“Nothing!” Steve says quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. “Absolutely nothing! She just—”
“Hates his guts?” Dustin offers.
Max rolls her eyes in exasperation, folding her arms across her chest as she looks from Dustin to Steve.
“She doesn’t hate you,” Max insists. “She just—she just thinks you’re an asshole and would prefer not to be in the same room as you.”
Steve swallows. Something that felt like shame swirls in his gut. Of course, you had every reason to dislike him and Steve would be the first to put his hands up and say he probably deserved it. You two had very much gotten off on the wrong foot after you had overheard him call Billy’s family—and by extension your family—’trash’. It had been in the heat of the moment and he had only said it because Billy had been pushing his buttons all day. The moment he had realised that you were within earshoot, he had regretted saying it. But because he was stubborn and, at that point in time, cared more about what others thought of him than doing the right thing, and so he didn’t take them back. He didn’t apologise.
He later tried, after the first dance with the Upside Down together, after you had stopped Billy from almost killing him in Byers’ home with a syringe but you had scoffed and walked away like you didn’t buy it. You had made it very clear that you didn’t want to accept his apology, that you had made your mind up about him despite the fact your sister could not care less about the comment. He understood why—you were her big sister and you were protecting your family. Especially after Starcourt, especially after Billy died.
And so, Steve wasn’t exactly convinced by Max’s insistence that you didn’t hate him.
“There is no way she’ll go with me,” Steve says with a shake of his head, arms folded across his chest. “She hates—”
“—she will,” Max says with a knowing smile. “She owes me a favour.”
Steve blinks, looking from Max to Dustin and back again, as if waiting for one of them to shout ‘April Fools!’.
When neither of them does, Steve raises a brow at Max.
“What for?”
“She broke my skateboard,” Max explains. “I was gonna make her buy me a new one but making her go to a wedding with you sounds more interesting.”
Dustin laughs and the corner of Max’s mouth twitches but Steve looks thoroughly unconvinced.
“Gee, thanks Max,” Steve mutters, eyes shifting down to the pile of tapes stacked in front of him that he was meant to be rewinding. “But I really don’t think she’ll agree.”
And so, Steve spends the rest of his shift rehearsing exactly what he was going to say to his aunt when he called her to tell him he would be attending the wedding tomorrow, minus his plus one.
Five minutes before his shift was due to end, Steve was carefully rearranging the candy selection just as the bell above the door sounded. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes.
Of course—it was just his luck that a customer had decided to waltz in five minutes before his shift ended. He would put money on the fact it was a group of teenagers who would refuse to leave, teenagers who would mess up the horror display he had spent forty five minutes rearranging, teenagers who pick up the tape for Body Heat to try and convince Steve that they weren’t fourteen.
“We’re closing in—”
“—in five minutes. I know. I can read a clock, Harrington.”
Steve’s stomach turns at the sound of your voice. His head whips around so quickly it was a wonder he didn’t hurt himself. He certainly dropped all of the bars of candy that he had been holding.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” Steve asks, blinking as he watches you approach the counter with a schooled expression. “Robin has the flu if that’s what you—”
“—I’m here to see you,” you interrupt, eyes flicking down to the peanut butter bopper still clutched in Steve’s hand before you look back up at his face. “Max told me about your—your plus one situation.”
“Oh,” Steve says, the tips of his ears reddening as he looks down at all the candy bars he had dropped, the ones he had been lovingly arranging for the past ten minutes. “Yeah um, that Juliet cancelled on me. She’s cat sitting or something so can’t um, make it.”
You quirk a brow and Steve can tell by the look on your face that you want nothing more than to make a comment, to crack a joke, perhaps even tell him that he had very clearly been stood up, that there was no way Juliet had actually cancelled on him to cat sit. But you don’t, instead you seem to take a deep breath before you say. “I’ll do it.”
The bopper in Steve’s hand falls to the floor. He scrambles to pick it up before looking back ar you.
“Seriously?” He asks, his eyes wide as he tries his best not to look too hopeful. “You—you’re not—this isn’t a prank, right?”
You frown slightly. “Why would I do that?”
Steve blinks before he shakes his head because really, he knew you would never do anything like that to him.
“I—I dunno—I just—you know this is a wedding, right?” Steve asks you. “Like I’ll be in a suit and you’d wear—”
“—a dress,” you finish. “I know, Max told me. I have a dress if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Steve swallows, the bopper that was back in his grip starting to melt in his sweaty grasp. “I’m not worried about that, it's just—are you sure? Like, are you sure about coming to this wedding—with me?”
You exhale, looking away from Steve momentarily to look around the store, almost as though you were bracing yourself for something big.
“Yes, Harrington,” you say finally. “As a favour to Max, I’ll go to this wedding with you.”
Steve looks back at you for a long, long moment, as if to make sure he wasn’t dreaming or that you weren’t going to tell him you were joking. When he realises that this wasn’t a dream and you say nothing, he starts to smile.
“Thank you,” he breathes. “Thank you so much. This means a lot. My family are—yeah—this is just, it’s really great of you to—”
“—but I’m not dancing with you,” you cut in quickly, fiddling with your hands as you look away from him. “Or doing anything remotely touchy feely. I’m just your plus one. That’s it. That’s all I’ll be.”
“That’s fine!” Steve says quickly, wiping his clammy hands over his jeans before setting down the bopper onto the countertop beside him, the wrapper crumpled and the chocolate inside a little gooey. “Makes sense. Yeah. Um, totally. No dancing. Limited touching. Ju—just my plus one.”
You look at him for a beat before finally, you nod. “Good. Glad we got that covered,” you say before you lean down to pick up one of the candy bars he had dropped and tear open the wrapper.
“You know you need to pay for th—”
“See you tomorrow, Harrington,” you say, smiling before taking a large bite from the chocolate bar and walking straight out of Family Video.
“Could you sit still? Just for two minutes?”
“Is this really necessary?”
Max looked back at you blankly in the mirror before shaking her head, returning her attention to your hair, ignoring you.
You huff but you don’t question her further.
You didn’t want to admit it to yourself but as it drew nearer to ten in the morning—the time that you agreed to be ready by with Steve late last night when he had called you in a slight panic, having forgotten to tell that the wedding was over an hour away—you found that you were starting to feel nervous.
The pale green satin dress you were wearing—the one you had been saving for Max’s graduation—hugged your body in a way that you weren’t used to. Max and your mom insisted that you looked beautiful but you didn’t exactly know how to feel about that. Especially knowing you’d be spending the day and most of the evening on the arm of Steve Harrington.
“Is it too late to back out now?” You ask Max hopefully, setting down the blusher you had been applying while she was focused on your hair. “I mean—I could say I got the flu from Robin or—”
“—absolutely not,” Max snaps at you. “Just give him a chance? Alright? He’s not the asshole he was in high school.”
You hum in acknowledgement at her words but you don’t respond. You had heard that sentiment plenty of times before, you just couldn’t allow yourself to believe it.
By some miracle, you were ready just before ten o’clock. After slipping on some silver kitten heels, you stand up straight and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror next to your bed. It was hard not to smile at how pretty you felt.
“Still wanna back out?” You hear Max ask from the door of your shared bedroom, one of your mom’s nice silver purses she only used for special occasions clutched in her hands.
You look over your shoulder at Max before your eyes flicker back to your reflection, at the hair Max had lovingly styled and the makeup you had delicately applied but mostly at the dress that gave you a fluttery feeling in your stomach.
“No,” you say with a small shake of your head before you turn to look at your sister. “I made a promise so I should stick to it.”
Max looks at you before she smiles. “You look really pretty, by the way.”
Your face warms a little at the compliment but you try to hide it, walking over to Max to take your mom’s purse from her hands. “Not bad for a last minute wedding.”
The corner of Max’s mouth twitches before she walks over to you to carefully adjust one of your hair clips. “You promise to be nice to Steve? Give him a chance to prove himself?”
“Max—”
Max cuts you off with your name and you look back at her carefully. “I’m serious. I want you two to get along. You’re important to me, he’s important to me.”
You feel yourself soften, just a little. Because if something mattered to your little sister, it mattered to you too.
“Just don’t—don’t tell him I said that,” Max adds.
You fight back a smile. “I won’t.”
It was five minutes later when there was a knock at the front door. Your stomach turned nervously as Max ran to answer it.
“You look great,” your mom smiles reassuringly. You smile back—not entirely knowing why you felt so nervous. This was just Steve. Just Steve—the guy who just last week you had yelled at for breathing too loud. Just Steve—the guy you were now going to a damn wedding with.
You take a deep breath before bidding your mom goodbye and following the voices of Max and Steve out of your room.
“—is the tie the right colour?” You hear Steve ask Max, a nervous edge to his voice. “‘Pale green’ was right of vague, I had to—”
“—you don’t need to match with her dress, it’s not prom, Steve—”
“—but I thought—”
You walk into the open plan living room and suddenly, Steve stops talking.
In fact, Steve Harrington seems to stop breathing as he looks at you.
He was looking at you in a way that took your breath away for a few short seconds before you remember just how infuriating you thought he was. But for a brief moment, you allow yourself to look at Steve—really look at him—and admire just how nice he looked. He had always been good looking, even you could admit that, but right now with his wide hazel eyes, parted lips and the suit he was wearing—the tie of which almost perfectly matched your dress—he looked stupidly handsome. The kind of handsome that made your stomach tighten.
The moment the thought enters your mind, heat spreads throughout your body. You determinedly ignore it.
“You’re late,” you say by way of a hello, hoping your voice doesn’t give any indication that you felt nothing but apathy for the man in front of you. “You know it’s rude to show up after the bride?”
Steve blinks, seeming to snap out of whatever momentary trance you had sent him in so that he could frown at your words.
“It was the tie! And there was some construction near the—”
“—still. You’re late.”
Steve seems to bite his tongue with whatever retort he had ready to go, his eyes flickering over to match who Max watches the exchange, thoroughly entertained.
“Ready to go?” Steve asks you, choosing to ignore your remark as he steps towards the door.
You nod, opening your mom’s purse to check you had your lip gloss and some extra hair clips before looking back at Steve. “Yeah. Ready to—”
“—wait!” Max exclaims and you know what was coming before she even opens her mouth. “Let me just go grab the camera. I want this moment framed.”
Neither of you stop yourself from groaning loudly at that.
The drive to the wedding venue took a little over an hour and the car ride with Steve was almost completely silent, save for the radio that seemed to be the saving grace of the journey.
It dawned on you that you hadn’t ever really spent one on one time with Steve before. Sure, you two had been through a lot together when it came to the upside down, but you had never hung out, not really. But now—you face the prospect of spending the entire day together. At a wedding, no less.
One thing you quickly learned about Steve was that he hummed while listening to music. A lot. Like it was beginning to grate on you kind of a lot.
“Do you have to hum while listening to music?” You ask him in a terse voice after almost thirty minutes of biting your tongue.
You watch Steve stiffen slightly out of the corner of your eye, watch the way his knuckles tighten around his steering wheel and you register the instant ceasing of his humming.
“It’s my car,” Steve points out. “I can hum in my car if I want.”
You open your mouth to snap at him, to tell him that his humming was incredibly annoying and to tell him to stop. But then you thought of Max, you thought of your promise to her that you’d try to be nice to Steve, that you would give him a chance. You find yourself pursing your lips, carefully considering your options before you decide to let this minor annoyance slip.
Baby steps.
But when Steve pulls his Beamer into a church car park that was swarming with pastel coloured dresses, fascinators and expensive suits, it felt more like diving headfirst into cold water than tentative baby steps.
“Are you ready for this?” Steve asks you gently, sensing your apprehension as you make no move to leave the safety of his car.
You swallow nervously, soothing down your dress as you nod because suddenly, you were acutely aware of the fact that your dress cost less than thirty dollars and that your heels were scuffed, owing to the fact you had bought them secondhand from a thrift store.
“Yeah,” you lie because Hawkins was over an hour away and both you and Max had put too much effort in your appearance to turn back now. But as Steve’s hand moves to open the door, you add, “it’s just—I’m not—I’m not great with family.”
Steve’s hand stops mid-air, inches away from the door handle as he looks over at you carefully before the corners of his mouth lift into something akin to a smile. “That makes two of us,” Steve tells you. “So don’t worry. My parents hate everyone. Just don’t take it personally and you’ll be fine.”
You almost laugh. Almost.
To his credit, the moment that you finally stepped out of his car, Steve was right by your side. His hand, though tentative, rests on the small of your back as you walk towards the church, gravel crunching beneath your shoes. You were already regretting the heels.
As you walk by throngs of Steve’s relatives, he gives you a very quick run down of who’s who while you try to keep up.”
“That’s my uncle Simon,” Steve tells you, nodding to a man in a suit that looked so expensive that you briefly wondered if you were even allowed to look at it. “Been married like three times. Doesn’t seem to understand what monogamy is.”
You bit back a laugh.
“That’s my great aunt Sara—”
“—great aunt?” You repeat, looking at the women Steve had subtly pointed to who did not look old enough to even be considered a great aunt. “Are you sure she’s—”
“—she had a face lift,” Steve explains and you nod slowly. “Well, we all suspect she’s had a face lift. She’s never actually said. She just keeps saying it’s because slathers herself in honey or egg whites every morning.”
Another laugh you had to fight back.
Steve was just telling you about some falling out between his grandmother and cousin as someone calls his name. Steve stops talking mid-sentence to look over at who had called out his name and smiles.
“And this,” he murmurs to you as a woman with a kind, heart shaped face and bright smile approaches. “Is my aunt Edith. She’s a bit much but—”
“Stevie! Oh, look at you!”
You watch in fascination as Steve Harrington—the guy who had been known as King Steve, the guy who had once held a keg stand record for almost three years—turns bright red.
“Edith—”
“—what?” Edith beams at the sight of Steve, carefully adjusting his blazer and fusing over his tie. “Is it a crime now to say hello to my favourite nephew?”
Steve doesn’t respond as even the tips of his ears turn red but his aunt doesn’t tease him any further, instead her soft eyes shift over to you.
“And who is this beautiful young lady?” Edith asks, her gaze so warm and friendly that you couldn’t help but smile at her. “Steve, is this your—”
“—friend,” Steve says quickly and with a quick glance over at you. “Just a friend.”
In any other circumstances, you would have corrected Steve if he referred to you as a friend but you let it slide. Baby steps.
“And a friendship is a beautiful foundation for a relationship,” Edith says to a blushing Steve before she looks back at you. “I’m only teasing him, honey. Don’t look so worried.”
You let out a breathy laugh before shaking your head. “No, go ahead. Tease away. I didn’t know he could turn that shade of red.”
Edith laughs and despite Steve rolling his eyes, he lets out a reluctant chuckle.
“Oh, I like her already.”
The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches before he tells Edith your name and you can’t help but notice the flash of recognition in her eyes when she hears Steve reel off your last name. You can’t blame her. The surname Mayfield and the names of your family had been splashed all over the newspapers after Starcourt, Billy's death.
But Edith doesn’t say anything, which you appreciate.
“You two should probably head inside,” Edith tells you with a nod towards the church. “Or you might be in danger of being run over by the bride.”
You let Steve guide you inside, his hand still on your back as you enter the church.
“Sorry about Edith,” Steve says as you walk towards the church pews. “She’s really—”
“—she was lovely,” you tell Steve. “Really. She wasn’t too much at all.”
Steve nods but you can see the look of quiet gratitude in his eyes.
You sit down in the pews beside Steve, becoming acutely aware of his thigh pressing against yours, of the way he was tapping his finger rhythmically against his thigh as his eyes darted around the church. You knew without asking that he was looking for his parents.
“By the way,” Steve murmurs after a moment, his eyes shifting back to you. “I forgot to say earlier but you look—”
But Steve was cut off by a sudden swell of music that signalled the arrival of the bride and whatever he was about to say dies on his tongue.
As Daisy met her soon to be husband at the altar and the ceremony began, you tried your very best to remain present. But as your eyes flickered around the church, something swirled in your gut. The realisation that the last time you had been in a church—albiet, nowhere near as extravagant as this—had been at Billy’s funeral.
Despite the fact you hadn’t been very close with Billy nor had you even remotely liked your step-brother, Billy’s death had affected you more than you cared to admit. It wasn’t just because of what had happened to your family in the immediate aftermath of Billy’s death, when your step-dad had left Hawkins and took every bit of stability you had left with him. It was also the immense guilt and complicated things that you found yourself feeling that had made Billy’s death difficult to navigate, guilt that you felt for surviving Starcourt when Billy didn’t, guilt for also feeling so much resentment towards Billy when he had been alive for making your and Max’s life miserable but deep down, desperately things had been different for him.
But most of all, the thing that had been the most difficult about Billy’s death? It was seeing how it had affected Max and the crushing realisation that came the moment you had heard her scream out Billy’s name—was that, try as you might, you couldn’t protect Max from everything.
And so, as you sat beside Steve Harrington in the pews you were barely listening to Daisy and her soon to be husband Dale exchange their vows. And you even miss Steve sniffling quietly beside you.
After the ceremony—of which, you remember very little—you and Steve make the short journey to the reception which would be held at a magnificent farmhouse outside of which there was a beautiful rose garden. You would have thought it a truly breathtaking sight if you still weren’t so in your own head, still thinking about Billy, of the funeral and Max.
Though he wasn’t saying anything, Steve could tell something was wrong. The small rapport you had built before the ceremony had vanished, you didn’t even complain when he had ordered you the wrong drink by accident.
“Okay,” Steve sighs, looking at your expression carefully after pulling you to the side of the bar. “You gonna tell me what’s up? Did I do something or—”
You blink, looking at Steve as though only just seeing him properly for the first time.
“I haven’t—I haven’t been in a church since—” you stop yourself, averting your eyes in favour of watching a few of Steve’s smaller cousins running around to distract yourself from the slight burn you were feeling behind your eyes.
You miss how Steve’s eyes soften, how his expression shifts and how he half raises his hand as though he had to stop himself from reaching for you.
“Oh,” he says softly, so softly that you barely recognise his voice and you have to look at him just to be sure it was really Steve. “I didn’t—I didn’t even think. I’m sorry. I—”
“—it’s okay,” you say quickly, forcing a smile onto your face as you look back at Steve. “I’m okay. It was a really beautiful ceremony.”
Steve looks at you and there was a brief moment where you thought that he was just going to drop it. That he wasn’t going to push you to talk but he said your name in that new, soft voice and you knew you weren’t going to get away that easily.
“—I know I’m not your favourite person in the world but you know you can talk to me about—”
“—Steven! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
You watch as Steve’s face almost completely drains of colour.
“Fuck,” Steve mutters to you as your peer over his shoulder to see a couple—who were undoubtedly his parents—striding towards to two of you. “Okay. It’s just my parent’s. It’s just my—”
“—oh, you must be Steven’s girlfriend!” Steve’s mother exclaims happily as both she and his father approach. You were so taken aback by the hug she pulled you into that you don’t even try to correct her on the fact you were not Steve’s girlfriend and Steve makes no attempt to correct her. Instead, his face reddens and he shoots you an apologetic smile.
That son of a—
“He had told us you were pretty but I don’t think you’d be—”
“—mom,” Steve mutters, his face now burning as he avoids direct eye contact with you, clearly not wanting to give away the fact that you definitely were not his girlfriend. But you didn’t care about it that much anymore, not when you had just learned that Steve Harrington had told his parents that you were pretty.
Steve introduces you to both his parents and, like Edith, you see the flash of recognition across their faces at your surname but unlike Edith, Steve’s parents didn’t let your name pass without acknowledgement.
“Oh dear,” his moms says kindly, placing a gentle hand on your arm that makes your stomach churn uncomfortably. “I thought I recognised your face. Billy Hagrove was your step-brother, right?”
You don’t trust yourself to talk and nor do you look at Steve as you nod.
“We’re terribly sorry for your loss,” his father says to you solemnly, though his expression does not change in the slightest. “Awful accident.”
You smile in acknowledgement but you aren’t quite sure what to say. Thank you? Everything you knew you should say when someone offered their condolences would sound insincere. Unnatural, even. But fortunately—or unfortunately—for you, Steve’s father continues talking.
“And for his father to leave the way he did, leaving your family, a single mother to struggle and live in a trailer park of all places—it must really be awful for your family. Being amongst drug dealers and god knows what else in that park!”
You swallow. It had been awful but you didn’t think much of Danny Harrington’s tone—of the fact he sounded more sorry that your family were living in a trailer park than grieving. You still had Max and your mom—even if she had started drinking to cope—and a roof over your heads. It was all you needed.
But before you could tell Steve’s father any of this, before you could even consider politely standing up for yourself, Steve Harrington got there first.
“Dad, let’s not—let’s not go there, okay?” Steve says, placing a hand on your back as if ready to steer you away from the conversation.
Danny Harrington, for a very brief moment, looks taken aback by his son’s words but had enough sense to understand the topic of Billy Hagrove and the Mayfield family was off limits.
“Very well,” he says with a small nod and a tight lipped smile. “Enjoy the evening, both of you.”
The moment his parents leave you and Steve standing at the side of the bar, you feel immense relief.
You breathe a sigh of relief, not even noticing how tense you had felt for the past two minutes as you turn towards Steve. “That was—”
“—I’m really sorry,” Steve cuts in, his hand leaving your back in order to scrub over his face. Before you could even ask what he was sorry for, he continues. “For making them think that you’re my girlfriend. I panicked a little and didn’t know what to say—”
“—Steve, it’s—”
“—and I’m sorry for butting in like that. I know you can stand up for yourself and you didn’t need me to—you know. I just—my dad he just—I couldn’t—I couldn’t just let him talk to you like that. Like he—”
“—Harrington.”
Steve swallows, looking back at you as though he was bracing himself, ready for you to yell at him for doing something for you that you were perfectly capable of doing yourself. But to his utter surprise, you start to smile at him.
“It’s okay,” you tell him gently. “I—I appreciate it. Really. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”
Steve looks at you as if to make sure that you weren’t lying, his eyes on you making your stomach turn in a way that you weren’t used to around him.
“Okay,” Steve says with a grateful smile. “Okay. That—that’s good. I thought you were going to lose your shit at me for a second.”
“No,” you say, stopping yourself from smiling back at him. “But the girlfriend thing though, still undecided about that.”
Steve can’t help it, his face flushes a warm pink and before he knows it, he was laughing and you find yourself joining in.
Baby steps.
He says your name then and you look at him, the expression on his face as he looks at you makes the world around you feel a little fussy, makes your stomach flip and your cheeks grow hot.
“Yeah?” you reply in a voice that you hope doesn’t give away just how slightly flustered you were feeling.
“I wanted to—I forgot to say this earlier,” he begins, scratching the back of his neck as though he was nervous, despite the fact you didn’t think it at all possible for Steve Harrington to be nervous. “I think—you just—you look beautiful, Mayfield.”
You weren’t entirely sure why those words had such a monumental effect on you, but they did. Your breath hitches, your face feels ten times hotter and you were almost positive that Steve could hear your heart beating out of your chest because of those words.
“You look pretty good yourself, Steve,” you say with a small, barely there smile.
Steve blinks and then—
“You just called me Steve,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting.
You shrug, you pretend it wasn’t a big deal.
Baby steps.
It was hard not to smile watching Steve twirl not one but two of his little cousins around, especially when their laughter was full of unbridled joy as they begged him for just one more spin around the dancefloor.
You sat at the table you and Steve had been convening at for the past few hours. The table where you had sat for the reception dinner with a handful of his cousins, where you had struggled to hold back tears at the speech by the father of the bride and Steve had placed a warm, comforting hand on your arm. Your skin was still tingling from his touch.
“Please Steve!” the youngest of his cousins, maybe five or six, pouted up at him. “Just one more!”
“Later,” Steve promises with a quick glance over at you. “Later, I promise!”
You were fighting back yet another smile at their whines of protest, at Steve ruffling their hair to make them squeal before walking back over to your table.
“What are you smiling at?” He asks, sitting down in the chair beside yours before taking a long swig of his beer.
“Nothing,” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth of your cheeks. “Just—you’re really good with kids.”
Even the colourful disco lights couldn’t conceal the impressive shade of red that Steve had turned at your words.
“Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot of practice,” Steve murmurs. “Kids are much easier when there’s no Upside Down involved.”
You laugh, which over a few courses of dinner had become something of a common occurrence with Steve. He had made you laugh a lot, more than you wanted to admit. You were beginning to think that Max was right, that perhaps you had been a little too harsh on Steve over the past few years and you even started to feel bad for not giving him a chance sooner. Not that you would ever admit that.
It’s quiet between the two of you then. You watch Steve’s fingers gently drum against the beer bottle in his hands and as he glances over at the dancefloor. You can’t help but look over too, remembering that you had told him no dancing. You found yourself suddenly regretting that part of the deal.
“You want another drink?” Steve asks you, setting down his now empty bottle of beer. “I can get you another—”
“—do you want to dance?”
The words slip out before you could second guess them and you feel your stomach tighten in apprehension. If Steve said no then you would surely have to move far, far away and—
“Yes,” Steve says quietly and with a nod. “I’d love to.”
You look at him to see he was smiling at you and you hate the fact his smile makes your stomach feel a little fussy inside.
“Just keep your hands to yourself,” you tell him with a faint smile as you stand up from your chair, Steve mirroring your action only a few seconds later.
“I’ll be a gentleman,” Steve tells you with a smile that makes you wonder why you had ever disliked him in the first place. “Promise.”
The moment you and Steve were finally on the dancefloor together, the rest of the wedding faded into nothing. From Cyndi Lauper, to a-ha to Elton John, you and Steve Harrington danced until your feet began to hurt. He spun you around, he laughed when you stumbled over your heels and you laughed when a drunken uncle of his had spilled whiskey all over his blazer. Your laughter quickly died when Steve had thrown his blazer aside, leaving him in his white shirt that he had unbuttoned while loosening his tie, giving you a peak at the hair that adorned his chest. Your throat felt a little try at the sight.
“Do my eyes deceive me,” Steve begins, smiling at you as Heaven Is A Place On Earth fades into Come On Eileen, “or are you checking me out, Miss Mayfield?”
You laugh like it was funny despite the fact you definitely had been checking him out.
“No,” you deny it with a laugh that causes the corners of Steve’s mouth to twitch. “Course not, Harrington.”
“Oh? Are we back to Harrington, now?” Steve asks in a teasing voice that makes you feel so hot it feels as though your stomach was suddenly made from molten lava. “What did I do? I’ve been nothing but a gentleman to you, Mayfield.”
It took you a moment to realise that he was flirting with you and as soon as you did the heat in your gut began to burn.
“Just keeping you on your toes,” you tell him, your eyes seeming to sparkle in the light as you look back at him.
Steve hums, unable to stop the smile from spreading over his face as he looks at you. “Misson accomplished.”
There was something in his eyes that seemed to hold you captive, you couldn’t move, could barely breathe and in that second, his eyes dip down to your lips.
“Mayfield, I—”
“—Steve!”
It was the voice of his younger cousins’, the ones he had promised another dance with. You watch as he has to force himself to look away from you, his eyes flickering back for a brief moment to apologise.
“It’s okay,” you tell him with a smile, ignoring the pang of disappointment that had taken refuge in your gut. “I’ll um, I’ll go get another drink while you—”
You gesture towards his younger cousins’ who were both tugging on his arms impatiently, demanding Steve’s attention. He shoots you one last apologetic look before he bends down to pick both squealing girls up with one only arm. You couldn’t deny the way your heart doubled in size at the sight.
You make your way over to the bar, passing by his parents who you avoid eye contact with while you order yourself another glass of wine and Steve another beer. You tap your nails against the wooden top of the bar, your eyes finding Steve dancing with his younger cousins’ easily.
“He’s always been great like that with kids.”
The sound of Steve’s Aunt Edith’s voice makes you jump, very nearly spilling Steve’s beer.
“Sorry honey,” she chortles, steading the bottle as you look away from Steve and over at her.
“It’s okay,” you say with a genuine smile because unlike Steve’s parents, Aunt Edith didn’t make you feel even remotely nervous. “Just took me by surprise, that’s all.”
“Becuase you were too busy staring at my nephew?” She offers with a wry smile.
Your face warms but you don’t even try to deny it.
“You know, I’ve seen my nephew with a fair few women over the years but I don’t think I’ve ever seen any who could make him blush like you have over the course of the evening,” she tells you.
You couldn’t stop the look of shock from passing over your face, your body buzzing with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
“I’m just saying,” she continues when you say nothing, your fingers still tapping nervously against the table, “that I think, as his favourite auntie, that you’d be pretty grear together.”
You weren’t quite sure what to say and perhaps Edith knew that because she smiled at you kindly before walking away.
Edith’s words play on your mind as you continue to watch Steve and his cousins. You couldn’t lie to yourself, couldn’t deny that the evening had made you see Steve in an entirely different light. It had also made you rethink the Steve you had been so rude to over the past few years; the Steve that always dropped Max back home without a second thought, the Steve that never drove off without ensuring she was safely back inside the trailer, the Steve that had some sort of stupid handshake with Dustin Henderson, the Steve that had brought you tea and made Max lumpy tomato soup after Billy’s funeral. Something inside you twisted as you remembered that fact you had never said thank you to him for doing that.
“You’re looking awfully pensive over here, Mayfield.”
The sound of Steve’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts but his presence does nothing to the swirl of emotions you were feeling.
“Just thinking,” you say finally, turning to face him with a small smile. “Here’s another beer, by the way.”
“Thank you,” Steve grins, taking the bottle from you. Your fingers brush against his and your body feels alive with something you had never had thought you would feel around Steve. “Need it after running around with those kids, I’m too old for this shit.”
You laugh and shake your head in amused disbelief. “You’re twenty one, Steve.”
“Twenty one going on seventy.”
You can barely contain your laughter at that and soon both you and Steve were laughing. You miss the way his eyes flicker down to your lips as you laugh, the way his cheeks flush a shade or so darker when you look over at him as the beginning notes of Heaven by Bryan Adams starts to play.
“I know you just got us some drinks,” Steve begins, setting his bottle down onto the bar and gently prying your own glass of wine from your hands. “But I really want to dance with my date.”
The way he said it, the look in his eyes, it was almost too much.
“Plus one,” you correct him, biting back a smile.
“Synmatics,” he says softly, smiling at you before he holds out a hand, palm up, for you to take. “Dance with me, Mayfield.”
There was no other answer but yes.
You let Steve pull you towards the dancefloor, the fluttering in your stomach making you feel almost dizzy as he wraps his arms around your waist while your arms loop around his neck. It was the closest you had ever been to Steve and all you could think about was how incredible he smelled, how you wanted to trace each and every mole that kissed his skin, how truly gorgeous he looked and how alive you suddenly felt in his presence.
“Ever thought that you’d be slow dancing with me?” He asks with a smile that very nearly takes your breath away.
“Not even in my wildest dreams,” you tell him, trying to cover up the fact your heart was beating so loud you were beginning to suspect it was trying to escape from its home in your chest. “But—I think today may have helped me change my mind about you.”
“Yeah?” He asks with a hopeful smile. “Or maybe you just finally realised how irresistible I am?”
You laugh and Steve smiles so hard that you were surprised that it didn’t hurt.
“Something like that.”
You and Steve didn’t leave the dancefloor for a long time after that. Even when the song changed to something more upbeat, you didn’t leave Steve’s arms. You slow danced to Madonna, Bruce Springsteen and Prince as guests left the wedding in their droves—the bride and groom sneaking away hours ago.
“You wanna head back?” Steve murmurs against your hair as you sway to Fleetwood Mac, the dancefloor around you significantly less busy as you pull back to look at him.
“Not really,” you admit quietly, trying to ignore how one of his large hands was resting on your lower back, how his touch had set your skin aflame. “But I think we’re about five minutes away from being kicked off the dancefloor.”
Steve chuckles, looking away from you for a moment to glance at the last few stranglers remaining with you two on the dancefloor. They were all incredibly drunk and you can see the amusement in Steve’s eyes as he looks back at you.
“C’mon,” he murmurs before he pulls himself away from you, though his hand remains on your back. “Let’s go for a walk.”
You follow him without hesitation, walking out of the farmhouse with Steve’s hand still on your back and your heart nearly beating out of your chest.
“I really thought you weren’t going to say yes, by the way,” Steve tells you as you walk over the path, between the red and yellow roses that were illuminated by the glittering lights strung up ahead. “To be my plus one, I mean.”
“I owed Max a favour,” you tell him. “Broke her skateboard. By accident.”
“She mentioned that,” Steve smiles fondly. “I think she thought going to a wedding with me was more tortuous for you.”
You shake your head as you stop in front of the soft pink roses to face him. “Twenty four hours ago, I might have agreed with her but, tonight—I have to admit, it’s been pretty good.”
“Just good?” Steve asks, head tilting to the side as he looks back at you with a smile.
“No, much better than pretty good,” you say. “Maybe something closer to…pretty incredible.”
“What? Me or the wedding?” Steve asks with a hopeful look back at you.
“Undecided,” you tell with a whisper of a smile.
Silence falls as you continue through the rose garden, the colourful flowers catching your eye as you pass by. But Steve’s eyes remain on you, thought you don’t see it—on the dress that he was sure to dream about, of just how fucking beautiful you looked and how glad he was that you had broken Max’s skateboard.
“For the record, I’m really glad you said yes,” Steve tells you, the hand on your back dipping lower for just a moment and making your insides turn to goo.
“Me too,” you admit. “I um—it made me realise how silly I was—for um, not giving you a chance before. And for you know, not being all that friendly with you.”
Steve says your name and you know by the look on his face that he wanted to tell you that it was okay, that it didn’t matter but you continued talking before he could do so.
“I think I’ve realised that Max may have been right when she said you really were a good guy. I just—I’m her big sister, you know? And—I get my back up a little when people talk bad about my family and I just—I struggled to let go of what you said.”
“Because it was cruel what I said,” Steve begins, slowing down until he stops walking completely, his hand on your back making you do that same. “It was cruel and stupid and I’m sorry. Like, really fucking sorry.”
“I know and—”
“—and if after this you want us to go back to normal then I totally understand and—”
“—Steve!”
“Yeah?”
You smile, shake your head and say, “I don’t want to go back to ‘normal’ after this.”
“Then what do you want?” He asks, hazel eyes twinkling beneath the lights.
You tilt your head to the side, considering him before you say, “another dance?”
Despite the fact there was no music, despite the fact you were in the middle of a rose garden and it was fast approaching midnight, Steve does not deny your request. Instead, he pulls you into his arms like he had on the dancefloor, his body so close to yours that there was barely an inch of space between you and you were very aware of his hand resting on your lower back.
“Did I tell you how beautiful you look?” Steve asks in a voice so soft and gentle that you had to lean in to hear him.
“You did,” you whisper back with a barely contained smile.
“Well, I wanna tell you again. You look fucking beautiful, Mayfield. The moment I saw you I thought—fuck, this wedding is gonna be torture.”
Your face warms and you laugh, leaning into Steve so you could feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest.
“Because I’m annoying?” You offer with a teasing smile.
“No,” Steve says quietly, one of his hands reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear carefully. “Because I’ve been wanting to kiss you all day, Mayfield. That’s why.”
Everything seems to slow around you. Time, the roses gently dancing in the wind beside you. You can barely believe the words coming out of Steve’s mouth but the way he was looking at you told you that this wasn’t a dream—that Steve Harrington had really admitted to wanting to kiss you.
And it was crazy because twenty four hours ago, you were tossing and turning in your sleep over the idea of today, of the prospect of spending an entire day with Steve at a wedding. And now, you were desperate to feel his lips against yours.
“Then kiss me, before I change my mind.”
Steve blinks, as if to make sure that he had heard you correctly before he pulls you even closer with one arm around your waist. The proximity to Steve makes you feel almost lightheaded, his woodsy, vanillary scent filling your lungs and the hand now cupping your cheek making your body thrum with need.
“As you wish,” he murmurs before he leans in and presses his lips against yours. That first brush of his lips against yours was so inviting, so intoxicating that you felt almost every nerve in your body come alive from the feeling. His mouth was warm, his lips soft and he was kissing like there was nowhere else he would rather be than right here in the rose garden with you.
You kiss him back with no hesitation, warmth seeping through your veins as he gently tilts your head back, coaxing your lips apart with his tongue and making you forget how to breathe. You could have kissed him all night, until the early hours of the morning if you could. Especially when his tongue brushed against yours, making you whine against his lips and tug him even closer.
“Fuck,” Steve murmurs against your lips, your mouths moving together in an almost desperate sort of way as your fingers curl into his shirt. “You’re gonna ruin me, Mayfield.”
You don’t know how long you stayed there, making out with Steve Harrington in the rose garden but all you knew as you finally pulled away from each other was that your lips were bee stung and his were wet and covered in your lip gloss. He had never looked so good.
“So much for keeping my hands to myself,” Steve grins as he reaches up to swipe his thumb across your swollen bottom lip. You roll your eyes and can’t help yourself—you pull him into another kiss that makes him groan against your mouth. The sound makes you feel incredibly glad that you had broken your sister’s skateboard.
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Untouchable
summary: what begins as a quiet night caring for Dex’s aching body turns into your relationship crossing a line neither of you want to come back from.
who: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter/Bullseye x Female!Murdock Reader
word count: 2.7K
warnings: soulmate au, fluff, mentions of injuries, mentions of smut. If I have missed any please let me know!
divider by: @uzmacchiato
a/n: So I think I have fixed the glitch masterlist link but if not please let me know! Part 6 of this series! Like before feedback is welcome!
Glitch Series Masterlist
Next Chapter: The Other Side Of The Door
Previous Chapter: Sparks Fly
“It’s like a million little stars spelling out your name…“ — Untouchable by Taylor Swift
By the time you arrived at Dex’s apartment, your entire body ached.
The back-alley clinic had been chaos from the moment you clocked in. Knife wounds, broken ribs, a concussion, and two gunshots, and because half the people who stumbled through those doors couldn’t go to a real hospital, you’d spent nearly twelve straight hours healing until your powers left your limbs heavy and your head fuzzy.
Honestly, you should’ve just gone straight home and slept.
Instead, you were standing outside Dex’s apartment carrying takeout and wearing one of his hoodies that smelled just like him, which you loved.
You unlocked the door with the spare key he’d given you two weeks ago and stepped inside quietly, the apartment was dim except for the glow of the television.
Dex glanced up from the couch the second you entered, and your heart fluttered. It was something that happened every single time he looked at you now.
“You’re late,” he said quietly, though there was no irritation in it.
“You say that like I wasn’t wrist-deep in someone’s abdominal wound an hour ago.” You said closing the door.
Dex stood immediately, taking the takeout bag from your hands before you could protest.
“You should be resting.” He said, kissing your forehead.
“And yet here I am.”
His eyes swept over your face carefully. “You’re exhausted.”
“Eh, I can sleep when I’m dead.”
“That’s not funny.” He said sternly.
Your chest warmed slightly, it still affected you how protective he was.
You kicked off your shoes near the door before making your way toward the sofa. The oversized hoodie slid further down one shoulder as you collapsed dramatically against the cushions.
Dex’s eyes immediately flicked toward the exposed skin, and your stomach tingled faintly beneath his attention.
“You stole another hoodie,” he observed.
“You gave me the key. That means what’s yours is now mine.” You teased.
A quiet huff of amusement escaped him as he sat beside you, close enough that his thigh pressed warmly against yours, and you melted into his side automatically as Dex handed you your drink before reaching for the remote.
“You already started the movie without me?” You playfully whined after taking a sip of your drink.
“You were forty-three minutes late.” He said, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.
“You timed it?”
“Yes.”
You laughed softly as you placed your drink on the table.
A month ago you couldn’t imagine laughing this easily around him, now you two barely spend an evening without talking.
Whether it was quick lunches between your jobs, or movie nights that led to one of you staying over, or long phone calls where you fell asleep listening to his breathing over the phone because neither of you wanted to hang up first.
And somewhere along the way, being around Dex had stopped feeling impossible and started feeling like something you never wanted to end.
Dex reached into the takeout bag and immediately handed you the container of battered chicken balls.
You paused. “I didn’t tell you what I ordered.”
“You always get chicken balls.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
“It isn’t.”
Dex looked at you. “…It is.”
“Ugh, fine.” You rolled your eyes before eating one.
A quiet smile tugged at Dex’s mouth as he adjusted the blanket over your legs.
The movement made you pause. “You do that every time.”
“What?”
“The blanket thing.”
“You get cold.” He stated.
“You sound ninety.” You teased him.
“Says the girl who wore three layers in September.” He teased back.
“It was windy.” You defended yourself.
“It was sixty-eight degrees.”
You gasped dramatically. “I can’t believe you’re attacking me in my own relationship.”
A loud laugh escaped him.
You immediately pointed at him. “Ha! I win!”
Dex blinked. “What?”
“You laughed.”
His expression flattened instantly. "I didn't."
“Oh my God.” You grinned and immediately reached for your phone.
Dex narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Making a note.” You smiled.
“No.” Dex said, trying to hide his smile.
“Dear Diary.” You spoke aloud whilst typing.
“No.”
“Today Dex laughed at my joke.”
“No.” He said despite smiling wide.
“Witnessed by me and eleven and a half battered chicken balls.”
Before you could continue, Dex leaned over and stole your phone from your hand as you laughed so hard you nearly spilled your food.
“Stop, thief.”
“You started it.”
“I was documenting a rare event.”
“It’s not rare with you, baby.”
You froze before your smile widened slowly. “You laugh around me now?”
A flicker of something warm crossed his face before he looked back at the television, and your chest tightened pleasantly.
God, you loved the simplicity of this, the normalcy of just sitting together without worrying about anything else.
At some point you ended up half-sprawled across him. Not intentionally at first, one minute you were sitting beside him, and the next your legs were draped across his lap while Dex absentmindedly traced circles against your calves.
The movie continued playing, but you weren’t paying much attention anymore and were mostly watching Dex pretend he wasn’t invested in the plot.
“He’s the killer.” He stated, pointing at a character you’ve already forgotten the name of.
“He isn’t.” You replied despite having no idea what’s happening.
“He absolutely is.”
“He isn’t.”
“You sound very confident.” He smirks at you while gently squeezing your calf.
“Because I’m right.” You said while tapping his stomach with your foot.
Twenty minutes later, the character was revealed to not be the killer as you looked at him triumphantly, and Dex stared at the television.
“I hate this movie.” He sighed.
A laugh burst out of you. “No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“You’ve been paying attention the whole time.”
Silence.
“That’s not the point.”
Your grin widened until Dex shifted beneath you for the third time and you noticed something was wrong.
Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you in pain?”
“I’m fine.” He shrugged before subtly wincing.
“You just moved like an eighty-year-old man.” You said pulling your legs from his lap and ignoring his hands that were trying to pull you back.
Dex gave you a flat look as you leaned closer immediately, your hand sliding instinctively across his back.
“You’re hurting,” you murmured softly.
“It’s nothing.”
“You’re terrible at lying to me.” You said, kissing his cheek.
His jaw tightened slightly despite leaning into your kiss but as your fingers brushed his spine, Dex tensed sharply.
Your eyebrows lifted. “Dex.”
“It’ll pass.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose before finally muttering, “My back hurts.”
You stared at him gently while running your other hand through his hair. “Alright, baby. Take your shirt off.”
Dex blinked once. “…What?”
“You heard me.”
His eyes darkened instantly as warmth crawled into your face.
“Not like that,” you mumbled. “I’m offering to help.”
“You worked all day.”
“I know.”
“You’re drained.”
“And your back still hurts.”
Dex watched you quietly for a moment as something soft flickered behind his eyes.
“You always do this.”
You frowned slightly. “Do what?”
“Take care of me.” His voice was quieter now.
You paused.
“You’re my soulmate.” You say kissing him. “It’s my job.”
“No.” His hand found yours, fingers intertwining. “It’s just who you are.”
You fell quiet as you looked down at your intertwined fingers, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.
“You do it too.” You whisper as your thumb stroked his knuckles.
Dex’s gaze lifted. “What?”
“You take care of me.”
His eyebrows immediately rose. “Oh, do I?”
“You do.” You smile at his teasing.
“I don’t think so.”
“You bought me food because I forgot to eat.” You say, pulling your hands away and wrapping your arms around his neck.
“You forgot three meals.” He states kissing your arm.
“You reorganised my medicine cabinet.”
“It was chaos in there.”
“You walked across Manhattan because I said I had a bad day.”
Dex paused before looking away, which immediately told you everything. "You needed me."
Your chest warmed. “See?”
His thumb brushed softly across your hand. “Fine, you win.”
You smiled as he sighed jokingly.
The teasing in his voice only made the warmth spread further through your chest.
Because despite how obsessive and possessive Dex could get over you, he loved taking care of you. His gaze lingered on you another second before he finally reached for the hem of his shirt.
Your heartbeat immediately betrayed you, which was annoying because you’d seen him shirtless before several times, and yet it still affected you every single time.
Dex pulled the fabric over his head before tossing it aside as your eyes dropped instinctively to the muscles of his back before focusing on the visible tension running through his shoulders.
“You look tense,” you said honestly, running your fingers over his spinal scar.
“That’s an accurate sentence.”
A quiet snort escaped him before he shifted forward slightly on the couch as you moved behind him carefully, your knees pressing into the cushions as your hands settled gently against his shoulders.
The second your palms touched his skin, Dex’s entire body went still beneath your hands as you swallowed softly before letting your healing powers slowly warm your palms.
A quiet breath escaped Dex immediately.
“There you go,” you murmured softly. “That’s the reaction I was wanting.”
His head dipped slightly forward as your fingers worked carefully against the tight muscles near his shoulders. The room slowly relaxed as the noise of the TV hummed quietly in the background, and Dex’s breathing gradually slowed beneath your hands.
You could feel the tension melting out of him little by little, and a soft smile grew on your face because Dex relaxed so rarely.
But the more comfortable he became beneath your touch, the more his shoulders loosened, his jaw unclenching, his breathing deepening, and the softer he got.
Until eventually he looked peaceful.
Your chest tightened pleasantly at his relaxed expression.
“You’re falling asleep,” you whispered softly.
“No, I’m not.” He mumbled back.
“You literally sound half dead.”
“I’m relaxed.”
The quiet honesty in his voice made warmth spread through you. Your fingers moved carefully lower across his back, easing the lingering pain there as the healing warmth spread beneath your palms.
Dex let out another low breath.
“You feel good.” He whispered.
Heat rushed instantly into your face. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m honest.”
“That’s arguably worse.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth, and you stared at it for a second too long.
God, you really liked him.
The realisation no longer felt sharp anymore, now it felt warm, steady, and safe. Your hands slowed slightly against his skin, and Dex noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
His hand reached back carefully, fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. The touch sent warmth spiraling up your arm instantly.
Your breath caught softly as Dex slowly turned enough to look back at you, and the air changed into something heavy and wanting. His eyes moved slowly over your face before settling on your mouth, and your heartbeat stumbled hard enough to hurt.
“Tell me to stop,” he said quietly.
The vulnerability in those words shattered something inside your chest as your fingers slowly slid to his jaw.
Then you leaned forward and kissed him softly at first, his warm lips against yours. Almost hesitant before Dex made a quiet sound against your mouth that made you tingle with want.
His hand tightened gently around your wrist before sliding carefully up your arm like he was afraid to hold you too tightly, and you kissed him again before he could overthink it. Deeper this time, more certain with what you wanted.
Dex turned fully toward you after that, one hand cupping your face carefully as though he’d been wanting to do this for weeks.
Maybe he had, and maybe you had to.
The soulmate bond burned warmly beneath your skin as your fingers slid into his hair, and Dex’s kiss turned more intense, as if he was overwhelmed by you.
When you finally pulled back slightly for air, his forehead dropped against yours, his breathing hard and his eyes shut.
“You’re shaking,” you whispered softly.
Dex let out a weak laugh. “You kissed me first.”
“And? I have done it before.”
“Baby, you have no idea what that does to me.”
Warmth spread low in your stomach.
Your fingers brushed gently across his cheek before you kissed his cheek softly. The second your lips touched his skin, Dex inhaled sharply, like the tenderness itself affected him more than anything else.
His hands slid carefully to your waist, gripping possessively but still giving you room to move away if you wanted. Instead you kissed him again before he could speak, and this time Dex responded immediately.
Needier now and less restrained, like he was finally allowing himself to want you more openly than before.
Your hands slid down his chest slowly as he pulled you into his lap with startling gentleness for someone capable of so much violence. The contrast made your heartbeat stutter because with you he was always gentle. Always.
The kiss deepened slowly until your entire body felt warm with it.
His hands traced carefully along your waist beneath the oversized hoodie, almost reverent in the way he touched you as if he still couldn’t fully believe you were real and were his.
You could feel how hard he was trying not to rush, how carefully controlled every movement of his remained.
“You okay?” he murmured softly against your mouth.
The concern and neediness in his voice made your chest warm.
You nodded immediately. “Yes.”
Dex searched your face for another second before kissing you again, like your answer meant everything to him.
Clothes disappeared slowly after that, with the moment not being rushed or feeling frantic.
Just shared breaths, wandering hands, and soft kisses that blurred together until you barely remembered where one touch ended and another began.
And through all of it, Dex never stopped looking at you like you were everything that he ever wanted, touching you like you were something sacred, kissing you like you would vanish, and loving you like it was the last thing he would do.
Whether it was kissing your scar, touching your skin, feeling your heartbeat. All of it felt intentional and worshipful. And when your fingers brushed the soulmate mark on his skin, Dex shuddered beneath your hands.
“Careful,” he whispered hoarsely into the kiss, his thrusts faltering for a moment.
You smiled softly against his mouth. “Sensitive?”
“For you? Always.” He replies, kissing you deeper.
And the honesty in his voice was what made you finish for the second time that night.
The apartment settled into a soft quiet as the New York rain tapped gently against the windows. The television had long since become background noise with neither of you paying it attention.
You lay curled against Dex’s chest beneath the blankets, comfortable at his side, while his fingers traced lazy patterns against your bare arm.
Neither of you had spoken for several minutes, but the silence wasn’t awkward or regretful, it was just peaceful. The kind that only existed when you felt completely comfortable with someone.
Your eyes drifted half shut as his hand moved from you arm and slowly through your hair.
“Tired?” he murmured quietly.
“Mhm.”
“You overworked yourself again.” He said, kissing the side of your head.
“And you got blood on my sofa again last week.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“You bled on the expensive cushion.”
A quiet laugh rumbled beneath your cheek, and you smiled sleepily against his chest before tilting your head up slightly.
Dex looked down at you immediately.
Your fingers brushed lightly against his jaw before you leaned up enough to press another soft kiss against his lips, and his eyes fluttered shut. And there it was again, that softness, that peace you had been wanting for years.
You settled back against him slowly as warmth spread through your chest because somewhere in the past month this had become real.
Not a fantasy, not a twist of your already intertwined fate, but real.
And lying there tangled together in the quiet warmth of his apartment, you realised you trusted him enough to give him every vulnerable piece of yourself, and he trusted you in the same way.
Now something that scared you instead felt a little like home.
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PREVIOUS | NEXT CHAPTER
Sparks Fly
summary: a surprisingly soft first date with Dex makes it impossible to keep pretending you don’t want him.
who: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter/Bullseye x Female!Murdock Reader
word count: 2.9k (sorry not sorry)
warnings: soulmate au, fluff, mentions of stalking. If I have missed any please let me know!
divider by: @uzmacchiato
a/n: Part 5 of this series! Like before feedback is welcome!
Glitch Series Masterlist
Next Chapter: Untouchable
Previous Chapter: Guilty as Sin?
“You’re the kinda reckless that should send me running…“ — Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift
You had changed outfits eight times before finally deciding you were being ridiculous.
It was a date.
It wasn’t a surgery, or a court hearing, or a life-or-death situation.
Just a date. A date with Dex.
That has somehow caused your entire bedroom looked like a bomb filled with clothes had exploded.
You stood in front of your mirror adjusting the lace-up straps of your floral-patterned sundress for what had to be the tenth time before sighing softly at yourself.
Karen would never let you live this down if she could see the nervous state of you now.
Your fingers brushed absentmindedly over the soulmate mark resting on your collarbone. The skin there felt warm today. Not burning, not aching, just warm like it was reacting to your nerves and excitement.
Sighing softly, you stepped away from the bedroom mirror and grabbed your bag just as a knock sounded at your apartment door.
Your heartbeat stumbled immediately.
Early. Of course he was early.
A small smile tugged at your mouth before you could stop it. Crossing the apartment, you opened the door to find Dex standing there holding a small terracotta pot carefully in one hand.
For a moment neither of you spoke, and annoyingly your breath caught slightly at the sight of him because he looked good wearing a black shirt, dark jacket, and his hair neater than usual. Like he’d actually spent time getting ready.
Stupidly good, you thought to yourself.
But then the realisation that Dex had dressed up for you made warmth spread low in your chest and stomach.
His eyes moved slowly over you before settling on your face. His expression softened instantly. “You look pretty.”
Heat flushed your cheeks as the honesty in his voice hit harder than any flirting would’ve.
“Thank you,” you said softly before glancing at the plant in his hands. “What’s that?”
Dex immediately held it out toward you. “Lemon balm.”
Your eyebrows lifted slightly as you carefully took the pot from him.
“Lemon balm? Most people give roses.”
“You use it constantly, and you don’t like roses.”
Of course he noticed that. Your fingers brushed gently against the soft green leaves as warmth spread through your chest.
“It helps with anxiety and sleep,” he continued quietly. “And headaches.”
You looked back up at him slowly. “Nobody remembers the things I use at the apothecary.”
Dex’s expression barely changed. “I do.”
God, that shouldn’t affect you as much as it did.
Stepping aside, you let him into the apartment while trying very hard to ignore how warm your face suddenly felt.
“You’re early,” you said, setting the plant carefully beside the window.
“I know.”
“You know most people usually pretend not to be eager.”
“I wasn’t pretending.”
You laughed softly before you could stop yourself.
Dex immediately looked at you, focusing like your laugh was a bottle of liquid gold. It did strange things to your heartbeat.
“You’re staring again,” you muttered, grabbing your cardigan.
“I like looking at you.”
“You say things like that very casually.”
“They’re true.”
You shook your head softly despite smiling as you walked toward the door.
“Come on before I decide not to go.”
Dex opened the door for you immediately. “You won’t.”
The confidence in his voice should’ve annoyed you, but instead it made your chest warm. Because for the first time in months, you didn’t want to run from this, from him.
⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄
The park he took you to was beautiful.
Quiet enough that the city noise faded into a distant hum, trees swaying gently in the warm afternoon breeze as sunlight filtered through the leaves.
You stared at the picnic setup in front of you before slowly looking at Dex.
“…You brought an actual blanket.”
“Yes.”
“And three containers of food.”
“Yes.”
“And backup utensils.”
“Yes.”
You blinked at him. “Dex.”
“What?” The way he tilted his head was awfully like a lost puppy.
A laugh escaped you. “A backup fork?”
“You dropped yours once at the diner and refused to use it afterwards.”
Your chest warmed again because, of course, he knew that too.
Dex watched your face carefully. “You think it’s excessive.”
“I think it’s a little adorable.” The word slipped out accidentally.
Dex froze, actually froze, before a Cheshire-like smile spread across his face. You felt heat immediately crawl into your cheeks.
“Well,” you muttered, sitting down quickly on the blanket. “Now I regret saying that.”
Dex slowly sat beside you. “You called me adorable.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“You think I’m adorable.”
“Oh my God.”
The quiet amusement in his voice made you laugh again, and something in Dex’s expression softened so quickly at the sound that your heart nearly betrayed you entirely.
Oh, it’s scary how easy this feels, you thought to yourself, how easy he feels despite how dangerous he is.
You pushed the thought away as Dex opened one of the containers, and your eyes widened slightly.
“You got food from Pop’s Corner Deli?”
“You like their sandwiches.”
“You noticed that?”
“You buy lunch there every Thursday.”
You stared at him.
Dex paused slightly. “…Was that strange?”
“No,” you said honestly. “Just very…observant.”
“I observe you a lot.”
The blunt honesty nearly made you choke on your drink, and Dex immediately handed you a napkin.
“You okay?” He asked, rubbing your back.
You snorted softly.
“You cannot say things like that so casually.”
“They’re true.”
There it was again, that impossible honesty that made your heart flutter. Honesty that wasn’t fake or a game. It was honesty that was just Dex, and it was becoming your favorite version of him.
That realisation settled quite nicely inside your chest.
The two of you spent the next hour talking more easily than you expected as Dex asked questions constantly, and not the shallow ones people ask when they’re just being polite, but real ones.
“What was your favorite book as a kid?”
“The original Fear Street series by R. L. Stine.”
“What made you start working at the clinic?”
“Extra money. I was a poor mid-twenties girl.”
“Do you like healing people?”
“Yes, but it’s tiring sometimes.”
“Do you ever wish you’d left New York?”
“Yes, I have always wanted to travel.”
“What makes you happiest?”
“Plants and chocolate-covered strawberries.”
Nobody had ever asked you questions like they actually wanted to know the answers before, yet Dex listened to each one like it mattered. Like you mattered.
“You ask a lot of questions,” you said eventually, leaning back on your hands as the breeze lifted strands of your hair.
Dex looked completely unashamed. “I like hearing you talk.”
Your stomach fluttered annoyingly at how straightforward he always was.
“Well,” you said carefully, “then it’s your turn.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
“What? You think you can interrogate me for an entire afternoon without answering questions yourself?” You smiled.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Interrogate?”
“You literally asked me what my favourite childhood book was.”
“That’s important information.”
You laughed softly. “Okay then, Poindexter. Favourite movie.”
He answered immediately. “The Empire Strikes Back.”
You blinked. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“You like Star Wars?”
“You sound surprised.”
“You don’t exactly give off sci-fi fan energy.”
“What energy do I give off?”
You opened your mouth, paused, then grinned. “Serial killer documentaries.”
Dex snorted quietly into his drink.
Actually snorted.
You stared at him in mild shock. “Was that a laugh?”
“No.”
“That was definitely a laugh.”
“It wasn’t.”
“You just made a noise.”
Dex looked deeply offended. “I make noises all the time.”
“That sounded worse than what I meant.” You laughed.
His eyes flickered with amusement as more laughter escaped before you could stop it.
God, it was dangerous how easy he was becoming.
“How about you?” he asked after a moment. “Favourite movie.”
You hummed thoughtfully. “I’m not sure.”
Dex tilted his head slightly. “Why?”
“I’m more of a TV series girl instead of a movie girl.”
“Really?”
“I mean, I’ll watch a movie if it interests me, but I like shows more.” You move from leaning back on your hands to your elbows.
“Well, then, what’s your favourite TV show?”
“Supernatural.”
“Why?” Dex asks, passing you another sandwich.
“Because it’s about two cool brothers hunting monsters like demons and vampires.” You say while taking a bite from the sandwich.
“You like that?”
“Yes.”
“I can tell.”
You kicked his foot lightly on the blanket.
Dex looked down at where your shoe touched his before glancing back up at you with something unbearably soft in his expression. Like even that smallest touch meant something to him.
Maybe it did.
“You know,” you said after a moment, “you’re much calmer than I expected.”
His expression shifted slightly at that. “Disappointed?”
“No.” Your answer came instantly. “Just surprised.”
Dex looked away briefly toward the trees swaying overhead. “You make it quiet.”
Your heartbeat stumbled softly. “What does that mean?”
“When I’m around other people…” He paused carefully, like he was trying to explain something he normally kept locked away. “Everything feels loud and irritating. But with you it doesn’t.”
The honesty in his voice settled warmly deep inside your chest.
You looked down at your hands for a moment before quietly asking, “Is that why you keep finding me?”
“Yes, and because you’re mine.”
Another honest, certain answer that no longer made panic claw up your throat. Instead it made warmth spread through you slowly.
A comfortable silence settled afterward as the two of you kept eating, sunlight warming your skin while distant laughter drifted through the park.
Then your eyes narrowed slightly as you watched Dex effortlessly toss a grape upward before catching it in his mouth without even looking.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Dex glanced at you innocently. “What?”
“That sharpshooter nonsense doesn’t count.” You say, pointing at him.
“It was a grape.”
“You’re showing off.”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
“That makes it worse.”
A smug look of satisfaction flickered briefly across his face before he picked up another grape and held it out toward you.
“Try.”
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously before taking it. “I’m going to regret this.”
“Probably.” He smirked.
You tossed the grape upward, tracking it carefully with your eyes, only for it to bounce directly off your forehead.
Dex stared at you for half a second before laughing quietly into his hand.
Actually laughing.
Your jaw dropped. “You’re laughing at me.”
“You hit yourself.”
“You distracted me!”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You have distracting energy.”
That only made him laugh harder and louder this time, and the sound made your heart race in your chest as a wonderfully warm feeling spread across your body.
And suddenly all you could think was, Oh, I’m in trouble, as you found yourself relaxing without realising it. Laughing easier, talking more, teasing him.
“You definitely practiced this date.” You said popping a grape in your mouth.
Dex looked offended with another sandwich raised halfway towards his mouth.
“I did not practice.”
“You absolutely practiced.”
“I planned.”
“You researched parks, didn’t you?”
“…Maybe.”
You laughed again.
“I knew it.”
“It’s a quiet area,” he defended immediately. “Minimal noise, minimal people, fewer interruptions.”
“You sound like you’re planning a kidnapping or something.” You teased.
“I wanted it to go well.”
The quiet sincerity in his voice made your stomach flutter softly because suddenly you could see it so clearly. The careful planning, the attentiveness, the nervousness hidden beneath every decision.
This mattered to him. A lot. But it also mattered a lot to you too.
The buzzing of a bumblebee flying near the picnic blanket is what broke your thoughts as you instinctively leaned back slightly so you wouldn’t accidentally hurt it.
Dex noticed immediately, and without a word he carefully cupped his hands around it before standing and walking several feet away before letting it go near the flowers.
When he returned, you stared at him quietly with your chest twisting pleasantly.
“What?” He asked.
“You moved the bee.”
“You didn’t want it hurt.” The simplicity of his answer made your heartbeat stumble hard enough to nicely ache.
Because nobody besides Matt noticed things like that. They didn’t pay attention to tiny reactions from you, but Dex always did.
Always.
“You’re staring now,” he said quietly.
You smiled before reaching over and fixing the collar of his shirt slightly where it had folded inward. Dex immediately went still beneath your touch, his eyes now fixed on your face.
Your fingers lingered against his collar for a second too long, but neither of you moved away as the air between you shifted softly into something warmer. More intimate.
Your hand slowly slid from his collar down his arm before resting lightly over his hand on the blanket. Dex inhaled sharply enough that you noticed before his fingers immediately intertwined carefully with yours. Like he’d wanted to do it for hours.
And honestly? So had you.
The soulmate bond tingled warmly beneath your skin. But for once it wasn’t the thing overwhelming you.
It was him.
The way he looked at you, the way he listened, the way he noticed everything about you, and the way he touched you like you were something precious.
“You’re quiet,” Dex murmured softly.
You looked down at your joined hands.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
You glanced back up at him slowly. “This is nice.”
Something almost unbearably soft and relaxed crossed his face.
“Yes,” he agreed quietly. “It is.”
And God, you liked this, liked him. Not just the bond, not just the attention.
Him.
The realisation settled strangely peacefully inside your chest. There was no panic, no guilt. Just truth.
Hours slipped by far too quickly after that.
You walked through quieter trails together afterwards, shoulders brushing as the sun slowly dipped lower across the city skyline. At some point your shoulder started aching faintly from the colder evenings and overworking yourself at the clinic earlier that week.
You hadn’t even realised you were rubbing it until Dex’s hand gently caught your wrist.
“Come here.”
Before you could ask what he meant, he stepped behind you and rested his hands carefully against your shoulders. Warmth spread slowly through the aching muscle as he gently massaged it.
Your eyes fluttered shut immediately. “Oh.”
“Tense?” he asked quietly.
“Very.”
His thumbs worked carefully against the knot of pain near your scar. Not pressing too hard, not rushing, just steady but gentle circular motions.
“You take care of everyone else,” he murmured softly behind you. “Someone should take care of you too.”
Your chest tightened painfully because maybe that was the problem. Ever since your dad died all those years ago, it had only been you and Matt, but it had been years since you two had gotten separate apartments.
You leaned back slightly into his warmth before realising what you were doing, and Dex immediately stilled before slowly wrapping his arms around your shoulders, testing to see if you would push him away or not.
His breath caught quietly behind you as you slowly relaxed against him fully, but neither of you spoke for a moment. The parks noise drifted softly around you as the sun painted everything a soft gold.
His arms felt safe…and warm…and peaceful.
You hadn’t realised how badly you needed something peaceful until now. Eventually Dex’s hands slid carefully down your arms before he stepped beside you again.
His fingers brushed yours once. Twice. Then paused before you reached for his hand first.
Dex looked at you immediately, something vulnerable flickering through his eyes before softening into your affection.
And for the first time, you didn’t look away from it. From him.
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By the time Dex walked you back to your apartment building, the sky had darkened into soft blues and blacks.
Neither of you seemed particularly eager for the night to end as you stood awkwardly near the entrance for a moment before laughing softly at yourself.
“This is the part where normal people say goodbye.”
Dex tilted his head slightly. “You want normal?”
You thought about it honestly, then smiled. “No.”
Something satisfied flickered across his expression, and you gathered that neither did he. The realisation should’ve scared you, but instead it felt strangely right for the two of you.
Dex stepped slightly closer. Close enough that you could feel warmth radiating from him as his eyes searched your face carefully.
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
The fact he sounded genuinely uncertain made your chest ache softly. So instead of answering, you reached up and kissed his cheek gently. Right on the scar.
Dex froze completely as your lips lingered there for a few seconds before you pulled back slightly.
“Yes,” you whispered honestly. “I really did.”
Something in Dex’s expression nearly took your breath away because for once it held no trace of obsession or possession. It was just happiness. Real, genuine happiness.
His hand lifted slowly toward your face before stopping near your cheek, like he was still giving you room to pull away. You didn’t as his thumb brushed softly across your skin.
Then he leaned down and pressed the gentlest kiss against your forehead, and your stomach fluttered as your chest warmed.
“Goodnight, baby,” he murmured quietly.
You smiled. “Goodnight, Dex.”
He waited until you got inside the building before finally turning to leave, and later that night, curled beneath your blankets and lying there in the darkness replaying his soft smiles, careful hands, and the look on his face when you kissed his cheek, you finally stopped trying to deny what your heart already knew.
You wanted this. You wanted him.
TAGS: @benspoindexter @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @genya1617 @monikastuff @peanutbutterjellytime3000 @hanniesrock @not-the-teen-witch @its-jackie-bb @that1weirdweebgirl @trulovekay @star-yawnznn @snowwythegloww @ethereal-athalia @musicalfan2026 @mewmew222 @scarlet48 @doesanyonereadthis @skylerepost @disappearintofanfiction @floatingintheupsidedown @abbotfan @ancientbeing10 @sarahskywalker-amidala @artistadistrada2002 @kakuchosbff @weallhaveadestiny @hyperfixations-go-brrr @capri-cuntz @bullseyeshandcuffs @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @muffinbrown @cowboylover00 @hearsaygoose @badbishsblog @celleryxo @thecityofspareparts @miixkl @ninajambrich @iangelofmusic @planetevermore @sadest-bookshelf @paige0103 @bury-me-in-the-star @mrsxchase @kkkeeeiiirrraaa @clowninavan @mossmydarling @lostfallenangelsblog @ofmyownvolitionfics @shoxji
PREVIOUS | NEXT CHAPTER
Guilty as Sin?
𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: after cutting Dex out of your life, his spiraling desperation leads you to make your first real choice for yourself instead of everyone else.
𝙬𝙝𝙤: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter/Bullseye x Female!Murdock Reader
𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 2.5k
𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: soulmate au, hurt/comfort, blood, injury, Dex has a mental spiral. If I have missed any please let me know!
𝙙𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙮: @uzmacchiato
𝗮/𝗻: Part 4 of this series! Like before feedback is welcome!
Glitch Series Masterlist
Next Chapter: Sparks Fly
Previous Chapter: The Great War
“They’re gonna crucify me anyway… “ — Guilty as Sin? by Taylor Swift
The silence became unbearable on the fourth day.
It wasn’t Matt’s silence, nor was it Karen’s. Those you could survive because you knew that your brother loved you more than anything, and Karen had never stayed angry at you for long.
You knew that eventually the three of you would have a conversation or another argument or more tears to break the silence and fix this situation.
But what you hadn’t expected was how much Dex’s absence would ache. How the lack of gifts and him not breaking in through your window at night would hurt so much.
You stood in your kitchen staring at your phone while rain hit hard against the windows, exhaustion heavy on your body. Your apartment felt colder now and empty in a way it hadn’t been for a while.
Like something else had quietly left when you told him to leave.
Your fingers brushed unconsciously against your mark again, a gesture that once brought you a small bit of comfort now made tears well up in your eyes.
Sighing softly, you unlocked your phone again despite knowing what you’d see.
23 unread messages.
14 missed calls.
9 voicemails.
All from Dex.
You hadn’t answered a single call, hadn’t listened to a single voicemail, and hadn’t opened a single message.
Tapping the messages app, you saw that they had started normal the messages had gradually got less coherent as the days passed.
Dex: Are you okay?
Dex: Please answer.
Dex: I’m sorry.
Dex: I’m trying.
Dex: You said leave you alone.
Dex: I’m trying to do that.
Dex: Please answer the phone.
The last message had arrived nearly seven hours ago, and the lack of anything else since has left you feeling more unsettled than relieved. But the ache in your chest still deepened as you locked your phone again and tossed it onto the counter.
Leaning heavily against the counter, you closed your eyes to try to stop the tears from coming because this was what they wanted, wasn’t it?
Distance. Space. No Dex.
So why did it feel like something was broken and bleeding inside you now that he was gone?
Because he had noticed you. You thought to yourself.
Because Dex had noticed everything about you.
He had noticed when your shoulder hurt, when you skipped meals, when you were exhausted, when your smile wasn’t real.
How he looked at you like you mattered, like you were something precious.
And now the silence he’d left behind haunted your apartment like a trapped ghost.
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Your phone ringing loudly on your bedside drawer startled you awake hard enough that your heart jumped painfully.
Grabbing it with a groan, the brightness of it blinded you before the name flashing on the screen made your stomach twist immediately.
Dex.
Glancing at the numbers on the top of the screen, you felt your heart begin to race again.
2:17 AM.
Dex never called this late. He knew your schedule too well and knew how little sleep you got between the apothecary and the clinic. Your stomach clenched again as the ringtone ended and a ping indicating a voicemail came through a few moments later.
But what made your chest tighten was the notification that showed he had already called four times before this one had finally woken you up.
You knew that you had been tired last night, but tired enough to miss four phone calls? You bit your lip with worry.
Then your phone rang again, and before you could think yourself out of it, you answered.
“Dex?” You asked into the phone.
He didn’t answer, but the sound of heavy, uneven breathing came through the phone.
But it was the sound of something falling somewhere made you worry instantly.
“Dex?” You asked again.
A long pause.
Then finally he spoke quietly, “I’m sorry.”
Your eyes closed briefly as your stomach settled, but hearing those words from him made your chest ache.
“What happened?” you asked softly.
More silence.
“You told me to leave you alone.” His voice sounded wrong. “I was trying to.”
The words hit painfully as you swallowed hard.
“Dex—”
“I can’t think when it’s quiet.” His voice was frustrated now as something crashed faintly in the background.
You straightened up immediately. “Are you hurt?”
Another pause.
“… No.”
A lie, and you could hear it instantly.
“Where are you?” You asked as your fingers tightened around the phone.
“At home.” His breathing stuttered unevenly again. “Baby, I’m trying very hard not to come see you.”
You felt a tear slip down your cheek at his words. Because he had listened, even if it was destroying him.
You stared out at the rain streaking your apartment windows before moving out of bed and through the apartment.
“I’m coming over.” You said sliding on your shoes and then grabbing your coat and keys.
The silence on the other end was immediate.
“You don’t have to.” He whispered.
“I know.”
Another long pause.
“Okay.”
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Dex’s apartment looked like a war zone.
The moment he opened the door, you immediately froze. Glass littered the floor, a lamp had been shattered against the wall, one of the dining chairs lay broken near the kitchen, there were dents in the drywall, and blood was smeared across the edge of the counter.
And standing in the middle of it all was Dex.
Barefoot, breathing unevenly with his knuckles split open and bloodied.
Your chest tightened sadly because now every unread message felt heavier. More desperate.
Dex’s eyes immediately found yours and stayed there as if he was checking you were real.
“You came.”
The words sounded almost uncertain as your gaze slowly swept over the apartment again.
“What happened?”
Dex looked away for the first time since opening the door.
“I got angry.”
Your eyes dropped to his bleeding hands.
“You punched the wall.”
“Yes.”
Apparently several times you thought to yourself.
You stepped carefully over shattered glass as you entered his apartment and shut the door behind you. The place smelled faintly of blood and something electrical from the broken lamp.
But Dex didn’t move. Didn’t come closer. He was still doing what you’d said that night.
Leave me alone.
“Sit down,” you said quietly, pointing to his sofa.
He obeyed immediately.
You grabbed the first aid kit from where it sat untouched under the kitchen sink before kneeling carefully in front of him.
His eyes never left your face. Not once.
The cuts across his knuckles were messy and swollen already as you gently took one of his hands in yours. The soulmate mark on your collarbone burned faintly at the contact.
Dex inhaled sharply.
You ignored it.
“Why didn’t you clean these?”
Dex watched your thumb brush carefully beneath his split knuckles.
“I couldn’t focus.”
Your chest ached at his words as you carefully soaked a gauze and gently cleaned the blood from his skin.
The apartment remained painfully quiet except for the sound of heavy rain against the windows.
Dex looked exhausted. Like something inside him had been wound too tightly for too long and finally snapped.
“You should’ve listened to the voicemails,” he said quietly after a while.
You glanced up briefly. “Were they coherent?”
“… No.”
Despite yourself, a small, tired laugh escaped you.
Dex’s mouth twitched faintly at the sound and then disappeared again.
“I tried,” he admitted softly.
Your hands stilled slightly against his skin. “I know.”
“No,” he said quietly. “You don’t.”
His jaw tightened once. “I stayed away.”
Guilt twisted low in your stomach.
Not because his spiral was your fault. It wasn’t.
But because you suddenly understood how hard he’d actually tried.
“I know,” you repeated softer this time.
Dex finally looked away again. “I kept thinking about what you said.”
Leave me alone.
The memory made your chest tighten painfully.
“I didn’t mean forever, baby,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.
Dex’s eyes snapped back to yours immediately. Something desperate flickered there so quickly it almost hurt to look at.
You quickly focused back on healing his hands.
Your powers stirred faintly beneath your skin as you carefully brushed your fingers across his bruised knuckles. Warmth spread softly from your touch, easing some of the swelling before the wounds closed.
“All done.” Your hands faintly shook as you pulled them away from him.
Dex exhaled softly as the pain left his hands.
“You’re tired,” he murmured immediately.
Of course he noticed, you thought to yourself. “I’m fine.”
“You’re lying.”
You snorted quietly. “A little hypocritical coming from you.”
His mouth twitched again. A tiny, almost smile.
God, you had missed that.
The realisation settled heavily in your chest.
Carefully setting the supplies aside, you leaned back slightly against the sofa, Dex still watching you like he was afraid you might disappear if he blinked.
“You destroyed your apartment,” you muttered softly.
“I know.” He whispered.
“You probably scared the neighbours.”
“I know.”
“You called me at two in the morning.”
At that, something conflicted crossed his expression.
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
The honesty in his voice hit harder than anything else tonight.
You looked at him quietly for a long moment, then slowly reached out and touched his face.
Dex immediately went still beneath your hand. His eyes fluttered shut briefly as he leaned into your touch.
Your thumb brushed gently beneath the bruise near his cheekbone.
“You should’ve called earlier.”
Dex opened his eyes again slowly.
“You told me to leave you alone.”
God.
The fact he treated every word you said like they were sacrosanct made your chest ache.
You swallowed thickly. “I know.”
A softer silence settled this time as Dex leaned further into your touch almost unconsciously, like he needed it.
Your heartbeat stumbled painfully.
Because this right here felt dangerously close to the tenderness you had wanted for years, and maybe that was what scared you most. Not the violence, not the obsession, but this.
This softness.
“I missed you.”
The words left your mouth before you could stop them.
Dex froze completely as his eyes searched your face like he didn’t trust what he’d heard.
Then something inside him visibly unraveled.
His hand lifted slowly toward your face like he was afraid you might pull away. When you didn’t, his fingers brushed your cheek carefully.
Reverently. Like you were something breakable.
“You did?” he asked softly.
Your chest tightened. “Yes.”
The confession settled heavily between you.
Dex stared at you for one long second before suddenly leaning forward and kissing you.
This kiss felt nothing like the last one.
It wasn’t desperate, wasn’t forceful, and there was no panic like before, just warmth and careful hesitancy in a way that almost hurt more.
Your breath caught sharply.
Then slowly you kissed him back.
The soulmate bond burned warmly beneath your skin as his other hand slid carefully to your jaw, thumbs caressing against both your cheeks like he still wasn’t fully convinced you were real.
And God, you wanted this, wanted him.
The realisation hit hard enough that you pulled back abruptly.
Dex immediately stiffened as panic flashed across his face so quickly it hurt to see.
“I’m sorry,” he said instantly. “I thought—”
“No.”
You cupped his face quickly before he could spiral again.
“No, that’s not—”
But his breathing had already started changing again, sharp and uneven.
You moved closer instinctively.
“I wanted that,” you admitted softly.
Dex stared at you. “But you’re upset.”
“No, baby, it’s—I liked it.”
His expression shifted into something stunned and painfully hopeful all at once.
You let out a shaky breath. “This is complicated.”
“I know.”
“You don’t actually.”
That nearly made him smile again as your thumb brushed carefully across his cheek.
“I just…” your voice softened, “I don’t want this to happen because you’re vulnerable right now.”
Understanding slowly crossed his face before it turned almost unbearably soft.
“You stayed anyway,” he whispered.
The vulnerability in his voice nearly wrecked you as your forehead gently rested against his.
“I’m still here.”
Dex went completely still beneath your touch. Then slowly his eyes closed. Like those words physically settled something broken inside him.
The apartment remained quiet around you, the rain still landing hard against the windows.
Your fingers slid gently through his hair as his breathing finally began to even out beneath your touch.
“You should sleep,” you murmured eventually.
Dex opened his eyes again immediately. “You’ll leave.”
The certainty in his voice hurt. You shook your head softly.
“Not tonight.”
Fragile relief crossed his face then.
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The apartment was less like a war zone come morning light after you spent the three hours that you couldn’t sleep tidying it up as best as you could.
You stood in Dex’s kitchen wearing one of his shirts while making coffee as the sun shone in through the windows. Behind you, Dex leaned silently against the counter watching you.
“You stare a lot,” you muttered softly.
“I like looking at you.”
Heat crawled faintly into your face as you turned toward him, holding out his coffee. Dex took it carefully, his knuckles looking significantly better this morning after your healing.
“You didn’t sleep much,” he observed immediately.
“Neither did you.”
“But I slept.”
You blinked slightly at the quiet honesty in his voice before you realised that he meant he slept because you stayed. The thought settled pleasantly deep in your chest as you leaned lightly against the counter beside him.
The silence this morning didn’t feel awkward.
Just…quiet.
“You’re not scared of me.”
The words came suddenly.
You looked at him carefully. “No.”
Dex studied your face closely. “You probably should be.”
You snorted softly. “There’s the self-awareness.”
His mouth twitched slightly, then faded. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache again. “I know.”
Silence stretched softly between you.
Then Dex spoke again. “What do you want?”
The question caught you off guard.
Not because of the question itself. But because no one had really asked you that through all of this.
What do you want?
Not what would Matt want? Or what would Karen think? Or what’s morally right?
Just…you.
Your fingers tightened slightly around your mug.
You. You thought to yourself.
“I don’t know,” you said quietly.
Dex nodded once like he understood.
“One date.” He said after a moment.
You looked at him.
His expression remained calm, but there was something careful underneath it now. Something uncertain.
“I’m not asking for anything else,” he said quietly. “Just one date.”
Your heartbeat stumbled.
Because this wasn’t fate demanding something from you, it wasn’t obsession, this was a choice. Your choice. And for the first time since all of this began, you let yourself think about what you actually wanted.
Not what everyone else feared.
Not what everyone else expected.
You thought about the warm takeout left on counters, the flowers at the apothecary, the eye-colored rocks, his gentle calloused hands against your skin, and someone who looked at you like you mattered.
Your lips parted softly “… Okay.”
The word barely left your mouth before something in Dex’s expression softened so completely it almost took your breath away. It wasn’t triumph, not total possession, but quiet happiness.
Real happiness.
Happiness that felt far more satisfying than anything else.
TAGS: @benspoindexter @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @genya1617 @monikastuff @peanutbutterjellytime3000 @hanniesrock @not-the-teen-witch @its-jackie-bb @that1weirdweebgirl @trulovekay @star-yawnznn @snowwythegloww @ethereal-athalia @musicalfan2026 @mewmew222 @scarlet48 @doesanyonereadthis @skylerepost @disappearintofanfiction @floatingintheupsidedown @abbotfan @ancientbeing10 @sarahskywalker-amidala @artistadistrada2002 @kakuchosbff @weallhaveadestiny @hyperfixations-go-brrr @capri-cuntz @bullseyeshandcuffs @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @muffinbrown @cowboylover00 @hearsaygoose @badbishsblog @celleryxo @thecityofspareparts @miixkl @ninajambrich @iangelofmusic @planetevermore @sadest-bookshelf @paige0103 @bury-me-in-the-star @mrsxchase @kkkeeeiiirrraaa @clowninavan @mossmydarling
PREVIOUS | NEXT CHAPTER
The Great War
𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: how did one weekly dinner manage to ruin everything?
𝙬𝙝𝙤: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter/Bullseye x Female!Murdock Reader
𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 2.5k
𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: soulmate au, arguing, swearing, mentions of bodily harm, a forced kiss (I think), angst/hurt. If I have missed any please let me know!
𝙙𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙮: @uzmacchiato
𝗮/𝗻: Part 3 of this series! A bit of angst/hurt before these two start their journey. I really need to think of a name for this series. Any suggestions? Like before feedback is welcome!
Glitch Series Masterlist
Next Chapter: Guilty as Sin?
Previous Chapter: I Can See You
“Flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur…“ — The Great War by Taylor Swift
The past three days had been unbearable.
Matt had called six times, Karen had texted eleven, and every single time your phone lit up with their names, guilt twisted in your stomach so hard that you felt sick.
You knew avoiding them wouldn’t solve anything and that it would just make them concerned and confused. But every time you went to answer their calls, your nerves made you panic. Because how were you supposed to tell them?
How were you supposed to look your brother and best friend in the eyes and tell them that the man who shot you is your soulmate and you keep letting him back in your life?
Sighing tiredly, you rubbed the mark on your collarbone as your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
Matt. Again.
You stared at it until the ringing stopped, and then a ping indicated that a text had come through. Dropping the spoon into your half-eaten bowl of cereal, you grabbed your phone.
Matt: Dinner tonight. No excuses.
You closed your eyes briefly before another ping sounded.
Karen: If you ghost us again I’m coming over there and dragging you out with us.
Despite everything, a weak laugh escaped you. God, you missed them. Which made your guilt even worse.
Your fingers hovered over the screen before finally typing and sending a single sentence.
You: I’ll be there.
The response from Karen came immediately.
Karen: Suspiciously fast answer. Are you dying?
You snorted softly.
Only emotionally, you thought to yourself.
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Matt’s apartment smelled like pasta sauce and garlic bread.
Which made the dread clawing at your chest almost painful.
Karen stood near the stove with a glass of wine in hand while Matt finished plating dinner, movements smooth and precise despite his blindness.
For one horrible moment, you thought about lying again. Considered faking a smile and pretending that everything was fine.
“There she is.” Matt smiled when he heard you step inside.
Sliding off your shoes, Karen set down her wine glass as she walked over and hugged you tightly.
“You look exhausted,” she muttered against your shoulder.
“I’ve been busy.” You say, hugging her back.
“You’ve been avoiding us.” She said, hugging you tighter.
You forced a weak smile. “That too.”
Karen pulled back just enough to study your face before letting you go.
Matt’s head tilted slightly. “You haven’t been sleeping.”
You swallowed thickly. “No.”
The silence lingered a little too long for Matt to not notice your nerves.
“Dinner’s ready,” he said quietly.
The three of you settled around the small kitchen table, the room glowing warm under dim lighting while a soft breeze swept through it from the open window.
Normally this would’ve comforted you. Tonight it just made you feel trapped as Karen talked about work and Matt complained about a client.
Nodding at the right moments while barely tasting the food they made, your heartbeat refused to slow down, and you knew Matt could hear it.
It was halfway through dinner when Karen sighed and set her fork down.
“Okay,” she said carefully. “What’s going on with you?”
Your stomach dropped. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
“Karen,”
“No! You’ve been avoiding us for days,” she interrupted. “You look miserable, you’re barely speaking, and don't think for a second we haven't noticed how weird you get when Poindexter is mentioned.”
You froze as your breath stuttered, and across the table, Matt went completely still.
The apartment suddenly felt suffocatingly quiet as your already racing heart got faster.
“Wait.” He whispered.
Your chest tightened painfully as Matt turned towards you, and in that moment you realised by the look on his face that he already suspected your secret.
“That’s why,” Matt said quietly.
Your eyes burned immediately. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Karen stared between the two of you, confused. “Is this another one of those twin things?”
“Say it,” Matt said.
“Matty,” your voice cracked as your fingers shook around your fork.
“Bug,” Matt softly said your childhood nickname. “Just say it.”
You swallowed hard as you looked down at your barely touched dinner.
“Dex is my soulmate.” You finally whispered.
Your eyes lifted as the room fell silent at your confession despite your chest feeling a little lighter.
“Oh my God.” Karen's words came out angry as she looked at you like you'd physically struck her.
“No,” she said immediately after. “No.”
Beside her, Matt sat motionless.
“Does he know?” He asked.
You almost released a bitter laugh because, of course, that would be Matt’s first question.
Not are you okay? Or has he hurt you? Or are you seeing him?
But does he know? Because Matt understood exactly what it meant if Dex did.
“Yes.” You say.
Karen let out a disbelieving laugh. “You told him?”
“I didn’t have to.” You tell them.
Matt’s jaw tightened slightly. “How long?”
Your throat closed. “Since the night he shot me.”
Karen inhaled sharply, and Matt looked sick for the first time all evening.
Because now they understood.
Dex had known the entire time. While imprisoned, while isolated, while unmedicated and unstable.
Obsessing about you.
“Oh my God,” Karen whispered, horrified now instead of angry.
You stared down at your hands in your lap. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“You should’ve stayed away from him.” Karen exclaimed, standing abruptly from the table.
You twisted your fingers tightly together, hoping the slight pain would ease the tightness in your chest.
“I tried.”
“He shot you.”
“I know.”
“He nearly killed Foggy.”
Your breath caught painfully as your eyes stung with tears.
The apartment went quiet again.
Karen’s eyes filled with frustrated tears. “And you still let him into your apartment?”
You flinched as a tear ran down your cheek. But that wasn't the worst part because what was worse was the fact that you wanted him there.
Matt's voice was steady when he spoke again, “Has he been contacting you?”
“Yes.” You confirm wiping the tear off your cheek.
“How?”
Matt’s expression hardened when you hesitated too long.
“Has he been seeing you?”
You looked away as your heart began racing again.
Karen stared at you in disbelief. “You can’t see him.”
Something inside you snapped slightly at her words. “Karen.”
“No,” she interrupted sharply. “Absolutely not. He is dangerous.”
“I know he’s dangerous.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
You froze at her question.
Because he notices me. You thought to yourself. Because he makes me feel seen. Because I want him to keep coming back.
Matt’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts.
“How can you possibly want this?”
Your throat tightened at the crack in his voice. Because your brother wasn't angry, he wasn't judgmental. He was hurt.
Your eyes burned again. “You think I don’t ask myself that every day?”
Neither of them answered.
So you kept going. Mouth moving before you could stop it.
“I waited years for my soulmate,” you whispered shakily. “Years. And then it was him.”
Your voice cracked.
“Do you think I wanted it to be him?”
Karen’s expression faltered slightly.
But the words wouldn’t stop now that the hurt and suffering you had kept locked away for months had broken free.
“I know what he’s done,” you continued. “I know who he is. I know what people think when they look at him.”
Your breathing shook as you looked them in the eyes.
“But every time I try to stay away from him…” your voice softened painfully, “… I can’t.”
Silence filled the apartment for the third time that night. This time heavy and miserable.
Matt’s face tightened again. “He’s already attached to you.”
“Don't,” you looked at him sharply. “Don't use that against me. Against him.”
Matt’s jaw flexed once. “I can hear it every time his name comes up.”
Anger twisted low in your stomach. Because Matt was right, Dex was attached, and you knew that from his gifts and his relaxed attitude whenever he broke into your apartment.
But so was a part of you.
Karen sank slowly back into her chair, rubbing at her face.
“You’re my best friend,” she whispered. “And I’m terrified he’s going to destroy you.”
The anger in her voice finally cracked enough for the fear underneath to show.
Your eyes burned harder. “I know.”
Because that was the horrible truth. You knew exactly what this could become, how this could end.
And still you wondered about the what-ifs and the maybes and the possibility that this might not destroy you.
The apartment suddenly felt suffocating.
You pushed your chair back abruptly. “I should go.”
Karen immediately looked guilty. “Wait.”
But you were already sliding on your shoes.
Matt stood quickly too. “Hey, bug.”
You paused near the door, coat on only one shoulder.
Matt’s expression was a mix of protective, worried, and nervous all at once.
“You’re not alone in this,” he said quietly.
But somehow that only made your tears burn harder because, despite his words, you had never felt more alone.
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The rain had soaked through your coat by the time you got home.
Your chest still hurt, but at least your tears had stopped. Karen’s voice still echoing in your skull.
He shot you.
God. You knew that.
Hands trembling slightly, you unlocked your apartment and stepped inside. The lights were off, but you immediately felt his presence.
“You told them.” Dex’s voice came quietly from the darkness.
You switched the lights on and slowly shut the door behind you.
Dex sat on the sofa, half-hidden by shadows. His head tilted as he watched you again.
You suddenly felt exhausted down to your bones. “Yes.”
Silence filled the apartment as rain tapped softly against the windows.
Dex’s eyes moved slowly across your face, studying every emotion there.
“They’re upset.” He said.
A sad, humourless laugh escaped you. “That’s one word for it.”
Dex stayed quiet for a moment. “What did they say?”
You dropped your wet coat onto the chair. “That you’re dangerous.”
His expression didn’t change. Because that wasn’t news to either of you. “And?”
You looked away first. “They don’t understand why I keep letting you come back.”
The second the words left your mouth, anger shifted on Dex’s face.
Sharp and immediate.
Your chest tightened when you saw it.
“You told them why?” he asked quietly.
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is to me.”
Of course it was. To him you're not just soulmates, you're fate, you're destiny. And you knew that because Dex had always looked at you like you were it for him.
But for you? Nothing about this was simple.
“You don’t understand what this is doing to my life, Dex, to me,” you whispered tiredly.
Dex stared at you. “You think I don’t?”
“You have killed people, Dex.”
Your words cracked through the apartment sharply.
“I know.”
“You nearly destroyed my family.” You could feel the tears forming again.
His jaw tightened immediately. “I know.”
“You shot me.”
Your words were sharp, and you saw the emotions immediately on his face.
The guilt, the anger, and the frustration.
“Do you think I wanted to do that?” he snapped suddenly.
You blinked, stunned as Dex stood up and stepped closer.
“I didn’t know,” he said harshly. “I didn’t know who you were then.”
“But you know now.” You felt the first tear fall.
“Yes.”
“Then you know why this feels impossible for me?”
Dex’s breathing came out sharper than before. Because this conversation was turning into something he couldn’t fix.
And it was terrifying him.
“You keep pushing me away,” he said quietly, gently cupping your face.
Your chest ached at his words and actions. “Because I don’t know what to do.”
“I do.” He said as his thumbs gently stroked your cheeks.
A bitter laugh escaped you.
“No, you don’t.”
“I know you’re mine.”
The words hit like a punch as his name burned hot on your collarbone.
“I’m not a possession.” You snap, putting your hands on his chest, ready to push him away.
Dex stepped closer again.
“Baby, that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?” You asked, ignoring your heart fluttering when he called you that.
His eyes searched yours desperately, like if he could just make you understand his view, everything would stop hurting.
“You feel it too. The connection between us. Our bond.”
Your breath caught.
Because that was the problem, you did feel it.
You felt it in every glance, in every touch, and in every moment he looked at you like you were something precious.
Something his.
You felt all of it, and you were too tired to deny that you didn't want more.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” you whispered shakily and knew that it was a lie.
Dex looked genuinely confused by the question.
“You.”
The simplicity of his answer made your heart flutter and break at the same time.
“You can’t just,” your voice cracked as more tears fell, “you can’t just come back after everything and expect this to be easy.”
“I don’t expect easy.”
“Then what?” You pushed against his chest, but he barely moved.
Dex stared at you for one long, awful second.
“You keep acting like loving me is the worst thing that could happen to you.” He whispered.
Your eyes widened.
Because that wasn’t what this was.
That wasn't what you meant.
But before you could explain, Dex suddenly closed the distance between you.
One hand moving to the back of your head while the other wrapped around your waist.
And then he was kissing you.
Desperate and impulsive, like if he could get close enough, this distance you kept between you two would finally disappear.
For a second you froze.
Because this was your soulmate, and you had imagined this moment for years. But also because this was Dex, and half of you wanted this.
Then reality slammed back into you.
Your hands shoved hard against his chest. “Stop.”
Dex stumbled back instantly, his hands leaving your body.
The apartment fell silent except for your uneven breathing, but you could see his expressions shifting.
From confusion to realisation and then panic. Like he’d only just understood what he’d done.
Your own mixed emotions made your head spin.
“You can’t do that,” you whispered.
Dex looked wrecked. “I thought.”
“I know what you thought.” Your tears were flowing freely now.
“But you can’t fix this like that.”
Silence filled the apartment again, and for the first time since meeting him, Dex looked uncertain.
And you hated that look on his face. You never wanted him to feel uncertain around you, but why is this situation making you feel like you have to choose between your family and your soulmate?
“Leave me alone.” Your throat tightened painfully.
The words shattered something between you instantly.
Dex went completely still, and the look on his face nearly made you take the words back. Because for the first time since you met him, he looked scared.
Scared of losing you.
But you forced yourself to hold his gaze anyway, and after a long, horrible moment, Dex nodded once.
Then, without another word, he stepped backwards toward the open window and stopped as if he was waiting for something before disappearing into the rain.
Leaving you standing alone and crying in the middle of your apartment, feeling like a fool for believing that you could have had it all.
TAGS: @benspoindexter @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @genya1617 @monikastuff @peanutbutterjellytime3000 @hanniesrock @not-the-teen-witch @its-jackie-bb @that1weirdweebgirl @trulovekay @star-yawnznn @snowwythegloww @ethereal-athalia @musicalfan2026 @mewmew222 @scarlet48 @doesanyonereadthis @skylerepost @disappearintofanfiction @floatingintheupsidedown @abbotfan @ancientbeing10 @sarahskywalker-amidala @artistadistrada2002 @kakuchosbff @weallhaveadestiny @hyperfixations-go-brrr @capri-cuntz @bullseyeshandcuffs @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @muffinbrown @cowboylover00 @hearsaygoose @badbishsblog @celleryxo @thecityofspareparts @miixkl @ninajambrich @iangelofmusic
PREVIOUS | NEXT CHAPTER
I Can See You
summary: you should’ve known Dex would have unusual ways of keeping an eye on you.
who: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter/Bullseye x Female!Murdock Reader
word count: 2.9k (i got carried away again)
warnings: soulmate au, mentions of stalking, break-ins, and blood. If I have missed any please let me know!
divider by: @uzmacchiato
a/n: Part 2 of this series! It should hopefully have 12 main parts total if all goes well 🤞🏻. Like before feedback is welcome!
Glitch Series Masterlist
Next Chapter: The Great War
Previous Chapter: Willow
“I could see you being my addiction…“ — I Can See You by Taylor Swift
It’s been two weeks since you last saw Dex.
Two weeks of pretending that he wasn’t there that night, two weeks of spending your time at the apothecary and the back-alley clinic, and two weeks of smiling at your brother and friends, pretending you still hadn’t met your soulmate.
In those two weeks, Dex never came back to your apartment while you were home.
But he’d been there.
You knew because he left gifts.
Like a book you liked left three days earlier, your favorite snacks in the kitchen, and a smooth rock placed on your coffee table that you still hadn’t figured out the meaning of.
So the pretty red flower sitting on the counter when you and Karen entered the shop for a day of restock and date checking didn’t surprise you as much as it should have.
“What’s that?” Karen asks, already reaching for it before you can say anything.
She turns it between her fingers, brows knitting slightly before a teasing grin grows on her face. “Have you got a secret admirer you haven’t told me about?”
You only shrug in response.
Because you know exactly where it came from and who left it.
“…hun?” Karen asks, now frowning in worry. “You okay?”
“It’s nothing.” You say stepping forward and plucking the flower from Karen’s hand a little too quickly. “Just a flower.”
“A pretty flower,” Karen says teasingly, watching you twirl the flower. “Do you know what type it is? What it mean?”
“It’s a red salvia.” You force a small smile. “It means forever mine.”
But your grip tightens around the stem as you tell her the meaning.
Karen’s teasing expression softens slightly as she watches you turn the flower between your fingers. “Well,” she says slowly, “that’s either very romantic or mildly concerning.”
You snort quietly. “Probably the second one.”
“Hm.” Karen narrows her eyes at you for a moment like she’s trying to piece something together. “At least your mysterious admirer has good taste.”
You roll your eyes, moving past her towards the shelves lined with herbal teas. “You say that now, but wait until he starts leaving dead animals on my door like an unwanted cat.”
Karen gasps in mock horror. “Are those the standards these days?”
You hum noncommittally, carefully placing the flower back on the counter before throwing an apron towards Karen and putting on yours.
The rest of the morning passes quietly.
You and Karen work your way through the apothecary together, checking dates, organising shelves, and restocking the herbal remedies that always sold quickly once flu season hit.
Normally, this monthly routine soothed you.
But today every time the shop bell rings, you find yourself tensing, and every tall silhouette outside the frosted window makes your stomach tighten for a second.
It annoys you that he’s affecting you like this.
By the time the shop closes for the night, your feet and head ache.
“You’re distracted today,” Karen says casually while pulling on her coat.
“I’m tired.”
“You reorganised the same shelf three times.”
You pause halfway through locking the door. “… Did I?”
The look Karen gives is filled with worry.
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The warmth of the diner feels welcoming compared to the cold outside.
Sitting across from Matt and Karen, you’re happily stealing fries off your brother’s plate while Karen animatedly tells a story involving a customer she had this morning, and for a little while you manage to relax like everything's normal.
Until the second Karen casually says, “Oh, and someone left a flower for her this morning.”
You nearly choke on a stolen fry.
“What kind of flower, you ask?” Karen continues, clearly enjoying herself.
“Red salvia,” she answers before you can stop her. “It’s romantic.”
Matt’s fork stops halfway on his plate.
“It’s a flower.” You say it with a smirk, ignoring your brother’s stare.
“It’s not just a flower,” Karen corrects, standing with her empty glass. “It's from your secret admirer.”
That makes Matt go quiet, and you can feel his full attention on you.
“You’ve been distracted lately.” Matt comments after a moment.
“It’s nothing,” you reply too quickly. “Just work.”
“You have been working more hours at the clinic recently,” Karen adds concerned. “Are you sure it’s nothing?”
“You’re both making this a bigger deal than it is." You force a laugh, pushing your empty glass towards Karen. “Go get us those drinks, would you.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Matt asks quietly a few minutes after Karen arrives at the bar. “You can tell me anything, remember?”
You glance toward him. Even with the glasses hiding his eyes, you can see the worry written across his face, and for a second you want to tell him everything.
About Dex, about the bond, the break-in, and the gifts. About the way your stomach pleasantly twists every time you think about him.
Instead, you force a smile. “I’m fine, Matty. Really.”
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Dinner with Matt and Karen had left you feeling lighter than you had felt in days as you walked inside your apartment building.
That last Manhattan cocktail had been exactly what you needed, keeping you warm beneath your coat as you rode the elevator upstairs, your cheeks still flushed from shared laughter.
The apartment is warm and cozy when you step inside, making sure to lock all the locks before sliding your shoes off and shrugging your coat onto a nearby chair.
Walking into the kitchen, you pour yourself a large glass of water while already dreading the dehydration you'll have tomorrow morning after tonight’s drinks.
Sipping from the glass, you make your way to the living room for an hour of mindless television before bed when something on the coffee table catches your attention.
A familiar cardboard box sits neatly in the middle of the table.
“Seriously?” you mutter quietly. “What is it this time?”
Because somehow, despite locking every window before leaving that morning, Dex had apparently been inside your apartment… again.
Sighing softly, you place your glass down before grabbing the box and lowering yourself onto the sofa.
Cardboard damp beneath your fingertips as you carefully lift the lid to see what he’s left you this time.
Your brows pull together slightly as you reach inside and pull out the knife resting in it.
It’s smaller than the ones you have in your kitchen, the handle worn in a way that shows it's often been used, and beneath the warm glow of your lamp, you can see the dried blood staining parts of the blade.
“Jesus Christ, Dex.” The words leave you quietly, more exhausted than alarmed. “This is the worst one yet.”
You turn the knife slightly in your hand, seeing where he had attempted to wipe the blood away.
The sight should concern you more than it does, but after everything that has happened over the past few weeks, you often find yourself feeling irritated, in disbelief, and occasionally flattered.
But this? Who leaves someone a bloody knife as a gift?
Setting it carefully back into the box, your mind drifts to the other gifts left in your apartment by Dex when you weren’t home.
A pretty purple hyacinth had been the first thing he left, followed by your favorite snacks, a book you’d wanted to read, and lastly the smooth rock sitting on the table.
Which you’re still confused by.
For a long moment you stare at the knife inside the box before laughing under your breath.
“Next he’ll bring me dead animals like a stray cat,” you mumble to yourself, putting the box back on the coffee table and grabbing your glass of water.
You know you should throw it all away, the knife especially.
But instead, you pick the box back up and carry it towards the hallway cupboard where the others already sit neatly on the top shelf.
The sight of them all lined up together makes something uncomfortable twist in your gut. Because somewhere over the past two weeks, this had become normal.
The gifts. The break-ins. Dex finding his way into your apartment whenever he pleased.
You hate how little it all unsettles you.
Carefully sliding the newest box beside the others, your thoughts lands on the first one he left. A purple hyacinth that has since been pressed and turned into a bookmark.
A bookmark that now rests inside the book that has made itself a home on your coffee table, half-finished after too many late nights spent reading instead of sleeping.
And the flower from this morning now sat in a glass of water beside the till because part of you couldn’t bring yourself to throw that away either.
Instead you close the cupboard door and head towards your bedroom.
The apartment is quiet as you complete your nightly routine, trying not to think about the fact that Dex had once again been inside your home while you were gone.
Outside, the chilly wind had turned into rain that tapped softly against the windows as you finally slide beneath your blankets.
Exhaustion pulls heavily at your body, helped by the drinks and the lingering comfort from dinner with Matt and Karen.
You reach over to switch off your bedside lamp, your thoughts drifting toward the smooth rock in the living room.
“What does a rock even mean?” you mumble tiredly to yourself.
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The next day unusually sunny for New York.
The city moves at a gentler pace than usual, a soft breeze blowing through the park while birds sing through the noise of traffic.
Arms linked with Matt, you two walk at an easy pace that makes it harder to hide how distracted you are.
“You’re quiet today,” he says after a while.
“It’s a nice day for quiet,” you reply, adjusting your grip on the ice cream in your hand.
“I’m serious,” Matt continues, slowing until you both come to a stop. “You’ve been… distant lately.”
“Work, the clinic, life in general.” You let out a small breath that could almost be a laugh if it weren’t so forced. “Take your pick.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
You don’t answer immediately.
Because you know exactly what he means but you don't know how to explain it.
Not the gifts. Not the feeling of being watched. Not the way your apartment no longer feels like just yours.
“It’s nothing,” you say, a little too quickly, gently tugging him to walk again. “You’re imagining things.”
Matt doesn’t respond again.
He just walks beside you, quiet in a way that he usually is when trying to understand you.
For the rest of the walk, you fill the silence. Talking about the apothecary, about how the clinic has been busier lately, about anything that comes to mind.
Anything that doesn’t remind you of him.
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By the time you got home that night, rain had started falling again.
Droplets clung to your jacket as you unlocked your apartment and step inside. Shrugging your jacket off you throw it over the sofa before freezing.
Sitting in the middle of your coffee table was the medium-sized rock. Brows furrowing as you picked it up and admired the unique colours of it again.
Pretty, you think to yourself, running your thumb over the smooth texture before a deep voice speaks from your bathroom.
“It’s the same colour as your eyes.”
You gasp as you turned sharply, your arm now raised in a position to immediately throw the rock in your hand if needed.
There, in the doorway of your bathroom, stood Dex. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he wiped blood from his hands with a damp cloth.
Your eyes immediately scanned him. The healer in you searching for any injuries that might need attention but not finding any.
Good. You were far too hungry to be dealing with that again.
Lowering your arm, your gaze dropped back to the rock in your hand.
“The same colour as my eyes?” you repeated.
Dex threw the cloth into the hamper as he left the bathroom, flicking the switch as he walked out and into the living room. His hair was still damp from the rain as his eyes stayed fixed completely on you.
“Yes.” He said, stopping a foot away from you as his eyes roamed your body.
Your fingers curl gently around the stone. Nobody had ever noticed something like that before. Sure, Matt knew how to read you like a book, but you doubted he remembered the colour of your eyes.
But Dex did.
Your mouth slightly curves before you could stop it.
Dex stilled the second he saw it grace your face, his eyes focusing on your smile like he’d never seen anything more beautiful before. A small smile of his own appeared.
You felt your cheeks flush as you looked away, clearing your throat. “You better have not bled all over my bathroom floor,” you muttered.
Dex’s expression shifted slightly. More teasing this time.
“It’s not much blood.”
“Say that to my sofa.”
“That was also not much blood.”
You snorted softly despite yourself.
Oh God. This was becoming dangerously normal.
Setting the rock carefully back on the coffee table, you walked towards him before noticing the streak of dried blood he’d missed near his jaw.
Without thinking, you pulled the sleeve of your shirt over your hand and gently wiped the remaining blood from his face.
"There," you murmured quietly.
Dex didn’t move, didn’t blink. His eyes focused on you with the same intensity as two weeks ago. The same look that made your chest feel too tight.
Neither of you stepped away.
Your warm fingers still lightly brushing against his jaw as his name on your collarbone tingled pleasantly.
“How did you even get in here again?” you asked softly, taking a few steps away from him.
“The bedroom window.” Dex answered, his footsteps following yours as if the distance was something he couldn’t bear.
Your eyes fluttered closed as you sighed.
“You know I have a door, right?” you ask, turning around to make your way to the kitchen.
“The windows work,” he says, shrugging.
“You keep leaving them open,” you reply, rummaging through your cupboards for a quick meal.
“I close it.” He states, following you.
“Not properly,” you say, now rummaging through the fridge. “My heating bill is going to kill me.”
“Windows are quieter.” He tells you while sitting at the island.
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
Dex’s expression softened at the sound, looking at you like he was memorising it.
Your chest tightened again as you stopped laughing. This is bad, you thought to yourself.
Because two weeks ago Dex had been an escaped prisoner bleeding on your sofa, and now he’s sitting barefoot in your apartment after just using your bathroom to wipe blood from god knows where off his hands and after weeks of him bringing you gifts like a stray cat.
But what was worse was the realisation that you wanted him here.
Dex’s eyes slowly scanned your face as you moved towards the island, a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries in hand.
“You’re exhausted,” he noted quietly, reaching for a strawberry.
“I’m fine.” You dismiss him while grabbing two bowls.
“Your hands are shaking again.”
Your fingers curl slightly. “I worked all day.”
“And then went to dinner instead of resting.” He stated.
You frowned. “Were you following me?”
“No.” The answer came too quickly.
You narrowed your eyes at him, still holding the bowls.
Dex blinked once. “… Mostly no.”
"Dex." You stared at him in disbelief.
“You looked happy.” He commented.
The irritation that was rising quickly turned into something warm that made your stomach clench because the way he said it sounded almost relieved.
Like your happiness was important to him.
For a moment neither of you spoke as you slid a bowl towards him and his growing pile of strawberries.
“You ate the food.” He said, looking towards the empty takeout wrappers.
“I was hungry.” You shrugged, shoving a strawberry into your mouth.
“You forget to eat when you’re tired.” He said, adding more strawberries to his bowl.
“Ugh, you sound like Matt.” You groaned, dropping your head onto the counter.
Dex’s jaw tightened at your brother’s name. “He notices too?”
“Matt notices everything.” You say grabbing a handful of strawberries after noticing how full his bowl was getting.
“I notice more.”
The words landed like a slap. Too honest, too intense, too real, and you think you should’ve shut this down sooner.
Should’ve reminded him that none of this changed what he’d done, should’ve said that none of the gifts were working, and should’ve reinforced the boundaries you created in your head.
“Are you hurt?” You ask instead.
Dex looked down at his bruised hands. “Not badly.”
“You could stop doing stupid shit.” You tell him.
“You’d stitch me up anyway.” He replied.
You hate how right he was.
Dex leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “You smiled,” he said quietly.
Heat immediately flushed your face.
“It’s just a rock.” You say.
“It made you smile.” He smirked.
God, you wanted to punch him.
Looking away quickly, you hated how those simple words affected you, how your heartbeat sped up when he smiled, and how a rock, of all things, gave you butterflies.
“You should probably go,” you uttered softly.
Dex stayed quiet for a moment before he nodded once, getting up and putting his empty bowl in the sink.
He moved towards the living room window before pausing. “The flower looked nice by the till.”
Your eyes widened. “You were watching the shop?”
Dex glanced back at you. “I was watching you.”
Then he disappeared out the window and into the rain.
Your gaze drifted towards the rock sitting on the table, and butterflies filled your stomach again before your eyes lowered to your bowl only to frown.
“Asshole ate my strawberries as well.”
@benspoindexter @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @genya1617 @monikastuff @peanutbutterjellytime3000 @hanniesrock @not-the-teen-witch
PREVIOUS | NEXT CHAPTER
Willow
summary: prison was never going to stop Dex from finding you again.
who: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter/Bullseye x Female!Murdock Reader
word count: 2.9k (i got carried away)
warnings: soulmate au, mentions of blood, injuries, break-in, imprisonment, emotional tension, and obsessive themes. If I have missed any please let me know!
divider by: @uzmacchiato
Glitch Series Masterlist
Next Chapter: I Can See You
“Wherever you stray, I follow…” — Willow by Taylor Swift
It was the uncomfortable pain in your shoulder that woke you from your restful sleep.
A pain that was no longer sharp, not like it was that night, but one that still lingers as a pinching, persistent ache that settles deep in your shoulder on cold and wet nights like tonight.
Rolling onto your back, you lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling and breathing through the pain as you gently massage three fingers against the ache, hoping it will pass and you won’t have to leave the coziness of your warm bed.
Feeling the rough scar beneath your fingers, you lie there trying to ignore the memories of how you got it, but when the sirens pass your apartment building, you find yourself slipping back into your memories of that day.
The day your life changed forever.
You, Foggy, and Karen had just left Josie’s Bar to check on Cafaro when the loud crack of a gunshot filled the air and pain hits you from behind. It rips through your right shoulder, taking your breath away before you fully understand what’s happened, as the force of it sends you stumbling forward.
But what made you stiffen was the blood splatter on Karen’s face as you realised that the bullet had exited your shoulder and hit Foggy, who had collapsed onto the ground as people around you screamed in horror, and for a few seconds you froze in pain and panic before adrenaline kicked in and you were moving before your mind caught up.
Yelling for someone to call an ambulance, you press your hands firmly against Foggy’s wound, willing your powers to stop healing you and to heal Foggy.
To keep him breathing, and to keep him stable. To keep him with you.
You were so lost in your panic that you didn’t even notice when Karen put her hands against your shoulder until she pressed down hard enough to make you gasp in pain as she tried to keep as much of your blood where it should be.
“Stay with me.” Her voice broke as each word filled with more panic. “Both of you, please.”
But you don’t answer. You can’t.
Not when you're forcing everything you have into Foggy. Not when you can hear your brother fighting on the roof of Josie’s Bar, knowing that he’s listening to Foggy’s heartbeat, to your blood dripping onto the street.
With your body begging to heal the hole in your shoulder, your vision blurs as you push through the pain, putting everything you have into Foggy. You hadn’t even realised that you'd been repeating the same things over and over.
“Keep breathing. Just keep breathing. Stay with me.”
But the strain keeps building, becoming sharper with each passing moment, when a heavy impact lands behind you three. Your breath catches as your powers flicker for just a moment as you silently pray that you won’t lose them both tonight. Not Foggy and Matt.
Not your brothers.
Breathing deeply, you steady your hands, channel your powers, and check that Foggy is still breathing as the paramedics that have just arrived rush to help before you turn your head and let out a sigh of relief.
Not Matt.
You slouch into Karen's waiting arms, your pain finally catching up with you as you fully turn to look at Benjamin Poindexter on the ground, barely conscious, and as you make eye contact, it happens.
The pleasant burning feeling on your left collarbone. The sign you've been waiting nearly your whole life for.
The sign that you have met your soulmate.
And yours has just shot you.
Breathing deeply, you push the memory out of your mind, reminding yourself that you’re in your apartment tucked away in your warm bed and not bleeding in the arms of your friend.
But the ache is still there, still pinching, and you realise that no amount of gentle rubbing is going to relieve it tonight. Sighing you toss your covers back, slide your feet into your soft slippers to make your way to your kitchen, where you last put the pain relief balm.
Slowly you push yourself to stand, your aching shoulder throbbing in protest as you put on your fluffy robe, fingers brushing against the scar, and take a deep breath.
Checking your clock that reads 1:44 AM, you tighten the robe and step into the hallway.
The apartment is pitch black except as you make your way towards the kitchen, you don’t bother turning on any lights, using the moonlight to help lead you to the balm left on the center island.
Opening it, you gently massage the soothing gel onto your scar, letting out a sigh of relief as you feel it take effect. Placing the lid back on the tin and tucking it into your robe's pocket, you turn back towards the bedroom when the sound of fabrics moving against each other comes from the darkness of the living room.
Slowly you grab a knife from the wooden block and move carefully towards the sound, slippers gently slapping against the wooden floors. Keeping your breathing as quiet as possible, you slowly crept around the corner and quickly flicked the lamp on, flinching at the brightness and nearly dropping the knife when you saw who was sitting on the sofa.
Benjamin Poindexter was supposed to be imprisoned and serving multiple life sentences. Not casually sitting on your new sofa.
Blood darkening the side of his shirt as one of his hands pressed tightly against it, though a slow trickle of blood slips through his fingers. His head lifts the second the light turns on, and for a moment he doesn’t move; he just stares at you with a look in his eyes that you can’t quite place.
For a few seconds, neither of you speak. You just look at him, cataloguing everything that has changed since you last saw him. He’s bigger and bulkier than before, as if he had nothing to do in prison except gain more muscles. You ignore how it makes your heart stutter.
Dex’s eyes flicker briefly towards the knife clutched in your hand, and a smirk appears on his face as he looks you in the eyes. “Are you going to use that?” he asks quietly.
“Why are you here?” Your voice comes out stronger than you expected. “What do you want?”
Soulmate or not, this is still the man who shot you.
Dex’s eyes lower briefly to the blood staining his side. His hand still tightly clutching the wound. “I needed help.”
Then his eyes lift back to yours. “And I wanted to see you.”
Something tightens in your chest because part of you understands exactly what he means.
For a moment you stay where you are, knife still low at your side, eyes flickering once again towards the blood dripping from his hand and staining your sofa.
“You’re staining my sofa,” you say, placing the knife on the shelf, hands more steady than you feel.
Dex tilts his head, eyebrows twitching in confusion. “What?”
“My sofa is brand new, and you’re ruining it.”
“Oh,” he says, finally noticing his blood soaking the cushions. “So I am.”
You exhale slowly, feeling the last bit of adrenaline leave your body. When your brother told you this morning he was going to see Dex in prison, this wasn’t how you expected your night to go.
“Let me see it,” you say.
Dex stills at your words, his hand moving to his ribs, his eyes slightly hopeful.
“Your injury,” you sharply say, face flushing red. “Not that.”
His eyes stay on you for a second before he slowly moves his hands away from his body. Blood immediately gushes through the tear in his shirt, a stab wound from what you could see and probably a few hours old.
You swear softly under your breath. “You should be at a hospital, especially with those face wounds as well.”
“No.” His answer was quick but certain. “Just you, only you.”
You don’t bother arguing as you step closer, removing your robe and setting it below you on the coffee table. He looks worse up close, pale even in the light of your warm lightbulb, and the left side of his face was bruised.
But his eyes never left you, slowly roaming up and down, taking in your light blue PJs, and smirking at your fluffy cow slippers.
“What?” you ask, reaching for the box of medical supplies you kept in the ottoman. Usually you would have used your powers, but tonight you were too tired and drained from helping out at the back-alley clinic your boss ran.
“Fluffy cow slippers?” His amusement was clear in his voice.
“Shut up,” you say, putting all your supplies on the table beside you. “They were a gift from Karen, and they’re very comfortable.”
Dex snorted. “Sure.”
“Are you armed?” you ask, pulling on gloves and sliding to your knees.
“Yes.” He said, spreading his legs to give you more room.
“… Are you planning on using it?” You ask, facing your supplies.
“No.” His answer was quick and certain again. “Not on you, never on you.”
Again. You couldn’t help but think.
“You’re nervous,” Dex says quietly, still watching you, and you begin to wonder if he’s even blinked.
You snort at that. “You broke into my apartment in the middle of the night and are now bleeding all over my sofa.”
“You’re still helping me.” He says like this means something.
You refuse to answer that as you reach for his shirt because deep down it does.
“Lean forwards.” You say quietly.
Dex obeys immediately and you lift his shirt. The movement exposing his defined muscles, and a few inches above the wound in black letters was your name. Unblemished, like he had done everything to protect it.
You freeze slightly at the sight of it, feeling the rush of emotions that happened every time you thought about him. Shaking the feelings away, you grabbed the disinfectant and soaked a gauze.
Silence settled between you as you dabbed at the wound, soaking up as much blood as you could before grabbing a fresh gauze.
“You didn’t come to see me,” he whispered breaking the silence, his eyes leaving you and going towards his blood-soaked hand.
“Don’t,” you say quietly, pressing the alcohol-soaked gauze harder against the wound than intended.
Dex barely reacts as his eyes move back to you. “Don’t what?”
“Talk like this changes anything.” You whisper, grabbing a new gauze to wipe away the remaining blood.
And for the first time since you walked into the living room, something shifts in his expression. Not anger, not hatred, but something you didn’t expect to see on him.
Hurt.
“I was in prison,” Dex continues quietly. “You knew, but you never came.”
You still at his words because what was there to say? For months you’ve refused to talk about what happened that night, focusing on your family and pushing every thought or feeling about him away.
For months you’ve kept your bond with him to yourself despite how much you wanted to cry and rant to someone about it without being judged or scorned.
You force yourself to keep working, fingers steady despite the sudden tightness in your chest. “Yes,” you say evenly. “I knew.”
The quiet is heavy as it fills the room before you clear your throat, reaching for the needle and thread in the kit. “You need stitches.”
“Sit up properly if you can,” you instruct, pulling all the necessary items closer to you.
Dex watches you for a second longer before pushing himself upright from the cushions, his jaw as he straightens himself up.
“Take the shirt off.” You say, preparing everything that you needed to stitch him up.
Dex drops the blood-soaked fabric onto the table behind you, exposing the full extent of the wound. The weapon grazed more than it pierced, but it still tore enough flesh to make a mess of his side.
Wiping the surrounding area with a fresh gauze, you gently rubbed some numbing cream around the wound and threaded the needle while waiting for it to dry.
“This is going to hurt.” You say, leaning closer towards him.
Dex goes still at your words, his attention once again focused fully on you.
You try to ignore his eyes on you, focusing completely on stitching the wound perfectly and not on how close he was now that you’re kneeling between his legs and leaning against him to get better access to the wound.
“You should’ve had this cleaned hours ago,” you mutter nearly halfway done.
“I was busy.” He answers as his hand gently brushes against your shoulder.
“With?” You ask, eyes still not leaving the wound but not shrugging his hand away.
His eyes scan your face. “Finding you.”
Your hand slips slightly. Not enough to hurt him, but enough for him to notice.
“You already knew where I lived.”
“I wanted to see you.”
There’s that sentence again. So honest, like there was nothing else more important.
Silence settles between you again, broken only by the quiet rattle of paper as you open fresh gauzes and the sound of rain against the windows. Focusing once again on your task, you quickly lose yourself in what is familiar.
Then Dex quietly says, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
You tie off the last stitch before grabbing more gauze and soaking it in antiseptic alcohol. “Most prisoners send a letter.”
“I didn't think you’d like letters from me.”
You couldn’t stop your quiet snort.
“Did you think about me?” he says quietly after a while. Hand tightening on your shoulder like the answer to this question could hurt him more than his wound.
You press the gauze against the stitches, cleaning them and the surrounding area. “You were all over the news, quite hard to miss.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He says cupping your face and forcing you to look at him.
His face is blank, but his eyes are looking at you like he’s already decided you belong in his life.
And maybe you did. But it causes that familiar complicated feeling to twist in your chest.
“You shot me,” you say softly before you can stop yourself. “I waited years for you, and you shot me.”
Your confession settles heavily between you, and for the second time that night, Dex looks away.
“I know.” He says his face filled with something you couldn’t place—guilt, maybe.
The apartment smells faintly of antiseptic, rain, and blood. Outside the storm gets stronger.
Inside the living room, neither of you move.
“You’ll live,” you say, taking off your gloves.
Dex looks down at the neat line of stitches crossing his side before his gaze drifts back to you. “I know.”
Standing up, you move all the soiled items aside so that you can toss them in the kitchen bin. “You should go before the numbing wears off.”
Moving back to the table, you pack up the remaining medical items, making a mental note to restock and place them back in the ottoman.
Leaning down to grab your robe, your breath catches as Dex reaches out his hand, gently grabbing your wrist, his thumb gently pressing against your pulse.
“You’re shaking,” he says quietly.
“I’m tired.” You say, making no move to pull away.
“You’re drained.” He states.
You almost deny it. But what would be the point? He noticed everything else about you tonight.
“I’ve had a long night,” you remind him.
“And you still helped me.” He states like this means something.
Before you could reply, Dex’s gaze drops to your shoulder. To the scar barely hidden by your shirt. His expression shifts into the same look as earlier.
“I didn’t mean to hit you,” he says honestly. “You moved in front of him so quickly I didn’t have time to stop.”
You look away at his admission, part of you wanting to believe him while the other part wants to shoot him to make it even.
Rain hits the windows harder as you begin to feel it again, that persistent and wanting pull between you becoming tighter the longer he stays.
“You need to leave,” you say quietly.
Dex looks at you for a long second. “Why didn’t you come to see me?”
The question hit you like a punch to the gut. Months of knowing exactly who he was to you, and you’d done nothing.
No visits. No letters. Nothing except pretend the name on your skin didn’t exist.
“I was in prison,” Dex continues quietly. “You knew where I was.”
You couldn’t force yourself to hold his gaze. Not when you knew what he was really asking. Why didn’t you come? Why didn’t you choose me?
But you can’t answer that. Not honestly. Not when the truth was that every day you wanted to see him, to betray your friends and your family just to get a day with him.
“You need to leave.” You say, instead of spilling the truth, pulling your wrist out of his grip.
For a second, you think he might argue. His stare fixed so intensely on you that you almost cave and spill the truth.
Then he stands, pulling his shirt back over his head, and makes his way towards the window. Pushing it open wider, as storm blows cold air and rain into the living room as he tosses one leg out before he pauses and turns to look back at you again.
“I’m going to see you again.” He states.
Then he disappears into the night, and you’re left standing alone in your living room.
Your fingers slowly brush his name on your skin, and you can’t stop the feeling of wanting to see him again.
A/N: This is my first one-shot written so feedback is welcome!
@benspoindexter @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @genya1617
NEXT CHAPTER
YOU JUST LOVE HOW LARGE YOUR BOYFRIEND IS ᝰ.ᐟ
warnings: slightly suggestive content but other than that literally nothing, mentions of blood and injuries
word count: 1.1k
a/n: this came to me in a vision, anyway… i’m sharing it with you… i need this loser so bad, those new ddba s3 pics of him have sent my mind into a frenzy. freak4freak
you were lounging on the bed, your skin still faintly damp from the shower. tiny beads of water clung to the nape of your neck where the spray had brushed against you.
your skin faintly smelled of that new shampoo and body lotion you had tried — the memory of dex wrapping his arms around you and inhaling your scent still freshly engraved in your mind.
“dex,” you had giggled as he all but squeezed you to himself, holding you so tight it felt like he was trying to blend your body into his own.
you raised your hands to his shoulders. he was still clad in his bullseye suit — the dark blue material feeling strangely artificial under your palms.
he smelled of sweat and dust, and you swore you’d noticed a speck of blood somewhere on him when he first came inside, though it was gone now. ever since the two of you had started dating seriously, you’d noticed he always cleaned himself up after coming back from… work. if you could even call what he did work.
he no longer came home covered in grime and someone else’s coppery, crimson blood. he knew you always worried it was his, even if most of the time it wasn’t.
but still, the heavy suit trapped his body heat, and the sweat that came with the adrenaline couldn't be helped.
“what is it?” he grumbled, noticing the way you knit your brows and tried to pull away from his grip. not that the iron embrace he had on your hips would have let you move anyway.
“you smell,” you pointed out, suppressing a laugh at his instantly irritated expression.
all he wanted to do was hold you and kiss you stupid after another successful mission, and here you were — complaining about something he couldn’t control.
“what do you want me to do?” he muttered, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck like a clingy animal. “'s not my fault.”
“benjamin,” you warned, cradling his head as he all but whined. here he was— a grown man, an infamous vigilante who had people shaking in their boots at the mere mention of his name—whining in your arms like a child. “i love you. but please, for the love of god, go shower.”
he sighed, knowing those three words were the exact key he could never resist. he melted every single time you said it, whether it was the first or the hundredth time.
and you were right… he did kind of stink.
so that was how you ended up laying on your bed in nothing but a t-shirt, waiting for him to finish. all the dirt and soot and gore of his day washing down the drain with the hot water.
the door creaked on its hinges as he stepped out, a slight mist rolling out behind him. his blonde hair was damp and ruffled where the water had undone his styling, and he had nothing but a towel loosely wrapped around his hips.
you subconsciously bit your lip at the sight, your breathing stuttering at his appearance. you felt your pupils dilating as your thighs involuntarily squeezed together.
he didn't seem to notice your staring at first, intent on grabbing a shirt and a clean pair of boxers from the dresser.
you admired the hard strain of his back muscles, the perfectly sculpted slope of his shoulders and abs as he turned around, grumbling softly as he sifted through his clothes.
you scooted closer to the edge of the mattress, getting closer to where he stood. up close, he looked even more dangerous, even more gorgeous.
“you’re staring,” he pointed out, and you could hear the smug smirk in his voice.
“is it a crime for a woman to admire her boyfriend’s stunning physique?”
“stunning?” he turned around sharply, a little breathless from the massive grin spreading across his face.
he was still only sporting that towel loosely draped over his hips… if it slipped just a fraction…
“yeah,” you breathed, standing up. your fingers traced over the ridges of his abs, feeling the intense heat radiating from his skin. he tensed instantly under your touch. “stunning.”
you didn’t notice the way dex looked at you with a sudden, dark hunger — you were too caught up in admiring him.
it was one thing for him to worship you all the time, constantly repeating how much he loved you, how obsessed he was.
but it was a completely different beast when you were the one doing it, showing your raw devotion to him openly.
it did something lethal to his brain, cracking open his fragile skull and making his spine tingle right where the scar from his injury lay.
your lips parted as a quiet giggle involuntarily escaped you.
“what is it?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave as he suppressed the urge to shove you onto the mattress and kiss you senseless.
“you’re just so…” your brain searched for the right word. “large. like… in a really good way. it’s hot.”
his mind completely short-circuited at that, your words echoing through his skull like a broken, beautiful record player.
“i like how,” your hands dragged up to his shoulders, “how wide your shoulders are. your chest is so broad… your arms, your abs. your belly.” you spoke of him like he was the most precious thing on earth. like his body was a shrine you were destined to worship. him. “your thighs.”
him, who others feared or viewed as nothing but a monster. a murderer. a tool simply utilizable before discarding. but you… you looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky.
“you’ve been eating more,” you noted matter-of-factly. but before his deep rooted insecurity could surface, you cut it off. “i like that. i like you. i like how you’re…”
you grabbed his hands, pulling his massive frame closer to yours. he made a low, wrecked noise in the back of his throat, every ounce of his self-restraint faltering by the second.
“i like how you have enough muscle for the both of us,” you finally whispered, looking up into his eyes.
and all you found there was purely unfiltered love, adoration, and burning lust.
it made your heart skip a beat. your dex, looking down at you like you were the center of his universe. because to him, you absolutely were.
“you can’t just say shit like that to me…” he whispered, his large hand coming up to cup your cheek. “and expect me to act normal.”
“i never said i wanted you to be,” you shot back, and dex was immediately reminded exactly why you were his.
“show me dex…” you whispered, slipping your fingers between your bodies and carefully undoing the knot holding together the towel. “show me everything you want to do to me.”
you could feel the groan vibrating through his chest as all self-restraint perished and he pushed you towards the bed.
and showed you… he did.
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