#but i don’t know where that is either lol

[gardezamour]

has anyone written a merlin au where arthur finds out balinor is merlin’s father, and that’s how he learns of merlin’s magic?

and i mean only arthur knows. merlin and balinor don’t have a clue.

like balinor starts to get through to arthur, telling him how he can still fix the mistakes that have been made. to do so he shares that he had to leave the love of his life in order to protect her and their son. he had to shield them from the dangers that the anti-magic propaganda had created for him. on the run from hunters who either felt entitled to use his power, or set him ablaze in cold blood.

he describes a town much like the one merlin brought him to once. the woman he speaks of falling in love with someone so similar to merlin’s mother that he sees it.

he notices how merlin and balinor laugh the same, ponder with furrowed brows the same, and how they prefer to eat with their hands instead of utensils.

he connects the dots with a flurry of nightmares. he realizes that merlin has magic in his blood and he’s terrified of what might happen if the truth gets out.

and when balinor dies, he yells in horror. not just because an innocent man was dead, but because it doomed merlin unfathomably. the one man he wouldn’t be able to hold back his own tears for.

and he couldn’t stand to break merlin’s heart with the news. so, when he eventually learns of merlin’s magic, he understands a little more what it takes to make someone lie for love.

cause if they have, let me know 🙏

edit: it seems i may write it myself lol

[aeniiverse]

CO-PARENTING A CAT

Synopsis — You and Karina broke up three months ago. It was clean, it was adult, it was entirely her idea. But neither of you thought about what it would mean for Miso your shared, overly dramatic, tuna-obsessed cat who now requires joint custody and emotionally complicated drop-offs.

contains — fluff, angst (maybe a sprinkle), exes to lovers, miso is a bit sassy 😭 (I love her), not much warnings lol

WORD COUNT — 2.5k

A/N — Karina just wants to get back together with you and the cat is a perfect excuse 🙏, have this short fic while I start planning out a longer one

You don’t expect to see her when you open the door in your oversized hoodie and one sock missing, but there she is. Karina. Holding Miso in one arm like a prize she’s just won in a claw machine, lips pursed and eyes wide like she wasn’t planning on seeing you either. The cat meows bored, judgmental, as if she’s the one being inconvenienced and Karina finally speaks.

“She was at my door again,” she says, shifting her weight like the three seconds of silence have started to burn. “Scratched it too. I think she hates me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Miso hates everyone. She’s fair like that.”

“She didn’t hate you when we were dating.”

You pause. And that’s the thing about Karina. She’s always been good at slipping the most dangerous sentences into the most harmless moments. Like she’s tossing grenades in with the groceries. You open the door wider, silently letting her in because fighting in the hallway would mean acknowledging to your neighbors that you’re still, sort of, accidentally, in each other’s lives.

Karina walks in like it’s still her place, like she remembers the way the floorboards creak near the fridge and where you keep the emergency Miso treats even though you moved them last month. Miso jumps out of her arms the second she spots the empty food bowl, trotting off like this whole “shared custody” arrangement isn’t ruining your peace.

“You cut your hair,” Karina says, and you swear her voice softens. You resist the urge to touch it, resist the part of you that wants to explain how post-breakup chaos spiraled into a salon visit where you panicked and said “surprise me.”

“You dyed yours,” you shoot back, because this is what the two of you do now, dodge real things with stupid observations. But then you see the way she smiles, just barely, and you hate how much you missed it. How much you still know it by heart.

Karina crouches to pet Miso, who rolls onto her side and purrs like she didn’t just abandon you two hours ago. “I think she’s manipulating us.”

“She’s a cat.”

“She’s your cat.”

You don’t say it, but that’s not true. Not anymore. Miso was a joint decision. She was an “our” cat. Back when you were an “our” instead of a weird arrangement involving Google calendar custody swaps and avoiding the third drawer in the kitchen because it still has Karina’s chopsticks in it. You don’t throw them out. You don’t know why.

“So,” Karina says, standing up and dusting her hands like she just did something heroic. “Should we talk about the scratching or…?”

“She’s probably just mad you don’t feed her the good stuff.”

“I literally bought that overpriced tuna mousse she likes.”

“You mean the one you used to say ‘smelled like ocean trash’?”

“I’ve grown. People grow.”

You snort, and you hate that it feels natural. You hate how she still makes you laugh in that stupid, knee-jerk way. Like your ribcage remembers her before your brain can stop it. She notices of course she notices and that smug, infuriating smile spreads across her face like it never left.

“I can leave,” she offers suddenly, even though she hasn’t moved an inch. “I just didn’t want her to get run over again. You remember last time—”

“I remember you crying harder than she did.”

“She had a cone! She looked like a furry UFO!”

You laugh. Really laugh. And for a second, it feels like you’re back in that strange little bubble you two built together. Where nothing made sense but it didn’t have to, because at least you had each other. But then the silence creeps in again, heavier this time. And you both know what’s missing.

Karina clears her throat. “Anyway. I can… take her back tonight if it’s too much.”

You want to say no. You want to say yes. You want to ask her if she still uses your Netflix profile and if she misses falling asleep next to you and if she meant it when she said it was better this way. But instead you say, “She’s already here. Might as well let her stay.”

And maybe you’re not just talking about the cat.

You’re halfway through a sad microwave dinner and a worse true crime documentary when your phone buzzes with a message from Karina: ”Miso’s acting weird. Like… really weird. Is she supposed to do that thing with her eye??” There’s a photo attached. Miso, mid-yawn. Not dead. Not dying. Just annoyed. You blink at the image for a long moment, then reread the text. Twice. Because it’s either an actual emergency or Karina being dramatic, and you’ve known her long enough to know those two things often look exactly the same.

Still, she said “really weird.” And that’s just enough to push you out the door.

When you show up at Karina’s apartment, you’re out of breath and slightly pissed, mostly because you didn’t have time to put on real pants. She opens the door in her stupid soft cardigan and even stupider wide eyes like she’s genuinely surprised you came. Which is insane. She knows you. She knows the second she says “Miso” and “weird” in the same sentence, you’ll drop everything.

“She stopped blinking for like twenty seconds,” Karina says as you step inside, voice hushed like Miso might hear her and take offense. “That’s not normal, right?”

You walk straight past her to the living room where Miso is perched like a smug little gremlin on the back of the couch. She looks up at you, unimpressed. You reach out a hand, and she immediately headbutts it, purring like an engine. Zero signs of trauma. No eye twitching. Just healthy, spoiled indifference.

“She’s fine,” you say, turning around slowly. “You made me run over here because she blinked weird?”

“I panicked!” Karina throws her arms up. “It was either call you or Google it, and I didn’t want to see something that said she had feline eye cancer or some shit.”

You want to be mad. You really do. But she’s doing that thing again wringing her hands in her sleeves, lips pressing into a guilty pout, eyes flickering everywhere but your face. Like she’s trying to look casual and failing spectacularly.

“You could’ve just said you wanted to see me,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.

The silence that follows is loud enough to make Miso flatten her ears.

Karina looks at you. Actually looks. And for a moment, it’s like you’re both back at the beginning, before the breakup, before the calendar swaps and cold distance and pretending you don’t miss each other. Her face softens, jaw unclenching just slightly. “I didn’t think I had the right.”

You sit on the edge of the couch, gently scooping Miso into your lap. “You gave her tuna mousse last week. I think you forfeited your moral high ground then.”

Karina groans and flops onto the other end of the couch like she’s been holding her drama in all day. “Okay, but have you seen her face when she eats it?.”

“She’s a cat.”

“She’s a tiny angel with expensive taste.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Miso stretches luxuriously across your legs, clearly enjoying the attention. Karina glances at the two of you, then hugs a pillow to her chest like it might keep her from saying something stupid. It doesn’t.

“I thought I was over this,” she says quietly.

Your heart stutters. “Over what?”

“This. You. Wanting to make up reasons to text you. Sitting around hoping you’ll ask for a sleepover again just so I can pretend it’s not a big deal.”

You freeze. Because you weren’t expecting that. Not from her. the one who ended it. The one who said she needed space, clarity, whatever. You’d nodded, swallowed your hurt, let her go. But now she’s looking at you like none of it made her feel better. Like maybe walking away wasn’t some strong, mature decision but a mistake wrapped in fear.

“Then why’d you end it?” you ask. The question hangs in the air like smoke thin and choking.

Karina doesn’t answer right away. She picks at the edge of the pillow, lips tugging down. “Because I thought you deserved someone who wasn’t scared all the time. Who didn’t freeze every time things got serious. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You ruined it anyway.”

“I know.”

And that’s the part that stings the most, how calm she is about it. How she says it like she’s been carrying the guilt around every day, tucked inside all the moments where she played it cool and acted like she didn’t miss you. You shift under the weight of Miso and the truth pressing down on your chest.

“I kept your hoodie,” she says suddenly. “The blue one. It still smells like you.”

You blink.

“I didn’t mean to. I just… never gave it back. And now it’s like… this comfort thing? Is that weird? That’s probably weird.”

You stare at her. “Do you sleep in it?”

She shrinks into the pillow. “Sometimes.”

Your laugh is soft, disbelieving. “You fake a cat emergency and sleep in my clothes and you’re wondering if that’s the weird part?”

Karina groans and hides her face. “God, I sound so creepy.”

“No,” you say. “You sound like someone who didn’t want to let go.”

She peeks out, hopeful. “What if I don’t?”

You look down at Miso, who’s blissfully unaware of the emotional mess she’s caused. Then back at Karina, at the flush on her cheeks, the nervous curl of her fingers, the quiet hope in her voice. She doesn’t look like someone who’s moved on. She looks like someone who’s been waiting for a sign.

“You didn’t have to pretend,” you say softly. “You could’ve just said you missed me.”

Karina bites her lip. “I missed you so much it was pathetic.”

You smile. “Good.”

Her eyes widen. “Good?”

“Yeah,” you say, nudging Miso gently to the side as you shift closer. “Because I missed you too.”

There’s a pause, charged and soft at the same time. Then she leans in like gravity’s pulling her there, like she’s done waiting. Her voice drops just above a whisper. “So… does this mean I can stop inventing medical emergencies to see you?”

“No promises,” you tease. “But maybe next time, just say hi like a normal person.”

“Normal’s boring,” she murmurs, and then she kisses you.

It’s tentative at first. Careful. Like she’s afraid you might change your mind. But you don’t. You kiss her back, slow and sure, and when she exhales against your mouth like relief, you realize you’re both still in love. Just slightly less afraid now.

Miso meows loudly between you, possibly out of protest. Possibly because she’s no longer the center of attention.

Karina pulls back, grinning. “I think she’s jealous.”

“She’s just mad she can’t fake another crisis now that the truth’s out.”

You both laugh, leaning into each other, the tension finally breaking.

And maybe it took fake emergencies and tuna mousse and an emotionally manipulative cat to get here, but you’re here. Together. Again.

Sort of.

Almost.

Just enough.

You wake up to the sound of purring and something soft against your cheek. For a brief, disoriented second, you think it’s a dream the one of those warm, sugar-fogged ones where everything is right again and Karina’s still yours. But then you blink, and the ceiling isn’t yours, and the blanket smells like Karina’s detergent, and Miso is fully sprawled across your face like the world’s most possessive weighted blanket. You groan, gently shifting her to the side, and that’s when you feel it. Karina’s arm curled loosely around your waist, her breath steady against the back of your neck, like she never let go at all.

You don’t move. You don’t even breathe for a second. Just lie there, frozen in this strange, tender limbo where maybe you’re not exes, maybe you never were, maybe last night was the first step back to something you weren’t brave enough to fight for before.

Then her voice breaks the quiet, sleepy and rough at the edges. “You drool in your sleep.”

You reach back and smack her arm without turning around. “You kissed me last night.”

“Technically, you kissed me back.”

You finally roll over, careful not to disturb the ball of fur between you. Karina’s hair is a disaster, her eyeliner smudged, one cheek creased from the pillow and she still looks stupidly, unfairly pretty. You hate that it makes your heart do cartwheels. You hate that all it took was one dumb night of honesty and tuna mousse to unravel weeks of distance.

“You really missed me?” you ask, quieter this time. Not teasing. Not testing. Just needing.

Karina nods, eyes meeting yours. “I missed you so much I started naming my plants after you. Even the cactus.”

You stare. “Why the cactus?”

“Because it’s prickly and hard to take care of but it still makes me happy.”

You bury your face in the pillow to muffle the groan. “That’s the worst metaphor I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been emotionally constipated for weeks. Let me live.”

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough to make both of you feel the shift. Like something fragile is settling between you, just out of reach. You lift your head and meet her gaze again, softer now.

“So what does this mean?” you ask. “Was last night a one-time makeout brought to you by guilt and cat anxiety, or…?”

Karina hesitates, then slowly, carefully, reaches for your hand beneath the blanket. Her fingers lace through yours, and her grip is warm. Steady. “It means I want to try again. If you’ll let me. No more running. No more hiding behind Miso.”

You glance down at the cat, who is now asleep with one paw dramatically draped over Karina’s stomach like she’s claiming her.

“She forgives you,” you say.

Karina smiles. “What about you?”

You think about the hoodie she kept, the look on her face when she kissed you, the way she’s holding your hand like she never wants to let go again.

“I think so.”

Karina squeezes your hand. “Good. That means I’ve got time to win you back properly.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Properly? Is that code for elaborate gestures or more fake cat emergencies?”

She grins. “Oh no. I’m done lying. Next time I want to see you, I’m just gonna show up with coffee and a tragic playlist and say, ‘I’m still in love with you, please let me in.’”

You snort. “That sounds terrifying.”

“Yeah, well,” she says, tugging you closer until your forehead brushes hers, “so is losing you again.”

And when you finally lean in, kissing her like you mean it this time no confusion, no fear. Miso lets out the most offended meow imaginable and storms off the bed like she wasn’t the reason you’re here in the first place.

[harbours-lighthouse]

BLOOD TRACKS IN THE SNOW - PART ONE

— PAIRING: Joel Miller x F!Reader

— SUMMARY: Dying in the snow seems like a pretty poetic way to go, but it seems that's not your fate when a stranger finds you. Amidst the wariness of meeting someone for the first time, you're offered something warm and new: hope.

— AN: Lol, I wrote this on my phone before proof-reading and editing it on my computer. Unconventional but it works!

cw: post-outbreak setting, description of blood, mentioning of betrayal. wc: 2.3k

THE BLOOD on your face keeps you warm. You're trembling, curled into yourself like a bunny burrowing into the ground—you want to burrow. Bury yourself deep into the snow, dig at the frozen ground underneath until your nails are ripping. But all you can do is shake with sticky blood freckled along your cheeks, dripping from your temple and down your nose until it hits the snow. It doesn’t splash or splatter. It's simply soaked into the snow where it leaves a stain, blurred around the edges.

If you weren't so numb, maybe you'd scream—call out for help. It's a risky thing to do, but people are driven to do things that could get them killed when they're faced with death, which is ironic so to say. Maybe when the survival instinct locked away in your mind is given free reign, it knows what decision—what split second choice—will be more probable of welcoming your death with a metaphorical tip of your hat.

As you lay bent inward, spine pushing against the tattered remains of your jacket, your eyes begin to droop. Snowflakes fall on your lashes, but they don't melt along the swell of your cheeks like they should. You're too cold. The chill has settled into you, permeating your pores and coating your lips with frost.

But the cold doesn't affect your hearing as much as it does everything else. Falling deeper into the snow, hands flinching with tremors that run deeply through your whole body, the crunch of snow beneath heavy boots joins the wail of the wind. Shuffling. Hot breaths puffing into the air. You can hear it all, but you can't move. Can't think.

Can't fight back.

The thought brings along miniscule movement: a jerk of your bent legs, the sharp jolt of your heart against your aching ribs. Your lashes are frozen, and it feels like stones are weighing down your eyelids as you peer upward.

Through the grey haze of snow and wind, a broad-shouldered shadow stands in front of you. A whine in the back of your throat joins the howling wind. The rush of snow.

Is it a bear? A moose? An infected? A person?

You'd be happy with either option, as long as it meant that you're not alone right now. Isn't that what this world is good at now? Turning people into unmarked graves devoid of wooden crosses or tombstones? You don’t want that for yourself, and you've been fighting against that normality for the last ten years.

Crazy how one ill-timed blizzard could knock you off your a-game.

The shadow shifts. Snow crunches. Your vision is hazy at best, crowded with tears and black dots. There's something warm in front of you, that much you know, so even with the threat of being mauled to death or killed brutally, your fingers twitch for the heat—desperate to gather it up into your hands and smear it back into your skin. You'd paint yourself with sunlight if it meant that you never felt the cold again.

Through chattering teeth, you beg.

"H-Help me. Pl-Please."

The last thing you remember is something warm and heavy settling on your shoulder, and it felt like the shape of a hand.

—

Sound begins to filter in slowly, like water dripping from a tap—except that's exactly what you're hearing. The drip-drip-drip echoes inside your ears as it breaks through the milky film cast over your thoughts.

Then you feel the heat. It burns.

With the grace of a spooked deer flailing on the ground, your neck jerks upward to look down at your body, and pain spikes through your skull. A thick and fraying wool blanket covers you, draped over your body like a veil. After staring at the stiff fibres for a second too long, you flick your gaze upward to see what’s around you.

The first thing you notice is wood. Lots of it. Wooden rafters. Wooden walls. None of it smooth and sanded, instead rough and splintering along the edges. The drip-drip-drip is coming from a singular sink that's nearly completely detached from the wall, save for the yellow-stained pipe that keeps it there. There's a plastic table, the metal legs bent so it wobbles with each shake of the house. 

Through the headache pounding inside your head, your thoughts start crashing into one another with the speed that they come to you.

Where am I? Where did this come from? How did I get here? The blizzard is gone? Why am I in pain? Where am I? What is this place? How did I get here—

The creak of wood sends them lurching to a halt, kick-starting your heart to thump against your sternum like a rabbit.

"Was startin' to think you wouldn't wake up."

The gruff, masculine voice has you flinching upright, hands pressing against the wooden floor beneath you. Pain skewers itself through your ribs and down your spine, and the headache pulses between your temples like a hammer slamming against your skull repeatedly.

A groan vibrates in your throat, which you now realise is painfully dry. Your lips aren't frozen anymore, but the parched flesh splits.

"Easy. Ain't gonna hurt you. Not yet, at least."

Your eyes snap to where the voice comes from, and hidden in a shadowed corner of the room, sits a man in a rickety chair with a rifle balanced between his legs like a cane, hands folded and resting on the stock.

Dark brown eyes meet yours. They remind you of the dark soil you'd find during the rainy season, when the rich scent of the earth hangs in the air. It would be comforting if it weren't for your vulnerable state and the fact that you don’t know this man.

You shrivel inwardly as those dark eyes bore into you, and you feel like an item being cataloged, stored away in some sort of file. What exactly is he noting? Your mangled hair? Flighty eyes? Blood stained face and fingers? Tattered clothes? The list goes on.

The man clears his throat. You watch his Adam's Apple bob.

"Couldn't find any wounds on you," he says. Silver and brown facial hair moves as he speaks, sticking to his jaw and along his upper lip like fine snow. His hair is fluffy, you notice. More like a cloud that's heavy with rain, streaked with muted brown light as a sun sets.

He lifts a finger, pointing at you. You only stare with half of your body ready to bolt to the door—which you noticed in a very quick, terrified glance to your right. The rest of your body feels numb. Shocked into stillness by the cold.

"So I wanna know why you've got blood all over you."

There's an edge to his tone, something that tells you that he's a man who will get answers regardless of what steps he has to take to get them.

You swallow, but the minimal saliva in your mouth barely does anything to soothe the aching dryness of your throat. Opening your mouth, you flounder for a moment, before making a bold move.

"D-Do you have any water?"

You don't think that's what he expected from you, because the man regards you for a moment with creased brows. Then he sighs heavily through his nose, and you watch with bated breath as he leans to the side, rifling with one hand through a backpack that's slumped on the ground beside the rickety chair. You didn't even notice it before.

"Here," he mutters as he tosses a plastic bottle your way. You catch it with a sloshy thud, fingers quivering along the ridged material. You unscrew the cap and gulp down generous sips, feeling the cool liquid soothe your throat like a cold balm.

The man's brows furrow even deeper (they must be like that permanently).

"Easy, you'll make yourself puke."

His words register—sounding more concerned than you think they should be—and you slow down before pulling the now half-empty water bottle away from your bleeding mouth. Inhaling sharply, you speak quietly.

"Thank you."

He doesn't say anything else, simply looks at you like he's gauging your character. Are you a threat? Is there something you're hiding?

"Listen," he shifts, broad shoulders hunching forward as his elbows lean against his knees. "I found you out there in the snow—nearly frozen to death. You're gonna tell me why."

Your chest shudders with a broken breath, feeling fear prick behind your eyes. Those dark eyes are piercing through you, but you wonder what they might look like if you prove that you're innocent. Harmless—to an extent.

"I..." you breathe out, fingers picking at the wool blanket. Around you, the house holds its breath. "My group turned on me."

The man straightens a touch.

"They, um—" you glance around, feeling exposed, "they thought I was sabotaging the camp. So they...tried to kill me."

"Were you?"

The question throws you off. Your eyes snap up to the stranger, and he's already watching you.

"Were you sabotaging the camp?" he elaborates, brows raising. The gravel in his voice should make you afraid, but indignation burns in your belly, and you frown at him. The same anger and betrayal you felt barely ten hours ago rears its head.

"No," you grit out, "I wasn’t. The camp was failing because no one else was doing what they were supposed to—I was the only one putting in the effort—"

The man lifts a placating hand, nodding his head.

"Okay, okay," he assures, "relax."

He pauses, eyes flitting along the blood that's caked along your face. He juts his chin up, gesturing to the dried crimson stains.

"So that's not your blood."

You shake your head slowly, swallowing.

"No. It's not."

"So you killed someone."

"...I had to."

He nods, brushing his hand against his arched nose. A question lingers on your tongue, fighting against your sealed lips before you finally give in. 

“Why’d you bring me here?” 

There’s a long pause as the man flicks his dark gaze your way, combing along your face. For a moment, you think he might brush off the question.

He shrugs his shoulders. “It would’ve been like leaving behind a dying animal.”

“I’m sure you’ve done that before.” 

“Yeah, I have.” 

Silence stretches. The drip-drip-drip seems even louder than before, and your chest feels stiff with air that you've trapped in your lungs. Trepidation settles beneath your skin alongside the pain that continues to pulse through you.

The man breaks it with a gruff sigh. You watch with your heart throbbing against your ribs as he rubs his hand along his scratchy jaw. When he looks at you again, you see wariness etched into the fine lines along his eyes and forehead.

"Alright," he sighs, and you stiffen like a deer caught in headlights as he stands. He slings the rifle over one shoulder, before bending to pick up the backpack and haul it over the other.

He studies you, leaning more on his left leg than his right.

"I ain't gonna kill you. You seem like you're tellin' the truth, so I'm taking you back to Jackson."

"Jackson?"

"Yeah, it's a town up north. Protected, warm. Probably give you something better to do than die out in the cold."

Hope begins to brew inside your chest, but your hand moves to press against your sternum as if to smother it. Hope is a dangerous thing now. Often it leads to nothing.

“How can I trust you?” you ask, and you know that it's a dangerous question because his answer might not be what you want. 

“I saved your ass.” 

Yeah, okay. That works. 

"C'mon. Get up. But listen," he points a finger at you, and the ruff edge of his voice has your skin prickling. "If you try anything, I won't hesitate to kill you myself. Understand?"

Fear trickles into your stomach, but so does determination. You know you're not going to do anything—you're not that kind of person. But there's a darkness in his eyes that only comes when you follow through on your word, and when you've put a bullet between someone's eyes before. You know that look. You've seen it in your own reflection.

Nodding your head, you shift onto your feet, holding back a whine at the ache that blooms along your ribs and behind your eyes. The room sways, but your vision doesn't go black and your stomach doesn't heave. 

The man watches you steadily, before turning his back to swing open the door. Cold wind bursts into the house, so you make sure that the wool blanket remains cloaked around your shoulders. Your jacket barely does anything against the cold as it is.

You notice that the blizzard has calmed, though, but the snow rushes all the same. You follow behind the man, the first few steps slow and strained.

"What's your name?" you ask, feeling desperate to latch onto something that seems a little more normal—not that anything has been ‘normal’ in the last ten years. 

The man turns, eyes squinting against the snow and the wind that digs into his cheeks like needles.

"Joel," he answers after a moment. “Joel Miller.”

It seems fitting, you think. A name meant for a man that seems rough around the edges, just like the wooden boards that make up the house—the one you’re leaving behind. It sends dread spinning inside your stomach. 

Joel pulls up the collar of his jacket and glances at you. "Yours?"

You blink, pulled away from your racing thoughts that are only making your headache worse. You tug the wool blanket closer around your frame, and your name falls from your split lips. Joel nods and you don’t catch the way he says it quietly to himself, as if tasting it on his tongue.

"C'mon," he grumbles, before walking ahead into the snow. The blizzard tugs and pulls at his hair, painting it white with snow. The rifle along his back stares back at you and you swallow harshly. The wind pushes against you as you follow behind Joel, shoulders hunched against the chill. His footsteps leave behind deep holes in the snow, and you let your feet fall into them.

There's relief knowing that they're not stained with blood.

Thank you for reading, God bless <3

top divider credit: @/saradika-graphics © harbours-lighthouse 2025 / i do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, or fed into ai. all works belong to me unless stated otherwise.

[crescenthistory]

omg congratsss on 2k!!! could i request prompt 31 from the dialogue list with remus? i’m just thinking about oblivious rem… like she’d be flirting with him in EVERY possible opportunity and he’s just like oh she’s the sweetest to me we have such a nice friendship😭

thank you so much for participating, lovely! unfortunately i evidently don't know what a drabble is, so i hope you enjoy this one-shot lol<33

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i will ARGUE for prompt 31 "give me a kiss, you beautiful idiot" with remus lupin

carina's 2k celebration

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cw: gn!reader, oblivious!remus, uk university au, background prongsfoot, disabled!remus, remus is taller than you because he is taller than everyone, physical affection, remus pov, did i make rem a history student? yes i did, sue me

wc: 3.7k 

Remus was beginning to fear he might be slightly foolish.

This whole exam season he had existed solely by your side, attached at the hip with the strongest stitch a sewing needle could provide. This brand of existence had not come as too big of a surprise to either of you – nor to your respective friends from your hometowns that you updated over messages and the occasional video call.

When Remus made the decision to go to a university far away from all his friends and family, he had been silently cursing himself for it the whole while. This university in the middle of nowhere had an excellent arts and humanities faculty that specialised in the perfect niche intersection between history and literature that Remus had always been so infatuated with. After the confidence instilled in him by his best mates from boarding school and the reassuring kisses from his painfully aging parents, Remus knew he had to go.

It was now or never for him. Give it a few years, he would want to be back home with his Mam and Tad, taking care of the farm and visiting his mates as they established families and developed their lives. This was his chance.

Yet, it ached to step away, an innate fear that had been hibernating for years rearing its head once more. Before his mates came into his life, Remus had believed himself incapable of forming meaningful connections. With his limb difference and autoimmune disorder, he had alway thought himself too different. Everything about him was odd, as he had been promptly informed on the playground one day and never forgotten. His gait was slower, his interests were peculiar, his arm looked different; Remus Lupin was surely doomed.

When, despite all odds, he found mates that didn’t just like him despite his oddities, but because of them – how could he have been stupid enough to leave them? 

“Just you wait and see, cariad,” his Mam, Hope, had whispered softly and patted his cheek as he hesitated to submit his application. “Surely if the world can produce those three lovely boys of yours, there must be more out there.”

His mother, Remus had come to learn, was consistently correct.

Because on the very first day of freshers’ week at a new university in a new town, into his life came you; so beautifully kind, so kindly beautiful, filled to the brim with an understanding, empathy and pure humour that he got drunk off of. One freshers’ week was all it took before he was fully swept into your life and friendships.

Much like how James had kindly adopted him on the train to boarding school, you picked him up and seemingly skipped the traditional “oh where is your accommodation”, “wow, how many siblings do you have?” and “no way, I did A-Level history too!” that he had come to expect and fear.

“You look like a palm tree in a snowstorm,” you had giggled after bumping into him. “Where’re you off to?”

Remus was unsure where he had been off to. He held his phone with the Welcome app opened, yet found it wholly unnavigable. “Uh, well. I don’t really know.”

Your smile had widened as you took him in. “What do you know, stranger?”

He had been practising how to answer the go-to questions and almost responded with “Oh, I’m Remus from Cardiff” when you threw him off. A warm feeling began to spread in his chest as he saw you sizing him up with zero judgement and all interest.

“I reckon just about enough to get through term, but a bit too little to get through freshers’.” A small giggle-like rumble had spread in his chest as he spoke, red nerves climbing up his neck in case you had intended the question differently.

You luckily hadn’t. “Perfect!” you announced with a grin. “I know enough to know you don’t get through fresher’s, you just go with the flow. So you can tag along with me, pretty boy.”

Remus never did stop tagging along with you. Only later that day, when you introduced him to your friends, did you learn each other’s names, too caught up in talking about anything and everything else. It went from being a nerve-racking day to a freeing one.

Your little pack of quickly-found friends welcomed Remus with enthusiasm to match yours, and together you made your way through your first week and then your first year at your middle-of-nowhere university. Though he enjoyed your little pack – named Alice, Frank, Emmeline and Dorcas, all of which he wanted to introduce to his friends back home �� you were the one who stood out to him through it all.

His sentiments must have been clear as he stayed in touch with his best mates online, because they kept asking about you and eventually for you. Remus answered the phone around you once and introduced you to James on speaker, and ever since then, they wanted him to rope you into any and all chats they had.

Remus didn’t really understand why they were so insistent, but he had a sneaking suspicion he didn’t want to know. 

Eventually, realisation was forced to dawn on him, as all your friends went home for a bit when classes ended for a long assessment season, while only you and Remus stayed behind on campus. Alice lived with Frank’s family, who were only a short drive away, while Emmeline’s parents were loaded enough to fly her in and out whenever she had a free weekend, and Dorcas took any opportunity to jump on her Harley and disappear for a while. Once it was just you and Remus, alone in your designated corner of the ancient library, Remus’ skin began to tingle in a way he couldn’t explain away.

And thus, the needle came out and stitched you together effortlessly and intrinsically. 

If one of you were at the library, so was the other. If one wanted to go grab a bite mid-study session, so did the other. And, if Remus was called up by his friends, so were inadvertently you.

“Moony? Sunshine? You there?” Sirius’ voice sounded through the speakers on Remus’ laptop as he hastily lowered the volume. You were the only ones in this corner of the library, but sound might travel, he thought. You snorted as you looked at his stress for a second before turning to Sirius.

“We’re right here, Pads,” you teased as you turned the camera on, which Remus had forgotten to do.

“Ah, there! My eyes have been blessed.” His best mate’s voice was a bit static-y through the microphone, but Remus had grown used to that over the months. “Are you lovebirds still nesting in that library of yours?”

Remus’ brows furrowed as he swallowed uncomfortably over the blush already creeping up his neck. You beat him to answering it.

“I don’t know, are you lovebirds still living the life of luxury in Potter Manor?” you quipped back, raising an eyebrow at Sirius’ pixelated form. Remus felt oddly pleased with how well you seemed to know his friends through only talking over the phone.

Sirius’ shared his sentiments but expressed them in a wholly different manner – through a gasp. “How dare you insinuate that my affections towards James Fleamont is anything beyond brotherly?”

At that, James’ curly hair appeared in the doorway behind Sirius as he threw a t-shirt at his head. “Shut up, Sirius.” He laughed heartily before crouching down enough to see you and Remus. “Hi nerds! How’re you? Coming home soon?”

“God forbid someone prepares for the exam they spent all their money and braincells on getting to take,” Remus joked, knowing that James wouldn’t point out that most of the money that had gone towards Remus’ degree was Potter money. 

“Don’t worry James, I’ll ship him off to you soon.” You elbowed Remus to emphasise your point, but then smoothly slipped your arm behind his back to rest your hand between his shoulder blades. Remus physically relaxed. 

“No, no, he’s yours now babes, you just keep him,” James spoke as he walked restlessly about the room behind Sirius, who was very obviously ogling him, “but both of you please come visit as soon as you’re done with exams, yeah?”

You just smiled warmly and nodded, while Remus felt his flush creep up further. He thought this was probably a good point to cut his friends off before they took it too far and made you uncomfortable.

“What are you doing now, then? Considering you don’t seem to be dedicated to your own exams?” He shifted the conversation, instead allowing his best mates to talk at the two of you as you settled into your seat beside Remus. His skin warmed beneath his clothes where you kept your arm around him and eventually rested your head on his shoulder – in a way that couldn’t be explained away by mere physical contact.

The hour ebbed out as the lot of you went back and forth, trading life updates and stories cheerfully, pleased to leave your reading lists be for a little while. Eventually, Sirius began telling a story from their old boarding school days that involved a certain infamous Marlene that made your grin widen.

“We really should introduce Marlene to our friend Dorcas at some point,” you said, looking at Remus to see his opinion even as you seemingly spoke to Sirius. “It seems they would be a good match.”

Remus grinned, looking down at his lap before meeting your eyes. “Been thinking the same thing as of late.”

“Where’s Dorcas now?” James asked intriguingly.

“Oh, she’s off riding her bike for a while.” You waved your hand as if to say she’s just like that.

Sirius whistled and patted James on the back. “Sounds right up Marls’ alley.”

“You would be the one to know, considering you’re the only one of us who’s been up Marls’ alley.” Even as James spoke, he began to shield his body, seemingly prepared for the way Sirius would begin swatting at him.

“Prongs, we snogged once in year four to figure things out – it’s really time you let this go.”

Remus couldn’t help but snicker, which made you laugh and made Sirius narrow his eyes at him all at the same time. 

“Seems like that university of yours is where everyone meets their soulmates, then,” Sirius said in a concerningly smug tone. “If Marlene’s other half has finally been found and yours, Moony, is–”

Remus cut him off with a nervous laugh, waving him off. “Speaking of soulmates, how’s Lily doing, James?” His voice was a bit too high-pitched as he pointedly stared only at Sirius and not at you, whose gaze he could feel caressing his cheek. He hoped the look he gave Sirius read as sorry, shut up, here’s some ammunition.

Luckily, his friend took the bait, albeit only after a wolfish grin sent his way and what looked like a wink aimed at… you. “Yes, how is little Red?” Sirius asked, jumping on Remus’ diversion as James groaned.

“Happily engaged to Mary, as you know, Sirius.” James had apparently been eager to dish out old embarrassing stories of childhood crushes but not receive them. “We’ll see her next week at Peter’s.”

Remus laughed lightly as he looked at the two boyfriends quarreling in a manner only the two of them could ever pull off, never once turning his head to meet your gaze that still didn’t feel aimed in the same direction as his.

James and Sirius’ voices kept bouncing off the aging stone walls that surrounded you, creeping in between the pages of the books on the shelves. Remus enjoyed it – until you yawned. It was quiet, understated, but at last made Remus’ gaze smoothly sweep over to you, skin around his eyes crinkling at what he found. The smile on your lips was genuine as you took in the conversation, but your eyes had a glassy look to them that Remus had come to know as a tell-tale sign that it’s time to resign for the night. You stretched your neck a little after your yawn, as if the muscles there were ailing you, and Remus had half a mind to reach out and massage any aches away, if that had not been wholly unhinged of him.

Instead, he cleared his throat slightly and looked over at James and Sirius’ images on the screen. It was a sound they were well used to from years of dorming together and made nostalgic – yet no less mischievous – grins break out on their faces.

“Want to get rid of us already, Moons?” Sirius teased, but even he was beginning to look a tad bit tired, in that way only his friends would be able to decipher. 

“Yes, I am beyond bored with you both.” Remus’ tone was sarcastically monotonous until he could no longer hold back his smile. “I want to go back to my blissful existence without your intervention.”

“Don’t be mean,” you faux chided as you swatted the shoulder you had been leaning against not long ago. 

James held one hand up in defense while the other seemed to point towards you. “You really should listen to your better half there, Rem.”

“We boring old friends won’t occupy your precious time together any longer,” Sirius added solemnly as he placed his hands placatingly on James’ shoulders to get him to drop his hands and look sideways with a grin. “Run off and do something wise with your time.”

Remus shook his head. “It was nice talking to you both.” He ignored the twinge in his heart at how much he meant it, all the while not being able to wish himself to be out of your company in favour of theirs. “We’ll see each other soon.”

“And speak sooner!” You added happily, seeming to have chirped up with renewed energy at the closing of the conversation. “I’ll bully him into calling you at least once more before exams.”

“What a blessing you are, darling.” Sirius held a thumbs up, which Remus felt was unnecessary. “Keep reining him in.”

“Okay, alright.” Remus fought back a chuckle and began waving to the camera. “Bye bye, guys. Goodnight.”

You echoed his sentiments, leaning into his side as you waved.

“Goodnight!” James called. “I’m sending you big goodnight kisses for when your lips aren’t occupied, Moon–”

Remus closed his laptop and cut off the connection before James – and, god forbid, Sirius – could make any further attempts at mocking him. He let out a sound that was a mix of a heavy sigh and a chuckle, letting his head fall forward to hit his laptop with a soft thud as he closed his eyes. “Good God.”

You just laughed quietly and patted his shoulder closest to you before getting out of your seat and, presumably, stretching. Remus decided to stay put with his eyes closed for that, to be on the safe side. “Your friends are a breed of their own. I really like them.”

“I’m glad you do.” Remus turned his head sideways to peak up at you as you leisurely began to collect your things. “Ready to go home and sleep?”

You quirked an eyebrow at him in a manner that made him flush beyond his understanding. “Are you?”

He pushed any and all thoughts down as he forced himself up from the table with a sigh. “I am. I fear I can’t read another sentence, especially not if this historian is going to keep referencing Freud.”

“Which he will.” 

“I know,” Remus groaned. “Thus; let’s head out.”

You packed in relative comfortable silence, digesting the conversation and the day side by side. You helped Remus pack his pencils back in his pencil case and zipping it shut wordlessly, as always refusing any thanks. The smile you gave him as you did so was enough to make him want to thank you again anyway.

As you walked to the lift together, chatting idly, Remus allowed himself to bask in how close you seemed to always walk to him and how lucky he was to have made a friend as good as you.

James and Sirius’ comments remained in his brain, though, sifting around in a pond of increasing nerves about how you might have received and interpreted them. The thought of you getting home to your dorm and feeling uncomfortable or wary was enough to make him want to abandon his own ego and address it.

Despite the incoming spring, British weather remained stubborn, and thus the library was basked in a beautiful dusk, not quite pitch black, but enough for the yellow light streaming out of the windows while you walked past to seem mystical and magical. You walked together to the gates, just outside of which, you would have to part ways, Remus taking the left-turn and you the right.

Remus let you get right outside the black gates, but still on library property when he stopped, prompting you to do the same and look back at him with a curious gaze.

“I–” he began, a bit uncertain about how to word this. “Before you go, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” A breath. “About Sirius and James. If they ever make you uncomfortable in any way, please just say so and I’ll get them to stop it, I swear. I don’t know what they’re getting at.”

You furrowed your brows a little, but not in a way that voiced upset – rather on the contrary, it’s the same furrow Remus often observes appears on your face right before he makes you laugh.

“What, those little comments earlier?” you asked, confusion and mirth warring in your tone.

Remus’ stomach dropped a little at the thought that you also picked up on it, but remained relieved that you didn’t seem overly upset. “Yes, I– they’re twats sometimes, you know, so please just pay them no mind. Boarding school kids with bad humour. I don’t know what they’re getting at.”

The corners of your lips began to curl upward as you took a step closer to him. Remus’ breath lodged in his throat at the action, however small. The poetic side of his mind would immortalise the image of you, tired and beautiful in the grey night and yellow light, smiling at him like your heart harboured a secret, even though he was close enough to feel it beating. 

“I know what they’re getting at.” You said it so simply, all you were missing was a shrug as the cherry on top. “I don’t mind.”

Remus had never enjoyed being compared to an animal, but he did recognise how his mouth opened and closed, not much unlike a fish. He couldn’t decide whether to ask you do? or you don’t? Instead, he asked, “What?”

“Do you mind?” Your eyes grew a shade more serious then, scanning his kindly. You reached out a hand to rest on his upper arm, squeezing it through his jumper and corduroy jacket.

It was Remus’ turn to look confused. “Well, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

Yet again, you looked to be fighting a smile. “Yes, but do you mind?”

Remus thought that maybe, just maybe, he might be understanding what you just asked. He hoped he was not mistaken when he let out his whisper. “No.”

“Then give me a kiss goodnight, you beautiful idiot.” 

You spoke with such an endearing tone and smile, one that reassured him that you meant it but you were also not issuing a demand; it was you inviting him and teasing him at the same time. Just like a friend would, except Remus truly did not want to only be friends anymore.

Though there was no real need, Remus took a step closer to you and slowly lowered his face to meet yours, amber eyes staying on yours for as long as possible before your lips met, both sets curled up into matching smiles. His fingers came up to gently cup your cheek, fingertips gliding past your ear and into your hair, while his residual limb snuck around your waist, holding you close to him.

Remus kissed you and he realised that this is what he should have been doing all along. Remus kissed you and was grateful that this was the first time because it meant immensely more now than it ever could have before. Remus kissed you and he knew for certain that if he was an idiot, he wanted to be yours.

When you parted, he couldn’t stand pulling too far away, and kept you close to him by leaning his forehead against yours, tightening his hold on you. He didn’t open his eyes right away, instead breathing you in, melting into the memory of the moment.

Then, a wicked grin took over and he opened his eyes to find yours already looking at him with an affection he should have recognised sooner. “You think I’m beautiful?” he asked, and it sounded like humour but it felt deeper. 

“Stunning,” you whispered, tracing his cheek with your fingertips. Remus knew you were genuine.

“But still an idiot?” This time it was just humour.

“Oh, absolutely.” You laughed. “At least you know enough to get through exams.” He caught your reference and savoured it in his heart.

“I better, because I intend to finish this degree with you.” Remus dared to kiss your cheek, which almost felt more intimate. “As your idiot, right?”

You just nodded, with an expression that spoke volumes beyond words. “Yeah. Mine.”

Remus accepted in that moment that he had been more than slightly foolish. He couldn’t find it in him to regret it, though, as he decided to follow you all the way home in the darkening night.

[musclesandhammering]

Don’t be sorry, I live for meta like this, lol.

You know, I didn’t even make the connection but what you said was so true about Odin forgiving Thor and Loki because they ultimately came around to protecting the kingdom whereas Hela ended up taking her anger out on Asgard.

I could analyse this family’s issues for hours but I think it’s really interesting how you could make a 3-circle venn diagram explaining the various comparisons and contrasts that each child has to the others in regard to Odin’s parenting of them.

Like, all three of them had an unhealthy dynamic with their dad. Thor was clearly the golden child- the one Odin was closest to and most proud of- while hela and Loki were kept at a metaphorical distance due to their rebellious history and reluctance to concede. On the other hand, Hela was set apart from the boys in that, as you mentioned, she never recovered from her wayward spiral and because of that, was never embraced by her father again. Finally, Loki is different from Thor and hela because, where they’re both (biologically and metaphorically) beneficiaries of his imperialism, Loki is a victim of it, and should have a completely different perspective on Odin’s warmongering than the other two.

All of that is to say that it’s fascinating how, despite them having mutual experiences as well, they also all have very individual grievances re: Odin’s treatment of them- and that lets us see Odin himself from three completely distinct angles. I’ve mentioned in the past that it’s like they all represent different era’s of his personal journey. Hela is his full-on conquerer days and all that baggage that came with it. Thor is his attempt to be better and leave those things behind him (even though, as we see with Thor, all is not perfect there. Despite his attempts at benevolence, the empire is still going strong, even if he’s not actively invading new realms). And Loki is the skeletons in his closet- Loki’s very origin is a reminder that Odin is still very much a coloniser and just like Loki’s heritage, his solution is not to deal with it in an atonement-seeking way, but rather try to cover it up).

That being said, none of this means Odin is a bad person or doesn’t care about his kids. In fact, I think it’s a very good parallel to real life boomer parents (lol) who love their children but are so tangled in their olden mindsets that they’re never fully able to love them in a healthy way. They may try to learn and get marginally better overtime, but unfortunately they don’t usually ever become model parents. Odin realises he’s made mistakes with his kids and the guilt over that haunts him, but he also doesn’t know the correct way to handle things. Even when he’s trying to improve, he’s still basing his self corrections on that same old warmongering king-before-father thought pattern and because of that, he just makes the same mistakes in a slightly less obvious way.

Anyway, I’m done yapping I guess. I love finding people who see Odin as a complex character instead of either “he’s an evil pos” or “stfu he was a great dad!” because, to me, the whole story is way more tragic if Odin and Frigga (and Laufey and Farbauti and Hela’s mom I guess) weren’t trying to mess their kids up but ended up doing it anyway.

brb just thinking about how Odin banished Hela a thousand years ago and then he banished Thor in 2011 and then his anger turned to Loki and Loki decided to banish him to a retirement home before Odin could get him

[lewismcqueen]

could've been. 1/2

lh44 x black!reader

summary: you and Lewis meet again for the first time since 2008, and his presence leaves you reminiscing on what could have been. cw: this will be smutty all the way through. story involves infidelity, so feel free to pass on this one if that distresses you. a/n: this was gonna be a one-shot but I could feel deep in my spirit that it was gonna be longgg asf so...two parter! (not a series lol). I know folks don't love Lewis' pre-braids era but just go with it this one time for the plot 😁 I tried to cosplay as a British writer for a second it might be inaccurate pls don't jump me 🙏🏾

“Don’t look so down, honey. Walk around, grab a couple drinks!” 

Your husband, Joshua Lee, flashed you that ‘party host’ smile that was more for everyone else than for you. He raised his flute of champagne in the air jovially before turning away. He had an audience to entertain.

He thinks he’s in the fucking Great Gatsby, you thought to yourself with a sigh. 

You touched a manicured hand to the white cashmere sweater tied around your shoulders overtop a navy blue blouse. It was starting to create unnecessary bulk, and you considered removing it and just tying it around your waist the way you used to. Too hot out to just put it on. 

Freshly-cut grass occasionally brushed the sides of your feet as you wandered around what was the third garden party that your husband had decided to throw on a whim within the past couple of months. It’s considerably more crowded today, which meant that he’d likely invited a few of his buddies from Formula One, and you now had twice as many folks to smile and wave at if you couldn’t weave around them. Some had even begun to recognize you; he liked to take you to races and paddock walks to ‘show you off’. Brag about how he’d married you before any of the actual racers could as soon as you graduated.

You were just ending a conversation with one of the drivers’ wives about where you got your sandals from when a man’s voice that was not your husband’s called out your name. It took a second to place it, but the pang of familiarity was unmistakable. Eyes widening, you turned around. 

“Lewis?”

-

“What?” Lewis’ brows furrowed. 

Now, this Lewis hasn’t grown his hair out yet, keeping it closely cropped so that none of the other racers or the media had anything to comment on. He hasn’t pierced his ears just yet either. He’s wearing a black polo shirt—you swear he has a million of those—over loose blue jeans on which he wipes sweaty palms. Lewis is trying to look irritated and pragmatic, but it doesn’t quite reach his dark brown eyes. They always gave him away, revealing that he cared more than he would like to admit. 

This is the Lewis you knew.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” you snapped. You began counting off on your fingers, “You walk right past me after races, you miss my birthday, you’ve not returned any of my calls, or my mum’s calls! Do you know how crazy it is to let my mum go to voicemail?”

Lewis’ expression softened, and he suddenly looked very tired. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I’ve got back-to-back training sessions with my dad, then it’s straight back home for me. I’m hanging out with you now, though, right?”

“Sure, I guess.” 

“You don’t accept my apology?”

You pretended to check your nails. The glittery blue polish had finally begun to chip. 

“I don’t know.”

Soft, quiet laughter came from the other side of your bed. “What the hell is your problem?”

He called your name one, two, then three times, but you continued sulking with your head turned in the other direction. Finally, you felt his finger beneath your chin, turning your face towards his. You stuck out your bottom lip with a pout.

Lewis tilted his head with a grin. He liked to do that whenever he was trying to make you forget whatever he’d just done to annoy you at that moment, sometimes batting his long lashes and narrowing his eyes for full effect. It was almost coquettish. And it always worked. 

“Are you mad at me?”

“Maybe.”

“Well don’t be, ‘cuz I got you something. That's the main reason I came here.”

Lewis bent down and reached into his backpack, which he had laid beside your bed when he came in. From it he produced a small white satin pouch with drawstrings. Gently, he placed it into your palm and closed your hand.

“Open it.”

You pried open the soft material and gasped softly as you pulled out a gold necklace. The warm light of your bedside lamp reflected off of a nameplate hanging from the chain. Your name, in stylish, curling letters. It was going to be extra hard to stay mad now.

You held the nameplate between your fingers. “How…how did you know?”

He snorted. “Overheard you begging your poor mum to buy you one. Put it on, then.”

You undid the clasp and wrapped the chain delicately around your neck, finding the hole it was supposed to go through with your fingers with practiced ease. Letting it fall at your collarbone, you brushed back iron-pressed hair and turned to Lewis. “How do I look?”

“Beautiful,” he answered with an earnestness that caught you off-guard. “I’m really gonna miss you.”

You were half-expecting him to be a smart Alec and say something like, “The same, but with a necklace” or something. But he was staring at you the way he stared at the sunset when you two would watch it together while sitting on the hood of his dad’s car. 

Staring, and getting much, much closer. 

His lips pressed against yours before you could even react. When he pulled away, he suddenly looked mortified. Heart drumming in your ears, you noticed the residue of some of your lip gloss creating a sheen on his lips. It was a lucky thing you were wearing your favorite tank top today, because the heat simmering beneath your skin would’ve made you break into sweats.

Lewis held his hands out defensively like you were going to hit him.  “I’m so sorry—”

“Shut up.”

Impulsively, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into another kiss. You had watched him make out with other girls enough times in sixth form to get the general idea of how it ought to be done. Now, fresh out of your first year of university, you were basically an expert. Sort of.

“Wow,” Lewis exhaled with his lips still nearly brushing yours. He smirked. “You’re a terrible kisser.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then show me how, idiot. Since you’re apparently so good at snogging.”

“Let go of my shirt, and I will.”

Despite your casual remarks, you were very sure that your steadily rising heart rate and heavy breathing was the loudest thing in the room. Lewis gently held your chin again.

“Alright, so you’ve gotta tilt your head.”

“Like this?”

“No,” he laughed. “Other way.”

You followed his lead before leaning in with your lips slightly parted this time. He guided your hand up to his face, where you rested it on his cheek as you went in for a much surer kiss. 

Save for the occasional awkward clicking of teeth, you eventually fell into a rhythm. Lewis’ hand came to rest on your waist. He seemed to approach making out like he did racing; the moment he felt you relax, he pushed further, deepening the kiss with more hunger than before. Your breathing had just begun to even out again when he made the bold move of planting a soft, experimental kiss on your neck, making you tense up. He pulled away, looking hesitant.

“Do you want me to stop? I’ll stop if you ask me to.”

You bit your lip, considering. A week from now, he’d be back to racing, unlikely to ever bring this up again, knowing him. You’d be going back to school to study engineering in a couple of months. The bedroom door was locked. Might as well make the most of it.

“No,” you finally answered, voice so low you were nearly whispering. “Keep going.”

Slowly, Lewis lowered his head to where it was before. You placed a hand on the back of his neck as he made contact with hot skin, more sucking now than kissing. As your mouth fell open with the added pressure, you thought about how this felt way better than how it looked in those R-rated movies you sometimes snuck off to watch together. 

Just as the tender spot above your necklace began to feel sore, he broke contact. His eyelids were low as he looked at you, lips just slightly pinker than they were before. He was staring downwards, where the nameplate rested just above the swell of your breasts. Lewis looked up.

“It’s, uh, better lying down. Can you…?”

He didn’t have to finish the question for you to get the message. Lewis got up as you swung your legs and scooted forward so that you were lying flat on your back. He climbed onto the cramped twin-sized bed with you, carefully settling right between your legs. Suddenly, you were very aware of how high up your thighs your shorts cut off, how your hair was going to be a flattened mess after you got up, and how you might look from above while gazing up at him through thick red prescription glasses. This rapid line of thought was soon cut off when his lips crashed into yours again.

You pointed at your spectacles as he hovered over you. “Should I take these off?”

He shook his head, “I like when you keep them on.”

Huh, you think. Must have a thing for glasses.

“You know, if they get crooked, it’s not gonna look very—”

“I like when they’re crooked.”

A mischievous smile spread across his face; The statement seemed to shut you up.

Lewis had been right. It was easier lying down. Your hands roamed up and down his back as you gave him full access to your neck. You felt him tug at the hem of your shirt.

“Can I?” he asks against your skin.

“M-hm.”

You actually weren’t sure what you expected him to do until you felt his hand slide underneath your tank top and begin kneading your breast through your sports bra. This was now completely uncharted territory, but heat was building between your thighs and you wanted him to explore all of you until he knew it like the back of his hand. 

An unexpected, quiet moan escaped you when his thumb swiped over your nipple. You’d never moaned before, not even by yourself when your dorm was empty.

This seemed to signal something to Lewis, who momentarily sat up on his knees to bring his shirt up over his head, revealing an expanse of bronze skin with lean muscle that wasn’t there before. He discarded it onto the fluffy pink rug you had on the floor.

You lie there gaping for a moment, before realizing that you were supposed to do the same or it would be weird. You were about to wriggle out of your top when he stopped you.

“I can do it, it’s fine.”

Raising your arms, you let him briefly remove your glasses and hoist the turquoise fabric over your head. He looked so focused as he carefully placed the glasses back on your face that he could’ve been doing surgery. Lewis had never looked this methodical in your presence before. 

Now that you were more or less topless, there was no bit of skin that went untouched by his lips or tongue. He was kissing your navel when you finally stated the obvious.

“I didn’t realize you were into me like that.”

Lewis stopped and looked up at you quizzically. Then he smiled. “Me neither.”

-

This new, less familiar Lewis wore a white tank top that showed off extensively-tattooed arms, earrings that glittered in the sunlight, and hair that was braided into neat square sections with faded edges because he had won too many championships to be worried about what the media would say about it. He had a hand shoved into the pocket of some fashionably-baggy cargo pants while the other hand carefully held a champagne glass.

That sharp, gap-toothed smile was the same, though. And the way he said your name again, softer this time.

“Hey,” he regarded you warmly. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Still reeling from his sudden appearance, you stuttered. 

“Y-yes, it…certainly has been. A while, I mean.”

“I know what you mean. How have you been?”

You thought you’d gotten used to seeing him, given his face was everywhere now. But the intensity of those eyes couldn’t be captured on camera. Suddenly you were back in first year again, moaning beneath him in your old bedroom. 

“I’ve been…good,” you nodded.

“Oh, don’t give me that. It’s been so long that you’ve gone and got married!” His hand left his pocket to gesture animatedly. “Tell me something. I mean, how’s married life? What do you do these days?” 

You had forgotten that Lewis could chat up a tree if he wanted to. “It’s been alright,” you say unconvincingly with a practiced smile. “Joshua’s been great, he takes me to races once in a while. I even get to tour the garage sometimes, though I’m not as involved as I’d planned to be. It’s like I never left.”

“You were studying engineering, right? I’d love to see you working around the paddock, if you’re ever interested. I’ll vouch for you.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you’d given that up—all of it—because you thought you were in love. Now your degree was nothing more than a notch in your belt. A mere decoration collecting dust on your nightstand. 

“I’ll be sure to call you if I ever think of joining the team. We’re always rooting for Mercedes,” Gesturing towards Joshua’s figure in the distance, you started to move past Lewis. “I will see you—”

“Wait,” 

You felt Lewis’ hand lightly touch your elbow. You stopped, only turning halfway.

He looked like he was still figuring out what to say afterwards, as if he had stopped you on impulse. His free hand awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “I, um, don’t have your number.”

You nodded slowly. 

“Right, um,” you reached into the back pocket of your white capris and pulled out your phone. 

Once you added a new contact labeled with his name, he typed in his number.

“Well, there you go.” You gave him a strained, polite smile. 

Lewis looked like he wanted to say something, but you turned to leave before he could. You told yourself it was better this way. I’m married, you repeated like a mantra in your head.

I’m married, I’m married, I’m married.

[fiamat12]

Re: It's time to take a break

1) Imo, there was a clear sign today: We (still) have PR obligations to play out. And that obviously something happened to where L had to negotiate this intricate a deal w/ A. (Side note: heard alot of criticisms of A's lingerie ad lately, and tbf you could see N's derrière today too.🤦‍♀️ That bow was fighting for it's life to keep her covered lol.)

2) With that said, I do think the Anon below gave a very good, plausible explanation, and one that I think is the only way forward... we've been saying it HAS to be that they are all friends and that Lukola was helping give young friends in the industry a boost. After Round 1, the fact that L & A were dating was viable but now, after Round 2, baby Newts arrival and being unable to fudge the timeline, that narrative doesn't fly anymore. But this narrative does...

⏬️⏬️⏬️

3) The robot in all her detached glory below shows us the BAFTAs ceremony is still possible and I like what it says in the end: "If you're done chasing crumbs for now - I get it!" OR as an Anon messaged me today: "... I have definitely noticed a personal shift in the amount of time I spend checking X or even Tumblr cause I’m less desperate for information. I believe they’re together. I believe they’re committed and I don’t know where they’re hiding the baby but I believe in the baby so it is just a matter of time and I see some people stating limits like 'if this isn’t wrapped by June'. I don’t feel that way, it’ll take it as long as it takes" EITHER IS VALID!!!

Here's the Robot showing the way:

⏬️⏬️⏬️

4) Lastly, I'm a give what I get kind of girl. It is what it is rn w/ Lukola and less investment is probably smart until we see a shift in a positive direction. Imo, and of course you are free to do what you want, we should shift our attention to those who give their fans an authentic glimpse.

These are two of the richest most well known stars and they are giving us the cutest prom video. This is just an example. WE should never settle for less...

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Could you ever see Ford getting into a sorta DDLG relationship with Reader? Ford doesn’t need to be referred to as daddy or anything like that, it’s just more or less the nature of the relationship

thank u for asking!! seriously. made my brain work lol because ive thought about this too. honestly a lot. and i still don’t have a clear answer

part of the reason it’s so hard to figure out is because ddlg, when we’re talking about the actual dynamic, not just internet kinky stuff, is kinda complicated. it's deeply psychological, for me its about vulnerability and being taken care of in a very dependency-coded way. and with Ford, you can’t talk about dynamics like that without talking about trauma, guilt, repression, and the constant tension between his need for control and his belief that he’s fundamentally not safe to be close to

ill hide it under the cut because it's long

i believe Ford is extremely caring. intensely so. he’s protective over those he loves and absolutely has the capacity to caretake. i mean, he’s the kind of person who would research your triggers. who would actually read articles about your mental health condition and then print them out and annotate them. he’s the kind of person who would wake you up with a glass of water and your meds without making it a big deal. who would block off certain lab sections just because “i don’t want you around the chemicals, i’m not risking that” he’s cautious and self-sacrificing and..... yeah, really tender under the layers of anxiety. he’s not cold, i don’t see him so. maybe really bad with his feelings and explaining his emotions, but he’s not THAT distant emotionally, especially not when he really loves someone, especially OLDER Ford, post-weirdmageddon, when he's finally trying to be in the world, near his brother and family, instead of just run from it.

i think, Ford is not okay with being in that role CONSCIOUSLY. let me explain!! because deep down, he doesn’t trust himself with power after nearly destroying the whole world (not his fault, but he still blames himself for it). he has done damage with it to the people he loves so much. to Stan. to McGucket. to the entire world, as he thinks of course, because of weirdmaggedon.

BUT, and this is important, if we’re talking about a dynamic where it’s very much care-focused - yeah. Ford WOULD do things like make sure you ate. he’d pack your bag if you had a big day and he knows your executive dysfunction’s acting up. he’d gently push your forehead and go “bed. now. no, i don’t care that your doomscrolling is ‘important,’ come on.” he’d tuck you in and grumble about you using your phone a lot. and he’d never call himself “daddy” that's right, but he’d say things like ”come here, sweetheart. sit still for me”, ”i’ll take care of that.”, “you don’t have to think about it right now, i’ve got you.”, ”talk to me about it” and etc

and i 1000% believe there would be days where he needs to be the one taken care of. like where he goes into a shut-down state and doesn’t eat and you have to drag him out of his work chair. and if the dynamic is mutual and based on trust and respect rather than roles, i think Ford would exist in that kind of relationship absolutely normally. it just wouldn’t be ddlg in the way most people imagine. like sexualized or through roleplay that’s too close to the thing he fears he failed at most, being responsible for someone’s wellbeing

so yeah.... :') i’m still not sure. it's just Ford is that kind of character you want to trust, you want him to take care of you especially if you're into older men lol. and i think he wants that too, to take care of someone, he just doesn’t always think he deserves it because of his past

i hope that didn’t sound weird by the way. and yeah, not my final answer either. i love getting philosophical about this stuff. i still think about it a lot. AND IF YOU HAVE YOUR OWN THOUGHTS I’D GENUINELY LOVE TO READ THEM <3

[sturnsshake]

alphabet - c.s

no parings, just how i think he is

about: head cannons about chris for each letter of the alphabet.

DISCLAIMER!!! i’m not copying anyone’s work, i’ve seen a gazillion people do this so if ours are similar, don’t cry.

enjoy!

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Aftercare - how he is after…

he is so loving. as soon as you guys are done is getting you cleaned up, is worshipping your body, and telling you how good you where and asking how it all was for you. very thoughtful, he makes you feel loved and not used.

Body part - his fav body part

he is 1000% and ass man. like he is touching that thang anytime anyplace he can. he loves slapping it while you guys are doing it, especially in doggy. during aftercare he always worships your ass.

Cum - where he likes to put it

chris is a freak. he loves when you suck him off so he can see your mouth fill with his cum. he loves it when you swallow it but he can still see the remains of it on your lips. chris also loves to cum inside because he loves the idea of filling you up and he adores the sight of it dripping it out you.

Dirty secret - does he have any?

not really. i don’t think he keeps them secret. except that fact that he watches step sibling shit apparently lol!! (hibachi vid iykyk)

Experience - how experienced is he?

i’d say he has some experience. he probably lost it in like high school sometime like 17 or something. he’s probably been with at least 4 girls i’d say. he knows what he’s doing.

Fav position - his favourites

he’s an ass man, he’s a sucker for doggy. but he also loves missionary, it’s so intimate and he can see your face. he secretly loves cowgirl too.

Good - how good is he?

this man is amazing. like you can just tell he knows that the fuck he’s doing. like yess! he just loves women and it shows.

Hair - him/his preference

he keeps its clean, trimmed, and basic. he doesn’t really care what you do with your hair but i think he wouldn’t love a whole jungle but not plain bald either idk.. but i don’t think he really cares.

Intimacy - how he is in the moment

he sometimes can get carried away but never enough that he would make you feel uncomfortable or bad. he just really gets into it and enjoys it with you.

Jack off - his...tendencies

he does it. i’m guessing like 4 time a week. thinking about you obviously..

Kinks - what are his kinks?

this man definitely has a breeding kink. he just wants to fuck his baby in you. it makes him feel so good knowing how easy it is to knock you up. i feel like he also has a little praise kink. he likes to know he’s making you feel good.

Location - his fav place to do it

like the bed is his all time fav but he’s a sucker for couch sex and sneaky shower sex is always fun. he likes the thrill.

Motivation - what gets him going?

he hates to admit it but he loves lacy lingerie. it just looks so nice. he likes it when you put in effort to make you feel good about yourself. he loves a confident woman.

No - what he won’t do

i feel like it’s a no to anything that hurts you. like knife stuff whipping and all that. he hates seeing you uncomfortable in any way.

Oral - giving/receiving

he loves receiving especially when he can fill up your mouth but god he loves giving. he addicted to the way you taste. he loves it. he can’t live without it.

Pace - how fast does he go?

he is definitely into going faster for the most part but he does enjoy and appreciate the intimacy of taking it slower. he definitely does both.

Quickies - his opinion on quickies

he prefers to take his time. slowly building up to actual sex but if your down he’s down. anything to please his girl.

Risk - will he take risks?

he loves taking risks. he loves the adrenaline rush. he loves risky quickies and trying to stay quiet. it’s like a dirty little secret only you and him know about.

Stamina - how long can he go for?

he can last pretty longgg. he will go for as long as you let him. he does like to switch it up tho. some head, giving and receiving, then another round. he likes to keep it interesting. but pretty much he taps out when you tap out.

Toys - does he vibe with them?

eh. he doesn’t have any/use them. he doesn’t see the point in you having one when you have him. he’s not pressed about it tho if u have one.

Unfair - does he tease?

this man is such a tease. acting all innocent in front of others but is secretly teasing you without anyone knowing. he hates being teased tho. he can dish it out but can’t take it.

Vocal - is he vocal?

he is. he is not afraid to show you he’s feeling good. he lets out low guttural groans and moans when he’s into it. i feel like sometimes he whimpers when he’s feeling subby. but he def dirty talks and praises you throughout the wholeeee thing.

When? - his fav time to do it

he definitely likes classic late night sex. he’s totally a sucker for sleepy morning sex tho. a good way to ‘kick start his day’ as he says. he also loves to get freaky after gaming. like after playing video games with his brothers or streaming he’s just horny. idk i just see that.

X-ray - what’s he got?

from all the clips of his … he’s gotta be packing. like def above average. i’d say like 7 something inches. def a couple veins and mildly girthy.

Yearning - how high is his sex drive?

this man is always horny. like you can just tell. sex is always on his mind (NOT IN A WEIRD AND UNHEALTHY WAY just like always at the back of his head). he’s is always ready to go.

Zzz - how tired is he after?

i mean look, he’s tired but that does NOT mean he won’t properly look after you. he makes sure you completely sorted before even thinking about sleeping. he always tries his best to make sure ur asleep before he drifts off but sometimes he falls asleep before you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: me bc i lowk fell off the face of the earth. HEY GUYS. i’m kinda back. don’t expect a lot from me tho. i’m always busy 😩😩 but it’s okay. tried something different today. idk how to feel!! side note idk why but my little text wasn’t coming up so excuse the different layout to usual!

LET ME KNOW HOW I DID!!

LOVE YOU!

[thalthanmadanus]

Here are some Drarry fic ideas that I had for a very long time and would still catch dust in my samsung notes if I don't just give them away. If anyone liked one feel free to take it lol.

1. Harry Potter x Jumanji

It's kinda self explanatory but I was thinking, either in 6th year or 8th year, the Jumanji board would appear in Hogwarts, there would be chaos everywhere before the gang would find the source and so 4 students from every house have to play. Draco is the snake, I was thinking Neville could be the lion, Luna the raven, and yeah for Hufflepuff I blanked out lol ( it could be Zacharias or Justin but eh). I thought the plot happening in 6th year would be funny if Draco disappeared from Hogwarts for a moment (entered the board) and Harry who was stalking him from the map gets so sus and confused so he tries looking for him. They find the board. They play. And just like in the movie, an older Draco comes out llmfwzgtgbkgb. Cue Harry's little crush. 8th year could also work.

2. Harry Potter x fanfic

Basically, a published biography about Harry comes out.... and a fandom about it also comes out lol. Harry finds out the book (his life??) has a fandom and they're writing fanfics and the most popular ship is Drarry lol. He gets so confused, calls it bullshit, checks some fics and then goes: damn 🫠 why are these fics good tf? and then falls into the Drarry hole. He gets so deep into the fandom, enters servers, discusses characterizations (dissociation go burrrr) and goes into fights about them. He's number 1 Draco apologist, defending his character (lmao) everytime an anti appears. He's also a huge fan of a Drarry author who in Harry's opinion "gets Harry's and Draco's personalities"... plot twist that author is Draco.

This is such a meta heavy prompt in my opinion...

3. Harry Potter x time travel

A typical harry potter fic where Draco accidentally time travels to the past EXCEPT he doesn't become younger but actually stays his age while his younger self also exists. I don’t particularly care for which year he time travels to but I think the fifth year would be interesting or 6th year.. oh yes, also Draco becomes a teacher at Hogwarts lmao (in disguise ofc) and that’s why I think a 5th year or 6th year would be very interesting. Especially 6th year. I had in my mind that older Drarry are already established so when Draco goes back in time he's just looking at younger Harry and Draco like this 🙄 also I like the idea of younger Draco being suspicious of this new teacher (his older self) meanwhile Harry actually likes this teacher. I also like the idea of Older Draco and younger Draco interacting (positively). It could work for a nice character study.

4. Harry Potter × Life is Strange

Now imagine 6th year but either Harry or Draco have Max's power.

If you don't know, Life is Strange is a video game about Max who develops the ability to rewind time and even stop it after trying to save her friend from getting shot.

I think this would work nicely with Harry, him developing this ability just a second after Sectumsempra happens and keeps on rewinding time over and over again trying to find a way to talk with Draco that doesn't end up in him being cursed or Draco almost dying.

5. Harry Potter x time travel 2

Both Harry and Draco accidentally time travel to the thirties and have the brilliant idea of adopting tom riddle. That's the prompt. lol. Drarry as parents for Tom.

[imnez-daydreams]

bouncing around the walls of my room. new chapter from pookie !!

"Dex sat perfectly still on the couch, his back leaning against the cold wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, and her body folded softly into his side like something precious. His arm remained around her. Protective. Present. He hadn’t even blinked too hard."

"She let him hold her. And he hadn’t let go. Not for a second. His thumb had traced circles against her shoulder without realizing it. Barely-there movements. Slow. Rhythmic. Calming."

what do you mean dex stayed awake and alert the whole night not only protecting reader but as if to commit everything about them to memory. like dex doesnt know the next time he'll have this so he's relishing in all the details of their time together, of reader. and caressing reader in a calming manner that dex doesnt even realise he's doing ?? when is it my turn to snuggle up next to dex/wilson bethel.

"And he didn’t move either. He wouldn’t dare. Because even if I didn’t say it out loud, he felt it. The ache. The sadness. The weight of something shifting in me. I didn’t want to go. And neither did he want to let me."

"He knew every routine. Every schedule. Every blind spot. He knew the system better than the people who built it. And that meant he’d been here too long. That meant he saw it all, day in, day out. That when I came last night, he didn’t hesitate to hide me because he already knew what would happen."

"Because this is his life. A clockwork cage."

RAHHH just let dex and reader have a happy ending together pretty please :( if not together then just let dex be happy please please please raey :(((. that later part of the paragraph brought me back to the opening scene in ep 9. where it looked like dex had been in that mental institution for so many years and so drugged up that his cognitive (?) skills were barely there. dex's life being a clockwork cage. stop. stop breaking my heart raey :(

"And without thinking, without planning, my fingers moved. They slid up into his hair. Slow. Gentle. Thoughtless. Just once. I stroked through it lightly. Soft enough that it could be mistaken for absent-mindedness. But he knew better. He inhaled. A sharp breath. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t stop me. Didn’t lean away."

i like how both dex and reader were doing things without thinking. like their affection for the other runs so deep that these comforting touches come without a second thought, almost on instinct. ohhh to be able to run my fingers through his soft hair.

"He just let me. Because maybe he needed it just as much as I did. Because maybe this was the only version of goodbye we could have. The silence between us wasn’t heavy anymore. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t empty."

"It said everything we couldn’t."

"I’m sorry. I wish things were different. I don’t want to go. I don’t want you to leave."

touched starved dex ?? but also how dex and reader were able to communicate without words, how with that small touch they both still knew everything it meant.

"But I felt it, in the way his fingers hesitated at the hem of my shirt, the way his eyes followed the shape of me like he was committing every second to memory."

"He just looked at me from where he sat, hands resting on his thighs, elbows bent, chest rising in slow, even pulls like he was focusing on breathing so he wouldn’t say something he wasn’t supposed to."

committing reader to memory, raey we truly are one mind. also focusing on breathing so dex wouldnt say something he wasnt supposed to ?? what is it dex. is it. is it that you love reader. hmm. hmm indeed.

“No, because there’s a scale, okay? There’s the oops-our-faces-collided kiss, and then there’s the I-want-to-live-in-your-mouth kiss- where did we land?”

ofc gigi makes me smile after that heartbreaking beginning LOL shes so funny.

Another pause. I blink hard. “He looked at me like he needed it. Like I was the only thing keeping him grounded.”

“You probably are,” she says. “That doesn’t mean you owe him everything. But it means something. It means you’re in deep.”

i know that reader and gigi dont know about dex's north star but i like how they both understand that reader means something to him, that reader is impacting/affecting dex so much as if they are now his only lifeline. i also appreciate gigi keeping it real and telling reader they dont owe dex everything.

"The place his hand had been. The spot where his thumb had traced like it meant something. Like I meant something."

stopp this is the second time for reader to say/think that :(( you do mean something !! you mean everything to dex !! im saying this about a character insert thats supposed to be the person reading lol, but of course raey has me pitying this character with her amazing writing.

"I’ve skipped our sessions. Avoided eye contact with anyone who even breathes near his wing. It’s not fear that keeps me away. It’s control. Because I can’t be near him. Not without losing something. My job. My license. My goddamn sense of self-preservation."

props to reader for realising how willing they were to do dangerous things for dex and trying to stay on track butttt idk if im overthinking but im like kinda worried how this might look like to dex ?? cos of his intense fear of rejection and abandonment. like his reactions to his coach benching him and to dr mercer getting sick. to reader it may seem like they are trying to go back to the professional route but to dex it would more likely seem that reader rejected and abandoned him just after that connection they both established and shared, just like everyone in his life has done yaknow ??

"Like whatever spark had been in him last time I saw him, whatever warmth, whatever storm, had dulled. Not gone, but buried. Locked somewhere deeper than before. He holds my gaze, but not like he used to. There’s no pull. No weight. No invitation."

"If avoiding him felt like rejection. If silence, to him, sounded like regret."

NOOOOO. fml. why am i right i didnt want to be right. dex's walls are back up, he's guarding himself again because he let reader in only for them to leave.

"He’s holding something back."

"He’s protecting himself."

"I’m the one who stayed gone. And now I’m here, acting like it didn’t cost him something."

this shit hurts not even gonna cap. like worse than someone you hurt crashing out is their silent acceptance. their walls being built back up. reader trying to stay away so that it wouldnt cost them their job and license, not realising it cost dex everything to let them into his heart. i hate it here.

head in hands. raey. you are shattering my heart into pieces with your writing. expecting the excuses, because to dex this isnt the first time he's been rejected or abandoned, because this is what he's used to. people leaving him. i cant.

oh my gawdDddd. i cant even analyse the last few parts anymore this shit is devastating its all hurt no comfort :"(((( dex being so so closed off. dex not being angry, not reactive, just quiet resignation, quiet acceptance. "you acted like you did". just shoot me now omg. i wonder what dex is thinking. what he thought during those 7 days. reader had a life outside, they had other places, other people to depend on but dex didnt have those luxuries. what happened when they were together was the only thing dex could think of, the only company he had 24/7 for a week was those memories. dex probably had thoughts of "i told you so" like chastising himself for letting reader in just to be rejected and abandoned again.

in conclusion, raey this chapter wasnt boring in the slightest. it pulled at my heartstrings and tore it apart. (in a good way of course dont worry !). while it hurt to read i think it was realistic to have this chapter, reader's actions were understandable but so was dex's reactions to it based on his history. as always, thank you raey for writing !! (and breaking my heart jokes jokes haha). cheers to more chapters, i have my full trust and confidence in you that youre cooking up a 10 course meal for the upcoming chapters :p

CHAPTER 10

⌖ continued scene from chapter 9

The room was still. Not just quiet, but still. The kind of stillness that only comes after something breaks wide open and leaves nothing but breath and bones and soft air behind. The kind that sinks into the walls. Into the floor. Into the weight of what was said without ever being spoken, she was asleep. Curled against him. Her breath is soft against the curve of his neck. One arm tucked beneath her, the other resting lightly across his chest. Her fingers were slack, but still touching him. Like her body knew what it wanted even in sleep. He hadn’t moved. Not once. Not since she drifted off hours ago. Dex sat perfectly still on the couch, his back leaning against the cold wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, and her body folded softly into his side like something precious. His arm remained around her. Protective. Present. He hadn’t even blinked too hard. His eyes had stayed open, heavy but alert, adjusting to the dimmed lights and the creeping hours. He’d stayed awake through all of it, the silence, the tension easing from her body, the faint shift in her breath as sleep took hold. He couldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t risk it. Not with her here. Not in this place. The air was different now. Lighter somehow. Not because the tension was gone, but because it had finally taken shape. No longer a thing hidden under words or silences. It had been seen. Felt. Breathed. She let him hold her. And he hadn’t let go. Not for a second. His thumb had traced circles against her shoulder without realizing it. Barely-there movements. Slow. Rhythmic. Calming. The hours passed. The quiet deepened. And then the light started to change. Not artificial. Not the dull white hum of overhead fluorescents. Real light.

Morning.

It came in slowly, soft and golden, through the narrow sealed window on the far wall. A sliver of sun barely breaking the horizon. But he saw it. Felt it. A shift. The beginning of time is catching up. He looked down at her. The way her lashes brushed her cheeks. The warmth of her breath steadied against his jawline. She looked peaceful. And that alone made something inside him ache. He hadn’t seen peace in years. Not real peace. Not like this. He let it sit with him for a moment longer. Just a moment. Then slowly, gently, his hand came to rest against her back. He rubbed slow circles. Barely enough pressure to stir her.

 "Hey," he said softly, voice still rough from disuse. "Wake up."

I stirred. Just a little. A quiet breath pulled in. My brows knit together in confusion, not fully aware yet. He leaned in. Kept his voice soft, steady. "It’s morning. Time to go." My world came back in pieces. The weight beneath me. The warmth pressed along my side. The slow rise and fall of his chest under my palm. And then his voice. My eyes opened slowly, blearily, blinking past the blur of sleep. Morning light filtered in. The dull buzz of distant security buzzers kicked on in the hallway. A signal. A countdown. My body tensed before my brain caught up. Panic flared hot in my chest. But before I could speak, before I could move, he said it again.

"It’s okay." His hand stayed steady on my back. His voice didn’t waver. "The guards are switching. The doors will open in a few minutes. You have one chance to get out. You can do it without being seen."

I didn’t move. Not yet.

My head stayed where it was, rested gently against his shoulder, my forehead tucked into the line of his jaw. And he didn’t move either. He wouldn’t dare. Because even if I didn’t say it out loud, he felt it. The ache. The sadness. The weight of something shifting in me. I didn’t want to go. And neither did he want to let me. I swallowed thickly. Eyes wide now, but not from fear. From the way it hit me. This man, this patient, this story wrapped in barbed wire and silence, he knew. He knew every routine. Every schedule. Every blind spot. He knew the system better than the people who built it. And that meant he’d been here too long. That meant he saw it all, day in, day out. That when I came last night, he didn’t hesitate to hide me because he already knew what would happen.

Because this is his life. A clockwork cage.

I almost forgot. Forgot that I was his doctor. Forgot that I’d been assigned to him. That he was a case file. A report. A decision pending. I forgot because none of that felt true anymore. Not after last night. Not after this. My chest ached. And without thinking, without planning, my fingers moved. They slid up into his hair. Slow. Gentle. Thoughtless. Just once. I stroked through it lightly. Soft enough that it could be mistaken for absent-mindedness. But he knew better. He inhaled. A sharp breath. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t stop me. Didn’t lean away.

He just let me. Because maybe he needed it just as much as I did. Because maybe this was the only version of goodbye we could have. The silence between us wasn’t heavy anymore. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t empty.

It was full.

It said everything we couldn’t.

I’m sorry. I wish things were different. I don’t want to go. I don’t want you to leave.

We sat like that. Still. Quiet. Breathing each other in like the moment could last. Until finally, he spoke.

"You have to go."

His hand brushed my side, light, almost reluctant. 

My throat tightened.

My eyes stayed closed for a breath longer.

Just one.

Then I nodded against him, small and tired, and the world tilted forward again.

I sat up slowly.

He let me.

His hands slipped away from me like they’d never been there, like he was trying not to make the moment harder than it already was. But I felt it, in the way his fingers hesitated at the hem of my shirt, the way his eyes followed the shape of me like he was committing every second to memory. The space between us stretched, and it ached. My feet touched the floor, cold and flat. I stood, slowly, knees stiff, muscles sore, heart even worse. He didn’t move. He just looked at me from where he sat, hands resting on his thighs, elbows bent, chest rising in slow, even pulls like he was focusing on breathing so he wouldn’t say something he wasn’t supposed to. And I didn’t blame him. Because I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say either.

Thank you?

Goodbye?

See you in session?

None of it felt right.

None of it fit.

─────── ⌖ ───────

Chapter 10

The door clicks shut behind me.

I don’t even take off my shoes.

I just stand there in the dark, keys still in hand, the faint sound of the city bleeding through the windows like it’s trying to ground me. It doesn’t.

My heart is still somewhere in that room.

Still pressed up against his.

I stare at the floor. Swallow hard.

Then I reach for my phone.

It rings twice before she picks up.

“Hello?”

"Are you awake?" I asked.

A groggy pause. "No. What do you want?" I let out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. Almost.

“Gigi...”

Something in my voice must’ve given it away.

"I slept with Benjamin Poindexter,” I said that to really wake her up.

There’s a beat. Then softer, sharper:

“In your dream?”

I don’t sit down. I just pace. Hand in my hair, heart still racing. “No”

Silence.

Then-

"...What? I-  Are you joking? Because I just woke up, and I don’t know if this is a dream or not." I laughed. A real laugh. It slipped out before I could stop it. "Not the kind of sleep you have in mind, I fell asleep on him.”

"Wait, what do you mean- wait, how and what led to this? What’s going on? I’m so confused."

"I kissed him-" 

“YOU WHAT?”

I repeat, quieter this time. “Well, he kissed me and I kissed him back.”

Another pause.

Then Gigi speaks again, faster, louder:

“Wait, wait, wait, babe, are you serious?”

I close my eyes. “Yes, G”

“what the FUCK?”

I stayed silent, letting her process this.

"Oh my god. How? When? Where? Are we talking full-on kiss or like... ‘accidental brush of lips during a shared hallucination’ kind of kiss?"

I close my eyes. “Gigi-”

“No, because there’s a scale, okay? There’s the oops-our-faces-collided kiss, and then there’s the I-want-to-live-in-your-mouth kiss- where did we land?”

I lean against the wall, exhaling hard. “We landed in the second one.”

Gigi lets out a gasp so dramatic it almost echoes.

“OH MY GOD,“

"Calm down," I said. "Just listen. I’ll tell you everything. From the beginning."

And I did.

Every detail. From the moment I left the apartment to the second the door closed behind me at the facility. I told her about the anger, the kiss, the tension, the lockdown, the way his arms felt around me, the silence we shared, the weight of it all.

She sat in silence for a beat.

Then: "...Okay, wow"

I let out another laugh. Felt the heat of the water rise against my chest. "Yeah."

"Wait. Was he good?"

I laughed, "I’m hanging up,” shaking my head.

"No, but seriously, how was he?"

I sighed. Loud. Like it came from somewhere deep.

Before I could answer, she cut in.

"You’re in love with him."

"No, I’m not."

"You’re so in love with him."

"Gigi- It’s complicated."

"Yeah. Complicated like a felony." We both laughed. after that, I just sat in silence, then she cut my thoughts off with "how are you feeling?"

“I’m scared,” I say eventually. “Not because I regret it. I don’t. I’d do it again if I was standing in front of him right now. But I’m scared of what it means.”

She doesn’t interrupt.

“I broke rules, Gi. Big ones. I crossed a line that I can’t uncross. And I didn’t even hesitate. I didn’t even think. I just felt.” I sit down now. Finally. The weight of it all is catching up to me. “I’ve never wanted anything like that,” I whisper. “Like him. It’s terrifying.”

Gigi exhales softly into the phone. Then, after a moment- 

“Okay. First of all- holy shit. Second of all, you are allowed to want things. Even reckless things. Even things that could blow up in your face. That’s how you know they matter.”

I press the heel of my palm into my eye. “It was stupid.”

“It was human.”

Her voice gentler now.

“You’re allowed to be human.”

Another pause. I blink hard. “He looked at me like he needed it. Like I was the only thing keeping him grounded.”

“You probably are,” she says. “That doesn’t mean you owe him everything. But it means something. It means you’re in deep.” I nod, even though she can’t see me.

“And... what happens now?”

I don’t answer.

Because I don’t know.

But I know I’ll see him again.

And I know whatever this is...

It’s not over.

Later That Night

The day moved on.

Somehow, I didn’t break.

I went to work. Answered emails. Sat in meetings. Reviewed case notes that had nothing to do with him. I avoided the wing entirely. Took a longer route just to steer clear. Told myself it was discipline. Control. A decision made from a place of logic and self-preservation. But now the sun's gone, and logic doesn’t follow me home.

I lie in bed, sheets cool against my skin, the ceiling above me a dull blur in the dark. I haven’t turned the lights on.

Can’t.

I’m not tired, but my body aches like I’ve run a marathon barefoot. Everything feels sore. My chest, my legs, my eyes, especially my eyes. It’s not the lack of sleep. It’s the restraint. Holding it in all day. Holding him in all day. I shift slightly, turning onto my side, and my fingers move without thinking, pressing lightly against my jaw. The place his hand had been. The spot where his thumb had traced like it meant something. Like I meant something.

I let them stay there.

Just for a second.

My breath catches.

It’s ridiculous how real it still feels.

Like my skin remembers.

Like he left something behind.

I pull my hand back. Bury it under the pillow. Try to swallow the burn climbing my throat.

This is why I didn’t go today.

Because I know myself.

I know that if I walk into that room again, I won’t be able to stay on the right side of that line. The one I’m already straddling. The one I already crossed.

I want to go back.

God, I want to.

But I can’t.

Not again. Not this soon.

I can’t keep risking everything on a feeling I don’t even understand yet.

So I lie here. Still. Quiet. Staring at nothing, with too much of him lodged behind my ribs.

And when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. Just once. I don’t check it.

I already know it’s Gigi.

She’s probably sent five memes and a paragraph of sass.

But even she can’t reach me tonight.

Because no matter how many times I tell myself I’m doing the right thing…

It doesn’t feel like it.

Not when every part of me is still in that room.

Not when I still feel like I’m supposed to be in his arms.

─────── ⌖ ───────

ONE WEEK LATER

It's been a week since the kiss.

Seven days.

One hundred and sixty-eight hours of trying to outrun my own skin.

I’ve skipped our sessions. Avoided eye contact with anyone who even breathes near his wing. It’s not fear that keeps me away. It’s control. Because I can’t be near him. Not without losing something. My job. My license. My goddamn sense of self-preservation.

I broke into a federal facility for him.

What else am I willing to do?

That’s what terrifies me.

It’s not him. It’s me. I don’t trust myself, I can’t help myself. So I banned myself. One week. No contact. No sessions. I rerouted my schedule, redirected other patients to fill his slot, and avoided all mention of his name on the official rotation.

But today, it catches up with me.

A sharp knock on my office door. Before I can even say Come in, it opens.

My boss.

"You haven't seen Poindexter this week."

It’s not a question.

I set down my pen slowly. "I've been reorganizing case schedules, and-“

His voice slices through the space like a scalpel. He shuts the door behind him, and suddenly the walls feel smaller. "You missed sessions. Not just any session- his. He’s top priority, and you're well aware of that. "

I look down at my desk. My nails press into the grain of the wood.

"He requested a session."

That gets me. I blink up at him. "He what?"

"Asked for you. Specifically."

My throat tightens.

He doesn’t wait for a reaction. "He never requests anything. And now he’s asking for you. Whatever rapport you’ve built with him, keep it going. Don’t lose it. You see him. Today." He’s out the door before I can even nod.

The silence that follows is so loud, I swear it rattles my teeth.

I sit there, frozen.

He asked for me.

Of course he did. Of course, he kept track. He sees everything. He's always seen me. My hands are already shaking as I reach for my phone. I don’t even think, just dial.

“Hello?”

Gigi’s voice.

Thank God.

I grip the phone tightly. "I can’t do this."

“Do what?”

I press my palm to my forehead. "He asked for me."

There’s a pause. Then, softer-

“Oh.”

"I haven’t seen him since that night. Since the kiss. I’ve been avoiding him. Actively. I changed my schedule. I’ve been hiding, Gi. Like a child."

“Sweetheart, you broke into a building for him. You’re not a child, you’re a woman with terrifying commitment to your bad decisions."

“I can’t be near him. I can’t even look at him. Because I’ll-” I stop. Swallow. “Because I won’t stop."

Gigi doesn’t interrupt.

“I’ll ruin myself for him. And I don’t even care. That’s the problem.”

Another beat of silence.

Then Gigi’s voice softens. “So ruin yourself a little. Then un-ruin it. You’re allowed to want things. Even the complicated ones.”

I exhale.

“I’m seeing him today.”

“Good. Walk in there like his doctor, not the woman who aggressively made out with him.”

My lips twitch. “It wasn’t aggressive.”

“Whatever, just try not to get on top of him today. Be a bit professional, get the job done. And if there’s time, maybe a little makeout sesh won’t hurt.”

“I’m ending the call.”

She laughs out loud before I hang up.

Stare at the wall.

And then I stand.

Because I have a session to take.

─────── ⌖ ───────

The walk to his wing feels like walking into the center of a flame.

Everything burns.

I keep my eyes forward, my steps slow but steady, fingers curled tight around the edges of the clipboard I’m not even using.

The usual guard isn’t there. Instead, it’s someone new. Tall, older, with buzzed silver hair and sharper eyes than I expected. He glances up as I approach. “Dr. Y/L/N for Benjamin Poindexter,” I say, voice steady. He nods, expression unreadable, and steps aside to run the standard check, badge, quick scan. Then, without a word, he gestures me forward and walks with me down the hall. We stop outside the room. He knocks once, firmly, then opens the door. “Poindexter,” the guard says, “Dr. Y/L/N is here for your session.”

Silence.

It stretches just long enough to make my pulse stutter.

The guard doesn’t seem fazed. He gives me a look, some kind of signal I’ve done this enough times to understand, and steps back. 

I walk in.

The door closes behind me with that same heavy finality.

And there he is.

Dex sits on the couch, legs apart, hands clasped loosely in front of him, elbows resting on his knees. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t shift. Doesn’t greet me.

He looks at me.

No- he looks at me.

He just looks at me.

And I feel it.

That look.

Not sharp. Not smug. Just still.

Still and... quiet.

Like whatever spark had been in him last time I saw him, whatever warmth, whatever storm, had dulled. Not gone, but buried. Locked somewhere deeper than before. He holds my gaze, but not like he used to. There’s no pull. No weight. No invitation.

Just... distance.

And for the first time since the kiss, I wonder if I hurt him.

If avoiding him felt like rejection. If silence, to him, sounded like regret.

I don’t say anything.

Neither does he.

The silence builds between us like a second set of walls.

I take my seat across from him, carefully. Trying not to make a sound. Trying not to breathe too loudly or move too fast, like anything might make it worse. I place the clipboard in my lap, but I don’t look at it. I can’t.

Because he’s still watching me.

I clear my throat, barely a sound.

My voice is small when it comes out. Tight.

“How are you?”

It hangs in the space between us, that question.

A simple one.

Harmless. Professional.

But it doesn’t sound like a doctor checking in on a patient. It sounds like something else. Something heavier. Something late.

Dex doesn’t answer right away.

His eyes stay on mine. Unblinking.

A beat passes.

Then another.

And then, finally- 

a hum

I nod. Just once.

But he sees it. That flicker behind my eyes. That twitch in my throat.

I shift in my seat. Press my thumb to the edge of the clipboard in my lap. I don’t look down. I can’t.

Because he still hasn’t looked away.

His eyes hold steady, but there’s something in them I didn’t expect.

Not anger.

Not coldness.

Just... restraint.

He’s holding something back.

And I realize with a quiet ache-

He’s not punishing me.

He’s protecting himself.

I’m the one who left.

I’m the one who stayed gone. And now I’m here, acting like it didn’t cost him something.

I look at him again. Softer this time. Quieter.

He blinks once. But he doesn’t speak.

And for a moment, I feel like I don’t deserve to be in this room with him.

I swallow.

My fingers tighten slightly around the clipboard, edges pressing into my palms. I look at him, really look at him, and I know I owe him more than a question.

I owe him the truth.

Or… at least some version of it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come last week.”

The words are quiet. Stiff. Like they don’t fit right in my mouth.

“I’ve been… trying to fix my schedule around. Things got complicated.”

He doesn’t blink.

Doesn’t shift.

Doesn’t say a word.

But I see it, just beneath the stillness in his face.

In his eyes.

That flicker of something.

Disbelief, maybe. Or disappointment.

He doesn’t buy it.

He knows me too well now.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even press.

He doesn’t challenge me. Doesn’t ask why.

He just looks at me.

Like he’s already heard every excuse I didn’t say out loud.

Like he expected them.

I drop my gaze for a second. Exhale through my nose.

“I should’ve come.”

Softer this time. Almost to myself.

“I know that. I-”

“Start the session.”

He doesn’t raise his voice.

Doesn’t even blink.

Just says it, flat, even, decisive.

And somehow, that’s worse.

It knocks the breath right out of my chest.

Not because he was cruel.

Because he wasn’t.

He was calm. Controlled. Detached.

Like the door he just spent weeks cracking open, slammed shut again, and I’m the one who locked it.

I freeze.

For a moment, I don’t even remember what I was going to say. It’s like he pulled the ground out from under me with three words.

Not “It’s okay.”

Not “I understand.”

Not even anger.

Just start the session.

Like, I’m not allowed to explain.

Like whatever I felt during that night. Whatever I thought we both felt was a glitch in the system that needed to be ignored, scrubbed clean, and replaced with protocol.

It stings.

Low and deep.

Like, he doesn’t want to hear my apology.

Like, he doesn’t trust it.

Or maybe, worse, he doesn’t trust me.

I swallow hard. My throat feels too tight. My fingers shift around the clipboard I haven’t even opened yet. I nod once. Almost imperceptible. Like I’m trying to nod past the ache in my chest.

I try to breathe.

Try to remember why I came here.

Try to remember who I’m supposed to be.

But the line between doctor and woman, professional and personal, just blurred into something jagged and sharp, and now I’m the one bleeding from it.

I clear my throat, adjust the clipboard on my lap like it matters, and begin.

“Can you walk me through the last seventy-two hours, any notable triggers, changes in behavior, sleep disturbances?”

Nothing.

Not a flicker.

He doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even blink.

Just stares past me. Not at the wall. Not on the floor. Just... through.

Like I’m not even here.

Like I’m a voice on a recording.

I try again. Ask a different question, reframed, softer.

Still nothing.

He’s back to the version of himself I met on day one. The one who gave me nothing but silence and surveillance. The one who looked at me like I was just another body taking up space.

And for some reason-

It triggers something in me.

Not anger.

Not frustration.

But that quiet ache, the kind that slips between your ribs before you realize it’s even there.

Because I missed him.

The version of him that spoke. The one who made me feel like we were building something. Trust. Progress. Something that wasn’t manufactured. Something that wasn’t just part of the job.

And now, that’s gone.

Like it never existed in the first place.

Like I imagined it.

I blink down at the page, pretending to read my notes even though they’ve turned to static. My throat tightens. I keep my face still, perfectly composed, but my eyes-

God.

They always give me away.

So I stopped looking at him altogether.

I lower my gaze. Fix it on the corner of the clipboard. On the smooth line of my pen resting across the page. On anything that won’t betray me.

Because if he looks at me too long-

He’ll see it.

He’ll see the hurt in my eyes. The small, sharp cut he left there with three words and a wall of silence.

I ask another question.

He doesn’t answer.

My voice stays even. My tone remains professional. I don’t crack.

But inside?

I feel it happening.

Like pressure building behind a dam.

Like I’m trying so hard to be the doctor in this room when all I want to do is explain myself.

Still, I keep going.

Because I have to.

Because if I don’t, I’ll break.

I don’t ask another question.

I just sit there.

Staring down.

The silence stretches long and wide between us. It settles over the room like dust, coating everything, my lungs, my spine, my skin.

And still, he just stares.

No movement.

No words.

Just… watches me.

And I hate it.

I hate this.

I hate that this is what we’ve become, two people sitting across from each other like strangers again, as if the fire between us never happened. As if I didn’t fall apart in his hands and leave pieces of myself behind in this very room.

But what I hate more than anything?

Is knowing I’m the reason he’s like this now.

I pushed him away.

I didn’t mean to. God, I didn’t mean to.

But I did.

I thought I was protecting something, my job, my license, whatever scraps of control I had left, but I never once stopped to think about him. About what It would feel like to be looked at for the first time in years and then left to wonder if it meant anything.

I didn’t consider that silence cuts both ways.

And now?

Now I’m sitting in the wreckage of that decision, unable to breathe, unable to speak. My thoughts are running wild, faster than I can catch them, piling up in my chest like smoke-

I did this.

I made him retreat.

I put that look in his eyes.

It’s my fault.

All of it.

And still, I can't bring myself to say it. Not aloud. Not yet.

So I just sit there. Letting it build.

Letting it burn through the inside of my ribs until my bones feel hollow.

I keep my head down because I can feel it, my eyes glassing over. The tightness was building in the back of my throat. I’m dangerously close to cracking, and the only thing holding me together is the clipboard in my hands and the silence I refuse to break first.

But it’s not silence, really.

It’s judgment.

It’s punishment.

And I deserve it.

Still, I want him to say something.

Anything.

Scream. Curse. Laugh. Kick me out, just don’t sit there and look at me like I’m nothing.

Because I’m not nothing.

Not to him.

I don’t know how much time passes before I finally inhale again. It doesn’t feel like breathing. It feels like surviving. And when I finally speak, my voice barely makes it across the space between us.

“…Can you tell me about the last seventy-two hours?”

I returned back to the first question, my voice is soft. So quiet, it doesn’t sound like me. But it’s the only volume I have left.

And still, he says nothing.

But his eyes-

They flicker.

Just once.

And even though it’s the smallest shift I’ve seen from him all session-

It feels like a fracture in the silence.

Something in me holds onto that.

Because it means there’s still something there.

Even if it’s buried beneath all the things I didn’t say.

I somehow managed to speak,

“Dex… please… please say something…”

My voice breaks on the last word. Barely held together. Barely me.

I don’t dare look up. My hair’s fallen over my face, curtain-like, my last defense. A soft shield against the weight of his silence. Against the way, I know he’s still watching me.

But somehow…

Even now…

He gets through.

He doesn’t speak right away. Doesn’t move. Just breathes in that still, heavy way that fills the space between us like smoke.

And then, finally-

“What do you want me to say?”

His voice isn’t cold.

It’s low. Steady. Stripped bare.

I blink, staring at my lap, chest tight, heart clawing at the inside of my ribs.

I keep my eyes down, throat tight. “Anything.”

A soft hum. 

Then, quieter, calm, but too direct to hide behind:

“Do you regret it?”

The question slices through me.

My breath catches. I sniff quietly, my fingers trembling as I tuck my hair behind my ear. The movement feels too loud, too exposing. My defenses go with it.

I lift my gaze. Slowly.

And shake my head.

No.

Never.

Not for a second.

A small, deliberate motion.

My eyes are still wet, but I don’t blink them away.

And just as the silence stretches-

“Speak,” he says.

One word. Low. Firm. Almost quiet enough to miss, but I don’t.

It lands like an order and a plea all at once.

My voice responds before I can think.

“No,” I say. “I don’t regret it.”

The weight of those words settles heavy between us. No echo. No space left for anything else.

Just that.

And him. Watching me.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

Almost like he’s waiting to see if I’ll take it back.

But I don’t.

Because I mean it.

Because whatever this is, however it ends, I needed him to know.

He nods once. A low hum escapes him, not dismissive, not satisfied. Just… restrained.

Then he says, quietly:

“You acted like you did.”

It hits like a punch to the ribs. No accusation in his tone, just truth. A tired one. The kind that’s been sitting on his chest for seven days straight.

And I feel it.

So I lean forward just slightly, voice cracking again:

“I’m sorry.”

That softens something, just a little.

Not in him.

But in the air between us.

Because when I say it again, quieter this time-

“I really am sorry.”

I mean it. Every word. Every crack in my voice, every breath behind it. It’s not for the sake of professionalism, or recovery, or control. It’s just me. Raw. Honest. Apologizing for how I handled it. For how I handled him.

For leaving him in silence for a week when I knew better.

He doesn’t react right away.

His expression stays still, unreadable.

But I see it.

That flicker in his jaw. That brief shift in his breathing. The almost-imperceptible way his eyes narrow, not with anger. With something else.

Recognition. Pain. Maybe both.

He leans back slightly. Not away. Just… breathes.

And for a moment, neither of us says anything.

It lingers there, my apology.

His eyes don’t move. Still watching. Still quiet.

But not cold anymore.

Not distant.

Just… unreadable.

I inhale slowly. Try to steady my voice before it cracks again.

“I think I should go.” It comes out softer than I meant it to.

His brow lifts slightly, but he doesn’t stop me.

“We’ll have another session tomorrow,” I add, rising slowly from my chair, smoothing the front of my coat like that small motion might hold me together. I reach for the clipboard I haven’t touched in minutes.

“Rest.”

One word. Final. Like I’m giving instructions, like I still have control of this dynamic.

But we both know I don’t.

─────── ⌖ ───────

Hey guyssss, hope you enjoyed this chapter! Its not really my fav chapter its so boring im so sorry, but trust me im cooking.

chapter 11 is almost done and im working on chapter 12!

anyways enjoyyyy!!!

yours truly,

raey ♡♡♡

─────── ⌖ ───────

[gumy-shark]

16, 17, 18!

16: What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

i haven’t actually published enough fic this year for there to be a significant sample size, so. Post-Good Ending (OMORI) it is! (2 fics, both very short one shots)

17: Your favorite character to write this year?

aubrey omori i love youuuuu. her voice is so distinct and it’s really fun for me to get into. runner up is shou of course i love his trains of thought

18: The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

ritsu may be my favorite mp100 character but his voice is so hard for me to catch (especially in narration) that i don’t think i’ve posted (or even shared) anything i’ve written from his pov since june

(ask game)

[killmymind]

sang woo KILL YOURSELF !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ali …. my shayla……

[dreamings-free]

.

[snapbackslide]

so you’re gonna be mad at the guy who captains his team 82 games a season, went to 3 straight all-star weekends instead of getting a break like his teammates do, makes a common decision to not go to an off-season tournament so he could rest and propose to his girlfriend, and out of pettiness not invite him to an in-season tournament that he deserves to be in? ah ok.

[mabaris]

I know it’s probably just my age and I’m Too Young To Possibly Get It and You Had To Be There but I’ve always kinda rolled my eyes whenever people talk about how joss whedon was some titan of nerd media and everyone loved his work

avengers came out when I was 13 and I thought that was. all right. at the time, everyone on the internet was nostalgic for firefly, so I watched that and found it extremely underwhelming, and wasn’t interested in seeking out more of that writing. but it is inescapable huh