#c : bai

[gettiregretti]

Slow cooking an idea where Jayce stays to try and help Viktor fight the Hexcore within him. He’s never sure if he’ll have Viktor or the Herald that day. Trying to keep secret plans from your god-like lover who can literally enter your mind is a full time horror show

Viktor and Jayce plotting against the Hexcore without it working out what they are doing. Hidden codes, snatched moments. Viktor manages to create a space just for him and starts to hoard energy against the Hexcore. It can use any face to trick him, and frequently tries to wear Jayce’s. They aren’t more powerful, so they just have to be smarter than their own creation. And together they can solve any equation.

[benevolenterrancy]

"Heavens, he doesn't understand again." "Every time he says 'I don't understand', Lui-shixiong grabs someone to demonstrate until he understands..." Ji Jue quietly complained to Shang Qinghua. No wonder the injuries at Bai Zhan Peak had only increased!

so this is obviously Liu Qingge's entire love language, right?

[soulmarrow]

Till the End of the Moon 长月烬明 (2023) – Episode 18

[happy74827]

Still Waters

[Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Sometimes all it takes is a brush with death to reveal the unspoken bond between you and the man whose secrets run as deep as the trust that you’re only now beginning to understand

WC: 1548

Category: Hurt/Comfort, [TW: Mentions of Choking, Drowning, Attempted Death}

Tonight’s the night… I finally felt productive.

『••✎••』

You wake to a haze, your head pounding like a drumbeat against your skull. The world feels tilted and unfamiliar, and for a moment, you’re not sure where you are. Soft cushions press against your back, a blanket draped over your body, warm but not stifling. The faint scent of leather and something clean—like antiseptic—lingers in the air. Your eyes flutter open, blurry at first, then sharpening on a ceiling you don’t recognize. Panic spikes, sharp and cold, but before it can take root, a shadow moves beside you.

"Hey, hey, you’re okay," a low and steady voice says, cutting through the fog.

Dexter.

His face comes into focus, hazel eyes locked on yours, calm but searching. He’s crouched beside the couch, close enough that you feel his warmth, one hand hovering near your shoulder, ready but not touching. "You’re safe. You’re just in my apartment."

Your throat feels raw like you’ve swallowed glass. You try to sit up, but your body protests—dizzy, heavy, a dull ache radiating from the back of your head. Dexter’s hand finally lands, gentle but firm, guiding you back down. "Easy. You’ve been through a lot."

You blink, trying to piece together the fragments in your mind. Your apartment. A bath. The sound of a door creaking. Then—nothing clear, just flashes of terror, water burning your lungs, a struggle. Your hand flies to your throat, trembling, and Dexter’s eyes track the movement, his jaw tightening.

"Why… why am I…?" you rasp, voice barely above a whisper. Your heart races, a sick feeling twisting in your gut as you try to grasp at memories that slip like wet glass.

Dexter hesitates, just for a second before his expression softens. He shifts closer, sitting on the edge of the coffee table so he’s eye-level with you. "You hit your head pretty hard. I brought you here to keep an eye on you. Make sure you’re… you know, stable."

The words feel like they’re hiding something, and a sudden memory slams into you, sharp and vivid: Dexter’s face above you, water dripping from his hair, his voice urgent but steady. "Do you trust me?" Then, the prick of a needle in your neck, the world fading to black. Your breath catches, and you narrow your eyes at him, a spark of indignation cutting through the fog.

"You drugged me," you say, voice sharper than you expect, though it cracks at the end. You push yourself up slightly, ignoring the dizziness. "What the hell, Dexter?"

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. His gaze stays locked on yours, unflinching but not cold. "I did," he admits, voice quiet but firm. "I had to. What happened back there… you didn’t need to see it. Trust me, you couldn’t have handled seeing it." There’s a weight to his words, something raw and unguarded flickering in his eyes. "Harry—he couldn’t live with seeing things like that either. I wasn’t going to let you carry it."

You open your mouth to argue, but the sincerity in his voice stops you. You think of the fear, the water choking you, the shadow of a blade. And then Dexter, pulling you out, saving you. The anger fizzles, leaving you tired and shaky. You sink back against the couch, staring at him. "You could’ve warned me better," you mutter, but there’s no real venom in it.

A faint smile tugs at his lips, more relief than amusement. "Noted. Next time, I’ll give you a heads-up." The attempt at humor is gentle, and it pulls a weak huff from you despite yourself.

Silence settles for a moment, heavy but not comfortable. You notice the way he’s watching you, like he’s cataloging every twitch, every breath, making sure you’re really here, really okay. Your chest tightens, but not from fear this time. It’s something else, something warm and unsteady.

You shift slightly on the couch, the blanket slipping down your shoulder. Dexter’s eyes flicker at the movement, and he reaches out, almost instinctively, to tug it back up. His fingers brush your collarbone, light as a whisper, and you freeze—not from fear, but from the unexpected jolt that races through you. His hand lingers for a fraction of a second before he pulls back, clearing his throat like he’s caught himself doing something he shouldn’t.

"You cold?" he asks, voice steady again, like he’s trying to smooth over the moment. He doesn’t wait for an answer; he just grabs another blanket from the armrest and drapes it over you, careful not to press too hard against your aching body.

"I’m okay," you murmur, though you’re not entirely sure if that’s true. Your head still throbs, and the weight of what happened—what must have happened—sits heavy in your chest. You don’t ask about the attacker, not yet. The gaps in your memory feel like a mercy, but they also leave you unmoored, like you’re floating just outside your own life. Instead, you focus on Dexter, on the way he’s sitting close but not crowding you, his presence grounding in a way you didn’t expect.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. "I’m… uh, glad you’re okay," he says, the words almost clumsy like he’s not used to saying them. There’s a vulnerability there, a crack in the calm he’s been holding so tightly. "When I saw you in that tub with his—" He stops, his jaw working like he’s swallowing something he doesn’t want to say. "I wasn’t sure that you’d be…"

As he drifts off, you notice the faint shadows under his eyes and the tension in his shoulders. He’s been carrying this too, you realize—whatever happened after you blacked out, whatever he did to make sure you’re here now. Your throat tightens, and you reach out, almost without thinking, your fingers brushing his wrist.

He freezes, just for a second, his eyes snapping to where your hand rests. You almost pull back, but then he turns his hand, palm up, letting your fingers settle against his. It’s not a grip, not a hold—just a quiet connection, warm and steady. Your heart stumbles, and you’re suddenly aware of how close he is, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the antiseptic in the air.

"You scared me," he admits, voice barely above a whisper like it’s a secret he didn’t mean to share. His thumb brushes the edge of your hand, a small, unconscious movement that sends a shiver through you. "I don’t… scare easy."

You swallow, your voice soft but steady when you speak. "You care about me."

His eyes lift to meet yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. There’s something unguarded in his gaze, something that makes your breath catch. "Yeah," he says, a faint quirk on his lips, "I do."

The air feels heavier now, charged with something unspoken. You’re not sure who moves first—maybe it’s you, maybe it’s him—but the space between you shrinks. His hand slides up to your forearm, steadying you as you sit up a little more, and this time you don’t feel dizzy. You feel anchored. Safe.

"Dexter," you say, barely a whisper, testing the weight of his name. It feels different now, intimate in a way it never has before.

He tilts his head, just slightly, like he’s waiting for you to say something else, but you don’t. Instead, you lean forward, close the gap, and press your forehead against his shoulder. It’s not a hug, not quite—just a need to feel him there, solid and real. He stiffens for a split second, like he’s not sure what to do, then relaxes, one hand coming up to rest lightly against the back of your neck, careful of the tender spot where your headaches are.

"You’re okay," he says again, quieter this time like he’s saying it to himself as much as to you. His fingers thread gently through your hair, avoiding the injury, and the touch is so careful it makes your chest ache.

You stay like that for a while, breathing in sync, the world outside his apartment fading to nothing. The fear, the pain, the questions—they’re still there, but they feel distant with him this close. Eventually, you pull back just enough to look at him, and the way he’s watching you makes your heart skip. It’s not just concern now—there’s something deeper, something that makes you wonder how long he’s felt this way, how long you have.

"I’m going to get you some water," he says, breaking the moment like he’s afraid of letting it linger too long. He stands, but not before giving your hand a quick squeeze, a promise he’s not going far. You watch him move to the kitchen, his movements deliberate and practiced, but there’s a softness to him now that you’ve never seen before.

As the sound of running water fills the silence, you pull the blankets tighter around you, the ache in your head dulling to a manageable throb. You’re safe, you tell yourself, echoing his words. And for the first time in a long time, you believe it. Whatever happened in your apartment, whatever Dexter did to keep you safe, you know one thing for certain: he’s your anchor now, and you’re not letting go of that.

[voosdisastrous]

I love this trend LOL.

[marvelsgirl616]

“I’ve been watching you for quite some time…you fascinate me.”

[morweneledhwen]

I read on Weibo that Lin Ziye basically considered Tian Jiarui to be his mama on set and clung to him like a lost chick.

[louisbxne]

DEXTER 2x09 - "Resistance Is Futile" (2007) Dir. Marcos Siega

[pphoto]

Muir Beach - October, 2024

[liminally-spaced]

[eros-heartache]

Hot Serial Killer Summer

[bebemoon]

the story of kunning palace

[soulmarrow]

What are you doing in my bed?

[ryan-nugenthopkins]

I wish I was me, whoever that is I could just be and not give a shit Hey, I'll be whatever makes you a fan 'Cause I don't know who the hell I am

NHL Captains x Maybe Man by AJR

x | x | x | x | x | x | x | x | x | x

[voosdisastrous]

I'd also stare if my co-worker had such a gyatt. 😚

[emversediary]

I’m so obsessed w the show Dexter lately. Like why is Christian Camargo so hot??