Haven't read this book yet but it's giving BIG Dex vibes, and it's FREE on ebook. I can't wait to read it.
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Haven't read this book yet but it's giving BIG Dex vibes, and it's FREE on ebook. I can't wait to read it.

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the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
Guilty as Sin?
đ¨đŞđ˘đ˘đđ§đŽ: after cutting Dex out of your life, his spiraling desperation leads you to make your first real choice for yourself instead of everyone else.
đŹđđ¤: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter/Bullseye x Female!Murdock Reader
đŹđ¤đ§đ đđ¤đŞđŁđŠ: 2.5k
đŹđđ§đŁđđŁđđ¨: soulmate au, hurt/comfort, blood, injury, Dex has a mental spiral. If I have missed any please let me know!
đđđŤđđđđ§ đđŽ: @uzmacchiato
đŽ/đť: Part 4 of this series! Like before feedback is welcome!
Glitch Series Masterlist
Next Chapter: Sparks Fly
Previous Chapter: The Great War
âTheyâre gonna crucify me anyway⌠â â Guilty as Sin? by Taylor Swift
The silence became unbearable on the fourth day.
It wasnât Mattâs silence, nor was it Karenâs. 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 hadnât expected was how much Dexâs 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 hadnât 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 youâd see.
23 unread messages.
14 missed calls.
9 voicemails.
All from Dex.
You hadnât answered a single call, hadnât listened to a single voicemail, and hadnât opened a single message.Â
Tapping the messages app, you saw that they had started normal the messages had gradually got less coherent as the days passed.
Dex:Â Are you okay?
Dex:Â Please answer.
Dex:Â Iâm sorry.
Dex:Â Iâm trying.
Dex:Â You said leave you alone.
Dex:Â Iâm trying to do that.
Dex:Â 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, wasnât 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 wasnât real.
How he looked at you like you mattered, like you were something precious.
And now the silence heâd left behind haunted your apartment like a trapped ghost.
â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â
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.
âDex?â You asked into the phone.
He didnât 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.
âDex?â You asked again.
A long pause.
Then finally he spoke quietly, âIâm sorry.â
Your eyes closed briefly as your stomach settled, but hearing those words from him made your chest ache.
âWhat happened?â you asked softly.
More silence.
âYou told me to leave you alone.â His voice sounded wrong. âI was trying to.â
The words hit painfully as you swallowed hard.
âDexââ
âI canât think when itâs quiet.â His voice was frustrated now as something crashed faintly in the background.
You straightened up immediately. âAre you hurt?â
Another pause.
â⌠No.â
A lie, and you could hear it instantly.
âWhere are you?â You asked as your fingers tightened around the phone.
âAt home.â His breathing stuttered unevenly again. âBaby, Iâm trying very hard not to come see you.â
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.
âIâm coming over.â You said sliding on your shoes and then grabbing your coat and keys.
The silence on the other end was immediate.
âYou donât have to.â He whispered.
âI know.â
Another long pause.
âOkay.â
â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â
Dexâs 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.
Dexâs eyes immediately found yours and stayed there as if he was checking you were real.
âYou came.â
The words sounded almost uncertain as your gaze slowly swept over the apartment again.
âWhat happened?â
Dex looked away for the first time since opening the door.
âI got angry.â
Your eyes dropped to his bleeding hands.
âYou punched the wall.â
âYes.â
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 didnât move. Didnât come closer. He was still doing what youâd said that night.
Leave me alone.
âSit down,â 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.
âWhy didnât you clean these?â
Dex watched your thumb brush carefully beneath his split knuckles.
âI couldnât focus.â
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.
âYou shouldâve listened to the voicemails,â he said quietly after a while.
You glanced up briefly. âWere they coherent?â
â⌠No.â
Despite yourself, a small, tired laugh escaped you.
Dexâs mouth twitched faintly at the sound and then disappeared again.
âI tried,â he admitted softly.
Your hands stilled slightly against his skin. âI know.â
âNo,â he said quietly. âYou donât.â
His jaw tightened once. âI stayed away.â
Guilt twisted low in your stomach.
Not because his spiral was your fault. It wasnât.
But because you suddenly understood how hard heâd actually tried.
âI know,â you repeated softer this time.
Dex finally looked away again. âI kept thinking about what you said.â
Leave me alone.
The memory made your chest tighten painfully.
âI didnât mean forever, baby,â you whispered before you could stop yourself.
Dexâs 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.
âAll done.â Your hands faintly shook as you pulled them away from him.
Dex exhaled softly as the pain left his hands.
âYouâre tired,â he murmured immediately.
Of course he noticed, you thought to yourself. âIâm fine.â
âYouâre lying.â
You snorted quietly. âA little hypocritical coming from you.â
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.
âYou destroyed your apartment,â you muttered softly.
âI know.â He whispered.
âYou probably scared the neighbours.â
âI know.â
âYou called me at two in the morning.â
At that, something conflicted crossed his expression.
âI didnât know what else to do.â
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.
âYou shouldâve called earlier.â
Dex opened his eyes again slowly.
âYou told me to leave you alone.â
God.
The fact he treated every word you said like they were sacrosanct made your chest ache.
You swallowed thickly. âI know.â
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.
âI missed you.â
The words left your mouth before you could stop them.
Dex froze completely as his eyes searched your face like he didnât trust what heâd heard.
Then something inside him visibly unraveled.
His hand lifted slowly toward your face like he was afraid you might pull away. When you didnât, his fingers brushed your cheek carefully.
Reverently. Like you were something breakable.
âYou did?â he asked softly.
Your chest tightened. âYes.â
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 wasnât desperate, wasnât 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 wasnât 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.
âIâm sorry,â he said instantly. âI thoughtââ
âNo.â
You cupped his face quickly before he could spiral again.
âNo, thatâs notââ
But his breathing had already started changing again, sharp and uneven.
You moved closer instinctively.
âI wanted that,â you admitted softly.
Dex stared at you. âBut youâre upset.â
âNo, baby, itâsâI liked it.â
His expression shifted into something stunned and painfully hopeful all at once.
You let out a shaky breath. âThis is complicated.â
âI know.â
âYou donât actually.â
That nearly made him smile again as your thumb brushed carefully across his cheek.
âI justâŚâ your voice softened, âI donât want this to happen because youâre vulnerable right now.â
Understanding slowly crossed his face before it turned almost unbearably soft.
âYou stayed anyway,â he whispered.
The vulnerability in his voice nearly wrecked you as your forehead gently rested against his.
âIâm still here.â
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.
âYou should sleep,â you murmured eventually.
Dex opened his eyes again immediately. âYouâll leave.â
The certainty in his voice hurt. You shook your head softly.
âNot tonight.â
Fragile relief crossed his face then.
â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â
The apartment was less like a war zone come morning light after you spent the three hours that you couldnât sleep tidying it up as best as you could.
You stood in Dexâs 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.
âYou stare a lot,â you muttered softly.
âI like looking at you.â
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.
âYou didnât sleep much,â he observed immediately.
âNeither did you.â
âBut I slept.â
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 didnât feel awkward.
JustâŚquiet.
âYouâre not scared of me.â
The words came suddenly.
You looked at him carefully. âNo.â
Dex studied your face closely. âYou probably should be.â
You snorted softly. âThereâs the self-awareness.â
His mouth twitched slightly, then faded. âI never wanted to hurt you.â
The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache again. âI know.â
Silence stretched softly between you.
Then Dex spoke again. âWhat do you want?â
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 whatâs morally right?
JustâŚyou.
Your fingers tightened slightly around your mug.
You. You thought to yourself.Â
âI donât know,â you said quietly.Â
Dex nodded once like he understood.
âOne date.â He said after a moment.
You looked at him.
His expression remained calm, but there was something careful underneath it now. Something uncertain.
âIâm not asking for anything else,â he said quietly. âJust one date.â
Your heartbeat stumbled.
Because this wasnât fate demanding something from you, it wasnât 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 â⌠Okay.â
The word barely left your mouth before something in Dexâs expression softened so completely it almost took your breath away. It wasnât triumph, not total possession, but quiet happiness.
Real happiness.
Happiness that felt far more satisfying than anything else.
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Sparks Fly
summary: a surprisingly soft first date with Dex makes it impossible to keep pretending you donât 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?
âYouâre the kinda reckless that should send me runningâŚâ â Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift
You had changed outfits eight times before finally deciding you were being ridiculous.
It was a date.
It wasnât a surgery, or a court hearing, or a life-or-death situation.
Just a date. A date with Dex.Â
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.Â
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 heâd actually spent time getting ready.
Stupidly good, you thought to yourself.Â
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. âYou look pretty.â
Heat flushed your cheeks as the honesty in his voice hit harder than any flirting wouldâve.
âThank you,â you said softly before glancing at the plant in his hands. âWhatâs that?â
Dex immediately held it out toward you. âLemon balm.â
Your eyebrows lifted slightly as you carefully took the pot from him.
âLemon balm? Most people give roses.â
âYou use it constantly, and you donât like roses.â
Of course he noticed that. Your fingers brushed gently against the soft green leaves as warmth spread through your chest.
âIt helps with anxiety and sleep,â he continued quietly. âAnd headaches.â
You looked back up at him slowly. âNobody remembers the things I use at the apothecary.â
Dexâs expression barely changed. âI do.â
God, that shouldnât 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.
âYouâre early,â you said, setting the plant carefully beside the window.
âI know.â
âYou know most people usually pretend not to be eager.â
âI wasnât pretending.â
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.
âYouâre staring again,â you muttered, grabbing your cardigan.
âI like looking at you.â
âYou say things like that very casually.â
âTheyâre true.â
You shook your head softly despite smiling as you walked toward the door.
âCome on before I decide not to go.â
Dex opened the door for you immediately. âYou wonât.â
The confidence in his voice shouldâve annoyed you, but instead it made your chest warm. Because for the first time in months, you didnât want to run from this, from him.
â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â
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.
ââŚYou brought an actual blanket.â
âYes.â
âAnd three containers of food.â
âYes.â
âAnd backup utensils.â
âYes.â
You blinked at him. âDex.â
âWhat?â The way he tilted his head was awfully like a lost puppy.
A laugh escaped you. âA backup fork?â
âYou dropped yours once at the diner and refused to use it afterwards.â
Your chest warmed again because, of course, he knew that too.
Dex watched your face carefully. âYou think itâs excessive.â
âI think itâs a little adorable.â 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.
âWell,â you muttered, sitting down quickly on the blanket. âNow I regret saying that.â
Dex slowly sat beside you. âYou called me adorable.â
âDonât make it weird.â
âYou think Iâm adorable.â
âOh my God.â
The quiet amusement in his voice made you laugh again, and something in Dexâs expression softened so quickly at the sound that your heart nearly betrayed you entirely.
Oh, itâs scary how easy this feels, you thought to yourself, how easy he feels despite how dangerous he is.Â
You pushed the thought away as Dex opened one of the containers, and your eyes widened slightly.
âYou got food from Popâs Corner Deli?â
âYou like their sandwiches.â
âYou noticed that?â
âYou buy lunch there every Thursday.â
You stared at him.
Dex paused slightly. ââŚWas that strange?â
âNo,â you said honestly. âJust veryâŚobservant.â
âI observe you a lot.â
The blunt honesty nearly made you choke on your drink, and Dex immediately handed you a napkin.
âYou okay?â He asked, rubbing your back.Â
You snorted softly.
âYou cannot say things like that so casually.â
âTheyâre true.â
There it was again, that impossible honesty that made your heart flutter. Honesty that wasnât 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 theyâre just being polite, but real ones.Â
âWhat was your favorite book as a kid?â
âThe original Fear Street series by R. L. Stine.â
âWhat made you start working at the clinic?â
âExtra money. I was a poor mid-twenties girl.â
âDo you like healing people?â
âYes, but itâs tiring sometimes.â
âDo you ever wish youâd left New York?â
âYes, I have always wanted to travel.â
âWhat makes you happiest?â
âPlants and chocolate-covered strawberries.â
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.
âYou ask a lot of questions,â you said eventually, leaning back on your hands as the breeze lifted strands of your hair.
Dex looked completely unashamed. âI like hearing you talk.â
Your stomach fluttered annoyingly at how straightforward he always was.
âWell,â you said carefully, âthen itâs your turn.â
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
âWhat? You think you can interrogate me for an entire afternoon without answering questions yourself?â You smiled.Â
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. âInterrogate?â
âYou literally asked me what my favourite childhood book was.â
âThatâs important information.â
You laughed softly. âOkay then, Poindexter. Favourite movie.â
He answered immediately. âThe Empire Strikes Back.â
You blinked. âReally?â
âYes.â
âYou like Star Wars?â
âYou sound surprised.â
âYou donât exactly give off sci-fi fan energy.â
âWhat energy do I give off?â
You opened your mouth, paused, then grinned. âSerial killer documentaries.â
Dex snorted quietly into his drink.
Actually snorted.
You stared at him in mild shock. âWas that a laugh?â
âNo.â
âThat was definitely a laugh.â
âIt wasnât.â
âYou just made a noise.â
Dex looked deeply offended. âI make noises all the time.â
âThat sounded worse than what I meant.â 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.
âHow about you?â he asked after a moment. âFavourite movie.â
You hummed thoughtfully. âIâm not sure.â
Dex tilted his head slightly. âWhy?â
âIâm more of a TV series girl instead of a movie girl.â
âReally?â
âI mean, Iâll watch a movie if it interests me, but I like shows more.â You move from leaning back on your hands to your elbows.
âWell, then, whatâs your favourite TV show?â
âSupernatural.â
âWhy?â Dex asks, passing you another sandwich.
âBecause itâs about two cool brothers hunting monsters like demons and vampires.â You say while taking a bite from the sandwich.
âYou like that?âÂ
âYes.âÂ
âI can tell.â
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.
âYou know,â you said after a moment, âyouâre much calmer than I expected.â
His expression shifted slightly at that. âDisappointed?â
âNo.â Your answer came instantly. âJust surprised.â
Dex looked away briefly toward the trees swaying overhead. âYou make it quiet.â
Your heartbeat stumbled softly. âWhat does that mean?â
âWhen Iâm around other peopleâŚâ He paused carefully, like he was trying to explain something he normally kept locked away. âEverything feels loud and irritating. But with you it doesnât.â
The honesty in his voice settled warmly deep inside your chest.
You looked down at your hands for a moment before quietly asking, âIs that why you keep finding me?â
âYes, and because youâre mine.â
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.
âOh, absolutely not.â
Dex glanced at you innocently. âWhat?â
âThat sharpshooter nonsense doesnât count.â You say, pointing at him.
âIt was a grape.â
âYouâre showing off.â
âI wasnât trying to.â
âThat makes it worse.â
A smug look of satisfaction flickered briefly across his face before he picked up another grape and held it out toward you.
âTry.â
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously before taking it. âIâm going to regret this.â
âProbably.â He smirked.Â
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. âYouâre laughing at me.â
âYou hit yourself.â
âYou distracted me!â
âI didnât say anything.â
âYou have distracting energy.â
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, Iâm in trouble, as you found yourself relaxing without realising it. Laughing easier, talking more, teasing him.
âYou definitely practiced this date.â You said popping a grape in your mouth.Â
Dex looked offended with another sandwich raised halfway towards his mouth.Â
âI did not practice.â
âYou absolutely practiced.â
âI planned.â
âYou researched parks, didnât you?â
ââŚMaybe.â
You laughed again.
âI knew it.â
âItâs a quiet area,â he defended immediately. âMinimal noise, minimal people, fewer interruptions.â
âYou sound like youâre planning a kidnapping or something.â You teased.Â
âI wanted it to go well.â
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 wouldnât 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.
âWhat?â He asked.Â
âYou moved the bee.â
âYou didnât want it hurt.â The simplicity of his answer made your heartbeat stumble hard enough to nicely ache.
Because nobody besides Matt noticed things like that. They didnât pay attention to tiny reactions from you, but Dex always did.
Always.
âYouâre staring now,â 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 heâd wanted to do it for hours.
And honestly? So had you.
The soulmate bond tingled warmly beneath your skin. But for once it wasnât 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.Â
âYouâre quiet,â Dex murmured softly.
You looked down at your joined hands.
âJust thinking.â
âAbout?â
You glanced back up at him slowly. âThis is nice.â
Something almost unbearably soft and relaxed crossed his face.
âYes,â he agreed quietly. âIt is.â
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 hadnât even realised you were rubbing it until Dexâs hand gently caught your wrist.
âCome here.â
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. âOh.â
âTense?â he asked quietly.
âVery.âÂ
His thumbs worked carefully against the knot of pain near your scar. Not pressing too hard, not rushing, just steady but gentle circular motions.
âYou take care of everyone else,â he murmured softly behind you. âSomeone should take care of you too.â
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.Â
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.Â
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 safeâŚand warmâŚand peaceful.
You hadnât realised how badly you needed something peaceful until now. Eventually Dexâs 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 didnât look away from it. From him.Â
â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â
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.
âThis is the part where normal people say goodbye.â
Dex tilted his head slightly. âYou want normal?â
You thought about it honestly, then smiled. âNo.â
Something satisfied flickered across his expression, and you gathered that neither did he. The realisation shouldâve 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.
âDid you enjoy yourself?â
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.Â
Dex froze completely as your lips lingered there for a few seconds before you pulled back slightly.
âYes,â you whispered honestly. âI really did.â
Something in Dexâs 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 didnât 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.Â
âGoodnight, baby,â he murmured quietly.
You smiled. âGoodnight, Dex.â
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
Lowkey embarrased to admit this..
But I think I have a tiny parasocial crush on Hozier's older brother lol I found out about his documentaries after Hozier shared one of them and I also found some old podcasts and what can I say, tall nerdy chubby guys are my type so...

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There's a fic where is mentioned that Robby has a minor in Literature and I can't find it
Also him mentioning one must imagine sisyphus happy on that one episode was really hot, so any fic where my man shows his literary knowledge I am happy
Give me some good Dex x reader fics pleaseeeee they are all angsty and stuff I need some smutty fluffy shit
At least I got to see daddy before it all ends lol
I don't think this episode was bad but it should have happened sooner (? Like I liked this episode it was okay but this far into the season (like one episode away from the finale)... I fear for the last ep fr

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â đ¤đ˛đŚđŠđąđś đđ° đ°đŚđŤ - đĄđŻ đŞ đŻđŹđđŚđŤđđłđŚđąđ đĽ - đđđŻđą đąđĽđŻđ˘đ˘ â
â đ°đ˛đŞđŞđđŻđś
Robby tries to walk away again, convincing himself distance is the only way to stop hurting you, until he sees you leaving because of him. Faced with the reality of losing you, heâs finally forced to admit the truth heâs been avoiding all week, he never stopped wanting you, he just didnât believe someone like you could want him back. // OR // After letting his insecurities ruin things between you, Robby finally reaches a point where staying away feels worse than risking rejection. But when the two of you confront each other outside the bar, apologies quickly turn into something far more dangerous, because neither of you are able to keep pretending this connection doesnât matter.
â đđđŚđŻđŚđŤđ¤
dr. m. robinavish x resident! female!reader
â đŞđđ°đąđ˘đŻđŠđŚđ°đą
about me // masterlist || gulity as sin // masterlist || part two || part four soon
â đđđđđđđ đđđđ
Like I've said before, this story started out as what was supposed to be a smut shot, and so next chapter will be not only the last chapter, but also the smut chapter. It will most probably be posted on Friday, 15th may. Until then, love yall, and hope you enjoy the miscommunication being fixed!!
â đ´đŹđŻđĄ đ đŹđ˛đŤđą
2.8K words
â đ´đđŻđŤđŚđŤđ¤ đđŤđĄ đąđđ¤đ°
MDNI, age gap (20s/50s), unspecified age gap, no use of Y/N, attending x resident, mutual pining, resolved tension, self sabotage, insecure!robby, guilty!robby, regretful!robby, emotional confrontation outside a bar, robby realizing he canât stay away, hurt feelings, yearning, âyou donât get to decide how I feelâ, desperate kissing, tension so thick itâs painful, robbyâs insecurities ruining everything, emotional whiplash, soft possessiveness, longing, making out in an uber pickup zone, reconciliation kisses, body insecurities, anxious habits.
The cool air hits him the second he steps outside.
Quieter. Still. For a second, he just stands there, breathing it in, like maybe itâll settle something in his chest. It doesnât. If anything, it makes the thoughts louder. Clearer. More unavoidable.
At the core of it, he had hurt you. That was the painful truth. It hadnât been the kiss or the almost of what happened, but everything after. The way he shut down. Pulled back. He had treated you like you didnât matter.
His jaw clenches, because he canât even defend himself anymore. He tries, tries to tell himself those lies again, but they taste wrong on his tongue. He drags a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps along the pavement.
Fix It.Â
The thought screams in his head again, sticking around longer. Not easily pushed away like it first had been. And suddenly the thought of leaving turns sour, wrong, the mere thought of it makes him nauseous, because leaving was the furthest thing away from fixing anything.
Exhales sharply. âFuck!â He curses under his breath. His head drops for a second before he turns, Adrenaline running through his veins, Not fully thought through. He steps towards the door, ready to go back in, ready to at least try. Even if he doesnât have the right words yet. Even if he messes it up. At least it would be something.
And then the door opens in front of him. He freezes, because he knows even before he sees you, whoâs walking through the door.Â
Itâs you, because the universe had always had a cruel humor with him.Â
You step out quickly, like you didnât want to hesitate long enough to change your mind. Phone in your hand, screen still lit. You barely make it two steps before you stop short, because now you see him. Standing there. Right in front of you. Almost as if youâd seen a ghost.Â
For a second, neither of you say anything. Yet it doesnât stop the air from shifting, from tightening.His gaze drops briefly, to your hand, to your phone. The screen. He sees the uber screen, and it makes his chest tighten. You swallow looking at his eye sight, nodding once.
Itâs small, controlled. âIâm heading home.â You manage through the lump in your throat. It hits harder than it should, because itâs not just leaving the bar. Itâs leaving because of him.Â
His jaw tightens slightly. âYou just got here.â It comes out low. Not accusatory, but thereâs something under it. Something he hasnât quite managed to hide.
You shrug, but itâs not careless. Itâs defensive. âChanged my mind.â A beat, before you whisper, âI didnât feel like staying anymore.â
The words hang there. Heavy. Obvious in a way neither of you say out loud. His chest tightens again, that guilt flaring right back up, sharp, immediate, because he knows why. He knows exactly what changed your mind.
For a second, he almost lets you go. Almost falls back into that same instinct, to stay away. To not make it worse, but then his eyes flick back to your face. To that same controlled expression, to the way you wonât quite look at him for too long.
And something in him shifts. Itâs not clean, not resolved, but enough.
âDonât.â
The word slips out before he can overthink it. Low. Firm. You pause, just slightly. Eyes flicking back to his.
âRobby, You canât keep doing thisâ You say and he hears the pain in his voice.Â
âYouâre right.â He whispers and you twist your head to look at him, and he sees the tears coating your eyes, not welling, not yet. He steps forward. âI messed up, royally messed up. I made a mistake. Not when I walked into your apartment, not when I kissed you, not when I pulled your shirt off. I made the mistake when I stepped away, when I assumed what you had thought.â He says, the words spilling out of him before he could overthink a single one.Â
âI regret it, I regretted it the second I took that step away. I wanted you, more than Iâve wanted anything in my life. But I felt guilty, I felt like I was wrong, thinking someone like you could like me.â He looks at the floor when he says it, not being able to look you in your eyes.Â
But he forces his eyes up, to connect with yours. âI am constantly in awe of you. You are full of so much potential. You have so much to discover and experience, and me and my stupid insecurities got in the way. I didnât believe you could want me, I didnât believe you deserved to want meâ
âStop.â Your voice cuts through his words, sharper than anything he thinks youâve ever said to him. Itâs not loud, but enough to make him freeze. Your head shakes slightly, breath uneven now, that control youâve been holding onto finally starts to crack.
âDo you hear yourself?â you ask, eyes glassy, searching his face like youâre trying to understand him and failing. âYou didnât believe me.â
Robbyâs mouth opens, but nothing comes out, because thereâs no version of that he can twist. No excuse that makes it better.
âYou donât get to decide what I feel,â you continue, voice trembling now, emotion bleeding through whether you want it to or not. âYou donât get to tell me I was wrong for wanting you just because you got scared.â
âIâm not-â he starts, stepping forward instinctively.
âYou are,â you cut in immediately. âThatâs exactly what you did.â A beat. âAnd then you made it worse.â You add, quieter and his jaw tightens, guilt flaring all over again.
âI didnât mean too,â he says, voice rough. âI just thought-â
âNo! I donât care about what you say you meant to say. Actions speak louder than words Robby, and your actions made it pretty damn clear. And you donât just get to fix that in five minutes outside a bar, Robby,â you add, shaking your head, even as your voice softens just slightly at the edges. âYou donât get to disappear all week, treat me like Iâm nothing, and thenâŚwhat? Show up here and decide actually no you do want me?â
âI never didnât want you.â The words come out fast. Immediate, too fast to be calculated. Too honest to be anything but real. You go still, just for a second.
His voice drops, steadier now, but no less intense. âThatâs the problem,â he admits. âI wanted you the entire time.â A step closer, careful this time. Like heâs aware you could walk away any second. âI still do.â
Your breath catches, just slightly, but you donât move toward him. Not yet. âYou donât get to say that like it fixes anything,â you whisper, even though it clearly does something to you.
His gaze drops for half a second, then lifts again. âIâm not saying it fixes it,â he says. âIâm saying it because itâs the truth. And Iâm done pretending itâs not.â
He takes another step towards you again, just enough for the tension to shift, to change.
âI handled it wrong,â he continues, quieter now. âI let my own shit get in the way, and I hurt you because of it. Thatâs on me.â A beat. âBut donât stand there and tell me this doesnât matter either.â
He doesnât think about the words, they slip out, naturally, and he sees the way it hits you. He recognizes that pain, because itâs the same one he had felt. The words had surprised even him, but they were the truest words he had spoken.Â
Your eyes flick up to his. And there it is again, that crack in your control. âIt does matter,â you admit, barely above a whisper. The second those words leave your mouth, something in him gives.
He closes the distance before he can overthink it. Itâs not rushed, not aggressive, but decided. His hand comes up, hesitates for half a second like heâs giving you time to stop him, yet you donât. âActions speak louder than words, thatâs what you said. So let me prove myself to youâ Those words make your eyes widen, looking up at his, the plea written between all of them.Â
And then he kisses you.
Itâs not soft. Itâs not careful. Itâs everything heâs been holding back all week, guilt, frustration, want, all of it crashing forward at once. Messy. Real. Uncontrolled. His hand comes up to your jaw, not rough, but firm enough to keep you there, like heâs afraid youâll disappear if he loosens his grip. Like this might slip through his fingers the second he gives it space.
Thereâs no hesitation in him. Only the pure want for you. For a split second, You donât respond. Your body goes still, caught between instinct and hurt, between everything heâs just said and everything heâs done. And he feels it, feels that pause, feels the risk of it.
He almost pulls back. Almost, but then your fingers curl into the front of his shirt. And everything changes. You kiss him back. Itâs sharp, emotional, like youâre pushing back just as much as youâre giving in. Like youâre still angry. Still hurt. But you feel it too, but youâve decided no longer to fight it.Â
His breath stutters against yours, grip tightening slightly as he pulls you closer without thinking, the space between you disappearing completely now. Thereâs nothing controlled about it anymore, not the way he leans into you. Not the way he deepens the kiss like heâs been starving for it. Not the way your name almost slips out of him but doesnât quite make it.
You break first, and he chases after your lips again, before you push him back. Itâs not clean. Your breath uneven as you pull back just enough to look at him, your hand still gripping his shirt like you havenât decided whether to push him away or pull him back in.
Your forehead nearly brushes his. âDonât-â you start, voice shaky, not fully formed. He doesnât move away, he doesnât let the space widen.
âI meant it,â he says, low, breath still uneven. âAll of it.â His eyes donât leave yours this time. Not like before. Heâs not hiding now.
âThat doesnât fix it,â you whisper again, but itâs weaker now. Less certain. Because youâre still close. Because you havenât let go. Because your body already betrayed you the second you kissed him back.
âI know,â he says.
And for once, he doesn't try to argue it. Quiet settles around you, the two of you standing there, too close, too aware, everything hanging in the space between you.
âPlease, donât tell me to walk away from this either.â He whispers. That lands differently, the honesty almost painful. Your grip on his shirt tightens for a second, before you close the space, kissing him back like you hadnât ever wanted to stop.Â
His hand cups your cheek and his other grasps your waist, as your hand twists in his shirt. You donât pull away, lost in the taste of each other till a car pulls up slightly beside you. You hear the chime of your phone, pulling away to look down at it. You look at the information on your phone matching it with that of the car.Â
Robby watches you, expectantly. âCome home with me, let me prove to you how much I wanted youâ you whisper and he nods.Â
âMy placeâ he argues and you nod, because he had thought ahead. Neither of you knew how to define it, and although youâd just fought, kissed and made up outside this bar, your friends, Santos, they didnât know what had happened. They didnât know the extent, and you werenât sure bringing him into Trinityâs and yours shared space was a good idea.Â
âYour placeâ You agree, taking his hand and walking towards the car.Â
The ride to Robbyâs place, after confirming with the Uber driver it was fine, was filled with crackling tension. The back seat of the white sedan feels too small for two bodies. Your shoulders brush, and he feels your eyes watching his hands. The way he counts to four tapping his thumb against each of his fingers.Â
He notices the way you play with the edge of your shirt. He notices the way your thighs clench together when he slides his hand over his knees, your eyes on the way his middle and ring finger hold together.
He studies your body before his eyes lock with yours and your breath hitches. Itâs in the confined space that those insecurities he thought he got rid of come back. They creep in slowly, the more he studies you. You were still blessed by age, skin never knowing the familiarity of wrinkles. He wondered if he was too old for you again. Then they turned personal.Â
You knew he had a stomach, had liked it that first night, but he wondered if you had actually liked it, or if you were just playing it up for him. He wonders how you would react to the rest of him. He was confident in his size, always had been, but the rest of his body had lost its appeal it once had over the years. He wasnât sharp curves and toned muscles like the boys your age.Â
He had meat to him, his pecs softer than they used to be, his stomach not flat, not carved, but real. Lived in. And suddenly, in the quiet of the car, under your gaze, it felt exposed in a way it hadnât in years.
His jaw tightens slightly as he looks away first, gaze dropping back to his hands like that would ground him again. It doesnât, because he can still feel you looking. Not judging. Not pulling away. Just looking, studying. And that almost makes it worse.
Your voice breaks the silence, softer than before. âYouâre doing it again.â
His brows pull together faintly. âDoing what?â
âGetting in your own head.â Thereâs no bite to it. No accusation. Just quiet certainty.
His throat works slightly, like he wants to argue it, but nothing comes out. Because youâre not wrong. You havenât been wrong once tonight. The car slows slightly as it turns, streetlights flickering through the window, casting brief flashes of light across your face. He catches the way youâre watching him again, closer now, more open.
âYou donât have to do that with me,â you add, quieter this time. Something in his chest shifts at that. His hand stills against his knee, the counting stopping without him realising. And then, slowly, like heâs testing it, he lets his fingers uncurl, and he lets them rest there instead of fidgeting.
âYou make it hard not to,â he admits, voice low, rough around the edges. Your breath catches slightly at that, and he notices. Of course he does.
âGood,â you whisper, almost to yourself. That pulls his gaze back to you, sharper this time. Thereâs something different in your expression now. Not just hurt. Not just hesitation.
Want. Clear. Undeniable. And directed at him. It hits him all over again, just like outside the bar, but quieter this time. Deeper. Settling instead of crashing. You liked the idea of his body, you liked how he was real. He exhales slowly, leaning back slightly into the seat, but his knee shifts just enough to press more firmly against yours. Not accidental this time.
Intentional. Your fingers tighten slightly in the fabric of your shirt again, but you donât move away. If anything, you lean into it, just barely. The driver says something up front, something about the next turn, but neither of you really hear it, because the space between you has changed. Itâs no longer about what might happen. Itâs about the fact that itâs going to.
The car comes to a stop outside his building, and for a second, neither of you move.
Then heâs opening the door, stepping out, the cool air hitting him again, but it doesnât clear his head this time. If anything, it sharpens everything. You follow a second later, and when the car door shuts behind you, the quiet settles in again. No music. No crowd. No distractions. Just you.
He turns toward you, slower this time, more deliberate. Like heâs giving himself a second to think. You donât give him one. âRobby-â Thatâs all you get out before heâs stepping closer.
Not rushing. Not like outside the bar. This time itâs controlled. Measured. His hand finds your wrist first, light, almost cautious. Thumb brushing against your pulse like heâs grounding himself there.
âStill sure?â he asks, voice low, steady, even if thereâs something underneath it that isnât.
You donât hesitate. âYes.â
His grip shifts, sliding from your wrist to your hand, fingers threading through yours properly this time. Not fleeting. Not uncertain. He leads you inside.
â đąđđ¤đŠđŚđ°đą (comment asking to join for this story)
@skylerepost + @velvetandromeda + @kishie8
why are all reader in reader insert fics fucking bakers dude?? it's always a sweet girl bakes cakes and cookies and stuff?? can't we have a reader that can't cook for shit lol
I Can See You
summary: you shouldâve 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
previous chapter: Willow
âI could see you being my addictionâŚâ â I Can See You by Taylor Swift
Itâs been two weeks since you last saw Dex.
Two weeks of pretending that he wasnât 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 hadnât met your soulmate.
In those two weeks, Dex never came back to your apartment while you were home.
But heâd 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 hadnât 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 didnât surprise you as much as it should have.
âWhatâs that?â 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. âHave you got a secret admirer you havenât told me about?â
You only shrug in response.
Because you know exactly where it came from and who left it.
ââŚhun?â Karen asks, now frowning in worry. âYou okay?â
âItâs nothing.â You say stepping forward and plucking the flower from Karenâs hand a little too quickly. âJust a flower.â
âA pretty flower,â Karen says teasingly, watching you twirl the flower. âDo you know what type it is? What it mean?â
âItâs a red salvia.â You force a small smile. âIt means forever mine.â
But your grip tightens around the stem as you tell her the meaning.Â
Karenâs teasing expression softens slightly as she watches you turn the flower between your fingers. âWell,â she says slowly, âthatâs either very romantic or mildly concerning.â
You snort quietly. âProbably the second one.â
âHm.â Karen narrows her eyes at you for a moment like sheâs trying to piece something together. âAt least your mysterious admirer has good taste.â
You roll your eyes, moving past her towards the shelves lined with herbal teas. âYou say that now, but wait until he starts leaving dead animals on my door like an unwanted cat.â
Karen gasps in mock horror. âAre those the standards these days?â
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.Â
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 heâs affecting you like this.
By the time the shop closes for the night, your feet and head ache.
âYouâre distracted today,â Karen says casually while pulling on her coat.
âIâm tired.â
âYou reorganised the same shelf three times.â
You pause halfway through locking the door. â⌠Did I?â
The look Karen gives is filled with worry.
â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â
The warmth of the diner feels welcoming compared to the cold outside.
Sitting across from Matt and Karen, youâre happily stealing fries off your brotherâs 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, âOh, and someone left a flower for her this morning.â
You nearly choke on a stolen fry.
âWhat kind of flower, you ask?â Karen continues, clearly enjoying herself.
âRed salvia,â she answers before you can stop her. âItâs romantic.â
Mattâs fork stops halfway on his plate.
âItâs a flower.â You say it with a smirk, ignoring your brotherâs stare.
âItâs not just a flower,â Karen corrects, standing with her empty glass. âIt's from your secret admirer.â
That makes Matt go quiet, and you can feel his full attention on you.
âYouâve been distracted lately.â Matt comments after a moment.
âItâs nothing,â you reply too quickly. âJust work.â
âYou have been working more hours at the clinic recently,â Karen adds concerned. âAre you sure itâs nothing?â
âYouâre both making this a bigger deal than it is." You force a laugh, pushing your empty glass towards Karen. âGo get us those drinks, would you.â
âYou sure youâre okay?â Matt asks quietly a few minutes after Karen arrives at the bar. âYou can tell me anything, remember?â
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. âIâm fine, Matty. Really.â
â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â
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 tonightâs 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.
âSeriously?â you mutter quietly. âWhat is it this time?â
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 heâs left you this time.
Your brows pull together slightly as you reach inside and pull out the knife resting in it.
Itâs 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.
âJesus Christ, Dex.â The words leave you quietly, more exhausted than alarmed. âThis is the worst one yet.â
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 werenât home.
A pretty purple hyacinth had been the first thing he left, followed by your favorite snacks, a book youâd wanted to read, and lastly the smooth rock sitting on the table.
Which youâre still confused by.
For a long moment you stare at the knife inside the box before laughing under your breath.
âNext heâll bring me dead animals like a stray cat,â 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 couldnât 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.
âWhat does a rock even mean?â you mumble tiredly to yourself.
â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â
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.
âYouâre quiet today,â he says after a while.
âItâs a nice day for quiet,â you reply, adjusting your grip on the ice cream in your hand.
âIâm serious,â Matt continues, slowing until you both come to a stop. âYouâve been⌠distant lately.â
âWork, the clinic, life in general.â You let out a small breath that could almost be a laugh if it werenât so forced. âTake your pick.â
âThatâs not what I meant.â
You donât 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.
âItâs nothing,â you say, a little too quickly, gently tugging him to walk again. âYouâre imagining things.â
Matt doesnât 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 doesnât remind you of him.
â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â
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.
âItâs the same colour as your eyes.â
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.
âThe same colour as my eyes?â 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.
âYes.â 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 heâd 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. âYou better have not bled all over my bathroom floor,â you muttered.
Dexâs expression shifted slightly. More teasing this time.
âItâs not much blood.â
âSay that to my sofa.â
âThat was also not much blood.â
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 heâd 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 didnât move, didnât 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.
âHow did you even get in here again?â you asked softly, taking a few steps away from him.
âThe bedroom window.â Dex answered, his footsteps following yours as if the distance was something he couldnât bear.
Your eyes fluttered closed as you sighed.
âYou know I have a door, right?â you ask, turning around to make your way to the kitchen.
âThe windows work,â he says, shrugging.
âYou keep leaving them open,â you reply, rummaging through your cupboards for a quick meal.
âI close it.â He states, following you.
âNot properly,â you say, now rummaging through the fridge. âMy heating bill is going to kill me.â
âWindows are quieter.â He tells you while sitting at the island.
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
Dexâs 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 heâs 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.
Dexâs eyes slowly scanned your face as you moved towards the island, a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries in hand.
âYouâre exhausted,â he noted quietly, reaching for a strawberry.
âIâm fine.â You dismiss him while grabbing two bowls.
âYour hands are shaking again.â
Your fingers curl slightly. âI worked all day.â
âAnd then went to dinner instead of resting.â He stated.
You frowned. âWere you following me?â
âNo.â The answer came too quickly.
You narrowed your eyes at him, still holding the bowls.
Dex blinked once. â⌠Mostly no.â
"Dex." You stared at him in disbelief.
âYou looked happy.â 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.
âYou ate the food.â He said, looking towards the empty takeout wrappers.
âI was hungry.â You shrugged, shoving a strawberry into your mouth.
âYou forget to eat when youâre tired.â He said, adding more strawberries to his bowl.
âUgh, you sound like Matt.â You groaned, dropping your head onto the counter.
Dexâs jaw tightened at your brotherâs name. âHe notices too?â
âMatt notices everything.â You say grabbing a handful of strawberries after noticing how full his bowl was getting.
âI notice more.â
The words landed like a slap. Too honest, too intense, too real, and you think you shouldâve shut this down sooner.
Shouldâve reminded him that none of this changed what heâd done, shouldâve said that none of the gifts were working, and shouldâve reinforced the boundaries you created in your head.
âAre you hurt?â You ask instead.
Dex looked down at his bruised hands. âNot badly.â
âYou could stop doing stupid shit.â You tell him.
âYouâd stitch me up anyway.â He replied.
You hate how right he was.
Dex leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving yours. âYou smiled,â he said quietly.
Heat immediately flushed your face.
âItâs just a rock.â You say.Â
âIt made you smile.â 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.
âYou should probably go,â 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. âThe flower looked nice by the till.â
Your eyes widened. âYou were watching the shop?â
Dex glanced back at you. âI was watching you.âÂ
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.
âAsshole ate my strawberries as well.â
A/N: Part 2 of this series! It should hopefully have main 12 parts total if all goes well đ¤đť. Like before feedback is welcome!Â
@benspoindexter @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @genya1617 @monikastuff @peanutbutterjellytime3000 @hanniesrock @not-the-teen-witch
Unavoidable - Dr. Brendon âThe Sharkâ Park x Reader
Chapter Six: Made for Me
Series Summary: The moment you meet Dr. Brendon Park, your entire world changes. He's your mate. The person you're destined to be with. But, god, does he have to be such an asshole all the time? Really, does he?
Chapter Summary: Once Brendon has you safe and comfortable at home, your shared heat and rut take over. You finally learn the perfection that comes with accepting your fated mate.
Tags/Notes: omegaverse, alpha!park, omega!reader, fated mates, scenting, mating time yay, oh god so many smut tags here we go, musk kink, fingering, fisting, piv, riding, mating press, missionary, creampie, breeding (they even talk about it youre welcome), knotting, mutual mating bites, multiple orgasms, everyone cries during sex, just so much smushy lovey pillow talk
Content Warnings: smut smut smut, minor blood (from bites)
Author's Note: i love this one so much everybody be nice!! also i Think this is the final chapter but i Might write an epilogue
Word Count: 7.6k
Brendonâs on high alert until he has you â softly crying, anxious, needy â safe in his car, strapped in, protected from the rest of the world. Even then, his knuckles are white on the steering wheel, unable to relax while youâre still so upset. He holds you close with his right arm, tugging you to his chest, kissing the top of your head at every red light.
Meanwhile, youâre restless. Your hormones and your emotions are all over the place. Arousal pools in your gut and spills out between your legs while anxiety grips your brain stem. Thereâs an unreality that youâre not sure how to deal with in the liminal space of Brendonâs car. All you know is that you need him. So you keep your nose at his neck and try to breathe.
Once Brendon has you inside your apartment, the scents and sights and sounds familiar, the anxiety slips behind the raw need that comes with your heat. As Brendon gets his bearings in your space for the first time, you follow him around like a lost puppy, your limbs getting weaker and your brain going squishy. While he puts your things away from your backpack, you yank on his scrub top and stand on your toes to kiss him.
Brendon wraps you in an all-enveloping embrace, his huge arms sturdy around your shivering form. You whine and palm at his cock through his scrubs, consumed by how badly you need him, but he catches your hand and presses kisses to your knuckles instead. âNot yet, baby, youâve gotta relax a little first. Your nervous systemâs fried. Weâre gonna eat something and then weâre gonna sleep a bit and then you can have whatever you want whenever you want until your heatâs over.â
You grip his shirt tight and your eyes are wide and teary. âYouâll stay with me?â
Heâs never felt his heart splintered in so many pieces. This is the time where he can turn all your fear to safety. Solemn and assuring, he cradles your face and vows, âNothing on earth could stop me from being with you.â
âPromise?â
âI promise.â Tilting your chin upward, he kisses you. Sweet and warm and slow. You melt against him. Suddenly, you can see sturdiness in his eyes, complete authority that you can yield to. Looking down at you sternly, knowing that youâre beginning to fold into the role of omega to his alpha, he asks, âNow what do you want to eat, sweetheart? We can order in or I can make something from what you have here for now.â
You shake your head and reply, âYou pick. Canât think.â
Brendon sighs and brushes your cheek with his thumb. âThat bad already, huh?â
âI always have a hard time,â you start, trying hard to focus on what you want to say. âDuring my heat, I mean. With talking.â
He gives you another soft kiss. âThatâs okay. Iâll take care of everything.â
When you gaze up at him this time, he can see any of your worries evaporating and turning to nothing but trust. âI know you will.â
So Brendon steps away from you and into the kitchen. Immediately, you whine at the lack of closeness. Brendon knows why, of course, because youâre his. So he smiles, rolls his eyes overdramatically to make it clear heâs playing, and opens his arms for you. âCome on, koala, hop up.â
You let out a happy squeal and jump onto him, wrapping your legs around his hips and your arms around the back of his neck. You nestle your nose against his scent gland and breathe deeply as Brendon walks around your kitchen, inspecting the cupboards and fridge to see the state of things. Heâs pleased to find that youâve definitely been preparing for your heat. Not only is the place loaded with baked goods from your days of nesting, but there are plenty of groceries. All your favorite snacks, fruits and vegetables, the works.
Brendon presses a kiss to the side of your head and says, âGood girl. Iâm really proud of you for taking care of yourself.â You grin and squeeze him tightly, all awash in happy chemicals having him in your space and, frankly, having an alpha strong enough to carry you around like itâs nothing in the first place. Brendon collects a Tupperware of baked goods and a few Gatorades before telling you, âAfter you get a little rest, youâll need to eat something with protein and nutrients, but thisâll do for now. Whereâs your nest, kitten?â
You nod over toward your bedroom and he obediently goes that direction, one arm beneath your ass and the other balancing the snacks. He can balance your whole weight with only one of his huge arms. His strength is intoxicating.
After pushing open the door to your bedroom, Brendon sees your nest and stops in his tracks. Youâve always been a little intense about your nest and it doesnât necessarily match with the cutesy homemaker image that a lot of omegas aspire to when it comes to designing their space. Instead of dreamy, gauzy linens and low lights, itâs a bit moreâŚchaotic. Like youâve turned your bed into a blanket fort. The bed is pushed into the corner and youâve tented it in beneath sheets and blankets tied to your ceiling. The far wall has built-in shelves where youâve painstakingly arranged everything you could possibly need during your heat in overflowing baskets: All your sex toys, your favorite snacks, lotions you like, scents that make you happy, a speaker you can connect to your phone with its own remote.
On the opposite side of the bed from the bookshelf, Brendon notices a large swath of canvas rolled up and attached to the ceiling; with just a bit of observation, he realizes that, when it comes down, you can use it as a screen with a projector on the bookshelf. Your own personal movie theater. Thereâs an ocean of stuffies in the far corner, mostly Jellycats, and he wonders how youâd decided which ones to collect. Among them, thereâs a collection of lots of fuzzy blankets and favorite pieces of clothing. Youâve got miniature paper lantern string lights criss-crossing along the top of the whole space, their pastel colors shining soft rainbows on everything.
A serene smile spreads over Brendonâs face as he takes in the space, imagining himself curled up with you as often as youâll have him. You pull your face from his neck, eyes wide with worry at the idea of being rejected, and whisper, âI know itâs messy.â
He squeezes you tight, meets your eyes seriously, and assures you the way he always does and always will, âItâs perfect, princess. I promise.â
As Brendon sets you down on your own two feet again, you straighten up and give him a sweet, proud smile. âYou really like it?â
âI really do,â he confirms. As his eyes chase every detail of your most intimate space, thereâs a vibrant enthusiasm about him right now that you havenât seen before. His energy is high and bright and addictive. Now that youâre totally safe, away from any real or perceived danger, he can relax into being the loving, supportive, affectionate alpha he really is. âEverything is just soâŚyou. I love that; it feels so special.â He draws a step closer and breathes deeply. âAnd, god, it smells fucking incredible.â
Before he can fold into the incredible display of coziness, you wrinkle your nose, nudge him in the bicep, and tell him, âNo outside clothes.â
Brendon nods like that makes sense. To him, it does. Youâre his perfect, precious girl and everything you do is just as perfect and precious as the rest of you. So he strips off his scrub top and discards it in the nearby hamper. Then, seeing your pupils dilate as you get your first real look at his body, Brendon turns to you with a cocky smile on his face. He steps out of his pants and kicks them away, leaving him in only his tight heather gray boxer briefs.
On his next breath, the mild, sweet scent of your slick coats his lungs. Beside himself as your pheromones unfurl into their most primal level, Brendon grips the door frame to your en suite bathroom and groans, âOh, fuck. You smell so- God.â
He surges forward without thinking and grabs you. His fingers find yours and he lifts your wrist to his nose. Youâve never seen such a peaceful, ecstatic expression on his harsh features as when his nose touches the scent gland at your wrist. He knows that, between your legs, itâll be ten times as intense, your slick and your sweat and your scent all mingling into a cocktail designed specifically and exclusively for him to consume.
Your hands go uselessly to the tie on your scrub bottoms to try to get your clothes off, but your fingers are shaky and awkward. You pout and demand, âHelp.â
âYes, maâam,â he chuckles, taking the reins for you. Brendon makes quick work of your pants and then your tee. When he has you in only a sports bra and frumpy panties â thankfully your heat stops you from feeling any embarrassment that you arenât wearing something âcuteâ underneath your clothes â Brendon can hardly breathe for how gorgeous you are. Itâs his turn for shaky hands as he tentatively touches your waist, not wanting to push you too hard too soon. He breathes out slowly, âYouâre the most beautiful thing Iâve ever seen.â
You bite your lip and glance down at the floor, swaying gently under his praise. âThank you.â
Brendon tilts your chin up, needing to see your eyes, and checks, âDo you want to put on some pajamas?â
With a sheepish, flirtatious smile, you shake your head no and start to remove your bra and underwear. Brendon steps forward to help you, thinking of nothing but making sure youâre comfortable. Itâs strange, this rut. On one hand, the sight of you naked in front of him has his cock throbbing with desire. But, on a much deeper, more visceral level, the singular focus on his mind is ensuring that youâre safe, comfortable, loved. He thought heâd want to claim and mark and fuck his mate until you were both numb, but, first and foremost, he wants to give you whatever you need. It goes beyond âwant,â actually. If you arenât perfectly content, he canât even breathe.
So, when he steps out of his own boxer briefs to join you in nakedness, it doesnât even feel sexual to either of you. Itâs comfort, simply speaking. You take his hand. Unable to disguise your nerves at the vulnerability, you pull him into your nest, immediately curling your arms around your knees because it feels so intense to have an alpha in here. To have his heady spicy scent filling the cracks and crevices of all your most beloved things.
Noticing your strained posture, Brendon rubs your back and murmurs, âYou donât have to be worried about anything, pup. This is the happiest Iâve ever been. Right now. Just being with you here. Letâs just relax a while, okay?â
You smile easily at that and suggest, âMusic?â
âMusic sounds good,â he confirms. He takes your phone from your discarded clothes, connects to the speakers with bluetooth, and scrolls through your playlists. He smirks and offers, âHow about âHeat Waveâ? Is that for your heat?â
You giggle and nod, so he hits play. As âGood Old Fashioned Lover Boyâ flits through the speakers, Brendon nestles backwards, sprawling out his large body, and pulls you to his chest. You sling your leg over his, your warmth permeating him, and everything starts to make sense for the first time today. You take a deep breath and let it out. Finally. Skin on skin. Body on body. Self on self. This is what youâve needed to fully relax.
Brendon canât believe how calm he feels. The irritation, the anger, the restlessness are all gone with your weight on him. When heâs had to deal with his rut alone, heâs always so damn frustrated that he can barely breathe, let alone think. He thrusts into fleshlights or his hand until his cock canât do anything more, but heâll still be agonizingly turned on, seeking out something to fuck.
Now, though? With you? He can feel the pulse of his cock, a quiet hum reminding him of what he craves, but it doesnât feel urgent or consuming. Just there. Because itâs yours now, not his. His rut isnât something to fight through; itâs something to give to you. Itâs his biology knowing how to protect and nurture yours.
After a few songs swing by, your breaths are even and slow and you start to purr. Brendonâs whole body shimmers when he feels that soft vibration against his chest. He kisses the top of your head and checks, âFeeling better now, sweet girl?â
âMhmm,â you coo, eyes still closed. âYouâre comfy.â
âThatâs what Iâm here for,â he chuckles, shifting his weight so you can have even more of his body as a pillow. As he adjusts, his hand moves to your comfort pile, where he finds a pair of suspiciously familiar basketball shorts. And a navy tee. Followed by a white tank top and boxer briefs. Eyes widening with surprise and amusement, he straightens up slightly to get your attention. âBaby, are these mine? When the hell did you steal these?â Tears prickle at your eyes and you whimper, guilt tightening around your throat at the idea that he might be upset with you. But he laughs and hugs you close, flipping you into his lap, quick to assure, âNo, donât cry, itâs okay. Iâm not mad at all. Itâs really sweet. IâmâŚimpressed, honestly. Iâm so crazy about you that I didnât even notice my fucking gym bag going missing.â
You giggle and avert your eyes, telling him dreamily, âThey smell good.â
âYeah?â With you seated on his thighs now, Brendon rests his hands on your lower back, nips gentle kisses up your neck, and teases as you smile, âMy gross gym clothes do it for you?â
His joking tone dies in the air when you pull back to answer. Your pupils are blown so wide he canât see the color of your irises at all. Youâre not teasing or bashful anymore. Every feature reveals pure and simple lust.
You nod slowly, the admission not at all shameful with your heat prickling through your body. Without thinking, following desires that donât have names or words, you take his hands in yours and lift them up above his head. He just follows your lead with wide eyes; heâs not going to stop you from doing anything you want to him. With him. For him. Heâs yours.
With heavy lids like youâre high, you nuzzle into his armpit, breathing deeply. After morning surgeries and the high intensity of his search for you, Brendon smells like his gym clothes. Warm, masculine, animalistic. It adds a richness to all the smells that have already sent your logical brain far, far away. His breath catches in his throat and his cock twitches against your stomach. Heâs never been wanted so viscerally and it has his hips bucking involuntarily, his toes curling into your sheets, his mind racing.
You lick a long stripe up the center of his chest, chasing a bead of his sweat until the salt coats your tongue. His breaths speed up until heâs on the border of panting. His eyes lock onto your drunken expression while you burnish his chest with your cheeks, scenting him and inhaling him at the same time. You move lower, no agenda or intention to your movements. When you reach his thick, dark pubic hair, you brush your nose deep against his skin. The mix of his pheromones has slick dripping from your core.
Not a thought in your pretty little head as you lavish at the scent glands of his inner thighs, you rub your bare cunt over his shin because itâs the closest thing you can get friction with.
Brendonâs hand goes to the side of your face. You look up at him with nothing behind your eyes. Breathless, he groans, âChrist, baby, youâre gone, arenât you?â
All of a sudden, as your alpha, he understands what you need more deeply than you do. His logical mind wants to make sure youâre fed and clean and well-rested, wants to make good on his initial plan, but itâs like he can see through you right now. And he knows that you need him. You wonât even feel the hunger or the tiredness until that first, most primal need is filled.Â
So he orders in his lowest, most wanting voice, not disguising the plain want, âCome here, omega.â
Your brain tingles. You crawl upward and sit in his lap and wait patiently. In the next millisecond, he locks his mouth with yours. Heâs all teeth and tongue and you let him claim every millimeter of the kiss, leading it, demanding from you. The smell of your slick is overwhelming, soft and almost floral and spreading like a secret you only want to share with him.
His dominant hand drops between your bodies, fingers plunging into your ample wetness. With no resistance, he twists his wrist to curl his two middle fingers up into your cunt. For all the times heâs imagined your hot wet pussy inviting him in, he still couldnât have gotten all of the delicious, divine details right. Everything is in technicolor, ultra high definition, his brain operating on a different frequency than itâs ever been able to access before. You cry out when he adds his third finger, feeling your need, and you both already need so, so much more. Against your mouth, he growls, âFuck. Fuck.â
His thumb barely touches your clit and youâre in outer space. Your hips chase his touch and your tits bounce in his face as a result and he has to take one of your nipples between his teeth or heâll fucking die right here and now. His free hand flies up to grab your other breast as he sucks and nibbles your sensitive nub relentlessly. Moans drip down the edges of your lips and he drowns in them as they pour over your tits.
Brendonâs sharp teeth dig into the flesh of your breast and you gasp. He shoves you forward, flopping you onto your back, without releasing you for a single second. His nails dig into your hip as he holds you down, mouth going to the other side to torture you equally. He shoves a fourth finger into your cunt and you wail in response. It doesnât hurt, not when youâre in heat, but it stretches and it sings. Your back arches and pleasure zaps up your spine alongside the pain. You throw your head back as your clit thrums and your cunt devours and your whole body vaporizes into delicious agony.
You cum without warning and without preamble, swallowing his hand nearly to his knuckles. Your thighs thrash back and forth as ecstasy strangles you. The presence of your mateâs pheromones, his presence, his eyes locked on you, his everything, shatters you.
âYouâre doing so good for me,â Brendon purrs as you clamp down around his fingers over and over, the orgasm refusing to let up until he does. And heâs not going to. The hand on your hip crushes you into the bed, refusing to let you squirm away. His thumb leaves your clit and you whine from the loss â until his thumb joins his other four fingers inside of your sopping cunt.
Tears crest over your waterline out of nowhere. The intensity of having most of Brendon Parkâs massive, surgically precise hand inside of you has your brain on fire. But you breathe through it. You grab at his hair and yank to ground yourself, forcing him into another kiss. This time, youâre the one who bites at his lips, his jaw, his throat, his ear, whatever you can get. When you tighten your teeth around his trap, biting down hard enough to draw blood, Brendon growls, âThere you go, pup. Good fucking girl. Donât you ever hold back with me.â
Your thighs clamp around his wrist as your cunt tightens again, if it ever even stopped in the first place, and he chases you up the bed, not letting you get away. With the orgasm at its peak, beside yourself, unable to think of anything else, you cry, âBreed me, Bren, please. I need- I need your knot right now. Right now.â
Brendon snarls and pulls his hand from inside of you, using the slick that drips from his fingers to lube his fat cock. You realize with a thrill that he needed to use all his fingers to warm you up like that because his cock is positively monstrous. In his full rut, it has to be the size of a can of Monster. Fitting. Even with your heat making you loose and drenched, you have a hard time imagining it fitting between your legs. But all doubt dies when Brendon shoves your legs back next to your ears and lines himself up with your entrance.
He straightens up just enough to watch, rapt, as he slides his cock into you for the first time. It stretches you wide. The sight of your slick coating him, the sight of each inch sinking into you, the sight of your eyes closed and your mouth open in rapture â itâs all too much for him to bear. His hand slams into the wall above you, the drywall cracking and chipping beneath his cruel fingers, and he finally bottoms out at your cervix.
When he actually starts to thrust, each one opening you like never before, your hands scramble upwards, nails clawing into his biceps. He shivers when you leave behind harsh red lines that trail down his stomach before grabbing at his hips, trying to pull him in impossible closer.
âBaby, Iâm not-â He gasps in a breath when you moan, unable to handle him using pet names while heâs deep inside of you. âI donât have an implant or anything. You could actually- Fuck. Fuck. Jesus. You canât- you canât grab me like that, honey, I wonât last.â
âDonât care,â you pant, rolling your hips up to meet every pump of his cock. You need him closer. Deeper. More. More more more. You manage to find words only because theyâre identical to your thoughts: âWanna give you so many pups, Bren. Wanna be yours for good.â Your voice breaks and you beg, âPlease, alpha, please. â
âYou donât have to beg. You never have to beg for anything from your alpha,â he rumbles. His lips go to your neck and his cock drills into you and he swears warmly, âAnything you want, princess. Anything. Itâs all yours. Everything I have is yours now.â
âKnot,â you gasp. Back arching. Lungs burning. Stomach flipping. You can see fireworks in your mind and Brendonâs eyes are so fucking intense as they bore into you and all you can do is whine and groan, âNeed your knot. All I need.â
When you feel him beginning to swell, his balls tightening and his thighs stuttering, your brain goes totally flat from everything but pleasure and need. Itâs a white-out of thought and logic. Nothing exists but Brendon and the fact that only he can give you what your body truly craves.
His lips connect with yours one more time as his cum paints you with vibrant adoration. Your breath is his breath and your body is his body. You hold his knot so well, immediately wrapping your legs around his hips to encourage him to stay there, with you, as long as he can. His chest against yours. Breathing together. Lazily kissing and scenting and nuzzling each other. Youâd stay here forever if you could.
âBrendon,â you whisper reluctantly against his ear, âthis is really nice, but youâre squishing me to death and I need to pee.â
His low chuckle vibrates your whole body. Without taking his cock from your body, he slides his knees forward so he can take more of his own weight on his legs. It relieves the pressure on your chest just enough, but heâs still playfully holding you down. He kisses the tip of your nose and teases, âIs that better, princess?â
Not quite able to get to a better comeback, you cut back, âIf you want me to piss myself.â
âMmm. Donât tempt me. Iâm pretty sure I could get off on anything youâd give me.â As you laugh, he gives you one more kiss, deep and knowing, and shifts off of you as his knot softens. You reach up with grabby hands and he smiles as he tugs you out of the bed and into his arms. Cum and slick drips from you and onto his skin as he steadies you against his torso. God, youâre burning up. They donât call it heat for no reason. Bringing you to the en suite bathroom, he touches the back of his hand to your forehead and murmurs, âYou want a nice cool bath, sweetheart?â
You nod with heavy lids. âMhmm. Sounds nice.â
âGood.â He sets you carefully on the toilet â your limbs are clearly still out of commission for the time being. Brendon draws you a bath, swirls in some sweet-smelling oils, and helps you in once youâre finished. With a firm kiss to your forehead, he orders, âStay here a minute to get your temperature closer to normal. Iâll change the sheets and get you something to eat, okay?â
You nod again, happy to do whatever he tells you.
While you soak and get sleepier and sleepier, Brendon does what he said, yes, but he also indulges in some behaviors he knows are maybe slightly silly alpha things. He checks your door locks over, makes sure your windows are properly secured, checks to see if there are batteries in your smoke and carbon monoxide detectors. Youâll forgive him for feeling a bit crazy right now. When youâre not in his arms or in his sight, the edginess returns, something at the base of his brain stem insisting that he do anything he possibly can, no matter how minor, to care for you.
By the time he goes back to the bathroom to collect you, youâre asleep in the tub, head against the wall, mouth open slightly. Brendon takes a minute to gaze at you, so open and vulnerable, certain that youâre completely safe with your alpha in your apartment. He rumbles a bit with pride at knowing he makes you feel that way â fucked out and content.
Ever so gently, he kneels down and touches your cheek. You stir slightly, turning your head and giving him a sweet, innocent smile. Then you once again lift your arms for him. Brendonâs addicted to the sight of you so easily expecting his strength. He guides you to your feet, helps you step out, and then dries you off with the closest soft towel he can find. All the while, you put your weight on him, trusting him, yielding to him. Your brain is fuzzy and happy and your body is loose and calm.
Brendon guides you back into your nest, where heâs replaced your sheets with the ones he found in your laundry room specifically for your heat, extra silky soft and moisture-wicking. You sink into the coziness, thoughtless in the most wonderful way. Before joining you, he pops into the kitchen for a minute and then presents you with a makeshift charcuterie board on a plate that heâs put together from your fridge, focusing on meats and cheeses to try to get you enough protein and fat to get through your heat comfortably.
The moment you see the food, you realize that youâre ravenous. Your stomach growls loud and Brendon laughs affectionately as you snatch the plate greedily from him. Looking for all the world like a wild animal, you wolf down food fast and furious until your stomach stops screaming for more.
Brendon rubs your back as you eat, praising, âGood girl. Need you nice and strong.â
When youâve finished the actual food Brendon wanted you to eat, you look at him with bubbly hope and ask, âDessert?â
He grins and cracks open the container of your homemade snickerdoodles, chewy and pillowy. You open your mouth obediently and he happily feeds you a piece, taking another for himself. He groans loud, âI hit the fucking mate jackpot; these are insanely good.â
You preen like a peacocking alpha as he feeds you another cookie, happy and giggly in the best way. As you lazily lick the extra cinnamon sugar from his fingers, lips wrapping around his digits, he watches with dilated pupils and praises, âThatâs my good girl.â
You giggle and lean forward to nuzzle his neck with yours, mixing your scents unabashedly now that itâs just the two of you in your happy cocoon. âYou already said that.â
âItâs still true,â he murmurs, leaning forward to pull you into a kiss. He sets the container aside and then takes your hand in his. âNow that youâre with me again, sweetheart, I need to ask if you were being serious earlier. About- about giving me pups.â He cradles your face in his hand and studies your expression. You canât quite read all the details of his. âI can send someone to pick up some emergency contraception for this week that was just-â
âI was serious,â you tell him softly. Your eyes run over his, wide, needy, scared of rejection. Searching for love and stability in the one place you need to be able to find it. âBut if- if youâre not ready to do that with me, or if you donât want-â
âI want to,â he whispers. It sounds like an admission, like something heâs never been willing to say â or maybe something heâs never been allowed to want. He touches his forehead to yours and, so soft you can barely hear, he says, âI love you.â
You maul him with a hug, shoving him onto his back. He catches you with a wheezing laugh as your weight knocks the wind out of him. As your hands push down his broad shoulders, your tentative smile glows into something huge. âYou do?â
With a soft, self-deprecating chuckle, he rests his hands on your waist and tells you, âI knew I loved you the day you shoved your finger in my chest and chewed me out for being an ass to Frankie. Nobody talks to me like that.â Then, much more urgently, he goes on, âIâve been working to be good enough for you every day since. So if- if you think Iâm good enough to be- if youâre willing to give that to me.â He can barely breathe as he almost cries, âYes, please.â
You throw your arms around the back of his neck and nestle into his chest and say, on the verge of giggling and crying at the same time as it bubbles out of you, âI love you so much, Bren. Youâre gonna be such a good dad.â
âI donât know about that,â he replies with a sigh, âbut I think, maybe, if I follow your lead, I could become one.â He kisses your forehead and murmurs, âNow get some rest, princess. Your bodyâs working really hard; gotta keep your energy up.â
You nod and shift onto your side, bringing him to face you. All teasing and sweet, you tangle up your limbs with his and ask, âDoes this mean youâre gonna buy me a nice house and a big fat diamond?â
Needing to kiss you again, he nods and holds you and promises, âAnd anything else you could ever want. They pay me way too much money at that damn hospital; you need a new car and a better place and a huge âfuck youâ ring that stops other alphas from even looking at you.â
âMmm.â Your eyelids start to feel heavy as that settles into your cells. You have it now. The mate, the life, the dream youâve always had. Sleepy and adoring, you breathe, âTell me you love me again.â
Brendon kisses your cheek as he cradles your head, making sure youâre comfortable no matter how you position yourself. âI love you, cherry.â
When youâre woken up by the need pulsing between your thighs, youâre curled up between Brendonâs legs, enveloped by his body that seems much larger in rut. Heâs sitting up straight, watching the door like a hawk, with his hands resting on your hip and your waist like heâs ready to scoop you up and haul you to safety at any second. He notices the change to your breathing and focuses all his attention on you right away.Â
âHi, baby.â With gentler hands than you wouldâve thought him capable of, Brendon cups your flaming cheek and murmurs, âYouâre burning up. What can I do?â
Your tongue feels weird and heavy in your mouth again, your brain flickering away as another wave of heat starts to wash over you. Itâs always been hard for you to put words together when youâre in heat. So you just sit up, turn yourself around, and maneuver so youâre in his lap. He instinctively shifts his weight to make space for you, arms coming to rest on your lower back. You drop your mouth to his neck, lap your tongue over his scent gland until you feel his cock rapidly hardening beneath you. Right against his ear, you whine, âKnot.â
Brendon kisses you warmly, like heâs greeting you after a long time away. His hands trail down to your hips and he manhandles you to push your hips back and forth, your slick running over his shaft. âYour wish is my command, princess.â
You nod your heavy head and feel your cunt beginning to pulse just from the way heâs looking at you with complete adoration in those blue eyes. As he lifts you up a bit by the waist so he can notch himself against your entrance, you coo, âMy alpha. Love you.â
Brendon plunges into you in one slow, needy thrust. An uninhibited wine spills from his lips when heâs once again enveloped in your perfect warmth. He slowly grinds his hips up into yours, groaning with every little twitch of your pussy, âFuck, kitten, Iâve never- never felt this good with anyone. Itâs like you were made for me.â
Beginning to bounce on him because you canât stand any teasing right now, you whimper, âI was.â
Brendon snaps when he hears that. When he knows it down to his core. Because this isnât a choice between the two of you. Not really. Itâs destiny. Itâs fate. Itâs fucking magic. You were always going to mold to him. His cock was always going to be the only one that could satisfy you fully.
He growls under his breath and flips you onto your back, needing to have you closer. Youâre powerless to his strength, limp, and thatâs exactly how you want it. You want to be a small, helpless thing that he takes charge of. Protects. Possesses. He links his fingers with yours above your head, holding you down but grounding himself, too. With his lips hovering above your scent gland, he asks softly, âThat better, baby?â
âPerfect,â you moan. âYours.â
âThatâs right.â His thrusts speed up, the sound of his cock plunging inside of you obscene in the timeless quiet of your bedroom. âAll mine.â
Brendon drops one hand to your clit and the contact has you keening upward. Your legs snap him in closer, locking around his muscular ass. Your eyes close and your back arches and you can only moan and take whatever heâll give you. Finally, finally, youâre being taken care of the way youâve always wanted, your whole body held and tended to and ravished.
As your orgasm threatens, in Brendonâs complete and total control, a droplet of water hits your chest and your eyes flicker open. Itâs not sweat from his shiny forehead like youâd thought, though. When you look up at Brendon, you find his forehead wrinkled, his eyes pink, his breaths shaky. You reach up and brush his cheek, bringing his focus back to you. Barely able to speak with everything swirling around your mind, you breathe, âYouâre crying.â
He nods and sniffles and swallows hard, trying to come up with the words. Unable to stand making eye contact while heâs being so fucking vulnerable, he buries his face in the side of your neck and nearly weeps, âNever thought Iâd have this. Never thought Iâd have a mate as perfect as you. Never thought I could deserve a woman whoâs so fucking beautiful and kind and smart and who wants to give me a family and I just- I just-â
His voice chokes off as a wave of pleasure billows through you, making your cunt clamp down around him. Feeling overwhelmed with light and softness and adoration, you tilt your head to the side and whimper a request Brendon Parkâs been waiting his whole life to hear without even knowing: âBite.â
He doesnât second-guess you. He doesnât challenge you.
He bites.
Brendon doesnât fuck around with claming you once he has permission. When he hears your true need for his ownership. His cock is pistoning like a machine designed for your pleasure and heâs thrumming on your clit with his thumb and his teeth donât hesitate to pierce your neck. You loose an orchestral crescendo cry when the perfect, blissful, heavenly pain stamps you as his. Thereâs no stopping the orgasm that slaps you across the face and holds you down by the throat while Brendon grips your hand above your head, keeping you in place while his teeth forever mark you as his possession.
As he tastes your blood â strangely sweet with your hormones swelling â Brendon kisses your neck, leaving the shape of his lips all over your skin. Youâre whimpering and crying and you can hardly move with the intense, addictive pleasure thatâs boiling you alive. He flips you so heâs on his back and youâre in his lap, barely able to keep yourself upright, insanely cute to him in your woozy lust. Then he tilts his head to the side and taps his own scent gland with two fingers. âYour turn, princess. Donât be shy.â
Heâs expecting you to protest, to giggle, to turn bashful at the idea.
Not you.
Not his omega.
You bend down, rolling your hips all the while, and kiss your own blood off his lips before lathing your tongue up his neck. You drag your teeth over his pulse, his tendons, breathing his scent deeply and licking up his sweat. Youâre drunk on him. On the pheromones you can only produce together. When your teeth graze his scent gland, you feel him shiver beneath you. His hands lock onto your hips to keep your bodies grinding together as you lose control at last.
Opening up your mouth wide, you start off by sucking his flesh into your mouth, enjoying the way his breath stutters and his thrusts deepen with each added sensation. By the time you add your teeth, you can feel his knot starting to swell up as he desperately tries to stave off his orgasm to stay with you longer, panting and groaning and right on the edge with your teeth meeting his skin.
When you break the skin, tasting the fat and iron of his blood, Brendonâs world explodes into the second Big Bang. Sparks and stars and fire. Everything is you. Every molecule, every atom, every neutron and quark and particle. You pull off him with a proud smile, his blood at the corners of your thrilled lips. His pupils turn to pinpricks so he can memorize it, the light of your bedroom a flashbang that burns the memory into the film of his soul. Heâs never cum so hard in his life, his knot quickly filling and locking the two of you in place.
You collapse onto his chest and he holds you so close. His soft voice is a constant stream against your ear as his hands run up and down your back and sides. I love you. I love you. I love you. Your sopping pussy keeps gently pulsing around him, the aftershocks still rattling you both. Thereâs no ecstasy like the one that comes after mating. Neither of you need to speak to know it to your cores: This is it. Itâs the end of dating, the end of craving, the end of begging. Never again will you go without.
As the haze of broken skin begins to recede, you gently kiss across Brendonâs chest. You bring your lips to his and you both half-smile against each other. Itâs perfectly simple, the two of you, and it makes more sense than anything youâve ever known. Still hard inside of you, Brending shifts you both upwards so he can hold you in his lap. His hands roam lazily, happily, knowingly. Heâs learned the curves and edges of you now.
With both your brains turning on again and your bodies still intertwined, Brendon kisses your temple and murmurs against your ear, âYouâve known all along, havenât you? About us?â
You brush your thumb over his chin â thereâs evening stubble there now, rakishly handsome â and admit gently, âI knew the first time we met.â
With a sigh, he asks, âWhy didnât you say anything? We couldâve been together so much sooner.â
You give him an âas ifâ sort of look. âBecause youâre kind of an asshole, Bren.â
âFair enough,â he laughs. âGod, Iâm sorry, baby. I canât imagine my life without you now.â
âI know. Me too.â You go back to kissing him for another minute, unable to resist with him completely at your mercy. After a minute, you explain further, âI just wanted to see if we liked each other beyond, yâknow, the whole biology thing. If we could fit together.â
âI always liked you,â he says back, fingers tracing beads of sweat that fall down your body, âeven before I could smell you.â
You giggle and smack his chest. âLiar.â
âNo, I swear,â he insists urgently. Even though heâs softening now, neither of you goes to move, too enamored with one another. âI thought you were competent. Good with patients. Funny. Pretty.â
âThose are just facts, Brendon. Everyone thinks Iâm wonderful.â
âAnd I thought you were so modest,â he needles. While your laugh brushes against his skin, he tells you, much more softly now, âEvery time there was a page for me to the ED, I hoped it was you because, every time we worked together, I left so fucking frustrated.â
You scoff and tease, âWerenât you trying to say youâve always liked me a second ago?â
âNo, baby, I meanâŚâ Brendon struggles to find the right words, but you wait patiently, beyond curious. Nobody gets to see this version of him: Reflective, sweet, innocent. He meets your eyes again and tries to explain, I wasnât frustrated the way I always am with Robinavitch or the Ken doll or the mousy one or- God, theyâre all so fucking stupid compared to you,â he laughs, making you to the same. âI would leave every consult with you frustrated that I wasnât good the way you are. Frustrated that you put people at ease without trying while everyoneâs scared of me even when I try to be softer. Frustrated that you donât let anything stop you when sometimes I get so fed up I have to punch a wall. Frustrated because you made me want to be better â a better doctor, yes, but a better man and a better alpha, too. Nobodyâs ever made me feel like that.â
You pout your lower lip and hold back tears. You canât help but kiss him. There are no alternatives. And he really, really likes being kissed by you. With every touch of your lips, he can taste the rest of his life. When you pull back at last, youâve sniffled back the tears and replaced them with an adorable, mischievous smile. You tell him cheekily, âI didnât like you back then, if you were wondering.â
âYou made that plenty clear, baby,â he chuckles, giving your ass an affectionate squeeze. âWhat changed your mind?â
With a soft shrug, you give him the truth: âYou told Frankie youâd go to his track meet.â
âIt meant that much to you?â
âYeah,â you murmur. It feels like a secret, but you want to tell him all your secrets, especially the ones youâd never share with anyone else. âBecaues you listened to me. Apologies donât count if you donât change your behavior â and you did. But I could tell it wasnât just for me. You really wanted to make it up to him. To fix what youâd broken.â You gingerly trace the harsh angles of his face with your forefinger, memorizing the lines. When you touch his lower lip, he sighs and smiles contentedly. You tell him, âThatâs the sign of a good man, I think. A good partner apologizes and means it. A good father screws up and then fixes it. I didnât have a choice in being your mate, but I made the choice to love you.â
Brendon blinks hard. He covers your hand with his and kisses each of your fingers. Rough and thick with love, he breathes, âChrist, kitten, are you trying to make me cry here?â
You kiss him so softly it could be a butterflyâs wing. âYou already did, softie.â
In lieu of my ko-fi, please consider donating to my mother's long-term dementia care fund.
So Soldier Boy was completely in love with Clara Vought⌠werenât we told that his great love was Crimson Countess, the same one he himself said in the damn third season that he had considered having children with, and that he had even told her he truly loved her, and that her betrayal hurt him a lot because of that?? Are they just going to lobotomise his characterisation or what? Because out of all the damn inconsistencies theyâre introducing two episodes before the finale for the sake of promoting the new series, this is the one that genuinely has me pissed off, because it basically ruins an entire storyline from another season for no reason whatsoever.

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Honestly, I really enjoy The Boys universe. Iâve always liked that beneath all the chaos and blood thereâs actually a pretty solid story and characters that really know how to get me invested...
But... I have two main problems with season five.
The first one is that sometimes it genuinely feels like Iâm watching a season where one episode is made by Team A with one specific vision, and the next episode by Team B with a completely different vision, but those visions never really meet anywhere along the way...
I donât know how to describe it better. At first I thought it was only a problem with the way Kimiko was being written, but then I started noticing it in other moments too.
And the second thing... I just really donât feel like this is the final season.
There are only two episodes left, and it still feels like the story is kind of stumbling around, as if there were supposed to be another ten episodes before the actual finale really kicked into gear...
Sure, the ending of the newest episode did set up something new... but Iâm just not feeling the kind of hype I was hoping for.
I'm just gonna say... making Clara/Liberty/Stormfront the love of Soldier Boy's life is an blatant retcon to segue into Vought Rising next year. In S3 dude was talking about how he waited 40 years for Crimson Countess to save him and that he was planning to have kids with her, so it's a very obvious way to try and build interest for the spin off.
I could accept this, if not for the fact that Stormfront is a literal Nazi. I was thrilled when she died, and I DO NOT want to watch a whole show centered around her. She was not compelling enough as a character to warrant the attention she's getting.




